Stories of Arda - Lord of the Rings Fan-Fiction Archive

Manwë stared compassionately at Arafinwë standing before the throne of the Elder King. "We know where they are, Pityahúnya," Manwë said soothingly, "and I assure you that they are safe, but the problem is we don’t know how to retrieve them."

"But where are they, lord?" Arafinwë pleaded, tears in his eyes. "Please, where are they? I can’t lose my sons, not again, please not again." He fell to his knees weeping inconsolably and none of the Valar in the room moved.

It was now the next morning after the disaster in the lists. There had been near panic when Findaráto and Glorfindel had disappeared and Manwë had ordered his Maiar to handle the crowds, for neither Ingwë nor Arafinwë had been in a position to issue any orders at that time. Both Elindis and Eärwen had suffered from shock as well and Estë and Irmo had taken them to Lórien along with Amaríë, Alassiel and the elflings. Manwen had gone with them, but Laurendil had flat out refused to leave and threatened to disavow his oath to Irmo if necessary. Irmo had wisely not pressed the matter, saying only that Laurendil should be sure to keep an eye on the kings and do what he could to alleviate their pain.

Nienna had taken Vorondil and Aldundil with her to her own home. The ellon had been so distraught that he fought Tiutalion, screaming invectives and thrashing about. Aldundil had gone white with fear for his beloved son when Námo had come to them, but the Lord of Mandos had merely placed his hand on the weeping ellon’s forehead and whispered something that Aldundil suspected was Valarin and the child went immediately to sleep.

"He will not awaken until Nienna calls him," Námo told Aldundil, giving him a reassuring smile. "Go with Tiutalion and be with your son, Aldundil. There is nothing you can do here. This is beyond the capability of any of the Eldar to handle."

So Aldundil had left with the Maia still carrying a now quiescent Vorondil. Ingwion, Sador and Beleg seemed to recover from the shock of what had happened more quickly than their elders. Beleg had quite surprisingly gone to Námo before them all, giving the Lord of Mandos a trusting look. "Are they dead, lord?" he had asked quietly.

Námo looked upon the recently Reborn elf and smiled. "Nay, best beloved," he answered, "they are not within my Halls, but where they are I am not permitted to say, only that they are unharmed and will return to you soon."

Beleg had gazed into Námo’s eyes for a long moment, then nodded before giving the Vala a respectful bow. "When that day comes I will rejoice that my gwedyr are once again with us. Until then, though, I ask your indulgence if I am... not happy with the situation at the moment."

Námo had placed a gentle hand on the ellon’s head. "I would be surprised if you were happy with the situation whatever my words, child," he replied. "And you need not my permission to feel bereft. Go and take what comfort Sador and Ingwion are willing to offer you and you them."

Now, while Olwë remained in Vanyamar to oversee the governance of the city, Ingwë, Arafinwë, Ingwion, Laurendil and the two Reborn Sindar were in one of the larger antechambers off the main throne room in Ilmarin, demanding answers and getting none, or at least none that satisfied them. Ingwë went to his knees beside Arafinwë and wrapped his arms around his nephew, rocking him gently, all the while staring accusingly at Manwë.

"What do you mean, you don’t know how to retrieve them?" he demanded. "Retrieve them from where?"

Manwë shook his head. "That, I will not tell you, Ingwë," the Elder King said and his tone was cold and brooked no argument. "As for the rest..." here he looked less forbidding, "we are doing all we can to bring them back. It’s just going to take some time."

"But where are they?" Arafinwë whispered forlornly, refusing to look up. "Where are my sons?"

"So where do you think we are?" Glorfindel asked for about the twelfth time, though Finrod had stopped counting after the third.

"You asked me that question five minutes ago, gwador," Finrod said with infinite patience, recognizing the younger ellon’s need for reassurance. "My answer hasn’t changed since then."

Finrod sighed and gathered the other ellon into his embrace. "I wish I had the answer, Glorfindel," he whispered. "I am as much in the dark as you."

"Literally," Glorfindel said with a wry smile, "for see, the sun sets and soon the stars will be out."

"At least it appears to be Anor," Finrod opined with a chuckle at his brother’s attempt at levity. "Let us hope the stars are the same as well."

They had moved across the meadow towards the mountains, gazing about with interest and trepidation, both wishing they were armed. Glorfindel had actually stooped down at one point and grabbed a rock. Finrod had not said anything, just giving the other ellon a brief wintry smile. It did not take them long to reach the foothills and they glanced about them in wonder.

"This is where Vanyamar should be," Finrod said, his brow furrowed in confusion. "See you, that is where the road should come out of the bracken to the south." He pointed towards where the road to Valmar should have been.

"Well, there’s no city and there’s no road," Glorfindel sighed in disgust. "So just where are we?"

"No, brother," Finrod raised a hand. "That is not what I meant. Close your eyes and tell me what you hear."

Glorfindel stared at Finrod in the deepening dusk for a long moment before complying. He stilled his own breathing to better hear whatever it was Finrod wanted him to hear. He stood still for several minutes and then he furrowed his brow and opened his eyes. "What am I supposed to be hearing?"

"That’s just it, isn’t it?" Finrod replied, looking both satisfied and concerned at the same time. "You should be hearing all sorts of things: birds twittering, insects chirring, the wind soughing, but there’s nothing, no sound anywhere except that which we have made."

Now that Finrod mentioned it, Glorfindel suddenly realized why he had been feeling so uneasy, beyond what he already was experiencing and shuddered. "So... where are we again?"

"We know where they are, of course," Aulë was saying, "but the question of retrieval...."

The Valar were now alone; not even their usual Maiar attendants were present. Manwë had convinced the elves to retire. None had slept since the ‘incident’ and the pain and confusion and fear they were all feeling were taking their toll. They had protested, of course, especially the younger ones. The Valar had simply overridden their objections by the expedient of uttering certain words in Valarin and sending them into a deep and dreamless sleep. Oromë, in fact, had taken Sador and Beleg in hand while Námo had taken Ingwion. Ingwë, Arafinwë and Laurendil had wisely allowed themselves to be ushered out of the throne room by Olórin, Maranwë and Eönwë and were even now fast asleep in chambers set aside for them in Ilmarin.

"This... fiasco has answered one question we’ve always had though," Ulmo said reflectively.

"Whether the mirroanwi could actually make the interdimensional transition between here and the tenth dimension without suffering cellular disruption," the Lord of Waters answered in a rather clinical manner.

They all went still at that. Finally Yavanna spoke. "I didn’t think Atar would take such direct action." The awe in her voice was very clear and several of the Valar nodded.

Manwë shook his head. "No, that will be up to us," he answered decisively and they all knew better than to question him about it.

"So what are we going to do?" Glorfindel asked Finrod as they sat in the branches of an oak, gazing into the night. They had divested themselves of their armor long since and were now comfortably ensconced in the tree as the stars bloomed above them. "If there is no game, how will we eat?"

Glorfindel scowled. "So are we doomed to starve to death? Dying once was bad enough, but if I have to go through the process again, I’m going to be very put out."

"To say the least," Finrod replied with a laugh, "and what about Lord Námo?" he added. "He won’t be too pleased to see us either."

Pityahúnya: My Little Hound, an epessë or nickname given to Arafinwë by Manwë.

Mirroanwi: Incarnates, literally, ‘those (spirits) put into flesh’. The singular is mirroanwë.

With a yelp of surprise the two ellyn fell out of the tree at Námo’s feet into the midst of their armor, the sound of metal clanging loud above their protests. Finrod let loose with a barrage of Dwarvish curses that made even Námo’s hair curl in surprise. Glorfindel merely glared up at the Vala.

"Why did you do that you... you... argh! I think I broke something and it’s all your damn fault!"

Námo’s lips twitched but he did not move to aid either one of them, merely standing there, a darker shadow in the moonless night. He was, in fact, cloaked in forbidding black, the owl-shaped cloak pin that Glorfindel had made at Vairë’s behest his only ornament. Beneath the cloak he wore a beltless ankle-length tunic of black velvet, relieved only by a simple band of embroidered silver interlacing at the hem, cuffs and placket that was interspersed with black pearls. Under this was a shirt of grey watered silk with tight sleeves. The cuffs were closed by onyx inlaid mithril buttons. Beneath the deep cowl of his hood his head was bare of any ornament save the gems of his elf-braids sparkling in the dim light of the stars.

Finrod slowly extricated himself from the pile of armor he had landed on and went to see how badly injured Glorfindel might be, a worried look marring his fair features. "Be still, honeg," he said soothingly, "and let me have a look. Where are you injured?"

Glorfindel scowled, refusing to look at either Námo or Finrod. "Just in my pride, hanar," he muttered, but when he attempted to rise, he gave a yelp and his face went white.

Finrod grabbed the ellon by the shoulders. "Easy, Glorfindel," he told him, "lie back and let me see."

"Damn Vala just stands there and watches, too," Glorfindel muttered through gritted teeth.

"Glorfindel!" Finrod admonished him, disapproval clear in his voice. "Show some respect."

"Easy for you to say," Glorfindel retorted. "You’re not the one injured in this... this Eru-forsaken place."

"Wherever here is," Finrod whispered to Glorfindel, sure that Námo would hear him anyway. Glorfindel merely hissed his agreement as Finrod completed his examination of Glorfindel’s left foot. "It’s not broken, hanar, only sprained." He started to remove his tunic to better get to his shirt underneath so as to cut it up for bandages, but Námo stayed him with a single gesture and knelt beside them. Glorfindel visibly cringed when the Vala reached out to touch the injured ankle and Námo stopped, an indecipherable look on his face.

"No, you’ve already done that," Glorfindel conceded ungraciously and Finrod actually punched him in the arm, eliciting another yelp and a snarl.

"What’s come over you, Glorfindel?" he asked, shock and anger evident in his tone, for it was now become too dark underneath the oak for either elf to see features clearly.

Then, to the horror of both ellyn, the erstwhile Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin started softly weeping, throwing his right arm across his face, hiding his tears. Finrod glanced at Námo, who never moved, then gathered his brother into his arms and started rocking him.

"Hush, best beloved," he whispered, "it’s well, truly. Do not weep so, brother. It’s only a sprain after all."

"I w-want to g-go home," Glorfindel practically wailed, sounding like an elfling of twenty, much to Finrod’s exasperated amusement. "Please, Finda, let’s g-go home."

"We will, we will," he said soothingly, continuing to rock the other ellon. "I’m sure that’s why Lord Námo is here, to take us home."

That seemed to calm Glorfindel somewhat but he did not look at the Vala nor offer an apology for his words. Námo, meanwhile, slowly reached out and wrapped his hand around the sprained ankle. Glorfindel gave a shudder at the Vala’s touch but otherwise offered no additional protest. Then he gasped as a warmth spread from Námo’s hand, extending to the rest of the elf’s body, soothing him and bringing him to a state of calm even as the pain from the injury melted away into nothingness. Glorfindel moaned with relief and snuggled closer to Finrod while the once King of Nargothrond looked on in bemusement. When Námo released his grip on Glorfindel’s ankle, Finrod gave the Vala a wry grin.

"You must teach me that trick, lord," he whispered, not wishing to disturb Glorfindel, for the ellon had actually fallen asleep.

Námo gave him an amused look. "Perhaps some day I will, child," he said. "Now, why don’t we wake our elfling up, for there is much that needs to be discussed."

Finrod sighed but nodded, bending over the sleeping ellon and kissing him gently on the cheek. "Wake up, Glorfindel," he said, "Lord Námo wishes to speak to us."

Glorfindel sighed and reluctantly opened his eyes, surprised that they had even been closed, and moved tentatively out of Finrod’s embrace, experimenting with his ankle. When he felt no pain he gave the Vala still kneeling beside him a sheepish look. "Sorry," he whispered, then hid his face in the crook of Finrod’s arm.

Finrod gave a light laugh. "Pityaván," he said affectionately and helped Glorfindel to stand. Námo smiled faintly as he also stood.

"I forgive you," Námo said softly, a glint of humor in his eyes that neither elf saw, "but this is the last time." He allowed his voice to drop into more sepulchral tones and had the pleasure of seeing both ellyn cringe and look at him with not a little concern. Námo nodded. "Well, now that we’ve cleared that up..."

"And more importantly, are you here to take us home?" Glorfindel asked, though his tone was more hopeful than belligerent.

Námo sighed, knowing that neither ellon was going to take his news well. Instead of answering, he gestured and three deeply carved wooden chairs appeared, two of them draped with warm cloaks. "Come, let us sit and be comfortable while I attempt to answer all your questions."

The elves glanced at each other. Finrod shrugged and reached over to take up one of the cloaks, wrapping it around Glorfindel before pushing him into one of the chairs. Then he wrapped the other cloak around himself, settled into the other chair and waited. Námo sat last, saying nothing for some time. Glorfindel tried not to fidget, but couldn’t help it, his reaction to everything more like an elfling than the warrior he was. He recognized his actions for what they were but couldn’t seem to stop himself and that worried him.

Námo seemed to divine his thoughts for when he spoke he addressed Glorfindel alone. "Be not too concerned for yourself, Glorfindel," he said consolingly. "Your reactions are about what I expected given the circumstances."

"Finrod is older than you, both chronologically and biologically," Námo said in a lecturing tone. "He has been released from my care for over a century now and has reached the same level of maturity he had at the time of his death. You, on the other hand, have only been released for about four years. You still have a way to go before your reactions to events and circumstances are those of the warrior you were in Gondolin."

Glorfindel sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Finrod, feeling sorry for his brother, reached over and rubbed a hand on his thigh in an attempt to offer him some comfort. "It is well, honeg," he said softly. "No one thinks the less of you. We all understand..."

"Well, I don’t!" Glorfindel snarled. "I don’t understand any of this!" He leaped up and strode away, his cloak billowing about him.

Námo shook his head. "There is nothing to apologize for, child," the Vala replied. "Glorfindel is reacting much as I thought he would. Indeed, I would have been surprised if he had reacted any other way." He gave the ellon a reassuring smile and Finrod chuckled lightly as he started to rise.

Námo held out a staying hand and Finrod resumed his seat, a questioning look on his face.

"Because I have not the power to do so," Námo explained. "None of the Valar do."

Finrod stared at the Lord of Mandos in disbelief. "Wh-what do you mean? If you have not the power, then how do we get home?"

Námo did not answer, merely staring at the elf from beneath the cowl of his hood. Finrod went white and swayed slightly in his chair.

Námo continued to stare at Finrod, his expression unreadable; even his eyes gave nothing away. Finrod shuddered and a soft moan escaped his lips as he shook his head in denial. "Oh, Valar!" he whispered as he continued to stare at Námo in horror and then he did something he never thought he would ever do: he fainted.

Finrod felt someone shaking him and realized it was Glorfindel, who was also screaming, but not at him, for which he was thankful. He had a bad enough headache as it was.

"What did you do to him?" he heard Glorfindel demand of Námo, even as the ellon continued shaking him. "Why is this happening to us? Why are you doing these things to us?" The ellon was so incensed he wasn’t letting Námo answer any of his questions. Instead, Glorfindel turned back to his gwador, still shaking him. "Finda, Finda, wake up, please wake up," he pled, nearly in tears with fright, though he could not have said why he was feeling frightened. Everything was too strange and surreal for him at this moment. He could feel himself unraveling and did not know how to stop it.

"I-if you w-would st-st-stop shaking m-me, br-rother, I will," Finrod finally got out.

"Oh, sorry," Glorfindel said contritely, stopping so suddenly that he let the other go and Finrod flopped back, banging the back of his head on a tree root.

"I’m sorryimsorryimsorry..." Now Glorfindel was crying and Finrod sighed, reaching up and gathering the younger ellon into his arms and hugging him.

"It’s all right, honeg," he whispered, rocking Glorfindel, "I’m not really angry." He looked up at Námo who still sat in his chair, a dark statue, his expression unreadable. "Would you care to explain your last statement, my lord?"

Glorfindel looked up at that. "Wh-what statement?" he asked in confusion. "Wh-what did he say? Why did you faint, anyway?"

Finrod sighed. "Help me up," he said even as he struggled to a sitting position. Glorfindel moved out of his embrace and gracefully pulled Finrod to his feet. They retook their seats, Glorfindel glancing suspiciously between Finrod and Námo, while Finrod merely gave the Lord of Mandos a measuring look. "Well?"

Námo raised an eyebrow at the peremptory tone but answered readily enough. "I never said you could never go back, Findaráto. I said that neither I nor any of the other Valar can bring you back. That is not the same thing."

"So how do we return?" Finrod asked, hoping he didn’t sound as frightened as he felt at the thought of never seeing his family and friends again.

"Well, that’s encouraging," Glorfindel rejoined in a voice that implied just the opposite.

Námo ignored the remark. "In the meantime, I’ve brought some things for you so you are not too uncomfortable during your stay." With that he gestured and sitting before them was a pile of blankets, a couple of bedrolls, a tent and what appeared to be some changes of clothing. There were also two camp cots, several water bags and two hampers of food.

The two elves stared at the pile and then stared at Námo, then stared at each other before staring back at Námo. It was Finrod who finally got up the nerve to broach the question on both their minds. "So you can bring those" — pointing at the pile of goods — "here, but you can’t take us back?"

Námo nodded. "Inanimate objects we can bring with us... but neither of you is inanimate and if we attempt it you could easily die... and I would not be pleased by that." That last was said with such blandness that neither elf was sure how to respond.

Námo gave him an appraising look. "First intelligent question I’ve heard from either of you," he said and both elves grimaced. Námo continued. "You’re here because Eru brought you here, for your own safety as well as ours."

Námo nodded, but did not elaborate. It was Glorfindel who made the connection. "That flame..."

Now Námo smiled the first genuine smile they had seen from him since his arrival. "Yes, the Flame Imperishable. We were able to contain the energies you were both invoking with your Songs of Power but without Ilúvatar’s direct intervention you both would have been destroyed, not only in hröa but quite possibly doing irreparable damage to your fëar as well."

That thought frightened them and Glorfindel moaned, reeling in his chair. Finrod went to grab him but suddenly the ellon gave a shriek, his body arching as if in pain and then he collapsed. "GLORFI!!" Finrod screamed as he took his brother in his arms.

Námo muttered something that sounded like a curse to Finrod’s ears and stood up. "Oromë!" he shouted. "After him!"

Finrod looked at Námo in confusion. "What’s the matter? What’s wrong with Glorfindel?"

The Lord of Mandos knelt before the two ellyn, stroking Glorfindel’s hair as he lay unconscious in Finrod’s arms, only just then noticing that the peridot and citrine ring was not on Glorfindel’s hand. He realized then that the ellon had most likely removed it before arming. "He’s slipped his leash again," Námo replied with a sigh.

Finrod stared down at his brother, feeling shock seeping through his veins. "That’s not good," was all he could think to say.

Glorfindel ran, not sure where he was running to or from what or even why; he simply ran, heedless of his path. There was the sense of someone or something following him and that spurred him on. Then, of all things, he heard a hunting horn sound, its notes high and wild and... feral. It called to him and he had a brief memory of silver-furred wolves before fear took over and he ran all the faster. He could not be caught, dared not be, for in capture lay his death, of that he was sure.

The horn sounded again, nearer, louder, and more insistent. He had the feeling that he’d been spotted by his pursuer and shifted course, though he was unaware of that. Then he stopped in awe, for before him was a wall of flame, higher even than the Pelóri. It blocked his path and to his horror it was moving, seeking to surround him. He sobbed in terror at the thought of being captured and hunkered down in the tall grass, rocking himself and waiting. Waiting for what, he did not know, only that he had no choice. He was caught and now he would be punished and he was afraid. He sensed rather than saw someone approach and cringed, futilely trying to hide in the grass.

"Oh, child," Oromë said gently as he knelt beside the weeping ellon, "hush now. There is naught to fear here." He scooped the fëa into his arms and held him, rocking gently and crooning softly until the tears had ceased and Glorfindel was quiescent. "See you," the Vala continued, "all is well. Come now, let us take you back to your home where you properly belong."

Oromë stood and with a bow to the Flame returned with a single thought to where Námo was attempting to comfort Finrod. "It will be well, child," Námo was saying, while Finrod continued to hold Glorfindel’s body, his expression one of mingled grief and fear, "Oromë will bring him back."

"He took it off at the last minute," Finrod replied. "I think he was wearing it earlier in the tournament but decided it was too uncomfortable to wear under his gauntlets."

Námo nodded, turning at the approach of Oromë, whom Finrod could not see. He raised an eyebrow at the Lord of Forests, who gave him a grin, sending his thoughts. *Atar stopped him,* he said and sent also an image of the Flame Imperishable and the ellon crouched in fear before it.

Oromë nodded and, leaning over the tableau of Finrod seated in his chair with Glorfindel draped across his arms and Námo kneeling before them, he gave Glorfindel’s sleeping fëa a kiss, then gently laid it atop the ellon’s hröa.

"Time to go home, child," he said, a fond smile on his face, though only Námo was aware of his words. With a gentle push from the Vala, Glorfindel’s fëa slipped back into his hröa. There was a slight arching of his body before it settled back down. The ellon sighed but never woke. Finrod merely held him tighter while Námo stood.

"He’s back where he belongs," he told Finrod, giving him an encouraging smile. "He will not waken for some time. Why don’t we put him to bed, shall we?" With that the Vala went over to the pile of blankets and bedrolls and in minutes had the tent up, the cots in place and Finrod was laying Glorfindel onto one of them. They swiftly undressed him and covered him with blankets. Then, without a word, Námo ushered Finrod to the other cot and before the ellon could offer any protest he too was undressed and slipping between covers. Only when Finrod was fast asleep did Oromë incarnate.

"Finrod told me that Glorfindel removed his ring prior to their match," the Lord of Mandos said.

Námo nodded. "And bring that pendant that Ingwë gifted to him," he ordered. "Something tells me he will need that as well."

"To say the least," Námo replied with a sigh as he thought his chair into the tent and took a seat between the two cots. Oromë gave him a wry look, then took himself off, leaving his brother Vala to look after the only two living incarnates in all of the tenth dimension.

Finrod woke shortly after dawn, staring up at the ceiling of the tent, wondering where he was and how had he gotten there. It took several minutes for him to recollect the events of the previous day and he sat up, looking about in concern. Glorfindel lay in the cot next to him, still asleep. A basin of water sat on a small table, steaming, and Finrod got up quietly and went through his ablutions, being careful not to make too much noise. Throwing on his clothes, he stepped outside to bright sunshine.

Finrod could not help but smile at the sight of the Lord of Mandos ensconced in his chair beside a campfire. A small cauldron was suspended over it by a tripod and hook and Finrod could smell porridge bubbling away. "I don’t remember going to bed," he admitted as he came up to the fire. Námo pointed to a kettle sitting beside the fire.

"Tea," he said and Finrod nodded, filling a small tin cup with the hot drink and spooning some of the porridge into a wooden bowl. There were apple slices and raisins in bowls sitting on a low table nearby, along with a bowl of cinnamon and a pitcher of milk.

"All the comforts of home, without being home," Finrod said sardonically as he sat in the chair Námo provided him, a regular folding camp chair rather than the ornate chair of the night before.

Námo sighed. "I truly regret this has happened, best beloved, we all do. The fact of the matter is, we have no idea how to bring you back. That is something you and Glorfindel will need to work out for yourselves."

"I have every confidence that you will find a way," Námo replied, not answering the question, for in truth, he had no answer to give. "I trust Ilúvatar will not abandon you here for all time. A way will be found."

Finrod set his half-eaten bowl of porridge on the ground before him, looking troubled. "How... how is everyone taking this?" he asked worriedly.

"Not well, as you can imagine," Námo replied with a scowl. "Your atar and Ingwë, especially..."

Námo gave Finrod a considering look. "The elflings are in Lórien along with Alassiel, Amarïe and your amillë. Vorondil and his atar are with my sister. Ingwion, Sador, Beleg and Laurendil seem to be the only ones who are not incapacitated by grief over what has happened."

Finrod nodded and gave the Vala a thin smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "I’m not surprised. Sador and Beleg have faced death... this is nothing new. Ingwion, though...."

"Your cousin is holding up remarkably well," Námo answered with a smile. "I think he’s determined not to look anything less than competent before your otornor, especially Laurendil, who is ready to take on all the Valar in his quest to find answers."

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that, then gave Námo a more genuine smile tinged with mischief. "Well, if he gives you any further trouble, remind him from me what happened the last time he mouthed off to his betters."

The once King of Nargothrond gave a short laugh. "And he’s regretted it ever since." He took a sip of his tea.

"I see," was all Námo said to that, then he looked up. "Ah, your partner in crime is awake."

Finrod snorted the tea he was swallowing and gave the Vala a jaundiced look, but Námo merely sat there looking suitably inscrutable and innocent at the same time. Before Finrod could say anything, Glorfindel stepped out of the tent with a scowl as he made his way to the fire.

"Good morning," Námo said brightly as Finrod contented himself with a smile at his gwador.

"Is it?" Glorfindel muttered as he poured some tea for himself. "I hadn’t noticed."

Finrod and Námo exchanged looks — a worried one on Finrod’s part, an amused one on the Vala’s part.

Glorfindel’s scowl deepened. "What isn’t wrong?" he exclaimed. "We’re here, wherever here is, and he," — the elf gestured with a defiant nod of his chin at Námo — "claims not to know how to get us back home."

"You don’t believe him," Finrod stated, feeling sad all of a sudden at Glorfindel’s intransigence.

"No, I do not!" Glorfindel shouted, throwing his half drunk cup of tea to the ground and stalking off, refusing to look at either Finrod or Námo.

Finrod started to go after him, but Námo stayed him with a gesture. "Nay, best beloved," he said, "let him go. He needs time."

Finrod sat back down reluctantly, his expression troubled. "I’m sorry, I don’t know why..."

"There’s no need to apologize," Námo said. "Glorfindel is still quite young emotionally. He’s finding it more difficult to adjust to his circumstances and his... flight has not helped matters."

"I wish I understood what that’s all about," Finrod said with a sigh, furrowing his brow.

Námo’s smile did not quite reach his eyes. "There are many things we do not know, Findaráto. Do not be so surprised that Glorfindel is as much a mystery to us as he is to you."

"Glorfindel isn’t a mystery, lord," Finrod responded with a chuckle. "If anything, he’s too transparent, though that’s not necessarily a bad thing."

"No, it isn’t," Námo agreed with a faint trace of amusement. "At any rate, I have his ring and the pendant Ingwë gave him." Námo held out a hand and Finrod saw the peridot ring and the pendant. "Give these to him when he’s calmer."

Námo smiled. "Only for a time. I think Glorfindel will calm down sooner if I’m not around. Do not worry, no harm can come to you here, I assure you. Concentrate on thinking how to return to your proper sphere. My brethren and I will do the same. Hopefully, between us, we will find a solution. We will check on you twice a day but if you need anything in the meantime, you need only shout, literally," he gave him a mischievous smile. "One of us will always be... on watch duty, even if you do not see them."

Finrod nodded reluctantly, wishing the Vala would stay. Somehow the presence of the Lord of Mandos seemed comforting and he felt less lost with him there. "I will see that Glorfindel gets these, though I wonder at the pendant."

"I have a feeling it may hold the key to all this, but how, I do not know. Aulë...." Námo stopped as if fearing to say too much and gave the elf a deprecating smile. "Well, at any rate, it can’t hurt."

Finrod nodded. "Thank you," he whispered, though for what he was thanking the Vala he was not sure.

Námo stood and pulled Finrod into his embrace, giving him a gentle smile and a kiss on his brow. "You are quite welcome, child." Then he was simply not there and Finrod sat back slowly in his chair with a sigh, deep in thought, the ring and pendant forgotten in his hand.

Glorfindel returned about an hour later, still in a bad mood. "Is he finally gone?" he asked Finrod as he came back to the fire.

"I really don’t like your tone, Glorfindel," Finrod said, sounding more like his atar or Ingwë.

The younger ellon cringed but refused to apologize. Instead he stared at what Finrod still held in his hands and with a cry, grabbed them, clutching the ring and pendant to his breast.

Finrod’s eyes narrowed in disapproval as he rose from his chair to face Glorfindel. "Lord Námo retrieved them for you. Had you been more gracious he might have presented them to you himself. As it is, he asked me to do it."

Glorfindel had the grace to look abashed. "Sorry," he muttered, not looking at Finrod as he put the ring on his finger. "I don’t know why I’m acting this way," he said by way of apology. "I can hear myself ranting but I can’t seem to stop myself."

"I suspect it’s the strangeness of the situation, gwador," Finrod said solicitously, putting a comforting hand on the ellon’s shoulder. "Lord Námo said that your pendant might hold the key to getting us out of here," he added, hoping to distract the younger elf from his moroseness.

Finrod shook his head. "He did not know. He only said that it might be the key." He sighed then, stepping away from the fire to take in the surroundings. "Lord Námo assured me no harm can come to us, but I am not easy here. Let’s break camp and move further into the mountains. I’ll feel more secure there."

Glorfindel frowned. "D-do you think the... ban still applies here? I mean if that truly is Taniquetil?" He pointed up at the towering peaks of the mountains before them.

Finrod shrugged, then smiled. "I doubt it," he said with more assurance than he really felt. "For one thing, there’s no Ilmarin at the top of the peak and for another I don’t intend to climb all the way, just to about where Ingwë’s palace would be."

"Oh, well then," Glorfindel said with some relief, "that’s all right." He put the pendant over his head and gave Finrod the first genuine smile he had seen on his gwador’s visage since they had come here. "I’ll see to the fire if you want to take down the tent."

Finrod nodded, smiling. "We’ll find a way out of this, Glorfindel," he said. "Lord Námo is confident that Ilúvatar will not abandon us here."

Glorfindel did not respond, merely nodding as he went about putting out the fire. In a short time they had the camp struck. The amount of supplies however necessitated that they make at least two trips, possibly three. "It’s going to be a stiff climb to the promontory," Finrod pointed out. "I’d rather take a few items at a time."

Glorfindel agreed and in fact it took several trips to bring everything to the new campsite. Thus, it was noon before they were finished. They stopped long enough to chew on some cheese and bread and apples before going about the business of setting up the new camp. There was a small shovel with the supplies, so while Finrod pitched the tent, Glorfindel dug the firepit, then went over to a stand of trees that hugged the mountain to the north and dug a latrine. Not knowing how long they might be there, he made it a sizeable one, so it was several hours before he finished. Sauntering back to the camp he saw that Finrod had lined the firepit with rocks and was setting up the tripod. The ellon looked up at him with a smile. "All set?"

Glorfindel nodded as he hunkered down beside Finrod, idly adding more kindling. "Do you think we can eat early? I’m starving."

"I’m not surprised, considering you had no breakfast and lunch was barely adequate."

Glorfindel looked a bit sheepish. "Sorry, I just...." he gestured helplessly, then gave Finrod a confused look. "I had the strangest dream."

The other ellon shrugged. "I was running and then there was this enormous flame that tried to surround me. Someone came and comforted me and then I woke up."

Finrod kept his expression neutral and chose his words carefully. "I’m sure it was just a product of your anxiety and don’t forget that flame we saw just before we found ourselves here."

"Well, why don’t we see about putting dinner together?" Finrod said more briskly. "All that lugging our supplies up here has given me an appetite, too."

It was just after sunset. Their dinner was a thing of the past and they were sitting at their leisure before the fire enjoying the spring evening. There was no breeze so the air was not as cool as it might otherwise be. In one of the hampers they had discovered a flagon of wine and were now enjoying the deep rich red drink with its hint of oak and raspberries. Stars were beginning to peek out and the two ellyn were feeling very relaxed in spite of their situation. Glorfindel was even humming softly to himself.

Finrod smiled at his gwador as he took a sip of his wine and looked westward to where the sun was just slipping below the horizon. "Ah," he said with a nod. "At least Eärendil is with us."

"Eärendil," Finrod repeated, gesturing with his goblet towards the western skies.

Glorfindel stood and stared into the west, though not at the sky, shading his eyes. "Where?" he asked in confusion. "I don’t see anyone and anyway, how do you know it’s Eärendil? You’ve never met him."

Now Finrod went to stand beside the other ellon, pointing not down upon the plain but into the sky. "There, just to the left of that stand of trees. See the star? It’s shining bright. Almost I would say that it appears to be nearer than usual it is so bright."

Glorfindel turned to Finrod with a puzzled look. "What are you blathering on about, gwador?" he asked. "Why would Eärendil be in the sky? How would he be there? You’re not making any sense."

Now it was Finrod’s turn to look nonplused. "Glorfindel," he said carefully, "do you not see the bright star just above the horizon?" Again he pointed towards where Eärendil shone.

Glorfindel looked to where Finrod was pointing. He saw several stars there, for the sun was long gone and it was now almost fully dark, yet none of the stars in that part of the sky were what he would consider bright. He turned back to Finrod, and seeing the look in his gwador’s eyes, almost quailed, feeling that something terrible or at least momentous was about to happen. "No," he whispered. "There is no bright star there. I don’t see anything."

Both elves turned with a gasp at the sound of someone behind them and found themselves facing a very nonplused Námo. The Vala stood there in stygian gloom, his expression sterner than they had ever seen it and the two elves started backing up in fear. Námo scowled, looking directly at Glorfindel. "You weren’t supposed to know about Eärendil for centuries yet."

Manwë looked up from where he was sitting, listening to a report by one of his People, and grimaced. "That won’t do at all," he muttered, though everyone in the room heard him.

"My lord?" Sáyandilmë asked, wondering if she had somehow offended the Elder King.

Manwë gave the Maia a brief smile. "Not you, my dear," he said. "If you will excuse us, there is something I must discuss with my brethren in private."

"Of course, lord," the Maia said with a bow, not at all put out by the abrupt dismissal, nor was she at all surprised when the Elder King asked that all the Maiar in attendance, even Eönwë, leave them. With bows to their Masters, the Maiar left and Manwë settled back in his chair with a frown.

They were not in the main throne room, but in an antechamber off to one side where the business of the realm was often conducted in a less formal setting. With him were Aulë, Oromë and Tulkas. Of the Valiër, only Varda and Nessa were present. Yet, though the other Valar were not there physically, all were listening in on the conversation as the Elder King summoned them in ósanwë.

"Apparently moving into the tenth dimension," Manwë said without preamble, "has lowered the barriers we’ve set in place around Glorfindel with regards to his seeing Eärendil's Star."

"What do you mean?" Aulë asked in consternation. "We made sure those barriers could not be breached. He should not be able to see it or even think about Eärendil."

*And he still cannot,* Námo bespoke them from the tenth dimension, *but Findaráto mentioned seeing Eärendil in the sky and Glorfindel heard him.*

The looks of dismay on the faces of the other Valar present in the room mirrored Manwë’s own trepidation as to what this news augured. "Can you undo the damage?" he asked Námo.

*He’s already slipped his leash once since coming to the tenth dimension,* Námo reminded them. *I do not know if further tampering....*

*It would be best if we leave it for now,* Irmo said and they could all 'hear' the frown in his thoughts. *I was never sanguine about meddling with his memory that way,* he added. *There were too many things that could go wrong, and of course, that’s just what has happened.*

*Not well,* came the darkly amused answer. *He’s demanding answers and I’m at a loss to explain without making things worse.* They could ‘hear’ his sigh of frustration. *Anything I say at this point will simply exacerbate the situation. He is very close to rebelling against my authority as it is.*

"Oh?" Manwë asked, smiling faintly at the image Námo was sending them of a deeply affronted ellon ready to take on the Lord of Mandos with his bare hands.

Námo did not speak, but showed them through his eyes what was happening. Glorfindel was shouting, furiously demanding answers while Findaráto was attempting to calm him down and at the same time try to come between him and Námo, who merely stood there, watching the two ellyn with detached amusement.

"Well, what should we do, then?" Manwë asked with a resigned sigh. "It’s clear that if we reinstate the barriers on Glorfindel we will have to tamper with Findaráto’s memories as well and Atar would not approve."

"He didn’t quite approve of what we did with Glorfindel," Nessa said, looking chagrined.

*In this case, we would be committing rape,* came Nienna’s bald reply and not a few of the Valar cringed at the word, *and Glorfindel’s accusation about us being no better than our Fallen Brother would be true.*

There was deep silence among them as they contemplated possible avenues. Finally Manwë nodded, his expression less troubled, but still somewhat grim. "Tell him then," he ordered Námo. "Tell him the truth, or as much of it as you think he can bear at this time."

Varda chuckled. "In this case, yes. He does not fear Námo," she went on to explain. "Respect him... well sometimes," — they all laughed at that — "but he no longer fears our brother." She looked directly at Manwë. "You, on the other hand, he still holds in awe, especially after succoring him in the cave as you did."

*And an explanation coming from you will hold greater authority in his mind than one coming from me,* Námo added, agreeing with Varda’s conclusions. *These Children have not yet grasped the fact that where one of us speaks, we all speak. They still deal better with chains of authority. Your words will hold greater authority in their minds than mine, though I speak in your name.*

*Your own fault, brother,* Nienna said with an amused chuckle. *I keep telling you that you’re too close to your former charges. Remember, familiarity breeds contempt. You should maintain a proper distance and reserve.* This last was said with such insincerity that they all started laughing.

*But where’s the fun in that, sister?* Námo rejoined, laughing as well. *Besides, I like watching them stammer and stutter and try to back-track when they realize they’ve been too froward with me. They are just too comical.*

"Careful, Námo," Oromë admonished the younger Vala in a mock-serious tone, "they’re not playthings for your amusement."

*They’re not?* came the mock-surprised reply. *Well, that’s news to me,* he said, pretending to be affronted.

The others all grinned at the byplay between Oromë and Námo and they all ‘heard’ Vána snicker as the Valië sent them an image of Námo sitting on a child’s chair in front of a small table laden with a play tea-service. Glorfindel and Findaráto were also sitting in too-small chairs, dressed in various types of finery, as Námo poured pretend tea into their cups. Neither ellyn was looking amused as the Námo-image blithely went on pouring tea as if nothing were amiss. The Valar all howled in laughter at the image.

*I’m not that bad,* Námo protested half-heartedly, *and even I would never dare dress Glorfindel in feathers.*

That just set them off again and it was some time before they could get themselves under control. They all realized what the real reason behind their levity was — a need in themselves to diffuse the tension that they all felt, had been feeling, since the debacle of the final tourney match. They needed the release and welcomed it.

"Well, Varda is correct," Manwë finally said. "I should be the one to explain, but not at this moment. Námo, see if you can at least calm them down. Findaráto may be willing to listen but I suspect that Glorfindel will not."

*What do I tell them, though?* Námo asked. *They will not be satisfied with platitudes, not any more.*

"Tell them that I will come and explain everything, but only if they are both calm and willing to listen to what I have to say," Manwë replied. "Remind Glorfindel what happened the last time he pulled a temper tantrum in my presence. That should stop him for a time."

Námo nodded. *This is just getting better and better,* he said with great irony.

Manwë sighed in agreement. "And I fear it’s only going to get more so before the end."

They all felt Námo withdraw from the conversation and the others began to as well, recognizing that their meeting was over for the time. Manwë turned to those seated with him. "Let’s call our People back and continue where we left off."

Námo stood before the two ranting ellyn, never moving. Glorfindel was practically screaming for answers while Finrod was attempting to placate him and at the same time keep himself between the irate ellon and the too silent (to his mind) Vala. Námo could tell that Finrod was very close to losing his composure and it was an even bet who he was going to hit first, him or Glorfindel. Deciding to forestall the once King of Nargothrond from having to make such a decision, the Lord of Mandos raised a hand and spoke a single word:

He never raised his voice; indeed he spoke barely above a whisper, but the authority of his command was such that Glorfindel stopped immediately, panting in great gulps as his oxygen-starved lungs craved surcease from his screaming. Finrod went completely still, wondering just how angry his Master was at them.

"That’s better," Námo said after another minute went by. "Findaráto, get your brother some wine," he ordered in a voice that betrayed no emotion. "Glorfindel, sit down."

The two ellyn reluctantly complied with the Vala’s commands but soon the two were seated before him, both sipping at the wine. Námo waited another five minutes before he spoke again. "I will not explain what has happened to you Glorfindel," he stated firmly.

"I will not explain," Námo reiterated, raising his voice slightly. Glorfindel cringed at the tone and subsided. "That task has fallen upon the Elder King."

They both gave him looks bordering on awe. "L-lord Manwë is coming here?" Glorfindel asked in a faint voice.

Námo almost smiled at the elf’s reaction. "Yes, he will be here, perhaps in the morning. He refuses to speak to you while you are in this state. I may tolerate your disrespect, but he will not."

Now Glorfindel reddened in embarrassment, though it was difficult to see in the dark with only the campfire providing light, but his voice, when he spoke, was full of remorse. "I’m sorry," he muttered, not looking up. "I’m... I’m not handling this well," he admitted.

Námo resisted a snort. "To say the least," he replied, allowing a tinge of humor to lace his words so the two elves would not misconstrue him. "At any rate, Lord Manwë will be the one to explain what has happened and why we did what we did." He sighed and they could see his expression softening. "Do not judge us too harshly, my children," he said. "More is at stake than you can know or we can tell. Trust us as you used."

"Rather hard to do when you are less than forthcoming in your answers to our questions, lord," Finrod said, his tone tinged with sadness.

"I know, best beloved," Námo responded, his voice equally sad. "Trust is a fragile thing, and I fear we may have abused it in this case, but I assure you, we have never had anything but the deepest respect for you both. Circumstances were such that we felt we needed to take this particular course until Glorfindel was mature enough to handle certain truths."

"What truths?" Glorfindel finally asked, looking up at the Vala, his expression more puzzled than angry.

"That is for Lord Manwë to say," Námo replied, "if you are willing to listen."

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment, then Finrod gave him a nod. "We’ll try."

"Perhaps," Námo conceded, "but you should at least try. Glorfindel, you may not like what you learn from us, but believe me when I say that all we’ve done has been for your good, always. It may not have been done well, but it was done with love."

"D-do you truly love us, lord?" Finrod asked. "Sometimes..." he gulped as the words stuck in his throat, afraid to say more.

Námo nodded. "You have no idea of the depth of love that we have for you, for all of you," he said. "And yet, as deeply as we love you, our love pales in comparison to the love Ilúvatar has for you, for all of us. Remember that, my children. You are here and alive because Ilúvatar loves you and wishes you well."

For a long moment the only sound was the crackling of the fire, then Glorfindel gave Námo a stricken look. "That flame... it stopped me from running... it tried to surround me and I was so frightened."

Námo carefully stepped forward and with a gesture invited Glorfindel to come into his embrace. He was pleased when the ellon did so with just the slightest hesitation. "That was Ilúvatar in the guise of the Flame Imperishable," he said as he gently held the ellon in his arms. "You were too frightened to understand, best beloved, but you were being surrounded by Love. No harm would have come to you."

"But then you were too frightened," Námo completed the ellon’s thought, "and understandably so." He gave Glorfindel a brief kiss on the forehead and stepped back. "Now, why don’t you both try to get some rest. The Elder King will come on the morrow. I cannot promise you that all will be explained, but he will explain what he can. You must trust him for the rest."

The two elves nodded, Glorfindel more reluctantly than Finrod. Námo stayed long enough to see them both settled in their cots and then surreptitiously willed them to sleep as he bent down and laid a kiss on their brows. Then he left them to their dreams, though Oromë agreed to watch over them, just in case.

Námo nodded and thought himself back to Ilmarin where he, Manwë and Varda sat long into the night discussing the problem that was Glorfindel.

Irmo looked upon the shattered expressions of the elves who had come to Lórien and sighed. The adults were not too bad; their shock was wearing off and they would be succored by his People. He had even asked Indis to help there and the good lady had agreed. No, it was the five children standing before him that troubled him the most and he wondered who he should have help him with them. That he would take responsibility for their healing was unquestioned, but he would not always be available and so he needed to choose others to take over for him when necessary.

"Melian," Estë said, as she helped the Maiar to find suitable pavilions for them all. The children would be housed in their own grove along with Alassiel, who refused to leave them alone. Manwen had also indicated her willingness to stay with them, but Estë, as her Mistress, had insisted she return to her own grove to sleep, at least for that first night.

Irmo nodded. "Yes, I think you are correct," he said to his spouse and silently ordered Melian to attend them.

The former Queen of Doriath appeared, her expression one of deep concern. "I heard what happened," she said to Irmo as she gave him her obeisance. "My nephew...."

"Findaráto and Glorfindel are both alive and well, but I cannot tell you anything more than that. We are doing all we can to bring them back."

"Back from where?" Alassiel asked, having heard the exchange as she helped one of the Maiar attendants get the elflings undressed and into bed.

Irmo shook his head. "Of that I may not speak. Know only that they are safe and will return."

Alassiel looked upon the Lord of Lórien with frustration and deep distrust. "That’s what Lord Manwë said, but it’s not an answer."

"It is the only answer any of us can give you, Lady Alassiel," Irmo said, not at all upset by her words. "Now, you, too, must rest, my dear," he added solicitously. "You’ve had a tremendous shock and you are beyond exhaustion. Come, let Melian help you undress and then sleep."

Alassiel shook her head. "I couldn’t sleep now," she protested. "I’m afraid...." She gulped back tears, tears she had refused to shed before the children, tears she had refused to acknowledge were even there. Now, however....

Melian took her in her arms and held her as the storm of emotions let loose and she finally broke down. Irmo watched her with compassion, though he kept a clinical eye on her as well. When her weeping stilled somewhat he brushed a gentle hand through her hair.

"Melian will remain with you while you at least rest," he suggested. "Perhaps you can talk to her about what you are feeling and that will help you to come to terms with what has happened. I do hope you sleep, my dear, for you will need to be strong for the children in the coming days."

Alassiel looked up at the Lord of Dreams from Melian’s arms, her expression somewhat puzzled. "Aren’t you going to send me to sleep or force me to take some vile sleeping potion?"

"Then I will not," Irmo continued. "I will trust you to see to your own needs for now, but if I see you are not following our advice, I will step in and take more... drastic measures. Are we understood?"

Irmo nodded. "Then I will leave you for now. Tomorrow I will speak to the children alone. Melian will bring them to me."

There was just the hint of pleading in the Vala’s voice that so startled the elleth that all she could do was nod in acquiescence. Irmo gave her a brief, though warm, smile and bent down to leave a kiss on her brow, then did the same to the five elflings who were now fast asleep, before leaving her alone with Melian. For a moment Alassiel just stared up at the Maia queen with a bemused expression.

"Come," Melian said, giving her a warm smile, "let us get you settled and you can tell me all the details of just what sort of trouble my impossible great-nephew has gotten himself into this time." Her tone of voice sounded just exasperated enough that Alassiel actually found herself giggling as Melian helped her out of her dress.

Shortly thereafter she was sitting up in her cot with a blanket around her and a cup of hot tea in her hand telling Melian all about the last match. It was not long though before she found herself nodding and yawning between sentences. She never noticed when Melian took the tea cup out of her hand and she had no memory of nestling under the covers and falling asleep, while Melian sat beside her, gently humming a lullaby and watching over them all.

The next morning, the five elflings were herded into the dining pavilion and encouraged to eat something, though the most any of them was able to get down was some dry toast. Lindorillë looked ready to faint and Melian had to hold Oromendil while he sicked up what little he had managed to eat when she told them they were to be taken to Lord Irmo.

"There is naught to fear, children," she said soothingly as she comforted Oromendil and gave him some water to drink. "Lord Irmo merely wishes to speak to you and see that you are comforted at this time. He will try to answer any questions you might have about what happened."

"Will he tell us wh-what happened to L-lord Findaráto?" little Veryandur asked, his eyes wide as saucers as he clutched at Narmollë, which Aldundil had returned to him with his thanks before following Tiutalion to Lady Nienna’s house with a still sleeping Vorondil.

Melian gave him her warmest smile. "He will tell you what he can but rest assure that Lords Findaráto and Glorfindel are alive and unharmed. Now, let us go. We mustn’t keep Lord Irmo waiting."

With that she and Ingil, who was with them, took the children from the dining pavilion and led them along the sward until they came upon another pavilion set in a clearing along a lake. The children looked about with unabashed interest and they seemed less nervous and distraught as the calm air of Lórien worked upon them. When they came to the pavilion they found the Lord of Lórien there, dressed in a knee-length tunic of off-white figured silk and an overrobe of spring green silk brocade with a light blue floral pattern. The tunic was belted with mithril links set with emeralds and sapphires and he was crowned with a wreath of yellow crocuses.

The children made their obeisance, though they were awkward with youth and nerves. Irmo smiled at them and gestured. "Welcome, my children," he said. "Come and sit with me." With some gentle encouragement from the two Maiar, the five elflings found seats around a small table on which sat a carafe of cut crystal and five crystal goblets etched with the emblem of a harp beneath a rainbow. Irmo took the decanter and poured some red juice into the five goblets before taking his own seat. Melian and Ingil stood before the entrance of the pavilion looking out, obviously on guard for intruders. Irmo gestured to the goblets. "Have some hawthorn juice, children," he said. "I know it’s Eruanna’s favorite."

He smiled at the youngster who smiled back, her eyes eager as she reached out to take one of the goblets. The other children followed suit and soon all were sipping their drinks, reveling in the sweetness of the taste, like strawberries, yet not. Irmo remained silent, watching them with an indulgent smile on his face as the children continued drinking their juice. Oromendil, he was glad to see, was looking less pale and Lindorillë’s heartbeat was steadier. Her brother and the two youngest were also looking less lost and fearful. He nodded to himself, then spoke.

"You have many questions, I know," he told them and they all stopped to stare at him, some of the fear and horror they had experienced earlier creeping back into their consciousness. Irmo raised a hand to forestall the onslaught of questions he knew would come. "Let me assure you that Findaráto and Glorfindel are well and unharmed."

"That is something I cannot tell you, child," Irmo said softly. "There are some things about which I am not allowed to speak."

"Wh-why?" Sorondil asked in surprise. "Yo-you’re a Vala... sir." The idea that any of the Valar would not be able to do as they wished was too alien for him to comprehend. The adults in his life seemed able to do as they pleased compared to his own life with its strictures and rules and shalt-nots; that the Valar would suffer the same restrictions as an elfling seemed... unnatural.

Irmo smiled in amusement, quite aware of what they were all thinking. "You will find, children, that even the Valar are enjoined by Ilúvatar from doing certain things and as you are under obligation to be obedient unto your parents and Lord Findaráto, so I hold a similar obligation under the Elder King as vice-gerent to Ilúvatar."

That seemed to mollify them somewhat though they still were not sure if they liked the idea of any of the Valar not being able to do as they wanted. It was their fondest dream, that when they became adults they too would be free to do whatever they wished, just as they saw their parents and other adults do. Irmo reached over and picked up the carafe and poured more juice into their goblets. It never occurred to the children to wonder why the decanter never seemed to be empty, for the level of the contents never seemed to change.

"Do you know why you’ve been brought here?" Irmo asked them and the five elflings scrunched their faces in thought, then, almost as one, shook their heads. "You know that Lord Findaráto meant to bring you to Lórien after the tournament."

"Some of us," Sorondil replied, casting a dark look at Eruanna and Veryandur. The youngest ellon clutched his stuffed toy and looked uncertainly at the Vala.

"All of you," Irmo said firmly, "though I grant you that you three older ones would have been sent to Tirion first. I may still send you there if I feel it necessary."

Lindorillë and the two older ellyn paled. "B-but if Lord Findaráto isn’t here, then why can’t we go home?" the elleth asked in confusion. "H-how can we be in his... his service if he’s not here?"

Irmo shook his head, giving them a sympathetic look. "That is not how it works, my dears," he said. "If Lord Findaráto were dead, that might be the case, but he is not. He is merely... missing. Your oaths stand and so you will stay here in Lórien until your lord returns to claim you."

"Oh, he will return, never fear," Irmo replied with a faint smile, not at all upset by the elfling’s lack of respect. "The question of course is to what will he return?"

The children were unsure how or if they should answer that question and Irmo allowed them to sit and think about it and perhaps voice their fears, for he knew they were rife with them. Several minutes went by though and none of the children spoke. Irmo nodded to himself, not entirely pleased, but not surprised either. The events were too raw and immediate for them to have processed their feelings. He would give them a little more time before forcing the issue. In the meantime....

"Well, if you have finished your juice, then perhaps you would care to go with Melian and Ingil and explore Lórien on your own. We’ll discuss duties later." The children looked at the Vala with varying degrees of surprise and suspicion, but not knowing what else to do, they quickly downed their drinks, and, with a gentle reminder from Melian and Ingil, gave the Vala their obeisance before filing out of the pavilion, their expressions ones of bemusement. Irmo remained where he was, making a bet with himself as to which one of the children would break first.

Irmo didn’t have long to wait for the outcome of his bet. It was two days later. During the intervening time the children were encouraged to explore Lórien, or the part of it that they were allowed to see. The area reserved primarily for the Reborn was kept off-limits, though none of the children were actually aware of being gently directed away from certain sections of the Woods by Melian or Ingil, who proved to be their constant companions.

The first indication that the Maiar had that they needed to be extra careful around these particular charges was when, without thinking, Ingil suddenly faded from their sight when called to attend his lord as they were sitting under an elm enjoying a picnic lunch. Both ellith screamed, Sorondil actually fainted, Oromendil began throwing up and Veryandur clutched his stuffed toy to his chest and started weeping uncontrollably. Then, before Melian or any other Maia could react, Lindorillë jumped up from where she was sitting and ran, stark terror in her eyes.

Where she thought she might go, if she was thinking at all, none knew. Melian called out her name, but to no avail and she was forced to leave the elleth to others while she tried to deal with the other four elflings.

Lindorillë ran blindly, terror ever before her and behind her. She did not even realize she was running, only that some intolerable need to escape held her in thrall and she heeded nothing else but the siren call of freedom. Freedom from what, she could not have said, only that she wanted to be far away, far, far away. Thus, it came as a shock when someone appeared directly before her, too close for her to avoid, so that she ran into the person who grabbed her and held her through her screams and attempts to escape. It was some time before exhaustion took over and she collapsed, whimpering. She was barely conscious of the other person holding her, cradling her actually, and rocking her as her ammë had done when she was a babe.

"There, there," a gentle, warm voice said. "All is well, child. There is naught to fear. Hush now, it is well, it is well..."

The voice, so calm and loving and sweet, went on and on in the same manner until Lindorillë finally succumbed to it and lay quiescent. She felt rather than saw another approach and then Lord Irmo was there, gently brushing his hand through her hair.

"My lord, I am thy servant in all things," Olórin said and when Lindorillë looked up into the young old face of the Maia, she saw him smiling, the most beautiful smile she had ever seen. Then, the Maia gave her a wink, which surprised her. "Even if it’s just to stop wayward elflings from headlong flight into deep waters."

Irmo chuckled and when Lindorillë gave them a confused look, Olórin stood her up and turned her around, pointing. "That’s where you would have ended up, child, had I not stopped you."

Lindorillë looked and gave a small gasp. Before her was the lake with its island in the middle. There was no beach here, just a quick drop into still waters. This part of the lake, she had been warned, was quite deep and she did not know how to swim. She glanced up at the Maia, her expression fearful at what might have happened to her. Olórin smiled, bent down and kissed the top of her head.

"Fear not, Lindorillë," Irmo said then. "All is well. Now, why don’t we go back and see how everyone else is doing, shall we?" He put out his hand and the elleth took it and when she hesitantly put out her other hand to Olórin the Maia took it and the three of them returned to where Melian, and a chagrined Ingil, as well as several other Maiar were gathered around the elm tree succoring the other elflings.

Sorondil had been brought out of his faint and was sipping on water, as was Oromendil, who looked pale but composed. Eruanna and Veryandur, however, were still upset. The younger elleth would not allow anyone near her. She kept backing up and making shooing motions with her hands while Veryandur simply sat there clutching his toy and rocking himself, weeping as if he never planned to stop. Melian looked up as Irmo arrived with Olórin and Lindorillë, her expression deeply saddened.

"We cannot get him to stop, my lord," she said quietly, "and Eruanna will allow none near her else she starts screaming."

Irmo nodded, but turned his attention to Lindorillë. "Why don’t you sit here with your brother and have something to drink, my dear?" he said to the elleth and she complied. Olórin, meanwhile, was conversing with the other Maiar and then he turned to the Lord of Lórien.

"Thank you, Olórin," Irmo said with a nod, then turned to the other Maiar. "Melian, Ingil, the rest of you, watch over these children. Leave Eruanna alone for now. As long as you do not attempt to go near her, she’ll be fine. I will return with some reinforcements."

Then, without bothering to explain, he walked away, and the Maiar all knew that their lord was showing by example what they themselves must do from now on when dealing with these children.

"I never even thought," Ingil began to castigate himself but Olórin made a tsking sound in disapproval.

"Do not berate yourself, my friend," he said as he gathered Veryandur into his arms and held him close. "You could not have known. At least now we know not to think ourselves to and fro before them."

Melian nodded in agreement. "We must take care to wait until we are out of sight before... disappearing."

"So now, why don’t we see if we cannot get this little one to stop weeping," Olórin said, quietly rocking the still crying ellon. Without preamble, he began singing softly and soon the other Maiar joined him in singing a lullaby. By the time Irmo returned with his ‘reinforcements’, all the children save Eruanna were fast asleep.

As their lord approached, the Maiar saw that he was accompanied by Elindis, which surprised them all. Irmo merely gave them a slight smile and gestured to Eruanna, who had stopped backing up as soon as the Maiar ceased to try and approach her. She stood there in the field, her eyes blank of any knowledge of where she was. The Maiar gazed upon the High Queen of All the Eldar with curiosity, wondering how she could succeed where they had failed. Elindis, well aware of their scrutiny, merely gave Irmo a slight nod of her regal head then walked towards the elleth. Ingil made to stay her, but a gesture from Irmo stopped him.

Elindis did not try to reach the elfling, but stopped when she was several feet from her, going to her knees. For the longest time she did nothing, and then she reached down and began to pick the wildflowers around her, deftly weaving them into a wreath, all the while singing a child’s rhyme. They all recognized it, though they also realized that she was singing parts of it wrong, perhaps deliberately:

"That’s not how it goes," Eruanna suddenly said, her eyes focusing on the queen kneeling three feet away.

"Oh?" Elindis said diffidently, continuing weaving the flowers into a crown, and refusing to look at the elleth.

"It’s ‘as the moon shines high above’", Eruanna explained, looking somewhat annoyed that the lady did not know the proper words. The Maiar looked on with amusement at the affronted expression on the elleth’s face. "And... and the second verse begins ‘Chain of love, chain of gold, wherefore hath my true love bold’. Yours doesn’t even rhyme!"

"I see," Elindis said, still not looking at the elleth. "And next you’ll be telling me I’m also weaving the flowers incorrectly."

Eruanna took a hesitant step towards the queen to better see what she was doing, though stopping at least two feet from her. She crouched down, her expression serious. "It looks fine to me," she opined and so intent was she on examining Elindis’ efforts with the flowers that she did not notice Irmo’s approach until he was almost upon her and then it was too late. He knelt down beside her, his hand on her shoulder to keep her in her place. Her expression went from interested to fearful in an eyeblink, but Irmo smiled down on her kindly and she relaxed somewhat. Elindis stopped her weaving and looked on.

"I am glad to see you are feeling better, child," Irmo said softly. "Would you like to return to the others and have some water?"

Eruanna gave an almost imperceptible nod and Irmo stood, helping her to rise. Elindis rose gracefully from her kneeling position and offered the crown of wildflowers to the elleth, who accepted them somewhat shyly, allowing Elindis to place the wreath on her head. Vala and Queen then brought the child back to the others, who were all sleeping. She stopped in amazement at the sight of their somnolent forms but when Irmo assured her that they were unharmed, she allowed herself to be seated next to Veryandur and drank the water given her, never realizing that a light sleeping potion had been added to it. Soon, though, she was yawning and in a matter of minutes she was curled up along with the other elflings, her head in Elindis’ lap as the Queen gently stroked her hair.

While they slept, Irmo and his Maiar stood in a protective circle around them and silently discussed what their next course of action should be in regards to the children.

The incident at the picnic caused several changes in the way things were done in Lórien. For one thing, no Maia was allowed to appear or disappear if any of the children or, for that matter, if any of the adults who had been at the tournament, were in view. Irmo decided that even for the older elves seeing that might trigger anxiety attacks. So, the Maiar started playing what Olórin called ‘hide and peek’ games with the elflings, checking around hedges to make sure none of the children were around before materializing. Irmo also assigned a Maia to each of the children separately, though these remained unclad.

There was also a noticeable change in the elflings actions. The two youngest, Veryandur especially, appeared to regress. Eruanna refused to let Elindis out of her sight and the Queen of the Vanyar ended up sharing their pavilion with Eruanna sleeping next to her. Veryandur settled for acting out, even going so far as wetting the bed once. Sorondil and Oromendil showed him no mercy in their ridicule and three Maiar were forced to physically intervene, one of them taking Veryandur to Irmo who kept him from the other children for a couple of days until the ellon began to feel safer.

Sorondil and Oromendil, on the other hand, were acting as if nothing were truly amiss and appeared to be taking things much more calmly than the others.

"If Lindorillë doesn’t beat them to it," her spouse quipped with a sour grin.

Lindorillë in fact was spiraling into a state of despair. The night of the abortive picnic she was found trying to sneak out of Lórien. Ostensibly she was on her way to the privy situated close to the trees on the side opposite the entrance to the grove. Instead, she slipped around and made her way through the woods. Her Maia attendant relayed the information to her Lord asking for instructions.

*Let her go,* Irmo answered. *We’ll see what she’s up to. Perhaps she just wants to explore.*

Lisselindë had her doubts about that but kept her thoughts to herself as she watched her charge crawl across the sward to a yew hedge. The elleth then ran down the sward until it met with another. Lindorillë stopped for a moment or two to get her bearings and to check to see she had not been followed. Lisselindë smiled in amusement at the child’s attempts to remain unobtrusive. The elleth actually flattened herself on the ground and inched back away from the crossway when two Maiar and a Lóriennildo wandered by, deep in discussion. Lisselindë gave her comrades a silent greeting and a warning which the two Maiar acknowledged without breaking stride or seeming to be aware of anything but what the Lóriennildo was telling them.

Lindorillë breathed a sigh of relief when they passed her, never knowing that half of Lórien knew where she was even if they didn’t know where she was heading. Several of Lisselindë’s companions went unclad and stationed themselves around key points of the Woods waiting to see what the elleth would do next. Some were even laying bets as to which direction Lindorillë would take and how far Lord Irmo and Lady Estë would allow her to run before reeling her back in.

Lisselindë merely snorted in wry amusement at that, shaking her head as she watched her charge with deep fondness. She had to admire the elleth for her determination if not for her intelligence. The child obviously was unused to dealing with the Powers and their servants, believing that she went unwatched even in the heart of the Lord of Lórien’s demesne.

Ah... so that’s where she was headed. Lisselindë relayed the information, snickering to herself when she ‘heard’ several of her fellow Maiar groan, knowing they had lost whatever bet they had made with their brethren. Lindorillë, unaware of what was going on around her, set off again, heading in the direction from which the Lóriennildo and the Maiar had come. She then worked her way towards the stables. There were actually elves who worked at the stables, seeing to the horses of visitors as well as the ones belonging to the residents of Lórien. Irmo issued orders when it was obvious where Lindorillë was heading and why and Olórin was sent to keep the stablehands unaware of anything. Several other Maiar were sent to keep the horses themselves quiet.

Lindorillë made her way slowly towards her goal, stopping every few feet to make sure no one was around. She was just young enough and naive enough not to wonder at the ease with which she had reached the stables, unaware that the elves who were still awake and wandering through the groves were being kept out of her way. Most of them were unaware that they were being redirected away from Lindorillë’s path, though one Reborn ellon wondered aloud why he could not reach the lakeshore towards which he was heading even though he could plainly see it. Estë appeared to him then and gently guided him past Lindorillë running down the sward. Neither elf was aware of the other’s existence thanks to the Valië’s intervention.

Finally, Lindorillë reached the stables, actually a series of stables, and she was momentarily at a loss, for she had no idea which building housed the pony which had been lent to her. She was not an expert rider but the journey had not been overlong or strenuous, so she had managed to stay in the saddle that had been provided her due to her inexperience in riding. She thought she could manage without a saddle this time. Now all she had to do was find her pony.

*So which stable is the pony in?* Lisselindë asked Olórin when her fellow Maia greeted her.

Olórin pointed to the third building back from the paddock.*That one,* he said. *The child is going to discover that none of the other stable doors will open for her. She will find her pony quite eager to see her.*

Lisselindë gave the other Maia an amused look. *The pony knows she’s coming?*

*Oh, indeed yes!* Olórin said with a chuckle. *I told the sweet thing myself. She’s all excited but I warned her that she wouldn’t be going far with her mistress.*

*I bet that didn’t sit well with the poor thing,* Lisselindë said with a smile.

*I promised her an extra helping of that mixed grains and molasses treat they all love if she cooperated. Ah... here’s our little adventuress now.*

The two Maiar watched as Lindorillë, obviously becoming frustrated and fearful at not being able to get inside any of the stables, finally came to the third building and pulled on the door, gasping in surprise when it swung open easily. She peered in, then, checking to see that no one was around, stepped inside. The two Maiar did not bother to enter, knowing full well what was going on. In a matter of minutes they saw the elfling pulling on a halter as a sweet bay pony followed her putative mistress towards a mounting block. The pony remained docile as Lindorillë clambered up her back.

"Go, pony," the elleth whispered, kicking her heels ineffectively against the pony’s sides.

The bay gave a soft nicker and set off at a steady pace in the direction she had been commanded by the Maia. It was not the direction Lindorillë was aiming for.

"Wait!" she cried out, quite forgetting her need for silence. "That’s the wrong way!" She pulled on the halter and pointed with a finger. "It’s that way, and go faster."

The pony complied with the second command but not the first. Instead, she headed down the sward back towards the lake as she had been commanded. Lindorillë nearly shrieked with frustration and fear, wondering if she could dismount, but now the pony was trotting at a fast enough clip that the elleth feared getting hurt if she tried to jump off, so she hung on, tears streaming down her face.

Lisselindë and Olórin followed. The guardian Maia looked troubled at the elleth’s plight and her aura darkened somewhat in dismay even though she knew that no real harm would come to the child. Olórin gave her a brief smile, his usual orange-yellow aura going a deep yellow-gold in amusement. *What is it about these Children and stealing horses?* he asked with a laugh. *First Glorfindel, then Alassiel, and now this one. Do you think there’s a pattern?*

The slyness of her companion’s tone forced a laugh out of Lisselindë and her own deep green aura brightened with regained amusement. By now the pony had slowed somewhat as she neared Lórellin, finally coming to a halt before a brightly lit pavillion where Lord Irmo and Lady Estë stood at its entrance waiting. At a silent command from the Vala, both Olórin and Lisselindë clad themselves, being careful to remain out of Lindorillë’s line of sight as they did. The elleth sat upon the pony with tears streaming down her cheeks, a look of defeat in her eyes.

Irmo looked upon the child with grave compassion. "Come down from there, Lindorillë, and join us," he said. "Lisselindë, perhaps you could give our little escapee a hand?"

Lindorillë gasped and turned about, noticing the two Maiar for the first time. Lisselindë gave her a sympathetic smile while Olórin held the pony’s halter. Lisselindë lifted the elleth from the pony and put her on the ground to face the two Valar. Irmo looked at Olórin with a smile. "I believe you promised this little one a treat, Olórin."

"Indeed, I did, my lord," Olórin said with a laugh, "and she has well earned it for her obedience." He cast a meaningful look at the elleth, then shook his head before giving the Valar his obeisance and with a soft word led the pony back to her stall. Lindorillë turned her head to watch the pony with deep regret. Then Lisselindë was pushing her gently forward to join the Valar inside the pavilion where they all took seats around a small table. For a long moment no one spoke. Lindorillë, in fact, refused to look at anyone, her expression bleak, her eyes dull.

Irmo and Estë exchanged looks and the Vala sighed, reaching over to where a decanter of fruit juice sat on the table and poured some into a small cup, handing it to the dejected elleth. "Drink this, child," he said not unkindly.

Lindorillë hesitated for a moment but finally took the proffered cup, not bothering to look up. She sipped on the juice — peach, as it turned out; her favorite — and something of her color returned. Only when she had finished the drink and placed the cup on the table did Irmo speak again.

"Do you mind telling us where you hoped to go, child, in the middle of the night with no provisions, not even a cloak?"

"But you are home, Lindorillë," Estë said firmly. "This is your home for the next year. Best get used to it."

The elleth shook her head, still refusing to look up. "No. I want to go home. I don’t w-want to be h-here," she stammered, beginning to cry. "L-lord Findaráto isn’t here. I don’t want to be here."

"But you are here, child," Irmo said gently. "It is where Lord Findaráto wants you to be, whether he is here with you or not. You and your brother and the other elflings will remain here for the duration of your oaths whether Lord Findaráto returns within that time or not."

The elleth sniffed and wiped a sleeve across her face. Both Estë and Lisselindë produced linen handkerchiefs at the same time much to Irmo’s amusement and Lindorillë’s embarrassment. They waited for her to dry her tears. "Wh-what are you going to do to me?"

"Do to you?" Irmo echoed. "Nothing. The question you should be asking is: What are we going to do with you?"

Lindorillë looked at the Vala with confusion, not sure what he meant. Irmo nodded. "I think I’m going to take a page out of Findaráto’s own book where you are concerned, my dear."

"Why the one entitled ‘Creative Punishments for Thralls, Elflings and Other Recalcitrant Underlings’ of course," the Vala said with a laugh. Estë smiled and Lisselindë giggled. Lindorillë just stared at them, wondering what ‘recalcitrant’ meant and if she should be concerned.

In the end, the worst that she received was a scolding from both Alassiel and Queen Elindis and then she was put to work washing dishes and scrubbing down tables in the dining pavillion. The other children were also put to work. Eruanna, still not willing to leave Elindis’ side, spent much of her time learning to stitch and was happily planning a small sampler of the stitches the Queen and Alassiel were teaching her. Veryandur returned from Irmo’s care and was given the task of working in one of the herb gardens under the watchful eye of his guardian Maia, learning the names and properties of healing herbs from the elves who tended the gardens. Sorondil and Oromendil, however, were something of an enigma to the Maiar and Irmo. The Vala finally consulted some of the Master Healers, including Meneldil, newly returned from his ‘period of meditation’.

"They are trying to be adult about the situation, my lord," Meneldil said, "believing that they are too... er... grown up to exhibit the types of behavior the other children have shown."

Irmo nodded his head. "I am aware of that, Meneldil," he said without reproof, "but I am at a loss as to what to do with them or for them. The other children seem willing to do what we ask of them, though Lindorillë still needs careful watching, but these two ellyn...." He shook his head. "Though they are outwardly obedient, still...."

"I understand, my lord," the Master Healer said, stroking his chin in thought. "Hmm... they’re children pretending to be adults." He gave his lord a humorous look. "What if we put them with adults pretending to be children?"

Irmo raised an eyebrow at that and then a slow smile crept across his visage. "Meneldil, I think there’s hope for you yet." The Master Healer merely bowed his head, glad that he had finally done something to please his lord.

Thus, Sorondil and Oromendil were taken to visit the Reborn where they were encouraged to play silly games with the elves newly released from Mandos and join in with some of their occupational therapy lessons. Both ellyn were nonplused at first, the sight of one seemingly grown up elf hanging upside down from a tree branch and idly humming a tune to himself bringing both of them to a halt, but when Meneldil, who had offered to supervise the ellyn, explained, they were both willing to ‘play along’, as Oromendil put it.

Lindorillë continued to concern both Irmo and Estë. As the days turned into a week and then nearly two with no word about Findaráto and Glorfindel, the elleth sank deeper into depression, exhibiting a listless resignation that worried Lisselindë and the other Maiar and elves who tried to help her to accept her situation. She barely responded to their attempts to lighten her burden of sorrow and then one morning she refused to respond at all.

When Alassiel sought to waken her, she found the elleth lying on her back staring at the ceiling of the pavillion refusing to acknowledge her presence. When Lisselindë called Lord Irmo, he took one look at the child, grimaced and shook his head. "I need to consult with my brother," he said before fading, leaving the elves looking fearful and the Maiar looking sad.

A note on Olórin's and Lisselindë’s aurae: Yellow is full of creative and intellectual energy and symbolizes wisdom, joy and happiness, while Orange is associated with the benign warmth of the sun. Orange-yellow imparts a sense of establishment as well as curiosity and the need to explore new things. Yellow-gold is intimately linked with Divinity.

Green is the color of nature, fertility and life. It symbolizes self-respect and well being. It also means learning, growth and harmony and is the color of the master healer and the life force.

Nienna waited another day after Tiutalion brought Vorondil and Aldundil to her home before waking the young ellon. She decided to tackle Aldundil as the easier task before dealing with the elfling.

"I know this has been a most stressful time for you, Aldundil," she said to the older elf. They were sitting in the dining room enjoying a late collation of cold meats, cheese and fruit, though Aldundil had little appetite. "First, your son’s trial and then what happened to Findaráto and Glorfindel."

"What did happen to them, Lady?" Aldundil asked, his expression one of deep distress.

"They were... removed to a place where they could not cause harm to others or themselves with those Songs of Power they were Singing." She shook her head in disbelief. "We still don’t know..."

"Are they alive?" Aldundil interrupted somewhat more forcibly than he had intended, but the last few days had seriously eroded his ability to remain calm.

Aldundil nodded. "So what happens to us now, Lady?" he asked as stoically as he could, though Nienna was well aware of the grief, shame, and fear that coursed through him.

The Valië smiled gently. "What happens now is up to you, Aldundil. This is an opportunity for you and Vorondil to come to terms with what has occurred and grow from the experience. Vorondil needs to learn more self-control and you need to learn more self-confidence."

Aldundil sighed and looked down at his plate, the food on it only half eaten. "What reason have I for any self-confidence?" he asked mournfully. "I betrayed my brother and myself and condemned my son to a life of shame and...."

"Now you can stop right there," Nienna said sharply and such was her tone that Aldundil did just that, looking up in consternation to see the Valië scowling at him. "For now we will forget whether you betrayed anyone," she said with a huff. "At the moment we’re going to work on this notion that your son is condemned to anything. Whatever... sins you may or may not have committed, Aldundil, understand one thing if you understand nothing else of what I’m about to say: your son, hideously impulsive though he may be, has no reason to feel shame or ignominy. He is a beloved Child of Ilúvatar and we Valar wish him nothing but well." She sighed, looking somewhat more rueful. "That isn’t to say that there isn’t some work that needs doing with him. You and Calalindalë did nothing to foster right reason in your son and so your punishment in all this is to help rectify that little mistake in your parenting skills."

Now Nienna gave him a wintry smile. "We’ll start with something simple and work our way up. For now, your only task with regards to your son is to play with him."

"You do remember how to play with your son, don’t you?" Nienna’s tone became more acerbic.

"We’ll let Vorondil decide," Nienna answered. "Of course, we’ll need to convince him that it’s all right for him to play. He still believes that his punishment is yet to come from me, little realizing that it has already come with banishment from Findaráto’s presence for an unspecified amount of time." The Valië shook her head, her expression sadder.

Aldundil just sat there, trying to take it all in. "I’ve been a miserable husband and a worse atar, haven’t I?"

Nienna gave him a mirthless snort. "To put it mildly, but while I doubt we can do anything about the former, I hope we can do something about the latter. This is an opportunity for you and Vorondil to grow and learn wisdom. You have it in you, Aldundil, to be an excellent atar. You just need some encouragement."

Aldundil nodded, feeling gratified. "Thank you, Lady," he said. "When will you waken Vorondil?"

"Tomorrow will be soon enough," she answered, then gave him a wide smile. "Now, finish your dinner, dear. Marilliën spent all of five minutes putting your meal together. We wouldn’t want to disappoint her now, would we?"

The Noldo found himself grinning at the Valië’s tone. "No, Ammë," he said in a fair imitation of a put upon elfling and then joined Nienna in laughter.

It was night and only the stars lit the scene. He found himself within a circle of thrones, all but one of them empty, and the person who sat in that one throne...

The ellon felt his blood freeze and he found it difficult to breathe. "Y-yet?" he echoed in a horrified whisper. "You mean... I’m going to die after all?" He started trembling and fell to his knees.

For a long moment Námo simply stared at him, his expression unreadable. "That depends on you, child," he finally said. "Now, it’s time for you to...."

The sound of another calling him pulled the ellon off the Path of Dreams and he opened his eyes to see Lady Nienna smiling down at him while his atar stood behind her. He wasn’t sure where he was, though it was obviously not his bedroom at home or the pavilion that he shared with his Master in Lórien. Still, the room seemed vaguely familiar. He just wished he could clear the fog in his mind so he could think straight. "Wh-where am I?" he whispered.

"You’re in my home," Nienna said. "Tiutalion and your atar brought you here after...."

"Master!" Vorondil shouted suddenly, sitting up, looking fearful. "What happened to my Master?"

Nienna took him by the shoulders. "Calm down, Vorondil," she ordered. "Your Master is fine. Now take a deep breath and let it out slowly. That’s it. There’s no need to get excited, child. Findaráto and Glorfindel are fine and someday you will see them again. For now, you and your atar are my guests." She stood up. "Now, I’m sure you remember where everything is. Your atar will help you with getting dressed. That splint should be coming off in a few more days. When you’re ready you can both join me for breakfast."

With that she left them alone. Aldundil came and sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his son’s locks. He smiled. "There’s a tub already filled with hot water, so why don’t you go bathe and I’ll wait for you here. Call out if you need any help."

Vorondil nodded and got out of the bed, padding to the door and making his way to his bath. As he walked along the gallery he could hear the sound of the surf hitting the beach in the distance and wondered if he’d be allowed to go clamming again.

Nienna sat watching father and son eat, or rather Aldundil was eating, Vorondil was definitely playing with his food. And that’s not the kind of playing I had in mind for this one, she thought to herself with some amusement.

"Well, here we are," she said without preamble and watched as both elves stopped what they were doing. Vorondil even dropped his knife and stared at nothing in particular. Aldundil merely gave the Valië a respectful look. Nienna nodded in satisfaction. "I think some rules are in order," she said, turning to Aldundil. "Vorondil already knows that if he wants to go outside he must ask and one of my People will escort him to wherever he wishes to go, usually to the beach, as there’s not much else around. This applies to you as well, Aldundil."

The older ellon nodded, grimacing slightly at the thought of having to ask permission like some elfling. Nienna smiled as she divined his thoughts.

"It’s a rule I enforce upon all who come here, Aldundil, be they elflings or not. It is as much for your own safety as it is a necessary aspect of your... discipline. Have you ever wondered who is sent to me and why?"

Both Aldundil and Vorondil looked up, shaking their heads. "I really hadn’t thought of it, Lady," Aldundil admitted.

"I imagine most of you Children have not," Nienna said with a nod. "My brothers tend to refer to me as the ‘Valië of Last Resort’." She snorted in wry amusement at the bemused expressions on the two ellyn’s faces. "They tend to send me the so-called hopeless cases, hopeless in the eyes of others, that is, never the Valar," she assured them. "I usually get the more recalcitrant ones."

"Is... is that a bad thing?" Vorondil asked in a whisper, swallowing loudly and looking a bit sick.

Nienna gave him a loving look and reached across the table to lay her hand on his. "Nay, child, it’s a very good thing," she answered. "My brothers are only jesting. They send me the ones who hold the most promise of... reform. Your being sent here means that they and my fellow Valar have every hope for your redemption, as do I."

Vorondil appeared somewhat mollified at that and Nienna continued. "Now, I know for a fact that both my brother Irmo and Findaráto want you to continue your studies, Vorondil, so in the mornings after you have broken your fast you will report to Tiutalion who will be your tutor while you are here. We’ll have you study for two hours and then you are free to do as you please until lunchtime. After that you will help wash the dishes and do some general cleaning chores. Once that is done you and your atar will come and see me and we will talk."

"About what?" Vorondil asked in confusion. What the Lady had said did not surprise him for it was a similar routine to what he had had when he was last here with Manwen. However, he wasn’t so sure about sitting with the Valië and talking to her.

"We’ll see what topics of conversation present themselves," Nienna replied with a wry smile. Then, she turned to Aldundil. "You, my child, will also be studying. While Vorondil is at his lessons you will be too. I understand that you work in Arafinwë’s Exchequer."

The older ellon gave her a wry look. "Not really. I find I do not care for numbers, though I do my best at what tasks I am given." He paused and stole a glance at his son before addressing the Valië. "It was Calalindalë’s idea, you see. Her own atar is a member of the department that handles the privy purse."

For a long moment Aldundil did not speak, and he gave Vorondil a sad smile. Finally, he turned to Nienna with a shrug. "Tarwen was happy enough to see us wed, I suppose, though in truth I don’t think she ever truly approved of me. Selmacas... well Selmacas always thought me weak for having forsaken my oath," he added, looking sheepish.

"How do they treat Vorondil?" Nienna asked next, fully aware of the answer but needing the ellon to express it openly for his own sake and his son’s.

Aldundil grimaced. "They don’t," he said shortly and refused to elaborate. Vorondil seemed to shrink into himself, as if knowing he was the object of contention between his parents and his maternal grandparents.

Vorondil spoke up then. "Anammë and Anatto are nice," he said shyly. Both Aldundil and Nienna smiled encouragingly at the ellon.

"I’m glad to hear that child," the Valië said. She turned her attention to Aldundil. "They never condemned you for forswearing your oath?"

Aldundil shook his head. "On the day Calalindalë and I announced our betrothal my parents both told me they loved me. That’s it, just that: they loved me." He stared down at his plate. "I never really understood," he added softly.

"Well, I don’t," Vorondil said, looking somewhat confused, trying to understand this rather adult conversation.

Nienna gave him a wry look. "But we’re not talking about you, now are we?" She stood up then, forestalling any further conversation, and the two elves rose as well. "Well, we’ll work something out for you to do, Aldundil. For now, just concentrate on being with Vorondil. Go now, both of you. The day is yours to do with as you please. Tomorrow will be time enough for lessons. If you wish to go outside, just ask Tiutalion and he will escort you." She made a shooing motion with her hands and with bows father and son left her presence.

Once gone she sat down with a sigh, idly stirring her tea. She looked up to see both her brothers sitting where the elves had been only moments before. "This is not going to be easy," she said without preamble.

Nienna eyed her brothers for a moment then nodded. "And hope is what sustains Eä."

"So Atar once told me," Námo said quietly. The other two nodded, understanding what their brother meant.

"So. Tarwen and Selmacas refuse to acknowledge their grandson, but Vandacalimë and Herendil have and apparently hold no blame to Aldundil for his marriage to Calalindalë."

"They are unaware of any significance of their son Vorondil marrying Calalindalë," Námo stated. "I also do not believe they are aware of the oaths those two pledged to one another, only the oath Aldundil pledged to them."

"Aldundil told him," Irmo explained, "for Salmacas was aware of the feelings Calalindalë had once had for Vorondil and did not approve of the match. When Aldundil approached him for his blessing, Selmacas would not gainsay his daughter but neither would he bless the union. He made it clear to Aldundil that he and Tarwen would have nothing to do with them."

Nienna sighed. "They are such dears, but sometimes I could cheerfully drown the lot of them."

Her brothers gave her wide smiles but neither needed to comment, feeling the same as she. After a moment of contemplation Nienna addressed Irmo. "You said Aldundil’s parents were unaware of the oaths."

Nienna raised an eyebrow, aware of what her brother was not saying. "Interesting." Then she turned to Námo. "When will you release their other son?"

Now it was Námo’s turn to raise an eyebrow. "When I deem him ready and not before."

"Come, come, Little Brother," Nienna said impatiently. "I’m not one of the Eldar. I need a timetable and I suspect Irmo would appreciate some advance warning as well."

For a long moment there was silence and then Námo sighed, looking suddenly weary. "I could have released Vorondil Herendilion any time in the last two decades, but I deemed the situation with his family too volatile."

"I released him the moment Calalindalë entered my wife’s demesne," came the surprising reply.

Both Irmo and Nienna raised an eyebrow at that. "Well, Námo," Nienna said, her tone one of exasperation, "you are a dear brother and I love you, but right now I could just cheerfully drown you."

Aldundil and Vorondil sat in the cloister by one of the willows, both looking uncertain and not a little confused. The older elf glanced at his son who was idly twisting a low-hanging branch of the willow, staring at nothing in particular. He gave the ellon a gentle, wry smile and leaned conspiratorially towards him.

"Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage without making things worse?" he whispered in Vorondil’s ear.

Vorondil gave a start and stared at his atar in confusion, then followed Aldundil’s gaze to the willow branch he was unconsciously mangling. He released the branch with a guilty sigh and inched closer to Aldundil who wrapped an arm around the elfling’s shoulders in comfort. They weren’t sure but both of them thought they heard a sigh of relief come from the tree, its branches rustling gently though there was no breeze inside the cloister.

"You’ve been here before," Aldundil then said, trying to distract his son, "so what did you do for fun?"

"Oh," Vorondil said. "Well... um... I mostly spent time on the beach, though it really was too cold for it sometimes, but there’s not much else to do here." He looked about, as if to assure himself they were alone, then gave his atar a watery grin. "It’s really rather boring here," he whispered and Aldundil gave him a wide grin.

"Lady Nienna told me yesterday that I should spend my time playing with you," he said.

Vorondil scrunched his face, looking younger than his years. "Wh-what do you want to play?"

"Well, I thought I would leave it up to you," Aldundil said with a smile. "After all, you’re the elfling, not me."

"Atto!" Vorondil protested and Aldundil merely laughed, hugging his son tight and giving him a kiss on the head.

"Well, I don’t know about you," Aldundil then said, standing up, "but sitting here is getting boring, so why don’t you show me around and let’s see what kind of mischief we two can get into before they catch us."

Vorondil’s eyes went wide with surprise and then he was giggling guiltily as he joined Aldundil. "I know where Marilliën hides the sweets," he whispered, standing close to his atar but not actually looking at him.

Aldundil raised an eyebrow and an amused smile graced his face, though Vorondil did not see it. "Lead the way, yonya," he whispered, "and I shall follow."

Neither noticed Tiutalion standing on the other side of the cloister watching them with approval as they slipped quietly (for elves) towards the kitchen. The Maia grinned as he relayed the news to Marilliën to be on the look-out for two thieves and ‘heard’ the other Maia laugh as she warned her staff of the imminent invasion....

In retrospect, Aldundil decided as he sat next to Vorondil on a hard bench in Lady Nienna’s study while said lady glared at them, it was probably not the smartest thing to do, encouraging his son in this particular game. It was amusing though to see his oh-so-serious child acting more like an elfling than he ever had, crawling past supposedly unsuspecting Maiar towards their goal: a cupboard on the far side of the kitchen — Naturally!, he had thought with wry amusement as he followed Vorondil in a convoluted dance of avoiding the kitchen staff. They had actually made it to their goal unmolested, but just as Vorondil was reaching up to open the cupboard door there had been the sound of someone behind them clearing their throat....

"You know, Aldundil," Nienna was saying, trying to keep the amusement out of her voice, "when I told you to let Vorondil decide on the choice of game, I didn’t mean this type of game."

Aldundil had the grace to look embarrassed as he muttered an apology. Nienna merely nodded and turned her attention to Vorondil, sitting there with fear in his eyes, something she did not want. "So, just what was the game, anyway?" she asked, pitching her voice to seem genuinely interested and nonaccusatory.

Vorondil gulped nervously before answering. "W-we were playing B-beren and Lúthien sneaking into Angamando to... um... to steal the silmaril."

Aldundil stared at his son in surprise, for he had no idea that Vorondil had such imagination. The elfling looked up at his atar and shrugged. "Master told me the story," he said, responding to the unspoken question in Aldundil’s eyes.

Neither were aware that every Maia in the vicinity was listening in on the interrogation and finding it most amusing. Nienna was relaying the conversation to Irmo and Námo as interested parties. Both of them were laughing at the image of the two elves sitting dejectedly before their sister.

"So... which one of you was Lúthien?" Nienna couldn’t resist asking and had the pleasure of seeing Vorondil go, first white, then red, as the implication of the Valië’s question hit him.

Nienna could practically see her brother Námo falling out of his throne where he was sitting in Mandos. *It can’t be Vorondil,* he exclaimed, nearly incapacitated with laughter, *he has the wrong color eyes.*

Now they were all laughing in earnest though neither elf heard. "I see..." Nienna said out loud. "Very creative of you, Vorondil, if a bit misguided." She glanced meaningfully at Aldundil when she said that and the ellon nodded, looking chagrined. "Well, since you appear so fond of Marilliën’s sweets, you may help make the next batch. Off you go now." Nienna made a shooing motion with her hands and the two elves rose somewhat reluctantly and with no little confusion.

They understood that well enough, so with short bows father and son left the Lady’s presence and headed for the kitchen. When they were safely away the Valië of Pity and Ruth started laughing helplessly, wondering what other mischief those two ellyn would get up to next.

Vorondil began learning to distill various herbs into tinctures under Tiutalion’s watchful eye while Aldundil found himself learning the art of illumination with Aiwendilmë. At first he had been doubtful about such work but soon he found he had a real talent for it and when Lady Nienna praised his early efforts he felt immensely happy, perhaps for the first time since before Vorondil’s birth. So, for a while, all was quiet and peaceful in Nienna’s demesne as Vorondil and Aldundil worked with their tutors.

*Boring is more like it,* Tiutalion opined silently to Aiwendilmë when she ventured that it was nice everything was so serene for a change. The two of them were standing in the cloister overseeing Vorondil and his atar weed the garden. The weeding was additional punishment for the attempted thievery. *I always like it when our Masters send one of the Eldar to us,* he continued. *They are all so young and it’s amusing to see them carry on so or, like Vorondil, get into all sorts of mischief.*

Aiwendilmë snickered. *I remember when young Arafinwë was sent here for a few months. I thought even you would give up on him and send him back to Lord Manwë by way of Mandos.*

Tiutalion laughed. *I almost did, too,* he said. *The only thing that stopped me was knowing how disappointed our Lady would be that she didn’t get to kill him first.*

The two Maiar laughed as they continued watching their charges, though neither ellon was aware of it. Vorondil stopped for a moment to sit back on his heels and wipe his brow. "I hate gardening," he muttered crossly.

Aldundil stopped what he was doing and gave his son a wry smile. "Me, too," he whispered, "which is why I think Lady Nienna gave us the task."

"I’d rather be helping Marilliën bake more cookies," Vorondil retorted with a sigh.

That proved too much for Vorondil, who snickered, and then, in a fit of elfling mischief, threw a clod of dirt at his atar. Aldundil retaliated by throwing a slightly larger clump of dirt back. Vorondil actually laughed and, grabbing a handful of dirt, threw it at Aldundil before running to the other side of the cloister with Aldundil right behind him with his hands full.

"Vorondil! Aldundil!" Tiutalion shouted above their laughter, trying to sound stern. "Lady Nienna said to weed the garden, not play in it." Even as he said the words, the Maia knew they were a mistake, for the two elves stopped their play and gave each other wicked grins. "Oh, oh...."

Nienna sat in her chair staring in disbelief at the two elves sharing the bench before her. The two of them were covered with dirt and twigs and weeds, their faces nearly black with smudges, their clothes filthy. Standing near the door was Tiutalion, the Maia’s pristine appearance marred by a clump of dirt sitting on his head with a single weed sticking up. Aiwendilmë had not been a victim of the elves’ assault, but she had been a witness, so she stood beside her fellow Maia trying not to laugh.

"Attacking one of my People," the Valië began without preamble, "is not how you win my favor."

"We didn’t attack," Vorondil retorted rather boldly. "We... well... er... we retaliated against unfair punishment."

"Excuse me?" Nienna asked with a raised eyebrow, not sure if she had heard correctly. She noticed that Aldundil was giving his son a strange look as well. Even the two Maiar stared at the elfling in disbelief.

Vorondil nodded. "We both hate gardening," he stated categorically as if that explained everything.

"Which was the whole point, Vorondil," Nienna said with studied patience, wondering where the ellon’s reasoning was leading.

"Master says punishments should fit the crime," the ellon continued, seemingly very sure of himself, much to everyone else’s amusement. "Making us help Marilliën bake more cookies even though I burned half of them by mistake was the correct punishment."

"Why do you say that, yonya?" Aldundil asked with some perplexity. "We never got a chance to pilfer any of the cookies in the cupboard."

"But if we had been able to, making us bake replacements would have been fitting. Making us weed the garden wasn’t." Then the ellon sighed, suddenly looking less sure of himself. "But now that we’ve made a mess of the cloister...."

"Trampling over half my flowers in the process, I might add," Nienna said with a meaningful look at them both.

"I’m sorry, my Lady," Aldundil said softly, not looking up. "I’ll make sure the cloister is cleaned up and I’ll see to it that we don’t cause any more trouble."

"Oh good grief!" the Valië muttered in exasperation and then started laughing, much to the elves’ surprise. The ellyn stole glances at the two Maiar, both of whom sported wide grins. "Aldundil, haven’t you been listening to what I’ve been saying? I told you to play with your son and let him be the one to choose the manner of play. You’re both doing what I want you to do, though I admit not in the way I imagined you doing it."

She continued staring at them, her eyes bright with amusement. Neither Aldundil nor Vorondil knew what to do or say. Nienna saved them the trouble. "So now, Vorondil, I want you to apologize to Tiutalion and then you and your atar are to go and put my cloister back the way you found it. After that you may bathe. I think we will have you eat in your rooms tonight and you will be locked in for the night as well. Tomorrow you will both have extra lessons. No more playing for a while."

She watched in amusement as the two elves tried to understand the contradictory messages she was sending them, deciding to let them figure it out for themselves. Vorondil gave Tiutalion his apology, which the Maia accepted with good grace and humor, though he was wondering to himself if he would ever live down the embarrassment of having been attacked by two Children with hands full of dirt. Then, he and Aiwendilmë were escorting their charges back to the cloister where they spent the next couple of hours clearing the mess they had made, and finishing the weeding, much to Vorondil’s dismay. Afterwards, father and son took turns bathing. Nienna relented enough to allow them to eat together in Aldundil’s room and when Vorondil asked if he might sleep with his atar, she allowed that too.

"You’re getting soft in your old age," Námo told her as the two of them sat in the restored cloister under the light of the stars, enjoying the evening.

His sister merely snorted, refusing to dignify that statement with a reply. Námo put his hand on Nienna’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "How long do you think it will be before Aldundil’s resolve to keep Vorondil out of trouble crumbles?"

Aldundil and Vorondil stared at the Lord of Mandos in disbelief. Námo was standing there dressed in a grey ankle-length tunic with a darker grey surcoat over it that sported the fountain emblem of his sister. On the outside he exuded a grave humility as was only fitting for one of Lady Nienna’s servants, but inside he was laughing at their expressions. These two Children didn’t know it but their new companion in durance vile was an expert in getting into mischief, the right kind.

"That’s correct, Aldundil," Námo said. "I will be sharing in your... er... punishment."

"But, my lord, why?" Aldundil asked, his eyes full of shock. Vorondil merely looked ill.

Námo nodded, then sighed for effect. "It seems I have more faith in you than does my sister. I thought for sure you would both stay out of trouble from now on." He gave them a sardonic grin which did not comfort them. "I guess I was wrong."

Sador, Laurendil and Ingwion found Beleg at the archery salle behind Ingwë’s palace, systematically placing arrow after arrow into the exact center of the target. When they arrived, they could see that the Sinda had destroyed nearly three dozen arrows; the entire ground before the target was littered with splinters of wood and fletching.

"Well, if nothing else, my friend," Laurendil said with a laugh when they approached the archer, "you’ll keep the royal fletchers busy for a time."

The other two ellyn snickered while Beleg merely shrugged and proceeded to place six more arrows into the target, emptying yet another quiver. He leaned towards the remaining quiver of arrows but Laurendil forestalled him, putting a hand on the ellon’s chest. "Destroying arrows isn’t going to bring Finrod and Glorfindel back," he said somewhat brusquely.

"Perhaps not," Beleg replied quietly, "but as long as I’m here destroying arrows I’m not elsewhere being... rash."

The other three ellyn gave Beleg understanding looks. Laurendil placed his hands on Beleg’s shoulders and gave them a sympathetic squeeze. "I know you’re feeling frustrated," he said. "We all are."

"It’s been over a week without word," the former Marchwarden of Doriath protested, "and the Valar seem no closer to solving this conundrum than before."

"They do seem to be at a loss," Ingwion opined, rubbing a hand over his eyes. The last several days had been emotionally harrowing for them all with the Valar being less than forthcoming as to what was being done to bring Findaráto and Glorfindel back from... well, from wherever they were. Arafinwë was nearly catatonic with grief and Ingwë refused to leave his nephew’s side. Olwë seemed to be holding up better than the other two kings and had taken over the reins of government while Ingwë dealt with Arafinwë. It had been decidedly odd to see the silver-haired Teler sitting in his atar’s chair in the Council Chamber or on the High King’s throne dispensing justice.

"So they say," Sador offered. "To tell you the truth, I think the only Vala I trust at this point is Lord Námo."

Beleg nodded but Ingwion and Laurendil looked shocked. "But why...." Ingwion began.

"Lord Námo I know," Beleg added, "the others... well, perhaps Lord Oromë and his lady."

Sador’s expression went distant and he gave a slight shiver. "Lord Námo does not seem to be available," he said, "but perhaps if we approach Lord Oromë...."

"And say what exactly?" Ingwion asked skeptically. "Is he any more likely to give us the answers we need?"

"Perhaps not," Beleg retorted, "but... I heard about the Hunt Lord Oromë called on account of Glorfindel," he paused as if gathering his thoughts. "What if he were to call another Hunt but with a different purpose?"

Laurendil shook his head. "I don’t see why he would. Lord Oromë’s Hunts are against evil creatures and while my lords Findaráto and Glorfindel may be annoying at times, I don’t think that qualifies them as being evil." He gave them all a sardonic look and the others grinned.

"Well, it was just an idea," Beleg said with a shrug, reaching down to take an arrow from the quiver at Laurendil’s feet. "So far, the Valar do not seem eager to let us help in rescuing our gwedyr. Perhaps if we were to pool our resources and talents...." He stopped as he started to straighten, his gaze fixed beyond Laurendil’s right shoulder. The others turned to see what had attracted Beleg’s attention and saw someone standing in the shadows of the viewing gallery. They could not see clearly who it might be but they saw the person gesture for them to approach. Giving each other measuring looks and shrugs, the four ellyn made their way towards the gallery, stopping when they were close enough to see who was waiting for them.

"Lord Oromë," Laurendil said in surprise and the four elves gave the Vala their obeisance.

The Lord of Woods and the Hunt smiled benignly upon them. "So you would call a Hunt, would you, my children?" the Vala asked.

"Useless," Sador supplied when Ingwion hesitated, "and we don’t think the Valar are doing enough to bring our gwedyr back."

Oromë raised an eyebrow at that and the other three elves shuffled about somewhat nervously, not willing to look at the Vala directly, for though they were all thinking similar thoughts, they had not the courage — or the stupidity, Ingwion thought to himself, remembering his cousin Alassiel in a similar situation — to voice such sentiments aloud. For a long uncomfortable moment no one spoke. Then, Oromë sighed.

"So be it," he said with a tone of finality that sounded as if he were pronouncing a doom. The four ellyn found themselves gazing upon the Vala with no conscious memory of lifting their eyes. He stared at each of them, his hazel eyes glowing with a Power they could barely comprehend, his mien grave. None of them could break eye contact with him, however much they wished, especially Sador, who was now silently berating himself for speaking up. "Tomorrow, at dawn, my children, a new Hunt I will declare," Oromë stated simply. "Be ye ready to join me. Tell no one."

Oromë’s expression lightened as he gazed fondly on this particular Child. "Where the first Hunt began," he answered. "I suggest you do not all leave by the same gate or you will arouse suspicions. Ingwion, I want you to come with me, the rest of you go your separate ways and leave the city as you may. If you are on the road by midnight you will reach the Máhanaxar before Anar graces us with her presence once again."

With that, the Vala dismissed them. Laurendil, Beleg and Sador made their obeisance, spoke briefly with Ingwion to arrange for when and where they would all meet outside the city and then left. Ingwion stood waiting for Lord Oromë to speak, wondering what the Lord of Forests wished with him. Oromë, meanwhile, made his way to the salle floor and clapped a hand on the ellon’s shoulder. "Come, my prince, there is much we must do ere evening."

They made their way through the city towards the north gate, or rather, Ingwion did. No one else saw the Vala striding next to their haryon and none ventured to stop the prince, for his expression was one of deep concentration. None realized, other than the various Maiar ranging through the city on errands of their own, that Ingwion was listening carefully to Oromë’s words as they passed through the gate and made their way up the road to Ilmarin.

"I may declare a Hunt at any time and for purposes of my own," Oromë told him, "but this is something a little different and so we must speak with Manwë." He gave the ellon a wry look. "Or rather, I’ll do the talking. You just stay quiet."

Ingwion blushed slightly, knowing to what the Vala referred and nodded. When they reached the gates of Ilmarin, Ingwion was surprised to see Eönwë waiting for them, looking grim. Oromë said nothing, merely raising an eyebrow at the Maia’s expression. Ingwion had the feeling that unspoken thoughts passed between Vala and Maia, for Eönwë nodded once before giving them (or rather Oromë) a bow, then turning to act as their escort. Oromë saw the concerned look on Ingwion’s face and gave him an encouraging smile.

"Be not troubled, child," he said. "More goes on in Aman, and indeed in Arda itself, than you are aware and we have many concerns. Believe it or not, the situation with Findaráto and Glorfindel is not necessarily our most pressing preoccupation."

Ingwion stared at the Vala in disbelief, wondering what could possibly be more pressing than rescuing his cousin and their otorno.

"But, child," Oromë chided gently as they climbed the stairs of the front portico leading into the main hall of the mansion, "Findaráto and Glorfindel don’t need rescuing. They are quite safe."

"You’ll see," the Vala said as they approached gold and mithril doors that opened silently of themselves.

Eönwë walked through, stopping just beyond the threshold and bowed. "Lord Oromë with Prince Ingwion," he announced, then he stepped to the right to let them pass.

Ingwion took two steps into the room and stopped cold, feeling faint. This wasn’t one of the smaller antechambers where he was accustomed to meet with any of the Valar, but the main throne room. He had only been here once before, a long time ago, before Isil ever rose, and the memory of that particular audience still gave him nightmares. Oromë never stopped, but continued into the room. Ingwion actually started to back up but found himself bumping into Eönwë who stood before the now closed doors.

"There’s no going back, Ingwion," the Maia whispered into his ear. "Fear not! None here wish you ill."

Ingwion could only stand there staring into the room, too confused and conflicted to truly hear what the Herald of Manwë was saying. He saw Oromë standing before Manwë’s throne, giving the Elder King a respectful bow while all the other Valar, including his own Master, looked on. He saw Manwë glance up at him and thought he saw a faint smile on the chief Vala’s face. Manwë raised his left hand and gestured negligently towards the ellon.

"You have to come closer, Ingwion," Manwë said, "I have no intention of shouting to you from here."

Ingwion just stood there rooted to the spot, memories of an earlier, darker (literally), time haunting him, sucking him into the past until he was not sure what was real and what was simply memory. He might have whimpered, he was never afterwards sure. He suddenly realized that someone was standing directly before him, blocking his view of the room and its inhabitants. Blinking away memories too deeply etched into his fëa ever to be absolved, he found himself gazing into the amaranthine eyes of his Master and swallowed nervously.

"M-master?" he said in a faint whisper that did not sound like his voice at all.

Námo said nothing, merely holding out his hand. Ingwion found himself unable to breathe properly and wanted to refuse the Vala’s hand, yet he knew he needed to do this, for his otornor’s sake if not his own. He felt the oddly comforting bulk of Eönwë behind him, somehow offering him support and taking a deep, though ragged, breath he reached out and put his hand in Námo’s. The Vala still said nothing, merely nodding in approval, his eyes brightening. Then, the Lord of Mandos was leading Ingwion towards Manwë’s throne where Oromë stood waiting for them. With a bow, Námo silently presented Ingwion to the Elder King, then returned to his own throne. Ingwion could only stand there, not daring to move, even to bow, for fear of falling over. He was too wrapped up in his own misery to see the flash of amusement pass between Manwë and Oromë.

"I think we’ll dispense with formalities for now," Manwë said, giving Ingwion a smile, "and simply assume you have given us your respect."

Ingwion could only nod and wait, wondering why he was there and wishing he were with his otornor preparing for their midnight ride.

"All in good time, child," Oromë said, placing his hand on the ellon’s head in benediction. "But first we need to get permission."

"Because you are the highest ranking member of your little... otornassë," Manwë answered, looking more grave. "On you lies the onus of consequences."

Ingwion gave the Elder King a confused look, his eyes full of questions, though he had not the strength of will to voice any of them. It did not seem to matter, for Manwë was answering them anyway.

"You know how dangerous a Hunt can be for any of the Eldar," Manwë stated and Ingwion nodded. "Even though this particular Hunt is not the same, still there may be grave consequences for you all, consequences that even we Valar cannot foresee with any certainty. We need you to be aware of this, because whatever the outcome, good or ill, we think you will be more affected than the others, given your... history."

Manwë’s expression became gentle. "Child, you remember the last time you stood before us in this very room and why." It was not a question but Ingwion nodded anyway, swallowing nervously. He forcibly pushed away the memories the Elder King’s words evoked and reeled slightly. Oromë put a hand on his elbow and steadied him.

Manwë sighed. "Then you sought to save one whom you loved more than your own life...."

"And failed," Ingwion interjected in a whisper that was barely audible, his expression blank with remembered pain.

"Not necessarily, Ingwion," Námo said. The Vala was simply there, standing behind the ellon, his hands on the elf’s shoulders. Námo turned him around. "Sometimes, death is the only means by which a person can be saved. In time, I think, you will understand, though we had hoped you would come to terms with what happened...."

Ingwion stepped back, his expression turning angry. "Never!" he exclaimed. "I will never accept what happened...."

"Then you endanger yourself and your otornor," Oromë stated categorically. "I told you before that I hesitated allowing you on this most recent Hunt and part of that reason is your attitude right now." He paused, looking unaccountably sad as he put a hand on Ingwion’s shoulder. "Child, what happened before would have happened whatever you had decided. It simply was meant to be. You need to come to terms with that because the same thing could happen again for similar reasons and you need to prepare yourself for that possibility."

"Why me and not the others?" Ingwion finally asked the one question that truly burned within him. "Is it because I’m the only one not wearing warrior braids, so...."

Námo suddenly took Ingwion into his embrace and held him tightly, rocking him gently. Ingwion tried to push himself out of the Vala’s arms but when he found he couldn’t he simply stopped and let the Lord of Mandos hold him. He did not weep or otherwise break down, merely stood there in Námo’s embrace, waiting for someone to say something or make the next move. He simply felt too heartsick and weak to do either.

"You are taking this more literally than we expected, my good apprentice," Námo chided him gently. "No one here disputes either your courage or your abilities as a warrior. We do, however, question your motives."

"Oh, Laurendil and Beleg’s motives are not all that pure," Manwë said with a slight chuckle. "Laurendil seeks justification for his Life Oath to Findaráto, believing he should have followed his king to his death. He has not yet realized that one can fulfill an oath as much by not doing as by doing."

"And Beleg," Námo then said, "seeks two who are lost, two who were his playmates in Mandos, in an attempt to reclaim his past. He little realizes that the past he is truly attempting to reclaim is the one that led to his death, when he went in search of another who was lost."

Oromë laughed. "Sador, sweet Sador, just wants his brothers back, nothing more."

"And I?" Ingwion asked with a sigh. "What do I want, if not to see my cousin and Glorfindel restored to us?"

Now Námo pushed him back from his embrace to better look at him. "What you want is to restore someone else, someone who will not be returned to you until you are ready to let him go."

Ingwion started to protest but Manwë forestalled him. "Where were you when you entered this room?"

"Perhaps I should have asked, ‘when were you?’" Manwë said. "We saw how you reacted upon entering this throne room, child." He gave the prince a sympathetic look. "For a moment, you could not tell where your memories left off and the present began, could you?" Ingwion shook his head. Manwë nodded. "So we thought and therein lies our problem. You need to come to terms with what happened so history does not repeat itself, or if it does, you are willing to accept it for what it is."

Manwë gave him a searching look. "What it is, Ingwion, is life, the way things are. You cannot go into this thinking that somehow you will be able to erase the past, if not literally, then figuratively, by succeeding here where once you supposedly failed."

"No, son," Manwë interrupted, his expression one of regret. "If anything, it was we who failed, failed you and your family, but what is done, is done."

"That is what you have refused to accept all these yéni," Oromë said then. "I have watched you, young prince, and I have seen someone who could have done more to bring healing to Aman but I fear your own wounds of the fëa ran too deeply for that."

"It is one reason you are now my apprentice, Ingwion," Námo stated quietly. "It is hoped that in time you will learn how to close those wounds from one who once suffered similar wounds of the spirit."

Ingwion could only stare at the Vala in shock, unable to fully comprehend what was being said. Námo shook his head, a slight smile on his visage. "It matters not, child. In time you will learn what you need to learn. This situation with Findaráto and Glorfindel however has sped up the timetable. It’s time to grow up, Ingwion. It’s time to put away your childish fantasies of retribution and face what is, not what you wish it to be. Only by doing that can you lead your friends effectively and do what must needs doing."

"How do I start?" Ingwion asked, wondering why the Valar had waited nearly eight yéni for this conversation.

"Well, you can start by asking me permission to go on this Hunt of yours," Námo said with a slight smile.

Ingwion gave the Vala a surprised look. "Your permission, lord? But I thought we were here to obtain Lord Manwë’s permission." He looked between Manwë and Oromë, trying to understand.

"Oh, you don’t need my permission to do anything, Ingwion," Manwë stated with a chuckle. "You are not my apprentice, after all."

Then Ingwion understood and started blushing. Of course he would need his Master’s permission to leave. He started stammering an apology but Námo held up his hand to stop the flow of words. "I grant you my permission, Ingwion, on one condition."

For an answer, Námo gestured towards the doors and Ingwion looked to see that Eönwë was not alone. Standing next to him was another Maia wearing a black surcoat with Námo’s Sun-in-Eclipse embroidered on it. "This is Maranwë, Tiutalion’s brother in the Thought of Ilúvatar," Námo said by way of introduction. "Go with him and be obedient to his commands. He will see that you are well on your way to meeting your otornor when the time comes and will have everything ready for you."

Ingwion wanted to ask just what Maranwë was going to have him do, but knew better than that. Instead, he sighed and gave first Námo, then Oromë and lastly Manwë, his obeisance before heading for the door. Maranwë smiled at him as he approached but said nothing. The doors opened silently and then closed behind Maia and Elda, leaving the Valar alone, save for their Maiar attendants. Námo turned to Oromë with a sigh.

"I wish you hadn’t indulged these Children with this foolishness of theirs," he told his brother Vala. "They have no power separately or together to effect any sort of rescue of Findaráto and Glorfindel."

"You know that and I know that," Oromë said equably, "but they do not and this way they are kept occupied and out of trouble."

Námo raised an eyebrow. "Out of trouble? Are you mad, brother? Those four can give Findaráto and Glorfindel a run for their money for finding ways of getting into trouble."

"Ingwion is the key, as well you know, or all this," he gestured to the Valar on their thrones, "would have been unnecessary."

"None of them have forgiven us or themselves for what happened," Námo said with a sigh. "I am beginning to wonder if we left it too late."

"Nay, I do not believe that," Manwë said firmly. "Rather, these recent events have made it possible for us to deal with these issues in such a way as not to arouse suspicions among certain interested parties."

"Indeed," Manwë said in agreement. "So we will see how all this plays out," the Elder King said, effectively ending the discussion as he looked upon Námo with amusement. "Now, my brother, would you care to explain just why you released Vorondil Herendilion when you did and what you hope to accomplish by so doing?"

Námo returned the Elder King’s amused expression with one of his own as the other Valar responded with quiet chuckles, as interested in hearing Námo’s explanation as was Manwë.

Yéni: (Quenya) Plural of yén: a period of time equal to 144 solar years. Eight yéni ago was the Time of the Darkening of Valinor.

Ingwion followed Maranwë down several corridors and up two flights of marble stairs before they came to a door at the end of a short hallway. The elven prince stared at the portal with interest. It was made of mithril and appeared to have no handle so he was unsure how it could open. Etched into it was an eight-pointed star inlaid with diamonds with a single multi-faceted sapphire embedded in the center. Just below the sapphire was a small scallop-shaped basin set into the door. Issuing from the sapphire itself was a stream of water that filled the basin but did not overflow it. Where the water went, Ingwion could not say, nor could he ascertain how the water was issuing from the sapphire in the first place. He had learned long ago, however, not to question such wonders of the Valar but merely to accept them. Above and below the star were etched words inlaid with emeralds. He read the words out loud, unaware that he was doing so:

"Anairë nén sinallo na envinyanta," read the first line. "Poic’ ar manwa rosta eleninnar," read the second. Ingwion gave the Maia a questioning look.

Ingwion bent down and cupped his hands, dipping them into the cool water and taking a sip, and then another. Something in the water seemed to renew his spirit and he stepped back from the door feeling more refreshed than he had ever felt. He was unsurprised when the portal silently opened and Maranwë gestured for him to enter.

"What is this place, Maranwë, and why have you brought me here?" Ingwion asked, refusing to move until he had some answers.

"It is called the Chapel of Stars," the Maia answered mildly. "It is a place of meditation and repose." Then he gave the ellon a sterner look. "And I have brought you here because this is where my Lord Námo wants you to be." Ingwion paled somewhat at the implied rebuke and nodded. Maranwë gestured towards the entrance again and this time the ellon complied.

He found himself inside a vestibule where a sunken pool took up most of the floor space. From the steam rising he gathered the water was hot. The air was redolent with the scent of linden, lovage and lavender, and Ingwion could feel his spirits rising even further. On either side of the pool were two elf-high iron-wrought candelabra. The one on the right was in the shape of an elleth, her hands held high with the palms up; the other, on the left, was in the shape of an ellon in a similar pose. Flames eternally lit sprung from their palms and the crowns of their heads. The floor was made of cool blue-grey slate tiles, restful to the eyes and spirit. The right wall was a series of shelves stuffed with towels and tunics. The towels were white, the tunics were dark blue.

Beyond the pool, separating them from the main part of the room, was an intricately carved rosewood screen. A closer examination showed each of the fourteen Powers carved in high relief, with the Valier ranged on the right while their male counterparts were on the left. Below each of the figures was a shield on which was carved their particular emblem, thus identifying them. Above eight of the figures were flames and Ingwion took a moment to realize that each of these must be the Aratar, the eight most powerful of the Valar. The figures were facing inward towards the central panel with Varda leading the procession of the Valier even as Manwë led the Valar. Each figure held their hands before them, palms up, above which was a single diamond caught in the wood; they were obviously meant to signify stars.

The central panel had a carving of the Sun-in-glory. The disc was inlaid in red-gold, what the elves called cullo, as opposed to the regular gold which they called malta. The four cardinal rays were also inlaid in red-gold while the other four were done in white gold. Somehow, tengwar flowed across the disc of the sun like molten fire, and even as one word faded another appeared, yet it seemed to Ingwion as if all the words were there at the same time.

Once again he was unaware that he read the words aloud as they flowed before his eyes: "iMelmë i rúma Anar ar i-ex’ eleni." He turned to Maranwë. "What does that mean?"

"Ah.... well, perhaps you will figure it out some day," the Maia said with a faint smile on his face. It was neither condescending nor arrogant and Ingwion took no offense. Rather, he seemed to accept it as a challenge.

"So, what now?" he asked. As with the outer door, this screen appeared to have no way in which to allow access into the room beyond.

Maranwë gestured to the pool. "Even as you were purified within by drinking from the font, so you must be purified without. None enter the chapel otherwise."

Ingwion nodded, not really surprised by the Maia’s answer, but more surprised by the fact that he was even there, for he could not comprehend the meaning of it all. He shrugged off his garments and slipped into the steaming pool and sighed with unexpected relief. Muscles he had not realized were tense suddenly eased and he felt a momentary dizziness.

"Easy now," Maranwë said quietly, leaning over the edge of the pool and placing his hand on the ellon’s head. "Take a deep breath and let it out slowly."

Ingwion complied and the world righted itself. Then, without further instruction he took another breath and immersed himself until he was sitting on the bottom of the pool. He felt the water cleansing him in a way he could not describe, for it seemed that far more than just the surface dirt clinging to his hröa was being washed away. When he could no longer hold his breath, he rose and shook the water from him. Opening his eyes he saw Maranwë waiting for him with a large towel and soon he was dried and donning an ankle-length tunic of dark blue samite shot with silver and gold thread, reminding Ingwion of the sky at midnight alight with stars. Maranwë then produced a comb for him to untangle his locks.

"Your clothes will be returned to you when you are ready to leave," the Maia said, gesturing towards the screen where Ingwion now saw the central panel split in half, allowing him entrance.

Maranwë smiled. "That is up to you. You may stand or sit or lie down as you choose. This chapel is a place of meditation and sometimes one may even be visited by visions."

"But how long am I to stay here?" the prince demanded, his face creased in confusion.

"You will know when it is time to leave," the Maia replied, "but fear not! I promise you that you will leave in good time to meet your friends at the appointed trysting place. I will leave you now," he said, and taking up the ellon’s discarded clothing, he opened the door and left.

Ingwion wasn’t sure at first what he should do, for he was half inclined to follow the Maia out, but knew that that would not be permitted. He suspected, though he refused to test the theory, that were he to try to leave, the outer door would prove to be locked. Taking a deep breath, he walked under the lintel of the screen and stepped into the Chapel of Stars. He heard an audible click behind him and, turning, was not too surprised to see that the door had closed. From this side the screen was blank of any carving. Instead, two benches covered with deep dark blue cushions were carved into the wood on either side of the door, so that the screen itself was the back of the benches. Curved armrests graced the ends by the door while the other ends were flush against the wall.

He took a moment to examine the room. The floor was covered by a thick carpet into which his bare feet sank. It was primarily deep blue with greens and golds intermixed. The room itself was perhaps twice as large as the vestibule, which was to say, not large at all. There was no other furniture besides the benches backing the screen. The walls on either side were whitewashed and unadorned but halfway along on either side were niches in which were placed tall white candles that Ingwion suspected never went out and never burned down. They provided the only illumination for the chapel. Covering the wall opposite the screen was a tapestry and even in the dim candlelight and from where he stood he could see exquisite details that literally took his breath away. He had to consciously remember to breathe.

He found himself walking towards the tapestry, drinking in the storied web. Afterwards, Ingwion could never clearly say, even to himself, what exactly the tapestry showed and in the end he was left stammering about a white rose and a single-horned animal that looked something like a horse but was not and perchance there were figures dancing but who they were he could never say. At that moment though, his soul drank in the scene like one with a great thirst. Idly, as he continued to stare at the tapestry, he wondered why Maranwë had named this the Chapel of Stars, and then he happened to look up and time stopped.

There above him was the night sky in all its glory, the stars spanning across the heavens like a white veil, sparkling and glinting in the indigo velvet night. What amazed him most was how very real it looked. Somehow the ceiling did not exist, only the sky above. Yet, he knew that beyond this room Anar still ruled the heavens, for it was barely past noon. Then he realized something else: the stars in their configurations were all wrong. These were not the stars of Spring but of Autumn. It took Ingwion another minute or so to come to a further realization: he was seeing the sky as it existed that very moment as if Anar had never been. This was the heavens hidden from sight by the bright light of the Daystar.

He stood rooted to the spot, his mouth hanging open in awe at what he was seeing, remembering of a sudden the first time he beheld the stars in the midst of day when everything went dark. Then, somehow, he found himself on his back gazing up into the stars, entranced. All sense of time fled from his consciousness. He could have been lying there for a moment or for an eternity, it mattered not. At some point though he thought perhaps he slept, for he felt himself dreaming or it might have been a vision as Maranwë had warned might happen....

He was lying there watching the stars step to their stately pavane when it seemed as if one star began to descend. As it came closer, though, he saw that it was no star but an Eagle, indeed, one of Lord Manwë’s messengers. He felt no fear at the creature’s approach until it was suddenly within the chapel with him and fell upon him, swooping him from the ground in a grip that left him breathless. The Eagle climbed upward again and flew back into the heavens until it was somehow flying amongst the stars themselves.

Ingwion could only watch in terror as stars flew by, trapped in the Eagle’s claws. How long the journey lasted he could not say, for in the infinite reaches of space time held no sway. During all this no sound or other sense touched him; he felt neither cold nor heat, or even a need to breathe. Indeed, the very monotony of the journey lulled him into a doze. It was only when he began to feel a warmth all about him that he realized that something was happening and opened his eyes. Before him was a wall of flames reaching into infinity and the heat of it began to sear his flesh from his bones. The Eagle never slowed or veered from its course but flew directly into the fire.

He must have lost consciousness, for he found himself coming to and realized he was no longer in motion, nor was he in any pain. He opened wary eyes to find himself in a garden awash in a riot of colors for which he had no name amidst flowers and trees that were equally unknown to him. Of the Eagle there was no sign. He raised himself slowly upon an elbow to better see his surroundings and froze at the sound of a voice behind him.

Ingwion slowly turned to see who was there and beheld Someone who seemed like unto one of the Valar, yet not, and he could not say where lay the difference. Sitting on a throne made from a living tree whose species was unknown to Ingwion was a Person who was male, though the ellon was not entirely sure, for sometimes it seemed he faced One who was definitely female. Never afterwards in his waking moments could Ingwion say what color was the Person’s hair or eyes. In his dreams, though, the hair was always like spun gold, while the eyes were the hot blue of a flame’s center. The Being wore an ankle-length tunic of white samite, but beyond that he could remember no other details.

The Being smiled and gestured for the ellon to come closer. Ingwion rose and, after making his obeisance, approached the throne. Again the Person smiled and it was as if his own amillë and atar smiled upon him in approval and he felt loved in a way he had never experienced before. Without conscious thought, he found himself on his knees, his head cradled in the Person’s lap, while He, or perhaps now it was She, gently stroked his hair.

Ingwion pulled himself upright in shock. "But that’s impossible!" he exclaimed.

"I can’t be in the Timeless Halls," Ingwion interrupted without being aware of doing so. "My life is bound to Arda."

Ingwion remained kneeling, not sure what to say. "Wh-who are you?" he finally asked.

The Being, now seeming to be female, smiled again, leaned over and gave Ingwion a kiss on his head. "If thou’st not guessed, Child of Mine, I will not tell thee. It is for thee to discover for thyself." Then He (yes, definitely He, this time, Ingwion decided) rose and Ingwion did as well. "Come, let us walk." The Being held out a hand and Ingwion took it.

Together they walked along a sward that was a shade of green Ingwion had never seen before. Indeed, Ingwion suspected that ‘green’ was too weak a word for what the color truly was. On either side were shade trees and flowers blooming in a profusion of colors and scents. Somewhere there was the sound of water flowing, and birds sang sweetly, hidden in the branches. Neither spoke and Ingwion suspected that his Companion was merely waiting for him to become more relaxed. Eventually, he did just that as their surroundings worked its magic upon him, soothing him and bringing him to a state of utter calm. The Being, still male, smiled benignly down upon him.

"I know thou’rt feeling disturbed, Ingwion," He said, "but I assure thee that all is well. I brought thee here so we might talk."

"That title is fine," the Being said with a nod. "I was referring to thy life. Thou’st been rather neglectful of it of late. I am not best pleased by thine unwillingness to let the Past go."

"Oh, but I do, Child of Mine, more than thou’lt ever appreciate." The Person stopped and gave Ingwion a sad smile, running a hand through the ellon’s hair. "Ye are all so precious, and I ache when I see any of My Children hurting."

Ingwion felt a frisson of awe sweep through him, but it ran too deeply for him to be able to respond one way or another to the revelation he had just received. He could only stand there trembling. The Being took him by the shoulders and gazed at him intently. There was no sense of condemnation or disapproval in those eyes, only love and acceptance, and that acceptance was so total and unconditional that Ingwion felt himself weeping, feeling ashamed. The Being bent down and kissed him on the top of his head a second time. Then, Ingwion somehow found himself on his knees, his hands folded before him in supplication. The Being, again female, took his hands in Her own, but said nothing, merely waiting for him to speak. Where the words came from, Ingwion never knew, but they felt right:

"Malyant’ antany’ estelessë cuilenya," he whispered, tears unheeded streaming down his cheeks.

"Where it hath always been wouldst thou but see, Child of Mine," the Person said with solemn joy. "Yet, I am well pleased with thine oath and sanctify it. Remember, Ingwion, the Past is just that: the Past. Naught thou canst do to change it, but the Future is there for thee to mold as thine imagination and thy will command. Let the Future hold thee, Child of Mine, not the Past." The Being smiled again and gave him a third kiss upon his head. "Now it is time for thee to return unto thy proper sphere. Close thine eyes, Ingwion."

Without hesitation, Ingwion complied and then he felt himself being drawn down into darkness and he lost all consciousness....

The elf blinked blearily to see Maranwë kneeling beside him, a gentle smile on his face. Ingwion looked about him, trying to piece together what had happened but....

For a moment, Ingwion just lay there staring into the Maia’s eyes, attempting to reconcile his thoughts and feelings and finally shook his head. "Nay, I think it does not."

"Then, if you are ready to leave, I have your clothes in the outer room." Maranwë stood and reached down to give Ingwion a hand up.

"Nearly three hours past sunset," came the reply. "You’ve been here for well over six hours. I have a light repast waiting for you as soon as you finish dressing."

"I’ll never make it to the tryst in time," Ingwion opined, throwing off his tunic and grabbing his leggings and shirt, which, he noticed, were freshly laundered.

"Do not concern yourself with that," Maranwë answered soothingly. "While you were... meditating, Lord Manwë arranged for your horse to be taken to the meeting place. If we leave within the next half hour, you will be there in time."

Ingwion nodded as he buckled his belt around him. "Thank you," he said with all sincerity.

"You are most welcome, child," the Maia replied with a warm smile, handing him his cloak before going to the outer door and opening it. "Come, food first and then we will see you on your way."

Two hours later Ingwion was walking towards a stand of trees a half a league along the road to Valmar to find his three otornor waiting for him. In minutes he was mounted on his horse and then the four of them rode silently into the night.

Ingwion iYánassë Elenion: (Quenya): ‘Ingwion in the Chapel of Stars’ [yána: holy place, fane, sanctuary].

Malyant’ antany’ estelessë cuilenya: (Quenya) ‘Into thy (two) hands I give in trust my life’.

Anairë nén sinallo na envinyanta,/Poic’ ar manwa rosta eleninnar: (Quenya) ‘From this most holy water be renewed,/Pure and ready to ascend unto the stars’. [The attested nouns rosta: ‘ascent’ and orosta: ‘ascension’ presuppose a verb: rosta- ‘to ascend’.]

The phrase is adapted from the last lines of Dante’s Purgatorio (Canto XXXIII), which thus leads the reader into the Paradiso:

Pure and disposed to mount unto the stars.’ [Translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow]

iMelmë i rúma Anar ar i-ex’ eleni: (Quenya) ‘The Love which moves the Sun and the other stars.’

This is the final line of Dante’s Paradiso (Canto XXXIII), and is perhaps the most moving definition of God ever proposed. The English translation is by Longfellow.

A note on the Aratar: These are the eight most powerful of the Valar: Manwë, Varda, Ulmo, Aulë, Yavanna, Oromë, Nienna and Námo.

Properties of the herbal bath: lavender: antiseptic; linden (flowers): healing; lovage: cleansing and healing.

The ride to Valmar was done in virtual silence. Ingwion was lost in thought, replaying his dream or vision over and over in his mind. None of the others dared to intrude upon his self-imposed solitude. They could see that something had happened to the prince in the intervening hours, but were unsure what it might portend. It was only as they were approaching Eldamas, dark in the pre-dawn hours, that Ingwion seemed to come back to himself and without preamble began speaking quietly, almost to himself, describing what had happened to him earlier. The other elves listened with rapt attention, awe on their faces at what their otorno was telling them.

"Then I woke to find Maranwë shaking me," he concluded. "I asked him if it were just a dream. Funny, he seemed to know what I was talking about, because he asked me if it really mattered."

"Do you think we will actually accomplish anything?" Sador asked. "What really can we do that the Valar cannot?"

"I’m wondering if this isn’t just a ruse to get us out of the way," Beleg replied. "Something about this doesn’t sit right with me."

Laurendil sighed. "Well, ruse or not, it’s too late to back out now. Come, the Laughing Vala is close by and the proprietor will be awake by now. If we do not linger we should at least have time for a quick bite and a chance to refresh ourselves before making our way to the Máhanaxar."

The others readily agreed to the plan and in a few short moments they were standing before the doors of the inn, giving the ostler instructions for their horses before going inside. If Carnifindo was surprised to see four well-born ellyn, and one of them a Prince of Eldamar, entering his inn before dawn, he gave no sign. Instead, he welcomed them and provided them with everything they needed. Three quarters of an hour later, they bade the innkeeper farewell and were on their way. The sky was brightening with the promise of a fair day. They rode through Valmar, Beleg and Sador slowing slightly as they came to Lord Námo’s mansion, but neither one lingered. Ingwion and Laurendil exchanged knowing looks but made no comments at the wistful expressions of the two Reborn. They paused briefly to give their respects to the Two Trees, then, leaving their horses outside the Ring of Doom, they entered to find Oromë waiting for them just as Anar rose above the horizon and a sunbeam pierced the cleft of the Calacirya, illuminating Aman.

The Vala smiled at them benignly as they gave him their obeisance. He gestured for them to approach. "You did well," he told them. His keen glance pierced them, seeming to linger longer on Ingwion, who found he could not meet the Vala’s gaze for very long. "My brethren think that I call this Hunt on a whim, to get you out from under their feet, so to speak." He laughed at their chagrin. "But in truth, this is no whim." His attitude became more sober. "I think that you four, or more especially Beleg and Sador, may hold part of the key to bringing Findaráto and Glorfindel back where they belong."

"Because they are Reborn and, as my brother Námo keeps insisting, the fëar of the Reborn seem to resonate on a slightly different frequency than you Once-born." All four ellyn gave the Vala a confused look and Oromë nodded. "You know that Eä was brought into being through Song." They all nodded. "Thus, everything resonates with an echo of that original Song, even you Children, though we Valar had naught to do with Singing you into Being. Apparently, when one of you dies and experiences Judgment, your fëa undergoes a slight modification and you no longer resonate quite the same way as before. We don’t know why this happens, only that it does."

"And you think that because Findaráto and Glorfindel are also Reborn, Beleg and Sador might be able to do what exactly?" Ingwion asked.

"That is what we are about to find out, my children," Oromë answered mildly. "Come, let us ride." With that, he led them back out of the Ring to where they had left their horses to find that four Maiar in the livery of the Lord of Forests were waiting for them, all mounted on their own horses. Oromë’s own steed, Nahar, was there as well, greeting his master with a toss of his head.

"To the place where the last Hunt ended," Oromë responded as he mounted Nahar. "We ride to the royal hunting lodge."

"Couldn’t we have just met you there, lord?" Sador asked with some exasperation as he climbed upon his own horse. "Why make us come all the way here?"

Oromë gave the young ellon a fond smile. "I have my reasons, child," he replied in a mild tone. With that, he set off and the elves were forced to follow. Two of the Maiar, whom Oromë introduced as Aldarondur and Roimendil covered their flanks while the other two, Ulcuroitar and Tirnotaurion took the rearguard. All through the brightening day they rode, stopping only twice for the elves’ sake. They rode in silence for the most part, but then shortly before noon the Maiar began to sing. None of the elves understood the words, for the song was not in the tongue of either the Eldar or the Edain. Their voices were low and sonorous and the words seemed to speak of rolling meadows and sun-filled glades, rushing rivers and gladsome trees reaching towards the heavens. The tune was such that even without realizing it the elves found themselves humming along. None of them saw the smile on Oromë’s face.

They reached the royal hunting lodge a couple of hours later to find that others had been there before them, for the door stood open and the hearthfire was burning brightly. The elves looked about in surprise, for, in spite of appearances, there was no sign of anyone else about.

Oromë, divining their confusion, simply smiled. "I had some of my People prepare the lodge for us, or rather, for you," he said by way of explanation. "Come, let us care for our steeds and then we will take our ease."

A small but adequate stable lay on the other side of the lodge and soon all the horses were properly cared for and fed. Ingwion and the other elves then made their way into the lodge along with Oromë while the four Maiar took up guard positions around it. Inside, they found a venison stew bubbling away on the wood stove in the kitchen. There were also fresh loaves of bread and a half round of white cheese. In minutes the elves were seated around the table partaking of the simple meal, for they had not stopped at noon to eat but had pressed on, knowing that they were nearing the lodge. Oromë joined them at the table but did not bother to eat, merely sitting there watching the elves enjoy their repast. After the meal, the elves cleaned up while the Vala put together a pot of tea for them.

"We will retire to the front room," he told them, "and I will tell you how this Hunt is to be conducted."

In minutes they were all seated around the fire enjoying its warmth, for the day, which had begun fair, looked to be ending in dampness. There was the hint of rain in the air and Oromë told them that by morning a storm would be passing through the area. "An excellent excuse to remain indoors safe and warm."

"How does that help us on this Hunt, though?" Laurendil asked with a smile as he stirred some honey into his tea. "Every hunt I’ve ever been on has been in the Wilds, usually under less than ideal conditions."

"This will be a Hunt of a different kind," Oromë replied. "It will not be a Hunt conducted by your hröar but by your fëar."

The elves stared at the Vala with varying degrees of surprise and trepidation. Beleg and Sador seemed less dismayed than the older two ellyn, but all of them had expressions of confusion on their faces.

"Where Findaráto and Glorfindel are you cannot go, at least not in hröa. Therefore, you must search for them with your fëar, using the bonds you have with one another and with them as your guides."

Oromë nodded. "Each of you is linked by bonds of love and fraternity to both Findaráto and Glorfindel, though in varying degrees. You, Beleg, are bound to them through your shared experiences in Mandos, while Sador is as a brother to them both. Laurendil is bound to Findaráto by the Life Oath which not even death can sever and Ingwion is bound to Findaráto through blood. All of you are bound to Glorfindel through your love for him. These bonds will be your guides to finding them and perhaps helping them to discover the way back."

He paused for a moment to let them digest his words before continuing. "My fellow Valar think I am merely indulging your whims to be of help, but I am not. I have thought about this and I think that you four will be instrumental in rescuing Findaráto and Glorfindel precisely because of the bonds of love and brotherhood you have for each other that transcend blood and lineage and life’s circumstances."

"At the moment, nothing," Oromë said. "There will be time enough for this tomorrow. For now I want you to relax and rest. Ingwion will tell you that expending the energy of one’s fëa is very tiring. Spend the rest of the day and evening in quiet pursuits. We will resume the Hunt at dawn tomorrow. My people will guard you, so have no concerns on that score." With that the Vala was gone and the four ellyn were left alone, each wondering just how they were expected to conduct a Hunt without physically leaving the lodge.

Ingwion was wakened with a gentle shake and upon focusing his eyes saw Tirnotaurion bending over him with a smile. "It is time for you to arise, youngling," the Maia said softly. "My lord awaits you and your companions below."

Ingwion nodded and struggled into a sitting position to see that each of his companions was being woken by one of the Maiar. Roimendil was waking Beleg while Aldarondur was gently shaking Sador. Further along Ingwion could see Ulcuraitor standing at the foot of Laurendil’s bed. He did nothing more than lay a single finger on the elf’s right foot. Instantly, Laurendil was standing on the bed reaching for a sword that was not there. Ulcuraitar never moved but stood there with a slight knowing smile on his face. It took Laurendil several seconds to realize where he was and then he was looking sheepish. Ingwion gave Tirnotaurion a bemused look which the Maia returned with a broad smile.

"Old habits die hard," was all he said, then all four Maiar were gone and the elves were left to get dressed on their own.

Downstairs they found a hot breakfast waiting for them. As predicted, the weather had turned overnight and now a steady downpour greeted them in the pearly-white of the day, for fog lay all about the lodge.

"I guess we will be staying indoors today after all," Laurendil muttered to no one in particular. The other three merely grinned.

Breakfast was a quiet affair. There was no sign of either Lord Oromë or his Maiar while they ate, but once they were finished and the kitchen cleaned up, they made their way back to the front parlor to find the Vala and the Maiar waiting for them. The elves gave Oromë their obeisance and he smiled upon them, gesturing for them to take seats before the fire, welcome on this damp and dreary day. When the elves were comfortably seated, the Maiar situated themselves so that each of them was standing behind the ellon whom they had woken earlier. Oromë then spoke.

"As I told you yesterday, this Hunt will be unusual on many levels. Each of you has a bond with Findaráto and Glorfindel, but you also have bonds with one another."

"How can that be, lord?" Beleg asked in confusion. "I have known Sador, Ingwion and Laurendil for only a short time and none of them did I know in my previous life, save that I knew Sador’s daeredhryn."

"Still, a connection is growing through your mutual concern for two whom you all love," Oromë replied. "You must trust in that in order for you to succeed in your endeavor."

"Ingwion will lead you, for in this he has more experience, having done something similar with Glorfindel," Oromë replied. Sador and Laurendil nodded, understanding what the Vala meant. Beleg still looked confused but remained quiet, trusting in Oromë’s words. The Lord of the Hunt turned to Ingwion, his expression more loving than any of them had ever seen on his face. "You remember how you reached out for Glorfindel’s fëa, do you not, child?"

"Then do the same with your otornor," Oromë commanded. "Reach out for Laurendil first, for he has begun training in the mind arts of the Lóriennildi and will be your anchor when you bring in Sador and Beleg."

Ingwion closed his eyes for better concentration. There was no sound save the crackling of the fire in the grate and the constant dripping of the rain outside. Laurendil closed his own eyes and opened himself to Ingwion as he had been taught by his tutors and when he felt Ingwion’s somewhat hesitant questing, welcomed him without flinching.

"Good, very good," Oromë said encouragingly. "Now, without losing your hold on Laurendil bring Sador and then Beleg into communion. Do not rush, take your time. Sador, Beleg, you must both keep yourselves open to Ingwion’s touch. Do not be afraid, for what indeed have you to fear from your own otorno?"

Both Sador and Beleg closed their eyes, their expressions blank with concentration. Aldarondur leaned over Sador, gently placing his hands on the ellon’s shoulders. "Relax, child," the Maia whispered with a smile. "Imagine yourself greeting Ingwion with open arms and with joy. Do not force the communion." Sador breathed a sigh and visibly relaxed. Aldarondur looked up at Oromë and the two exchanged knowing smiles.

It was several minutes before Ingwion, with a little encouragement from both Oromë and Tirnotaurion, managed to bring the two other ellyn into communion with him. It was both strange and wondrous, for in his mind’s eye he saw them all as Beings of Light and he was awed by what he saw, unaware that the others were seeing him and each other in similar fashion and feeling equally awed.

Oromë smiled as he let the four elves take a moment or two to revel in the feelings they were experiencing before bidding them to focus on him. "Now, listen carefully, my children," he said. "This was the easy part. This is where the Hunt truly begins. Ingwion, you are the spearhead, your otornor are your supports. My Maiar will also stand guard and lend you their own strength if necessary. Reach out with your minds, children, seek for the two who are lost, seek for your otornor whom you love more than life itself. Seek, my children, seek...."

Ingwion was not sure how he did it, but suddenly he found himself rushing away, somehow able to pass through the thick walls of the lodge to hover over the forest surrounding them. He vaguely realized that the others were right behind him, glowing with eldritch light. Instinctively, Ingwion concentrated on Glorfindel’s fëa, for he was familiar with it’s ‘scent’ from before. He was not sure what he was doing, or even how, but it felt right and he did not question it. He cast his mind further afield, searching for some sign of Glorfindel, vaguely aware that the other three were doing the same.

Ingwion recognized the ‘voice’ as Beleg’s and followed the direction of the ellon’s thoughts. Yes, somehow they could all sense Glorfindel somewhere in the direction where lay Vanyamar, though Ingwion was concerned that he had not yet picked up Findaráto’s ‘scent’. At any rate, such concerns became moot when Beleg, in his excitement, fled from them.

*Beleg!* more than one of them shouted, but it was too late. Without thinking it through, Ingwion suddenly ‘grabbed’ the other two and the three of them went after Beleg. None of them noticed that four Maiar and one Vala were in a slight panic when they saw what was happening.

"Let’s reel them back in," Oromë said with some exasperation. "None of them were supposed to actually leave the vicinity of their hröar." The four Maiar merely nodded, concentrating on capturing their wayward charges, which proved more difficult than they anticipated.

Ingwion sped after Beleg, a bright pulsating green star before him, his other two otornor right beside him. *Beleg, wait!* he shouted and felt Sador and Laurendil lending him the strength of their own wills to put some force behind the command. It seemed to work, for the bright star that was Beleg seemed to slow. They saw the Sinda ‘turn’ towards them, confusion and frustration somehow evident in the shifting colors of his Being.

*He’s here! He’s here!* Beleg shouted at them. *Why do you not let me go to him?*

*We all go together, or we don’t go at all,* Ingwion stated categorically, putting all the force of his will behind his words as he and the other two ellyn reached the former Marchwarden. *Besides, I have the feeling we’re not meant to actually go to where Glorfindel and Findaráto are, but to provide them with an anchor so they can come to us.*

Beleg’s Light darkened somewhat in dejection and the other three were swift to surround him and offer him their comfort. *It will be well, gwador,* Laurendil said soothingly. *Now, let’s see what....*

He never completed his thought, for at that instant, several things happened at the same moment: all four of them felt minds more powerful than their own reaching out to them and calling them back to their hröar. All four attempted to resist the calls as they sought to pinpoint just where they had sensed Glorfindel. Beleg, especially, was resistant and practically screamed as he felt himself being dragged back. Then, suddenly, a host of butterflies surrounded the four elven fëar and it seemed to them that the fabric of the air before them shifted and tore apart. With a mighty yell Beleg lunged forward towards the tear in space surrounded now by all the butterflies, while Ingwion, Sador and Laurendil found themselves being pulled back. Before they could offer any further resistance, they found themselves back in their hröar staring up at the concerned faces of the Maiar.

"BELEG!" Sador screamed, struggling to reach his fellow Sinda. Aldarondur was holding the ellon back and they could see that Roimendil was sitting in Beleg’s chair, cradling the Sinda’s still form in his arms, a look of deep distress on the Maia’s face. Oromë was standing over them, his own expression dark and forbidding. "Where’s Beleg?" Sador demanded, fear and fury and a need to weep warring within him. "Where’s Beleg?"

Ingwion and Laurendil could only stare in shock at the supine body of their friend as Sador continued screaming for answers and struggling in Aldarondur’s embrace. Neither Oromë nor the Maiar responded to his demands.

Daeredhryn: (Sindarin) Grandparents. The singular, odhron, means ‘male parent’ but in this context the plural would signify both parents.

Manwë did not appear the next morning or even the day after. In the meantime, Finrod and Glorfindel saw and spoke to no one else, not even Námo, though baskets of food and other supplies appeared outside their tent every morning. In fact, Manwë waited three days before making an appearance, for Glorfindel kept getting upset every time he thought about what the Valar had done to him (or what he thought they might have done to him) and he would go into a tirade, stomping away from their camp to stare up the cleft of the mountain where the road to Ilmarin would normally have been. Finrod suspected his gwador was contemplating climbing the mountain, though whether in defiance or simply out of curiosity, he did not know, nor did he think Glorfindel knew either. Námo’s revelation had shaken them both, though for different reasons. In the meantime, he held his peace, knowing that Glorfindel needed to come to terms with things on his own, but he was fast losing his patience, for he was anxious to learn what the Elder King would tell them and he desperately wanted to return home.

It was on the evening of the third day when Finrod finally had enough. As he had done the previous two evenings at sunset, Glorfindel stood on the promontory facing west, staring relentlessly at the spot where Finrod had insisted Eärendil's Star shone, though he saw nothing in particular save some faintly shining stars. And as he had done every evening he asked the same questions.

Finrod sighed, knowing what would follow. This time he didn’t bother to wait for the other questions to come pouring out of his brother’s mouth. "Yes it is, no I don’t and you’ll just have to wait until Lord Manwë comes and tells you himself."

Glorfindel spun around in surprise at Finrod’s tone. "And if you don’t stop acting like a spoiled elfling of ten," Finrod added, his tone becoming almost as cold and forbidding as Lord Námo’s was wont to be, "he will never come, you will never get your answers and neither one of us will ever go home again!"

Now it was Finrod’s turn to stomp away, leaving a bewildered Glorfindel behind. "Finda! No, wait!"

Finrod ignored Glorfindel’s pleas, moving away as quickly as he could. In fact, he suddenly felt the need to be away from his brother and the camp and everything. His fëa felt too large for his hröa and he feared he would burst if he did not do something. He headed down the slope of the promontory to the plain below them and as soon as he reached the meadowland he started running, running where he neither knew nor cared, he merely ran, initially heading west but essentially letting the topography of the land guide him. All the confusion and worry and trying to remain calm in the face of the unknown, Glorfindel’s incessant whining — yes, whining! — and concern for his family and friends was taking its toll and he just had had enough.

The stars bloomed like flowers overhead as the evening deepened into night and still he ran, heedless of his path or the tears now running down his face. He only stopped when he tripped over a half-buried rock, coming down hard upon the ground so that his breath was knocked out of him. For a moment or two, he just lay there, trying to catch his breath, and then everything came crashing down on him and he began to weep in earnest, curling himself up as if he were an elfling seeking comfort. Some part of him was appalled at his reaction but that was just a small part and he allowed himself to weep out his grief and fear. How long he lay there he was not sure. It was only as the tears began to abate that he was even aware that he was not alone. Someone knelt beside him, rubbing his back. He swiped at the tears on his face to better see who was there, turning over to find himself looking up into the calm face of Lord Manwë himself.

"Are you feeling better, child?" the Elder King asked quietly, lifting the ellon to a sitting position, but letting Finrod rest against his chest, giving him additional comfort.

Finrod did not know how to respond to that question, for his heart ached and his mind was numb. He sighed a bit, giving a sort of hiccup in reply as he continued sniffling, letting the Elder King’s presence bring him to a state of calm. He could almost feel himself drifting towards sleep and snuggled a little closer in Manwë’s arms. The Elder King chuckled and rose from his knees, bringing Finrod with him. He gazed into the ellon’s eyes, and Finrod sensed nothing but love and concern in that gaze.

"Your otorno has been something of a trial to you, hasn’t he?" Manwë asked with a smile.

"If he’d been in my service when I was king of Nargothrond," Finrod replied, "I would have paid Morgoth to take him off my hands."

Manwë chuckled at that, giving Finrod a brief hug. "And no doubt, my Fallen Brother would have taken one look at him and then politely refused your kind offer."

That set Finrod snickering as a particular image flashed across his mind and he felt himself relaxing. Manwë nodded to himself, and let the ellon go. "Why don’t we go find our favorite Balrog-slayer and see if we can’t clear some things up?"

Finrod nodded, feeling suddenly foolish for having run away as he had, but Manwë merely shook his head. "You needed release from your feelings of powerlessness and the only other alternative would have been to pound Glorfindel into the ground. I think you chose the better way."

"I would have, too, if I’d stayed there any longer. Does he not think I have not been feeling the same as he? All he could think about was his feelings and his questions without ever once considering what grief and worry I might be experiencing."

"Oh, he’s not as heartless as all that," Manwë stated as they started walking. "He is still rather young though and I think he’s been acting out more."

"I can’t keep up with him," Finrod complained. "One minute he’s acting like he’s twenty-five, the next minute he’s the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower and Eru help you if you cross him."

"You weren’t much different when you were first released from the Fëanturi’s domains," Manwë pointed out in a reasonable tone. "I believe there was one particular instance when you were swinging upside down on a tree branch one minute and then acting very much the King of Nargothrond the next when one of your atar’s courtiers said something he shouldn’t have in your presence."

Finrod blushed, though it was too dark for even Manwë to see. "Atar didn’t know if he should punish me or praise me for that."

"In the end, he did neither, and that was the wisest course for him to take," Manwë said, "allowing you to find your own way between the two extremes."

"And I should do the same for Glorfindel," Finrod stated with a sigh, understanding what the Elder King was saying.

"Unlike you," Manwë continued, "Glorfindel has had a rather rough first year since being released from Irmo’s care, so his reactions to events are necessarily colored by all that has happened to him." He gave Finrod a quiet chuckle. "In fact, I suspect your otorno is wondering if we Valar hate him, considering all that has happened to him lately."

Manwë smiled. "The truth is, we can’t keep up with him either. Námo and Irmo keep laying bets as to which way Glorfindel will jump next and half the time they’re both wrong."

Now Finrod actually laughed out loud, much of his sorrow and anxiety lifting. "I’m not surprised," he said.

They continued walking in companionable silence for a time. Finrod was surprised to see how far he had run, for there was no sign of the mountains. In fact, from the position of the stars, he could see they were walking northeast. "Where are we?" he asked.

"Ah, well, if this were Aman proper," Manwë replied, "we would just be coming to the courtyard of the Laughing Vala."

"It is and it isn’t," the Elder King said, placing a hand on the ellon’s shoulder to compel him to continue walking. "However, I am not about to explain it to you or Glorfindel. Not even the Maiar know of this place and so we will keep it a secret for now."

Finrod wanted to ask more questions but he didn’t know where to start, so he kept silent and for the remainder of the trip back to the camp the two of them walked for the most part without speaking, though at one point Finrod did ask after his family and Manwë told him what was happening back home. Thus, it was nearing dawn when the two arrived at the promontory and climbed up to the camp to find Glorfindel weeping in Námo’s arms.

Glorfindel watched in disbelief as Finrod strode away in high dudgeon. "Finda! Please, come back, gwador!" he cried, starting to run after the Noldorin prince, but something in his brother’s demeanor stopped him and he watched helplessly as Finrod fled. "Please," he whispered forlornly, "don’t leave me alone."

He fell dejectedly to his knees not sure what he should do next. For the longest time he simply knelt there, staring in the direction Finrod had fled. Finally, he rose and returned to the camp, idly adding more wood to the fire. He glanced westward and anger began to fill him.

"Why can’t I see you?" he fairly yelled. "Why can’t I see you?" The unfairness of it all, the sense of betrayal and utter confusion that he felt was just too much and he simply stood there, fists clenched at his side, and shouted defiantly, "Damn the Valar and... and Eru, too!" He started screaming in pure rage, finally collapsing to the ground, feeling suddenly weak and dizzy. He closed his eyes as the universe seemed to do a slow spin and perhaps he even fainted....

Someone was calling to him, though he did not recognize the voice and even behind his closed eyelids he sensed a brightening around him that did not speak of sunlight. He opened his eyes and sat up, looking around, and gasped in wonder.

Docked against the edge of the promontory was a ship. It was exquisitely crafted with clean lines. Its hull was made of mithril and vírin and a wavering flame, pure and bright, filled it. There was no sign of a helmsman nor were there any sails.

*Get in the ship, Child of Mine,* he heard in his mind and wonder turned instantly to fear, for he knew not what it might portend. *Fear not, best beloved,* the mysterious voice said. *No harm will come to thee.*

Slowly, Glorfindel stood and walked towards the ship, noticing that a gangplank spanned the gap between ship and cliff’s edge. He found himself boarding, walking as if in a daze. He thought perhaps he was dreaming, for there was an element of unreality to it all, yet the ship felt solid enough under his feet.

As soon as he stepped upon the deck, the gangplank somehow disappeared and, before he could comprehend what was happening, the ship smoothly set sail. Glorfindel panicked at that moment, flinging himself at the railing, meaning to jump ship, but to his horror he could no longer see the campsite; the ship was already sailing above the clouds.

He screamed at the sight of the earth vanishing into the night as the ship climbed towards the stars. He clung to the railing and he found himself becoming violently ill. When he had emptied his stomach, he collapsed onto the deck, cowering and weeping quietly. He felt someone stroking his head though there was no one there that he could see.

*Be at peace, Child of Mine,* the voice said gently. *All is well. Go thou to the barrel near the center mast and drink of its contents. It will help settle thy stomach.*

Glorfindel didn’t trust himself to stand up, so he crawled across the smooth deck towards the barrel where he found a silver ladle hanging from its side by a nail. He stood up shakily and plunged the ladle into what appeared to be water. There was a faint glow about it as if it were reflecting the starlight that now surrounded the ship. Glorfindel took a cautious sip and sighed. It was indeed water, pure and sweet and tasting of summer. He drank more deeply until he had his fill and felt both calmer and lighter of spirit. He did not notice that the flame that seemed to fill the ship, though never burning it, now enveloped him more fully, warming him and comforting him, though he knew it not. He replaced the ladle and looked about him, wondering why he was alone on the ship.

Glorfindel was tempted to make a biting remark at that statement but stopped himself in time, giving a shrug and working his way forward to where the helm was. He was sailing amongst the stars and he wondered why he was not gibbering in a corner in fear.

*That would hardly do,* the voice said with a chuckle. *It’s rather difficult to hold a conversation with someone who is gibbering.*

Glorfindel had to smile at that, then he ventured to speak his own thoughts. "Who are you? Where am I going?"

*All in good time, Child of Mine,* came the reply and Glorfindel sighed, recognizing the tone. It was the same one Lord Námo used or even Ingwë and he knew he would get no further answers. He remained by the helm and watched the universe slip by, his eyes drinking in wonders beyond his ken. Soon, however, he found himself yawning and feeling sleepy.

*Rest,* came the voice. *The voyage is long. I will wake thee when thou’st arrived.*

"Arrive where?" he asked, trying to stifle another yawn. He discovered a pallet and blankets nearby and stumbled to them, curling up. He was asleep before he ever heard the answer, if any was ever given. Thus, he was unaware when the ship sailed serenely through a wall of flames that reached into infinity....

The feeling of being gently rocked woke him and he was amazed that he had slept with his eyes closed. He sat up and looked around but saw nothing except the ship. Standing and going to the railing he saw that the ship was now sailing on water, water so clear he could see to the very bottom. Light was all around but there was no sun. He wondered how the ship could move without sails to catch the breeze that smelled, not of salt, but of... something green, he decided, though he could not put a name to it. He did not feel any hunger but realized he was thirsty again, so he made his way aft to the barrel and drank some more water, feeling refreshed as he had never felt before.

Now the ship was sailing through a garden of water lilies, bright yellow against dark green lily pads. They did not seem to impede the ship which sailed through them with silent grace. And that was what Glorfindel began to notice — the absolute silence that surrounded him. There was not even the swish of waves hitting the side of the ship as it sliced through the water. He felt disinclined to speak out loud and tried to make as little noise as possible as he returned to the helm.

Ahead he espied what appeared to be land and soon the ship ran aground upon a beach of purest white sand and he saw a mountain towering behind the dunes. Strange trees with wide fronds rather than true leaves covered the ground between the beach and the mountain. Glorfindel simply stood there drinking it all in, not sure what else to do, for there was no one in sight.

*The water is shallow,* he finally heard the voice bespeak him. *Come ashore and make for the mountain.*

There was an air of command to the tone of the speaker that brooked no dissent and Glorfindel found himself leaping over the railing into the water, which came to his waist. It was warm and he felt almost as if he were wading through liquid sunlight and was unsurprised, when, upon reaching the shore, he found himself still dry. He shaded his eyes against the bright glare and noticed a break in the heavy foliage indicating a possible path. He made his way towards it and soon found himself walking a narrow way between the strange trees. All about him were huge flowers, mostly red in color, but sometimes yellow shading towards orange. They were like no flowers he had ever seen before and he stopped to sniff one. Its scent was spicy and it tickled his nose. Continuing, he began to notice movement in the trees and saw birds, small with iridescent green plumes and absurdly blue legs. Their tails were elongated and their song was high and sweet. Then a host of butterflies floated serenely across his path, disappearing into the dense forest.

The path climbed towards the mountain, a jagged purple spire, its lower slopes covered with forest. Across the face of the mountain the path wound its way upward and soon he realized that he was on an island. As he made his way around the mountainside he could see the grey ship sitting quietly in what he now could see was a shallow cove. Upward he climbed until he was about halfway to the summit and found himself facing the entrance to a cave.

He stopped, not sure he really wanted to enter the dark, but he sensed a gentle caress upon his cheek that had nothing to do with what little breeze there was and he knew there was naught to fear. Squaring his shoulders he entered the cave and sighed with relief at the sudden coolness. His eyes took a few minutes to adjust and then he realized that the cave was far from dark, though its light was much dimmer than the outside. Neither was it a cave, but an immense cavern.

He stood in amazement at the beauty he saw there, the exquisitely fluted columns carved in the likeness of giant trees and the gems that glittered on the ceiling like stars. He remembered the descriptions of Menegroth and Nargothrond that Finrod had given him and had the feeling that their beauty paled in comparison. As he walked further into the cavern he saw that light streamed from above and realized the mountain was hollow. In the center of the cavern, bathed with light was a table covered with white linen. On the table was a single crystal decanter and a goblet. There were two chairs and one was occupied.

Glorfindel had a sudden memory of the Elder King sitting under an arbor in the Gardens of the Reborn and for a brief second wondered if this were Lord Manwë, but then the figure gestured him forward and spoke, and he realized it was not. "Come closer, Child of Mine, and join Me."

He ventured closer and saw Someone who had the appearance of one of the Valar, but not. He saw one whose hair was the shade of burnished copper, his eyes the deep green of Ulmo’s realm. He wore a floor-length tunic of figured silk that seemed mostly blue, though Glorfindel detected shades of rose and violet and yellow that seemed to shift in no discernable pattern, reminding him of the iridescent robe Lord Manwë had worn the day he sent Glorfindel to Lórien.

Instinctively, he gave the Being a bow and straightening found himself looking into eyes the color of topaz and now the Person’s hair was a dark mahogany that sparkled with gems. The tunic was still blue though, and Glorfindel sighed with relief. The Being smiled and gestured for him to take a seat and poured some wine from the decanter into the crystal goblet.

"Drink and be refreshed," He said and Glorfindel did as he was told, savoring the cool wine as it slid smoothly down his throat. The Being now sported hair the color of ripened wheat while the eyes were now the blue of a summer sky. The tunic had also changed from blue to a deep brown shot with threads of gold. The face, however, remained the same, as did the smile.

"I know thou hast many questions, Glorfindel," He said, "but I did not bring thee here to be questioned by thee."

"Because I wished to speak to thee face to face, although, that is not strictly true."

Glorfindel gave his Companion a confused look and was rewarded with a brilliant smile framed by hair the black of midnight with eyes grey as a winter sky. Now the tunic was also black, trimmed with diamonds.

"What thou’rt experiencing is not real," the Person said. "Or rather it is an order of reality that thy conscious mind is unable to accept. All that thou’rt seeing is a construct for thy benefit."

"Then, I never left the promontory, did I?" the ellon asked, feeling somehow cheated.

"I never said that," came the answer. "I said thy conscious mind is unable to accept this reality, but thy fëa can."

Glorfindel stood up in surprise. "I’m here in fëa?" he exclaimed. "You mean I’m dead?"

The Being raised a hand. "Nay, Glorfindel, put thy mind at ease on that score. Thou’rt not dead, far from it. Now sit down and listen to what I would say to thee."

Glorfindel sat, only slightly mollified. He took another sip or two of the wine and found himself calming. The Person nodded in satisfaction. "That is better," He said, His eyes now a warm hazel while His hair was white as snow. The tunic was also white trimmed with sapphires. "I think we need an understanding, thou and I."

"L-lord Námo said the same thing," Glorfindel remarked, looking somewhat fearful, wondering if he was about to be chastised for his recent behavior. He well remembered his reaction the last time Lord Námo had reprimanded him.

"My son hath learnt his own lessons well," the Being said with a gentle smile and Glorfindel felt his eyebrows rise at that, dimly beginning to understand just Who was sitting across from him. "I know thou’rt angry at My sons and daughters for what they did to thee, hiding the knowledge of Eärendil from thee as they did. They had their reasons and I did not forbid it, though I knew it would avail them naught in the end."

"But why?" Glorfindel demanded plaintively. "Why did they... what did they do, exactly?"

"I will leave it to My vice-gerent to explain it to thee, Child of Mine," the Being said, now dressed in shades of gold and scarlet while His hair was the color of fire and His eyes were the purple of amethysts. "What I will say to thee is this: put aside thine anger. Neither thy rage nor thy cursing doth thee credit, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel glowered at his wine, not wishing to give up his indignation at what had been done to him. He felt violated in a way that was different from what he had felt at the hands of Tulcaner and his lackeys. "They raped me," he said as tears threatened.

"Nay, Child of Mine, they did not. What they did do was seek to protect thee from thyself and thine oaths." The Being reached over and put a finger under Glorfindel’s chin, making him look up. Glorfindel saw nothing but love in the blue-green eyes staring back at him. "Thou’rt an impossible Child, Glorfindel. Even I find it difficult to keep up with thee. All that has been done has been done for thy good, never doubt that. My first Children do not always act wisely, but they strive to do My Will in all things. Never doubt their love for thee... nor Mine."

Glorfindel nodded as the Person released him and he took another sip of the wine. He thought about what had been said and realized that he had been judging the Valar and condemning them without benefit of a fair hearing. He recalled the times when Turgon had admonished him for being unwilling to hear the other person’s story before passing judgment. He remembered being forced to spend two weeks witnessing Turgon’s courts as they adjudicated cases and then having the king quiz him on what he had witnessed and what he had learned. He grimaced to himself at that memory. It seemed he had forgotten that lesson in the intervening centuries while he languished in Mandos.

"I would hardly call it languishing," the Being said with a knowing smile, "though I suspect my son Námo was counting down the days and the hours before he could release thee from his care."

"Sador thinks Lord Námo threw a party the day I left," Glorfindel retorted with a grin.

His Companion smiled warmly, pleased with this Child, so impetuous yet giving and loyal to a fault. Glorfindel had a difficult road ahead of him, and much of it was fraught with danger and darkness, but he would prevail and in the end he would take his place among the great lords of his people.

"Thou also must not be angry with thy gwador," the Being admonished gently. "He doth not deserve thine ire."

Glorfindel sighed. "I know. I’ve been acting very childish. Everything is just so strange."

"I know," the Person said solicitously. "Yet, thou and thy brother are warriors true and ye have it in ye both to see your way through this conundrum."

"You’re not going to tell us how to get home, are you?" Glorfindel asked shrewdly.

"But what is the fun of that, Child of Mine?" his Companion said with a laugh. His hair had returned to its original copper color but His eyes were once again hazel. His tunic now shimmered a deep forest green shot with silver paling to a light olive with hints of aquamarine and coral. "I am enjoying this too much."

Glorfindel gave the Being a sour look, then sighed. Truly, why would he expect anyone to help them? He and Finrod had gotten themselves into this mess, it was only meet that they get themselves out of it. The Person stood then and Glorfindel followed suit. "Come now," He said, beginning to walk towards the cavern entrance, "it is time for thee to return to thy gwador. I will escort thee back to the ship."

"That ship," Glorfindel said with some awe as he followed his Companion out of the cavern. "Is that...?"

The Being stopped and gave Glorfindel an amused smile. "Oh, I borrowed it from him. He’s presently visiting his wife, Elwing."

"Does he truly sail through the heavens?" Glorfindel asked skeptically as they continued walking the path down the mountain and into the forest. "I think that’s a rather cruel fate for anyone, to be forced to sail the heavens alone for all time."

"Oh, Eärendil only sailed Vingilot for a short time as a sign of hope to the beleaguered peoples of Endórë while the Valar created a more permanent sign for you Children, though every once in a while he saileth it so that he might look once more upon Middle-earth which he hath ever loved."

"As I said, My vice-gerent will answer thy questions concerning Eärendil." There was that in the Person’s tone that alerted Glorfindel and he refrained from asking any more questions.

Soon they were at the cove and Glorfindel was directed to climb a rope ladder that now appeared on the side of the crystal-hulled ship. He clambered aboard and looked down upon the One, now with light brown hair and blue-grey eyes wearing a warm yellow tunic trimmed with peridots.

"When thou return’st to thy proper sphere thou’lt find thy brother waiting for thee. Farewell, Child of Mine, and I trust I will not have to arrange another such meeting between us, will I?"

Glorfindel shook his head, feeling himself go pale at the implied reprimand. "No, my lord, I... I’ll endeavor to never cause you to... er... summon me again."

"That is well, Child of Mine. Namárië, Glorfindel. Remember’st always My love for thee."

Then the One was gone, and the island and indeed everything save the ship. As before, Glorfindel found himself suddenly yawning and laid himself upon the pallet by the helm and slept. At one point he rolled over and felt grass under his fingers. Opening his eyes (and why was he sleeping with his eyes closed like an elfling, he wondered?) he found himself staring up into the midnight sky. Raising himself, he saw that he was alone. The fire had burned down somewhat and he shivered from the cold that had seeped into his bones.

"Finrod!" he called out. "Brother! Are you here?" He went over and stoked the fire so as to give himself more warmth and light. There was no sign of anyone. "He’s coming back," he muttered to himself. "It’s only been a few hours. He’ll be back soon."

But as the stars danced their stately pavane throughout the night and dawn approached there was still no sign of Finrod. Glorfindel began pacing, muttering to himself, desperately trying to convince himself that Finrod would return, that his brother would not desert him. "He said Finrod would be here, he would be waiting for me. Why isn’t he here, then? Where is he?"

There was no answer and finally, he sat before the fire feeling bereft, wondering if he had driven Finrod from him forever. He felt tears wash down his cheeks and he began to weep.

Glorfindel looked up to see Námo standing on the other side of the fire, his expression one of concern. Without speaking, he stood and went to the Vala who opened his arms to him. Thus, it was that when Manwë and Finrod showed up a few minutes later, he was weeping in Námo’s arms while the Lord of Mandos rocked him, trying to give him some comfort.

Vírin: "A magical glassy substance of great lucency used in fashioning the Moon. Used of things of great and pure transparency." [Lost Tales 2, pg. 339]

"To be mythologically precise... the Evening (or Morning) Star is a transparent boat steered by E[ärendil] allowing the light of the Silmaril to be seen." [Parma Eldalamberon 17, pg. 19]

"A ship then new they built for him/of mithril and of elven-glass/with shining prow; no shaven oar/nor sail she bore on silver mast:/the Silmaril as lantern light/and banner bright with living flame/to gleam thereon by Elbereth/herself was set...." [Eärendil Was a Mariner, The Fellowship of the Ring, Book 2, Chapter 1, "Many Meetings"]

Finrod stopped in surprise at the sight of Glorfindel weeping in Námo’s arms. "What happened?" he cried, going to them. Námo allowed him to take Glorfindel into his own embrace. "Glorfindel, brother, what is wrong?" he asked, rocking the ellon gently.

"H-he said you w-would be w-waiting for me," Glorfindel stammered through his tears, "but you weren’t here and I w-waited and waited and you never c-came back."

"Lord Námo told you this?" He gave the two Valar confused looks though his question was to Glorfindel, who only shook his head, sniffling a bit.

Both Manwë and Námo exchanged inscrutable looks but said nothing. Manwë gestured to Finrod. "Why don’t we sit and Glorfindel can tell us his story," he said quietly and in moments the four of them were sitting by the fire, which Námo stoked up. The two elves sat in their usual camp chairs while the two Valar sat in more ornate chairs that could not strictly be called thrones, though to the elves’ minds they came close.

When they were all settled with Finrod and Glorfindel supplied with mulled wine courtesy of Námo, Manwë gave them both measuring looks. Finrod’s mien was still one of confusion while Glorfindel’s was more abject. It did not escape the notice of either Vala that there was an inner glow to the ellon’s eyes that had not been there before, a glow the source of which they both recognized and of which they were somewhat in awe. It was a glow that rivaled the brightness of Anar just rising above the Pelóri.

"Tell us what happened, Glorfindel," Manwë commanded quietly, giving the ellon an encouraging smile.

For a long moment, Glorfindel did not answer, gazing silently into the flames of the campfire and sipping his wine. The others remained silent, allowing him the time he needed. Finally, hesitantly, he began to speak, his voice low and unsure. "Finda ran away," he said and both Valar raised eyebrows at that rather juvenile statement while Finrod blushed in chagrin. Glorfindel did not notice, merely continuing his narrative. "I called for him to come back but he didn’t and then I... I did something stupid."

"Go on," Manwë commanded when Glorfindel stopped, his expression more embarrassed than anything.

It escaped no one’s notice that Glorfindel had deliberately skipped over part of the narrative, but Manwë decided to let it go for now.

Glorfindel looked up from his ruminations, staring straight at Manwë, his expression one of absolute awe while tears streamed down his cheeks. The sight of this startled Finrod and he made a move towards his brother but Námo stopped him with a shake of his head. Manwë on the other hand made a slight welcoming gesture with his hands and Glorfindel immediately went to him, kneeling before the Elder King and laying his head on Manwë’s lap, weeping. Manwë said nothing, merely stroking the ellon’s head, letting Glorfindel express his feelings as he wished. When the storm of emotion abated somewhat, the ellon sighed and raised his head to look directly at Manwë.

"It was so beautiful," he whispered, sounding awe-struck. "I’ve never seen anything so beautiful."

"What did you see?" Finrod could not help asking, his own voice barely above a whisper.

Glorfindel looked over at Finrod, his face still wet with tears. "A ship of crystal," he answered. "It was Vingilot."

Finrod sucked in a breath, unaware that in his shock he had dropped his goblet of wine. He glanced at the Valar for confirmation or assurance, he wasn’t sure which. Námo’s expression remained distant and unreadable; Manwë’s was warmer, more gentle. The Elder King smiled and, continuing to stroke Glorfindel’s hair, he said, "Tell us what happened, child."

So Glorfindel did and even though Finrod was tempted to ask him many questions he forbore and allowed his brother to tell his tale in his own fashion. All the time, Glorfindel remained at Manwë’s feet, though he had shifted his position so he was actually sitting, facing the fire and leaning against the Elder King’s legs. He did not look at anyone in particular as he related his adventures, preferring to stare into the flames instead. Only as he drew the narrative to a close did he look up, staring directly at Finrod, giving him an almost accusing glare.

"Then I woke up again but you weren’t here," he said. "I called but you didn’t come. I waited and waited and you still didn’t come and then Lord Námo showed up and... and... well...." He shrugged then, his expression a mixture of chagrin and defiance.

Finrod finally moved, coming to kneel before the younger ellon. "I am sorry, Glorfindel," he said softly. "I never meant to cause you such pain, but frankly you were trying my patience and if I hadn’t fled I would have ended up strangling you."

Glorfindel’s eyes widened at that and then he grinned. "I would like to see you try."

Finrod merely snorted and rose gracefully to his feet, offering Glorfindel a hand up. The two Valar looked on with satisfied amusement, though they kept their thoughts about what Glorfindel had told them to themselves. The elves would never know that Manwë had relayed Glorfindel’s story to the other Valar, who, in turn, relayed it to some of the Maiar who had a direct interest in Glorfindel, for the Valar were ever careful to keep the existence of the tenth dimension secret even from the Maiar. Eönwë chuckled somewhat when Manwë enquired if there was anything he should know that Glorfindel was refusing to tell them.

*He cursed us and Atar,* the Keeper of Oaths told them, and they could all ‘see’ the Maia’s smile. *The exact words are unimportant, but apparently Atar decided to take a direct hand in... er... reprimanding our elfling.*

There were quiet chuckles all around at the proprietary tone of the Maia’s words.

*Elfling, indeed,* they all heard Olórin say. *I don’t recall any of the other Reborn acting this... young,* he mused. *Is it a product of being released earlier than normal?* This last was directed towards Lord Námo, the tone respectful and curious rather than accusing.

Námo sighed. *I do not know,* he admitted. *I would have preferred to allow him to sleep longer before his Judgment, but as for the rest....* He gave them a mental shrug.

*That’s beside the point at any rate,* Manwë stated equably. *I think the circumstances have caused him to regress more than would be usual for one so recently released from your care, Námo. His ring and pendant don’t seem to help keep him as calm and hopeful as they were meant to.*

*I wonder if the erosion of the barriers we placed on him has something to do with that,* opined Aulë and several of them indicated agreement with that thought.

*Then the sooner he and Findaráto are given answers to their questions, the better,* Manwë said. *We need them concentrating on finding a way back rather than screaming at us for imagined crimes against them.* The others agreed.

*Please tell Glorfindel, my lord,* Eönwë couldn’t resist saying and they could all ‘see’ his wicked smile, "that I’m running out of pages in the Book of Oaths, so would he refrain from mouthing any more curses or oaths of any sort until I’ve had time to bind a new volume.*

That set them all laughing. The objects of their discussion in the meantime were settling themselves back in their chairs, wine goblets retrieved and more wine poured, unaware that anything was being said about them. When they were settled, Manwë spoke to them.

Both Valar nodded. "Indeed, best beloved," Námo answered, "we believe every word you’ve spoken. That Ilúvatar is taking a direct hand in this is somewhat... unusual. The last time He did anything similar...." The Lord of Mandos shook his head, giving Manwë a look the elves could not interpret.

"At any rate," Manwë said to them, "you are both waiting to hear what I have to say about all this, are you not?"

Both ellyn nodded, giving him mixed expressions of curiosity, hope and trepidation at what he might tell them.

Manwë gave them a knowing smile. "However, I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night," he said. "Why don’t you two get some rest and when you awaken I will answer your questions."

"But...." Glorfindel started to protest, however Manwë forestalled him with a raised eyebrow. The ellon sighed, his posture one of reluctant resignation.

"Glorfindel," Námo said, speaking gently, "you do not realize it yet, but you are weary in body and soul from your... experience. Sleep will help put everything in perspective for you and you will be in a better frame of mind to listen to what Lord Manwë has to say."

*We can only hope,* Manwë quipped silently to Námo, who struggled to keep his expression neutral.

"Lord Námo is correct," Finrod said. "I for one am feeling a weariness I have not experienced in some time. I would welcome some sleep. We’ve waited this long to hear what Lord Manwë would tell us, a few more hours won’t make any difference."

Glorfindel nodded, but did not speak. Finrod decided to take matters in his own hands by rising and giving the two Valar his obeisance, pulling Glorfindel up at the same time and practically dragging the ellon off to the tent while the Valar looked on in amusement.

*A most interesting story,* Manwë mused to Námo as they both listened to the two ellyn go about the business of getting ready for bed.

Manwë merely gave him a faint smile. *A great many things,* was his only reply and Námo rolled his eyes, knowing he wasn’t likely to get anything more out of the Elder King at this point.

Manwë shook his head. *Go. I know you have your own duties to attend to. No doubt you will be looking in on how your sister is dealing with Aldundil and Vorondil. I will stay here.* He gave Námo a strange look. *I think Atar and I have much to discuss before I speak to the Children.*

Námo did not reply, merely bowed his head in acquiescence before disappearing, taking his chair with him. For a long while Manwë sat there in silence listening to the gentle breathing of the elves coming from the tent as they settled further into sleep. Finally, he stirred. "Speak Atar," he said out loud, "thy servant is listening."

The elves woke shortly after dawn, surprised to find that they had slept the whole day away. There was no sign of either Lord Manwë or Lord Námo. Glorfindel started to gripe but Finrod merely shrugged. "I think I’ll take advantage of the situation and go bathe," he said. In the end, Glorfindel decided to do the same, so they grabbed some towels and other bathing paraphernalia and headed towards a spring that was located deeper in the mountains. It was in fact one of the major sources of water for Vanyamar. They stopped at the latrine on the way and then climbed further into the mountains somewhat until they came to the edge of a dell in which lay the spring, welling up into a shallow pool shaded by willows and elms. The water then flowed south behind the precipice where Ingwë’s city should have been.

They took their time with their ablutions, carefully undoing their warrior braids and washing their hair. Neither felt the need to talk, so they bathed in companionable silence. When they returned to the camp, however, they were surprised to see the Elder King apparently toasting bread over the fire while bacon sizzled in a frying pan and the tea kettle whistled merrily. He gave them a welcoming smile as they approached.

"I thought to give you some privacy this morning," he told them. "I see you put the time to good use. Come, I have started your breakfast, but you may finish preparing it. We will speak after you have eaten."

The ellyn wasted no time in complying with Manwë’s request and soon they were busy breaking their fast. While they ate, Manwë set about heating water for washing the dishes. Both elves protested his actions as being unseemly for the vice-gerent of Arda but Manwë merely smiled as he hooked the pot of water onto the tripod over the fire.

"Nothing done with love is ever menial, my children," he said. "You should ask Ingwion about that when you next see him. It is a lesson he has been learning of late." He straightened from his task and gave them an amused look. "However, I will let you do the washing up."

They both laughed at that and in a short while the breakfast was eaten, the dishes washed, dried and put away and then the three were sitting comfortably beside the fire with the elves sipping tea, waiting for Manwë to speak first. He gave them both measuring looks but his words were directed primarily at Glorfindel.

"I hope that after you hear what I have to say, Glorfindel, that you will find it in your heart to forgive us our... subterfuge. It was not an easy decision to make and Ilúvatar did not entirely approve, though he did not forbid us from doing what we did."

Manwë sighed. "When you were being re-embodied, a decision was made to... suppress part of your memories concerning Eärendil."

"I think I should have Námo explain that part," Manwë said, "as he was directly involved in the process."

At that, the Lord of Mandos appeared, looking suitably somber. He gave Manwë a brief bow of acknowledgment before taking a seat in the chair that appeared behind him. He gave the two elves a sad smile. "What do you remember of your time in Mandos, Glorfindel? What are your earliest memories after your Judgment?"

Glorfindel gave Finrod a sideways glance before returning his attention to his mug of tea, thinking back through the jumble of images that made up his time in Mandos, for it was difficult to make sense of any real sequence of events in that seemingly timeless place. Finally, he looked up at Námo. "There was a door."

Glorfindel shook his head. "It... it was just a door... but it had no handle with which to open it."

The ellon merely shook his head again and Námo nodded, not surprised at the elf’s answer. "You slept for several yéni after your Judgment," the Lord of Mandos stated quietly. "That in and of itself is not unusual, indeed, it is typical of all fëar. What was not typical was that five times you woke suddenly and ran to that door, which otherwise did not exist. Five times you beat against it screaming to be allowed back, begging to return to Gondolin. Five times my People were forced to call me to send you back to sleep for you fought them with a degree of viciousness they had never encountered in any fëa."

Glorfindel went white at the Vala’s words and Finrod stared at him in surprise. "I... I don’t remember," the former Balrog-slayer whispered. "I’m sorry, I don’t remember."

Námo gave him a brief smile. "There’s no reason why you should, child," he said solicitously. "The last time it happened, I had to call on Irmo to help subdue you and together we spent some time easing your memories of Gondolin and Turgon as far as we could without doing permanent damage to your mind." Here he paused and gave Glorfindel a deprecating grin. "You were not the most cooperative of patients, to say the least."

Glorfindel winced at that and mumbled another apology. Finrod reached over and squeezed his arm in sympathy. Now Manwë took up the narrative.

"When it came time to re-embody you," he said, "it was decided to set up certain barriers to your mind. They would not interfere with your free will but we arranged it so that you could not see Eärendil’s Star and if you heard his name...." He paused, giving Glorfindel a considering look. "How did you react whenever you heard someone mention Eärendil? Do you remember?"

Glorfindel took a moment before answering, trying to remember something he apparently was not supposed to. "I always felt a thrill of something... I’m not quite sure what. I think I remember reminding myself to ask someone about Eärendil at a more suitable time and then... I guess I forgot."

Both Valar nodded. "That is basically what was meant to happen," Manwë said. "We certainly could not go around telling all the Eldar in Aman and Tol Eressëa never to mention Eärendil or Turgon in your presence." Finrod laughed outright and even Glorfindel snickered slightly at the image Manwë’s words evoked while the two Valar smiled. "You can see how that wouldn’t have worked," the Elder King continued and the two elves nodded. "So we decided to approach the problem from the other side, and simply gave you an unconscious command to ignore the strange star in the sky and to forget about hearing Eärendil’s name if it came up in conversation."

"But why?" Glorfindel asked again. "Why did you not want me to know about Eärendil?"

"Because of your reactions in Mandos," Námo explained. "Once you underwent Judgment that particular door should never have returned, yet you called it into existence five times. Your need to fulfill your oath to Turgon was overriding every other consideration. We knew that you would never rest until you knew the truth of what happened to your charges."

"But don’t I have the right to know if my sacrifice proved either worthwhile or in vain?" Glorfindel asked, beginning to sound angry.

"No sacrifice is vain, Glorfindel," Manwë retorted gently. "Whether your sacrifice gave Idril, Tuor and Eärendil the chance they needed to escape or not is immaterial. What matters is that you offered yourself for the sake of others, knowing full well the outcome."

"However, it seems that you were not content to accept that," Námo added. "Your insistence on returning to Gondolin to fulfill an oath that was no longer relevant...."

"I swore a Life Oath to Turgon," Glorfindel nearly shouted, standing in anger. "How dare you tell me that it is no longer relevant. That oath stands for all the ages of Arda."

If the two Valar were upset by Glorfindel’s words, they did not show it. Instead, Manwë nodded his head. "Indeed, that oath stands, but that is not the oath you gave Turgon. Indeed, you gave Turgon no oath at all concerning his family. You were just one of three lords of your respective houses who were leading the refugees over the mountains to safety. You took it upon yourself to see Tuor and his family safe, but you swore no oath to Turgon to do so."

"Nay, brother," Finrod interrupted, pulling Glorfindel back into his seat. "That oath only applies to Turgon’s right of disposition over you. He could have easily commanded you to remain in the city, but he did not. He did not command anyone, as far as I know." He glanced at the Valar for confirmation. Manwë nodded.

"Your oath, Glorfindel," Námo said, "was of your own making. It was how you were able to go against the Balrog when none of the other warriors in your party would."

"Your oath and your oath alone has driven you, whether you are consciously aware of it or not," Manwë said, looking grave. "It’s why you raged against your fate while in Mandos, when you should have been blissfully unaware that you had suffered any kind of fate at all."

"It’s why you rarely slept as long as you should have," Námo added with a slight smile, "insisting on waking so you could play with Finrod. Whether you understood what was happening or not, you were trying to catch up with Finrod even then, the need to leave Mandos as quickly as possible driving you." The Lord of Mandos paused for a moment and sighed. "As it was, we were forced to release you earlier than any of us would have wanted, but you were beginning to prove impossible to control and we knew we had to let you go sooner rather than later."

"But not without safeguards," Manwë stated. "Hence the barriers placed around the memories of Eärendil."

"But those barriers are no longer present, are they?" Finrod asked, beginning to understand more fully.

Manwë shook his head. "No. Apparently, shifting dimensions as you have has loosened the barriers and... and it seems that Ilúvatar Himself has decreed it so."

That gave the two elves pause and both were silently ruminating the Elder King’s words and their implications for several minutes. Finally, Finrod looked up at the two Valar. "So what now?"

"Now, you need to concentrate on getting back home," Manwë said briskly. "Time enough to discuss this other matter later."

"No, Glorfindel," Finrod said, his tone sharp. "Lord Manwë is correct. We’ve wasted nearly a week and we’re no closer to a solution than when we first arrived. We need... I need to return home. Whatever was done, was done and there’s nothing you or I or anyone else can do about it. It happened. Time to move on and...."

"Easy for you to say," Glorfindel snarled as he rose from his chair intending to stalk away. Finrod rose as well and blocked his path, his expression grim and uncompromising.

"Do you think so, Glorfindel?" he asked, his voice low. "Do you not think that I want nothing better than to castigate all the Valar on your behalf?"

Glorfindel gave him a look of surprise. Finrod nodded in confirmation. "However, now is not the time nor place for me or you to indulge in such fruitless endeavors. We need to concentrate on getting back home. Let the rest follow from there."

For a long moment the two elves stared at each other, but it was Glorfindel who finally looked away, his eyes downcast, his demeanor abject and defeated. Finally he nodded. Without looking at anyone he asked, "What do we do then?"

"Your pendant," Námo said. "It may hold the key, though we do not know how or why, but our brother Aulë imbued it with certain... properties about which Ingwë was unaware when he commissioned the piece."

"Unfortunately, Aulë refuses to say," Manwë replied with a wry grin. Both elves stared at the Elder King in disbelief.

"But, why would he do that?" Finrod finally asked. "If he knows something that would help us...."

Manwë raised a hand to still him. "Apparently he is of the opinion that you should be the ones to discover these properties for yourself. I suspect that telling you about them will do you little good. You need to discover for yourselves in what manner that pendant can help you in your present situation."

"Perhaps," Námo said with a smile, "but do you truly want us to do everything for you and give you all the answers?"

"Nor do we want to do so," Manwë told them. "We are your teachers and your guardians, not your masters. If you are to leave this place and return to your proper sphere you must find the way yourselves. We will help as we can, but... Ilúvatar has made it known to me that you are the ultimate masters of your own fates."

For several long minutes no one spoke. Finrod and Glorfindel stared at one another as if gauging each other’s resolve. Finally Finrod nodded and took Glorfindel into his embrace and hugged him. "We can do this, brother," he said fervently. "We can do this, if we remain true to one another."

Glorfindel merely nodded, unable to voice his feelings. Manwë and Námo exchanged knowing glances and both stood at the same time. "We will leave you for the nonce," Manwë said. "Remember, my children, though it may seem so to you, you are never alone. Ilúvatar Himself watches over you as do we."

With that the two Valar faded, leaving the two elves alone again. Finrod moved away from Glorfindel so he could look the younger ellon in the eye. He gave him an encouraging smile. "Why don’t we take a look at that pendant of yours. I confess, I've never really examined it all that closely."

Glorfindel nodded. "Neither have I. I’ll go get it." With that he went into the tent to retrieve the pendant that could quite possibly hold the key to their fate while Finrod waited by the fire, pouring himself another mug of tea.

Finrod and Glorfindel spent the next couple of days examining the pendant from every angle. The pendant consisted of a single tear-drop hawk eye gemstone surrounded by four carnelians, their orange-red color a pleasing contrast to the honey-brown stripes of the hawk eye. They were mounted in a silver filigree setting that looked to Glorfindel suspiciously like flames.

"I’m sure it means nothing," Finrod said when he mentioned it. "I think it looks more like a snowflake or a star myself."

Glorfindel just shrugged and stared at the pendant with a frown. The two of them had placed it on a small camp table so they could both examine it. "It’s just a pendant," he finally exclaimed in frustration. "What special properties could it possibly have?"

Glorfindel shrugged again and whipped the pendant off the table, placing it around his neck. For a long moment he said nothing, his expression blank, but slowly Finrod noticed a change in the ellon’s demeanor. Glorfindel visibly began to relax and a genuine smile graced his face. His eyes cleared of doubt, anger and frustration and he even chuckled.

"What’s so funny?" Finrod asked with amusement. It was the first time he had seen Glorfindel in a good mood since they had found themselves in this strange place.

"Oh, I don’t know," Glorfindel replied. "Suddenly everything just seemed... absurd."

Finrod nodded. "Lord Námo was very careful in saying only that the pendant might be a clue. Lord Aulë obviously did something to the pendant, but it might have only been to enhance the properties of the stones, nothing more."

Glorfindel sighed and was about to remove the pendant but Finrod stayed him with a gesture. "Keep it on you. Perhaps whatever properties it possesses will only work when you are actually wearing it."

"I feel silly wearing something this fine while camping," Glorfindel said. "I feel almost overdressed."

Glorfindel stuck his tongue out at Finrod then joined him in laughter. The sound of their merriment echoed strangely in the emptiness around them, but it was heartening nonetheless and Yavanna, whose turn it was to be on watch, smiled upon them benignly, though neither ellon sensed her presence.

Now that Glorfindel’s mood had lightened and he was calmer, the ellyn also spent time dissecting the events that led to their present predicament. They went carefully over the final match step by step in hopes of finding a clue that would take them home.

"I think it started when I began singing the Song of Power," Finrod said at one point.

Finrod shook his head. "I remember fighting and feeling glorious. I don’t think I even cared if I won or lost. I was simply enjoying our match, but then...."

"I don’t think I was there in the list," Finrod said at last. "I seem to recall seeing myself back on Tol Sirion and I was no longer fighting you, but Sauron."

Glorfindel nodded. "You were having a flashback, the way I had about the Nirnaeth and Sador had about Doriath."

"And Haldir," Finrod added. "The difference is that this time I knew I would win the contest, that Sauron would not defeat me as he had before." Glorfindel gave him a skeptical look and he shrugged. "Well, at least, that’s what I remember feeling at the time." Then he gave Glorfindel a quizzical look. "But where were you when you began countering me with your own Song of Power? I never realized that you knew any or had such skill."

"I don’t, I mean... I’m not sure," Glorfindel countered, sounding confused. His eyes narrowed in memory. "I was feeling much as you described your own feelings about the match, not caring if I won or lost, just enjoying fighting you and not having to hold back the way I did with the others."

Finrod nodded, giving him a grin. "I know. I thought it was quite amusing that everyone was complaining that you weren’t actually fighting but no one realized I wasn’t either." They both laughed at that. When they calmed down Finrod gave Glorfindel a searching look. "So you’re saying you never learned any Songs of Power?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "Oh, I knew the theory behind them, but really, safe behind the Echoriath? What need did any of us have for such things? Turgon only insisted that we maintain battle readiness, but nothing more. He put too much trust in secrecy and in the end...."

"We were doomed from the beginning," Finrod said without any bitterness. "Lord Námo warned us and I think most of us knew it in our hearts but refused to accept it until it was too late to do anything about it."

Glorfindel sighed, looking morose. "You’re right, of course. Everything we hoped to accomplish was ultimately destroyed. I begin to think we wasted our lives for nothing."

"Sometimes," came the surprising answer and Glorfindel nodded in acknowledgment. For some time they remained quiet, lost in their own thoughts, then Finrod stirred and gave his gwador a wry grin. "I think we got off the track there. We were talking about Songs of Power."

Glorfindel grinned back. "Truly, I have no idea where it came from. I remember hearing you Sing and then the words were just there in my head and I found myself responding to your Song. I have no idea where the words came from and even now I have difficulty remembering them."

Glorfindel shrugged. "Makes sense, given everything else that’s happened." He paused and gave Finrod a measuring look. "Do you suppose if we recreated the match...."

Finrod shook his head. "I don’t think it would be allowed. What happened was a fluke. If I hadn’t had the flashback, none of this would have happened. To deliberately call up such power...."

Glorfindel nodded, pursing his lips. "I guess you’re right." He gave Finrod a mischievous grin. "You realize they’ll never let us do a rematch."

"Unless suitably escorted by a contingent of Maiar and at least two Valar," Glorfindel quipped and the two of them laughed at the image his words evoked.

Glorfindel continued wearing the pendant except when sleeping. He usually kept it tucked under his tunic so it would not interfere with such activities as chopping wood, or practicing archery, for at the request of the two elves, the Valar sent them their bows and several quivers of arrows. They did not try to ask for swords, believing that such a request would be denied anyway.

"Though it would be fun to see how many of the Valar it would take to wrest the swords from us if we tried to spar," Glorfindel said with a mischievous grin.

Finrod just rolled his eyes and refused to comment. The ellyn were unaware that Tulkas, who was ‘on duty’ then, had overheard the conversation and was even now relaying it to his fellow Valar. Finrod would have been pleased to know that most of them did their own eye rolling at Glorfindel’s words.

When they were not going about the business of maintaining their camp, or practicing their archery, they tried to come up with ideas for getting back to Aman.

"There has to be a way back," Glorfindel protested a couple of mornings after Manwë’s visit. "We cannot stay here forever!" They were sitting by the fire, having just finished their breakfast, drinking their tea. Neither was in the mood to do much else at the moment for the day was dripping with rain that had begun falling the night before. They were underneath a canopy that had been there when they awoke, the fire well protected, for which they were thankful.

"I don’t think it’ll come to that," Finrod said, though his tone was a little doubtful. The lack of progress in finding a solution was wearing down their spirits and they were both becoming despondent. "Perhaps we’re looking at this in the wrong way."

"It took both of us to bring us here. If the pendant is the key perhaps we both need to be touching it."

"That’s true, but every time we’ve examined the pendant we’ve examined it separately. Perhaps we need to examine it together. Perhaps we need to be touching it at the same time when we are examining it."

Finrod shrugged, feeling suddenly weary. "Perhaps none, but it’s worth a try, isn’t it? We’re running out of options."

"Well, since no one can be bothered to help us, I guess your idea is as good as any." Glorfindel shifted his chair about so he was facing Finrod. Then he fished out the pendant from under his tunic and slipped it off his neck. He placed the pendant in his cupped hands and held them out so Finrod could see it better. Finrod shifted his own chair to face Glorfindel then put his hands over the pendant. It seemed almost as if an electrical charge passed between them at that moment. They both gave a slight gasp and stared at one another in surprise.

"See it in your mind," Finrod answered almost in a daze, his eyes already unfocused. "See it before your mind’s eyes in every detail."

Glorfindel hesitated for a moment and then closed his eyes to better concentrate on the image of the pendant. He called to mind the silver-linked chain and filigree setting that still reminded him of flames, whatever Finrod said. He saw the hawk eye stone, its banded honey-brown color warm and pleasing to look upon while the four carnelians glowed with captured sunlight. The whole of it filled him with a sense of well-being and hope.

Then, even as he continued to concentrate on the image of the pendant, something happened. A warmth began to spread from his hands up his arms, to suffuse his entire being. He opened his eyes in surprise to see that Finrod’s expression was equally unnerved. They glanced down to see an actual glow emanating between their cupped hands. Before either of them could decide what to do next, there was a strange rustling in the air all about them and then suddenly reality seemed to shift and a host of butterflies appeared between them, their irridescent wings glowing in the light of the pendant and then something else was there... or rather, someone else.

Finrod and Glorfindel could only stare in shock at the sight of Beleg in their midst, looking decidedly pale. And not just because we can see right through him, Glorfindel thought irreverently even as the butterflies disappeared, leaving behind one very confused fëa and his equally stunned gwedyr.

Hawk eye: Also known as Tiger eye or Cat’s eye. A honey-brown striped gemstone. It promotes clear thinking and insight. It also heals self-criticism and self-worth problems and is considered a grounding stone.

Carnelian: Besides easing fears about rebirth in the Eldar, it also protects against negative energies and promotes a sense of humor in the wearer, calming the temper.

Note: Tol Sirion was the original name of the island on which Finrod’s fortress of Minas Tirith stood. It was renamed Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the Isle of Werewolves, after its capture by Sauron.

Finrod and Glorfindel stared at the fëa standing uncertainly beside them, unsure what had happened. Beleg, himself, was gazing about, a puzzled look on his face.

The fëa turned his attention back to Finrod and smiled. *I found you,* he said, bespeaking them in ósanwë.

Beleg pointed to the pendant still glowing in Glorfindel’s hands. *I followed that and... and then the butterflies....* Now the fëa appeared uncertain again.

Finrod and Glorfindel both nodded. "We saw the butterflies," Finrod said, "just before you arrived."

Both Finrod and Glorfindel smiled at the unalloyed joy in their gwador’s eyes. "Yes, they were very beautiful," Glorfindel answered. "Beleg... why are you here only in fëa?"

Beleg gave them a startled look and glanced down at himself before raising his eyes again and they could see him struggling to remember what happened. *I... we were at the royal hunting lodge... Sador, Laurendil and Prince Ingwion... and I... and... Lord Oromë. He declared a Hunt and told us how to... find you. The others were right behind me but somehow we got separated.*

Finrod and Glorfindel exchange confused looks, not sure what their gwador was saying, but that hardly mattered, because just then they received several more visitors. The air about them shimmered with blinding lights that hurt the eyes of the two ellyn who were in hröa and then Lords Námo, Oromë and Manwë were there, all looking concerned.

Before any of the Valar could speak, Beleg started whimpering, his eyes on Oromë. *I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to disobey you, lord, but the butterflies... they were so beautiful and they told me to follow them, and....*

Beleg nodded, looking suddenly bereft. It was Námo who spoke then, gesturing to the fëa. "Come to me, child," he said not unkindly and long ingrained habit of obedience to the Lord of Mandos took over and Beleg — floated was the only word to describe it — to stand next to Námo, who smiled gently down at the ellon. "You cannot stay here, Beleg," he said, "you must return to your hröa."

"First, though," Manwë interjected, "we need to discover how he came to be here and what it might portend."

"I brought them to the royal hunting lodge and had Ingwion link them mind-to-mind," Oromë explained aloud for the benefit of Finrod and Glorfindel. "I intended for them to use their bonds of love for Finrod and Glorfindel to find them. I think the fact that these two," he nodded towards the two incarnates, "are Reborn is the key to solving this problem."

Oromë nodded. "Something Námo has been saying all along about the fëar of the Reborn existing on a slightly different plane of reality from the Once-born has been nagging at me and then I finally put the pieces together. It will take other Reborn to bring them back."

"Yes, but how?" Námo asked, looking more intrigued than confused. "If you think I’m going to re-embody these two again, you’re sorely mistaken."

"What do you mean, ‘re-embody again’?" demanded Glorfindel, looking nonplused. "You mean we have to die to get back home?" His expression was one of horror at the thought and Finrod’s expression was an exact mirror. Both ellyn, in fact, unconsciously began backing away from Námo and the other Valar, taking a side-by-side stance as if confronting enemies, though neither one had a weapon in their hands.

Námo, however, ignored Glorfindel’s questions, his attention still on Oromë. "What did you hope to accomplish with this Hunt of yours, brother?"

"The purpose was to use Sador and Beleg as a bridge for Finrod and Glorfindel to cross over," Oromë answered. "I never intended for Beleg and the others to actually leave their hröar the way they did."

Beleg stared at Manwë, somewhat in awe of the Elder King, and did not answer immediately. *I am not sure, Lord,* he finally answered hesitantly. *I... I could somehow sense Glorfindel but not Finrod and yet....*

Beleg looked up at the Lord of Mandos. *I think it was the pendant,* he answered, pointing at the now quiescent jewels that Glorfindel still held. *I think that’s what drew me here... wherever here is.*

Oromë nodded and gave Námo a wry smile. "You’ve been saying all along that Aulë’s pendant was the key. Perhaps we should bring him into this discussion as well."

Almost as soon as he finished speaking, there was another shimmering of lights and then the Smith of Arda stood before them. "What’s this about the pendant?"

Námo merely pointed to where Glorfindel was standing and Aulë gave the ellon an amused glance. "Hmph... never thought it would work."

"Never thought what would work?" Manwë asked. His tone was mild but the other Valar all recognized that this was their Elder King speaking, not their Elder Brother in Atar’s Thought, and the elves were surprised to see them straighten.

"When Ingwë commissioned the piece," Aulë explained, "something told me it would be wise to imbue it with certain properties other than its usual ones."

"I guess," he gave them a wry grin, "though in truth at the time I merely followed the prompting of my heart and really didn’t question whence it came."

Aulë spread his hands and looked apologetic. "That’s just it. I have no idea. I simply imbued it with part of my power but nothing specific, yet I knew, even as I was doing so, the pendant was being charged for a certain purpose."

"On the contrary," Manwë objected. "It gets us that much closer to a solution."

Námo nodded. "Until Finrod and Glorfindel actually examined the pendant together, nothing happened. Only when they did so, coinciding with the other ellyn searching for them through their fëar, did we see any kind of result."

*And don’t forget the butterflies,* Beleg added, his tone one of awe and delight at the memory of them.

Námo smiled down at the fëa and nodded. "The butterflies are also part of the key." He looked up at his fellow Valar. "Remember the nermir?"

"That is how we found you when you were lost," Manwë said with a smile and the other Valar nodded in agreement, while the three elves, who seemed to have been forgotten, just stared at Námo in surprise and confusion. Manwë turned to Oromë. "What’s happening back at the lodge?"

"Roimendil is maintaining Beleg’s hröa while my other Maiar are trying to calm the Children down," Oromë replied. "Sador, especially, is upset."

"And we need him to be calm if we’re to do this," Námo said. "I’ll go speak to him. Oromë, keep an eye on Beleg. If he shows any sign of distress, alert me."

*Am I going to die again, lord?* Beleg asked Námo with some concern. Námo gave him a gentle smile.

"No, child, but it is too dangerous for you to be outside your hröa for very long. You and Sador are the bridge that will allow your gwedyr to return to you, but we can do nothing until he is calm. Stay close to Oromë until I return."

"Tell Sador from me to stop making a scene and listen to what you have to say," Finrod spoke up just then giving the Lord of Mandos a knowing look. Námo raised an eyebrow at that but made no comment as he faded from view.

For a long moment no one else said anything, then Glorfindel sighed, staring ruefully down at his pendant. "I think I should have just stayed in Mandos," he uttered with a slight scowl.

Finrod put an arm around his shoulders and kissed him on the brow. "But just think of all the fun you would’ve missed otherwise," he said with a grin. Glorfindel gave him a jaundiced look, while Beleg snickered and the Valar smiled indulgently.

Námo emerged into a scene of complete chaos. Roimendil was still seated with Beleg’s motionless body in his arms, though the Lord of Mandos could see that the elf continued to breathe, albeit very slowly, an indication that there was still a connection between hröa and fëa. Laurendil, Ingwion and Sador were all shouting angrily at three other Maiar who were attempting to calm them down without success.

The noise level dropped immediately and the three elves stared at Námo in shock and not a little fear, for the Lord of Mandos was frowning and that was never a good sign. The four Maiar actually looked relieved and gave Námo their obeisance, although Roimendil was only able to give an abbreviated bow, still encumbered with Beleg’s hröa. Námo acknowledged the Maiar’s bows with a nod of his head and then pointedly stared at the three ellyn, who belatedly gave him their own obeisance.

"That’s better," Námo said in a voice as cold as any sepulchre. "Aldarondur, make us some tea," he ordered the Maia, who bowed and made his way to the kitchen. "Laurendil, Ingwion, take a walk and clear your heads. Don’t come back until you are calmer. Ulcuroitar, Tirnotaurion, go with them."

The two Maiar bowed and herded the two ellyn out the door. By now the rain had lessened so it was not as wet as it had been earlier. Neither Laurendil nor Ingwion bothered with cloaks as they left. Sador could not take his eyes off Námo, however much he wanted to. Námo, for his part, ignored the ellon for the moment, bending down to check on Beleg’s condition and to speak softly to the Maia. Roimendil nodded and rose, carrying his charge up the stairs to the loft, presumably to put him to bed. Now Sador was alone with the Lord of Mandos, who gave the ellon his full attention.

"I know you are upset," Námo said somewhat coldly, "and understandably so, but your hysterics will not help Beleg or your gwedyr."

Sador felt himself redden in embarrassment and he cringed slightly at the Vala’s tone. "I’m sorry," he whispered. "Please, where’s Beleg? Is... is he dead?"

Námo sighed and placed his hands on Sador’s shoulders. "No, child, he is not dead, but he soon will be if we do not hurry."

Námo shook his head. "Not important at the moment. What is important is that you and Laurendil and Ingwion need to remain calm if we are to help Beleg as well as Finrod and Glorfindel. Ah... here’s Aldarondur with the tea."

The Maia entered with a tray covered with the usual paraphernalia used to make tea along with a plate of sweet biscuits. Námo nodded as Aldarondur placed the tray on the table and began pouring the tea, handing a cup to a bemused Sador. A few moments later, Laurendil and Ingwion came back inside, looking both wet and sheepish. Námo pointed upstairs. "Go dry yourselves off, then come down and have some tea. We do not have much time, but I want you all completely calm before we continue."

Laurendil and Ingwion did as they were ordered and a few minutes later they were back downstairs looking drier though no less sheepish. They accepted the tea and biscuits with quiet thanks and for a while there was silence, save for the sounds of the elves sipping their tea or munching on a biscuit. Finally, when Námo gauged that they were as calm as they were ever likely to be under the circumstances, he spoke.

"Beleg is safe and unharmed," he began without preamble, "and he is with Finrod and Glorfindel." He raised his hand to stem the onslaught of questions that threatened to pour from the mouths of the three elves. "Explanations later. Right now, Beleg’s life hangs in the balance and we need to get your gwedyr back home now or I fear they may never return."

That silenced all questions and protests. "What do we do, Master?" Ingwion asked humbly.

"Sador is the key, at least at this end," Námo replied, ignoring the look of surprise and dismay on the ellon’s face. "Beleg is the key at the other end. Together they will form the bridge that will open the way for Finrod and Glorfindel to return. You, Ingwion, and Laurendil must be the anchors to keep Sador from following where Beleg has gone."

"So what is it we’re supposed to do exactly?" Laurendil asked, his frustration plain.

"Oromë will tell you," Námo said. "Remember, calm is the watchword of the day." The three elves nodded their understanding and then Námo faded from view almost at the same time as Oromë appeared looking grim.

"This is what you are to do, my children," he said softly and the three ellyn gave him their full attention.

"Everything settled at the other end?" Manwë asked Námo as the Vala reappeared before him. Námo nodded.

"Oromë is giving them their instructions even now. It just remains for us to set things up at this end." He turned to Beleg, whose features were more indistinct than they had been, a sign that the link between fëa and hröa was beginning to fade. "Beleg, I want you to see if you can sense Sador the way you could sense Glorfindel. Concentrate on the bond you and he have begun to forge between you. Can you feel him, child?"

For a moment, Beleg did not answer, his expression one of deep concentration, and then his eyes cleared somewhat and he nodded as he looked directly at Námo. *Aye, lord, I can. Now what?*

Námo sighed, glancing at Manwë and Aulë, both of whom nodded their support. "Finrod, Glorfindel, listen very carefully," the Lord of Mandos said. "I cannot tell you exactly what will happen, but you must not resist us, whatever we do." The two ellyn nodded, looking troubled. "Come stand here in front of Beleg," Námo ordered and the two elves moved to stand about three feet from their gwador as the Vala directed. "Glorfindel, put your pendant around your neck," he continued. "Both of you put your arms around each other, yes, like that, and now hold the pendant in your other hands."

Aulë and Manwë stood behind Finrod and Glorfindel while Námo turned back to Beleg, sending a silent word to Oromë to alert him that all was in readiness at their end. "Beleg," Námo then said, "I want you to imagine a door before you. It matters not what kind it is. Can you see it, child?"

Beleg nodded, his features strained with concentration. "Good, now, concentrate on Sador. Feel the bond between you," Námo continued with his instructions. "When you feel the bond is as strong as it can be, open the door. You will see a hallway. It matters not how long or short, only that at the other end is another door that is also opening."

Finrod and Glorfindel saw Beleg’s fëa fade slightly as he continued to follow Námo’s instructions. Then it seemed to come more into focus and his features lightened with success. *Yes, I see the other door and it’s opening,* he exclaimed.

"This will be the tricky part," Námo said to the other two Valar who nodded. Námo gave the two elves a brief smile. "Whatever happens, my children, do not let go of each other or the pendant." Finrod and Glorfindel exchanged concerned looks, standing there uncertainly, waiting for they knew not what, but nodded their understanding of the Vala’s instructions. They noticed though that Beleg’s fëa was beginning to glow, as was the pendant, and then the air between them began to shimmer. Without warning a host of butterflies appeared directly between Beleg and the other two elves. "Now!" Námo shouted. Before Finrod and Glorfindel could react, they felt Aulë and Manwë grab them from behind and shove them forward.

They both yelled in surprise as they found themselves in the midst of the butterflies. Then the winged creatures simply were not there, but neither were Finrod nor Glorfindel.

Oromë had made the three ellyn sit side-by-side on the settee, holding hands. Sador was in the middle with the Maiar standing behind their assigned charges. Even as Námo was instructing Beleg, Oromë was doing the same with Sador. Laurendil and Ingwion were lending the younger ellon their support, keeping him grounded within his hröa.

"Open the door, Sador," Oromë instructed, "and see another door opening at the other end of a hallway. It matters not how long or short it is."

"Good," Oromë said encouragingly. "You’re doing well, best beloved. Keep your door open until I tell you otherwise." Sador nodded, unaware that Aldarondur now had his hands on the elf’s shoulders, for this would be the most dangerous part of what they were attempting.

Suddenly, the space in front of Sador went incandescent and there was a silent explosion as butterflies of every shape and hue burst out of nothingness only to disappear again in another flash, leaving behind two bodies lying unconscious at Sador’s feet.

At the same time, the other two Maiar acted, gently but insistently breaking the handholds that Laurendil and Ingwion had with Sador, severing the link between them. All three elves gave great shuddering cries and slumped into unconsciousness.

For a moment there was silence as Oromë and the Maiar gazed upon the five unconscious ellyn, breathing sighs of relief that they had succeeded in bringing the lost home. Then, from up in the loft, Beleg began screaming.

Oromë pointed to the unconscious ellyn. "Bring them upstairs," he ordered even as he thought himself to the loft where he found, not only Roimendil, but Námo attempting to calm a distraught Beleg. The ellon was still screaming and fighting both Maia and Vala. Námo looked up as Oromë appeared, his expression grim.

"I’m afraid I was a little hard on him," Námo said without preamble. "He didn’t want to return to his hröa, but I insisted... rather forcibly."

"Then I’ll leave you to him," Oromë said with a shake of his head. "The other five are unconscious... ah.... here we go." He turned as Aldarondur reached the head of the stairs with Sador in his arms. Behind him came Ulcruraitor with Laurendil and then Tirnotaurion with Ingwion. The three Maiar laid the elves on their beds even as Erunáro came with Glorfindel in his arms, while Finrod was being carried by Manveru. Oromë gave Námo a considering look which his brother Vala returned with a shrug.

Beleg, meanwhile, had stopped screaming, which was a relief to them all, though Námo’s concerned expression did not go unnoticed by any of them. The ellon was still, almost too still in Oromë’s opinion, though he would be the first to admit he understood only the basic theories concerning re-embodiment, preferring to leave it to Námo and Irmo as the experts. "How is he?" he asked even as he gave a cursory examination to the other five ellyn to assure himself that none of them had suffered unduly, particularly Finrod and Glorfindel. He could already ‘hear’ the rather clinical debate going on between Aulë and Ulmo about the method of transference of the Mirroanwi between dimensions and what that might mean for the future.

"He’s retreated deep within himself," Námo answered with a grimace. "The shock of returning as he did was too much for him and being only recently released from Lórien his fëa is still more fragile than even Glorfindel’s."

"Will he recover?" Oromë asked with a sigh. Beleg was one of his as surely as Findaráto was the Fëanturi’s and Glorfindel was Manwë’s, though the ellon was unaware of that and would probably never be told. It grieved him that one so recently returned to Life would suffer so.

Námo gave his brother Vala an encouraging smile. "In time," he replied. "I think he will do well to be returned to Lórien for a while."

Námo stepped away from Beleg’s cot to check on the other ellyn. "Laurendil and Ingwion should recover well enough; Sador, too, though I will have some of my people keep an eye on him for a while. They’ll know what to look for if he begins to exhibit any symptoms similar to what Glorfindel was suffering every time he tried to escape his hröa."

Oromë nodded, casting a worried glance at his other protegé. Námo gave him another smile. "He’ll be fine, Oromë. Sador is stronger than most realize or give him credit for. Do not concern yourself unduly on his account."

The Lord of Forests gave the Lord of Mandos a fierce scowl. "But I do concern myself. I’ve waited too long...."

"Peace, brother," Námo said, taking Oromë into his embrace to offer him comfort. "I assure you Sador will be well, as will Beleg."

"What about Findaráto and Glorfindel, lord?" Manveru asked in the brief silence that followed.

Námo turned his attention to the Maiar, all of them exhibiting expressions of concern. He noticed with amusement that they all were hovering over their charges like a mother hen with a single chick. Ulcuraitor was even sitting on the edge of the bed where Laurendil lay, stroking the ellon’s locks as gently as any parent with their child.

"We’ll need to keep an extra eye on those two," he said with a wry grin. "Frankly, I’m surprised Manwë didn’t call out half of his People to stand guard."

Erunáro snorted with humor at the Vala’s words even as he pulled a coverlet over Glorfindel’s supine form, tenderly brushing the ellon’s hair out of his face. "Only because Lady Varda convinced him that even if all of them went unclothed it would still make for crowded conditions."

The other Maiar snickered at that and the two Valar exchanged amused looks. "So instead he sent you two," Oromë stated.

Manveru gave the Vala a nod. "We practically had to fight Eönwë and Fionwë for the honor, but Lord Manwë has sent his Herald to the Kings with the news and Fionwë is even now advising Lord Irmo to expect more charges soon and to arrange for suitable transport and escort."

Námo nodded. "I think that is a good idea. The sooner these Children are under my brother’s care the sooner they will recover. As it is, I need to address the situation with Lindorillë. She’s fading or trying to."

Oromë nodded his understanding, then gave the younger Vala a wicked grin. "And I understand you lost a bet with your sister. How’s that working out for you?"

Námo merely smirked. "So far I’ve managed to get Vorondil and Aldundil into so much trouble with my little... er... suggestions, they’ll be working out their punishments until the day after the Ending of Arda."

Oromë laughed outright and the Maiar listening smiled. "And I cannot think of a better person to keep those two occupied."

"Nienna says I have a gift for getting into trouble," Námo said with a straight face.

"Oh, tell me about it!" Oromë exclaimed with mock exasperation. "You were worse than a fifteen-year-old elfling. Do you know how many times I was tempted to just throw you into one of Varda’s Black Holes and be done with you?"

Námo gave Oromë a teasing smile. "Come now, admit it. You enjoyed chasing me all around Eä."

"Only because no one else could be bothered," Oromë rejoined with his own smile.

The two Valar exchanged meaningful looks, each knowing the worth of the other. Námo finally turned to Roimendil, his expression more grave. "Beleg is the most vulnerable of them all so you must be vigilant. He may attempt to flee his hröa when he first awakens."

"I do wish we understood the whys and wherefores of that," Oromë interrupted with a sigh. "It’s most inconvenient."

"In more ways than one," Námo said, nodding in agreement. "I will leave you now. Call if you need help."

Oromë nodded as Námo faded away. The Lord of the Hunt turned to the Maiar. "Let’s make our charges more comfortable. Leave the pendant on Glorfindel though." The Maiar nodded and silently they went about the business of divesting the ellyn of their clothes and slipping nightshirts over them before tucking them into their beds. None of the elves so much as stirred.

Laurendil was the first to arouse several hours later. He opened his eyes blearily, giving a small moan as the light of the afternoon sun blinded him.

"Easy now," came a soft voice. A cool cloth was placed over his eyes and he sighed in relief.

"What happened?" he managed to whisper, appalled at how weak he sounded to himself.

"Fear not! All is well." He now recognized the voice as belonging to Ulcuraitor. "Findaráto and Glorfindel are returned to us."

Laurendil struggled to sit up. "They’re here? Let me see." He pushed away the cloth covering his eyes, wincing slightly as his eyes adjusted to the light. The Maia had to steady him as he tried to rise. He staggered over to where Finrod and Glorfindel were lying, nearly falling on his face in his weakness as he attempted to lean over and touch them both to assure himself that they were truly there.

"Yes, they are," Ulcuraitor replied, gently steering the elf back to his own bed. "They are sleeping. You’re the first to stir. Are you hungry? We have made some broth for everyone for when they wake up."

Laurendil nodded and closed his eyes as he lay back down upon his bed, giving a sigh of relief. He was suddenly exhausted and felt himself drifting. Seconds or hours later, he was never sure, Ulcuraitor woke him and helped him to sit up so he could sip on the beef broth. It tasted wonderful but he barely finished the bowl before he was falling asleep again. Ulcuraitor had just enough warning to grab the bowl out of Laurendil’s hands before he dropped it.

Ingwion was the next to awaken about an hour later. He bolted upright and then proceeded to become violently ill before any of the Maiar had time to react. There was a great deal of ‘tsking’ among them even as they helped Tirnotaurion clean him up. Ingwion merely sat there weeping in frustration and shame, but finally he was washed and dressed in a clean nightshirt and put into one of the spare beds while the Maiar dealt with the mess. Tirnotaurion kept up a soothing monologue assuring the ellon that all was well until Ingwion’s tears abated and he fell back into a fitful doze that deepened into true sleep as the Maiar sang a lullaby.

Sador did not awaken until early evening. By then Laurendil was awake again and enjoying a more substantial meal, feeling refreshed and alert. Forewarned by Ingwion’s actions, Aldarondur was immediately beside Sador with a basin just in case. Sador, however, merely moaned and rolled onto his side, clutching his head.

There were soft chuckles of amusement among the Maiar and even Laurendil was able to scare up a smile. "Not what, mellon nîn, who," he said with a chuckle, "or rather two whos."

Sador cracked open an eyelid and glared at Laurendil who was actually three beds away. "What are you talking about you stupid Noldo?"

For an answer Laurendil merely pointed beyond Sador, his smile widening. The younger ellon sighed and slowly rolled over to see what Laurendil had been pointing at and nearly fell out of bed in his haste to reach his gwedyr. "Finrod! Glorfindel!"

"Easy now, child," Aldarondur admonished him as he grabbed the ellon to prevent him from falling flat on his face. "Your brothers are well. They merely sleep. Come. We have some broth for you if you are hungry."

Sador nodded, glancing at Laurendil and frowning. "Why do I get broth and he doesn’t?"

The Maiar all laughed gaily at that and Aldarondur shook his head. "This is Laurendil’s second meal since waking," he told Sador. "Finish the broth and if you are able to keep it down, you may have something more substantial."

Sador sighed but otherwise did not protest. Soon he was sipping on the meaty broth with relish, only just realizing how famished he was. Before long though, he was fighting to stay awake. Aldarondur assured him that sleep was the best thing for him and soon he was drifting off, grumbling about Laurendil getting to stay up later as he did, much to the Maiar’s amusement. Laurendil just looked smug, though he was falling asleep himself before too many minutes went by. Soon, only the Maiar were awake.

"Well that’s three down, three to go," Roimendil said to no one in particular. The others nodded and then started laying bets as to who would wake next and under what conditions.

As it was, Ingwion woke again sometime after midnight. This time he did not bolt upright but allowed Tirnotaurion to help him sit up. "How are you feeling, my prince?" the Maia asked solicitously.

"Better, I think," Ingwion replied somewhat faintly leaning against the pillows propping him up.

Ingwion started to deny any wish to eat but his stomach chose then to give a loud rumble, much to his embarrassment. Tirnotaurion smiled knowingly as the elf blushed, nodding in acquiesence. Like Laurendil and Sador he sipped the soup with relish and then started falling asleep again. "But I just woke up!" he protested around a huge yawn.

"Both your hröa and fëa suffered shocks," Roimendil said as he helped Tirnotaurion tuck the elf back into bed. "Sleep is the best cure for you. Sleep and be refreshed. Tomorrow we will take you to Lórien where you may find full healing for your wounds."

"I was wounded?" Ingwion asked in confusion, trying to see if any bandages covered his body.

"In fëa only, but sometimes such are worse wounds than those that might assail the hröa. Take comfort. All will be well. Sleep now... sleep."

In spite of his attempts to remain awake, Ingwion was fast asleep in minutes. The Maiar stared at the other three elves who had yet to awaken, concern written on their fair visages, for none of these three had so much as stirred all this time. Only the fact that they could see the ellyn breathing told them that these three were still among the living.

Dawn found only Laurendil and Sador awake, both of them feeling strong enough to leave their beds and get properly dressed, though the Maiar refused to let them leave the lodge. Ingwion stirred about an hour later but was content to remain in his bed, eating the light breakfast offered him. At about the same time, Glorfindel uttered a sigh and without waking curled into a ball. The Maiar all rejoiced to see it. Towards noon, Oromë returned along with Irmo and Námo to see how they were all doing. By then, both Ingwion and Sador were asleep again, though the latter refused to get undressed. Laurendil was quietly reading a book downstairs, sitting beside the fire and sipping on herbal tea.

"Glorfindel stirred some hours ago but did not awaken," Manveru reported to the Valar. "Neither Findaráto nor Beleg have so much as twitched. We’re all rather worried about them."

Irmo nodded, giving the three unconscious ellyn an examination. Oromë was checking on Sador while Námo checked his own apprentice. "Well, Glorfindel is definitely in healing sleep," Irmo said to them, "but Findaráto and Beleg...." He shook his head and glanced at Námo. "You might wish to take a look at this."

Irmo didn’t answer, merely drew Námo’s attention to the two ellyn, silently bidding him to examine them not with his eyes but with his mind. *Do you see what I think I’m seeing?*

Námo’s only reaction was to raise an eyebrow. *Their fëar are.... entwined,* he said disbelievingly.

Námo sighed. *The oldest Reborn and the youngest,* he replied, as if that was all the explanation needed.

Námo gave his younger brother a sour look. *Obviously. Meanwhile, are you going to help me untangle them, or are you going to stand there mouthing aphorisms all day?*

Irmo and Oromë gave Námo amused looks. "What happened, brother?" Irmo asked out loud in a teasing manner. "Did Nienna catch you with your hand in the cookie jar again?"

Námo looked away, a slow blush creeping across his visage. "Something like that," he said with a sigh. "I think I’m losing my touch."

The other two Valar chuckled at that, sure that they would get the full story out of either Námo or Nienna eventually. Their Maiar attendants were very careful to keep their expressions neutral though the brightening of their eyes gave them away.

"Best do it here," Námo replied. "I don’t want to lose any time. The longer their fëar remain entwined the harder it will be to separate them and the more damage to their spirits when we do."

The other two Valar nodded. Irmo sent silent orders to the Maiar and soon they were taking Glorfindel, Sador and Ingwion downstairs along with their beds. Laurendil looked up from his book in concern when he saw the Maiar bring his friends down from the loft even though they were still sleeping, but when Ulcuraitor assured him that Lord Irmo had so ordered it, he relaxed, though he was still worried about Findaráto and Beleg. "Why aren’t they being moved down here as well?" he asked the Maiar.

"Findaráto and Beleg are the only ones who have not stirred since yesterday," Tirnotaurion explained gently. "Even Glorfindel has begun to move a bit in his sleep. Lords Irmo, Námo and Oromë are trying to see if they can bring Findaráto and Beleg out of their comas. For that, though, they will need all their concentration, for it is a delicate operation. If Glorfindel, for instance, were to suddenly awaken...."

Laurendil nodded, understanding. "Will Findaráto and Beleg be all right?" he asked unable to hide his concern.

"I will not lie to you, Laurendil," Tirnotaurion said gravely. "What my lords are attempting to do can be dangerous, not only for Findaráto and Beleg, but for the Valar as well. It is important that they are not disturbed in any way."

"Well, in that case, you better move Glorfindel as far from here as possible, because when he does awaken, all of Arda will hear about it."

The Maiar all grinned, knowing full well what Laurendil meant. "Perhaps we could just move him out to the trees," Manveru offered jokingly.

"Actually, that’s not a bad idea," Laurendil said with sudden seriousness. "I wouldn’t mind getting some fresh air myself. Now that the rain has cleared, it should be dry enough to bring them outside."

A silent consultation among the Maiar that lasted but a split second was followed by nods all around. "We’ll take the beds as well and place them in the courtyard where the ground is drier," Manveru said and soon they were moving the still sleeping ellyn outside. Laurendil followed with Ulcuraitor bringing a chair along for him to sit in. Outside he found that a pavilion had been set up to provide them with shade. Three sides were open but the western wall of the pavilion was down to block the wind coming from that direction.

"This is more like it," Laurendil said with a contented sigh as he sank into his chair while Tirnotaurion tucked a light blanket around him. Ten minutes later, he, too, was fast asleep.

Námo and Irmo made a quick consultation while Oromë looked on, willing to lend his support if not his knowledge about what must be done.

*It’s not too dissimilar to what my People have to do whenever the fëar in Mandos end up in a pile,* Námo told them, *but these two have somehow entwined their fëar far more closely than usual. I do not understand why.*

Námo nodded. *Of the four Reborn in the group, Beleg is the youngest in terms of re-embodiment, while Findaráto is the oldest. I can only surmise that in the wake of the trauma Beleg suffered when he was returned to his hröa he instinctively sought help from another and Findaráto, being the eldest and most stable must have offered his support.*

*Yes, so it must have been on an unconscious, instinctive level,* supplied Námo. *I have often remarked how the fëar of the Reborn seem to exist on a slightly different plane of existence than their fellow elves who have never died. I think we are seeing one... consequence of that difference.*

*Just follow my instructions,* his older brother said. *This may take a while.* With that, the Lord of Mandos began the slow and tedious process of untangling two fëar who should never have been entwined while his two brethren looked on, giving him any aid required.

Outside, under a pavilion of purest sendal, four ellyn slept, only one of whom was aware of what was transpiring in the lodge, and that only vaguely. The six Maiar ringed them, keeping silent vigil and wondering how successful their masters would be in separating Beleg’s fëa from Findaráto’s.

Mirroanwi: (Quenya) Plural of Mirroanwë: Incarnate, i.e. Elves and Mortals.

Oromë sighed, looking distraught. "This is very bad, isn’t it?" he asked the Fëanturi as he watched Námo and Irmo at their work.

"See if you can find the link between them," Námo instructed his brother. "There should be a cord of light similar to what we see between two bonded spouses among the Eldar, but it won’t be as strong or as bright."

"Here," Irmo said, pointing to a juncture between the two fëar. "This must be it. See how the light fluctuates, first golden-silver, that must be Findaráto, and then silver-green."

"It’s getting stronger," Námo commented dispassionately, though both Oromë and Irmo knew just how upset the Lord of Mandos truly was at this turn of events. "We need to break the bond without destroying their minds."

Námo gave them both a grim look, shaking his head. "Break. If we don’t it will be as if they were bonded in truth."

The other two Valar stared at the supine bodies of the two ellyn lying in separate beds in disbelief. "Atar help us," Oromë whispered.

The last thing Finrod clearly remembered was being pushed through a door that could not possibly exist. Even as he fell through he heard a terrible scream and recognized it as coming from Beleg. Instinctively he ‘turned’ and reached out to offer the ellon comfort, quite forgetting Námo's admonishment not to let go of either Glorfindel or the pendant. Somehow the two of them tumbled through the door together, arms and legs entangled as they fell. Beleg was beyond terrified, clinging to Finrod with almost mindless fear, unwilling to let go and Finrod accepted his friend’s need, giving him whatever comfort the other ellon would have from him.

There was only one problem with that, as far as Finrod could see. Somehow, he could not only sense Beleg’s fear but his very thoughts and memories and it was difficult at times to separate Beleg’s mind from his. There was an intimacy between them that neither was willing to explore and the harder they tried to extricate themselves from each other’s minds the more entangled they became until even Beleg began to notice through his fear what was happening. That set him off in a panic once again and now the meshing of their fëar became even more pronounced until the terrible beauty of their exchange of thought and memories was too much for either of them and they both collapsed into weeping, each attempting to flee from the other, neither of them succeeding.

They both looked up to see the most unlikely person standing there looking at them with an amused and, at the same time, exasperated expression on her fair face. Her hair was a dark brown with red highlights; her eyes were blue-green. She wore a gown of varying shades from fire red to burnt orange to sun yellow. She seemed to be like unto the Valar, but not quite and neither ellon could ever afterwards say why. Still, there was something about her that exuded love and comfort on a level that surpassed even Lord Námo when he acted in his role as Consoler rather than as Judge.

In spite of their surprise, neither ellon could stop weeping and they both looked upon the stranger with expressions close to despair. The Person sighed, shaking her head. "Hush now, my children," she said gently, giving them a smile that near broke their hearts. "All will be well, but in order to break this bond between you, you must both remember who and what you are."

"But I cannot remember!" wailed Beleg. "I try but nothing comes. Who am I, lady?"

"You are Beleg Cúthalion, once a Marchwarden of Doriath, and kin to both Elu Thingol and his brother, Olwë of Alqualondë," the Person said, "but those are only names and titles. They are not the kind of identity of which I speak, for names can be deceiving. No, my children, you must look deeper than your names, you must look into the very core of your beings to learn your true identities. Only then will you be able to untangle yourselves."

The Being placed a finger lightly upon Finrod’s brow. The ellon gave a gasp and then fell silent, seeing nothing around him, concentrating on what was being shown within him. It was as if a stair had appeared, spiraling downward into the darkness of his Self. Slowly he descended, noticing vaguely how the golden-silver light of his own being seemed overlaid with a greenish cast that he knew had to be Beleg still clinging to him. The further down he went though, the more his light of being took on a different hue, purer and more primal, as if he were seeing ‘gold’ and ‘silver’ for the first time. He vaguely heard Beleg wail in despair or shock but he no longer felt a need to offer aid or comfort. It was a distant thing having nothing to do with him. Deeper he went, spiraling into the darkness of his soul until at last he reached bottom and stood before a mirror. Staring at his reflection he realized something for the first time, again.

"I am myself," he said out loud. "I am myself and no other." And it was true. At the very core of his being he saw only himself: unique and alone. He was not someone’s son, brother or lover; neither was he anyone’s king, liege lord or master. He was just...

"Findaráto," he named himself. "I am Findaráto, now and forever." Gazing into the mirror he saw the last vestige of Beleg’s light fade from his own, leaving only a scintillating golden-silver luminance.

Finrod turned from the mirror to see the same Being standing next to him, smiling at him with great gentleness. "Who are you, lady?" he asked.

"I suppose you could call me Erulissë," she answered with an eloquent shrug. "It’s as good a name as any, though did I not warn you that names can be deceiving?"

"Yes, you did the naming, not I, not your family, not your friends, not other people. You and you alone named yourself."

"Why couldn’t Beleg and I free ourselves from... from...." He swallowed nervously, not wishing to dwell on the feelings threatening to overwhelm him.

"Because you both forgot who you are. You both forgot your uniqueness and aloneness in your need to comfort and Beleg’s need for comfort. You both opened yourselves to the other to a greater degree than is wise even between espoused couples. You were each losing your unique identities. The harder you tried to pull away from each other, the more entangled your beings became until you could not say where Findaráto left off and Beleg began. Is that not true, child?"

"And so it should be," Erulissë stated firmly, though her voice was warm with love. "Such a degree of intimacy between two created beings can only bring great harm to them both. You were not meant to experience such intimacy save with your Creator."

Erulissë smiled. "I’m giving Beleg the same lecture that you are getting even now," she said with a sly wink and Finrod could not help but laugh. "Climb back up the stairs, child. You have regained your true self, see that you do not lose it again."

Finrod gave Erulissë his obeisance and began climbing back out of the darkness into the light of consciousness until he found himself opening his eyes and saw three Valar staring down at him with unreadable expressions.

Irmo and Námo were attempting to extricate the two fëar from each other without causing any more damage than there already was, for it seemed each time they attempted even the smallest amount of severing the two ellyn’s hröar spasmed and they would scream. The Valar were forced to stop until both ellyn were once more calm, and were about to try again for the fourth time when Námo stopped cold, his expression one of surprise and even awe. "What’s happening?" he demanded.

The other two Valar stared at where Námo was pointing and then all three stepped back at the same time and watched in awed fascination as the link between the two fëar began to unravel itself, one strand at a time.

"Well, it’s obvious what’s happening," Irmo stated wryly. "The question remains: how are they doing it?"

Even as he asked the question they all felt a soft caress upon their cheeks and a light kiss upon their brows and they suddenly knew. Standing in awed silence, they watched the Master Artisan at Her work, effortlessly untangling the fëar with negligent ease and with no discomfort for the Children. Finally, the last link between the two ellyn was severed and then Finrod opened his eyes, staring up at them.

Before any of them could answer, Beleg opened his eyes as well, slowly moving his head to take in his surroundings, then he sighed, and without saying a word, closed his eyes and curled up into a ball, falling into a contented sleep, a small smile on his face.

Námo was the first to recover. He knelt beside Finrod’s bed and smiled gently at the ellon still waiting patiently for an answer to his question. "Indeed you are, child. Indeed you are and so is Glorfindel. Welcome home, best beloved." He leaned over and gave the prince of Eldamar a kiss on his brow, before standing again.

Finrod smiled. "Good," he whispered, as his eyes closed and soon he was fast asleep.

"I’ll let the others know," Oromë said and, without waiting for a reply from his brethren, he thought himself away while Irmo and Námo remained watching over their charges.

Note: Tolkien gives us two words for "Grace": Eruanna, literally, ‘God’s gift’ and Erulissë, literally, ‘God’s sweetness’.

The decision to leave Finrod, Glorfindel and Beleg in healing sleep came easily. Deciding what to do next proved more difficult.

"They should be taken to Lórien where they can be properly tended to," Irmo insisted and the other two Valar were apt to agree with him, but Ingwion strongly objected.

"Findaráto and Glorfindel need to be taken back to Vanyamar," the ellon insisted. "The tourney encampment has not been disbanded. Those warriors are not going anywhere until they know that my cousin and Glorfindel are well. They can be cared for just as easily in Vanyamar as in Lórien and the journey will not be as long."

"Findaráto needs to recover sooner rather than later, though," Námo stated gravely. "The elflings are not taking his absence well. Lindorillë is trying to fade. I have two of my People constantly beside her encouraging her towards Life but she’s refusing the summons, the stubborn little elleth. I fear that only Findaráto can bring her back to herself."

"Then the sooner we stop arguing about all this, the better," Laurendil chimed in. "I agree with Ingwion. We should go to Vanyamar. I think it would be better for those elflings if they see their lord come to Lórien under his own power."

"My atar’s healers are competent," Ingwion added. "Our otornor will not lack for care."

Námo gave the prince a jaundiced look. "Your atar’s healers may balk at having to treat Glorfindel and he may not be too happy to awaken and find himself once again in their care."

In the end the Valar agreed to Ingwion’s plan and soon three covered waggons were brought from the city, each one containing a comfortable cot. Each of the sleeping ellyn was placed in one of the waggons along with their attendant Maiar. Laurendil insisted on riding with Finrod while Sador rode with Glorfindel, leaving Ingwion to ride with Beleg. Word spread quickly and when the cavalcade was still nearly a league away from Vanyamar they found the road lined on both sides with Elves. Laurendil ordered the canopies removed so that the people could see Findaráto and Glorfindel. He had to assure the onlookers who called out soft enquiries as to the state of the ellyn’s health that the three sleepers were well and would soon recover.

Slowly the waggons made their way towards the city. When they came abreast of the tourney encampment it was to find an honor guard of warriors — Noldor and Sindar mostly, but also a fair number of Vanyar — who insisted on escorting them the rest of the way. When they reached the city gate, though, it was obvious that the waggons would not be able to make the steep climb towards the High King’s palace, so several warriors simply lifted the three beds onto their shoulders and walked the rest of the way with Laurendil, Ingwion and Sador leading the procession and the Maiar attendants bringing up the rear. It was a sight to behold and few who witnessed it went away unmoved.

As they came to the front portico of the palace they saw the three kings standing there waiting for them. Arafinwë stood between the other two, looking wan and ill; Ingwë and Olwë had to support him. Without a word the warriors put the three beds down before the kings. Arafinwë took one look at the child of his hröa and the child of his heart and openly wept as he knelt between their beds stroking their hair. Olwë became upset at the sight of Beleg but when both Laurendil and Roimendil assured him that the ellon merely slept, he calmed down. Ingwë ordered the beds brought into the palace and soon they were being set within a room in the royal apartments that had been set aside for them. Healers were on hand to check on the ellyn, though Ingwion noted with grim satisfaction that one or two of them flinched at the sight of Glorfindel who slept dreamlessly on with a faint smile on his face.

"We will let them waken naturally," Laurendil informed them all. Although he was but an apprentice healer himself, his standing as a Lord of the Noldor and otorno to two princes of Eldamar gave him more authority than would normally be given him. It also helped that all six Maiar bowed to his decision and Ingwë’s healers had no choice but to accept Laurendil’s authority.

While the three ellyn slept, Laurendil, Ingwion and Sador took turns telling the three kings what had happened. Olwë stared at Beleg in amazement as he sat beside the ellon’s bed, gently stroking his hair. "He will be well, though, won’t he?" he asked Laurendil but it was Roimendil, standing guard at the foot of Beleg’s bed, who answered.

"He will recover, Olwë, but do not expect him to jump out of his bed like an elfling on his begetting day. He may be weak for a time but he will recover quickly enough. And the same is true for Findaráto and Glorfindel," he added for the benefit of Arafinwë and Ingwë. All three kings looked relieved and soon the discussion moved on to the feast that would be held in their honor once they woke up.

Finrod was the first to awaken, only a few hours after their arrival in Vanyamar. He opened his eyes and frowned, for he had been expecting to see the rough-hewn stones of the hunting lodge, rather than the tapestried walls of Ingwë’s palace. He turned his head to see his atar sitting next to his bed, apparently asleep, for the king’s breathing was slow and even and his eyelids were half closed. There was no one else in the room who was awake that he could see.

Arafinwë was immediately awake and Manveru was instantly present, smiling down at the prince and giving him a wink when Finrod raised an eyebrow at his appearance.

"Yonya!" Arafinwë exclaimed, going to his knees beside the bed and lifting Finrod up so his head was cradled against his chest. "Are you well, yonya? Oh, Finda, I thought I’d lost you again." The Noldóran started weeping. Finrod just leaned against his atar and sighed.

"I am well Atto, have no fear for me, but please, you haven’t called me Finda since I was an elfling of twenty."

Arafinwë couldn’t help laughing through his tears at his son’s affronted tone. "I’m sorry, yonya, I forgot myself." He gave Finrod a hug and kissed him gently on the head. Finrod gave another sigh of contentment.

"That’s all right, Atto," he said, giving Manveru a mock glare. The Maia merely smiled back with benign indifference. "I just don’t want others to get any ideas."

Arafinwë laughed again as he laid Finrod back down. "I’m sure they won’t. Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?"

"I could do with something to eat," Finrod averred, still sounding weak. Arafinwë noted, though, that his son’s eyes were clear and the light that naturally shone from them was steady. If anything, it appeared brighter than he remembered it being.

"Beleg and Glorfindel still sleep," Arafinwë answered. "Laurendil, Ingwion and Sador are sleeping as well. They had a long and tiring journey bringing the three of you back to Vanyamar."

"They are well," his atar assured him. "I suspect that now that you have woken they shall be waking soon as well."

Manveru appeared again bearing a tray with a bowl of broth and some soft bread and a flagon of water. Finrod grimaced at what he considered poor fare but Arafinwë insisted that anything else would prove wasted. "Ingwion became violently ill after the ordeal and the other two weren’t much better off. Have this and if you are still hungry and wish for something more we will see."

Finrod complied and soon he was sipping on the broth and munching on the bread with relish, but he fell asleep again before he was finished with his meal. He lay there with his eyes closed clutching a half-eaten crust of bread in one hand. Arafinwë shared an indulgent smile with Manveru as the Maia removed the tray and the Noldóran rearranged the covers around his son, removing the bread from Finrod’s grasp. "I think I’ll just continue calling you Finda, yonya," he said softly as he gave the ellon a gentle kiss on his brow, "for you are still my elfling." Finrod’s only response was to snuggle further under the covers.

Glorfindel woke next. It was an unfortunate coincidence that he opened his eyes in time to see one of Ingwë’s healers bending over him to check on his condition. He gave a yell of surprise and attempted, rather futilely, to escape from her. The poor healer, having only recently achieved her mastership, gave a high squeak and jumped back. Erunáro appeared just then and Arafinwë, who had stepped outside to stretch his legs came running in with Ingwë and Olwë right behind. The other two kings had been returning to sit with the sleeping ellyn after attending to kingdom business. All three of them barreled into the room to see Glorfindel with his back up against the headboard of his bed all the while yelling and trying to fight off a placating Erunáro. The healer merely stood there frozen to the spot, her cheeks red with embarrassment and surprise.

"Glorfindel! It’s all right, hinya," Ingwë shouted over the still yelling ellon. He came to the other side of the bed and attempted to calm the Noldo down.

Glorfindel would have none of it. "Keep her away from me!" he fairly screamed. "No more restraints. I won’t be..."

"Hush now, child," Erunáro said soothingly. "No one is going to restrain you unless you keep carrying on like this."

Glorfindel wasn’t listening. "No, no. Get her out of here, Atto. No restraints. No restraints." By now he was practically crying as both Erunáro and Ingwë tried to calm him while Arafinwë attempted to comfort the young elleth who was wondering what she had done to deserve this particular assignment.

All noise ceased as several heads turned in the direction of where Beleg was lying. There was no sign that the ellon was even awake. His eyes were still closed and it did not look to anyone as if he’d even moved. Finrod, everyone saw, muttered something unintelligible in his sleep, then settled back into whatever dream he was experiencing. While Glorfindel had been raising a ruckus, Olwë had gone to stand beside his nephew’s bed to see how he was faring and was as surprised as everyone else when the ellon spoke out. "Beleg," he said softly, "are you awake?"

"No, I’m not," came the answer, though the former Marchwarden of Doriath never opened his eyes. Instead, he rolled over onto his stomach, pulling his pillow over his head.

Glorfindel glanced suspiciously around as if checking to see if someone was pulling a trick on him. Then he tottered out of his bed and stumbled somewhat uncertainly towards Beleg with Erunáro and Ingwë on either side to lend him support. By now Manveru and Roimendil had also re-appeared and were watching all this with great amusement. Glorfindel stood by the bed with a suspicious frown on his face. Then he gave them all a mischievous look and reached down, running a finger down the bottom of one of Beleg’s feet which happened to be sticking out from under the covers.

The Sinda gave a squeak of surprise and was up and attacking Glorfindel before anyone else could react. "I said I was asleep you stupid Noldo. What part of that didn’t you understand?"

The two ellyn began tumbling around while all three kings tried to separate them. There was much yelling and shouting and even a curse or two in more than one language as the kings and the Maiar tried to bring the two elves under control. The healer, knowing a good thing when she saw it, quietly slipped out of the room, determined to hunt down the Chief Healer and demand another assignment.

Now everyone stopped and stared where Finrod was still sleeping, though it was clear that it was he who had spoken. Without opening his eyes Finrod continued speaking. "And make sure Artanis stays quiet. She’s worse than the two of you put together." He then punched his pillow and snuggled back into bed with a contented sigh.

For a long moment they all just stared at the sleeping ellon and then Glorfindel happened to catch Beleg’s eye and before they knew it they were both laughing. Soon the others joined in, not even pretending to be quiet. None of them noticed the satisfied smile on Finrod’s face as the laughter continued.

The Elves’ recovery progressed quickly and two days later even Beleg and Finrod were back to normal, though both were quieter than was their wont. The other elves were unaware of what had happened to their two friends. When Námo tried to broach the subject, both ellyn became tight-lipped and Finrod was adamant that the issue was closed as far as he and Beleg were concerned.

"If you love us, lord, you will never ask us again about what happened," Finrod said, almost pleadingly.

"What part of ‘no’ did you not understand, my lord?" Finrod fairly shouted, stalking off without waiting for an answer. Beleg gave the Lord of Mandos an apologetic shrug before following his gwador. It was several hours before either was seen again.

"Are you two well?" Glorfindel asked them when they returned to the suite of rooms put aside for their use by Ingwë. He was sitting cross-legged on one of the cots polishing one of his knives. There was no one else there.

Finrod nodded. "Yes, gwador. We are well. Have no fear for us." He gave the younger ellon a bright smile which Beleg echoed.

"Yes, we are," Beleg answered decisively. "Now, what mischief have you gotten yourself into lately?"

"Me?" Glorfindel exclaimed, looking suddenly guilty, though he didn’t think he should be feeling guilty about anything. "I haven’t gotten into any mischief," he insisted, then gave them a wicked grin, "yet. Care to join me?"

The other two ellyn just laughed, willing to go along with whatever their gwador was planning.

‘Mischief’ took the form of raiding the royal kitchens for freshly baked cheese and current tarts. Sador, when they found him, elected to join them but Ingwion was with his parents and Laurendil insisted he was too old for such games.

"Are you accusing me of being childish?" Finrod asked him with an arched eyebrow and an amused smile.

Laurendil held up a hand in a conciliatory manner. "I’m not the one who died and spent nearly a yén playing with stuffed toys."

"He’s got you there," Glorfindel laughed, forestalling Finrod’s retort. "Come then. It’ll just be us Reborn."

With that, the four ellyn set off to raid the palace kitchens, using all their collective skills at hunting and stalking (Finrod, Glorfindel and Beleg), and pure deviousness at avoiding the ‘grown ups’ (Sador). They ran giggling like elflings with their prizes, hiding in a grove of trees in one of the gardens to enjoy their ill-gotten gains in peace.

"Now that’s what I call a hunt," Beleg exclaimed as he chomped on a still-warm tart.

Finrod nodded in agreement, handing round a skin of hard cider that he had managed to pilfer on their way out. "We have Sador to thank for getting us past the pastry cook and the scullery," he said after taking a swig of the cider.

The four ellyn looked up in guilty surprise to find Arafinwë staring down at them, his hands on his hips, giving them his best Atto glare, though there was a definite twinkle of amusement lurking in his eyes.

Finrod was the first to recover. Holding out one of the uneaten tarts, he gave his atar his most winning smile. "Want one?"

Arafinwë laughed as he settled himself down on the grass beside them. "Thought you’d never ask."

The four younger elves laughed and Glorfindel, who had been taking a drink from the skin and nearly choked when Arafinwë showed up, handed the cider to the Noldóran, who accepted it with a graceful nod of his head.

Arafinwë gave him a smirk. "You weren’t very quiet as you came into the garden. I was further along admiring one of the fountains when I heard you four giggling like a bunch of ellyn getting into trouble."

They all blushed at that and their sheepish looks set Arafinwë laughing. "Don’t worry," he assured them. "If the cooks start an inquisition, I will claim ignorance." He gave them a blank innocent look. "Thieves? Stealing tarts? Would that be two fair-haired and two silvery-haired Reborn ellyn you’re looking for? No, can’t say as I have. Sorry."

They were all laughing hysterically at Arafinwë’s performance. Beleg awarded him with another tart, which the king accepted with a gracious smile. "So what possessed you to do something so... elflingish?" he asked once he’d washed down the second tart with some more cider.

The four ellyn cast glances at one another before Finrod gave an answer. "We needed the release. We, Glorfindel and I especially, have been under much stress these last couple of weeks between the tournament and then our... disappearing." He gave his atar a lopsided grin. "It felt good to act irresponsibly, if only for a little while."

Arafinwë nodded his understanding. "It’s been stressful for us all and there are some who are still recovering from it, from what I understand."

"The elflings you took into your service were greatly affected by what happened," Arafinwë answered, looking grave. "Lindorillë, especially, was devastated and apparently from the last missive I received from your ammë, she is fading, or trying to."

There were shocked expressions all around. Finrod started to rise. "I need to go to her...."

"Peace, hinya," Arafinwë said, pulling his son back down. "You will... we all will, but not this very minute. Lord Irmo assures me that she is in no danger of dying, but certainly it would be well if you go to Lórien as soon as can be arranged. I... we think you may be the only person to bring her back to herself."

"Yes, but you will reach her in time," Glorfindel assured him, then turned to Arafinwë. "When can we leave, Atar?"

"That is what I wish to discuss with you," the Noldóran said. "Technically, the tournament has not ended. We still need to determine the winner of the sword-and-shield event." He gave them a brief amused smile at the open mouths of Glorfindel and Findaráto.

"No more they will," Arafinwë replied with a nod. "We don’t want a repeat of that last match. Neither do we want to automatically disqualify you or declare one of you the winner."

"Both of you lost one match," Arafinwë replied, "but as Glorfindel did not lose until the next to last match, then he would be declared the winner by default." He gave his son an apologetic shrug.

Finrod nodded. "We actually came to the same conclusion, and truly, I have no objections, though Glorfindel isn’t too happy about it."

Finrod sighed and turned to his atar. "We’ve had this discussion off and on for the past week or so and I haven’t been able to convince him that he should be declared the winner."

"Why can you not both be the winners and the losers?" Sador asked reasonably. "Then you can share the prize between you."

"Or you could both forfeit and Mithlas, as third place holder, would be declared the winner," Arafinwë suggested.

"He would not accept it," Beleg said with deep assurance and no one disputed him, knowing full-well that the Sinda was correct. Mithlas was too honorable an elf to casually accept accolades he had not honestly won.

"Sador’s suggestion actually has merit," Finrod said after a moment’s reflection. "Glorfindel and I had already pledged that whichever of us won, we would share the prize with Sador and Alassiel for having to put up with those five elflings." He gave his atar a knowing smile.

"Why don’t we do that?" Glorfindel asked. Finrod gave him a puzzled look and Glorfindel nodded. "We both are declared the winners and the losers of the final match and we give the prize money to Sador and Alassiel. They earned it more than we did anyway."

"More importantly, will the other warriors who competed accept it?" Beleg asked.

For a moment they sat in silence, each with their own thoughts. Then, Arafinwë shrugged. "Only one way to find out... for both questions."

The four younger ellyn nodded. Finrod rose gracefully to his feet. "Let us go speak with Ingwë."

They stopped long enough to pick up Laurendil along the way, explaining what decisions had been made. Ingwë, they discovered, was relaxing in his study with Ingwion, Indil, Findis and Valandur. Olwë and Lirulin were there as well. They all looked up in surprise when Arafinwë strode in with the younger ellyn in tow. Valandur rose and quickly found additional seats for them all while Findis went and got more goblets so they could all enjoy the wine Ingwë and the others were drinking.

"Though why I should be giving you anything at all after you ran off with the tarts meant for tonight’s dinner I don’t know," Ingwë said with a wry grin as the four ‘thieves’ blushed.

"How did you....?" Glorfindel started to ask, then stopped when Ingwë simply gave him a look of disbelief.

"He’s too old for games," Finrod stated with a disdainful sniff at his vassal.

"Not as long as I have Glorfindel around to keep me young," Finrod quipped, "and Sador, too," he added with a smile for the youngest among them. Sador just blushed and wouldn’t look anyone in the eye.

"You four will apologize to the cooks before dinner," Ingwë said in a no nonsense voice, "and afterwards you will help wash the dishes." The four ellyn nodded, willing enough to pay for their ‘crimes’.

"We actually came here for a different reason," Arafinwë said and proceeded to explain what had been decided about the tournament. Ingwë listened without interrupting.

"Elindis and the other ladies of the court who went to Lórien will be returning tomorrow," Ingwë told them after Arafinwë finished speaking. "I had planned to have the closing ceremony for the tournament the next day. Your suggestion has merit and I will think on it."

"When will I be able to leave for Lórien, Uncle?" Finrod asked. "I’ve been told that Lindorillë...."

"Yes," Ingwë said with a grave nod. "The healers say you are well enough to travel. You may leave three days from now, after the feast celebrating the end of the tournament, if you wish. I will see that a suitable escort is readied for you."

"So now all we have to do is plan the closing ceremony," Glorfindel said. "I for one will be glad when this is finally done and over with. I need a holiday."

"You’ve been gone for nearly two weeks," Valandur couldn’t help saying with a laugh. "What more do you need?"

"That wasn’t a holiday," retorted Glorfindel. "That was... well, I’m not sure what it was, but it was no holiday."

The others gave Finrod enquiring looks, as if to ask if he agreed with Glorfindel. Finrod merely smiled as he took a sip of his wine. "Except for the basket of food and wine we received every day, the sleeping tent and cots, the peace and quiet...."

Glorfindel rolled his eyes as the others laughed as Finrod continued to give them a catalogue of luxuries that had been bestowed upon them by the Valar while they were ‘not on holiday’ as Glorfindel continued to insist.

The ladies of the court arrived the next day in due time. Finrod was pleased to see both Amarië and Alassiel among them.

"Though I did not wish to leave the elflings," Alassiel told him. "Lord Irmo and Lady Estë insisted that I do so."

"I’m glad they did," Finrod said as he gave her a chaste kiss in greeting, "as you have an important role to play in the closing ceremony for the tournament."

What that part was though he refused to say, merely telling her to be patient for a little while longer.

Finrod’s greeting to Amarië was a little less chaste, but no one raised any objections as the ellon held the elleth tightly against him and kissed her fully and with much feeling.

The two of them walked off hand-in-hand, oblivious to the smirks and winks among their family and friends.

The closing ceremony was simplicity itself, yet full of deep emotion and solemnity. It was held in the tournament field with gaily colored banners fluttering bravely in the zephyrean breeze. The stands were crowded with excited spectators and there was a festive air all round. All those who had participated in the tournament (with one or two exceptions), whether in the sword-and-shield competition or the archery competition, were ranged on either side of the royal platform, forming an aisle down which those who were the finalists in the competitions would walk to receive their prizes.

Ingwë and Elindis, together with the other kings and queens, mounted the platform that had been built before the royal viewing stand. It was the same platform constructed for Vorondil’s trial but without the thrones. The Valar were also there, though few marked them, for they remained in the background. Eönwë, however, had resumed his role as Herald. The first to be called before the High King and Queen were the six archers who had made it into the finals.

Beleg, Mithlas, Aldarion, Marilla, Gilvagor and Elemmirë all trooped out to the field and gave their obeisance to the royals. Ingwë stepped forward with Elindis. "We are pleased to award the prizes for the archery competition," Ingwë said, "even if a couple of weeks late." He smiled and allowed the laughter to rise and ebb among the crowd before continuing. "Although we initially were only going to give a prize to the actual winner of the competition, we have decided to gift all of you who made it to the final round."

He turned to Elindis who smiled as she addressed the competitors. "To Marilla, Gilvagor and Elemmirë we give each of you these tokens of our appreciation." She gestured to one of the pages who came forward carrying a pillow upon which were three mithril cloak pins in the shape of a bow with an arrow as the pin. Each shaft of the bow was inlaid with semi-precious jewels — yellow topaz and green tourmaline being prevalent. The three elves received their gifts with thanks. Then Elindis addressed Mithlas and Aldarion.

"You two came very close to winning and so we would gift you with these." She gestured and another page came forward with two quivers, each crafted of finely tooled leather. The one given to Aldarion depicted a hunting scene that clearly showed Oromë with a recognizable Aldarion next to him. Mithlas’ quiver had a similar scene, but it was done in the style of the wood-elves of Beleriand rather than that usually favored by the Amaneldi. The Sinda had tears in his eyes when he was presented with his gift and Beleg ended up embracing him and speaking quietly to him until the ellon was calmer. Everyone waited patiently until he was able to get himself under control. He tried to apologize for breaking down but Ingwë waved the apology away.

"We quite understand your emotions, youngster," the High King said gently. "We are pleased that our small gift pleases you."

"It is no small gift, my lord," Mithlas said quietly. "It is an affirmation of the worth of my people. I fear many of the Noldor and Vanyar of Aman look down on those of us who never crossed the Sea but remained in Beleriand."

Ingwë nodded, well aware of some of the animosity the Sindar and Nandor faced from the Amaneldi. "Let us hope this is a sign that such disparaging of those who chose a different path is at an end. Whatever our origins, all are now of Aman and, in the end, that is all that should matter."

Mithlas nodded and stepped back to allow Beleg center stage. Ingwë smiled fondly at the newly Reborn ellon and then looked behind him, giving someone a nod, before returning his attention to the winner of the archery competition.

"Beleg Cúthalion, le beren a maecheneb. iPhilinn lîn ribir tîr a lint. Annam le daerpheng hen. No celil hen mae."

There was almost absolute silence as all listened in wonder as the High King of the Elves of Aman spoke in flawless if somewhat stilted Sindarin. Only the whispering of some of the Tol Eressëan Noldor translating Ingwë’s speech into Quenya for the benefit of the Amaneldi broke the silence which pervaded the field. Even as Ingwë was speaking, Olwë of Alqualondë came forward carrying a great war-bow made from precious nessamelda wood. It was exquisitely crafted. Along with the bow was a quiver, similar to those gifted to Mithlas and Aldarion, but this had a depiction of Beleg standing beside Oromë. Along with the quiver were arrows fletched in the Nandorin style.

As Ingwë finished his speech and Beleg stepped forward in a rather dazed manner to accept his prize, there was a sudden ovation from the stands as elves, whatever their origin, stood, shouting, "Beleg! Beleg for Ingwë!" The ovation went on for some time, but Beleg at least did not mind. He simply stood there holding the bow in one hand and the quiver in the other with tears streaming down his face as he stared into Olwë’s eyes. Then the King of Alqualondë took his nephew into his embrace and none heard the words spoken between them.

Finally, the applause quieted and the six archers gave the royals a final obeisance before stepping to one side, while Eönwë announced the finalists of the sword-and-shield competition. Finrod and Glorfindel came with Ingwion while Mithlas and Aldarion handed their quivers to Elemmirë and Marilla and stepped forward to join them.

Again, Ingwë spoke first, addressing the five warriors standing before him. "You and the other competitors to this tourney gave us many hours of enjoyment... and a few heart-stopping moments, as well." He cast them a wry grin as laughter sprinkled through the stands. "You, Prince Findaráto, and you, Lord Glorfindel, especially, have given us much pleasure in your performance, even though we did not see the full extent of your abilities until the very end."

Both Finrod and Glorfindel grinned somewhat sheepishly. "A good thing, too," Glorfindel muttered, though most of them standing nearby heard and laughed.

"But where did you go and how did you return?" Haldir asked. He was standing near the platform with some of the other warriors who had competed. There were many nods among the other competitors as well as among the spectators.

Finrod gave Ingwë an enquiring look and the king nodded, stepping back to allow Finrod to climb onto the platform so he could better address the crowd. Silence reigned as he turned to face the people after giving Ingwë and Elindis a short bow.

"I fear I can only answer the last question, for I have no answers for the first." He held up a hand as murmurs rolled across the field. It took a moment for him to regain the people’s attention. "To be honest, neither Lord Glorfindel nor I know where we have been. The powers we both were invoking at the end were too much even for the Valar to contain and so it seems Ilúvatar Himself took a direct interest in us and removed us to a place where we could not bring harm either to ourselves or to others."

"Why did it take you so long to return?" Ingwë asked, knowing that question was on everyone’s lips.

Finrod turned to speak directly to the High King, though all heard his answer. "The Valar were at a loss as to how to return us to Aman safely and frankly neither Glorfindel nor I wanted them to do everything for us. Let us just say that through the help of our otornor, we were able to find our way back. I’m afraid that is all either of us can tell you. For reasons we feel are justified, Glorfindel and I have given our oaths to Lord Manwë not to discuss our experiences beyond the merest generalities."

Ingwë nodded. "And I ratify your oaths. Let all hear me. Prince Findaráto and Lord Glorfindel have sworn oaths of silence unto the Elder King. Let none seek to undermine these oaths on pain of our royal displeasure and the displeasure of our royal cousins."

"Not to mention the displeasure of the Valar," Glorfindel whispered to Ingwion who struggled not to laugh.

Eönwë, having overheard, simply smiled and gave the ellyn a wink. Then, he turned his attention to Finrod, his demeanor sober once again. "Thine oath and Lord Glorfindel’s oath have been recorded, Prince Findaráto. Valar valuvar."

Finrod gave Eönwë a bow, then addressed the crowd again. "As for who won...." Here he gave them all a huge grin. "Let us first award the three other finalists before we tell you our solution."

Ingwë stepped forward with a grin. "An excellent idea, Nephew. Elindis will do the honors as usual."

The Queen of the Vanyar stepped forward and looked at Mithlas, Aldarion and Ingwion, her gaze lingering fondly on her son for a moment longer than she had done with the other two ellyn. "You all fought well and valiantly, with great skill and honor. We are proud of all of you and thank you for giving yourself so graciously to the tournament. We would therefore like to gift you with these." She turned to the page who was already by her side, holding a pillow on which lay three sword pendants. These were suspended on mithril chains. In the center of the pommel of each sword was a gemstone — mahogany obsidian, amber or turquoise — and the warrior’s name was inscribed along the blade itself.

Elindis called out Aldarion’s name and placed the pendant with the mahogany obsidian gemstone around his neck. Then Ingwion was called forward and Elindis gave him the amber pendant. Finally, Mithlas stepped forward to be presented with the pendant set with the turquoise stone. Ingwë then offered them his own congratulations before they bowed and stepped aside to allow Glorfindel and Finrod center stage.

"And so it comes down to this," Ingwë said, "which one of you won and which one lost? We have already agreed that a rematch is out of the question." There were knowing snickers all round and someone from the stands was heard to groan aloud as someone else laughed and they knew that bets had been made even on that question. Finrod rolled his eyes in disbelief and Glorfindel grinned, mouthing the words "Told you so".

"Yes, well...." Ingwë continued, trying to look stern but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. "At any rate, I have considered your own suggestion and hereby agree to it. Therefore, we declare that Prince Findaráto and Lord Glorfindel are both the winners and losers of the tournament. I believe that they have already decided how the prize money should be distributed."

Finrod nodded and addressed the spectators. "Before the final match, Lord Glorfindel and I both agreed that whoever won would split the prize money with Lord Sador and Lady Alassiel, for reasons that are personal to us. Since we are both the winners and losers of the tournament the money will be given to them outright." He paused and gestured for Sador and Alassiel, who had been standing on the platform with the kings and queens, to step forward to receive their prizes. Each was given a bag full of gemstones and coins. Sador grinned and Alassiel gave everyone a flustered curtsey.

"Though it seems rather unfair that you and Glorfindel receive nothing for all the hard work you put into the tournament," she said as she accepted the bag from Finrod.

"Well, that’s not strictly true," Ingwë interjected with a smile. The High King gestured and Arafinwë and Olwë stepped forward, each carrying a sword in a leather scabbard. Finrod and Glorfindel exchanged surprised looks. "Your own swords were destroyed by the forces generated by your Songs of Power," Ingwë continued, "so we thought you might like to have these replacements."

"Findaráto," Arafinwë said, holding out the sword in his hands, "I wore this sword when I followed Fëanáro, though it never saw battle, for I returned to Aman and never had the occasion to unsheath it. Later, I wore it again during the War of Wrath and named it ‘Noldorunando’. It served me well during those long years. May it serve you equally as well, my son."

Finrod gazed into his atar’s eyes and saw the utter sincerity and love in them and could only nod, going to his knees to receive the sword. Then, Arafinwë reached down and lifted him up to embrace him. Eärwen came forward then and gave him a motherly kiss, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the tears from his face.

Meanwhile, Olwë stepped forward and addressed Glorfindel who all the while had stood stock still, his expression unreadable. "Glorfindel, I have not known you for very long," the King of the Teleri said, "but what I have seen I approve. You are courageous, yet gentle, bold yet not foolhardy... well, not always." There was gentle laughter at that and Glorfindel actually relaxed somewhat. Olwë nodded and continued, his voice somewhat quieter as he stared down at the sword. "This sword I found lying on the bloodstained sands of Alqualondë." There was an audible gasp from the crowd and Glorfindel went white. "I know not whose it was, and it does not matter. I took it as a reminder of what we elves are capable of when driven by evil. I cleaned it and had a new sheath made for it. Then, I took it to Lord Manwë, who blessed it, assuring me that no evil stained it, that the one who wielded it was once again an innocent. It has hung in my hall these many yéni but I always thought that I was merely its caretaker, that someday someone would claim it." He paused and stared directly at the former Lord of the House of the Golden Flower with a wistful smile. "I deem that day has come, child, and so I gift this sword to you in hopes that you will wield it for a better cause than its former owner did."

For a long moment Glorfindel could only stand there in mute shock but a gentle nudge from Beleg who had come up behind him to lend him support, thinking his gwador might faint at any moment, was enough to bring him to his senses and without a word he went to his knees, allowing Olwë to place the sword in his hands. Then he was lifted up and embraced. "I’m afraid it has no name," the Telerin king said quietly. "Perhaps you can give it one."

Glorfindel stared at the sword, vainly trying to swipe the tears from his face with little success. Eärwen fished out another handkerchief and handed it to him amidst much gentle laughter. When he got himself under control Glorfindel looked at Olwë. "It... I thank you, my lord, for such a gift and because a king has gifted it to me I shall call it ‘Aranna’."

There were satisfied nods all around. Olwë smiled, giving Glorfindel another hug. "That is a good name. May you always wield it justly and never in anger." He gave the ellon a kiss in benediction and then Glorfindel stepped to the side while Ingwë nodded to Eönwë who came forward to address the spectators.

"This tournament is ended. Let all depart in the Valar’s Peace and in good fellowship." Then he gestured for all the winners to follow the royals from the platform, for they would be the guests of honor at the feast that evening. Finrod and Glorfindel were in the middle of the procession with the other winners, everyone showing off their respective prizes as they made their way back to the city.

Beleg Cúthalion, le beren a maecheneb. iPhilinn lîn ribir tîr a lint. Annam le daerpheng hen. No celil hen mae: (Sindarin) ‘Beleg Strongbow, thou art bold and sharp-eyed. Thy arrows fly straight and swift. We give to thee this great-bow. Mayest thou bear it well.’ Daerpheng is the equivalent of the Quenya Altaquinga.

Valar valuvar: (Quenya) ‘The will of the Valar be done’; an attested phrase.

Yellow Topaz: Symbolic of friendship and it strengthens one's capacity to give and receive love.

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, as well as sincere interest in one's fellows. The magical uses of this stone include the stimulation of creativity.

Mahogany obsidian: Has a gentle energy that will ground and protect its owner. It gives strength in times of need.

Amber: A symbol of courage. In ancient times, amber was carried by travelers for protection. It also signifies the presence of Eru.

Turquoise: Considered by ancients to be a sacred stone, protective against all manners of evil and ill health.

They left Vanyamar the next day. It amazed the Vanyar how quickly the tent city had been dismantled overnight. Finrod merely shrugged when Ingwion commented on it.

"You learn to move quickly when you have a horde of orcs on your trail," he said with a slight smile. Laurendil was seen to roll his eyes and mutter something incomprehensible while Arafinwë chuckled, well aware from his own experiences during the War of Wrath just how true that statement was.

There was a brief ceremony of farewell on the front portico of the palace as Ingwë and Elindis gave them their blessings.

"I think this place is going to be too quiet once you are all gone," Ingwë said with a sigh.

"Now Uncle," Arafinwë said with a light laugh, "admit it. You’re glad to see us all go so you can actually sleep at nights."

"Well, some of you," he retorted mildly and that got a laugh from everyone, Glorfindel especially.

Soon, they were on their way. Their first stop would be Eldamas. From there the various parties would split: Olwë’s and Arafinwë’s parties would continue on to Tirion and Alqualondë. The Tol Eressëans would also accompany them. With them would go Glorfindel, Sador and Beleg. A smaller party, consisting of Finrod, Laurendil and Ingwion, would continue to Lórien. The Valar were none too happy about the three Reborn not going to Lórien where they could be ‘monitored’ as Irmo put it to Manwë, but the ellyn could not be convinced to go there.

"We cannot continue to run back to Lórien every time we fall down and scrape our knees," Glorfindel said rather succinctly when Lord Irmo broached the subject with them. "We need to look forward, not back, or we will never be able to reclaim our lives."

"I did not think I was running back to Lórien," Finrod retorted mildly, though in truth he agreed wholeheartedly with his gwedyr’s decision.

Glorfindel shook his head. "You have responsibilities there and people who need you. We," he indicated the other two ellyn, "need to find our own purposes in our new lives and we will not find it sitting around in Lórien."

So it was decided, though none of the elves were aware of the rather heated discussion among the Valar about it. In the end Manwë assigned Manveru and Roimendil to keep an eye on Glorfindel and Beleg, respectively.

"And Sador?" Oromë asked with some concern. "No one ever seems to think he needs looking after."

Námo gave him a hug. "On the contrary, my brother, I plan to assign Vanimeldë to watch him for us. She was his main attendant in Mandos and has a special fondness for him."

Námo shook his head. "Best let one of mine watch over him. He’s been too accepting of things lately. I think we will see a backlash of emotion from him and Vanimeldë is better equipped to handle such from long experience in dealing with the Reborn."

To that, Oromë had no objections and so, unbeknown to the elves, the party heading for Tirion was increased by three Maiar, who remained unclad.

When they reached Eldamas, Beleg became very excited and insisted on introducing everyone to the woodcarver who had taken him in after his release from Lórien. Thus, it was a rather surprised Vánandur who looked up from the chair he was carving when he heard someone call out his name and found several people entering his workshop, only one of whom he actually recognized.

"Turindil!" he said with a huge smile, opening his arms wide to welcome the Reborn ellon. "How did you fare at the tournament?"

Beleg smiled at his friend and mentor. "I won," he said simply and without pretension.

"And was there any doubt?" the woodcarver replied with a laugh, planting a kiss on the ellon’s forehead. "Now, who are your friends?"

Beleg then introduced the others who had accompanied him to Vánandur’s workshop: his gwedyr, Finrod, Glorfindel, Sador, and Ingwion, and his uncle, the king of the Teleri.

Vánandur gave Olwë his obeisance. "My lord, I am pleased that Tur... I mean, Beleg, has finally been reunited with family. It grieved me more than I can say to see him looking so lost and bereft when he first came to live with me." He put an arm around Beleg’s shoulders and gave him another hug.

Olwë smiled at them both. "I am only happy to know that someone was willing to look after my nephew until such time as I could claim him."

"I still do not understand why you could not do so from the beginning," Vánandur said, and though his tone was non-accusatory, there was a hint of disapproval in it.

Olwë shook his head. "The Valar, for reasons of their own, never informed me, else I would have been there to greet him."

"Hmph," was the woodcarver’s only comment. "Well, you’ve found one another at the last and I suppose that is the important thing."

Vánandur gave him another hug and a smile. "You are most welcome, child, and you will always have a place to stay whenever you come to Eldamas, which I hope will be often."

Beleg cast a questioning glance towards Olwë, who nodded. "You may be sure of that, good Vánandur. I will see that Beleg visits his... um... other uncle," — here everyone laughed — "on a regular basis."

"That would be well, my lord. I thank you." Vánandur gave the king another bow and shortly afterwards they all made their farewells, for Olwë and Arafinwë meant to travel on to Tirion that day. Beleg was most reluctant to leave Vánandur, and was nearly in tears, but in the end, armed with assurances that he would see his friend again, he allowed Finrod and Glorfindel to lead him away. Vánandur stood at the doorway of his workshop and watched them go. It was some time before he went back to working on the chair.

There was another tearful farewell when the larger party left Eldamas but plans were made for them all to gather again at the summer solstice. Finrod spoke briefly with his atar. "If I feel it warranted and Lord Irmo thinks it wise, I will send the three older elflings to you as we had planned. Lindorillë is the one who concerns me the most for several reasons."

Arafinwë nodded. "Do what you think best for them all," he said. "I have every faith in you, yonya."

At the last minute, Glorfindel announced he was going to go with Finrod to Lórien. Everyone but Finrod evinced surprise and, in some cases, dismay at the announcement. Unseen and unheard by any, the three Maiar looking on started laughing. Manveru shook his head and threw his arms up in a gesture of defeat as if to say, ‘I can’t keep up!’.

Arafinwë gave the ellon a piercing glance. "Were you not the one who said you do not wish to go back, only forward?"

Glorfindel nodded, "Yes, I said that and I still hold it to be true, but...." Now he looked uncertain.

"What is it, yonya?" Arafinwë asked, gathering the ellon into an embrace. "You have been somewhat quiet today. What are you thinking?"

Glorfindel sighed, closing his eyes. "I do not know, but the closer we’ve come to Lórien the stronger this feeling I have within me that I’m needed there. I do not know why. I thought I left all that behind."

"Do you think... er... someone is trying to influence you?" Sador asked unexpectedly.

"You mean the Valar?" Glorfindel replied, looking startled at the thought and then his expression darkened. "If they are... they will regret it."

The absolute coldness of his tone shocked them all. Manveru frowned and relayed the conversation to Manwë whose only response was a sigh as he instructed Manveru to keep a closer than normal eye on the ellon. Námo and Irmo were also informed and there was a brief discussion about possibly sending him on to Nienna with Ingwion, but Nienna nixed that idea.

*I’m too busy with the others to deal with Glorfindel right now,* she told them with some exasperation. *Best let Irmo deal with him if need be.* Then she asked a question of her own. *I wonder what or Who is inspiring that impossible ellon to go to Lórien?*

*Ah... now I see....* Manwë said with a note of satisfaction in his voice. *We will let Atar handle this then.*

There were several sighs among the Valar at that, though not all for the same reason, and not all of them were sighs of relief either. In the meantime, Arafinwë reluctantly gave his permission for Glorfindel to go to Lórien with Finrod.

Sador said nothing, just giving his gwador a hug; Beleg was more effusive in his farewells, promising to see them all again in a few months’ time. With that, the cavalcade departed, leaving Finrod, Laurendil, Ingwion and Glorfindel with their escort, plus one unclad Maia, behind. They left Eldamas the next morning.

Lórien was much as Glorfindel remembered, especially the serenity of the place, and he said so to the others as they approached the main gates of the Gardens.

"Except when someone recently come from Endórë and suffering from war-related trauma is screaming their heads off," Laurendil objected with a grin.

"Or some Reborn becomes fractious," Finrod chimed in with his own grin, "and refuses to eat his vegetables."

"All right, all right," Glorfindel retorted with a laugh. "In spite of all that, though, I suspect that ‘calm’ is the watchword of the day in my Lord Irmo and my Lady Estë’s demesne."

*Well, that won’t last now that Glorfindel is here,* Estë bespoke her spouse with amusement, as the elves were entering Lórien.

Irmo did not deign to answer. Instead he gave Manveru explicit orders. *Do not take your eyes off him for a second.* Manveru gave the Lord of Lórien a bow but otherwise offered no comment.

As soon as Finrod had greeted Irmo and Estë he insisted on seeing the elflings, especially Lindorillë. Irmo offered to act as his escort. "The other elflings are all attending to their respective duties," he told him, "but you will be able to see them at the nooning."

"Then, by your leave, aranya," Laurendil addressed Finrod with a bow, "I will go seek out Manwen and let her know I am back."

"And I can show Ingwion around in the meantime," Glorfindel offered. "I don't think he's ever seen the groves set aside for the Reborn."

Ingwion nodded. "When I was here last there were not as yet any Reborn residing here."

So it was decided and arrangements were made for everyone to meet again for the noon meal.

"I see Alassiel is not with you," Irmo said to Finrod in a casual tone as he led him down the sward towards the grove where Lindorillë lay.

"Her term of service to me ended with the tournament," Finrod replied somewhat distractedly, "although I think she will be attaching herself to my betrothed’s entourage soon enough." He flashed the Vala a knowing smile. "At least that is the impression I got when I left Vanyamar."

They entered the grove and went into the pavilion where they found Melian and another Maia Finrod did not know sitting by Lindorillë’s cot softly singing. Melian looked up with a smile at Finrod’s entrance, rising to offer him an embrace. "It is good to see you, my dear," she said. "We were all rather worried."

"She has not worsened, but neither has she improved," said the other Maia, whom Irmo introduced as Lisselindë and whom Finrod was made to understand had been especially assigned to watch over the elleth.

"Then let us see what I can do." Finrod knelt beside the cot, gently stroking the elleth’s hair. Lindorillë neither moved nor acknowledged his presence in any way, her eyes open and unseeing, her breathing too low. "Lindorillë," he whispered, "what doest thou here lying on thy cot when thou should’st be up and attending upon thy lord?"

There was no immediate response. Finrod continued stroking her hair and her cheeks, laying a kiss on her brow. "Come child, heed not Lord Námo’s call but returnest thou unto Life. Thine atto and ammë would grieve for thee, as would I. Áty’ entulë, yeldenya, iCálenna. Avátyë saca Ñuru, mal Coivië."

His words, for all that they were spoken barely above a whisper, were full of power and command. For several more minutes, the elleth did not stir, her eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling, and then she blinked — once, twice — and gave a small gasp. Finrod continued stroking her hair. "Time to wake up, child," he said in a louder voice.

Tears started forming in her eyes as she moved slightly, still unseeing, yet obviously reaching towards consciousness. "Un-unca’ Fi-finda?" she rasped, leaning into his caress.

Finrod stole a glance at Irmo and the two Maiar who all had identical looks of amusement on their faces. He rose, seating himself on the edge of the cot and gathering the elleth into his arms. "That’s right, child. Your Unca’ Finda’s right here."

"I missed you, Unca’ Finda," she whispered, tears raining down her cheeks. "I... I looked for you but I couldn’t find you." Now she was weeping in earnest and Finrod held her tighter, rocking her gently.

"But you have found me now and all is well again," he answered her and that appeared to calm her, for her tears abated and soon she was falling into a natural sleep. Finrod continued rocking her until he felt her go limp and then he laid her back down.

"Very good," Irmo said, laying a hand gently on her brow, deepening her state into a healing sleep. "I think we can expect a full recovery."

Finrod shook his head. "I think not. It may be best for her to remain near me for the nonce. We don’t want a relapse."

Irmo nodded. "All the children suffered to one degree or another from your disappearance," he said. "I do not think sending any of them to Tirion would be wise at this stage."

Finrod shrugged. "I had intended to concentrate on Eruanna and Veryandur first, as they will be released at the solstice." He gave them a sigh. "I don’t think I can deal with all of them at once."

"No," Finrod countered rather forcibly. "They are both apprentices still and have their own duties."

"I would not wish that," Finrod replied categorically. "I know how much Manwen desires to achieve her mastership and Laurendil is only just beginning to accept his new role."

"Nor would I want you to, lord," Finrod retorted, standing to face the Vala. "I will decide what to do after I’ve had a chance to speak to and observe the children myself."

The Lord of Lórien nodded. "That is well. Veryandur has been learning herbology while Eruanna has been learning embroidery. Queen Elindis was teaching her during her stay, but Lady Indis has taken over her instruction."

Irmo nodded, smiling. "You may wish to visit her. She would love to see you again."

Finrod’s expression became more thoughtful, though he still looked doubtful. "Then perhaps I will pay her a visit soon," he finally said.

"Good, good," Irmo said, then continued. "The two older ellyn have been assigned to tend to the Reborn. Master Meneldil suggested it and it seems to be working out well." He gave a chuckle, shaking his head. "Almost too well. Those two ellyn went from trying to act ‘grown up’ to playing one trick after another on some of our residents, usually with the help of one of the Reborn." The last was said with a wry grin which Finrod echoed.

"Don’t you dare!" Irmo exclaimed with a mock scowl. Finrod just laughed, giving Melian and Lisselindë a wink. The Maiar smiled benignly at them both.

"Why don’t you go get settled in, Nephew?" Melian suggested. "Lisselindë and I will stay here and watch over Lindorillë."

"Yes," Irmo added, "that sounds like a good idea. Go freshen up and I will see that the other children are made presentable for luncheon."

"Why don’t I have the luncheon at my pavilion then?" Finrod asked. "It will give us more privacy."

Irmo nodded. "I’ll see that everything is made ready and all parties are informed. I’m assuming you would like Glorfindel and Ingwion to be there."

"Yes, let Laurendil and Manwen know they need not join us. They deserve time to themselves."

Finrod gave the Vala his obeisance, and Melian a hug and a kiss as between kin. He quietly thanked Lisselindë for watching over the elfling and then bent down and kissed Lindorillë gently on the brow before exiting the pavilion.

Luncheon was a happy affair all around. None of the other elflings had been told of Finrod’s arrival, merely directed by their Maiar attendants to clean themselves up and put on their best tunics or frock and then they were led to Finrod’s pavilion. As usual, whenever he saw any of the Maiar, Sorondil asked after his sister, but this time, instead of answering in the negative, Irmo’s People were able to assure him that Lindorillë had woken earlier and was now expected to make a complete recovery. The relief on the ellon’s face was palpable and they were forced to stop for a few moments while he got himself under control. The other elflings hugged Sorondil and let him know how happy they were for him.

After a few moments they continued on their way and when they were led to the grove and saw Finrod standing there with Glorfindel and Ingwion flanking him, Eruanna gave a squeal of delight and ran into his open arms. Finrod picked her up and swung her around, laughingly planting a kiss on her brow.

Veryandur was not too far behind and ran joyfully into Glorfindel’s arms while the two older ellyn were a bit more sedate about it, giving the three Elf-lords their obeisance as they approached, yet, the older elves could see the looks of relief on their faces and knew that they had been just as worried as the younger elflings.

"Well now, my children," Finrod said once everyone had calmed down and they were seated at the table that had been set up outside the pavilion under a spreading oak, "how are you faring?"

"But, m-my lord," Oromendil stuttered, "where have you and Lord Glorfindel been? We... we saw you...disappear and thought...." He couldn’t continue and all could see him struggling to maintain control. Finrod noticed that the other elflings looked equally stricken at the memory of the last time they had seen him and sighed.

"Where we were, we are not permitted to say," he finally said, "but know that I never ceased to worry for you... for all of you... and wondered how you were faring without me."

That admission seemed to startle the children, as if none of them had ever considered the idea that this rather intimidating Elf-lord into whose service they had been thrust would actually worry about them. It gave them a new perspective on just who their lord was.

"So, tell me what you have learned while I was away," Finrod said then, and one by one, beginning with Veryandur, they spoke of their duties and the things they were learning. The youngest of the elflings regaled them with a catalogue of all the different herbs he had helped tend, even going so far as to list their medicinal properties.

"It sounds as if we have a future Lóriennildo in our midst," Glorfindel said with a smile and a wink for Finrod.

Finrod smiled back reaching over to where Veryandur was sitting next to him and ruffling his locks, much to the youngster’s disgust. "I can think of worse occupations," he said.

Eruanna, when she spoke of learning her stitches, gave Finrod a shy look. "I’m not very good," she said with a sigh, "but Lady Indis says I will improve in time."

Finrod nodded. "My anamillë is well-known throughout Eldamar for her embroidery. You could not have a better teacher."

The elflings all stared at Finrod in surprise, only dimly beginning to realize just how powerful and nobly born he truly was.

Ingwion, who had remained quiet for the most part, nodded. "Aunt Indis has always been praised for her work. Atar was grieved when she refused to return to Vanyamar after... well after everything." He looked troubled for a moment and the other two older elves understood what had caused his dismay and offered him sympathetic looks, though the children showed signs of confusion.

"Well, that’s all over and done with," Finrod said brightly for the children’s sake and Ingwion forced himself to smile and nod, though his eyes were still dark with remembered pain. Finrod turned to Sorondil and Oromendil, giving them a bland look. "Lord Irmo says you are helping Master Meneldil with the Reborn and causing all sorts of trouble."

The two ellyn shared guilty looks. "We’re just...playing with them," Sorondil explained.

"Oh? What sort of games?" Finrod asked with just enough disinterest in his voice as he pretended to poke at his salad to lull the ellyn into a false sense of security.

"Um... well, once we... er... that is... Gwindor came up with this idea to switch all the labels on the herbals in Master Meneldil’s apothecary," Oromendil offered somewhat reluctantly.

"Oh? And why did you think that was a good idea?" Ingwion asked, looking intrigued.

Oromendil gave them a sour look. "Most of them taste bad!" he exclaimed with some disgust. "We were hoping by switching the labels we might be given something good for a change."

"And why were you even being given herbals anyway?" Glorfindel asked, looking a bit confused.

Interestingly enough, all four elflings sighed, though it was Sorondil who answered. "They’ve been giving us these herbal teas every day. Horrid stuff. They said we had to take them because we’ve been sad."

"We were a lot sadder whenever we had to drink them," Veryandur stated ingenuously. The other three elflings nodded in agreement.

The three Elf-lords looked at each other for a moment and then burst out laughing.

"So what else did you and... Gwindor? Yes, what else did you and he come up with?" Finrod asked once he calmed down. He had started at the name, though only Glorfindel and Ingwion noticed. If this was the same Gwindor, son of Guilin... He shook his head slightly to clear it as he returned his attention to what Sorondil was saying.

"Except for switching labels on the herbals and that could have caused serious problems for others," Finrod retorted.

"Luckily, my Lord Irmo assigned a Maia to each of the elflings, so we were able to switch the labels back after they went on their merry way."

Everyone looked up to see Ingil standing there smiling at them with great amusement. Finrod, Glorfindel and Ingwion gave the Maia abbreviated bows, while Eruanna and Veryandur gave him bright smiles. Sorondil and Oromendil, however, looked even guiltier than before. Finrod gave the Maia a shrewd look. "Something tells me that you’re just dying to relate to me all the things these two did."

Ingil laughed. "Nay, I will not tell tales out of turn, as I think the saying goes, but there was one incident about which you should know for everyone in Lórien is aware of it."

Ingil nodded. "We’ve been referring to it as the... um... ‘Great Paint Job Incident’."

Veryandur nodded and giggled in agreement. Sorondil and Oromendil both looked as if they were wishing the earth would open up beneath them and swallow them whole.

The three Elf-lords, divining they were about to be entertained, refilled their goblets and settled back in their chairs. Finrod gestured to Ingil. "Pull up a chair, Ingil, and tell us all about it."

Ingil smiled and suddenly a chair appeared. There was a little bit of shuffling about before the Maia was comfortably seated between the two ellyn, casting them fond looks and putting an arm around their shoulders before addressing Finrod.

"You should know that my Lord Irmo holds no grudge against these two for what they did. When dealing with the Reborn... and elflings, one learns to take certain behavior in stride."

Both Finrod and Glorfindel nodded, their faces wreathed with wide grins at the memories of their own time in Lórien.

"So what happened?" Ingwion asked, feeling a bit left out of things, for he had no knowledge of what his cousin and Glorfindel had experienced while residing in Lórien, learning to reintegrate themselves into Amanian society. Neither Finrod nor Glorfindel ever spoke of that time except in the vaguest of details. He was curious to know what it might have been like for them.

"Well," Ingil said with an amused smile, "it all started one day when Gwindor, Sorondil and Oromendil’s special friend among the Reborn, complained that there was too much green in Lórien...."

Áty’ entulë, yeldenya, iCálenna. Avátyë saca Ñuru, mal Coivië: ‘Returnest thou, my daughter, unto the Light. Seekest thou not Death, but Life’. When personalized, Ñuru refers to Mandos.

Historical note: Gwindor son of Guilin of Nargothrond joined Beleg in the attempt to rescue Túrin and then later warned Túrin of the sack of Nargothrond just before his own death at the Battle of Tumhalad.

As was their custom, Sorondil and Oromendil presented themselves to Master Meneldil after breaking their fast to see what the Master wished for them to do. Their Maiar attendants, Cucuandur (Sorondil’s Maia) and Nornotavaron (Oromendil’s Maia) followed along to ensure that the two ellyn actually arrived at their destination. Oromendil, especially, had the tendency to wander off when something attracted his attention, be it a butterfly or a squirrel or even a leaf fluttering by on the wind. The Maiar were beginning to learn that ‘straight away’ had a completely different meaning for the elflings than it did for the adults.

Today Master Meneldil was waiting for them as usual in the grove where he kept his apothecary. "So, how are you two doing this morning?" he asked them, casting a critical and professional eye over them. Sorondil still was not sleeping well in spite of the herbal teas they had been foisting on him and the other elflings. Oromendil looked a little better but not by much. The last week had taken their toll on the children, especially with Lindorillë not responding even to her brother’s pleas to return to them. It was disheartening to see such pain in these young ones and all of Lord Irmo or Lady Estë’s assurances to the contrary, it was difficult to remain hopeful. Still, he was careful always to keep a cheerful front for their sakes and the Maiar followed his lead.

"We’re fine, Master," Oromendil said, speaking for them both, as was usual. Sorondil had stopped speaking altogether unless directly addressed since his sister had started to fade. "Who are we playing with today?"

Meneldil hid a smile and the two Maiar were also careful not to laugh. "Well, as to that, youngling," he said, "I noticed that Gwindor is feeling rather sad today."

Sorondil perked up at that, much to Meneldil’s delight. "Why? What does he have to be sad about?"

"Ah... well, as to that, Sorondil, he will not tell me. Perhaps you and Oromendil can find out and help him not be sad anymore."

The two ellyn nodded and Meneldil made shooing motions. "Off you go then. You’ll find Gwindor in his grove."

The elflings made their obeisance to the Master (they were finally getting used to doing so without having to be reminded) and ran off, hand-in-hand, to go in search of their Reborn friend. The two Maiar remained behind, for it was Meneldil’s wish, backed up by Lord Irmo, that the elflings not feel that they were constantly being watched and allowed the freedom of unsupervised play.

Meneldil nodded. "Oh, yes. He’s been moping about for a couple of days now. Won’t tell me or anyone else what is bothering him, though. I’m hoping the little ones will get him to talk."

Nornotavaron nodded. "I’ve noticed that since these two have started interacting with the Reborn, many of them are responding more favorably than they were."

"Yes," Meneldil said. "I have noticed that as well. In fact, at least two of the Reborn are being released earlier than anticipated simply because they’ve responded so well to Sorondil and Ormendil’s presence. I am thinking of approaching my lord Irmo with the idea of having other elflings come to Lórien to help with the Reborn. Perhaps we can recruit those children who already are expressing an interest in becoming Healers."

The two Maiar nodded. "That sounds like a wonderful idea," Cucuandur said. "I have to admit that since these children have been here life has gotten a bit more interesting again."

Cucuandur laughed. "Bored? No... but you have to admit, the elflings do liven things up a bit."

They all turned to see Lord Irmo standing at the entrance to the grove, smiling benignly, and gave the Vala their obeisance. Irmo addressed Meneldil. "I think your idea has merit, my son. We will discuss it further at another time."

Irmo nodded. "In the meantime, I have just been informed by my brother that we should expect two new Reborn in the next day or so. I think I want to have them sharing the same pavilion...."

The two Maiar excused themselves while Irmo and Meneldil discussed the needs of the Reborn to check on their charges one more time before attending to their other duties.

Sorondil and Oromendil made their way towards Gwindor’s pavilion. The Reborn was a Noldo who died a long time ago, but that was all they knew about him. The ellyn had learned very quickly never to ask a Reborn about how they died. Since befriending Gwindor and the other Reborn, they had begun to understand that these elves were not deserving of their contempt but rather their understanding and compassion. Many of the Reborn were fearful of their welcome among the elves of Aman and seeing these two elflings interacting with them and accepting them gave them hope that things would be well once they left Lórien.

They found Gwindor sitting quietly outside his pavilion before a fire, staring at nothing in particular, sipping on a hot beverage. "Gwindor!" Sorondil called out. "Mae govannen."

The Noldo looked up and gave them a smile. He had been teaching them something of Sindarin and was glad to see they had remembered their lessons.

"Mae govannen, mellyn nîn," he replied, then switched to Quenya. "Come and join me." He gestured and the two ellyn crouched before the fire. It was not cold today, but the morning was cooler than usual so the fire was welcome.

"Master Meneldil said you were feeling sad," Sorondil said, getting right to the point. "Why are you sad, Gwindor? Did someone say something mean?"

Gwindor gave his young friends a surprised look. "Mean? Oh, no, nothing like that." He sighed a bit and stared at the fire again. "I was just feeling... oh, I don’t know..."

"Do you miss your home?" Oromendil asked solicitously. "I miss mine and my atto and ammë."

Gwindor gave the elfling a fond smile. "No. I do not miss my home. Indeed, I barely can remember it yet. No... I was just thinking that as lovely as Lórien is, it’s rather... blah."

"Huh?" Two sets of eyebrows shot up at that and Gwindor couldn’t help but laugh at their absurd expressions.

"Blah... a perfectly good word," he said to them. "Everything is the same here. I think it’s all the trees. They’re all green."

"Well, of course they’re green," protested Oromendil with some exasperation. "What color did you think they should be — purple?"

Sorondil snickered and Gwindor laughed again. "No... I think we should leave the trees alone."

That got their attention, that and the sly look the Noldo cast them. The elflings glanced around as if they were making sure they weren’t being observed before turning their attention back to Gwindor. "What do you have in mind?" Sorondil whispered, looking wide-eyed.

The two ellyn nodded. They had gotten the chance to play with the paints themselves and enjoyed that part of their duties the most.

"I was thinking that maybe some of these pavilions could be a bit more... er... colorful."

Sorondil and Ormendil looked up at the pavilion behind Gwindor. It was a typical pavilion. Most were either blue or white or even green but otherwise were rather plain looking. The two elflings exchanged smiles and then turned back to Gwindor. "How do we get the paints without anyone knowing?" Sorondil asked.

Gwindor shook his head. "I checked already. No painting class has been scheduled until tomorrow."

"We still have to get them though," Sorondil opined, scrunching his face in thought. "It won’t be easy sneaking in...."

"That’s because you didn’t have me with you," Gwindor retorted with a wide grin and the two younger elves grinned back. The Noldo rose and gestured towards the grove’s entrance. "Shall we?"

The other two jumped up, eager to be off. "What shall we paint first, Gwindor?" Ormendil asked as they made their way towards the grove where painting classes were held.

"Well, I was thinking... Lord Irmo’s People wear the emblem of a rainbow. I like rainbows. I think we should have more of them. I noticed that Lord Irmo has a white pavilion by the lake that he likes to sit under at times. What do you think?"

The two children stopped in amazement, not sure if they wanted to tamper with something belonging to Lord Irmo, but the look of anticipation on Gwindor’s face was enough to quell any misgivings they might have had and with vigorous nods they continued on their way....

"Lord Irmo’s pavilion?" Finrod interrupted Ingil’s narrative with a shocked look on his face. "They decided to paint Lord Irmo’s pavilion?"

"Do you know this Gwindor, brother?" Glorfindel asked, giving Finrod a shrewd look.

Finrod nodded. "The son of Guilin, my seneschal at the time I left Nargothrond. His brother, Gelmir, died in the Dagor Bragollach."

Ingil shook his head. "No. I’m afraid he did not, though he did die... eventually."

Finrod stared at the Maia in consternation, but refrained from asking any further questions in deference to the children listening with wide eyes and wider ears. "You’ll have to tell me the details later. In the meantime, I believe Sorondil and Oromendil were about to do something foolish." He gave the two ellyn a wicked grin and a wink that set them laughing, so they knew their lord was not angry with them... yet.

Ingil merely nodded. "Yes. Gwindor proved rather... inventive, to say the least."

"How did they manage to do what they did without alerting any of the Maiar?" Ingwion asked.

Cucuandur and Nornotavaron, now invisible, entered Gwindor’s grove just in time to overhear the elves’ plans and watch them leave for the painting grove.

"You know we are not to interfere in anything that the Reborn do unless it poses an obvious danger to them," Cucuandur replied with a shrug.

"True, but stealing paints and brushes does not constitute a dangerous activity," the other Maia countered.

Nornotavaron grinned. "Unless Lord Irmo catches them." They both laughed. "Still," Nornotavaron continued, "ought we not to warn Lord Irmo that his favorite pavilion is about to be attacked by one Reborn and two elflings bent on making things... um... colorful?"

Cucuandur snickered. "We were told not to interfere, and warning Lord Irmo would be a form of interference."

"You may be the one to explain that to him when he questions us about it later," Nornotavaron said with a snort. "Well, what about the other Maiar? Should we warn them off?"

"Nay," Cucuandur said with a shake of his head. "We will leave all to themselves and see how it plays out. I’m off." With that he thought himself away to report to Lady Estë while Nornotavaron remained for another minute watching Gwindor and the elflings make their way along the sward towards the painting grove and trying, rather unsuccessfully to the Maia’s mind, to act nonchalant. Finally, he shrugged and thought himself to the stables to visit with the horses before attending to his other duties.

"So how do we get into the grove without anyone seeing us?" Sorondil asked as the three of them made their way along the sward.

"Well, getting in is no problem," Gwindor explained. "None of the groves are barred, at least none that I’ve ever wandered into. I think getting out without anyone seeing us sneaking paint and brushes might be trickier."

"I’m sure something will come to mind," was Gwindor’s rather vague reply. "Ah... here it is. Come, let us see what we can find."

They entered the grove which consisted of two pavilions, the smaller one being the supply tent while the larger was where classes were held. At the moment there was no one there. They made their way into the smaller tent and Gwindor began selecting several tubs of paint and some brushes.

"If we’re going to paint rainbows we need all the colors," Sorondil said. "We’re missing indigo."

"Ah... I don’t see anything that says indigo," Gwindor replied, squinting at the various tubs and reading their labels. "What if we just skip indigo?"

"Well, there is something called midnight blue. Would that work? And we have azure blue as well."

The two elflings shrugged, not really sure what the difference between the two shades was, but finally nodded in agreement.

"Good," Gwindor said with a smile. "Now we need to find something to carry all this in without it being obvious."

The two elflings scattered about in search of something suitable for transportation. It was Sorondil who found the picnic basket. "Will this do?"

"Perfect," Gwindor answered and they quickly piled all their supplies into it, or at least as much as they could. There were two tubs of paint that would not fit no matter what they tried. "Hmm... let’s take the brushes out and see if that will work," the Reborn suggested, but it still did not work.

"We need the orange and green paint," Ormendil said in disgust, scowling at the uncooperative basket. "We can’t have a rainbow without them."

"Wait!" Gwindor said. "I have an idea. I’ll be right back." With that, he left them, returning about ten minutes later with another smaller basket. "Here. We can use this, and I’ve even brought some food so if anyone asks we can truthfully tell them we’re going on a picnic." He lifted the lid of the basket to reveal a tablecloth and some bread, fruit and cheese as well as a skin of water. There was just enough room to add the two tubs of paint.

"You two carry the smaller basket and I’ll handle the larger one," Gwindor said and soon they were off again.

As luck would have it, though, no sooner had they cleared the grove, when they were accosted by two other Reborn, an ellon and an elleth, who wanted to know what they were up to. They spoke Sindarin rather than Quenya, and too rapidly for the elflings to follow.

"We’re going to the lake for a picnic," Gwindor told them, speaking in the same language.

"Oh, can we come?" asked the elleth, a silvery-haired Sinda from Doriath named Region.

"Well... I don’t think we have enough bru... I mean food for everyone," Gwindor replied with a scowl.

"Oh, that’s all right, we can fetch some for ourselves, can’t we Celepharn?"

Her dark-haired companion, clearly a Noldo, nodded. "Region and I were heading for the lake, too," he explained. "We wanted to see if it is true that Lady Estë sleeps during the day."

The two Reborn giggled and Gwindor rolled his eyes. Sorondil and Ormendil were becoming impatient, not caring about sleeping Valiër.

"Why don’t you two go on ahead?" Gwindor said to the two other Reborn. "There’s something we want to do first."

"We’ll stop at the kitchens and ask for something for the picnic and meet you at the lake," Celepharn suggested with a nod, then he took Region’s hand. The two of them fairly skipped down the sward giggling.

The elflings watched them with a scowl. "They’re going to ruin everything," Oromendil whined.

"Not if we hurry," Gwindor said and with that he set off. The elflings trailed behind him.

They reached the lake without further incident and soon were standing before Lord Irmo’s pavilion. Three of the walls were down, the fourth side was open to the lake. There was no one else in sight. Quickly putting down the baskets and pulling out their ill-gotten goods, Gwindor handed each of the elflings a large brush.

"Sorondil, you take the left wall and Oromendil can do the opposite one. I’ll do this one. I’ll lay the tubs out and you can choose whichever color you want to start with. Here are the other brushes. I brought one for each color."

The other ellyn nodded and soon Sorondil was dipping his brush in green paint while Oromendil chose purple. Gwindor started with red. They attacked the walls of the pavilion with the brushes, though it was not easy to paint on sendal. It was not as stiff as canvas for one thing, and the two elflings were not tall enough to reach further than halfway up the wall. That did not matter, though, for they were all having too much fun to care. They made arches of color, switching brushes as they finished with one color. Gwindor’s artwork was more exact than that of the other two. Sorondil and Oromendil simply painted rainbows in no particular order of color.

"Hey, Gwindor, can we paint other things besides rainbows?" Sorondil asked at one point, wiping a smear of orange across his forehead.

The two elflings giggled and soon Sorondil was painting a wildly colorful butterfly while Oromendil was trying his hand, not very well, at painting a horse that was blue with a yellow mane and tail. Gwindor had turned his attention to painting flowers underneath his rainbow.

None of them were paying attention to anything else so it came as a shock when they heard someone calling to them.

The three ellyn, now splattered with different colored paints, stopped to find themselves facing Celepharn and Region who were carrying a picnic basket of their own between them. They gave the two newcomers guilty looks. It was Gwindor who answered them. "Ah... well, we...um... decided to have some fun first."

"Would you like to join us?" Oromendil asked, holding out his brush dripping yellow. "I’m painting a horse."

Celepharn and Region looked at each other, then at the three painters. "Why are you painting Lord Irmo’s pavilion?" Region asked.

Celepharn nodded, his expression becoming gleeful. "Come on, Region. Let’s join them and then afterwards we can go over to the island and have our picnic."

"How are you going to do that?" Sorondil asked in confusion. "There’s no bridge."

"Ah..." Celepharn reached into the basket he and Region were carrying and pulled out some hísilia. "We’ll make one."

That was good enough for the elflings and soon they were back to painting with Celepharn and Region joining in. By now the pavilion was unrecognizable as the pristine white sendal walls became a riot of color. Gwindor and Celepharn even boosted Region up so she could paint the roof. The two elflings wanted to do it too so they took turns.

Finally, they decided that there was no more white to be painted on and they stepped back to admire their artwork....

Glorfindel scowled. "If it’s the same Celepharn... Does he also go by Artelemnar?" he turned to Ingil.

The Maia nodded. "Yes. It is the same person. He has... changed since last you saw him."

"He was funny," Ormendil piped up suddenly and Sorondil nodded, "He taught us some words in Sindarin but Gwindor and Region thought they were not good words for us to learn."

Finrod raised an eyebrow. "I hope we do not have the occasion of hearing them coming from your mouths then," he said as he gave the two ellyn a significant look. Both of them shook their heads.

"We know better than that, lord," Sorondil said solemnly. Finrod was privately pleased that the youngster had addressed him correctly but said nothing more.

He turned his attention back to Ingil. "So what was Lord Irmo’s reaction when he saw what had been done to his pavilion?"

"And did they truly get away with it without anyone seeing them?" Ingwion asked, looking skeptical. "I cannot imagine no Maia was watching."

Ingil’s grin widened. "Oh, there were plenty of Maiar watching them. In fact, most of Lórien was aware of what they were doing...."

The five elves were sitting around the pavilion, spattered with paint, happily munching on some roasted chicken and admiring their efforts. In the end they had decided not to attempt the crossing to the island, deciding to save that for another day.

"Well, it’s certainly no longer white," Celepharn said with a straight face and the others all laughed.

Indeed, not only was the pavilion no longer white, the sward around it for about two feet was now every color but green. The two elflings were covered from head to toe in paint though their older friends were more pristine looking.

The elves all turned around, gasping in surprise, to see a Maia standing behind them, looking less than pleased.

"Oh, hello Ingil," Gwindor said as he rose, looking suddenly nervous. The others showed similar signs of dismay at the sight of the Maia glaring at them.

"Don’t ‘oh, hello Ingil’ me, child," the Maia said. "What were you all thinking of? Lord Irmo is not going to be happy."

"Were you watching us all this time?" Celepharn asked, giving the Maia a shrewd look.

Ingil stared at the Reborn ellon for a moment before a small grin stole across his visage and with a single gesture, suddenly the entire area was filled with Maiar. The elves just stared in shock at the grinning faces. The elflings noticed their own guardian Maiar standing right behind Ingil and cringed slightly at the sight of them.

"Wh-why didn’t you stop us?" Oromendil asked, feeling confused by what he considered unadult-like behaviour on the part of the Maiar.

They all turned to see Lord Irmo striding towards them with a faintly amused expression on his face. The five elves gave him his obeisance, though none were quite able to look him directly in the eye. They watched the Vala circle the pavilion, checking on their handiwork, and waited with some trepidation as to what his reaction would be. Sorondil and Oromendil were wondering what sort of punishment they would be receiving while the three Reborn were hoping they weren’t going to be sent back to Mandos for what they’d done.

Finally, Irmo came back around to where the elves were standing waiting for his judgment. All around were the Maiar, most of them with amused though sympathetic smiles. "So, whose brilliant idea was this?" Irmo finally asked, knowing full-well the answer.

"Ah... I should have known," Irmo said, nodding. Then, he glanced at the two elflings. "And you decided it was a good idea."

Sorondil and Ormendil both nodded, somewhat reluctantly. "We... we thought it would be... um... fun." Sorondil replied, swallowing nervously.

The question was so unexpected that none of the elves knew how to respond at first, but the elflings both nodded vigorously and Gwindor and the other two Reborn grinned. "Best fun I’ve had since trying to burn down half the Gardens," Celepharn said with a laugh.

Several Maiar rolled their eyes at that, remembering all too clearly that particular incident, while Sorondil and Oromendil just gave the Reborn shocked looks.

"So, what do you think... um... lord?" Oromendil asked, concern written all over his face.

"What do I think?" Irmo echoed, gazing serenely at the five elves, all waiting for doom to fall upon them. "I think you missed a spot on the right wall near the top." He turned to go, ignoring the snickers from the Maiar and the looks of dumfounded disbelief on the faces of the elves, then stopped and gave Celepharn and Region a more severe look. "I’ll take the rope," he said, holding out his hand.

There was a brief moment of silence and then Celepharn was scrambling for one of the picnic baskets and pulling out the rope, sheepishly handing it over to the Vala. Irmo nodded.

"If I catch any of you even thinking about going to the island without permission, I’ll have my brother come and speak to you about certain matters. Do I make myself clear?"

All five elves nodded, unaware that the Maiar were smiling, for they knew full-well that their lord was more amused than angry. Irmo turned his attention to the Maiar standing about. "Make sure the elflings are cleaned up before dinner, and see if you can’t get rid of the paint on the grass. Pavilions I can see, but I prefer my grass to be green."

With that, the Vala strode away. Ingil stepped forward. "You heard Lord Irmo. Finish up with the painting and then it’s a bath for the lot of you."

"We’re not elflings," protested Gwindor as Region and Celepharn nodded in agreement.

Ingil merely smiled. "Oh, child, you have no idea just how elfling-like you truly are...."

"I wish I could’ve helped paint," Veryandur said with a pout. "All I got to do that day was pull weeds." Eruanna nodded, looking equally morose at being left out of all the fun.

Finrod laughed again, tousling the ellon’s hair. "I think your weed-pulling was more productive than painting a pavilion that didn’t need it."

"Well, if you wander down by the lake you’ll see it," Ingil said with a smile. "Lord Irmo decided to leave it as it is. Lady Estë claimed it was an eyesore when she saw it."

Ingil nodded, giving them a mischievous look. "Which is probably why she immediately ordered every pavilion in the groves set aside for the Reborn painted. The elves were quite enthusiastic about it and even some of the Maiar helped."

Ingil held up his hands where they could see splotches of red, blue and purple. "I had to fight off half my fellows for the privilege."

Note: Celepharn was introduced in Elf, Interrupted: Book One, chapter 11, as Glorfindel and Sador’s roomate in Lórien. Also known as Artelemnar.

Lindorillë joined them the next morning before the breakfast hour still looking pale, her manner subdued and uncertain. Her brother and the other elflings greeted her joyfully. Glorfindel gave her a discerning look. "Feeling better, then?" was all he said. At her shy nod he gave her a brilliant smile. "Good, good."

Finrod gave her a brief hug and a kiss on the top of her head. "Welcome back, hinya." Then he introduced her to Ingwion, who knelt before her, taking her by the shoulders and giving her a brief shake and a stern look. "The High King was most displeased when he was told of thine attempts at running away," he said.

The child looked at Ingwion in confusion. "I... I only tried running away once, lord," she whispered, "but my pony...."

"And dost thou think that fading is not a form of running away?" Ingwion countered, his tone relentless. "Nay, child. Only cowards flee from unpleasant circumstances and I do not think thou’rt a coward."

Lindorillë shook her head in dismay. Ingwion nodded. "That is well then. My atto commandeth me to scold thee and I have done so." He paused and glanced at Finrod for a moment before returning his attention to the child before him, his expression less forbidding, brightening with humor. "And my ammë commandeth me to give thee a kiss." He followed words with action, giving her a light kiss on her brow before standing. "Now that I have performed my duty to my lieges, I may speak my own thoughts." He stroked the elleth’s hair and gave her a gentle smile. "I am very glad thou’rt still with us, child, for I know how grieved my cousin would have been had you faded in truth."

The elleth looked up uncertainly at Finrod who nodded but said no word. It was Glorfindel who spoke then. "Fading is not the answer, Lindorillë. For one thing thou didst not ask leave of thy lord to do so."

The child’s eyes widened in surprise and she gave Finrod a wondering glance. Finrod nodded to her gravely. "I’m sorry," she whispered, casting her eyes down.

Finrod leaned down and gave her another kiss on the top of her head. "I know you are, child."

All this time the other elflings had stood by patiently (more or less) waiting for the adults to finish, but finally Veryandur had had enough. Moving to Finrod, he tugged on the prince’s tunic. "Can we eat now? Narmollë is hungry." As if to emphasize the point, he thrust his stuffed toy at Finrod who gave the ellon a fond smile.

The elflings all cheered and nearly fell over each other in their rush to reach the table first while the three Elf-lords grinned at their enthusiasm. Even Lindorillë looked eager to eat, though she in fact ate very little. Afterwards Finrod gathered them around him, sitting outside the pavilion.

"As you know," he began, "I originally had intended to send Sorondil, Oromendil and Lindorillë to Tirion." The looks of dismay on all the children’s faces did not escape the notice of the adults. "However, circumstances have changed," he continued. "Veryandur, I understand, is learning herbology and Eruanna is learning embroidery from my own anammë. Sorondil and Oromendil are helping Master Meneldil with the Reborn, which is a most worthy task and I hesitate to take them from it, so I have decided to keep you two here in Lórien."

The two ellyn breathed sighs of relief and exchanged broad smiles. The two younger elflings were also pleased, Eruanna even clapping with delight. Only Lindorillë looked pensive, even somewhat fearful. "Wh-what about me, lord?" she whispered.

Finrod gave her a grave look. "I understand you were helping in the kitchens before your... illness."

Finrod smiled gently at her, though with her eyes cast down she did not see. "Would it help to know that Lady Alassiel also worked in the kitchens as part of her punishment when she was here in Lórien?"

Lindorillë looked up in shock. "Wh-why was she being punished?" she exclaimed. "Only elflings are punished."

That statement caused more than one eyebrow to be raised among the Elf-lords. Unbeknownst to any of the elves, the children’s Maiar were standing about unclad, still watching over their charges. Lisselindë snickered and bespoke her fellow Maiar. *They do not realize that to us they are all elflings!*

*Just as well,* Cucuandur said with a laugh, *or we would never hear the end of it.* The other Maiar all joined him in laughter.

Finrod, meanwhile, was speaking. "Why, is unimportant. Suffice to say, I think you’ve been punished enough. So we need to find something for you to do at those times when I am not here."

Finrod shook his head. "There will be times when I will not be in Lórien, child, for I have my own work to accomplish. While I am in residence here you will attend me as you did during the tournament, you and the others. When I am away, though, would you not like to learn some skill that would be useful for you to know, such as embroidery or herbology?"

Lindorillë shook her head. "I want to stay with you," she reiterated, her eyes pleading.

Finrod resisted a sigh and gave Ingwion and Glorfindel a wry look. "I think you have a new admirer, brother," Glorfindel said in Sindarin and laughed when Finrod growled something back that had the unclad Maiar rolling their eyes and then snickering when Eönwë appeared in their midst with the Book, studiously ignoring them as he recorded Finrod’s words. Then he gave them all a wicked grin as he closed the Book and left them.

Lindorillë, seeing Finrod’s expression, and not understanding what had been said, started weeping. She jumped up, intending to flee, wishing to be alone in her misery, but Finrod caught her and held her tightly to him. "Hush now. There is no need for tears," he whispered, rocking her to stillness. "Well with Vorondil at Lady Nienna’s I no longer have someone to help me keep my pavilion in order. How is your handwriting?"

She gave him a quizzical look at the seeming non sequitur. "Ammë says my handwriting is beautiful."

Finrod cast an enquiring glance at Sorondil who nodded in affirmation. "Well then. Perhaps you can also act as my secretary. Would you like that?"

A routine was soon established. The children’s pavilion was moved into Finrod’s grove. Their Maiar attendants were charged with seeing that they kept it and themselves clean and arrived at their designated assignments on time.

"Let us not have a repeat of the painting expedition," Finrod told them. The Maiar merely grinned, making no promises. Finrod wisely decided not to press it.

"The Maiar seem to have a streak of mischief that rivals that of the elflings," Glorfindel opined. "I don’t recall them acting quite that way with me when I was last here."

Ingwion laughed when Glorfindel stuck his tongue out at Finrod. The Vanyarin prince seemed to be in no hurry to leave for Lady Nienna’s, being content to ‘loll around’, as Glorfindel put it. Ingwion did not dispute the charge.

"Actually, I’m curious to find out what Glorfindel is up to," he confided to Finrod one afternoon when Glorfindel had taken the elflings for pony rides. Even Lindorillë was permitted to go, much to her surprise and delight. "I found it rather suspicious that he changed his mind about coming here so suddenly. Something is up."

Finrod nodded. "No doubt, though I do not think Glorfindel is to blame. Something or Someone has inspired him to be here. It will be interesting to see what transpires."

"Let us hope Lórien is still intact when it does." Ingwion gave his cousin a knowing look and for once Finrod did not take it as a jest but nodded solemnly, well aware of what Ingwion was saying.

Glorfindel, however, appeared disinclined to do anything, though he was not inactive. He actually took it upon himself to oversee Sorondil and Oromendil’s work with the Reborn, taking them to see Master Meneldil every morning and escorting them back to their pavilion when they were done. Sometimes he interacted with the Reborn themselves, though more often than not he was happy enough to merely wander through the various groves and speak to whomever he came upon, be it Elf, Maia or Vala.

It was nearly a week after they had arrived in Lórien that Glorfindel found himself wandering aimlessly along the shore of the lake when Lord Irmo approached, gesturing for him to follow. The two walked in silence for some time until they came to a particular grove in an area of Lórien Glorfindel was sure he had never seen before. He gave the Vala a quizzical look. Irmo smiled benignly at him.

"Lórien is far larger than many suspect," he said as he gestured for Glorfindel to enter the grove. "It is not surprising that you have never been here. We usually keep the Reborn secluded from the rest of Lórien so as not to overwhelm them with too many curious eyes."

Glorfindel nodded in understanding. He remembered how hard it had been to have even two other people sharing a pavilion and eating with the others had at first been a trial to him. A memory of himself at the dining pavilion grabbing a knife and going into a defensive crouch at the sound of someone laughing made him blush involuntarily and he studiously would not look at Lord Irmo but kept his gaze resolutely before him. It took a few seconds for him to realize that there was something different about this grove that defied definition. He found himself suddenly unable to breathe.

"Steady now," came the calm voice of the Vala. "You are in no danger. This grove is normally reserved for my fellow Valar, but sometimes I will bring certain others here for a chat. We’re less likely to be disturbed." He smiled at the ellon who nodded numbly, trying to regain his equilibrium.

"Come," Irmo said, gesturing towards the center of the grove where a table and two chairs were located. A carafe of wine and two cut-crystal goblets sat on the table. Glorfindel took one of the chairs and allowed the Vala to pour him some wine, which he drank with great appreciation.

"Feeling better?" the Lord of Lórien asked and Glorfindel nodded, not bothering to speak. The air in the grove still seemed menacing to him though he could not fathom why. It was actually rather peaceful here. There was a silence that went deeper than he had ever experienced, that penetrated his fëa to a degree he had never known and in a short while the wine and the silence did their work and he visibly began to relax, perhaps truly relax for the first time since leaving Mandos.

"I am rather curious as to what has brought you to my realm," Irmo said, breaking the silence that had enveloped them.

Glorfindel gave a start, sheepishly realizing that he had almost fallen asleep. He gave the Vala a puzzled look. "Did you not bring me here, lord?"

Irmo shook his head. "Neither I nor any of my fellow Valar inspired you to come here," he said. "Do you know why you changed your mind all of a sudden?"

The ellon stared into his goblet for a moment before looking up, his expression darkening. "No, I do not."

The Lord of Lórien nodded, not at all surprised. "Then perhaps we should find out. What do you say?"

"How?" Glorfindel exclaimed in frustration, standing suddenly. "I tire of these games you Valar play...."

"We play no games, Glorfindel," Irmo said sternly. "That is not our way. And as I said, none of us had anything to do with your coming here. Frankly, I wish you hadn’t."

Now Glorfindel stared at the Vala in surprise. "Wh-why?" he asked, wincing slightly at the pleading tone in his voice, as if he were an elfling not much older than Veryandur.

Irmo smiled and gestured to Glorfindel’s chair. "Sit down, child," he said not unkindly and Glorfindel sat, albeit somewhat reluctantly. The Vala sighed. "You are a lodestone for trouble, you know that."

"It’s why you’re so endearing," he replied, "and why we find you so amusing."

That made Glorfindel scowl. "I’m so glad to provide you all with entertainment," he said sarcastically.

"Now, Glorfindel, you mustn’t take it so personally," Irmo reprimanded, though his tone was mild. "We find all of you amusing, so do not think you are anything special. You are merely more amusing than most, is all. You have a way with you that defies description or definition. I do not know if this is something inherent in you or a product of your death and re-embodiment. Certainly we did not see anything in you of note prior to the Rebellion. Perhaps it was necessary for you to leave Aman and to suffer the things you did to bring out the person you truly are."

Glorfindel shrugged, not convinced and not completely mollified. "I wouldn’t know," he muttered, taking a sip of the wine and refusing to make eye contact with the Vala.

The sound of his name was almost a whisper and yet it held such command that the ellon involuntarily looked up. Irmo leaned over and placed a hand on his knee, a benign smile gracing his face. "You are a beloved Child of Ilúvatar, and we who are the Guardians of Arda wish only for your happiness and well being. Never doubt that or yourself."

The complete sincerity of the Vala’s words struck deep within Glorfindel’s fëa so that he was left speechless, only able to nod in understanding. Irmo patted his knee and sat back. "Good. I’m glad we have that sorted out. Now we still need to figure out why you are here."

"Perhaps the reason will become clearer in time," Irmo opined. "In the meantime, continue as you have been. Sorondil and Ormendil have taken a liking to you. You are very good for them."

Glorfindel smiled. "Considering that only a few weeks ago they were whining little brats, their dispositions have greatly improved."

Irmo nodded in agreement. "So they have." He then gave the ellon a sly wink. "I don’t think their parents are going to recognize them when Finrod finally sends them home."

Things continued along as they had been for a few more days and some of the Maiar began laying bets as to how long the peace of Lórien would hold before something happened. Lisselindë sniffed in disdain when she heard about it.

"Honestly, my brethren seem to do nothing but lay bets on which way these Children will go," she complained to Olórin, who was passing through Lórien on his way to Mandos and had stopped to see how the elflings were faring. "You would think that they had nothing better to do." She surreptitiously inspired Lindorillë to neaten Finrod’s writing desk after she had finished copying out the last letter that Finrod had given her to practice on. The child had apparently found her calling, for she tackled the task of acting as Finrod’s secretary with great enthusiasm, though half the time Finrod found he had to do some of her tasks over again when the elflings were asleep, for Lindorillë wasn’t quite as proficient as she thought, though she was improving. That didn’t matter. What did was the fact that the child was fairly blossoming, going about her chores of keeping the pavilions straightened and copying out letters with a smile, much to the adults’ relief. Lisselindë had even found her happily humming a tune that her brother had taught her, something he had learned from one of the Reborn Sindar.

Olórin chuckled as he watched his fellow Maia interact with the elfling though Lindorillë was unaware of their presence. "These Children are too amusing not to try to second guess them," he said in reply to Lisselindë’s protest. "I think our brethren have taken a page from our lords’ book. You know that the Fëanturi are always laying bets of one sort or another on, as you say, which way these Children will go."

"Doesn’t mean we have to imitate them," Lisselindë retorted as she gave Lindorillë an indulgent if invisible smile. The elleth was happily putting the various letters and documents into neat little piles. With luck she would discover the one letter Finrod had not asked her to copy out. Lord Findárato was not as clever as he thought he was and Lisselindë was set to prove it, with Lindorillë’s unwitting help.

"Now who’s interfering?" Olórin asked with some disapproval, though he did not try to stop her, for he had not the authority. "I sincerely hope you do not land this child into more trouble. She is still emotionally fragile and Finrod, for all that he dotes on her, is nonetheless her lord and will act accordingly."

"Hmph," was Lisselindë’s reply. "We’ll see. Our princeling needs a bit of shaking up."

"Do not forget that he was once a mighty and puissant king," Olórin said sternly. "He is not to be trifled with."

The two Maiar turned to see Lindorillë pick up a certain letter and begin reading it. They watched as her eyes widened, first in surprise and then in dismay, before flinging the missive to the desk, though it ended up fluttering to the ground, and rushing out of the pavilion in tears, heedless of her path.

Lisselindë scowled. "That’s not what I expected," she replied as they both went outside to follow the elleth who had already disappeared from the grove.

Lisselindë uttered a few choice words that set Olórin laughing in spite of the situation as they went after the still fleeing elfling.

Finrod returned to the pavilion sometime later to find no one there. He didn’t think about it at first, assuming Lindorillë had perhaps gone to the privy or had taken a short walk. He had not ordered her not to leave the pavilion or the grove after all. He noticed that his desk was neater than it had been when he left earlier and smiled at the image of an industrious elfling. The smile left his face, though, when he noticed a scrap of paper on the ground underneath the desk. Bending down to retrieve it, he recognized its contents and groaned inwardly.

He stormed out of the pavilion. "Ingil! Ingil!" Blast! There’s never a Maia when you want one, he thought, and when you don’t, you’re practically tripping over them. "Ingil!" But the Maia did not appear. Finrod stopped, trying to imagine where the elleth might have gone. He sincerely hoped she was not trying to run away again. Would she look for her brother? Unlikely as she had no idea where he might be at the moment. Most likely she would go somewhere specific... or perhaps to someone specific.

Having come to a decision, he made his way purposely towards a certain grove and was not surprised to find, not only Lisselindë there, but Olórin. Both Maiar were standing outside the grove’s entrance as if on guard. Lisselindë’s expression was... ‘smug’ was the only word that came to mind. Olórin’s expression was totally unreadable.

"If you are referring to a certain elleth," Olórin said pedantically, "the answer to that is... it depends."

Finrod stared at the two Maiar in shock. "Do to her? I’m not planning on doing anything to her. I am hoping to explain certain things...."

That stopped Finrod cold. He stared at the two Maiar for a moment as certain conclusions began to come together in his mind. He drew himself up, giving them both an imperious look that had often set his subjects wincing in sympathy for whichever unfortunate was the object of his regard. If the Maiar were impressed, they didn’t show it. "Will you let me pass?"

Finrod gave him a hard stare. "I’m surprised you even remember who I am," he said and then turned away without waiting for a reply, striding back towards his own grove in high dudgeon.

Lisselindë breathed a sigh of relief. "That went better than I thought it would," she said, giving her fellow Maia a faint smile.

Olórin gave her a pensive look. "Do you think so? I have my doubts. You’ve started something the consequences of which I think not even Lord Námo can safely predict. I only hope that in the end Lórien is still standing."

Glorfindel arrived at their pavilion with Sorondil and Oromendil just before the noon bell rang to find Finrod sitting at his desk, a missive in his hands, his expression dark.

"Where’s Lindorillë?" he asked as he ushered the two ellyn in. "It’s almost time for luncheon."

"She’s gone," Finrod said in a flat tone, shoving the letter inside his tunic.

Sorondil gave a start. "Wh-what do you mean, lord? Wh-where’s my sister? What have you done with her?" He started looking about him as if he expected to find her hiding somewhere. Glorfindel took him by the shoulders to calm him and Finrod came out of his slump long enough to realize what he had said.

"Sorondil!" he exclaimed, standing to go to the distraught ellon. "Lindorillë is fine. She’s visiting with Melian at the moment. I’m sorry I upset you, but I assure you all is well."

The elfling sighed with obvious relief and even Oromendil looked less pale. "Why don’t you go wash up," Glorfindel said to the two ellyn. "Euranna and Veryandur should be here presently. Make sure they wash up as well."

The two elflings nodded and made their escape while Glorfindel stared at his gwador, his expression quizzical. "You want to tell me what has happened?"

Finrod raised an eyebrow at the imperious tone, but Glorfindel did not back down. "Later, when the children are not around. I wish to speak with Ingwion as well."

"He’s with Lady Estë, I understand," Glorfindel said, willing to allow Finrod whatever time he needed. "I’m not sure how long he will be."

Finrod shrugged. "It matters not. I will not discuss this until the children are in bed."

Lindorillë did not return to the pavilion for luncheon. A message was brought to Finrod saying that she would be spending the day with Melian. Finrod simply nodded. The other elflings gave him puzzled stares.

Finrod shook his head. "No, child. She has done nothing wrong. You know Lady Melian helped care for Lindorillë when she was ill?" The elflings all nodded. "Well, my aunt became very fond of her and merely wishes to spend time with her. I imagine Lindorillë will return for the evening meal."

In that, he was mistaken. Another missive arrived late in the afternoon stating that Lindorillë would be spending the night with Melian but she would return for breakfast in the morning. The other elflings all griped at that.

"She’s nothing special," her brother complained. "Why does she get to stay with a Maia and we don’t?"

Finrod and Glorfindel gave each other helpless looks, neither of them sure how to answer that. They were saved from trying by the appearance of four Maiar. Cucuandur and Nornotavaron were there along with two whom they did not recognize. Finrod gave them an enquiring look.

Cucuandur smiled. "We thought we would take the Little Ones off your hands for the night," he said, then introduced the other two Maiar. "This is Súrilindë who watches over Veryandur and Ninwanyellë who has been keeping an eye on Eruanna."

Súrilindë appeared male with reddish-gold hair and dancing green eyes. His companion was female and had hair that was bluish-green in shade, with eyes that could only be called turquoise. Eruanna stared at her in awe and Ninwanyellë laughed, holding out her hands to the elleth.

Eruanna glanced at Finrod who nodded, though his expression was not happy. "Yes, I think it would be a good idea for all of you to spend some time with your Maiar watchers. Go and enjoy yourselves. You needn’t return until breakfast tomorrow. Lindorillë will be back then as well." He raised an eyebrow at the Maiar and they all nodded.

"We will have them back then," Cucuandur said amiably and in a few short minutes changes of clothing for the morning and nightshirts were gathered along with Narmollë and Yávië and then Finrod was alone with Glorfindel.

"I don’t think Ingwion is going to be returning any time soon," Glorfindel said, settling himself into a chair. "You want to tell me what happened today?"

"Finda," Glorfindel drawled, "you’re stalling. Melian didn’t just ask Lindorillë to tea, did she?"

"How do you know she didn’t?" Finrod countered, not really eager to reveal to his gwador his own stupidity.

"Because I know for a fact that Lady Melian was planning to visit some of the Reborn who originally came from Doriath."

Glorfindel couldn’t help smirking. "Because I was the one to suggest it to her earlier." He paused, giving Finrod a penetrating look. "Then all of a sudden she said she had to leave, that she was being called." He shrugged. "I didn’t think anything about it at the time. I assumed Lord Irmo needed her for something, but now...."

"Now I think you had better tell me what orc-brained disaster you’ve landed us in."

"Us? What us? And what disaster? Do you see Lórien in flames? Do you see any of the Maiar running about?" He gave Glorfindel a sarcastic sneer. "You’re the one who’s always landing us in one disaster or another."

"Fine! But something happened this morning that’s gotten you all in a tizzy. Those Maiar watchers didn’t just decide to take the elflings for the night. They were genuinely worried for them."

"You certainly are not," Glorfindel retorted, then stopped, as if afraid he might have gone too far. Running a hand through his golden locks, he sighed. "Look, what did Lindorillë do that has you so upset?"

Finrod sighed, finally relenting, and reached into his tunic. He drew out the letter and handed it to Glorfindel. "Lindorillë was straightening up my desk while I was out and came across this letter. She was never meant to see it. In fact, no one was meant to see it. I was going to destroy it but was called away before I had a chance."

Glorfindel began reading the letter. His eyes widened as he looked up at Finrod who was now sitting at his desk. "You cannot be serious."

Finrod shook his head. "I changed my mind, which is why I was going to destroy...."

Finrod bristled, not pleased at being interrupted when he was trying to explain... or maybe justify myself, he thought sourly. "Apparently," he said, gritting his teeth, "I went to Melian’s grove to try to explain but I...."

"You fool!" Glorfindel shouted as he leaped up, not hearing Finrod’s explanation. "Ci pen-channas en-orch a sui pen-hadhron sui iNynnedain!"

Ci pen-channas en-orch a sui pen-hadhron sui iNynnedain!: (Sindarin) ‘You are lacking the intelligence of an orc and are as faithless as the Easterlings!’ [iNynnedain is the plural form of Dunnadan, literally, "Swarthy Men", another name for the Easterlings, some of whom betrayed the elves at the Nirnaeth Arnediad.]

Glorfindel continued thrashing in spite of the shaking someone was giving him. He was making inarticulate sounds, not really words, for he was beyond them, his fury at Finrod consuming him.

"This is no good," he heard someone say. The voice was familiar but he couldn’t place it and anyway, seeing Finrod before him just made him angrier and he tried to slip from the grasp of whoever was holding him so he could go and strangle his stupid gwador, but failed; whoever had a hold of him merely tightened his grip.

That reference made no sense to him until he felt himself being thrown into the air and then... splash!

"Argh!" he sputtered as he came up for air. The cold of the water had doused his ire completely and for a few minutes he was too busy trying to swim to shore to care about anything or anyone else. He dragged himself onto the bank. It took a few seconds for his brain to register the fact that he was staring at a pair of black suede leather boots, intricately tooled along the top with depictions of flora and fauna. He had to tip his head way back to see to whom these particular boots belonged and felt his blood freeze at the sight of Lord Irmo looking down at him dispassionately.

He attempted to scramble to his feet or at least to his knees but the grass was wet and slippery and he couldn’t seem to get a purchase. Then he felt someone grab him by the collar and haul him up, dripping and looking like a half-drowned puppy.

Glorfindel winced at the tone. From the corner of his eye he could see Finrod was standing before Lord Námo, equally dripping. The expression on the Lord of Mandos’ face was almost too terrible for him to bear and he had to look away. Unfortunately the only other place to look was into Lord Irmo’s eyes, and while the Lord of Lórien did not appear quite as forbidding as his brother, that did not comfort Glorfindel in the least.

For a long eternal moment there was only silence. Glorfindel became conscious of the fact that they had an audience and cringed further when he realized that a contingent of warrior Maiar led by Manveru and Erunáro surrounded them in a half-circle. He wasn’t sure if they were there to keep curious bystanders away or to keep him and Finrod from escaping. He rather thought the latter, seeing as how all the Maiar were facing in rather than out. None of them looked pleased to be there.

He felt a hand on his chin, forcing him to look at Lord Irmo again. The Vala stared relentlessly into Glorfindel’s eyes and the ellon heard himself whimper but could not look away. Finally, Irmo looked away and Glorfindel felt such relief that he almost fainted but someone held him up until he could regain his equilibrium.

"I think we can take this to a more private venue," Irmo said to Námo, who nodded. Glorfindel noticed with surprise that the Lord of Mandos was holding a weeping Finrod in his arms. The sight of his gwador crying struck him to the core of his fëa and he could feel sympathetic tears begin to form in his own eyes.

"Manveru, Erunáro, take them to our grove," Námo said, handing a still weeping Finrod to Erunáro while Glorfindel found himself being taken in hand by Manveru. "See that they don’t destroy it before we get there."

The two Maiar bowed to the Valar and without a word led the two ellyn away. Glorfindel found he no longer had the strength to do much more than put one foot in front of the other, the energy he had spent in fighting Finrod gone, leaving him feeling weak and disoriented. Manveru actually had to carry him the last few hundred feet to the grove, much to his embarrassment.

It was the same grove in which Glorfindel had had his conversation with Lord Irmo only a few short days before. The two Maiar remained silent as they stripped their charges of their wet clothes and dried them off before helping them to dress again. All this time, neither ellon felt able to protest their being treated like elflings. Finrod had stopped weeping finally but his expression was apathetic. Glorfindel didn’t feel that much better. Once dried and dressed again, they were led to cots where they were encouraged to lie down. Glorfindel was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Birdsong woke him and he stared up into the sky feeling confused. It took him a few seconds to gather his thoughts and remember what had happened earlier. Sitting up carefully, for he felt a bit lightheaded, he looked about him. Finrod was in a cot next to him still sleeping. Their cots were along one side of the grove opposite the entrance. In the center was a table with four chairs around it. There was no one else about. He rose gingerly, still feeling unsettled, and walked towards the table where he found goblets and a carafe of water. Realizing how thirsty he was he poured himself a drink, sitting as he took a long swallow.

He turned to see a pale Finrod move toward him, staggering slightly, his eyes still a bit unfocused as he grabbed for one of the chairs and plopped down. Glorfindel silently reached over and poured more water into another goblet, idly wondering why the carafe was still full, and then handed it to Finrod whose hands were shaking as he clutched the goblet. A sip or two of the water, however, seemed to help and he looked less pale and drawn and his trembling ceased.

Glorfindel shook his head. He took another sip of water, trying to remember what had happened. Flashes of memory crossed his mind’s eyes and he saw himself reading a letter, then saying something to Finrod and then... nothing... except suddenly finding himself swimming in the lake.

"I’m not sure," he said, surprised to hear his own voice sounding hoarse. "I think perhaps we... I did something... stupid."

The two ellyn looked up to see Lords Irmo and Námo approaching. It was Irmo who had spoken. Neither looked happy. The elves tried to get to their feet to give the Valar their obeisance but Irmo motioned for them to remain seated. The two brothers took the other chairs. Their expressions were stony and unforgiving. Glorfindel had a sinking feeling that he and Finrod were not going to enjoy this particular ‘chat’.

"Would either of you like to explain yourselves?" Námo asked in a tone that made the two elves pale.

Glorfindel glowered back and started to open his mouth to give a retort but Irmo cut him off. "Enough, both of you."

The two elves subsided, both looking sheepish. Námo turned to his brother, raising an eyebrow. "Do you think their previous experiences have made them... emotionally unstable still?"

Irmo stroked his chin, giving the two elves a closer look; they both tried not to squirm too much. "Possibly. I doubt they would have acted as they did otherwise. Findaráto is usually more in control of himself and Glorfindel would rather die again than act dishonorably."

"Hmmm...." was Námo’s comment as he gave the ellyn his own appraisal. "I was never sanguine about releasing Glorfindel from Mandos as early as he was, you know. I feared something like this might occur. I’m only surprised it did not happen earlier."

Irmo nodded. "I know you weren’t happy with the decision, brother, but you know why Manwë decided to overrule you in this."

"Yes, yes," Námo said dismissively, "but I still think we should have given Glorfindel more time."

"Can’t very well send him back, though, can we?" Irmo gave his older brother a wry grin.

Námo gave a snort that was almost a laugh. "Maranwë would have a fit and I would have a rebellion on my hands if we did."

All this time Glorfindel and Finrod sat in stunned amazement, casting surreptitious looks at one another, while the two Valar openly discussed them as if they weren’t there, speaking in clinical tones.

"They are both getting too dangerous to be allowed to remain together," Námo then said, and both elves started to protest, but a glance by the two Valar stilled them and they subsided into their chairs, suitably cowed.

"Indeed," Irmo opined. "Considering that even an entire contingent of warrior Maiar were unable to pull them apart." Both elves’ eyes went wide at that revelation. Irmo nodded. "Which is why we were called in to break up the fight," he explained to them and they both cringed. Then the Lord of Lórien turned back to his brother. "Yet, I sense that it’s not all entirely their fault. Something triggered this...."

"Melian says she was too incoherent to make any sense out of what she was saying, but it seems to have something to do with a letter." He gave Finrod a glance as he spoke and the ellon reddened.

"I was going to destroy it...." he started to say but Irmo held up a hand to stay him.

"We will get to that presently," he said. "I need to find out if any of my People were involved in this even if indirectly."

"I have my suspicions, but I will wait a while longer for them to... what is that saying among the Mortals... come clean?"

"Ah... an apt phrase," Námo said with a slight smile that did not soften his visage. "Meanwhile, we need to deal with these two."

Glorfindel tried not to fidget and noticed Finrod doing the same. He suspected that his own face was just as red with embarrassment as his gwador’s and wondered what sort of punishment they were likely to receive.

"Fair enough. Ingwion is still with Estë. Do you want her to send him on to Nienna’s when she’s done?"

"That might be best. I’ll speak with our sister and ask her. I need to check on Vorondil and Aldundil anyway. Nienna’s up to something with those two and I want to know what she has planned." Námo flashed his brother a wry smile.

Both Valar gave him a searching look. "Took you long enough to ask," Námo said, then relented somewhat when Finrod looked to start weeping again. "They’re fine, child. Melian is watching over them and I believe Indis is helping. They all know your anamillë and are happy enough to be with her until such time as we determine if they are still safe around you."

Finrod paled at the implication and Glorfindel put a hand on his arm, his expression one of deep sympathy, for he knew how much Finrod cared for the children.

"Well, we’ll sort that out later," Irmo said, standing. "Come along, Glorfindel. Your grove is pretty much destroyed so we’ll have to find you somewhere else to sleep for now."

Glorfindel stood reluctantly and followed the Vala out, casting a glance back to where Finrod still sat dejectedly while Námo continued to stare at him in silence.

It took a few minutes for Glorfindel to realize that Irmo was leading him back to Finrod’s grove. He gave the Vala a puzzled look. "I thought you said the grove was destroyed, lord."

"It is. I want you to see your... um... handiwork before it’s cleaned up." Irmo cast him a grim look and Glorfindel closed his eyes for a second, wishing he were anywhere else.

Glorfindel stood at the grove’s entrance and peeked in. Shock ran through him at the amount of destruction he saw. The pavilions were in shreds and much of the furniture was just so much kindling. Objects were strewn around and even the trees had suffered, for there were broken off branches all about.

Glorfindel stared at the Vala, whose expression had become unreadable. Then a thought struck him. "How did Manveru know to come with his warriors? Who called them?"

Irmo raised an appraising eyebrow. "No one called them. Manveru was here all along."

"On Manwë’s orders, in fact." Irmo’s mouth twitched in amusement at the discomfitted ellon.

"He... he’s been watching me all this time?" Glorfindel demanded, his expression growing angry. He glanced around as if to see if the Maia in question was lurking about.

Irmo put a hand on the elf’s shoulder. "Peace, Glorfindel. Manveru never violated your privacy. The Maiar are not voyeurs. He did not need to be in your immediate vicinity to keep an eye on you. He merely had to focus his attention on you to see what you were doing. When Findaráto threw the first punch he called on his brother and some of the other warriors to help break up the fight, but the two of you proved too much for them, so I was called and then I called in my brother. The rest you know."

"And a good thing," Irmo said somewhat acerbically. "Who do you think called his brethren to take the children away?"

Irmo chuckled as he gestured for Glorfindel to come away from the grove. "Manveru is a warrior, Glorfindel," he said as they made their way towards the area of Lórien reserved for the Reborn. "He fought in wars along the endless shores of Eä ages before Arda was ever created. He can sense when trouble is about. Now let us see where we can put you for now... ah... I have just the place. Come, tell me about this letter that had you so upset with your gwador."

"Tell me about the letter," Námo commanded Finrod, breaking the silence that had ensued after Irmo led Glorfindel away.

Finrod sighed, feeling suddenly weary, and rubbed his temples in a vain attempt to rid himself of the throbbing behind his eyes. "I wrote a letter to Ingwë expressing my satisfaction with the children’s progress and suggesting that at the Summer Solstice I would release all of them from my service rather than just the younger two."

"Hmmm...." Námo nodded his head. "Lindorillë must have thought you no longer wanted her... them. A natural misinterpretation on the child’s part given her recent behavior."

Finrod nodded. "Even as I was writing the letter I felt...." he shook his head, not sure how to express what he had been feeling. "At any rate, I decided in the end not to follow through with the plan and was going to destroy it."

Finrod shrugged. "I was told one of the Noldorin Reborn was acting fractious and would I come and soothe her with my harp, so I went."

Finrod gave him a quizzical look but answered readily enough. "It was Lisselindë. She was there watching Lindorillë copy out some letters for me. I was hunting for a candle so I could burn the letter when she told me about the Noldo. I didn’t think anything about it. I told Lindorillë to carry on with the copying and if she finished before I returned she was free to do as she pleased until luncheon."

"In my hurry I guess I just shoved it into the pile of other papers on my desk. When I came back about an hour or so later the desk was tidied up and the letter was lying on the floor underneath it."

Finrod shook his head. Námo stared into space, thinking. Finrod remained silent. After a moment the Vala looked at him again. "Was there indeed a Reborn in need of your special talents?"

Finrod looked at the Vala in surprise. "Oh yes. Why would Lisselindë lie about that?"

"Why indeed?" Námo mused, then he shook his head, as if to clear it of some distasteful thought. He looked at Finrod again. "Tell me what happened when you found the letter."

Finrod told about going to Melian’s grove only to be stopped by both Lisselindë and Olórin.

"Olórin!" Námo exclaimed. "How odd. I thought he’d learned his lesson long ago."

Finrod gave the Lord of Mandos a puzzled look. Námo just shook his head. "Continue."

The ellon sighed and related the conversation between himself and the two Maiar. "Then I returned to my pavilion and shortly thereafter Glorfindel arrived with Sorondil and Ormendil. The rest you know."

Námo remained silent for some time and Finrod schooled himself to stillness, though it was difficult with the throbbing behind his eyes making him miserable. After what seemed forever but was less than five minutes, Námo stirred. "Let’s see if we can do something about that headache you have." He smiled gently at the ellon as he stood and offered his hand. Finrod accepted it gratefully.

Námo’s expression darkened somewhat. "Something that has not happened in many an age," he replied, but he did not elaborate and Finrod was wise enough not to press.

"Any sign of either Lisselindë or Olórin?" Námo asked his brother when the two met again after seeing to their charges. Irmo had decided to move Glorfindel in with Celepharn. The two ellyn had eyed each other warily at first, then Celepharn offered his hand and Glorfindel took it. The Vala had left them sitting on their respective cots chatting in Sindarin.

Finrod was fast asleep in a small grove off from Master Meneldil’s apothecary, having been encouraged to drink one of the Master’s potions. Ingil was there to watch over him, sitting beside the ellon’s cot, quietly strumming a harp. It was, in fact, Finrod’s harp. It had survived the destruction of the grove only because Finrod had left it behind in the grove of the Reborn elleth whom he had been visiting.

"No," Irmo answered, looking both vexed and worried at the same time. "I do not understand it. Are you sure Olórin is involved?"

"Apparently, but to what extent remains to be seen. I suspect that it was Lisselindë who set things in motion. Lindorillë would not have tidied Findaráto’s desk on her own initiative. She’s just young enough that she would do the tasks set out for her and then go and play as soon as she finished."

"Let us go speak to Manwë. I have a feeling that things are just going to get worse before they get better."

"Hmm.... I think if Olórin is with her, they may have gone somewhere else, some place we would not immediately think to look for them."

Námo gave his younger brother a smile that boded no good for the two missing Maiar. "Oh, I’m having Maranwë check it out for me even now."

Irmo gave Námo a considering look. "Ah... in that case, do with them as you think best."

Námo nodded and the two thought themselves to Taniquetil where they informed Manwë of what had happened. The Elder King’s expression became more and more troubled as the two brothers related the events. When they were finished, Manwë sighed.

"Eönwë," he said quietly and the Maia appeared before his lord immediately. "Have Fionwë and a contingent of warriors search the other planets of the system for Lisselindë and Olórin. Have Erunáro take a few others and search the rest of Arda. I want Manveru to continue to keep an eye on Glorfindel."

"Maranwë reports that they are nowhere within Mandos," Námo said even as Eönwë bowed to his lord and left to carry out his orders. "Given that Olórin has been with me lately, I figured...."

Manwë’s expression went cold and a brumal wind swept through the chamber where they were gathered. "Then they will regret it even more."

The others nodded in agreement. Námo’s expression went completely distant, his amaranthine eyes glittering with a fell fire as cold as the Helcaraxë as he ceased to be the benevolent Lord of Mandos, the Consoler of souls, and became the dread Doomsman of Arda.

"Where did you find them?" Manwë asked Fionwë, staring dispassionately at the two errant Maiar flanked by several warrior Maiar. Lisselindë kept her eyes fastened to the floor, her entire demeanor one of complete dejection; Olórin looked calmer and more accepting of what was happening.

"With Tilion, actually," Fionwë answered with a grin. "It seems he and Olórin were trying to convince Lisselindë that fleeing to the nether regions of Eä would not be wise."

Manwë cast a discerning glance at Olórin, who gazed upon his lord with a steady eye, neither excusing nor apologizing for his actions. The Elder King nodded, turning his attention back to Fionwë. "Well, culpability on everyone’s part has still to be determined. These two are remanded unto Lord Námo for now. He is expecting them."

Lisselindë made an inarticulate noise and swayed slightly. Both Olórin and Fionwë took her by the arms and held her up. "Steady," Fionwë whispered to her, not unkindly. "Do not bring any further disgrace upon thyself. Remember thou’rt a Maia."

Lisselindë nodded and was able to give the Elder King her obeisance before they all departed for Mandos. When they were gone, Manwë remained seated where he was. None of the other Valar were there in the small audience chamber where Fionwë had brought the prisoners. He sat for a long time in deep contemplation. Finally, he stirred.

"Eönwë," he said softly and his Herald appeared, giving him a bow. Manwë smiled thinly at the Maia. "A pretty little pickle Lisselindë has landed us all in," he commented. Eönwë gave the Elder King a single nod but did not speak. Manwë sighed. "I originally thought to keep this entire affair private, but on second thought I have decided otherwise. Go to Ingwë, Arafinwë and Olwë with my compliments and give them the following message." He then proceeded to tell the Maia what he was to say to the three elven kings. Eönwë felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise and he suppressed a shiver. When Manwë was finished giving his instructions, the Maia bowed deeply and then left to fulfill his lord’s command.

Manwë remained where he was for a long time afterwards, communing with Atar and contemplating many things, not the least of which was what to do with Glorfindel and Findaráto.

Glorfindel, meanwhile, was making friends with Celepharn, much to the surprise of them both. "You were so insufferable... before," Glorfindel said to the ellon a couple of days after the fight. "I cannot believe how changed you are."

Celepharn gave him a shy smile. "I was very foolish. Lord Irmo showed me the error of my ways."

Glorfindel nodded. "He is very good at that," he said with a straight face. "Almost as good as Lord Námo."

For a moment the two ellyn stared at one another, each remembering certain instances when the said Lord of Mandos had indeed shown them the error of their ways and then they were both laughing.

"Like what?" Glorfindel asked. "I have the feeling I am sort of under house arrest. I’m not sure I’m going to be permitted to leave this grove."

Celepharn thought for a moment then gave Glorfindel a bright smile. "Only one way to find out, isn’t there?"

Glorfindel’s own smile was brilliant as he nodded in understanding. They made their way to the grove’s entrance, looking about, half expecting to see a couple of Maiar suddenly appear and shoo them back inside, but there was no one. Giving each other a grin, they stepped out and made their way along the sward.

"There’s a stretch of woods not far from here," Celepharn answered. "It rather reminds me of the highlands of Dorthonion for some reason though there are few pine trees."

"I like wandering through it," Celepharn replied. "I was even thinking I’d like to build a flet in one of the trees."

"Really? Like the ones the Nandor made? I heard about them from Finrod’s descriptions of his journeying through Ossiriand but I’ve never seen one for real."

"Maybe we can build one together if we can find the right tree," Celepharn suggested.

Glorfindel nodded. "And if they let us, or rather me, near any... um... tools." He gave the other ellon a wry grin and Celepharn laughed, knowing what his new friend meant.

They made their way along, chatting amiably about nothing in particular until they came to a stand of trees that rose gracefully into the sky. There were oaks and beeches, along with nessameldar and malinorni. The two of them wandered through the woods, growing more silent as the majesty of the trees began to impinge upon their souls.

"Here," Glorfindel said suddenly, stopping before one particular malinornë. "This tree will do."

Glorfindel just shrugged. "Just know. Shall we go look for materials and start building?"

Celepharn grinned, nodding, and after Glorfindel tied a piece of ribbon torn from his tunic around one of the tree’s lower branches so they would recognize it again, they went off in search of hammers, nails and planking. Neither of them were aware of the two Maiar — Manwë had increased the guard on Glorfindel — watching them with amusement.

Finrod ended up staying with his anamillë, the Lady Indis, though not before he was taken to see what damage he and Glorfindel had done to his own grove. He shook his head in shock and allowed himself to be led away by Ingil to where Lord Irmo was waiting for him outside Melian’s grove.

"Only that they will be staying with Melian for a while longer because you need to be alone."

Finrod squared his shoulders and with a nod entered the grove where he found the children seated around a table set just outside a pavilion waiting for him. He noticed that Lindorillë would not look at him. Veryandur gave him a tremulous smile but the other elflings just stared at him with uncertain expressions. Melian was seated at one end of the table and gestured for Finrod to take the seat opposite hers.

For several minutes they all sat there in silence. Finally, Finrod spoke. "I want to apologize to all of you," he said softly, not really looking at them. "Especially to you, Lindorillë." He looked up and saw the elleth giving him a wary look. "That letter...."

"You’re going to send us away!" Lindorillë yelled as she jumped up, her expression tearful. Melian reached over and gently forced her to her seat.

"No," Finrod said forcibly. "I am not sending you away. Any of you. That letter was a mistake. I knew it as soon as I wrote it. You were never meant to read it, Lindorillë. I meant to destroy it but was called away, remember?"

The elleth nodded reluctantly. Finrod glanced at Melian who gave him an encouraging smile. He turned his attention back to the children who were all now looking at him with wide eyes. He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. "In point of fact, I was seriously considering asking Veryandur’s and Eruanna’s parents permission to keep you two here a little longer. I think you would both benefit if you continue your apprenticeships."

The two younger children smiled at that and the three older ones looked somewhat more relieved, though Lindorillë still seemed doubtful of his good intentions. "You... you aren’t mad at me?"

Finrod sighed. "No, child, I am not, for none of this is your fault. Do you forgive me for the pain I inadvertently caused you, caused all of you?"

Lindorillë did not answer immediately but took turns looking at each of the other children. Some kind of silent communication passed between them and then she nodded once. Immediately all five of them rose as one and went to Finrod, simultaneously hugging him. Finrod felt tears welling and he looked up at Melian who was smiling benignly at them all. Then Ingil appeared and Finrod sighed, giving each of the elflings a hug and a kiss.

They all nodded and he rose, giving Melian a respectful bow. "Le hannon," he said softly, "an naid phâin."

Lady Indis looked upon her grandson with some exasperation. "Stand up straight, Findaráto. Remember who you are."

Finrod flinched at her tone but did as she commanded, feeling all of ten years old. The second wife of Finwë was a spitting image of her brother, Ingwë, and she had the force of character to go with it. Finrod was beginning to wish he had never agreed to stay with her. Not that I was given much choice in the matter, he thought sourly as he took the seat on the settle.

Indis poured some tea and handed him a cup, speaking all the while. "When Lord Irmo came to me asking if I would let you stay here for a time, I was rather reluctant." She gave him a stern glance. "I never approved of any of you running off to Endórë, much less getting yourselves killed in the process. Thank Eru your atar had the sense to return, though his own actions afterwards left much to be desired."

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that, for he had yet to get a satisfactory answer as to what his atar had done after returning to Tirion. He had always assumed that the youngest son of Finwë and Indis had simply taken up the mantle of kingship but the hints and innuendoes, the things not said and those that were, led him to believe that something else had happened. No one was willing to talk about it, though, so he was still in the dark. He had the feeling from the set look on his anamillë’s face that she wasn’t about to enlighten him either.

Indis gave him a hard stare as if to determine if he was being facetious. Deciding he was actually sincere in his apology, she relented somewhat, giving him a dismissive sniff. "Yes, well, water under the bridge. You’re here now."

Just where I don’t want to be, he thought, though he kept his expression impassive before her.

For a long moment, there was silence between them. Finally, Indis gave him a more grandmotherly look. "So, tell me all about your engagement to Amarië. I understand you gave that arrogant Almáriel a black eye, so to speak. Good for you!"

Finrod just stared at the proper former Noldotári in surprise as she sat there drinking her tea and suddenly started laughing. Indis merely looked on with prim smugness, waiting for her indyo to calm down long enough to tell her all about it.

"What do you mean, I cannot see them?" Ingwion demanded of Estë. "And why can I not return to the grove?" He, along with Lady Estë and Lord Irmo, was seated in Irmo’s gaudily painted pavilion. Ingwion had been asking after his otornor and neither Vala had, in his opinion, been very forthcoming with answers.

"Not important now," Irmo said somewhat forcibly. "The decision has been made to send you on to my sister. She will be expecting...."

Ingwion stood, his face red with fury. "I am not going anywhere until I get some answers. Do not presume to treat me like an elfling, my lord. I am not your apprentice."

Ingwion turned to see Námo approaching them, his expression grim. The Lord of Mandos was wearing a black watered-silk tunic under a black velvet robe. His elf-braided hair was graced with an actual crown made of mithril in the shape of flames in which was embedded a single many-faceted ruby. No other jewelry did he wear save for his Sun-in-Eclipse pendant. He looked forbidding and Ingwion involuntarily cringed, finding himself in his seat again. Estë reached over and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving him a warm smile.

Námo looked about and gave his brother a wry grin. "What! No chair for me? I’m crushed."

Irmo snorted. "Considering you were not invited, you can just bring your own chair."

"Hmph... your hospitality is getting a bit thin lately," Námo countered even as a chair appeared and he sat down. His levity fled though as he gave Ingwion a hard stare. "We are not being capricious or arbitrary in our decisions, Ingwion. You are long overdue at Nienna’s and you know it."

"Yes, yes, we know," Námo said, his demeanor becoming less forbidding. "Something has happened however that changes things."

"What? What has happened? Why am I being kept in the dark about this? Am I so beneath your regard that you just dismiss me as if I were a... a mere nothing?"

The three Valar stared at the ellon with various degrees of shock. Irmo reached over and put a hand on Ingwion’s arm to draw his attention. "You are not nothing, Ingwion, nor have we ever treated you or any of the other Children as such. You are all too precious to us, more so than you can ever comprehend." He leaned back, his expression troubled.

"My brother is correct, Ingwion," Námo said. "We are not dismissing you, but...." He raised an eyebrow at the other two Valar and some kind of silent communication passed between them that lasted only a second or two. "Very well, Child. We will tell you what has happened and then you may decide to stay or go. We will not gainsay your decision."

Ingwion nodded, mollified, but as the three Valar proceeded to take turns describing the fight between Findaráto and Glorfindel, his expression changed from disbelief to dismay. "What will happen to them?" he asked.

That statement did not comfort Ingwion in the least. After a long moment of silence, he nodded. "My presence here will neither help nor hinder. I will go to Lady Nienna’s... for now. I only ask that you keep me abreast of any developments."

"I promise that if necessary you will be called back here," Námo said solemnly. "I hope that will not be the case, but in the meantime, you really are needed at Nienna’s." His demeanor lightened somewhat. "My sister has something planned for Vorondil and his atar and apparently, from what little she has told me, you play a large part in her plans for them."

After Ingwion left, the three Valar sat in companionable silence for a time. None of them evinced any surprise when Manwë and Varda appeared. Another chair was produced and the five of them held an informal council.

"We are agreed then that this is the only course left open to us?" Manwë asked without preamble.

"Do we really have any other choice?" Námo asked with a frown. "To do otherwise... and if the Eldar learn of it afterwards. I do not like the ramifications of that for any of us."

"And one of mine," Manwë reminded them. "It matters not. The damage has been done and we must do what we can to repair it."

Varda gave her a nod. "My thought exactly, sister," she said. "Somehow I think more is going on than we know. I see Atar’s subtle hand in all this."

The other four nodded. "Then Judgment will commence on next Valanya," Manwë said gravely. "That will allow time for all interested parties to reach us."

"Atar help us all," Varda said fervently. "I sense we are walking a tightrope here and one slip and all will be for naught."

"All may be for naught anyway," Námo said gravely, his eyes taking on the distant look they all recognized as his being in the throes of a vision, "if we cannot figure out the real reason Glorfindel is in Lórien. He is the key to all this."

They all looked grim at that and then Manwë sighed, shaking his head. "Why am I not surprised?"

Ingwion insisted that he be allowed to say goodbye to Finrod and Glorfindel before leaving. Finrod was easy enough to find. He was staying with Lady Indis and it seemed that the two of them had become friends again in the short time he was with her. Finrod told her something of his life in Beleriand, though he refused to speak of his death or what happened afterwards. Indis, for her part, did not press, claiming that she wasn’t interested anyway. Finrod wasn’t fooled but he did tell her something of his experiences while in Lórien. Since she was acquainted with some of the people about whom he spoke, she happily regaled him with additional details about them that set him laughing. All in all, it was a good time for them both as they became reacquainted.

He was permitted to visit the elflings for about an hour each day after the noon meal. Most of the time was spent listening to the children telling him about their own day, what they had learned, what games they played. Melian and Ingil were always present. When it was time to leave the children always asked him the same question: "When can we come live with you again?"

"Soon, I hope," he always answered, looking at the two Maiar for some kind of confirmation, but their expressions gave him no encouragement and he always left feeling even more of a failure than when he arrived.

It was when he was leaving on the third day since he and Glorfindel had been separated that he found Ingwion waiting for him outside Melian’s grove.

"No. No. I hadn’t... I just... I was hoping you could stay for a while longer."

"So did I but Lord Námo told me I was needed at his sister’s." Ingwion gave him a rueful grin. "Something about helping her with Vorondil and Aldundil."

"Peace, Cousin," Ingwion said, giving Finrod a hug. "As far as I know, both are doing well enough. Perhaps when all this is resolved you will be able to visit them."

Finrod shook his head. "I told myself that I would not until Lady Nienna released them from her care or if I were bidden to come. Best that I stay out of the way for a time."

Ingwion sighed. "Well, at any rate, I must be off. I was hoping to say farewell to Glorfindel but I can’t seem to find him."

"Can’t help you there," Finrod said with a diffident shrug. "I haven’t seen Glorfindel since... since the fight."

Glorfindel, in fact, was high in a tree busily cursing a hammer and his thumb in three languages while Celepharn was rolling on the ground in laughter. Manveru and his fellow warrior Nornoros watched in amusement as Eönwë appeared with his Book. All three Maiar raised eyebrows at a particularly colorful phrase that issued from Glorfindel’s mouth at that very moment.

"That’s a new one," Eönwë muttered as he continued writing and the other two Maiar attempted to smother their laughter without too much success.

Manveru nodded, giving them a wide grin. "He can slay balrogs and do things with a sword that leave even some of us Maiar blinking in disbelief but he’s absolutely hopeless with a hammer."

"We all have our talents," Eönwë said with a straight face as he closed the Book, for Glorfindel had stopped screaming long enough to stick his injured thumb in his mouth, his legs hanging off the edge of the half-finished flet, looking for all the world like an overgrown elfling of three. Celepharn was still lying on the ground, though his laughter had died down, a silly smile on his face.

Manveru gave Eönwë a puzzled look. "Are you here for another reason, Captain? You usually don’t stick around after you finish recording an oath."

Eönwë nodded. "The Valar have called for Judgment. We need to get Glorfindel ready. I’ve come to formally command his appearance before the Valar on Valanya. You two will see that he’s properly attired and on time."

"The Máhanaxar," Eönwë answered, his expression becoming grim. Manveru and Nornoros both nodded in understanding. The Herald of Manwë then sighed as he thought the Book away. "Well, best get this over with. I have to also inform Findaráto."

All three Maiar then clothed themselves. Celepharn started to rise hastily to his feet, but a gesture from Nornoros stilled him. Glorfindel, too wrapped up in his own misery, apparently did not notice them, but when Eönwë called his name, his reaction took them by surprise.

The ellon leapt up and backed away, fear in his eyes. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Please don’t hurt me. I’m sorry...."

The three Maiar grimaced and Eönwë started up the simple rope ladder. Celepharn stared upward in shock, then turned to the other two Maiar. "Wh-what’s wrong with Glorfindel?" he asked in obvious distress.

Manveru held the ellon close and gave him a reassuring pat on the back. "Nothing is wrong with him, Celepharn. He’s just been under a lot of stress lately. All is well. Now, why don’t you go with Nornoros. We’ll take care of your friend."

Celepharn looked at the Maiar uncertainly, but when they both smiled encouragingly he allowed himself to be drawn away. Meanwhile, Eönwë had reached the flet and was attempting to calm a still hysterical Glorfindel.

"It’s all right, Glorfindel," the Maia said soothingly, not attempting to go to the ellon for fear he would do something precipitous. "No one is going to punish you. Calm down."

But Glorfindel did not seem to believe him and was now crouched against the bole of the tree which whispered soothingly to him though he was in too much distress to hear it. Just then, Irmo appeared on the flet, looking concerned.

"Glorfindel, it’s all right," the Vala said, crouching down before the ellon, who had wrapped his arms about his head. Irmo reached out and gently disentangled the arms so he could see the tear-streaked face beneath them and smiled. "You see. There is nothing to fear. We’re not here to punish you. Come now, let’s get you down from here."

He stood and gently but insistently took hold of Glorfindel’s arms and hauled him up, giving him a hug. All the while, he whispered encouragements and shortly thereafter they were all back on the ground, Glorfindel now calmer and looking chagrined.

Irmo gave him another hug. "That’s all right, child. You’ve been under much stress of late. Now, dry those tears. All is well. Eönwë is here to let you know that we Valar have called for a Judgment and you and Findaráto have been summoned as witnesses."

Glorfindel looked at the Vala with puzzlement in his eyes. "We-we’re not going to be punished?"

"Oh, I didn’t say that," Irmo replied with a chuckle, "but you and Findaráto are not the focus of this particular Judgment. Both of you have to come to terms with what you did, but we will leave the two of you to sort it out between you. Now, Manveru will help you get ready. You need to be in Valmar by Valanya. You'll need to leave today if you are to be there in time."

"Yes, he will, and perhaps during that time you two can come to an understanding." The Vala gave Glorfindel a searching look and the ellon nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Good. Now, off you go."

"What about Celepharn?" Glorfindel asked, looking around and not seeing his friend. "And the flet? We’re still working on it."

"Oh I think Celepharn can finish the job well enough," Irmo replied with an ironic smile. "He doesn’t seem to have any problem with hammers."

Glorfindel blushed and allowed Manveru to lead him away. Irmo and Eönwë remained behind. "Well, that’s one down," the Lord of Lórien muttered to himself. Eönwë just nodded, refraining from making any comment.

The journey to Valmar was done mostly in strained silence. For the first few hours, Finrod and Glorfindel did not speak to one another. In fact, they studiously avoided one another with Glorfindel keeping two of their Maiar escort between them, much to the amusement of said Maiar. Irmo had provided them with an escort led by Manveru and Ingil. That did not sit well with either ellon but they wisely limited their displeasure to a few groans and grimaces as they mounted their horses.

During a stop to rest the horses and allow the elves to have something to eat, the two of them sat in stony silence on opposite sides of the small fire. Finally, Finrod sighed. "This is ridiculous," he muttered.

"I never meant to send that letter," Finrod said. "In fact I was about to destroy it when I was... conveniently called away."

"Oh? What do you mean by that?" Glorfindel asked, intrigued in spite of himself.

Now Glorfindel’s expression became thoughtful and a silence stretched between them, though it was less strained than before. Finally, he gave Finrod a shrewd look. "Lisselindë," he said and Finrod nodded.

"Do you think this... Judgment we’re supposed to go to is about that? Lord Irmo said we’re not the focus of the Judgment, but now I wonder."

Finrod shrugged. "As to that, I cannot say. All I can say is that I’m sorry. I should never have written the stupid letter, but at the time...."

Glorfindel nodded, giving Finrod a sheepish look. "And I’m sorry I didn’t let you explain. I read the letter and something inside me seemed to... to snap. I don’t even remember what I said that set you off."

"It wasn’t polite, that’s for sure," Finrod said with a thin smile and Glorfindel snorted. Finrod reached towards the fire and poured himself another cup of tea. "By the way," he added, "Ingwion wanted to say goodbye before leaving for Lady Nienna’s but he couldn’t find you."

Glorfindel looked at him in surprise. "I didn’t know. I wondered why he wasn’t with us."

Finrod nodded, taking a sip of tea before speaking. "Seems he’s needed to help Lady Nienna with Vorondil and Aldundil."

Now Finrod gave his gwador a genuine smile. "I have the impression those two are in deep trouble and Ingwion is there to see to it that they get into even deeper trouble."

"Eru help us!" Glorfindel exclaimed with a laugh and soon Finrod was joining him.

The Maiar, who had remained out of sight, if not out of hearing, smiled at one another, pleased that these two seemed well on the way towards reconciliation. When they resumed their journey, the two ellyn rode side-by-side, sometimes talking, sometimes not, but the atmosphere between them was less strained. By the time they reached Valmar and were making their way towards the Laughing Vala they were even singing a little ditty that Sorondil and Oromendil had learned from one of the Reborn which had them and their Maiar escort laughing.

Reaching the courtyard of the Laughing Vala, however, they found all was in chaos, with much commotion of people and horses.

"Kings," the elf said. "Lots of them." Then he hurried off to attend to the horses.

Finrod and Glorfindel exchanged glances. "You don’t think...?" Finrod started to say, when the door of the inn blew open and Arafinwë came out, grinning widely.

"Ah, there you are at last," he exclaimed as he grabbed them both in a bear hug, planting a kiss on their foreheads.

"Probably the same as you," the Noldóran said, sobering slightly. "Come, let’s go inside. Ingwë has gotten us a private room."

Both Finrod and Glorfindel looked around the courtyard to find that their Maiar escort had conveniently disappeared, taking their horses with them. They glanced at each other and shrugged before following Arafinwë into the inn. The Noldóran led them down a back corridor, ignoring everyone in the common room, mostly guards from the three realms, opening a door onto a small private room. Inside they found not only Ingwë but also Olwë as well as the three queens. Elindis smiled at them both and Eärwen came and gave them hugs. Olwë’s queen, Lirillë, was also there, her silvery-white hair shining in the glow of the lamps, her eyes a startling shade of aquamarine. She looked upon the two ellyn with great interest, giving her grandson a warm hug and kiss.

"I am so glad that you are back with us, indyo," she whispered to him. Then she turned to Glorfindel with a smile. "And you as well, Glorfindel."

"Sador and Beleg are in Tirion," Arafinwë answered with a chuckle, "no doubt plotting how to take over my kingdom."

"Knowing those two, I wouldn’t be surprised if they actually succeeded," Glorfindel said with a straight face, though his eyes were twinkling with mirth.

As they continued laughing Ingwë then gestured for everyone to be seated. Once they found their seats, however, the mood shifted. "Why are you all here?" Finrod asked, giving them a quizzical look. "No one told us you were coming."

It was Ingwë who answered. "Lord Manwë summoned all of us to this Judgment, though we have been given no details." He gave the two younger ellyn a searching look and noticed how they both winced slightly under his regard. Their reactions did not go unnoticed by the others.

"We’re not the ones being called to Judgment, if that’s what you’re worried about," Finrod answered their unspoken question.

The two ellyn exchanged glances and then Finrod answered, his tone hesitant. "We’re not entirely sure, but we think it has to do with a Maia, one of Lord Irmo’s People."

"A Maia on trial?" Lirillë asked in surprise, her shocked expression mirrored in the faces of the other royals. "Is such a thing possible?"

However, none of them had an answer to that as they sat in grim silence trying to imagine the unimaginable.

Indyo: (Telerin Quenya) Grandson. The Noldorin Quenya version would be inyo.

The next morning was spent quietly as they prepared themselves for the trial, which would begin at noon. The night before, Finrod and Glorfindel had told them all that had happened to them in Lórien. They spoke in generalities, however, glossing over their fight and its aftermath. Arafinwë glanced at Ingwë, whose expression remained unreadable.

"And you say Ingwion has continued on to Lady Nienna’s?" the High King asked as their narrative came to an end.

Finrod nodded. "I saw him before he left. He was not happy to do so, but knew that he had no choice. Ingwion seemed to think that Lady Nienna needed him with her work with Vorondil and Aldundil," he added with a shrug.

Ingwë raised an eyebrow at that, but Elindis merely smiled. "I am sure he will be very helpful."

There were nods all around. "He is a credit to you both," Eärwen said simply, giving them a brilliant smile.

Now, nearly noon, they were all gathered in the courtyard of the inn, waiting for the escort that Manwë had promised them. Even as Finrod was brushing off imaginary dust from Glorfindel’s tunic, several Maiar appeared, giving them all bows. Both Finrod and Glorfindel noted with relief that none of the Maiar were warrior Maiar. In fact, they appeared to be Varda’s People, for all wore indigo tabards with the eight-pointed star that was the Elentári’s emblem.

They only recognized one of the Maiar, Ilmarë, Varda’s Chief Maia, who smiled warmly upon them all, though there was a gravity about her that spoke of the seriousness of her position as leader of the escort. "My lords, my ladies," she said solemnly, "if you will come." She gestured, and everyone filed out of the courtyard, the Maiar flanking them.

The journey through Eldamas and down the central avenue of Valmar was made in silence. It did not escape anyone’s notice that neither Glorfindel nor Finrod slowed down as they came to Lord Námo’s mansion, studiously keeping their eyes before them. Everyone stopped by mutual consent at the foot of the Ezellohar and gave the Trees their reverence before continuing on to the Ring.

Ilmarë led them between the thrones of Manwë and Varda where she bade Ingwë and Elindis to stand. Then she asked Arafinwë and Eärwen to stand between the thrones of Lord Aulë and Lady Varda while Olwë and Lirillë went to stand between the thrones of Manwë and Ulmo. These were traditionally the places where the royal families would stand whenever they were bidden to the Máhanaxar to witness a trial.

"Though in truth, I do not think any of us have stood here since Fëanáro’s trial," Arafinwë commented and the others nodded.

"Neither of us attended that particular trial," Olwë said, nodding to his wife. "We were not interested in the doings of Aman at that time, thinking in our foolishness that your half-brother’s antics were not our concern."

Surprisingly, Ilmarë bade Finrod and Glorfindel to stand elsewhere. "For you are both witnesses," she said and led them to stand between the thrones of Námo and Irmo. Neither ellon was pleased by this but realized they had no choice. The others in their party gave them sympathetic smiles.

There were no other elves present and Finrod asked Ilmarë about it. "Oh, they are coming," she answered cryptically before bowing to them all and disappearing with the rest of the escort.

Glorfindel grimaced. "I really hate this," he muttered and Finrod nodded. It felt odd to be standing there looking across the Ring to where his parents and grandparents stood. He looked at his great uncle and aunt, the High King and Queen of all the elves of Aman, and sighed, though he was not sure why. Glorfindel gave him a glance, then put an arm around his gwador’s shoulders.

Finrod chuckled. "It is hard to be pessimistic when one has been offered a second chance at life."

But what he was planning to say remained forever unspoken as several other elves began to make their way into the Ring, standing between the various thrones as they chanced to find places. The majority of the elves now gathering were Amaneldi, including a group from Alqualondë. A smaller group, dressed more mutely than even the Teleri and thus marking them as Tol Eressëans, stood nervously, looking about with obvious awe.

A low murmur of sound rumbled across the Ring as voices began speculating as to the purpose of their being there, but quieted as flashes of multi-colored lights, too bright for any of them to watch directly, coalesced into the Valar standing before their thrones just as the bells of Valmar rang the noon hour. All bowed to the Powers, though only Manwë acknowledged them with a nod.

"We welcome you, my children," he said gravely even as he and the other Valar took their seats.

It escaped no one’s notice that every one of the Valar was garbed in somber tones. Even Lady Vána had eschewed her usual bright greens and yellows for a deep ochre. Lord Námo looked positively funereal in unrelieved black, while his brother wore burgundy robes instead of his usual white. Lord Manwë and Lady Varda wore matching robes of midnight blue. All the others wore shades ranging from deep forest green (Oromë) to dark gold (Yavanna) to charcoal grey (Nienna).

Beside each Vala stood a Maia wearing the colors of their masters and mistresses. Finrod saw that these were the Chief Maiar of the Valar and gave an involuntary shiver. Their expressions could have been carved in stone and none of them acknowledged any of the elves with so much as a sideways glance, their gazes resolutely on the center of the Ring.

"This is a sad day for us all," Manwë said without preamble, "though as yet only we Valar are aware of its import. A thing has happened that has not occurred since before the creation of Arda. We thought at first to keep this matter between us, but in the end it was decided that you who live amongst us should witness the justice of the Valar and see that none of us is exempt from it." He nodded to Eönwë standing beside him and the Maia stepped forward.

"Let the prisoners be brought forth," he intoned solemnly before stepping back to his original place.

Another shimmer of lights graced the very center of the Ring and a collective gasp rose from the elves as they beheld two Maiar surrounded by a contingent of other Maiar led by Manveru. Finrod recognized Erunáro and Fionwë as well, but the others were unknown to him. He shivered as he realized that these Maiar did not wear the sky blue tabards of Lord Manwë but the black tabards denoting Lord Námo’s People. None of these did he recall seeing while in the Halls of Mandos, for which he was grateful, for they radiated a fell coldness that could be felt even from where he stood. He glanced at Glorfindel and saw that his gwador looked pale and put a comforting hand on his arm.

*Be at peace,* Finrod heard Námo bespeak him and he felt a gentle soothing caress upon his brow. *These servants of mine are usually not found in my Halls, for they serve a different purpose.* But what that purpose was he did not say and Finrod did not feel brave enough to ask. He glanced again at Glorfindel to find that the ellon was looking a little less disturbed. It seemed that Lord Námo had bespoken him as well.

"Let us begin," Manwë said, looking up at Námo. "Read the charges, Morimando."

Námo rose in dark majesty, giving Manwë a brief bow before casting his gaze upon the two prisoners, who had turned to face him. Olórin looked strangely calm, but it was obvious that Lisselindë was barely able to compose herself and refused to look at anyone or anything, gazing down at her feet, though she stood erect otherwise.

"Lisselindë of the People of Irmo, thou standest accused of interfering with the will of one of the Children, one who is a child indeed, thus abrogating her right of freedom from undue coercion. How pleadest thou?"

There were gasps from the crowd but when Námo cast his amaranthine eyes upon them, silence ensued. Turning once again to the prisoners, he spoke, "Olórin of the People of Manwë, thou standest accused of aiding and abetting Lisselindë in her attempt to suborn the will of another. How pleadest thou?"

"Not guilty, my lord," the Maia said firmly, never flinching from gazing upon the dread Doomsman.

Finrod and Glorfindel exchanged startled glances at that and many of the elves could be heard muttering amongst themselves. The Valar and their Maiar attendants remained still as stone. Námo raised his hand and the muttering ceased. He stared at the two Maiar for a long moment before gazing at Manwë. "The charges have been read, the pleas entered. Let the witnesses come forth."

"But if she says she’s guilty...." one of the elves standing between Tulkas’ and Nessa’s thrones was heard to say somewhat louder than was necessary.

Tulkas turned his gaze upon the elleth, his mien somber. "There are always extenuating circumstances to be considered," he said softly, though all could hear him. "We did not even deny our Fallen Brother that right."

The elleth looked suitably cowed by the Vala’s regard and offered a whispered apology. Tulkas stared at her for a long moment before turning his attention to Námo, giving him a nod.

With that, the Lord of Mandos sat. Manwë nodded and then turned and said something to Eönwë that none could hear. The Maia bowed his head and faded from view, returning shortly in hröa, leading Lindorillë by the hand as he passed Ingwë and Elindis. Melian walked behind them.

Finrod turned to Námo, his expression dark. "What is she doing here?" he hissed at the Vala. "She’s much too young to endure such a thing. Are you all mad?"

Námo gazed down at the ellon dispassionately. "She is here for the same reason you are. She is a witness." He raised a hand to forestall Finrod’s next retort. "Be at peace, Arafinwion. She neither sees nor hears anyone but Eönwë and Melian and when she leaves here she will think it all a dream. We are not so callous as you would have us."

A child-sized chair appeared about midway between the two prisoners and Manwë’s throne and Eönwë gently led her to it, encouraging her to sit. The child remained still, her gaze unseeing. Manwë swept the Ring with his own clear gaze. "This child neither sees nor hears us, yet I will caution you all to remain silent while she gives her testimony." He turned back to Eönwë with a nod. "Begin."

Eönwë bowed and then knelt beside the quiescent elfling, gently stroking her hair. "Lindorillë, dost thou hear me, hina?"

"Good. Now wouldst thou tell me about the other day when Lord Findaráto asked of thee to copy out some letters? Canst thou tell me what happened?"

Lindorillë’s expression became less remote as she looked directly at Eönwë, who smiled at her encouragingly. "Well, Lord Findaráto asked me to copy out some letters," she said. "He has been having me copy letters for some time. He says I need to practice if I’m going to be his secretary."

All could see the pride in her expression as she spoke and Finrod found himself blushing at the curious gazes from nearby elves. He started blushing even more at the next thing Lindorillë said, as she leaned closer to Eönwë in confidence. "He doesn’t have very good handwriting, you know. Sometimes it’s hard to figure out what I’m supposed to be writing." There were quiet snickers all around and even the Valar looked amused, though Finrod noticed that Lisselindë and the strange Maiar belonging to Lord Námo were the only ones who were not smiling. Even Olórin had an indulgent look on his face as he listened to the child’s words. Lindorillë did not hear the snickering and continued blithely with her confidence while both Eönwë and Melian attempted not to laugh."I think he forgets and writes in that funny language he and Lord Glorfindel speak when they don’t want the rest of us to know what they are saying."

Now Finrod and Glorfindel both looked embarrassed as several elves laughed out loud, forgetting Manwë’s earlier admonishment. Their neighbors shushed them, looking askance though none of the Valar admonished them. When silence once more reigned across the Ring, Eönwë spoke. "That’s very interesting, Lindorillë, but couldst thou tell me what happened after thou didst finish copying out the letters that day?"

Lindorillë’s expression became more pensive. "Well... I was almost ready to go and play. Lord Findaráto said I could," she offered, thinking perhaps that this person wouldn’t approve, but Eönwë just nodded. Mollified, she continued. "I was going to go play when I saw how messy Lord Findaráto’s desk was so I decided to neaten it for him." She smiled and Eönwë smiled in return.

"So thou didst put all the papers together," he said, encouraging her to continue.

She nodded. "Yes. Most of them were boring stuff I didn’t understand but there was one...." and here she faltered, her eyes dimming as tears started to form.

"It’s all right, child," Eönwë said, gently stroking her hair and calming her. "There is no need to talk about the letter right now. Canst thou answer another question for me instead?"

"Canst thou tell me what thou didst hear when thou didst decide to neaten thy lord’s desk instead of going out to play?"

For a moment the child remained quiet and then she nodded. "I was almost outside," she said, speaking slowly, as if unsure of her words, or wishing to choose them carefully, "when something inside me said ‘Thy lord would love thee even more than he doth if he findeth thou hast neatened his desk. See how messy he hath left it? Why dost thou not make him proud of thee by straightening his desk?’ So that’s what I decided to do."

No one moved. Finally Manwë rose and came to kneel before Lindorillë, making her look at him. Her expression was uncertain but when he smiled, she relaxed. "Are those the exact words that thou didst hear, child? No more and no less?"

She scrunched her face, obviously trying to remember and then her expression cleared somewhat although her tone when she spoke was dubious. "I... I think it was Lisselindë, but she wasn’t there. I was all alone."

Many there cast their eyes upon the accused Maia, who remained stoically still, never looking up.

"D-did I do something wrong?" Lindorillë suddenly asked, looking as if she were about to cry. Manwë gathered her into his arms and rocked her gently.

"Nay, child, thou hast done naught. Thy lord is well pleased with thee and loveth thee, as do I." He then kissed her on the brow and stood her on her feet. "Now, go thou with Melian and she will give thee a treat."

Melian offered her hand to the elfling who took it willingly and soon they were gone. Manwë resumed his seat, while Eönwë took his place beside his lord. The child’s chair was gone as well. For a time there was silence and then Manwë nodded to his Chief Maia once again. The Herald stood forward. "Let Lord Findaráto come forth."

Glorfindel gave his gwador a brief hug before Finrod stepped out into the Ring. He was unsure just where he should stand and was grateful when Fionwë, who was facing him, gave him an encouraging smile and gestured to a particular spot. Finrod gave the Maia a grateful smile and turned to face Lord Námo, instinctively believing that any questions would come from him.

"Describe the letter, Prince Findaráto," Námo said, his voice giving nothing away.

Finrod sighed inwardly and began to describe the contents of the letter. When he was done, Námo asked the next logical question for which Finrod was ready with the answer.

"Lisselindë," Finrod replied. "She appeared and told me that I was needed elsewhere in Lórien. I am often called to the groves of the Reborn when they become upset, for I seem to have a talent in being able to soothe them with my harp playing."

Finrod shook his head. "I just gathered my harp and told Lindorillë that when she finished her copying she was then free to amuse herself until the noon meal and then I left."

Manwë nodded and then spoke to Námo. "Continue with thy questioning, Morimando."

"In my haste to leave, I shoved it into the pile of letters and documents on my desk. When I returned about an hour or so later, I found that someone had tidied my desk and assumed it was Lindorillë being ambitious. That’s when I found the letter lying on the ground beneath the desk and realized that she must have read it."

Finrod told them, explaining how he had gone to Lady Melian’s grove in search of his ward only to be blocked by Lisselindë and Olórin. He then went on to describe their conversation which the Valar seemed to be most interested in, for Oromë interrupted his narrative to ask one or two pertinent questions dealing with the exact wording of the conversation between Finrod and the two Maiar. Finally, he told of returning to his pavilion.

He paused, looking at Námo with embarrassed uncertainty. "Do... dost thou wish me to tell what happened then?"

Námo shook his head. "Not at this time. Suffice to say that thou didst go from thine interview with these two Maiar dissatisfied and in a... let us say ‘foul mood’, and leave it at that for now."

Finrod nodded, looking relieved. Námo, meanwhile appeared to be communing silently with Manwë and the other Valar. After a moment, his gaze became more ‘present’ and he addressed Lisselindë.

Lisselindë’s stoic posture crumbled somewhat and she flinched at the question. Without looking up, she whispered, "He signed the letter. He meant to send it. I couldn’t let him. It was wrong."

"How dost thou know I meant to send it?" Finrod asked out of turn, too surprised at the Maia’s confession to follow protocol.

Lisselindë gave him an accusing glare. "Because thou didst sign it. I saw thee."

Finrod turned to look at the Lord of Mandos and shrugged. "I suppose I did, but...."

"See thou! He admits it!" Lisselindë exclaimed, casting Finrod a disapproving look. "What kind of lord...."

Námo’s command was spoken barely above a whisper but the force behind that one word sent more than one elf to his knees and Lisselindë quailed.

Finrod shook his head. "I fear it was destroyed when Glorfindel and I... well... thou knowest," he said, looking at the Vala helplessly.

Irmo smiled. "No. Not everything was destroyed. We did find the offending letter mostly intact." He gestured and a ragged scrap of vellum appeared in his hand. He stood and handed it to Námo who took it, giving it a negligent glance. Then he gestured for Finrod to approach.

"Is this the letter in question?" he asked, allowing the ellon to take the letter. Finrod gave it a cursory glance, well aware of the fact that it was indeed the letter in question.

Finrod held the letter up so Námo could see. "Look, lord. Look at the signature."

Námo took the letter from Finrod and studied it more closely. For several heartbeats no one moved. Then Námo handed the letter back to Finrod. "Show this to Lord Manwë," he ordered.

Finrod bowed before striding across the field to hand the letter to Manwë, who in turn studied the letter carefully. Then, to the amazement of the bystanders, the Elder King smiled. "Ah... I see what thou meanest."

He handed the letter back to Finrod. "Tell us whose signature is on this letter," he commanded.

Finrod shrugged, turning to look at Lisselindë. "I did indeed sign this letter. It is signed ‘Finrod Felagund, Aran Nargothrond, Hîr Tol Sirion’."

"I signed it with my titles from my life in Beleriand which is no more," Finrod explained. "That’s why I said I had no intention of sending the letter to King Ingwë. As soon as I wrote it I knew it was wrong, so I signed it as I did. Had I truly desired to send it I would have signed it simply with ‘Findaráto, Haryon Noldoron’, for that is the only title recognized here in Aman. Though I was once a king, I am one no longer. This signature," — he held the letter up — "is invalid. None would recognize it, not even my beloved great uncle, the High King."

At that moment, Ingwë stepped forward. "It is true," he said in a ringing tone. "Though I honor my great nephew and the life he carved for himself in the Outer Lands, his titles there have no legal standing here in Aman. I would not have accepted this letter had it been sent as is." He then bowed to Manwë and stepped back to stand beside Elindis.

Silence stretched for several heartbeats while everyone attempted to assimilate this bit of news. Lisselindë stared at Finrod for the longest time in dismay and then surprisingly turned to her fellow prisoner, her eyes flashing with fury. "Thou knewest! Thou knewest and thou didst not tell me!"

Olórin, for his part, did not flinch. "Of course I knew, my dear." His tone was somewhat acerbic. "I am not as unintelligent as all that. Thou mayest recall I peeked over Lindorillë’s shoulder while she was reading the letter and saw the signature. It wasn’t even completed." He stole a glance at Finrod, giving him a brief smile. "I noticed thou didst not finish writing ‘Sirion’."

Finrod shook his head. "I stopped when I realized I was writing the place where I died, though it had a different name by then."

"But... why didst thou not say anything?" Lisselindë demanded. "Why didst thou let me...."

"Because I had not the authority to stop thee and I could see that thou wouldst not be persuaded from thy course. I do admit that I allowed thee to think that I agreed with thee, at least in thy motives if not thy methods, in the hopes of mitigating whatever damage might follow but Lindorillë’s flight put paid to that and the best I could do was to persuade thee not to flee into the nether regions of Eä in hopes of eluding justice." He then turned to Lord Námo and bowed. "So while I plead not guilty in aiding and abetting Lisselindë in her attempt to suborn Lindorillë’s will, I fear I must plead guilty of... misleading a fellow Maia and causing her to fall into error. For that I ask thy forgiveness." This last he said to Lisselindë.

She could only stare at him, her entire demeanor one of shock and dismay. Finally, she turned to face Lord Irmo, who sat in impervious silence. "I’m sorry... I’m so sorry...." She started to weep and Olórin put an arm around her shoulders and embraced her, speaking softly to her.

Námo ignored the tableau in the center of the Ring, turning his attention to Manwë. "Art thou satisfied with this witness, Calimando?"

Námo nodded and gestured to Finrod to resume his place next to Glorfindel. The ellon bowed to both Manwë and Námo before joining his gwador, who gave him a hug. "You did well, brother," the golden-haired ellon whispered. "Now I suppose it’s my turn, though I can’t imagine what questions they would ask me about it all."

Both Irmo and Námo overheard him speaking and there was a ghost of a smile on both their lips. Irmo leaned over and gestured for Glorfindel to approach. "You are not a witness, Glorfindel," the Vala said softly, though Finrod could hear him well enough. "My brother and I merely wished to keep you in our sights. You are much too dangerous to be left on your own."

Glorfindel did not know if he should be affronted or appeased by Irmo’s words but when he heard Finrod quietly chuckling behind him, he sighed and gave the Lord of Lórien a lopsided grin. "I guess I make your lives rather interesting, don’t I?"

"To say the least," Irmo said with all sincerity, though his eyes twinkled with barely concealed mirth. Then he sat back in his throne, his expression becoming more severe, all levity gone and Glorfindel resumed his place next to Finrod. Some decision had been made among the Valar in the interim and now Námo rose, gazing dispassionately upon the two prisoners.

"Lisselindë of the People of Irmo, in thine arrogance thou didst arrogate to thyself a right that is not thine, indeed is not the right of any of us who have been set in Arda as Guardians and Protectors of the Eruhíni. And this deed was unlawful whether of Aman or not of Aman. Therefore this doom is now made: it is the will of the Valar that thou shalt no longer be counted amongst the People of Irmo and Estë but will be given unto Lady Nienna and will give unto her thine allegiance until such time as the Valar decide that thou mayest return to thy proper place. In that take counsel with thyself, and remember who and what thou art."

Lisselindë fell to her knees, hiding her face in her hands. Olórin placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Námo, meanwhile, addressed him.

"Olórin of the People of Manwë...." he began then paused, giving the Maia a rueful look, the first hint of emotion he had displayed during the entire proceeding. "I am afraid thou and I are stuck with one another once again."

Olórin bowed, giving the Vala a brief smile. "And I shall endeavor to be ever obedient unto thee, my lord. May I ask how long this time?"

Námo turned to Irmo and then looked at Manwë before returning his gaze upon the waiting Maia. "We’ll work out the details later," he said somewhat drolly and Olórin bowed, accepting the Valar’s judgment.

Then with a gesture from Manwë, the prisoners and their guards faded from view and Eönwë stepped forward. "This Judgment is over. Valar valuvar. Go now in peace."

With that the Valar and their Maiar attendants disappeared, leaving the elves to fend for themselves.

Finrod and Glorfindel walked across the Ring to where the royal couples were congregated before Manwë’s throne. A word from Ingwë had been enough to make the other elves disperse, leaving them alone.

“I can’t believe I didn’t realize the significance of the signature before I... um... well, you know,” Glorfindel said apologetically, shaking his head in dismay. Finrod gave him a sympathetic grin.

“I think we would all like to know the answer to that,” Ingwë said. He gestured to them. “Why don’t we continue this discussion on our way back to Eldamas?”

The others agreed and soon they were making their way past the Ezellohar and through the west gate, strolling along the Landamallë Valion, heedless of the fact that they were wandering unescorted, or so they thought.

“Well,” Finrod said as he and Glorfindel found themselves in the midst of their elders, “I knew I wasn’t going to send the letter so I was really just... er... doodling.”

“Excuse me?” Ingwë asked, raising an eyebrow. He was not the only one to do so.

Finrod shrugged, giving them a wry grin. “I wanted to see how it looked, just once more. I mean, my titles.” He ducked his head, now feeling embarrassed all over again. “I’ll never be king of my own realm again,” he explained softly, grimacing slightly. “I don’t really regret it... giving up the crown, I mean, but I... sometimes I miss it.” This last was said almost as a whisper.

By mutual consent they all stopped. Glorfindel stared in surprise at Finrod standing there looking dejected. The others exchanged worried looks. Finally, Arafinwë gathered his son into his arms. “I would be very surprised if you did not, hinya,” he said, planting a light kiss on the ellon’s brow. “You bore a grave responsibility and the fact that you relinquished it says much for your character.”

“Your atar is correct, Findaráto,” Ingwë said. “Crowns do not a king make and while you may never wear one again that does not diminish your own nobility which, frankly, needs no crown or title to affirm it.”

The others all nodded except Glorfindel, who gave them all a wicked grin. “Says he whose crown is bigger than everyone else’s.”

“Glorfindel!” Finrod yelled, punching him in the arm in mock dismay while laughing at the same time. “We don’t mention that sort of thing in public.”

“Why not? It’s true,” he protested while laughingly avoiding Finrod’s attempts to hit him again. The others just rolled their eyes.

Ingwë gave them an affronted sniff. “It is not bigger than everyone else’s. It’s just prettier.”

That set everyone laughing as they continued up the avenue and made their way towards Eldamas and the Laughing Vala. People on the streets turned to see the royals strolling along, looking carefree and unconcerned, and wondered, even as they gave them their obeisance. The kings and queens nodded to the citizens, most of them Vanyar, but otherwise did not stop to chat. When they reached the inn Ingwë asked for the same back room where they had all congregated the night before.

Soon they were seated, having requested a late luncheon. Only when the meal was set before them and they were left to their own devices did they begin to speak of the Judgment.

“A terrible thing to happen,” Elindis said without preamble, her expression one of pity. “That poor Maia.”

“Lady Nienna will treat her kindly,” Finrod said. “I think the Valar were more embarrassed than anything else by the whole thing. I’m surprised they did make it a public trial.” Glorfindel nodded in agreement.

Finrod and Glorfindel both gave him puzzled looks. “It looked pretty public to me, lord,” Glorfindel said. “All those elves....”

“Were especially invited... by us,” Ingwë interjected. “Lord Manwë sent us specific instructions.”

“Every one of the elves who were there have known sympathies for my brother,” Ingwë replied with a grimace.

“Huh? What list?” Glorfindel asked, giving his gwador a hard look. It did not escape his notice that the others also looked surprised at Finrod’s words.

Finrod nodded. “Of course I know about the list, Atar. Eönwë gave me a copy when he gave you yours.”

“Why didn’t I get a copy?” Glorfindel demanded. No one paid any attention to him.

“Because the health and well-being of Arda is one of my concerns,” Finrod said with a frown. “It is part and parcel with my being... well... you know.” He gave them an apologetic shrug, unwilling to mention the Fëanturnildi in a public setting.

Everyone stared at the incensed ellon in surprise. Glorfindel, for his part, just glared at them, silently daring them to reprimand him for his outburst.

“The list of known sympathizers of Ingoldo and those who attacked Sador on Tol Eressëa,” Finrod replied, laying a calming hand on Glorfindel’s arm.

“That’s hardly possible, gwador, with you shouting at us,” Finrod retorted, though he was smiling when he said it.

Glorfindel had the grace to look chagrined. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to shout. So why wasn’t I shown this list?”

“Well I wouldn’t have run off and attacked them, if that’s what you’re accusing me of.”

“No one is accusing you of anything, Glorfindel,” Ingwë said in a placating voice. “We know how badly you were hurt by some of these people.”

“The list was garnered from those two who survived the last attack on you,” Arafinwë said. “We’ve been keeping an eye on them ever since.”

“What I don’t understand is why Lord Manwë specifically told you to invite these people to the Judgment,” Finrod said.

“Can you not guess?” Ingwë said. “Lord Manwë is quite... devious when he wants to be. Inviting these particular people to the Judgment sent a double message: We know who you are and if we will not spare even one of our own, do not think yourself immune.”

Both Finrod and Glorfindel nodded, looking thoughtful. “Devious indeed,” Finrod commented.

“Even more than you might think,” Olwë interjected, joining the conversation for the first time. “Ingoldo was there along with the others condemned to exile.”

“WHAT!!!” The two younger ellyn rose almost as one, their expressions one of complete shock.

“Sit down,” Ingwë commanded in a soft voice, yet such was his power that they obeyed immediately.

“Probably because the Valar did not wish you to,” Ingwë replied. “In fact, I doubt anyone saw them.”

“Then how do you know they were even there?” Finrod asked in a reasonable tone.

“Because when Eönwë came to me with my... instructions” — He gave them a rueful look, one mirrored by Arafinwë and Olwë. Apparently none of them had enjoyed being told what to do in this instance. — “he also told me that Ingoldo and the others would be brought to the Ring to see for themselves the justice of the Valar.”

“So all of this was just an object lesson for the rest of us?” Glorfindel asked in disbelief. “Behave or this could be you in the center of the Ring?”

“Well, it was me in the center of the Ring,” Finrod said drolly. “Twice, though the first time I was the accused.”

“Your point is well taken, Glorfindel,” Ingwë said, studiously avoiding Finrod’s comments about his own Judgment. “Yet, notice that ordinary, law-abiding citizens were not invited to attend, only those whose sympathies towards those who have resorted to or at least have condoned violence against their fellow elves make them prone towards violence themselves. The rest of our people need no such warning.”

“Not in the traditional sense of the word,” her husband explained, “but certainly she did violence to that poor child, playing on her sense of self-worth to suborn her natural will.”

“And she did violate one of the cardinal laws by which the Valar are held by the One,” Ingwë added. “There is no denying that.”

Eärwen then spoke. “Do you think today’s object lesson will do any good?”

“We can only hope,” her husband said with a sigh. “I weary of it. I thought we had put all that nonsense behind us a long time ago.”

Later, as they were sitting on a bench in the courtyard of the Laughing Vala enjoying the evening air, Finrod and Glorfindel were debating as to what they might do next. “Should we return to Lórien do you think?” Glorfindel asked somewhat dubiously.

“Well I know I need to get back,” Finrod said. “I don’t know about you.”

“I thought for sure we were going to be punished today ourselves,” the other ellon stated.

“Do you think they’re planning something nasty for us and they’re just making us sweat it out?” Glorfindel then asked.

His gwador shrugged. “Don’t know, but certain Valar, who shall remain nameless” — Finrod snorted at that and Glorfindel flashed him a mischievous grin — “are being awfully... cagey of late. All they did was separate us for a few days but they let us travel together....”

Glorfindel waved his hand in dismissal. “But they still allowed us to speak to one another and all. No. I think they’re up to something and we’re not going to like it.”

The two of them jumped up from the bench and bowed before the amused Lord of Mandos, both of them looking guilty. Námo gestured to them with a crook of his finger. “Walk with me.”

The two hastened to obey, with Glorfindel on Námo’s left. They exited the courtyard and made their way along the winding cobblestone streets, meeting no one, which was odd, for the night was still young and the streets of Eldamas were normally busy even at this hour. There did not seem to be any real destination in mind to the ellyn’s thinking, for their path seemed aimless. Eventually, though, they found themselves in a square off a narrow alley.

“I know this place!” Glorfindel cried, pointing at the small fountain of Ulmo and Ossë riding unknown sea creatures that graced the courtyard. “Ingwion and I discovered this place when I was here before. We never did learn why this fountain was hidden away here.”

Námo nodded. “The fountain has its own story but it is too long to tell it now and it is not the reason for my bringing you here.”

Námo did not answer immediately but gestured for them to take a seat on the bench that fronted the fountain. He sat between them.

“This square has the virtue of being seldom visited,” Námo said. “Indeed, I suspect that most of the people of Eldamas are unaware it even exists, so I doubt we will be disturbed.” He cast them a brief wintry smile. “That and the fact that three of Manwë’s warriors are stationed at the entrance to the alley to deter anyone who might wish to wander down this way.”

“Are we going to be punished?” Glorfindel asked, deciding to get to the point.

The ellyn exchanged considering looks before they turned as one and nodded at the Vala. Námo sighed. “I think you both have been punished enough. You, Glorfindel have been returned to the gardens set aside for the Reborn while Findaráto must endure his anamillë’s sharp tongue and sharper wit.” He gave Finrod a knowing smile which the ellon did not return. “Plus, his interaction with the children is strictly limited at the moment.”

Glorfindel gave Námo a puzzled look. “You mean I’m being treated the way Celepharn was when Olórin took him away?”

Námo nodded. “Something like that, though in truth we thought it time that you and Celepharn become friends. Sador must someday renew his acquaintance with Celepharn and if he sees you have forgiven him for his unkindness toward you both....”

Glorfindel nodded, well aware of what Námo meant. “Still, it doesn’t feel like a punishment,” the ellon offered uncertainly.

Námo gave him an indecipherable look. “I can always make it worse, if you like,” he suggested softly and Glorfindel reeled slightly, feeling suddenly faint, and shook his head. “Good. Then be content that my brother and I do not seek to chastise you any further than we already have.”

“So why have you brought us here, lord?” Finrod asked again in the ensuing silence.

“There are things that must be discussed,” Námo replied. “We Valar are as curious as the rest of you as to why Glorfindel felt the need to go to Lórien at the last moment. More seems to be going on than meets the eye but even we cannot see what it is. A veil covers you Glorfindel.”

“Oh, not literally,” Námo assured him with a smile, “but figuratively. You are an enigma wrapped up in a mystery.”

“Of course you do not,” Námo said. “You are just being yourself and we do not fault you for that. The truth is, though, we are at a loss as to what to do with you.”

“Why do you have to do anything with me?” Glorfindel asked, looking mulish. “Why can you not just leave me alone?” Silence stretched between them, for Námo refused to answer him. Finally, Glorfindel sighed. “I don’t recall being so much trouble to everyone when I lived in Gondolin,” he said with a grimace.

“Oh?” Námo said, looking at him in disbelief. “That’s not what I heard. You and Ecthelion especially were thorns in Turgon’s side.”

“We were his best captains,” Glorfindel nearly shouted in anger, standing to confront the Vala, “and his staunchest supporters... next to Tuor.”

“Peace, child,” Námo said. “I am merely pointing out that even in your previous life you were somewhat... volatile in your emotions. Have you not spoken of how in the end you and Turgon had a falling out over the issue of Maeglin, a dispute that was never fully resolved before the end?”

“Yes, he was, and he and his people paid the ultimate price for his arrogance,” Námo said softly, remembering well the anguish and despair that had consumed Turgon’s fëa, so much so that Námo had forbidden his Judgment at the time. Even now the once king of Gondolin still lay in healing sleep guarded constantly by four Maiar until such time as he was deemed strong enough to face the Judgment of the Valar as all must who had participated in the Rebellion.

Glorfindel sighed, knowing that Námo was speaking of him as well. He was as much a victim of Turgon’s arrogance as any. Yet, he did not blame his king for his own death. The chances that any of them would have survived that night of horror had been slim to none and the fact that others did survive because of his sacrifice made his death worth it as far as he was concerned.

“I do not know why I feel the need to be in Lórien,” the former Balrog-slayer finally said in a dejected voice. “I’m not even sure if it’s in Lórien I should be or if I’m meant to be... elsewhere.”

Námo gave him a considering look while Finrod’s own expression was more troubled. “There are only two places near to Lórien that you can go,” Námo said reflectively. “One is to Mandos and the other is to Nienna’s.”

“Lady Nienna....” Glorfindel said musingly. “Ingwion is there, isn’t he?”

“I think... I need to see Ingwion,” Glorfindel said, looking doubtful. “He wanted to tell me something while we were recovering from our... ordeal but he never got the chance. We were never left alone long enough to have a private conversation.” This last he said somewhat accusingly as he glared at Námo, who deigned not to answer.

Glorfindel nodded. “Though first I will stop at Lórien and make sure Celepharn has done the flet correctly.” He flashed them both a bright smile.

Glorfindel stuck his tongue out at Finrod. Námo merely smiled at their antics. “You will both return to Lórien tomorrow and then we will see about getting Glorfindel to my sister’s, though I suspect she will have something to say about that. She may not let you come,” he warned.

The ellon nodded. “Then would it be permissible for Ingwion to come to me instead?” he asked.

“We will see,” was the Vala’s only reply and Glorfindel had to be content with that.

Ingwion stood before the portal leading into Lady Nienna’s cloister and sighed. He was still feeling ambivalent about the whole thing. Back at Vorondil’s trial he had felt a sense of rightness in deciding to return to this place. Now, though....

“The day isn’t getting any younger, Ingwion,” Nienna said as she came through the arcade to greet him. “Do you intend on growing roots and staying there for the rest of the ages of Arda or would you like to come in and have some supper?”

Ingwion couldn’t help smiling at the Valië’s mock acerbic tone and gave her a brief bow. “I think supper would be better than standing out here all night.”

Nienna almost smiled. “Good. Take your things to your room and freshen up. We’ll be dining alone.”

“Ah...” Nienna’s expression could only be called gleeful, which, to Ingwion’s mind, did not bode well for anyone. “Well, they’re... um... busy at the moment, but fear not! They will eat in the kitchen later. Marilliën has grown rather fond of them both ever since they tried to sneak some sweets from under her nose.”

Ingwion nodded, though his expression was somewhat dubious. “They’re all right, though, aren’t they?” he asked.

Nienna gave him a surprised look which transmuted into one of compassion. “Why bless you, Ingwion! They’re just fine. You’ll be seeing them in the morning, I promise.”

The prince of the Vanyar nodded, mollified by the Lady’s words. “Well, let me rid myself of the dust of the road and I will be happy to join you for the evening meal.”

Early the next morning found Ingwion strolling along the beach below Nienna’s house. The tide was in and the breakers racing onto the shore were high. Somewhere out in the middle of the Ekkaia, Ingwion suspected, a storm was brewing, for the sky was purple-grey to the west and the sun was barely breaking through the heavy cloud cover to the east. He pulled his cloak closer around his shoulders, wondering why he was on the beach at such an early hour. He stood there, watching the waves crash upon the black-sand strand and sighed.

Ingwion turned to see Tiutalion standing beside him, staring out into the ocean. If the Maia felt the cold he did not show it. When Ingwion did not answer immediately, Nienna’s Chief Maia turned his hazel eyes upon him and gave him a quizzical look. “What’s the matter, Ingwion?”

The ellon shrugged, turning his attention back to the waves racing each other onto the beach. “I... I had an experience not long ago. I still do not know if it was real or just a dream or vision. Nor do I totally understand its import or why I even had the experience in the first place.”

Tiutalion stared at him for a moment before answering. “Do you know for whom the Chapel of Stars was built, or no.... do you know by whom it was built?”

Ingwion shook his head. “No to both questions, but I just assumed that the Maiar built it.”

“And you would assume wrong,” the Maia said. “While we Maiar had a hand in building much of Ilmarin, that Chapel was not of our making.”

Ingwion could feel his eyebrows leaving his forehead in shock. “Th-the Elder King?” he fairly squeaked. “B-but he... I mean... Lord Aulë I can see... but...the Elder King?” was all he could think to say.

Tiutalion laughed. “Child, the Elder King was the chief Singer of the Ainulindalë that brought all of Eä into existence. He is the most powerful of all of us who once dwelt in the Timeless Halls. Any one of the Valar has the power to call forth whatsoever they might wish. Lord Manwë brought the Chapel of Stars into existence and Ilúvatar hallowed it.”

Ingwion pondered the Maia’s words for a moment. “So for whom was the Chapel built then? The Valar?”

“I don’t know what to think, Tiutalion,” Ingwion confessed, shaking his head. “If the Chapel was built for the use of the Valar, why did they send me there?”

“Because the Chapel was not built for the Valar, or anyone else for that matter.”

“Now you’re not making any sense!” Ingwion protested. “It had to be built for someone, or why have it?”

“And normally you would be correct,” Tiutalion said, “for generally one builds something for a reason. But consider... perhaps the Chapel of Stars was not built for anyone but rather because it was needful for it to exist.”

“You were sent to the Chapel not because it was built with you or anyone else in mind but because you needed to be there at that particular time to have that particular experience. Did you know that none of us actually know where in Ilmarin that Chapel is located?”

Ingwion gave him a puzzled look and Tiutalion nodded. “Only those Maiar who are instructed to take someone there know its location, yet, if they have not been specifically ordered to escort someone to the Chapel, try as they might, they cannot find it again, no matter how many times they may have acted as an escort in the past.”

“That really makes no sense,” Ingwion protested. “How can they not know where the chamber is? It can’t be moved, can it?”

Tiutalion shrugged. “One would think not, but remember we are talking of something constructed by Lord Manwë himself. I would not presume to know what powers he may or may not have. In your case, the Valar, and specifically Lord Manwë, decided that a visit to the Chapel was in your best interest.” He paused and gave Ingwion a discerning look. “It was, wasn’t it?”

Ingwion nodded. “It was the most fantastic, incredible experience I’ve ever had,” he said with unalloyed joy. “I will never forget it.”

“Then that is well,” the Maia said. “In all the ages since Valinor was founded, you are perhaps only the second elf to be allowed in the Chapel.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Ingwion couldn’t help asking, wondering who might have been the first.

Tiutalion laughed, giving him a brief hug. “It is a very good thing, young prince, a very good thing indeed. Now, enough of this. Breakfast is waiting. It’s why I came in the first place until you sidetracked me.”

Ingwion grinned. “I have the feeling that you Maiar are sidetracked only when you want to be.”

“True, true,” the Maia said, then gave Ingwion a conspiratorial wink, lowering his voice somewhat. “But that information is not for general consumption.”

Ingwion spread his arms out wide. “Do you see anyone else around here? Who am I going to tell?”

Tiutalion just laughed as the two of them made their way across the sand to the stairs.

“Ingwion!” Vorondil shouted in greeting as the prince entered the dining hall, nearly bowling him over in his enthusiasm to give the Vanya a hug.

“Whoa, youngling!” Ingwion said with a laugh, returning the hug, though with slightly less enthusiasm.

“Vorondil!” Aldundil admonished with a frown, “that is not how one greets Prince Ingwion.”

“Please, Aldundil,” Ingwion protested, giving a crestfallen Vorondil a warm smile. “Here, I am only Ingwion. There is no need for any formality with me. I am as much Lady Nienna’s .... guest as you are.”

“You mean ‘prisoner’,” Vorondil muttered, casting a dark look at the Valië sitting serenely at the table.

Ingwion gave the ellon a shake. “Now, Vorondil, that’s not true. Lady Nienna is not our gaoler, though just what she is escapes me.” He gave Nienna a wry grin and a wink.

“Hrmph,” Nienna said in reply. “No, I am not your gaoler. Let us say that I’m your... counsellor and leave it at that, shall we? Now, come sit and have your breakfast before it gets cold and Marilliën reprimands me.”

The idea of the Maia cook reprimanding her mistress was too alien for the elves to imagine but they dutifully sat and began eating. For some time there was no conversation but eventually they all had their fill and pushed their plates away, sighing in contentment. Nienna watched them with some satisfaction.

“I have a surprise for you all,” she said. Vorondil looked wary while his atar simply looked resigned. Ingwion wondered at both expressions, his own being one of curiosity more than anything. Nienna merely nodded. “Now that Ingwion is here I thought you would all enjoy getting away for a while.”

“Getting away?” Ingwion asked in confusion. “But I just got here and I don’t think these two have been here that long, have they?”

Nienna chuckled. “You have yet to experience ‘forever’, child.” She turned to Ingwion. “I know you just arrived but I’ve been waiting for you to come so the three of you could go camping together. I know Vorondil enjoys it.” She smiled fondly at the younger ellon whose demeanor actually brightened.

“I love camping,” he exclaimed, “except when it’s raining. Laurendil likes it when it’s raining but I don’t.”

“Well I cannot promise you it won’t rain,” Nienna told him, “but I think you and your atar and Ingwion will enjoy yourselves nonetheless.”

“Where will we camp?” Aldundil asked, and Ingwion noticed that he still had a resigned look.

Nienna also noticed and leaned forward, her expression more compassionate. “Aldundil, I am not going to force you to go camping. If you would rather stay here I understand. I’m sure Ingwion and Vorondil will enjoy themselves even if you are not there.”

Vorondil gave his atar a quizzical look. “Don’t you want to go camping, Atto?”

Aldundil sighed, now looking more distressed than anything. “It’s just that the... the last time I camped was... was during the War of Wrath.”

“Ah....” was Nienna’s only reply though of course she had been well aware of the reason for Aldundil’s reluctance.

Ingwion stared at the ellon, taking in the warrior braids that Finrod had forced him to wear and remembering what had been revealed at the trial and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I understand, meldonya.”

Aldundil turned to his son, his expression more sad than anything. “The night before your... your uncle died,” he said softly, “was the last night I camped with him. It was the last night I camped at all, for my injuries were such that I was sent to one of the havens where refugees and the wounded were being gathered. I spent the remainder of the war in an infirmary. I do not think I can face going camping again.”

Vorondil stared at his atar in dismay, not sure how to respond. Nienna saved him the trouble. “I understand your reluctance, Aldundil, but I think you would benefit from this little excursion. I think you and Vorondil both would.”

Before he could offer a protest, the Valië stood, giving them all a measuring look. “Tiutalion will see that you are all properly equipped and will give you a map for you to follow. The place where you will camp is not far from here, but just far enough.”

Nienna smiled fondly at the ellon. “I’ll let you know. Off you go now.” She made shooing motions with her hands and after giving her their obeisance, they left.

The place where they were to camp was indeed not far, but certainly far enough to offer them the illusion that they were no longer under the shadow of the Valië’s presence. The map showed them the coastline to the south and after about a two-hour walk along the headlands overlooking the ocean they found themselves in a quiet tree-shrouded dell where a spring bubbled merrily.

“I guess this is it,” Ingwion said as he dumped his rucksack onto the ground and looked around.

Vorondil, on the other hand, was fairly leaping around, admiring the trees (beeches and lindens) and the spring, testing its coldness with a forefinger before leaping away to watch a pair of redwings building a nest.

“Vorondil,” Ingwion ordered with a smile, “come and help set up the tent while your atar builds the fire pit.”

Vorondil came willingly enough, eager to be of help and soon the camp was put into order to their satisfaction. They were sitting around the fire in companionable silence, or at least Aldundil and Ingwion were. The prince, in fact, was perusing the map Tiutalion had given them while Aldundil was staring into the fire, lost in his own thoughts. Vorondil, on the other hand, was fidgeting and trying not to.

“So what do we do now?” he asked, attempting to act nonchalant and failing miserably.

Ingwion and Aldundil glanced at one another and shared amused smiles. “Well, I was looking at the map,” Ingwion said, “and I noticed that there are several trails clearly marked. Perhaps we should explore them.”

Ingwion shook his head. “The map doesn’t show. It only shows where a trail begins near here and what its direction is.”

“Which trail should we take then?” Vorondil insisted as he leaned over Ingwion’s shoulder for a better look.

Both Ingwion and Aldundil nodded. “Perhaps we can take turns choosing a different trail each day,” Ingwion suggested and the others nodded their approval. The prince handed the map to Vorondil and the ellon spent the better part of the rest of the afternoon until dinner poring over the map and trying to decide which of the marks on it looked the most interesting.

Námo came to Nienna’s later that evening. “So where did you send them?” he asked his sister as they sat alone in the cloister watching the night sky blossom with stars.

“I have my reasons, brother,” was all she said and Námo knew enough not to press. Each of the Valar had their own demesne and within it their will was law which the other Valar respected.

“I sincerely hope you know what you’re doing,” he finally said. Nienna only nodded. “Glorfindel wants to speak to Ingwion,” he said after a moment.

“Is that wise?” she asked. “We’ve been trying to keep those two separated. When Glorfindel decided at the last minute to go to Lórien....” She shook her head and rolled her eyes.

Námo grinned at his sister’s antics. “But I have the feeling that our attempts to keep them apart may be... wrong.”

“I don’t know for sure. They both had an experience of meeting Atar. It cannot be a coincidence.”

Nienna nodded. “No. There is no coincidence involved here.” She sat for a time in deep contemplation. “I hesitate to allow that impossible child anywhere near my demesne,” she finally said.

Nienna frowned, thinking, and then she shook her head. “Too risky. I cannot spare Ingwion, you know that. He is too important at this point in Aldundil and Vorondil’s recovery and rehabilitation. To send him away now....”

“Glorfindel is not going to accept your answer,” Námo said with certainty, “and, unless I miss my guess, neither will Atar.”

Vorondil was up before dawn. Aldundil, though he wanted to sleep in, felt obligated to get up with his son and try to keep him quiet. Ingwion refused to leave his bedroll until Anar was actually visible in the sky.

“One of the privileges of being a prince,” he said to Aldundil as he poured some tea into a metal cup, “is that people expect you to be lazy. Atar says I take advantage of everyone else’s misperceptions.” He gave Aldundil a wink and the Noldo smiled.

“I had quite a time keeping Vorondil from physically rolling you out of your blankets,” he said drolly.

Ingwion nearly snorted his tea. “I appreciate you restraining your son,” he said, giving Vorondil a hard look. The ellon appeared suitably chastened. “It would have been quite dangerous for him.”

Vorondil looked confused but Aldundil just nodded. “Vorondil is still unaware how dangerous it is to waken a warrior,” he said.

Aldundil’s smile was somewhat wry. “I learned early on not to react to an elfling jumping on my stomach at the break of dawn.”

By now, Vorondil was getting tired of being ignored. “Can we go now, Atto?” he whined. “I want to find out where the trails go.”

The two older elves exchanged appraising looks and nodded. “Yes, yonya,” Aldundil said, “we can go now. Lead the way.”

Vorondil didn’t quite yell his delight but he came close as he grabbed the map and rather imperiously ordered his elders to follow him. His elders chuckled and did as they were bid.

“Are you sure we’re going in the right direction?” Ingwion asked Vorondil after they had been walking for half the morning. “I thought the map said we were to head south of east, but we are definitely heading due east.”

“We’ve been following the trail,” Vorondil said a little uncertainly. “See?” He pointed to the path which was discernible even in the high grass that surrounded them. They were in the midst of a meadow strewn with wildflowers of every imaginable shade of yellow and blue. To the north and south the meadow continued across a rolling plain until it met forests. Behind them was their camp and the ocean. Due east though....

“I don’t recall there being hills to the east,” Ingwion insisted. “We’re practically heading towards Lórien.”

“Are you sure?” Aldundil asked, looking over his son’s shoulder to check the map. “Our camp is south of Lady Nienna’s. According to this map, we should actually be in the vicinity of Mandos.”

Vorondil went pale at that. “M-mandos?” he whispered fearfully, staring at his atar.

Aldundil smiled encouragingly at him and gave him a hug and a kiss on his brow. “Fear not, yonya. I have been told that no one can find the entrance who has not been invited by its lord. We are safe enough.”

Aldundil and Ingwion looked at each other and shrugged. “Might as well,” Ingwion said with a smile. “It’s not as if we have a pressing engagement elsewhere.”

Aldundil chuckled and they set off again. They followed the path across the meadow to the hills, which were even higher than they first thought. The hills were dark with pine, looming over the plain. The path wound its way between them and the elves felt an oppressive weight bearing down on them, for the atmosphere was brooding and seemed to smother them. This was not a place visited by the Eldar and Aldundil wondered aloud if anyone had ever come this way before.

To that Ingwion had no answer. Vorondil didn’t care. He stayed close to his atar’s side, not liking these hills at all. “Maybe we should turn back,” he suggested timidly.

“What’s that sound?” Ingwion asked suddenly, stopping so abruptly that Vorondil actually ran right into him. The prince merely grabbed the ellon to hold him steady, too intent on identifying the strange sound to reprimand the youngster.

The other two listened intently. “It sounds familiar but I cannot place it,” Aldundil said. “I wish I had my sword.”

Ingwion gave him a feral smile. “So do I, but since neither of us has a weapon... Vorondil, stay close to your atto. I’ll scout ahead.”

With that, the prince moved away, disappearing around a bend in the path. For several tense minutes Vorondil and Aldundil remained still, both of them sighing with relief when they saw Ingwion coming back, waving them forward. It took only a minute for them to join the Vanya and then he led them further into the hills. The path began to climb and they were treading a narrow ridge. It rose somewhat steeply but was still climbable. As they moved further up the incline the sound, a sort of rushing noise, grew steadily louder until it was deafening. And then they came around a bend and found that their trail simply stopped. That didn’t concern them too much for they were rooted where they were in awe.

Before them was a waterfall plunging into a steep-sided valley which was mostly invisible for the mist hiding it. Several rainbows danced in the spray and birds flew through them on business of their own. Almost by mutual consent the three elves sat on the lip of the ledge overlooking the valley and gazed silently at the scene. Vorondil watched the birds, mostly blue-wings with a few black-crested yellow-wings, doing an aerial dance among the rainbows. Their songs were unheard over the roar of the falls, but that hardly mattered; the ellon was simply enthralled by them.

Ingwion found himself gazing, not at the falls, but down into the mist-shrouded valley, wondering what might be down there and how could one reach it. Aldundil, truth be told, was staring at the endless rush of the waters in rising horror. He was remembering another waterfall in a different time and place and the memory was not pleasant. Suddenly, he stood and was nearly running back along their trail. If either Ingwion or Vorondil called to him he didn’t hear. He only knew he had to get away, that something terrible would happen if he didn’t, though what it might be he could not have said.

He stopped abruptly when he felt someone grab him from behind and started screaming, crouching and wrapping his arms around himself. He was far enough away from the falls to become aware of other sounds again.

He heard his name but could not make any connection to it. All was terror and darkness and he could only crouch there and scream. Arms wrapped themselves around him and he felt someone rocking him and crooning something unintelligible. Slowly the rocking brought him to a sense of calm and his screaming slowed, though he did not come out of his crouch, nor did he open his eyes.

“It’s all right, otorno.” He recognized Ingwion’s voice whispering in his ear. “All is well. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

Over and over again the prince spoke soothingly to him and finally the wave of terror that had nearly overwhelmed him ebbed and he felt himself unwinding slowly from his fear-driven position.

“I...is Atto going to be all right?” he heard someone ask and it took him a moment to recognize his own son’s voice.

“I think so,” he heard Ingwion say. “I want you to go further down the trail and see if you can find a level place for us to set up a temporary camp. Your atto has had a shock and we need to make a fire.”

Indeed, now that he was feeling more lucid Aldundil realized that he was shaking like a leaf in a storm and he couldn’t seem to stop. Ingwion continued holding him, rocking him, refusing to let him go and Aldundil was grateful. He thought that without the prince’s support he would shatter into a million pieces.

Movement alerted him of Vorondil’s return. “There’s a level place just a few hundred paces away,” he heard his son say. “And there is plenty of deadfall.”

“Very good,” Ingwion said. “Go and build a fire pit. You remember how? Excellent. I’ll bring your atto shortly. He just needs a little more time.”

Aldundil heard Vorondil move away and then Ingwion was standing and forcing him to stand as well. “Open your eyes, Aldundil,” he heard the prince command in a tone that brooked no argument. “I have no intention of leading you. Vorondil is putting together a fire. It’s a few hundred paces further on. Come, let us go find your son.”

Aldundil slowly opened his eyes and as soon as he did, Ingwion began dragging him along, forcing him to start walking. “There you are,” Ingwion said with an encouraging smile. “It’s just a little further. In fact, I see that Vorondil has gotten a fire started already. Findaráto taught him well.”

“I... I could never go camping,” Aldundil whispered hoarsely. “He wanted to go so badly when he was younger and I couldn’t... I couldn’t....” He felt himself beginning to weep and Ingwion held him tighter.

“It’s all right, Aldundil,” Ingwion said soothingly. “Now come and sit by the fire. You’ll feel better.” He led the still weeping ellon toward the fire and forced him to sit on a log that Vorondil had pushed near the pit. Someone began rubbing his arms, warming him, but he neither knew who nor cared. Slowly, his tears abated and a sense of calm uncaring stole over him. Only when he opened his eyes did he realize that it had been Vorondil rubbing his arms. Of Ingwion there was no sign.

Vorondil pointed westward. “He said he would return shortly. Are you thirsty?”

Aldundil nodded. “Yes.” He started fumbling for his waterskin but Vorondil merely handed him his and Aldundil gave him a weak smile in gratitude. After he had had his fill he gave Vorondil a measuring look. “Are you well, yonya?”

“I’m fine, Atto. It’s you who’s not. Why did you run away?” There was no sense of condemnation in the ellon’s tone, only curiosity mixed with worry.

They both looked up to see Ingwion approaching, holding several leaves of a plant that Aldundil recognized as asëa aranion. He nodded reluctantly. Ingwion crouched in front of him. “I know this is difficult for you, meldonya, but I think you need to speak of this. We won’t pressure you, but perhaps it’s time.”

“I’m sorry....” Aldundil started to apologize but Ingwion held up a hand to forestall him.

“Apologies are unnecessary.” He stood up. “Come. Let us put out this fire and return to our camp. I think we’ve all had enough excitement for one day.”

It was a quiet evening all around. Aldundil barely spoke. Vorondil was subdued as well and spent most of the evening casting worried glances at his atar. Ingwion kept a silent watch on them both, placing the asëa aranion in some hot water and then insisting that the other ellyn drink some of the infusion. He took a sip or two himself and felt immensely better for it.

“Are we going to follow one of the other trails tomorrow?” Vorondil finally asked in a hesitant voice. He was concerned about his atto but he also wanted to find out where the other trails led. Coming upon the waterfall and seeing the birds had been so exciting. He had wanted to talk about it as they returned to their camp but was afraid of hurting his atto so he stayed silent. Still, he couldn’t help wondering if the other trails led to interesting places as well.

“What?” Aldundil said, coming out of his reverie and realizing he’d been asked a question. “Oh, yes. Of course. Who gets to choose?”

“Why don’t you choose our trail for tomorrow?” Ingwion suggested and Vorondil nodded enthusiastically, handing the map to Aldundil.

The next morning Aldundil appeared calmer. Ingwion had feared that night terrors might haunt the warrior but the night had been blessedly peaceful thanks to the asëa aranion. Now Aldundil and Vorondil were looking at the map.

“Which trail have you decided we should take today?” Ingwion asked, smiling at the two ellyn.

“This path here heads north,” Aldundil said, pointing at the map. “I thought to go that way.”

Unlike yesterday’s trail, this one did not meander as much but went as directly north as the topography allowed. Ahead of them they could see a dark forest but the trail skirted it, bending towards the west before actually plunging into the woods of ancient oaks and redwoods. The three of them stood in silent awe, looking upward at the majestic trees with their young leaves of spring green offering them gentle shade. A carpet of last year’s leaves covered the ground which crackled and swished with their passing, or rather Vorondil’s passing. He deliberately walked heavily just for the fun of it while Ingwion and Aldundil moved along the trail silently, leaving no sign of their passing.

“To think that these trees were ancient before we ever came to these shores,” Ingwion said in a quiet voice.

“It almost seems impossible to imagine their age,” Aldundil said. “I can understand better why the Valar often call us children.”

“That’s not why they call us that, Atto,” Vorondil said, surprising the two older elves, when he stopped to address them.

Vorondil nodded. “Master says they call us that to remind us and them that we are indeed Ilúvatar’s Children and therefore beloved by the Valar for that reason alone and for no other. Master says it’s not an insult but an affirmation of who and what we are before the eyes of Eru.”

Ingwion and Aldundil exchanged surprised looks. “I knew my cousin was wise, I did not realize just how wise he truly is,” Ingwion said.

Aldundil nodded. “Prince Findaráto is... special and I am grateful that he has taken an interest in our well being, mine and Vorondil’s.”

“I miss Master,” Vorondil said sadly. “When will I be able to see him again, do you know? I bet he’s gotten all his tunics creased. He can’t fold a tunic correctly to save his life.”

Vorondil nodded. “Though I had to ask Lady Manwen first how to do it properly,” he admitted shyly.

“I’m sure you’ll be seeing Findaráto soon,” Aldundil said, putting an arm around his son's shoulders. “Now, why don’t we see where this trail leads to, shall we?”

With that they set out again, following the path that now seemed to head in a more easterly direction though it was difficult to tell because the sky was almost hidden by the massive trees and Anar was invisible to them. At one point they stopped to rest and have a light repast before moving on. The forest continued to surround them but it did not have the same threatening feeling that the pine-forested hills had had, though the ground began to rise precipitously into cliffs and soon they found themselves walking through a gorge. A distant vibration began to be felt under their feet and they stopped to exchange concerned looks.

Ingwion shook his head. “I don’t know. We can turn back if you wish,” he suggested. “No one even said we had to take any of these trails.”

The other two ellyn nodded and they continued on. The defile wound along, the trail rising towards the cliff tops at one point and then plunging suddenly down. They had to go carefully to avoid slipping over the edge. The further they went the louder the sound and now they were sure that ahead lay a waterfall, but if it were the same as the one from yesterday, they did not know.

Without warning the gorge debouched upon a mist-shrouded valley where a stream ran quickly away to the south. All around them were huge boulders and they were forced to go around them until they finally found themselves looking up at the very same waterfall they had seen the day before. This time, however, there was no sense of awe in any of them. Both Vorondil and Ingwion stood close to Aldundil, fearing the sight of the cascade would send him running again.

Yet, Aldundil did not run. Instead, he just stood there with his mouth open, staring upward. The terror he had felt the day before was not there. Instead, a sense of calm inevitability stole over him and he somehow knew that his death was waiting for him in this vale. It had awaited him in a similar vale an ocean away. He’d cheated death that day, but now it was time to pay for his stupidity, the very stupidity that had gotten his beloved brother killed.

He sank to his knees, his face still turned upward, but now his eyes were closed, tears running down his face. Yes. It was time to pay for his mistakes... all of them. He’d only been fooling himself, telling himself that it didn’t matter, that all was forgiven, but that wasn’t true. It had never been true.

He felt hands tugging at him on both sides, forcing him to stand. He did not resist, for no doubt they had come for him. Who exactly ‘they’ were, he couldn’t say and it was too much effort to open his eyes to find out. Instead, he went meekly wherever he was led and after a time the deafening roar of the falls lessened and he could hear again.

“I don’t know, Vorondil, but I want him as far from here as we can get. This place is proving detrimental to your atar.”

Aldundil continued to walk with his eyes closed, not really caring, but eventually his companions halted him and forced him to sit down on a log. “Aldundil, open your eyes.”

The command was given in a voice that was hard to ignore. With a sigh, he complied, blinking in the dim light filtering down from the top of the gorge. They had not gone too far from the vale he noticed. Looking back along the trail he could see the entrance into the valley shrouded with mist. He turned his attention closer to home to see Ingwion on his left and Vorondil kneeling by his right knee. Both of them had concerned looks.

“Are you well, Atto?” Vorondil asked, unable to keep the worry out of his voice.

Aldundil ran a hand through the ellon’s locks. They were no longer bleached he noticed and they were definitely longer than before. He tried to smile but wasn’t sure how successful he was. Then he looked up at Ingwion standing before him, his expression dark with some emotion that the Noldo could not name.

Vorondil gasped in dismay. Ingwion merely looked into Aldundil’s eyes, probing his very fëa. Aldundil never flinched, knowing the truth of his words. Finally Ingwion nodded. “You may well be right,” he said.

Vorondil, however, would not hear of it. “No!” he shouted half in fear and half in anger, standing to glare at his atar. “I don’t believe you! You’re not going to die. If anyone deserves to die, it’s I!” With that he turned and ran back toward the vale of the waterfall.

“Vorondil!” Aldundil shouted, suddenly afraid, not for himself, but for his impetuous son. Without bothering to wait for Ingwion, he ran after Vorondil and soon both of them were swallowed by the mist. Ingwion ran after them, muttering under his breath, invoking not only the Valar but Ilúvatar as well, praying that neither father nor son would do anything stupid in the meantime.

He was unaware of Eönwë standing unclad at the head of the vale calmly recording his oath.

Vorondil ran back up the trail and into the valley, tears blinding him. He stumbled over a low-lying boulder and fell to his knees. The mist gathered about him and the roar of the waterfall was felt more than it was heard, a deep thrumming that shattered against his fëa, leaving him feeling weak and disoriented.

He clambered to his feet, his knees bloody, his palms scraped raw and throwing his head back he screamed. “You can’t have him! You can’t have my atto! I’m the one you want. I’m the one who should be dead. Take me! Take me!” With that last he fell to his knees again and his weeping was inconsolable.

The noise of the water drowned out his words and he never knew if anyone even heard but then he felt someone take him by the shoulders and lift him up. He opened his eyes to see a stranger standing before him. The elf was somewhat taller than he, his hair the dark locks of a Noldo, his eyes a greenish-grey. Vorondil vaguely noticed that the stranger’s locks were braided in the front the way his Master’s were, though in a pattern and with gemstones different from any he had seen before. This, then, was a warrior.

The stranger smiled, using the palms of his hands to wipe away Vorondil’s tears. He pursed his lips and frowned when he saw the state of the ellon’s hands and knees. He took Vorondil by the elbow and led him to a pool some distance from the waterfall. Only when the elf spoke did Vorondil notice that the roar of the falls was much less.

“You are quite precipitous, child,” the stranger said not unkindly as he pushed Vorondil down to a sitting position on a large flat stone. He then took a piece of linen from somewhere and dipped it into the water, laving Vorondil’s bloodied knees.

The ellon gave a hiss of pain but then the hurt was gone. He stared down in surprise at his ripped and bloody leggings as if noticing them for the first time. “Atto’s going to be angry,” he said in a strangled voice.

The stranger chuckled. “I think he will be more relieved than angry,” he said as he turned Vorondil’s hands palm up so he could lave them as well. Again there was a sting of pain that instantly went away. Already the scrapes and scratches on hands and knees were beginning to close.

The stranger gave the ellon a measuring look. “Rather rude, aren’t we?” he replied. “I would think a thank you was in order.”

Vorondil blushed, knowing he had been in the wrong. “I’m sorry and I am grateful, but... I have to find Atto. He’s in danger.”

The other elf stared at the younger ellon. “In what way is Aldundil in danger?”

Vorondil was too upset to wonder how the stranger would know his atar’s name. “He said he was going to die. I can’t let him die. I’m the one who should die. I’m the one who’s bad. Atto isn’t bad. He shouldn’t die because of me.”

“Whoa, youngster!” The stranger raised a hand to still Vorondil’s words as he shifted his position to sit next to the ellon on the stone. “One thing at a time. Why should you be the one to die?”

Vorondil hesitated, unsure if he should tell this stranger anything, but there was something about him that made Vorondil trust him in a way he had never trusted anyone, not even his atar or Master. He looked down at his hands lying on his knees. “I should never have been born,” he whispered forlornly. “I’m not supposed to be here. My atto and ammë weren’t supposed to marry. Ammë was supposed to have... other children, but not me.”

For some time silence stretched between them and when it continued for longer than was comfortable for him, Vorondil looked up to see the other elf staring at him with deep sympathy. He reached over and began caressing Vorondil’s hair. “Child, no one is born who is not meant to be. Do not think that just because other plans had been made that what happened in truth was not anticipated. It is true that had others made other choices you would not be here, but they did not and so you are here. Never doubt that Eru is just as pleased by you being born as he would have been had other children been born instead.”

“But I’m... I’m bad and the other children who should have been born,” Vorondil wailed, “they were suppose to do something important. They were... but not me.” He ended on a more forlorn note. Much of what the stranger had said had not made much sense.

“But nothing,” the stranger said emphatically. “Choices were made. Choices are still being made, even by you. Whether you do something important or not is really up to you. Whatever these hypothetical children might have done will be done by others, perhaps even by you. Did you ever think about that?”

Again Vorondil shook his head. “I was born bad,” he reiterated. “No one is going to let me do anything important.”

The stranger sighed. “No one is born bad, Vorondil,” he said quietly, “not even Melkor. People choose badness over goodness but that’s not the same thing.”

The stranger smiled gently, putting an arm around Vorondil’s shoulders. “Not everything,” he said. “You were willing to sacrifice yourself for your atar. That’s not wrong. It’s quite brave. Something that a warrior would do.”

Vorondil blushed. “I’m not a warrior,” he whispered, not looking at the other ellon. “I’ll never be a warrior.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” the other ellon said encouragingly, then he gave him a brief kiss on the brow and clapped him on the shoulder. “Now come. A choice is before you and you must decide.”

“Life or death, of course,” the other replied. “Those are the only choices ever left open to us: do we choose to live regardless of the pain and disappointments that come or do we give up and die, fade away, until we are not even a memory to those remaining behind? You want to save Aldundil, but I tell you that he is not for you to save.” Then the elf’s demeanor changed and he became more grave. “So, Vorondil Aldundilion, what sayest thou?” he asked formally. “Wilt thou embrace Life and allow that thou art as beloved of Eru as any Child of his Thoughts, accepting thy destiny whatsoe’er it may be or wilt thou take the coward’s way and forsake thy destiny altogether?”

Vorondil felt a frisson of fear course through his fëa as he stared at the stranger who suddenly seemed more than he appeared. He wasn’t sure how he should answer and so he thought about it for some time. The other elf sat still and silent, patiently waiting for the ellon’s answer....

“Vorondil!” Aldundil cried, peering through the mists to see if he could find his son but it was hopeless. He had not seen in which direction Vorondil had gone once he entered the vale and the mist made it difficult to even search the ground for signs that the ellon had come this way. He started wandering aimlessly, calling frequently, hoping his voice traveled above the roar of the falls.

He stopped in defeat. The one good thing he had ever done was lost in this damnable mist and he feared for his beloved child. Collapsing upon a flat rock near a pool he felt tears begin to well. “Oh, Eru,” he whispered. “What have I done?” It was too much and despair overwhelmed him as he began to weep in earnest. The noise of the falls drowned out all other sounds so he was taken by surprise when he felt someone grab him, hauling him up so he was facing a strange elf.

The ellon was somewhat taller than he, his hair dark like his with eyes a greenish-grey. Aldundil saw that he wore warrior braids. The pattern was vaguely familiar but he couldn’t place it. He thought perhaps it had been a pattern used by the warriors under Maglor’s command. His expression, while kind was also rather stern and Aldundil was reminded of Lord Eönwë and the other Maiar who led the army of the West during the War.

Aldundil, however, was not interested in answering. Instead, he tried to move out of the other elf’s grasp. “My son. Have you seen him? I must find him.”

“Ah... well, as to that,” the other ellon said, refusing to let him go, “your child is safe enough for the moment. Let’s deal with you. You haven’t answered my question.”

Aldundil was in no mood for any of this. He wrenched himself from the stranger’s hold, reaching for the hunting knife at his side. “Who are you?” he hissed angrily. “What have you done with Vorondil? If you’ve harmed him....”

“Peace,” the stranger said, holding up his hands. “Your son is safe. No harm has come to him, but we need to talk, you and I.”

Now Aldundil felt confused and a frisson of something bordering on fear began to creep up his spine. This whole thing was too uncanny. He was suddenly reminded of the tales some of the Atani warriors used to tell around their campfires, something they called a ‘ghost story’. He had scoffed at them, considered the Mortals rather credulous and easily frightened of their own shadows, but now....

The stranger smiled, as if he knew what Aldundil was thinking, and gestured at the rock next to them. “Shall we sit?”

Aldundil nodded dumbly and resumed his seat. The other waited until he was settled before seating himself. For a moment neither spoke and Aldundil suddenly realized that the noise of the waterfall had lessened so he could actually hear birds singing in the nearby trees.

Aldundil started at the sound of the stranger’s voice and he could only stare stupidly at him, not sure what answer he was supposed to give. The stranger smiled. “You were going to tell me what it is you’ve done.”

“Isn’t that enough?” Aldundil cried. “I’ve been proven faithless to my vows and because of it my son suffers.”

The stranger looked at him shrewdly. “Does Vorondil suffer because you broke a vow or are you the one suffering... guilt, perhaps?”

“He’s the product of my oathbreaking,” Aldundil offered, groping for a way to explain what he knew to be true.

“Has he suffered from the very beginning of his life or only since he learned the truth of his begetting?”

Aldundil had to think about that for a moment. Vorondil had been unaware of the truth of his begetting until just recently. Until then....

“His amillë distorted his fëa, or so the Valar have told me,” Aldundil finally said. “In that, I was partly at fault for not taking a firmer hand in his upbringing. I had no idea Calalindalë bore such hatred for the Reborn, for my brother.”

“Well as to that, Calalindalë’s hatred is not germane to this conversation. We’re talking about you and your culpability in all this.”

“I should be dead,” Aldundil offered, his expression blank of any emotion. “This vale....” he swept a hand to encompass all that was about them. “It’s like the one where my brother died, where I should have died.”

“But you didn’t,” the stranger said softly. “You lived and that must count for something.”

Aldundil shook his head. “I forswore my oath to my brother and because of that I robbed him of his future.”

The other ellon shook his head. “No. You may have robbed him of a future but that’s not the same thing. When your brother is released from Mandos he will find many things have changed and he will have to learn to live with it and find for himself a different destiny than the one he had planned on before his death. But that is his problem. The question before you is this: Will you be there to help your brother find a future or will you be so wrapped up in your own sense of guilt that you prove useless to him and to your son?”

“What of my son?” Aldundil asked. “What will become of him? Everyone despises him.”

“Indeed?” came the incredulous reply. “Well that’s news to me. I doubt you could get Findaráto or Ingwion or even Glorfindel to agree with you. Let’s not get lost in hyperbole. Your son will do well enough if you let go of your guilt. Have you not said that he is the best thing that’s ever happened to you? Then that is all he needs to know at this time, that you love him.” He gave Aldundil a moment to digest his words and then stood, gazing gravely down at the ellon. “So now, Aldundil Herendilion, you must decide: wilt thou let go of thy sense of guilt and live for both thy son and thy brother, or wilt thou not? Choose carefully, for howsoever thou choosest, thou wilt indeed die.”

For a long moment Aldundil stared at the other ellon in dismay, wondering how either choice could lead to his death. Then, in a moment of clarity he realized what was truly being said and with a nod of his head he chose....

Ingwion came into the vale, as mist-shrouded as before, calling for both Vorondil and Aldundil with little success. “‘You’ll get out of it what you put into it’ she said,” he muttered darkly, recalling Lady Nienna’s words to him. “Well, what I’m getting at the moment is a bloody headache and when I finally catch up with those two, a headache will be the least of their worries.”

He was about to call out again, when suddenly a shape came towards him out of the mist and he waited to see which of his companions it was. When the shape resolved itself into a stranger, Ingwion unconsciously reached for his hunting knife and began backing up.

The strange elf stopped and raised his hands in conciliation. “Peace, meldonya. I mean you no harm.”

“Who are you?” Ingwion demanded, not at all convinced. “Where are my companions? What are you doing here?”

The other elf’s greyish-green eyes brightened. “Ah... the first intelligent question anyone’s asked me today.”

“Speak plainly!” Ingwion snarled. “I have neither the time nor patience...”

“Then perhaps you should find some of both,” the other ellon retorted coldly, his demeanor darkening.

Ingwion was suddenly reminded of Lord Námo and shivered. “Forgive me,” he said sincerely. “I fear the uncanniness of all this has left me feeling a bit on edge.”

The stranger smiled. “Forgiven. Now have no fear for your friends. They are both well. Come, let us find a place to sit and talk while we wait for them to join us.”

He gestured towards his left where Ingwion could dimly make out a pool and he reluctantly joined the ellon on a large flat rock that served well enough for their purpose. The strange elf stared at Ingwion for some time, as if measuring his worth and perhaps finding it wanting. Ingwion found he did not like the sensation and did his best to glare back. A slow amused smile spread across the other elf’s face and he nodded. “Good. Good.”

“I’ll answer yours if you answer one for me,” the ellon returned and after a second’s hesitation, Ingwion nodded.

“Did you seriously think Lord Námo would have done as you had demanded of him during Vorondil’s trial?”

Of all the questions Ingwion thought he might be asked, this was not one of them and he sat there with his mouth gaping in surprise. “Wh-what?”

“Did you seriously think the Lord of Mandos would release anyone just because you wanted him to?”

Now Ingwion felt himself grow warm with something akin to shame. It was true, at the time all he could think of was his pain and his need. He never stopped to think what an absurd demand it was. Indeed, had he not made a similar demand eight yéni earlier to no avail? It had taken a long time for him to accept what could not be changed, or... he thought he had. He shook his head in dismay. Perhaps he had only been fooling himself, trying to convince himself that it was all right, that what happened was indeed for the best. Perhaps...

Hot tears started trickling down his cheeks and then he was weeping in earnest, great wracking sobs that tore through his hröa as well as his fëa. He barely registered the fact that the other elf reached over and gathered him into his arms and held him silently through it all. He had no idea how long it lasted but when the tears began to abate he felt... empty, empty of everything except the deep-rooted pain that was as a void in the center of his being.

“Your pain is what you need to release, child,” the other elf said quietly. “Lord Námo has waited patiently all these yéni for you to do so, for until you do, he cannot do what you wish of him.”

“What about atar and ammë?” Ingwion rasped, his throat thick with weeping. “Is their pain any less than mine?”

“No, it isn’t, but neither have they clung to it as you have clung to yours. They have learned to let it go; you have not.”

“And if I do not, then what?” Ingwion demanded, moving out of the elf’s embrace far enough to face him.

“Then you will die,” came the calm reply. “You are very close to dying, you know. It’s one reason why Lord Námo took you on as his apprentice, hoping to prevent your demise.”

“Are you not?” the ellon retorted. “Have you truly lived all these yéni? You go through the motions but you are not really living, are you? Your cousin Findaráto’s return from Mandos... you hate him for that, don’t you?”

“What!?” Ingwion cried, standing up to glare down at the other elf. “How dare you...”

“Because deep down inside where you won’t admit it to yourself, you do,” the stranger said calmly. “You resent him being released from Mandos when....”

Ingwion was not ready to hear this and with an oath he strode away, fury rising within him. Of all the insufferable.... His thoughts skittered to a stop when he suddenly slammed into a boulder he had not seen in the dense mist and fell on his back, the breath knocked out of him. For a long moment he just lay there, stunned. Somehow, he wasn’t at all surprised when the strange elf found him still lying on the ground. The ellon said nothing, merely offering him a hand and helping him up. They stood there, staring at one another for the longest time, and Ingwion was the first to look away.

Without saying a word, the other elf took him by the arm and led him back to the rock where they had been sitting, pushing Ingwion down and standing over him. The ellon’s expression was unreadable and Ingwion could not tell if he was angry or insulted or....

“I am not,” the ellon said, breaking the silence between them. Then his demeanor hardened somewhat with his next words and Ingwion felt doom settling upon him. “Ingwion Ingaranion, thou hast a choice before thee: whether to let go of thy pain and accept what cannot be changed, placing thy hope in Ilúvatar’s hands where only there can it flourish, or cling to thine anguish and in doing so, die to all hope. What sayest thou?”

Ingwion lowered his gaze and pondered the elf’s words and remembered what had been said between him and young Sador at Vorondil’s trail. Then he raised his eyes once more, stared into those grey-green eyes and nodded....

Nienna looked up from her worktable to see a Maia standing there, his greyish-green eyes lit with humor.

“Well enough, my lady,” he answered with a short bow. “I think the three of them are on the right road towards healing again.”

Nienna nodded. “Good. As I had hoped.” She gave her servant a wry look. “Which of them did you find the most difficult to convince?”

Nienna smiled and nodded. “As I suspected. You did well, Nyéreser,” she said to the Maia. “I’ve decided you and Nasarindil will have charge of Lisselindë for the time being. She’s in need of your... special touch.”

Nyéreser gave his mistress a sly grin. “Is this your way of getting rid of me, lady?”

Nienna laughed. “You know it will not do for those three Children to see you here. It’ll ruin everything.”

“Indeed, lady,” the Maia replied with a grin, but then his demeanor became more troubled. “Lisselindë will not be an easy charge,” he commented, sighing at the thought of his fellow Maia’s fall from grace.

“Yes, but you and Nasarindil are capable and the fact that the two of you are also her close friends should help.”

“Then I will endeavor to help restore our sister to her former glory,” the Maia said with a bow.

“I live to serve, lady,” the Maia said with all sincerity as he bowed to the Valië again before leaving to take up his new duties.

“As do we all,” Nienna said softly to herself, her expression distant. Then she gave herself a slight shake of her head and returned to her work.

Nasarindil: ‘Red Lily’. The name is Vanyarin, adopted and adapted from Valarin.

Nyéreser: ‘Sorrow’s Friend’ [-ser is an attested final element in compounds. -ndil can mean either ‘friend’ or ‘lover’ while -ser just means ‘friend’].

Glorfindel’s first act upon reaching Lórien was to hunt up Celepharn. "So how’s the flet coming along?" he asked, trying to sound diffident but not really succeeding.

Celepharn grinned. "Come and see. I didn’t complete it entirely because I knew you would want to put some finishing touches to it."

The two of them made their way to the malinornë where the ‘Treehouse’, as Irmo and the Lórien Maiar were calling it, had been built. Glorfindel could see that the flooring had been finished but not much else.

Celepharn shrugged. "I asked some of the Nandor here in Lórien and they said that what we have so far is just the basic design used for sentry posts and such. Homes are much more elaborate with walls and room dividers. Are you thinking of moving in?" This last was accompanied by a wide grin.

Glorfindel laughed. "Not really. I just wanted a place where I could sit and think without being disturbed."

"Well then, I think this should do well enough," Celepharn said. "Perhaps a decorative railing might be nice, just to make it look less... unfinished. We’re not sentries after all."

Glorfindel nodded. "I’ll think about it. Thanks for helping. I seem to be all thumbs when it comes to hammers and nails."

"It was my pleasure," Celepharn replied. "It rather reminded me of earlier times before... well before I left the first time." He paused, looking both abashed and puzzled as if the memory was more elusive than he wished. "I think I was apprenticing to a woodworker when... well, you know."

"Yes. I do," Glorfindel replied quietly, giving the other ellon a sympathetic look. "Do you think you’ll go back to that? I know of a fine woodworker in Eldamas who might be willing to take on an apprentice. Perhaps you should ask Lord Irmo about it."

"Well, think about it," Glorfindel replied, "and if you need someone to put in a good word for you, you can count on me."

"So, what should we do next?" Glorfindel asked, clapping his hands and giving Celepharn a decidedly wicked grin.

Now Celepharn’s expression turned slightly wicked. "I know where there’s a tub of bright blue paint just begging to be used."

For a moment the two ellyn stared at one another and then they were racing to be the first one down the rope ladder, laughing gleefully as they ran towards the painting grove.

"Bright blue?" Nornoros asked in disbelief as he, Manveru and Ingil watched the two ellyn race each other down the sward.

"Which is probably why Celepharn suggested it," Ingil added with a smile. He was there keeping an eye on Celepharn while the other two watched over Glorfindel.

Ingil laughed. "They’re actually both at the same time, which is why I enjoy interacting with them so much, especially the Reborn who are struggling to reintegrate themselves in their new lives. It gives me great pleasure to see them overcome the obstacles that confront them and thrive."

"I haven’t had much to do with them myself until now," Nornoros said. "I think I have much to learn about them."

"And as much as you think you know, so much will you realize you do not know when dealing with them," Ingil commented. "They are continually surprising you."

"And no wonder," Manveru said with a nod as he and his fellow Maiar watched the two ellyn come racing back with paint tub and brushes in hand, "for we had nothing to do with their creation. They are indeed a mystery to us and to our masters." He flashed the others a grin. "I’ve long suspected that that was Atar’s intent all along."

The other two Maiar laughed as they continued to watch the two elves happily begin painting the flet a bright blue.

Finrod and Laurendil stopped by later to see how the flet was coming along. Glorfindel and Celepharn were sitting beneath the tree taking their ease. They were liberally daubed with paint but seemed in no hurry to wash it off.

"Bright blue?" Laurendil asked, shaking his head in disbelief. "I don’t remember any of the flets on Tol Galen painted that color. In fact, they weren’t painted at all!"

"It’s... bright, that’s for sure," Finrod commented. "I suspect it can be seen for several leagues in every direction."

Glorfindel and Celepharn scrambled to their feet while Finrod and Laurendil turned to see Lord Irmo standing there looking amused. All four ellyn gave the Vala their obeisance. Irmo ignored them for the moment as he looked up at the flet "Now I would’ve gone for gold myself," he said with a straight face as he looked at the elves once again.

"Gold?" Finrod asked in disbelief. "You would have painted that gold?" He pointed at the flet.

Irmo nodded. "I like gold. It’s bright and cheerful. Now, you two. Off you go and wash off that paint and don’t forget to clean the brushes. Celepharn, you had an appointment with Laurendil, did you not?"

The ellon nodded, looking miserable. "I guess I forgot," he said apologetically.

Laurendil nodded. "It happens, but let’s not make it a habit, shall we? Come along. I’ll help clean the brushes."

With that he left with Celepharn after they both bowed to Irmo. Glorfindel was about to follow them when Irmo stayed him. "Before you go, Glorfindel, I wished to let you know that Námo forwarded your request to go to our sister’s to meet with Ingwion. I’m sorry to tell you that Nienna will not allow it at this time."

"Can Ingwion come here then?" Glorfindel asked, trying to hide his disappointment.

"No. I’m afraid he’s not being allowed to travel right now. Perhaps in a few weeks...."

"A few weeks? A few years? Maybe never?" Glorfindel growled. "Why are you trying to keep us apart?" He didn’t wait for an answer, assuming there was one to give, but stalked away in high dudgeon, refusing to stop even when Finrod called to him.

"No, let him go," Irmo commanded softly. "I feared this would be his reaction. Námo warned Nienna that he would take her refusal badly."

"I do not see why you are keeping them apart either," Finrod stated. "Glorfindel feels that he and Ingwion need to share something that happened to them both."

Finrod could only stare at the Vala in consternation as Irmo continued to watch Glorfindel proceed down the sward, unaware of the two Maiar trailing him.

Glorfindel was in a foul mood and remained that way for some time. He barely spoke to anyone and once the paint dried he spent much of his time sitting on the flet, refusing all contact with his friends. Not even Finrod could tease him out of his mood, though he did issue a warning to his gwador when he came to visit Glorfindel in his treehouse a few days later.

"Remember the last time you did something precipitous, gwador," the elven prince reminded him. "You ended up a thrall. Disobey the Valar and you may end up as something much worse."

"What could be worse than being a thrall?" Glorfindel deigned to ask, intrigued in spite of himself.

"I hope you never find out," was Finrod’s only reply. He said no more but the thoughtful look that he saw on Glorfindel’s face as the prince made his way down the rope ladder gave him hope that he had gotten through to his impetuous friend.

Glorfindel mulled over Finrod’s words for some time but came to no ready conclusions. He had found his time as a thrall quite humiliating and had been glad that Ecthelion had not been there to see it. His closest friend in Gondolin would have teased him mercilessly even as he would have tried to share Glorfindel’s punishment. That had ever been the way between them — teasing one another relentlessly for one foolishness or another yet always ready to defend the other’s back against all comers. He sighed. He missed Ecthelion and wondered just when he would see his dear friend again. He had no memory of him in Mandos and could only conclude that either he was still in healing sleep or Lord Námo had purposely made sure they never met while within his Halls. Either way, it came down to one unalterable fact — the one person whom he trusted more than any other, even Finrod, was not there to offer him advice or at least a willing ear.

Things would have continued as they were with Glorfindel moping and his friends (and half the Maiar of Lórien) keeping close watch on him, if something unexpected had not happened: Sador showed up, along with Beleg, without escort.

"What are you two doing here?" Finrod demanded when the two were brought before him. He was no longer staying with Indis, but had returned to his own grove. Even the elflings had been permitted to return, much to their and Finrod’s delight, though Finrod noticed that there was always one Maia visible at all times whenever he and the elflings were together.

Sador and Beleg had identical unrepentant grins on their fair faces. "We decided to see what you and Glorfindel were up to," Sador replied. "Where is he, by the way?"

"Not here, obviously," Finrod answered with some exasperation. "Do Atar and Anatar know you are here?"

"They probably do by now," Beleg answered. "We left them letters telling them of our intention."

Finrod rolled his eyes. "Great." Then he pinned them with a glare. "Beleg, even though you’ve only been recently Reborn you’re still older and presumably wiser than Sador."

"And being older and wiser," the Sinda said with a sniff, "I deemed the journey safe enough. This isn’t the borders of Doriath you know, Finrod. There are no orcs trying their level best to kill us."

Beleg shrugged but Sador suddenly went still, fingering his single front braid. The other two noticed the gesture and grimaced. Beleg was the first to speak. "I’m sorry gwador, I wasn’t thinking."

Finrod nodded. "Until all this is resolved, we need to be vigilant. Sador was attacked once, there is no guarantee it won’t happen again."

Sador went white and Finrod had to take him in his arms and hold him until the shaking ceased. "You didn’t think about that, did you?" he asked quietly.

The younger ellon shook his head. "No," he whispered. "All I thought about was seeing you and Glorfindel again."

Finrod patted him on the back. "Well, now that you’re here perhaps you two can help me with Glorfindel. He’s been sulking of late and no one can bring him out of it."

Sador and Beleg exchanged surprised looks before turning their attention back to Finrod. "Perhaps you should tell us everything," Beleg said, sounding more like the Marchwarden of Doriath he had once been.

Finrod nodded and, gesturing for them to take seats while he poured them some wine, he proceeded to do just that.

Glorfindel showed up at the grove some time later as Finrod and the others were about to sit down for dinner and there was a joyful reunion between him and his friends. Finrod had asked Indis and Melian to take the elflings for the night so the four ellyn could have some time together.

"So how long are you staying?" Glorfindel asked them as he took his usual seat at the table.

"They’re not," Finrod answered for them, casting the two visitors a dark glare. "They will be returning to Tirion soon. I have no doubt Atar has already sent an escort for you. When they come you’ll both be going back with them."

Sador and Beleg both scowled. "We’re both of age, Finrod," Sador protested. "I’m tired of being treated no differently than you treat the elflings or Vorondil."

"And I am even older," Beleg added, looking defiant. "No one should be telling me what to do, including you."

"You’re newly released from Mandos and Lórien, Beleg," Glorfindel said. "You little realize just how emotionally vulnerable you are. How much of your previous life do you remember?"

Beleg stared at Glorfindel for a moment, his expression still defiant. "Enough," he replied.

"Meaning you don’t remember much at all yet," Finrod retorted. "Glorfindel is correct, gwador. Take it from one who’s been there. It was decades after my release before I started to act less like an elfling and more like an adult. Unfortunately, it’s the way it is for all of us Reborn."

"Why then are we released in such a state?" Beleg asked. "Why can we not be released when we are fully mature emotionally?"

Finrod shrugged. "I do not know. I suspect though that only in interacting with others who are not Reborn can we mature."

"It doesn’t seem fair," Sador said with a grimace. "It’s almost as if we’re being punished all over again for dying."

No one had an answer to that so Finrod turned the conversation to another topic, namely, Glorfindel’s flet. "You’ll have to go and see it," he said with a laugh. "Bright blue it is. The Nandor who are here have made a point of refusing to go near it."

"It’s not that bad," Glorfindel protested. "Lord Irmo would have painted it gold. Gold! Can you believe that? Blue is much better."

"But it’s not just blue, it’s bright blue," Finrod pointed out with a laugh. "There’s a big difference."

Morning came and Finrod had to leave on business of his own but Glorfindel led Beleg and Sador to the malinornë and the flet. Beleg’s demeanor changed the further into the woods they went and there was a contented grin on his face before they even reached the flet. "The trees like me. I don’t recall being here before."

"It’s not an area we Reborn normally go, I think," Glorfindel said. "Celepharn said he discovered these woods by accident."

"Accident?" Sador questioned. "I doubt that. One thing I’ve learned since my release from Mandos is that there are no accidents, not where the Valar are concerned."

Glorfindel shrugged. "I suspect you are right, Sador. Well, here we are. What do you think?" He pointed upwards to the flet and for a moment no one spoke. Then Sador looked at Glorfindel with a grin.

"And blue," Beleg added with a grin of his own. "I see why the Nandor would avoid this place. If I didn’t know better I’d say you painted it that color on purpose."

Sador gave him a strange look but said nothing further. Instead he started climbing the rope ladder. Beleg, not really understanding what the other two were talking about and not really caring, decided to tackle another subject. "Finrod said you’ve been sulking," he said to Glorfindel as he started up the ladder.

"I need to speak to Ingwion but the Valar refuse to let us meet. I’ve been trying to think of how I can...." he stopped and looked warily around, though there was no one else in sight and only the sound of birds and squirrels going about their own business could be heard. He turned back to the other ellyn and motioning them towards him he whispered, "I need to leave Lórien without being seen."

"Where do you mean to go?" Beleg whispered as well. Indeed, the three of them were now sitting side-by-side with their backs to the tree. Glorfindel was in the middle with Beleg on his right and Sador on his left, both leaning toward Glorfindel.

"Lady Nienna’s," came the reply. "That is where Ingwion is. If the Valar won’t let him come to me...." He left the rest unsaid but it was obvious to the other two what he meant.

Silence stretched between them for a space while they all thought. Finally, Beleg grinned. "I’ve never been to Lady Nienna’s. I wonder what it looks like."

Glorfindel and Sador both looked at him askance, not sure what he was driving at. Then Sador suddenly grinned. "I’m not ready to go back to Tirion either whatever Finrod says."

Now Glorfindel looked at both of them with an unreadable expression. "I appreciate the offers but what I’m planning will only get me into trouble. You two should stay out of it."

"We’re your gwedyr, Glorfindel," Beleg said. "We want to help and if you get into trouble then it’s only right that you have company."

"Not like the last time," Sador added. "You should never have been treated that way anyway."

Glorfindel shrugged. "It was what it was and nothing we can do about it, but if it is to happen again I would prefer not to drag you into it. You don’t deserve such punishment."

"And you do?" Sador countered. "They don’t want you and Ingwion to meet. There must be a reason but what if they are wrong? What if you and Ingwion need to speak?"

"It is how I feel as well," Glorfindel said. "I cannot explain it but in my heart I know that there is something Ingwion and I must share between us. I do not know why we are being prevented from doing so but I’ve already decided I’m not going to let the Valar or anyone else stop me from going to Ingwion. The problem is that I think I’m under surveillance by the Maiar."

The other two ellyn glanced nervously about. "Do you think they’re listening to us even now?" Beleg asked.

Glorfindel shrugged. "As to that I cannot say. I would hope we would be accorded some privacy but it seems that we Reborn aren’t given that courtesy."

"Again because we are Reborn," Beleg said with disgust. "For that very reason I would help you in leaving here."

"Do you think they have Beleg and me under watch as well?" Sador asked, looking troubled. "If so, does that mean we weren’t as clever as we thought in our escaping from Tirion?"

"And we wanted to go alone," Sador chimed in. "Atar wouldn’t allow it unless we agreed to hunt in the royal preserve rather than further afield."

"So we actually did as we were told," Beleg continued, "but only for one night, then we made our way out of the preserve from a different direction and continued on to Lórien. We told everyone we would only be away for three days. We left letters with some of our camping gear that we left behind explaining where we had gone."

"I suspect Atar will be furious and will punish us or at least me," Sador said with an unrepentant grin.

"Why didn’t you just ask to come here?" Glorfindel enquired. "Surely Atar would have been happy to let you come."

Sador shook his head. "On the contrary. Both he and Lord Olwë spoke against our coming here when we asked. That’s when Beleg and I decided to come anyway, so you see, we know how you feel about being denied being allowed to see Ingwion and we want to help."

"But how?" Glorfindel asked. "Finrod warned me that going against the wishes of the Valar in this would be not only foolhardy but dangerous."

"What’s the worst they can do to you, gwador?" Beleg asked with a smug look. "If they kill you, you will simply end up back in Mandos."

"Where no doubt Lord Námo will be so overjoyed to see me that he will make sure I never leave again," Glorfindel retorted with a sour grin.

"Huh?" Glorfindel replied in confusion. "I thought you just said you didn’t want to go back to Tirion just yet."

"No more do I," Sador agreed, "but what if we pretend we are going back voluntarily, not waiting for the escort Finrod is sure is following us. You could announce you are going to return with us."

"Do you think we can leave without Finrod at least demanding an escort just to make sure we actually do what we say we’re going to do?" Beleg asked skeptically.

"If I am with you, I’ll be escort enough as far as Finrod is concerned." Glorfindel replied confidently and the other two nodded in agreement.

"So now the only thing we need to figure out is how to get rid of the Maiar you say are keeping watch on you," Beleg said.

All three ellyn looked warily about, unaware that for once there were no Maiar on watch, for Lord Irmo had called them away on purpose, though not even the Maiar knew this. Then Glorfindel gave them a grin. "I think I know how we can manage it," he said and then he proceeded to tell them his idea. Before he was halfway through, the other two were grinning and nodding in agreement.

Note: Glorfindel’s ‘treehouse’ is courtesy of Beruthiel’s Cat with my thanks for the idea.

The news that Sador and Beleg had decided to return to Tirion without waiting for the escort and that Glorfindel was accompanying them was not received very well by Finrod, who stared at the three ellyn with grave suspicion.

Glorfindel shrugged. "I pointed out to them that returning under their own power would be less humiliating than having to go back under armed guard."

Finrod gave Glorfindel a surprised look. "Indeed? And your decision to accompany them is motivated by what exactly?"

Glorfindel grimaced. "By the fact that I’m being snubbed by the Valar with their refusal to let me see Ingwion. I cannot see the point of staying here in Lórien any longer than I need to. It’s time I returned to Tirion and resumed my duties there."

For a long moment silence stretched between them as the two stared at one another. Finally, Finrod nodded. "That sounds reasonable." Then he turned to Beleg and Sador. "And you agreed to this?"

Both ellyn nodded. "We knew we couldn’t get away with it for too long," Beleg said, "and it would be better if the escort meets us along the way."

Finrod nodded. "Yes, it would be better for all concerned." He sighed. "Well, I won’t say I’m glad you’re going, because I’m not. If my own duties didn’t keep me here...."

"That’s all right, hanno," Sador said, giving Finrod a hug. "You should plan to bring the elflings to Tirion for the Midsummer festivities."

"Tomorrow at first light," Glorfindel answered. "The sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll get there."

Finrod nodded. "Then we should plan a feast for tonight. I’ll ask Laurendil and Manwen to come, and the elflings, of course."

"It’ll make for a crowded table," Glorfindel said with a sigh, wondering who else Finrod was planning to invite to the feast. He would have preferred a quiet dinner with just the four of them along with Laurendil and Manwen.

"The elflings will miss you," Finrod replied, giving him a frown, "you know that, so it’s only fair that they are present for the farewell feast."

"I wouldn’t want it any other way," Glorfindel said with a gracious smile. Finrod nodded and then went off to make the arrangements, leaving the other three behind.

Beleg and Sador stared at Glorfindel with respect. "That went better than I expected," Beleg said. "I was sure he would insist on a real escort."

"He’s not going to trust you after this, though," Sador said with a shrewd look. "Can you really afford to lose his favor?"

"He’ll be the first to understand, and the first to forgive," was Glorfindel’s reply.

"Well, that was the easy part," Beleg said. "We still have to make those other arrangements of which you spoke and there is not much time to implement them."

"Come, then," Glorfindel said, motioning Beleg and Sador towards the grove’s entrance. "Let us put the second part of our plan into motion while Finrod is still away. I’ll leave a note letting him know that we’ve gone to see to the horses and make sure all is ready for the journey, which won’t actually be a lie, just not the whole truth." He went to Finrod’s writing desk and quickly wrote a note before following Beleg and Sador out of the pavilion.

They made their way along the sward leading towards the groves of the Reborn. Beleg and Sador were comparing notes on their time in Lórien, but Glorfindel was only half listening to their talk. He was thinking of what they were planning and wondering if perhaps he was being stupid about it all, yet, when he thought how the Valar were denying him a simple request without giving any good reason for it, he decided that this was the only course of action left open to him. He needed to see Ingwion, sooner rather than later. He wasn’t sure why, yet the very fact that the Valar were keeping them apart was telling.

His thoughts were interrupted when they entered a particular grove. "I remember this grove," Sador said suddenly turning to Glorfindel. "This is where we lived, you and I."

Glorfindel nodded. "Celepharn lives here now with a couple of others. I’m hoping to find him alone. It will be easier to explain things to him if he is."

The others nodded. Then they were in front of the pavilion and Glorfindel called out. In a moment Celepharn came out, looking puzzled and pleased at the same time. "Glorfindel," he said, "what are you doing here, mellon nîn? Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing," Glorfindel replied with a smile. "Do you remember Sador? And I think you know Beleg. They’ve come for a brief visit."

Celepharn nodded at Beleg, giving him a brief smile, which the other returned. "I’m surprised to see you back here so soon, mellon nîn," he said. "Don’t you like it outside Lórien?"

Beleg laughed. "I like it well enough. I came with Sador to visit Finrod and Glorfindel. You remember me telling you about them when we were all in the Halls of Mandos together?"

Celepharn nodded then turned to Sador and his eyes widened at the sight of the single warrior’s braid. He gazed at it in puzzlement and started to reach out to touch it, then drew back, suddenly blushing and refusing to look anyone in the eye. "I’m sorry," he whispered, "I was not...."

Sador shook his head and took the other ellon’s hands into his. "There is no need to apologize," he said softly, a look a sympathy on his face. "I am only glad that you’ve returned to us. Are you going to be released soon do you know?"

Celepharn shook his head and sighed. "No, not yet. I’ve asked but everyone says it’s not yet time." He grimaced at the thought.

"Well, it will happen when it happens," Glorfindel said with a smile. "In the meantime, we were wondering if you could help us with a little problem we’re having."

Celepharn gave the three ellyn a considering look and then nodded, stepping aside and gesturing for them to enter the pavilion. "Why don’t we get comfortable and you can tell me all about it?"

The feast that evening was lively. The elflings were especially happy to see Sador but sad that he was leaving so soon.

"I only came to bring Glorfindel back with us," Sador said with a smile. "He’s needed in Tirion."

At that the elflings then latched onto Glorfindel, giving him all kinds of useless and uninformed advice which had the adults struggling not to laugh while Glorfindel just sat there nodding sagely.

"...and don’t forget to take your favorite blankie with you," Veryandur said at the last. "You know you don’t sleep well unless you have your favorite blankie."

Veryandur nodded. "You’re always complaining to Lord Findaráto about it, ’cause he’s always taking it on you. We’ve heard you." The other elflings all nodded.

Glorfindel and Finrod exchanged embarrassed looks while the other adults watched with amusement. The former Balrog-slayer turned back to Veryandur and nodded gravely. "I’ll be sure to pack it first thing tomorrow."

The elflings all beamed, glad that this particular adult was taking them seriously. Then Finrod announced it was time to eat and the elflings all rushed to help bring the food to the table.

Later, after the children were safely abed and Finrod, Glorfindel, Beleg and Sador were preparing for sleep themselves, Finrod gestured to the pile of blankets on their own cots. "So which one of these is your favorite blankie?" he asked with a sly grin.

The others laughed and when Sador grabbed a blanket and threw it at Glorfindel the other two followed suit. Soon Glorfindel was covered with blankets and when the other three tried to remove them he laughingly fought them off so they were playing a three-way tug-of-war with him. It was some time before they settled down to sleep.

They were ready to leave the next morning just as Anar was breaching the horizon to the east. Grey clouds were streaked with gold and red as the sky turned from black to azure and the stars faded from sight. A slight cool breeze rose and there was a hint of rain in the offing.

"Hopefully, we won’t end up sleeping in the wet tonight," Sador said in a low voice to Beleg as they readied their horses.

"It may bypass us altogether," Beleg replied, looking westward where the clouds were still dark with fading night. "It seems to be coming from the northwest. We’ll be heading due east."

Finrod was making his farewells to Glorfindel in the meantime. "Are you sure about this, hánonya?" he asked, giving Glorfindel a hard stare, still somewhat suspicious of his brother’s motives.

Glorfindel gazed back serenely and nodded. "I’m just idling here in Lórien. I might as well return to Tirion as originally planned and make myself useful."

Silence stretched between them for a long moment and then Finrod embraced Glorfindel. "Go carefully, hanno," he whispered. "Watch out for Sador and Beleg, they’re both still young."

Glorfindel stepped back, giving Finrod a quizzical look, wondering if this once king of Nargothrond knew more than he was letting on, but in the end, he merely nodded. "I will. I promise." Then he was on his horse and the three were ready to set off when a swirl of bright lights alerted everyone to the presence of at least one of the Valar.

It was Irmo, along with Manveru, Roimendil and Vanimeldë. The presence of these particular Maiar, rather than some of the Vala's own, surprised them all. The elves gave him their obeisance and Irmo nodded in greeting, then gestured to the Maiar. "These will see you safely back to Tirion," he said.

Beleg and Sador both groaned in dismay while Glorfindel suppressed a sigh. "We’re quite capable of finding our way back without help, my lord," he protested. "If you want us to start acting maturely you might start by not treating us as if we were still elflings."

If Irmo was offended by Glorfindel’s words or his tone he did not show it. "Nevertheless, you will be escorted at least until Arafinwë’s men find you."

The three elves all grimaced, but otherwise did not offer any other protests. "Well, let’s go if we’re going," was all Glorfindel said and without offering Irmo his respect he turned his horse around and headed away. Beleg and Sador hesitated for a moment and then giving Irmo brief bows they followed Glorfindel. The three Maiar gave the Vala amused looks and strode after their charges, easily able to keep up with the pace Glorfindel had set.

Finrod turned to Irmo with a quizzical look. "They’re up to something and you’re planning on forestalling them." It wasn’t a question.

Irmo gazed serenely at Finrod then gestured for the elf to walk with him back to the groves. "Glorfindel is always up to something. As for the Maiar... they’re just there for show."

"You will soon enough," was the Vala’s enigmatic reply and Finrod was wise enough to know that he would get no other information out of him so he dropped the subject and the two spoke of other things concerning Arda.

They were only an hour from Lórien when the Maiar suddenly stopped, looks of deep concentration on their faces as they were obviously in silent communication with someone. Then Vanimeldë’s expression cleared and she turned to the elves. "We must return to Lórien," she said.

"Return?" Glorfindel asked, looking none too pleased. "We’re not returning anywhere. Go back if you must but we are going on."

"Necessary for whom?" Glorfindel nearly shouted, suddenly angry. "Go back yourselves, but we’re going on or, if you wish, we will wait here."

The three Maiar exchanged brief looks. They could not force the elves to do their bidding and they could not ignore the summons from Lord Irmo. Manveru gave the ellyn a hard stare. "You will remain here?"

"Very well," the warrior Maia said. "We will return when we can." With that the three Maiar faded from view.

The elves sat on their horses, silently waiting to see if the Maiar would reappear. When some minutes had gone by with no Maiar in sight Glorfindel turned to the other two with a grin. "I think it worked. By now, Celepharn and the other Reborn are wreaking havoc all over Lórien."

"I just hope they don’t get into serious trouble on our account," Sador said with a frown. "They do not deserve punishment."

"And Finrod will be so busy helping to calm them down with his singing and harp-playing, he won’t have a chance to wonder at the timing," Glorfindel added. "Now, let us hurry. We must be off."

"We did promise them we would wait here, though," Sador said, feeling uneasy about breaking a promise to the Maiar.

"But we never said for how long, did we?" Glorfindel pointed out reasonably even as he gave Sador a wicked grin.

With that they urged their horses back along the way they had come, but then veered southwest. It was their intention to reach Lady Nienna’s house by a less direct route. Glorfindel reasoned that when the search for them commenced the most logical route of the search would be along the western road leading directly to Nienna’s place. Heading southwest, skirting Lórien to the north and Mandos to the south, the elves figured they would be safe from pursuit.

"Of course, all they have to do is wait for us at Lady Nienna’s," Beleg had pointed out as they were planning their course of action.

As they made their way cross country Glorfindel glanced worriedly towards the northwest where the clouds were darkening towards a storm and it was obvious it was moving towards them. "Let’s hope we don’t get caught in that," he said pointing to the approaching clouds. "Come. We have many leagues yet to travel."

So now they made the best speed they could over the rough terrain which for the most part was level. By mid-afternoon, however, the land began to rise as they came to a series of low rolling hills covered with dark pine. The sky was now purple-black with threatening clouds as the storm came barreling down on them. There was no rain as yet, but flashes of lightning lit the sky and the ominous roll of thunder echoed off the sides of the hills.

Glorfindel glared up at the clouds in frustration. "I was hoping to make it to Lady Nienna’s sooner rather than later. If we stop for this storm we’ll never get there before they find us out."

"Can’t be helped," Beleg said, casting a knowing eye to the skies. "If this storm hits while we’re still riding...."

The other two nodded, well aware of what Beleg meant. With a disgruntled sigh, Glorfindel pointed ahead where two hills came together. "Let’s make for that cleft there. We might be able to find shelter. I only hope the storm doesn’t last all night."

The others were in agreement with that and shortly they reached the cleft between the two hills. There was the distant sound of rushing water and with little encouragement it was decided to see if they could find its source, so they made their slow way in the gathering gloom through the cleft until they found themselves looking down into a mist-shrouded valley. Just as they were making their way to the valley floor there was a flash of lightning above them, followed by a peal of thunder and then the skies opened up and in seconds they found themselves drenched.

"Great, just great!" Glorfindel muttered in disgust as he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and dismounted, grabbing his saddlebags. The other two were doing the same. Their horses stood looking dejected but otherwise made no move to leave their masters. "We had better move towards that stand of trees," he shouted as he pointed to some pine trees that looked as if they would afford them some shelter.

The other ellyn just nodded and with a quiet word to their horses they made their way to the trees, carefully picking their path around boulders. The mist hampered them somewhat so it took them longer than they wished to reach shelter. As they huddled under the dripping branches with their horses, Sador shouted, "I wonder what’s happening in Lórien." The other two nodded, wondering the same, hoping that their ploy had not landed any of the Reborn in too much trouble.

An hour after seeing his gwedyr off, Finrod was sitting in his pavilion going over some notes Irmo had given him about the extent of the marring Aman had suffered after Melkor had fled. Much of it was actually new to him, for of course at the time he had been too busy preparing to leave Aman and had paid little attention to anything else. He was reading about the events that had occurred after the Noldor had left, appalled at what had happened to his loved ones who had remained behind, supposedly safe. He was making a notation on the vellum as a reminder to ask for more details from his atar at the earliest opportunity when Melian suddenly appeared, looking distraught.

"They are well," Melian answered, "but others are not. It seems half the Reborn have become upset over something. Lord Irmo bid me to ask you to come help calm them."

"Do you know what has set them off?" Finrod asked even as he rose from his chair and reached for his harp.

"No," Melian answered with a shake of her head. "I only know that for no particular reason several of them started screaming and running about as if in terror."

"Are any of them exhibiting signs of the blood-trance?" he asked worriedly as they left the grove but when Melian indicated that they were not he relaxed somewhat. Still, it was strange that so many Reborn would become fractious all at once. He wondered aloud if more was going on than they suspected.

Melian gave him a strange look. "Lord Irmo would know better than I," she said and then there was no more time for talk for suddenly five elves came towards them screaming and looking as if all of Melkor’s minions were after them. They didn’t even seem to notice Finrod or Melian standing in their path and the two had to step hurriedly aside before they were bowled over. Finrod gave Melian a surprised look.

"You go after them, I’ll see if I can find Lord Irmo," he said and the Maia agreed.

Moving further into the area of Lórien reserved for the Reborn, Finrod gaped at the sight of nearly a score of elves running hither and yon with Maiar chasing after them. Even when they were caught they continued screaming and fighting. Vaguely, Finrod noticed that the three Maiar who had left with his gwedyr as escort were there as well, chasing after terror-stricken elves. He had no time to wonder about his gwedyr for Lord Irmo appeared before him, looking grim.

"This? No, but I knew something was going to happen that would force me to call off the escort."

Irmo nodded and Finrod stared at the mayhem around him as elves continued to scream and run about with Maiar and Lóriennildi chasing after them.

"You’ll have to get in line, I’m afraid," he retorted and Finrod could only snort in grim amusement.

"So are they really out of control or just pretending?" he asked as he swept a hand to encompass the Reborn elves still acting out.

Irmo smiled more genuinely. "Let us see." With that he began to sing in a clear voice that, while low, seemed to echo throughout all of Lórien. It was a lullaby, one that every Reborn knew and they began to quiet down almost at once. Finrod removed the covering from his harp and began to play on it even as the Vala continued singing. Soon, there was only the sound of Irmo’s voice and Finrod’s harp as one by one the Reborn drifted off into sleep, some more reluctantly than others. Finally, Irmo brought the lullaby to an end and Finrod stilled his fingers on the harpstrings, glancing around him. Everywhere he looked he saw Maiar gently taking somnolent elves into their arms and moving away, presumably to return them to their respective groves. Lóriennildi were standing around looking bemused, as if unsure what they should do next. Irmo gave them a smile.

"All is well now," he told them. "Continue with your duties. If there are any Reborn still unattended, stay with them until one of my People comes."

The healers all bowed and went their separate ways while Finrod remained by Irmo’s side. He gave the Vala a shrewd look. "So they are not returning to Tirion as they promised."

Irmo gave him a shake of his head. "No. They’re actually heading in the opposite direction. Glorfindel is determined to see Ingwion."

"Let us just say that Glorfindel has our blessing to at least try to reach Ingwion. Whether he succeeds is another matter entirely."

Finrod gave him a puzzled look but as he thought about it, his expression cleared. "You tell him just the opposite."

Irmo nodded. "Glorfindel wished to see Ingwion, and we Valar are actually curious as to why, but if we had acquiesced to his request immediately he might have become suspicious, though there would have been no duplicity on our part. Glorfindel has become... wary where we are concerned. It was decided to encourage him to go to Ingwion by forbidding him to go at all."

"If he ever finds out he’s been outsmarted...." Finrod couldn’t help saying with a knowing smile.

Finrod joined the Vala in laughter. "I just hope they don’t get into trouble along the way and whatever do I tell the escort when they get here?"

"Ah... well, as to that, I sent one of my People to intercept the escort and inform them that I would see to Beleg and Sador’s safe return to Tirion in due time. Your atar should be receiving my message just about now."

Irmo just smiled, knowing full well that the ellon was only half-serious in his threat.

The storm lasted for what seemed like forever, but was only for about an hour or so. The three elves were rather miserable and their horses were no better off. As the rain slackened the ellyn started wringing the water from their cloaks. They were relatively dry underneath, but the ground was soggy and the mist that shrouded them was damp and cold.

"I don’t want to stay here at any rate," Sador said. "I don’t like the feel of this place."

"Which direction though?" Beleg asked. "This damnable mist makes it hard to see anything."

"Now that the rain has stopped I can hear what sounds like water running in that direction," Sador said, pointing to his right. "If it’s a stream we could follow it out of the valley."

"Good idea," Glorfindel said. With that, the three of them led their horses towards what they assumed was a stream, carefully picking their way around boulders. The rushing noise of the water grew louder but they never seemed to come to it. The mist made it impossible for them to see more than a few inches past their noses and when the sun, which they couldn’t see, set behind the hills, it became totally dark and they found themselves traveling blind.

"This is no good," Glorfindel shouted in frustration above the sound of what they realized had to be a waterfall. "I can’t see my hand in front of my face any more!"

"We’ll have to camp here, then," Beleg shouted back. "Let’s move away from the falls though. I don’t fancy having to shout all night."

The other two agreed and, turning their horses around, they headed back the way they had come, or so they assumed. At least, after a few tense minutes as they attempted to avoid the boulders that suddenly loomed before them, the noise of the falls lessened and they were able to hear themselves think again, as Sador put it.

"This looks like as good a place to camp as any," Glorfindel finally said. "There appear to be some flat rocks here we can sit on. Let the horses fend for themselves tonight. Hopefully with daylight we’ll have better luck getting out of here."

The other two sighed, not liking the idea of having to spend the night in the vale but there was no other choice. Soon the horses were divested of their saddlebags and allowed to forage while the elves found a couple of large flat rocks on which to perch. Sador and Beleg shared the larger of the rocks while Glorfindel was hunched on the smaller one facing them. They didn’t even try to start a fire, nor were any of them interested in eating, so they spent the night huddled miserably under their cloaks, listening to the sound of water dripping off branches, each lost in his own thoughts.

Morning came, though with the mist still surrounding them they could not see the sun. The elves rose from their cold beds feeling sore and hungry and frustrated. Whistling for the horses they were relieved to see that their mounts had not wandered too far from them and soon they were loading their bags and setting off again, determined to find a way out of the valley.

"If we can find the stream we can follow it," Glorfindel said. "It’s bound to lead out of the valley."

So they listened for the sound of the water, gauging whether they were getting closer or not by the increase in volume. At one point it seemed as if they were moving away from it and they stopped to retrace their path as best they could until the noise not only got louder but became quite deafening. Without warning the mist seemed to part and they suddenly discovered they were standing on the banks of a large cauldron into which a mighty waterfall cascaded. They stared up at it in awe and for several minutes none of them could tear their eyes away from the sight.

Finally, though, Glorfindel shook himself and motioned to the other two to follow him and the three made their way around the pool to where a stream rushed away. They found the going a bit easier with a definite route to follow but the ever encroaching mist made it impossible for them to determine their direction so it was a complete shock when they realized that the sound of the falls which had been receding was now increasing and before they knew it they were back at the pool gazing up at the falls again.

"Th-that’s impossible!" Sador exclaimed as he stared upward in total disbelief.

Neither Glorfindel nor Beleg bothered to reply to that rather obvious statement.

"So now what do we do?" Sador then demanded but to that question the other two had no answer as they continued to stare up at the falls, rooted in rising dread that perhaps there was no escape from the vale for them.

As soon as Ingwion made his choice, he found the mysterious elf had disappeared, but then he saw Aldundil and Vorondil coming through the mist towards him and their reunion was a glad one.

Ingwion waved a hand in dismissal. "Let’s get away from here first. We can exchange tales later."

The others agreed and in a short while they were making their way out of the vale where they found that it was well past noon. Towards the northwest they saw dark clouds mounting and they elected to head cross country to where their camp lay rather than follow the trail back, hoping to beat the storm they could see coming. They made it back to their camp after a couple of hours, grateful that the storm had not reached them as yet. Ingwion and Aldundil quickly set up the tent that they had not bothered with previously while Vorondil prepared a hot meal. He was ladling out the stew for them just as the first drops of rain fell. They grabbed their bowls and fled to the tent, eating their meal in silence, then pushing their bowls outside to be washed by the rain.

For a while they sat looking out as the rain turned everything grey. The sun set somewhere behind the clouds and it grew darker. Only the oil lamp swinging from the central post illuminated their surroundings. Ingwion sighed and cast a wry glance at his companions. "Lady Nienna did say she couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t rain."

Aldundil gave him a grin back. "At least we got back in time and should be dry enough if the storm doesn’t last all night."

"I hate camping in the rain," Vorondil muttered, frowning. "Why does it always rain whenever I go camping?"

His elders looked upon him with amusement. "How many times have you actually gone camping, Vorondil?" Ingwion asked.

"Well, I’m sure it won’t always rain when you go camping in the future," Ingwion replied. "In the meantime, why don’t we share our stories about what happened in the vale? Who wants to go first?"

For a moment no one spoke and then Aldundil sighed. "Since all this is my fault, I might as well start."

"It just is," Aldundil replied and then proceeded to tell them about his encounter with the strange elf and their conversation.

Ingwion nodded and after a momentary hesitation Vorondil did as well. "He said I had to make a choice," Ingwion said. "Life or death." He cast them both a deprecating grin. "I chose life."

Aldundil put a comforting arm around the ellon’s shoulders and hugged him. "As did I," he said, giving his son an encouraging smile. "It seems we all had to choose one or the other, though I suspect for different reasons."

"D-do you think that elf was really an elf?" Vorondil asked, confusion written all over him.

His atar shrugged, as did Ingwion. "I think perhaps not," Aldundil answered. "I suspect that he might have been a Maia, perhaps one of Lady Nienna’s People."

Vorondil shivered with more than the encroaching cold at that thought and Aldundil wrapped his cloak and arms around his son to give him what warmth he could while the rain continued to fall.

The next morning dawned fair and the three elves climbed out of their tent in better spirits than when they had climbed in. They had talked long into the night, comparing notes of their strange encounters, coming to the conclusion that each of them had needed to face the realities of their particular situation and make a choice, to live or to die.

"I indeed did die in that vale," Aldundil had said at the last. "I died to the past and to the guilt to which I have clung all these centuries since the War. In doing so I find that I now can face whatever the future brings with greater equanimity and with clearer vision."

Now with the morning Ingwion suggested they start gathering up their supplies and return to Lady Nienna’s.

"How do we know we can go back?" Vorondil asked him. "Aren’t we supposed to wait until someone tells us?"

"What do you suggest we do instead?" Ingwion replied. "Surely the purpose of this outing has been achieved, wouldn’t you say?"

"So should we just sit here and idle our time away waiting for permission to return to Lady Nienna’s?" Ingwion retorted.

"Let’s go back to the valley," Vorondil interjected suddenly before Aldundil could reply to Ingwion’s question.

The two older elves looked at him in surprise. "Whyever would you want to do that?" Aldundil asked his son.

Vorondil cast his eyes down. "I... I want to see the birds flying through the rainbows again," he answered shyly. He looked up and they could see the wonder in his eyes. "They were so beautiful."

The two older ellyn gave each other measured looks. Aldundil shrugged. "The valley holds no terror for me now. Perhaps we can go there and simply enjoy its beauty."

So it was decided though they spent a few minutes wondering which trail to take. "If we follow the first trail we took the other day we’ll end up on that ledge," Ingwion pointed out. "I think we would only see the birds from there. I don’t recall seeing them while in the valley itself. The mist was too thick."

"True," Aldundil said, then glanced at his son who was frowning at the map. "What’s the matter, Vorondil?"

"I would rather take a different trail," he said. "I don’t want to take the same ones we’ve already taken."

"How do you know any of these other trails even lead into that valley?" Ingwion asked with a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Vorondil gave him a blank look. "I don’t think it matters which trail you choose. I bet they all end up in that valley. That’s why Lady Nienna sent us here, isn’t it, knowing that no matter what we decided we would always find ourselves in that valley."

Ingwion stared at the younger ellon in surprise then nodded. "I think you’re right, Vorondil. I hadn’t thought of it quite that way before." He handed the map to him. "In that case, why don’t you choose the trail?"

But Vorondil shook his head, pushing the map back into Ingwion’s hands. "Atar and I got to choose so now it’s your turn."

Ingwion smiled. "Very well. Since all trails appear to lead to the waterfall, let’s take this one." He pointed to a trail that actually headed southwest away from the hills and the other two ellyn nodded in agreement.

Soon they were off, heading towards the seacoast. The trail actually did skirt the headlands so they could see the ocean but then it curved back upon itself until they found themselves walking through the pine-shrouded hills but now coming at them from the south. There was still a brooding air about them that disturbed them but they continued on in spite of their unease. By noon they found themselves walking along a stream flowing merrily through a defile between two hills.

They continued following the stream but at one point the trail veered suddenly to their right and after a moment’s hesitation they decided it was more prudent to follow the trail than the stream and so they continued on, finding themselves beginning to climb as the trail wound its way around the side of a hill. It was hard to see where they were going for they were deep in a forest and the trees were tall, blocking out the sky. Eventually though the trail flattened out and the trees thinned a bit until they rounded a bend and found themselves looking across to the waterfall but from a fair distance, for the noise of the cataract was barely heard. Still, they stood there in awe as they watched birds flit in and out of the rainbows.

"The trail seems to continue into the valley," Ingwion said at last. "Should we go on?"

The other two nodded. "Perhaps we’ll be able to get a closer view," Vorondil suggested and so they went. It took them the better part of an hour to reach the valley and while the falls could not be seen for the mist, it could be heard and they made their way towards it, meeting up with the stream along the way.

As they neared the pool, Ingwion, who was slightly ahead of the others, suddenly stopped dead, gasping in surprise. Aldundil and Vorondil nearly crashed into him and the latter gave a yelp of surprise.

"Hey! What’s the..." But Vorondil never finished his protest for it was obvious just why Ingwion had halted.

There before them were three dark shapes standing by the cauldron staring up at the falls. The mist made it hard to see who they were, but then it parted slightly and they could see more clearly.

Glorfindel, Sador and Beleg just stared in open-mouthed astonishment at the sight of Ingwion, Aldundil and Vorondil appearing as if from nowhere with equally shocked looks on their faces. Glorfindel was the first to recover and went to Ingwion, embracing him.

"Looking for you, as a matter of fact," he said loudly in the ellon’s ear, for the roar of the falls was rather deafening.

Ingwion stepped back from the embrace and gave Glorfindel a searching look, then nodded, gesturing for them all to move away from the pool back along the path he and his two companions had come. Soon they were able to hear themselves think and, settling on some boulders while the horses grazed nearby, they exchanged tales.

"We’ve been camping," Ingwion explained, not wishing to speak further of their strange experience of the day before. "Lady Nienna thought it would be good for us to be away for a few days."

"And has it been?" Glorfindel asked with a slight frown, sure that Ingwion wasn’t telling them everything.

"Except for the rain," Vorondil interjected with a scowl. "I hate camping in the rain. I don’t know what Laurendil sees in it, everything getting wet."

The others, even Sador, all veterans of ‘camping’ smiled indulgently at the elfling. Then Ingwion turned to Glorfindel with a knowing look. "So what is your tale?"

Now all three ellyn looked... guilty. Ingwion raised an eyebrow and waited. Finally Glorfindel cleared his throat. "Well, technically speaking, we’re on our way back to Tirion."

"Which happens to be in that direction," Aldundil couldn’t help saying, pointing towards the east, his expression wickedly amused.

Vorondil snickered, muttering, "Even I know that," much to Aldundil and Ingwion’s amusement though the other three ellyn looked less pleased.

Now Ingwion found himself understanding how his atar felt when he and his siblings had tried to talk themselves out of trouble when they were all elflings. He gave the three younger ellyn a hard glare. "I think you should explain from the beginning," he said quietly.

Glorfindel winced at the tone, suddenly reminded of Ingwë and, oddly enough, Turgon. Ingwion, for all his easy-going manner, was his atar’s son and had learned his lessons in the art of kingship well.

So, Sador began, explaining how he and Beleg had snuck out of Tirion to visit their gwedyr in Lórien, then Glorfindel took up the tale of the Valar thwarting his intention to seek Ingwion out, which surprised Ingwion though he refrained from commenting until the tale was told in full. The three campers listened with amazement at the way in which Glorfindel and the other two had outwitted Lord Irmo’s Maiar, though Aldundil doubted that the Lord of Lórien was that ignorant of the doings in his own demesne and suspected that these three had been allowed to leave as they did, though just why escaped him.

Vorondil’s reaction to the story was typical of him. "I wish I could have my own flet," he groused at no one in particular, apparently not interested in anything else the others had had to say. Aldundil shared a look of exasperated amusement with Ingwion, who merely smiled.

Turning back to Glorfindel the Vanya asked the next logical question: "Why did you want to see me?"

Glorfindel was silent for a time, staring into the mist that surrounded them. Finally, he looked at Ingwion who was waiting patiently for his answer. "From the moment I... returned I had this feeling that I needed to speak with you, but whenever I tried I was either thwarted or we were not left alone long enough to speak privately. That’s why I decided at the last minute to come to Lórien, but again I was prevented from speaking with you. I even asked Lord Irmo if I could go to Lady Nienna’s to see you, but when that request was denied I decided enough was enough. That’s why we’re here. We were looking for you, but we can’t seem to find a way out of this damnable valley."

"Hmm," Ingwion said, thinking deeply. "We’ve been in and out of this valley more than once and never had a problem leaving."

"There is some enchantment here," Beleg said suddenly. He had remained silent while Sador and Glorfindel had spoken. "It reminds me of the maze of enchantment Queen Melian wrought to protect Doriath."

That surprised them all and there was silence for a while as they all contemplated Beleg’s words. Finally, Ingwion spoke. "Perhaps you’ve been kept here just so we would meet. Had you left this valley before now you could have easily missed us, and I suspect that you would have come to Lady Nienna’s and been sent packing, since we would not have been there."

"So are you saying the Valar wanted us to meet?" Glorfindel asked. When Ingwion nodded, he scowled. "Then why this... this subterfuge? Why tell me ‘no’ when they could have simply said ‘yes’ and we could have avoided all this?" He spread his arms out to encompass the mist-shrouded valley.

Glorfindel jumped up, his scowl deepening. "I am so sick of being manipulated!" he shouted and strode off into the mist, quickly lost to sight.

"Glorfindel!" Sador cried, leaping up as well to go after his gwador, but Ingwion stayed him.

"No. I will go after him," Ingwion said. "Aldundil, lead them out of here. I will meet you back at our camp."

Ingwion shook his head. "No. I think Glorfindel and I need to be alone. There is a reason for all this and it may not have anything to do with the Valar. Now go and take Glorfindel’s horse with you."

Aldundil nodded and gestured for Vorondil to get up. Sador and Beleg reluctantly stood as well, their expressions doubtful. Ingwion gave them both hugs. "Go with Aldundil," he told them. "Have no fear for Glorfindel or me. We will be fine."

In minutes Ingwion found himself alone, the mist having swallowed up the four ellyn. For a moment he stood there staring in the direction Aldundil had gone, then he sighed, wondering how he was going to find his friend and brother in this haunted vale.

Glorfindel stopped when he found himself at the edge of the pool, having stumbled across the shrouded valley, cursing at every rock he ran into. By the time he reached the pool, his mood had darkened to fury, fury at the Valar and fury at himself for being so naive and gullible. He should have realized that he’d been set up. It had been too easy, now that he thought about it. No doubt Lord Irmo and the other Valar were laughing themselves silly watching him flounder about like a fool.

So lost in his own misery was he that when he felt someone’s hand on his shoulder he gave a startled gasp and whirled around, expecting to see Ingwion or one of the others. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with a stranger, an elf with warrior braids that were reminiscent of the ones sported by Maglor’s people as he recalled, his dark hair like that of the Noldor though his eyes were a curious shade of greenish-grey.

Glorfindel was too rooted in shock to do much more than stare at the stranger, who smiled warmly and gestured for him to follow as he led the ellon away from the pool. Bemused, Glorfindel found himself acquiescing. Soon they were far enough away from the falls to be able to speak without having to shout at one another. The stranger gestured for Glorfindel to sit on a flattish rock which he did, still feeling bemused. The other elf sat next to him, giving him another warm smile, a smile that Glorfindel unconsciously trusted, though he could not have said why.

"If I am, it is with good reason," Glorfindel countered. "Who are you? How did you get here?"

"That you have good reason to be angry," came the reply. "Are you angrier at the Valar for what they did or at yourself for, shall we say, falling for their tricks?"

"That is not what I asked," the other elf said, sounding less friendly at that moment.

Glorfindel took a deep breath, trying to regain his equilibrium. It took him several minutes before he was able to answer. "I’ve been an idiot for trusting them," he said and looked away, glowering into the mist.

"I see," the other ellon said. "You no longer trust them." It was more a statement than a question.

Glorfindel turned his attention to his companion. "Would you, after what they’ve done?"

"Treated me with contempt from the moment I died!" Glorfindel fairly shouted in his anger. "And now this last...." He shook his head in dismay. "It was such a simple request. Why would they deny me it on the one hand but allow me to think I was...."

"That you were clever enough to outwit them, when it turns out that just the opposite happened?" the other supplied.

"Let me ask you this question," the stranger said. "If Lord Irmo and Lady Nienna had granted your request, what would you have done?"

Glorfindel gave him a strange look. "Why, come to Lady Nienna’s of course! What do you think I would have done, run in the opposite direction?"

Now Glorfindel rose to stand over the other ellon, his expression becoming dark with other emotions, as memory and training from an earlier time took over. "Who are you?" he demanded, going for his sword. "I do not think you are an elf. Which one of Them are you?" The stress on the word ‘them’ left no doubt as to whom he was referring.

The stranger remained seated, making no threatening moves. "My name is Nyéreser," he finally said with a slight quirk of his lips. "The name will mean nothing to you, for I rarely interact with you Children."

Glorfindel continued staring at the... Maia, though he thought it odd that this one did not mention to which of the Valar he held his allegiance, as every other Maia he had ever met did. "So which one of the Valar sent you?" he asked at the last, trying to figure this person out.

That was unexpected, and Glorfindel found himself sitting again without really remembering doing so. "Why?" was all he could think to ask.

"Because, contrary to what you think, they genuinely care for you, but you make it almost impossible for them to do so. Your suspicious nature, erratic behavior and downright rudeness has them trying to second and third guess which way you’re going to jump next. It gets rather tiring after awhile. So, they decided to play the game your way."

"It is not a game!" Glorfindel shouted, jumping up. "It’s my life they are manipulating."

"And so what do you call what you pulled in Lórien?" Nyéreser asked, his expression becoming cold. "If getting the other Reborn to create a diversion for you so you and your friends could sneak off like errant elflings is not manipulation, I don’t know what is."

"Celepharn and the others agreed to it, knowing why I needed the diversion. That’s not manipulation; that’s being honest. The only ones who were manipulated were the Valar and they deserved it."

"Did they now?" Nyéreser said, looking unconvinced. "Tit for tat, is it?" He shook his head. "I thought you were better than that."

Glorfindel felt himself reddening at the reprimand, and for some strange reason he wished to have this particular Maia’s respect, though he could not say why.

"I’m sorry," he finally said, staring down at his boots. "Every time I turn around I have one or the other of the Valar in my face. What do they want from me? Why won’t they just leave me alone?" he asked plaintively.

Now Nyéreser rose and placed his hands on Glorfindel’s shoulders. Glorfindel looked up to see, not condemnation, but sympathy in the Maia’s eyes. "They love you, Glorfindel, more than you can truly understand. If they seem to be interfering with your life, as you claim, that is only from your perspective." He paused as he continued to gaze at the elf. "You are aware that you were released from Mandos earlier than you normally would have been."

Glorfindel nodded. "So Lord Irmo said," he replied with a frown wondering what that had to do with anything.

Glorfindel shrugged. "Everyone says it’s because Lord Námo couldn’t get rid of me fast enough."

Nyéreser threw back his head and laughed and the sound of it was absolutely joyous. "O Child, you are indeed an impossible ellon," he finally said once he had calmed down. "Perhaps you should stop and think about it, hmm? In the meantime, I think Ingwion is looking for you. You two have much to discuss, I understand." He was looking over Glorfindel’s shoulder as he said this and Glorfindel turned around, seeing nothing but mist. He turned back to speak with Nyéreser only to find he was no longer there.

"Here!" he answered, still staring at the spot where the Maia had just been. "I’m here."

Soon, Ingwion appeared and the ellon gave Glorfindel a hug. "I didn’t think I would ever find you, otorno."

"Aldundil is taking them to our camp. We should be on our way as well. It will be getting dark soon and I don’t want to try to leave this valley at night."

"I’ve been in and out of this valley more than once," he replied. "Come. Let’s be on our way. The path out isn’t far. We can talk later."

Ingwion led the way back towards the path he, Aldundil and Vorondil had used to enter the valley that day. The Vanya was quite sure he knew which way to go, for he had kept to a straight course or as straight a one as possible in his search for Glorfindel and he had found Glorfindel almost immediately, or so he thought. However, it soon became obvious to him, if not to Glorfindel, that it was taking longer than it should have to find the trail. Then they came upon the stream and Ingwion breathed a silent prayer of thanks, for he knew that the path he was looking for was not far. His prayer of thanksgiving however quickly turned into a curse when he and Glorfindel found themselves somehow coming upon the pool even though they had been walking downstream.

Ingwion stared up at the waterfall in disbelief. Glorfindel simply sighed, shaking his head, then tapped Ingwion on the shoulder to get his attention."You were saying?" he shouted.

Ingwion could only stare at Glorfindel in dismay, unable to give him any answer. Glorfindel, in turn, gave him a smirk, though there was no humor behind it.

Nyéreser appeared before Lord Námo as the Vala was placing a quiescent elven fëa on a sleeping couch, having just concluded the Judgment of the Sinda now sleeping peacefully.

"How did your talk with Glorfindel go?" Námo then asked as he gestured for the Maia to precede him out of the sleeping chamber while one of Námo’s People remained on watch over the fëa.

Nyéreser then halted, his expression puzzled, and Námo stopped as well, waiting. "I’ve never questioned any order given me by any of the Valar..." he said.

Nyéreser gave the Lord of Mandos a wry look. "I wonder at the... deviousness of all this. I have to agree with Glorfindel. It almost seems like you are manipulating him and Prince Ingwion and the manner of it is quite convoluted."

Námo smiled. "Only from your perspective, child. The moment Glorfindel found himself in my Halls, plans were made that may well change the course of history in Endórë, and our balrog-slayer is at the very heart of it all."

Nyéreser raised an eyebrow at that revelation but said nothing more as he and Lord Námo continued to stroll through the corridors of Mandos.

Glorfindel gestured at Ingwion and the two of them moved away from the cauldron until they were far enough away to speak without shouting. "This is getting a bit old," Glorfindel stated with a scowl.

Ingwion had no words to say to that, his expression still blank with shock. Glorfindel looked around and saw that they had come to the same area where he had met the Maia. He turned his attention back to Ingwion. "It looks as if we’re stuck here for now. Let’s see if we can get a fire started somehow. I don’t fancy spending a second night without one."

Ingwion nodded, slowly coming out of his shock. "I’ll see if there is any deadfall while you build the firepit. At least there are plenty of rocks for it."

So they set about making camp, though it was a rather meager affair as they had no supplies or food. The fire, which was slow to burn, was a welcome sight at least.

"I’ve spent a night or two without much more than this," Glorfindel stated as the two of them huddled around the fire. "Before Turgon took us to Gondolin I spent some time hunting orcs through field and fen. Once, three of us were caught in a sudden spring flood. We lost all our supplies and spent several miserable nights trying to start a fire." He grinned at the memory and Ingwion shook his head.

"But I’m not," Ingwion retorted with a scowl. "When the Valar called upon us to join in the War of Wrath, I wanted to go but my atar forbade it and now I’ve learned that even Arafinwë would not have allowed me to accompany him."

Glorfindel sighed. "I have no answer for you, Ingwion, save that nothing happens without a reason. If you were not meant to leave Aman, then you were not meant to and that’s the end of it."

"Easy for you to say," Ingwion almost snarled and Glorfindel gave him a surprised look that quickly became shrewd.

"Of those of us who left Aman and carved for ourselves new lives, sometimes even new identities. You wish you had done the same."

Ingwion shook his head. "No. I never wished that. My life is here in Aman; I wanted... want no other, but...."

"I... I wanted to see where my cousins had gone," he admitted in an apologetic tone. "I wanted to see where they lived and where they... died."

"Ah...." Glorfindel said, suddenly understanding Ingwion a little better. "Beleriand was both more and less than what we expected; more, because it was beautiful in a way Aman was not, though I cannot tell you why."

"Less, because it was already occupied by our sundered kin, who were doing quite well without us, thank you very much." The deprecating tone set Ingwion laughing and their moods lightened somewhat.

Glorfindel shook his head. "It is not an option, so I do not think about it much."

The Noldo sighed. "Sometimes, but what is there for me? Gondolin lies under the ocean, never to be seen again. All that I knew and loved is buried under the waves and I have only my memories to comfort me."

For a moment silence stretched between them. Finally, Ingwion stirred. "I am sorry. I did not mean to cause you pain...."

Glorfindel waved a hand in dismissal. "It is an old pain, brother, and so your apology is unnecessary. I know little of the War of Wrath save for its outcome. Is it true that Eärendil was able to sail unto Valinor to plead for the pardon of the Valar?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "From what I can figure, whenever Eärendil’s name was mentioned, I was made to forget. Only since... returning can I think of him."

"I noticed when you and Finrod returned from wherever you were that you would look westward every day as evening fell. It was almost as if you were searching for something but never finding it, for you would come away looking angry."

"Vingilot," Glorfindel replied with a nod. "I was looking for Eärendil’s Star though I still cannot see it." He paused and gave Ingwion a scowl of frustration. "I never had any trouble remembering Turgon. I even remembered Idril and Tuor though I do not know what their ultimate fates were."

"No one does," the Vanyarin prince interjected. "We heard tales of how they set sail never to be seen again. If they ever reached these shores, none but the Valar know, and they say nothing."

"So I too have heard," Glorfindel stated. "Yet, of Eärendil I could learn nothing." He gave Ingwion a quizzical look. "Did you ever meet him?"

"Oh yes, but just the one time," Ingwion replied. "Eönwë brought him before the Valar when all of Eldamar was at Valmar celebrating. It was the first time any of us had seen a Mortal."

"Not entirely Mortal," Glorfindel corrected, "for he has the blood of the House of Finwë in him as well."

Ingwion nodded. "Yes, and because of that the Valar made him and Elwing, who also has Mortal blood in her, choose whether they would be counted among the Firstborn or the Aftercomers." He paused, his eyes distant with memory. "I always suspected that more lay in their decision than what was said on the surface."

"With the Valar, that’s usually the case, I deem," Glorfindel retorted with a wry smile.

"I remember when they brought Vingilot through Aman to the place where it was launched into the heavens," Ingwion said then. "I was permitted to be present when the Valar hallowed it."

"I sailed on it," came the surprising answer and Ingwion’s protest died on his lips when he saw the absolute sincerity in Glorfindel’s eyes.

For a moment it appeared that Glorfindel was not going to say anything as he stared into the fire, but then he started speaking, his voice low, as if to himself. "Finrod ran away and I was all alone...."

Ingwion forced himself not to interrupt Glorfindel’s narrative in spite of the fact that he wanted to know just why his cousin ran away and where did he run to. Instead, he schooled himself to stillness and sat in growing wonder as Glorfindel spun his tale, one that sounded very familiar.

"... And then I woke up and found myself back at our camp, but Finrod was not there, as had been promised," Glorfindel was saying as he wound up his tale. "I waited and waited and he never came back and then Lord Námo appeared."

Ingwion sat there in silence, simply nodding to let Glorfindel know he was listening. He was thinking of the conversation between Glorfindel and... the Other. It was interesting how Glorfindel’s talk with Him and his own were similar in scope if not in content. "And have you?" he asked.

"Perhaps," Ingwion said, then he gave Glorfindel a wry look. "So let me tell you what happened to me."

Glorfindel’s only response was to raise an eyebrow as Ingwion began describing how he was led to the Chapel of Stars and what followed. When he finished his narrative there was silence between the two ellyn for some time after with only the crackling of the fire and the sound of the stream somewhere behind them disturbing their ruminations.

"How can they be similar?" Glorfindel asked in surprise. "For me the message was ‘stop being an elfling in a tantrum’ but for you the message was ‘look to the future and not the past’. I don’t see the connection."

Both ellyn scrambled to their feet, Glorfindel instinctively going for his sword, looking about for the owner of the voice that had come to them from out of the darkness. A figure came into view and in the fitful firelight they could see who it was.

"You!" Glorfindel exclaimed, not relaxing his stance, even going so far as to step before Ingwion, who was unarmed save for a small hunting knife.

"I will decide whom I will fear and whom I will not." Glorfindel retorted coldly, sounding more like the Elf-lord that he once was, his expression grim, his stance that of a warrior about to go into battle.

"Ah, Glorfindel," Ingwion drawled, "This is the... um... person I told you about earlier."

Glorfindel nodded, never taking his eyes off the Maia. "He says his name is Nyéreser but does not state to which of the Valar he owes his allegiance. I find that highly suspicious and I’m in no mood for Valarin mind games tonight."

Nyéreser gave the ellon a measuring look and then a slow smile graced his visage. "I owe formal allegiance to Lady Nienna, but she... um... loans me out to the other Valar at need."

"I don’t remember seeing you at Lady Nienna’s," Ingwion said, stepping around Glorfindel’s more massive frame, frowning as he attempted to recall the faces of all the Maiar he had met in the house by the shores of the Ekkaia.

"I rarely interact with any of you Children," Nyéreser replied, his tone kindly. "My... interests lie in a different direction. So when both Lady Nienna and Lord Námo asked me to take on this assignment I was quite intrigued."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at that. Then he sheathed his sword, relaxing his stance somewhat though both Ingwion and Nyéreser noticed his hand never strayed far from the sword’s hilt. Long ingrained courtesy took over and Ingwion bowed to the Maia, gesturing towards the fire. "Would you join us, my lord? I fear we cannot offer you the hospitality of my atar’s halls, but you are welcome to share our fire."

"Now that you’re here," Glorfindel muttered ungraciously and Ingwion reached behind and gave him a slap on the back of the head.

"Ow! What was that for?" he cried, glowering at the prince as he rubbed his head.

"Be nice or I’ll make you regret it," Ingwion replied and the utter seriousness of his tone gave Glorfindel pause.

He blushed and muttered an apology that was even halfway sincere and both Ingwion and Nyéreser accepted it graciously, the Maia giving them both a knowing smile.

"Thank you for your hospitality," he said with easy grace. "Your fire is welcome and I’ve brought dinner."

At that he gestured and a basket of food appeared at Glorfindel’s feet. Both ellyn gasped in delight and Nyéreser watched with amusement as they fell on the repast. It was several minutes before either bothered to speak.

"I can almost forgive the Valar for keeping us in this Eru-forsaken vale against our wills," Glorfindel said with a sigh as he sipped his wine, settling back against the rock that was his seat.

Nyéreser gave him a disbelieving look and Glorfindel actually chuckled. "I said, ‘almost’."

"Ah..." was the Maia’s only comment while Ingwion just rolled his eyes even as he drank his own wine, deciding reprimanding his otorno wasn’t worth it. Silence that was almost comfortable stretched between the three of them as the elves sipped their wine and the Maia sat in eternal patience.

"Why are you here, lord?" Ingwion asked at the last, deciding it was time to get down to business.

"Glorfindel is being his typical dense self," Nyéreser replied calmly. "My masters have decided he needs some further... instruction."

"Glorfindel!" Ingwion shouted. "Remember what I said and you should know me well enough by now to know I do not make idle threats."

Glorfindel subsided, his expression mulish, refusing to look at either of his two companions. Unexpectedly, it was Nyéreser who uttered an apology. "Forgive me," he said with all sincerity, "that was uncalled for. The truth is, Glorfindel, the Valar wondered at your need to see Ingwion. They knew you both had an encounter with, shall we say, the Numinous. While they knew what happened with you because you told Lords Manwë and Námo, they never learned what happened to Ingwion."

"Why the subterfuge?" Glorfindel asked. "Why this manipulation if they were so bloody interested in what we had to say to one another?"

For a moment it seemed the Maia would not answer the ellon’s question but finally he sighed. "I do not know, child. I only know what I’ve told you. The Valar did not deliberately keep you two apart out of malice but out of concern for you both. Your experiences were, how to say it, life-altering?"

Nyéreser smiled. "At any rate, they deemed it necessary to give you both time to come to terms with what you experienced without the influence of the other." He looked directly at Glorfindel. "You claim that the only message you were given was to stop acting like an elfling and grow up."

Glorfindel’s eyes narrowed as he wondered what the Maia was getting at, but he nevertheless took the time to think it through before answering. "The Valar sought to protect me from myself and mine oaths because... because they love me." This last was spoken in a whisper.

Glorfindel stole a glance at his otorno who sat there impassively, his expression unreadable. "The Past was the Past and he could do nothing to change it, but...."

Nyéreser held up a hand to forestall him. "Is that not the message you have been given over and over again, child? Was that not the lesson of Gondolin?"

Glorfindel paled at that and unconsciously started to rub his peridot ring, a gesture both Ingwion and the Maia noted with some concern. "I don’t understand," he finally said and his tone was that of a confused elfling.

It was Ingwion who answered him, placing a hand on the ellon’s shoulder. "Your anger... it ties you to the past, to what was done to you for your own protection, though I know you do not see it that way. Until you let that go, you cannot move forward, just as I had to let go of my grief for one whom I lost, a grief that I now realize kept me here in Aman when I wanted to join the Host of Valinor during the War of Wrath." He turned to Nyéreser. "That’s why Atar refused to let me lead the Vanyar, isn’t it? He feared that my grief would make me... careless, that I would seek death for myself."

The Maia nodded; Glorfindel stared at Ingwion in disbelief. "Yes, that is partly the reason," Nyéreser answered, "though it is not the only or even the real reason why you were forbidden to join us."

Now Glorfindel turned to Nyéreser, his gaze measuring. "You fought among Macalaurë’s troops."

It was less a question and more a statement. Nyéreser nodded. "I did indeed and adopted their braids for myself. When his brother decided to steal the Silmarili, I tried to persuade Macalaurë against it, but their atar’s oath was too strong for him to break free." The Maia shook his head. "I could never figure out how they thought to escape detection surrounded by an army of Maiar."

"They probably had forgotten what it was like to live in Aman," Glorfindel suggested.

"Perhaps," Nyéreser allowed. "At any rate, I continue to wear these braids in honor of the elf Macalaurë could have been — indeed, should have been — had his atar not twisted his destiny for a bauble. Someday, it is our hope that Macalaurë will forgive himself and seek healing here in Aman."

Silence stretched between them as the two elves contemplated the implications of the Maia’s words, not only for the last living son of Fëanáro, but for themselves. Finally, Nyéreser spoke. "Do you see the connection now, Glorfindel?" he asked kindly. "Do you see why you and Ingwion needed to speak? Each of you had part of the answer the other needed. Ingwion needed to hear the message that all is done out of love for you Children however it may seem to the contrary and you needed to hear that only in letting go of the Past can you ever hope to have a future worth living. Both of you are angry at the Valar but for different reasons and both of you cling to a Past that can never be reclaimed, again for different reasons. Yet, neither of you can grow in the way you were meant to until you leave both your anger and your Past behind."

Nyéreser nodded. "And we are all well pleased with your decision, my prince. Glorfindel’s revelation was just the last piece of the puzzle for you, though, wouldn’t you say?"

Glorfindel looked up at the Maia, his expression troubled. "I... I don’t know. Everything just seems so... so confusing."

"We don’t expect you to change overnight, Glorfindel," Nyéreser said gently. "That is too much to ask of anyone. We just want your promise that you will at least think about what you’ve learned this night even if you cannot come to any real decision yet."

Nyéreser smiled. "It is all any of us are ever asked to do, child." Then he stood and the two elves followed. "I will leave you now. Fear not for your friends. They have been told that you are well and safe and will join them in the morning. When you leave this vale, go to Lady Nienna’s; she’s expecting you... all of you." This last was directed rather pointedly at Glorfindel who actually grinned, giving the Maia a nod of acknowledgment.

Nyéreser took him by the shoulders and bent down to give him a kiss in benediction on the brow and then did the same to Glorfindel. "Nai Eru let mánata," he said and then he was gone.

The two elves stared at the spot where the Maia had been for a moment or two before stirring. "He could have at least led us out of this stupid place," Glorfindel groused, bending down to throw another log onto the fire before resuming his seat on the rock.

Glorfindel shrugged then cast Ingwion a wry grin. "As long as he left us the wine, I guess I can live with it."

Ingwion laughed again and held out his goblet. "In that case, you can do the honors."

Glorfindel reached for the decanter and poured more wine in both their goblets. As the night progressed and they continued to share their stories, it did not escape their notice that the decanter never seemed to get empty, which suited them just fine.

Nai Eru let mánata: (Quenya) ‘Eru bless you (both)’; this is an attested phrase, though the pronoun is changed to reflect the dual form.

Dawn stole into the vale to find Glorfindel and Ingwion still awake though they had long ceased to speak, simply enjoying each other’s presence... and the wine. As the mist around them lightened, they made ready to leave the valley, though they were uncertain as to which direction to take.

"I’m sure it matters not," Ingwion stated. "Nyéreser said we would be free to leave so any direction I think will be fine."

"Let’s find the stream then and follow it," Glorfindel suggested, hefting the basket, now many pounds lighter, even as Ingwion smothered the flames of their fire. Soon they set off and in minutes came upon the stream. Following it, they were relieved to find a trail that ran beside it through the cleft made by the stream and, before too many minutes passed, they came out of the valley and into clear sunshine.

The two of them looked about in surprise to find Aldundil negligently leaning against a nearby pine tree.

"Since dawn actually," Aldundil said as he sauntered over to them. "Nyéreser came to us last night and said I should come meet you. I expected you some time ago."

"Well we’re here now," Ingwion said with a laugh. "Come, let us go. Nyéreser told us that we may return to Lady Nienna’s today. I don’t think we should keep her waiting."

Another hour found them entering the camp to the glad cries of their friends. Vorondil and Sador were busy preparing breakfast while Beleg was seeing to their horses. Ingwion forestalled the barrage of questions by telling them that they needed to break camp soon and return to Lady Nienna’s.

Beleg gave him a troubled look. "Shouldn’t Sador, Glorfindel and I head back to Tirion instead?"

"Assuming we can figure out how to avoid that strange valley or the road," Sador added.

Before anyone could offer an answer a shimmer of lights announced the arrival of several Maiar and the elves suddenly found themselves surrounded by nearly a dozen of the Valar’s servants. Most wore the emblem of Lady Nienna but some wore the emblem of Lord Námo. Vorondil took one look at them and gave out an unholy shriek, diving for the relative safety of the tent. Aldundil stared at the Maiar in disbelief and muttered a curse in Sindarin that had several eyebrows rising in amusement.

"I hope you’re all very proud of yourselves, scaring an elfling half to death like that," he snarled as he made his way into the tent to try to comfort his son who was busy wailing at the top of his lungs, insisting that he hadn’t done anything bad.

Before anyone else could react, another shimmer of lights announced the arrival of Tiutalion who shook his head, a grimace of disgust on his face. "I said, see that they don’t wander off. I didn’t say make a grand entrance."

One of the Maiar from Námo’s People gave Tiutalion an unrepentant grin. "Aw... come now, Tiutalion, you should have seen their faces when we appeared. It was too amusing."

"Your definition of ‘fun’, Morinehtar, leaves much to be desired," Tiutalion retorted. "All right. You’ve made your presence known. I’m sure the Children got the message. Now off with you. I’ll deal with this."

"As long as they’re here, though," Glorfindel said with a supercilious sniff. "They can make themselves useful by helping us break camp."

Tiutalion gave the ellon an amused look. "Rather difficult to do with Vorondil refusing to leave the tent."

Glorfindel shrugged. "Not our problem." He glared at the Maiar still ringed around them and some of them had the grace to look abashed.

Tiutalion grimaced. "Fine. I’ll get Vorondil calmed down and the rest of you be ready to leave in fifteen minutes. We’ve already wasted half the morning with this nonsense and Lady Nienna is growing impatient."

With that the Maia entered the tent where Aldundil had managed to calm his son down enough that he was no longer screaming. "There now," Tiutalion said softly, "why all these tears, child? No one is going to hurt you."

"Are here to keep Glorfindel in line, not you," Tiutalion replied. "Now dry those tears and let’s be on our way. I understand that Lady Nienna has ordered Marilliën to bake a whole batch of ginger biscuits in celebration of your return."

That got the ellon’s attention. For a moment he stared at the Maia and then without warning he was jumping up and pulling on Aldundil’s arm. "Come on, Atto. We have to hurry before Aiwendilmë eats up all the biscuits."

With that the elfling ran out of the tent, now urging everyone to greater speed in breaking camp, announcing that they had to get to Lady Nienna’s sooner rather than later before all the ginger biscuits were eaten. Even Námo’s People laughed at that and soon the camp was cleared and they were on their way.

They arrived at Lady Nienna’s shortly before noon to find not only the Valië waiting for them but Lord Námo as well. Neither Vala looked particularly happy and Vorondil’s enthusiasm at the thought of ginger biscuits waned. However, once they were all dismounted, the horses led away by other Maiar, Lady Nienna smiled at the ellon and Aldundil.

"You’ve done very well, the both of you," she said. "Why don’t you go and refresh yourselves and spend the afternoon as you wish. The library is available if you want something to read or you may go to the beach, though take care, for the tide turns back in less than an hour."

Aldundil bowed and Vorondil remembered to do the same. "Thank you, lady," the older ellon said. "I would not mind a hot bath right about now, myself."

Nienna nodded. "Then go, the both of you. I’ll have something sent up to your rooms for lunch. We’ll meet again tonight for dinner."

Aldundil and Vorondil left. Nienna then turned to Ingwion. "My brother would have words with you, Ingwion, so you go along with him and when he’s done you are free to do as you wish as well until the dinner hour."

Ingwion simply nodded, casting a surreptitious glance at the Lord of Mandos, wondering what his master might have to say to him. However, at the moment Námo appeared disinclined to go anywhere. Instead, he gave the Maiar who were his own People a hard look, a look mirrored by Nienna, and the four ellyn were treated to the sight of seeing several Maiar squirm.

"Would any of you care to tell me whose idea it was to, how did Tiutalion put it, ah yes... make a grand entrance?" Nienna asked in a deceptively mild tone.

For a long moment there was only silence and then one of the Maiar wearing Námo’s emblem spoke up. "Truly, we all sort of came to the idea at the same time, lady," he said. "When these two began speaking of returning to Tirion," he added, pointing to Beleg and Sador, "we just couldn’t resist."

"Ah..." was Námo’s comment and the tone was anything but mild. Several of the Maiar cringed. "And so you decided frightening an elfling, and that particular elfling, would be a good idea."

"No, lord," Morinehtar said. "It was not our intent to do so. I... I think we were all concentrating on Glorfindel and forgot about the others."

Glorfindel, on hearing that, scowled. "Well, concentrate on this," he said, his tone dark and threatening as he faced the Maiar. "We were in no danger of running away. I was told we were expected here and here is where we were going. Next time you presume to think you know our minds, I suggest you consult a higher authority before you act. It might actually save us all a lot of trouble."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment or two as Glorfindel stared down the Maiar, many of them standing there with raised eyebrows at the temerity of this Child lecturing them. Nienna and Námo exchanged amused smiles and Námo actually reached over and took Glorfindel into his embrace. "Peace, best beloved," he said when the ellon looked to protest. "Let my sister and I chastise our People. You shouldn’t have all the fun, you know."

That outrageous statement brought sniggers from all four elves and Glorfindel’s mien lightened as he looked up at the Vala, giving him a wicked grin. "Well... just this once," he said and Námo smiled down at him before releasing him. The Maiar remained studiously impassive.

Nienna, meanwhile was addressing Beleg and Sador. "You two are on your way back to Tirion," she told them. "You have much to apologize for, so I suggest you start thinking on that now."

"All right, enough," Nienna said, shaking her head. "Tiutalion will show you your rooms. Feel free to wander and explore but I’m afraid I cannot permit you to leave the house at this time. Now off with you."

Beleg and Sador gave the two Valar their obeisance and followed the Maia through the arcade while Glorfindel remained where he was, his expression one of grim amusement as he stared pointedly at Námo. "Enough of your manipulations," he said. "I’ve put up with it this long, but no longer. Continue to treat me as you have and you do so at your peril." Before anyone could respond to that he turned and entered the house, not looking back.

For a long moment there was only silence as Nienna and Námo communed. Then Námo sighed and turned his attention to Ingwion, who was still there, looking a bit lost in their midst. "Come, Ingwion. I want you to tell me all about your experience in the Chapel of Stars." He gestured for the ellon to follow him and together they walked towards the seacliff while Ingwion gave Námo an account of what happened to him.

Dinner was a strained affair. The presence of both Valar put a damper on them all. Glorfindel refused to speak to any of them, and Beleg and Sador were subdued at the thought of the trouble they were in. Even Vorondil was quiet and was spending more time pushing his food around the plate than eating. Nienna gave him an understanding smile.

"If you don’t finish your dinner, Vorondil, there’ll be no ginger biscuits."

The ellon just shrugged and that surprised them. Aldundil looked at his son in concern. "Are you well, yonya?"

"What’s wrong, Vorondil? What has you so sad?" Aldundil asked, running a gentle hand through the ellon’s hair.

"Hmm," Nienna said, narrowing her eyes. "I think someone has had too much excitement of late. Perhaps you should go to bed. I think you’ll feel more yourself by tomorrow."

It was telling that the ellon did not protest, but merely nodded and got up and left. Aldundil looked at Nienna in alarm. "Is he going to be all right, lady?"

The Valië smiled. "Do not concern yourself, Aldundil. Vorondil is just feeling the effects of the last few days. A good night’s rest in his own bed should put him to rights."

Aldundil nodded and returned to his own meal. No one else spoke for some time. All this time Ingwion had been watching Glorfindel from the corner of his eye. The ellon was like a tightly coiled spring and Ingwion had the feeling that Glorfindel was ready to explode at any moment. Deciding to avert what was bound to be a disaster Ingwion turned to Námo with a question that had been plaguing him since he and Glorfindel had talked.

"Glorfindel told me that he cannot see Eärendil’s Star even though he seems to be able to talk about him now. Do you know why?"

Námo’s look of surprise caught them all unawares. Even Glorfindel seemed nonplused at the Vala’s reaction. "Is this true, Glorfindel?" Námo asked.

Glorfindel nodded. "Ingwion told me about Eärendil and Elwing coming to Aman, but every time I look for the star I can’t see it."

"I thought you said all the barriers were down, brother," Nienna interjected, her expression one of worry.

"They are, or rather they should be," Námo answered. "As soon as Glorfindel was able to speak of Eärendil he should have been able to see the star as well." He turned to the ellon, his expression one of remorse. "I’m sorry, Glorfindel, I have no answers for you. What you describe should not be happening."

"Then you’re not preventing me from seeing it?" Glorfindel asked, looking unconvinced.

Námo shook his head. "We even considered reinstating the barriers but decided against it. We have placed no new barriers upon you. I give you my word."

"There is only one who could have done so, Glorfindel," Námo said gravely, divining the truth of the situation. "You met him; you and Ingwion both did."

"Again, I have no answers," Námo replied. "I can only say that if he did this it was for a good reason."

Glorfindel scowled. "Everyone keeps manipulating me. I’m sick of it!" With that, he threw down his fork and stalked out of the room. Ingwion made to follow, but Námo forestalled him.

"Which is why I’ve decided he should stay here, while the rest of you go," Nienna said.

"Just this. Aldundil, you and Vorondil are free to leave. Same goes with Ingwion. You no longer need to be here."

"Do you think Findaráto will accept Vorondil back so soon?" Ingwion asked, voicing Aldundil’s concern as well.

"He will have no choice. The stipulation was that Vorondil would remain in my custody until I deemed otherwise. So, all of you will be leaving tomorrow; only Glorfindel will be remaining."

"Oh, I think he will," Nienna said. "I’ll make him an offer he can’t possibly refuse. Now you finish your dinners while my brother and I go find Glorfindel and tell him the good news." Her smile was such that the elves were all laughing as she and Námo left the room.

They found Glorfindel futilely beating on the front door, which was locked, and cursing roundly.

"Glorfindel," Nienna said, "stop abusing that poor door and come back into the cloister."

When the ellon just stood there, his head leaning against the door, Námo sighed, gave his sister a wry look and took Glorfindel by the crook of his right elbow and made him come with them back into the cloister where they found a seat, having the elf sit between them. For some minutes they sat there staring at the fountain at the cloister’s center before Nienna spoke.

"How would you like to stay here with me for a while, Glorfindel?" she asked softly. "I think you could use some time alone." She ran a hand through his hair, gently stroking him.

"I’m not going to be alone though, will I?" Glorfindel muttered darkly, not looking at either Vala. "Ingwion and...."

"I’m sending everyone else away," Nienna interrupted. Glorfindel looked up then, puzzled. Nienna nodded. "I have decided that Vorondil is no longer in need of my attention," she continued, "so he and Aldundil will return to Findaráto. Ingwion is free to leave as well. So you see," she gave him a soft smile, "you’ll be alone."

"Except for you and an unknown number of invisible Maiar watching my every move," Glorfindel retorted sourly.

Nienna and Námo exchanged amused looks and the Lady of Pity chuckled. "Occupational hazard when one deals with any of us Powers." She paused for a moment, still lightly stroking the ellon’s hair. Námo, meanwhile, was just as quietly rubbing Glorfindel’s back. Between them they were slowly easing the tension out of the ellon’s body. As he began to visibly relax, Nienna continued the discussion. "Not far from here is a small cottage where you can stay, if you like. You will have complete privacy there. No Maia will be lurking about and all will approach in fana if they need to speak to you. Would you like that? My only stipulation is that you take the evening meal with me, otherwise you may do as you wish."

"We will not stop you," Námo said, "but I think you would benefit from spending time alone without anyone, even your gwedyr, hovering over you."

Nienna nodded. "My brother speaks truly. You have not had a moment to yourself in far too long."

When Glorfindel didn’t answer immediately, she smiled. "Why don’t we do this? Stay for one week and if at the end of that time you still wish to leave you may do so."

"No tricks, child," Nienna said solemnly. "The cottage is yours for as long as you wish to stay and any time you feel a need to talk, any of my People would be more than willing to listen if I’m not immediately available. All you need to do is ask."

The ellon thought about it for several minutes, staring back at the fountain that sang merrily, the sound of its waters almost as calming as the tactile ministrations of the two Valar. He finally sighed and nodded. "One week," was all he said, still not looking at them.

Námo smiled, patting him on the back and planting a light kiss of benediction on the ellon’s forehead. "I will leave you then," he said. "If you ever want to talk to me, best beloved, just tell Nienna and she will let me know."

Glorfindel nodded and the Vala was suddenly not there. Nienna stood up and gazed lovingly down at the elf who looked up at her with some uncertainty. "Why don’t we go back inside and you can tell your gwedyr of your decision."

Glorfindel gave another sigh and stood as well. Together they went back to the dining room where four ellyn sat, idly wondering what decision their gwador had made.

Fana: The ‘raiment’ in which the Valar and Maiar clothed themselves when they self-incarnate.

When Vorondil woke the next morning to learn that he was leaving Lady Nienna’s that very day, he wasn’t sure how to react and blurted out the first thing that came to mind:

"But I don’t want to leave. I like it here!" Then he ran out of the dining room, heedless of Aldundil calling his name. He ran without thinking of a destination and it was only when he ran into an immoveable object that he even look about to see where he was. He found himself face-to-face with Marilliën, or rather his face to her bosom, for the Maia cook was somewhat taller than he.

"Whatever is wrong, child?" she enquired good-naturedly when he tried to apologize. "Now dry those tears and come sit with me and tell me all about it." She led him to a trestle and sat him down, calling to one of the other Maiar to bring him some breakfast. Vorondil wasn’t hungry anymore but with a little cajoling on Marilliën’s part he nibbled on a sticky bun while he told her of Lady Nienna’s decision.

"And you don’t want to leave, do you?" the Maia said at the end of his narrative.

Vorondil shook his head, looking dejected. "Master doesn’t want me," he said quietly.

Marilliën clucked in dismay and gathered the youngster into her embrace, giving him a hug. "Of course he wants you, child, and he’ll be quite happy to see you. He only sent you away so you could be with your atar for a while. You and he needed to be alone for a time, just the two of you. Now, it’s time for you both to return to your lives, you to continue with your apprenticeship and your atar to pick up the pieces of his own life without your ammë."

Vorondil still looked skeptical but did not offer any counterarguments. Marilliën just smiled fondly at him, encouraging him to finish his breakfast before going to pack.

Thus, it was midmorning when Glorfindel stood outside Lady Nienna’s house to see his friends off.

"We’ll give your regards to everyone when we see them," Sador said as he mounted his horse. "Any messages?"

Glorfindel shook is head. "No. Tell everyone I’m fine and I look forward to seeing them again soon."

The ellyn moved off with much waving on Vorondil’s part and soon they were lost to sight around a bend in the road. Glorfindel just stood there staring after them until Lady Nienna gestured to Tiutalion. "Show Glorfindel the cottage, will you? I’m sure he wants to settle in right away. Remember, dear, dinner is an hour after sunset."

Glorfindel nodded as he allowed the Maia to lead him north along the headland until they came to a place where the cliffs were lower. There, nestled in a small dell was a stone cottage with a wrap-around porch. Inside, Glorfindel saw that it consisted of two main rooms, plus a bathing room and privy. The smaller of the rooms was a bedroom while the larger was a combination kitchen and sitting room. It was, actually, quite cozy looking and Glorfindel felt himself relaxing almost at once.

"Your things have been brought over from the main house," Tiutalion said, "but I’ll leave it to you to unpack. Everything you need is here but if you lack for anything, just let me know." He pointed out the door which faced west. "There’s a path down to the beach along that bluff and behind us is another path that leads to a small copse where you can wander if you wish."

Glorfindel just nodded, not really paying much attention, already beginning to regret his decision. Tiutalion gave him a knowing smile. "It’s going to be all right, you know. I think you need the time away more than you realize. I will leave you now."

With that the Maia bowed and left the ellon standing in the middle of the main room staring at nothing in particular for the longest time. Finally, though, Glorfindel shook himself and went to the bedroom to begin unpacking (five minutes), afterwards he checked the bathing room (one minute) and the kitchen (ten minutes, but only because he couldn’t find the tinder to start the fire in the stove and finally resorted to grabbing his own). Then he checked all the cupboards in the rest of the cottage (three minutes) and the small bookcase in the sitting room (half an hour as he pulled out one or two books to browse through, though none of them held his attention for long), finally ending up on the porch staring out at the ocean. He had been left alone for approximately one hour and the whole rest of the day stretched before him into eternity.

"I’m going to go insane first," he muttered to himself as he plopped down on a bench beside the door with a sigh and wondered if he could just sneak away. "Nonsense!" he muttered aloud, thoroughly disgusted with himself. "You’ve been left alone for an hour and you’re acting like Vorondil at his worst. Get a hold of yourself, Glorfindel. It’s just for one lousy week. It’s not the first time you’ve ever been alone."

Which was true enough though he was hard-pressed to remember just when that was.

He pulled himself out of his seat and stomped down the path towards the beach, figuring that a walk along the shore would do him a world of good. Only, when he reached the beach his enthusiasm waned and he found himself just standing there staring at the waves endlessly beating against the shore. Then he started yelling his frustration, stooping down to gather some pebbles and fling them haphazardly at the water. Before he realized what he was doing, he started running up the beach which stretched northward. A small barrier of rocks blocked his path but he ignored it, climbing it and practically leaping down to the next beach, barely pausing long enough to catch his balance. This beach was somewhat larger than the previous one, curving in a wide arc before bending back on itself around a promontory. Glorfindel just ran, letting the wind whip around him, avoiding the surf when possible and plowing right through it when he couldn’t.

The next beach he found himself on ended abruptly in a towering seacliff that was impossible to climb or go around, so Glorfindel turned and ran back the other way. By the time he returned to the original beach fronting the cottage he was soaked to the skin though he was barely breathing hard. Yet, he felt sick and dizzy and tired all at once and collapsed onto the sand, lying there face up, allowing the sun to dry the salt on his skin. As his breathing slowed he felt himself drifting and soon the warmth of the sand and the sun performed their magic on him and he fell asleep, unaware that a worried Nienna sat nearby keeping watch.

He woke sometime later, feeling thirsty and managed to crawl up the bluff to the cottage where he found the well and drank his fill. Then he entered the house and stripped off his sweat-soaked and sand-filled clothes, unsurprised to find that the tub was already filled with hot water, waiting for him. How long he soaked he wasn’t sure but eventually he got out and, after drying himself off, slipped into a silk robe and settled down on the sofa in the sitting room. A pot of tea was waiting for him along with a plate of ginger biscuits. Glorfindel felt too bemused to offer much protest. Instead, he poured himself a cup, and curled up on the sofa, nibbling on one of the biscuits as he looked out the window.

Thus he spent the rest of the afternoon. At one point he turned away from the view and threw a blanket over himself, settling down for a nap. Somehow his body craved sleep more than anything and he was too tired to fight it. His last thought was that he still had six more hours to kill before dinner.

He woke to someone knocking on the front door and blundered over to it to find Tiutalion on the other side. "Dinner will be in half an hour, Glorfindel," the Maia said with a smile. "You don’t wish to be late."

Glorfindel nodded his thanks and in a short time he was dressed and ready to leave, following Tiutalion. "How did your first day go?" the Maia asked solicitously.

Glorfindel shrugged. "It went well enough, I suppose," he answered, not really wanting to elaborate.

When they arrived at Nienna’s Glorfindel hoped that he would be able to maintain his end of the conversation, but he feared he had nothing to contribute. What was he going to talk about anyway? The most exciting thing he did that day was run up and down the beach. To Glorfindel’s relief, though, Nienna did not ask him about his day. Instead, much to his surprise, she asked him about how he had felt during the tournament.

"I felt... good," was the only thing he could think to say and blushed in embarrassment. When Nienna merely nodded in encouragement he continued. "It was the first time since becoming reborn that I actually felt... myself. Many of my memories of Gondolin, the good ones, I mean, started to surface. I felt... at home."

Nienna raised an eyebrow. "An interesting way to put it," she said as she passed some frumenty to him. "What made it feel like home to you, the people, the tournament itself?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "I think it was a combination of a number of things, but certainly being surrounded by other warriors just felt right."

Glorfindel took some time before answering. "I told Sador once that all I knew was how to be a warrior and he told me that wasn’t true, that I knew how to be other things as well, but I think that being a warrior is all I want to be. Everything else that I am is wrapped up around that one thing. I look at Finrod and see someone who can be a warrior at need but is not one always. And Laurendil. He has found a new calling as a Healer."

The ellon shrugged, pushing his food around his plate, not looking up. "The Noldóran and Ingwë I think would like to see me as part of their councils in some capacity, but really, what could I possibly contribute that cannot be done by others and better? I spent all but the first fifty years in Beleriand hiding behind the walls of the Echoriath while the others fought and died against Morgoth’s minions. Only once did we ever venture forth and that was the beginning of the end for us, though we did not know it then. I fear I have little wisdom to impart to others. Dying doesn’t seem to have granted me more than what little I had before."

For a time, Nienna did not respond. Finally, though, she reached over and put a hand on Glorfindel’s arm. He looked up from his plate to see her smiling at him. "You are wiser than you realize, Glorfindel, and it’s a wisdom born of suffering. This past year has been very hard on you and I fear we Valar did not make it any easier. For that I apologize for all of us."

Glorfindel sighed, sitting back in his chair, looking somewhat at a loss. "What am I supposed to do for the next week, lady?" he asked. "I can’t continue doing what I did today, which was nothing at all; I’ll go insane!"

"Oh, I very much doubt that," Nienna said with a laugh. "You can always see how much mischief you can get into the way Vorondil and Aldundil did while they were here. My people and I enjoy a good challenge."

Glorfindel gave her a jaundiced look. "I thought I was supposed to be relaxing, taking it easy?"

"There are many ways to relax, my dear," the Valië said with a knowing grin. "You are supposed to be taking time for yourself without anyone else dictating your every waking minute. Do whatever you feel the need to do. Just be sure to be here for dinner every night. What else you do in the meantime is your affair."

"But I don’t want to get into mischief," Glorfindel protested, unsure why he was arguing over being given permission to act up. "Getting into mischief is what I’ve been doing since I was re-embodied. Isn’t it time for me to start growing up?"

Nienna shrugged. "That’s for you to decide. Just remember this: you have some ways to go before you reach the level of maturity you enjoyed at the time of your death. Don’t try to grow up too fast, child, you’ll just end up making things more difficult for you than necessary. Now, it’s getting late. Tiutalion will escort you back to the cottage. Enjoy yourself, Glorfindel, or at least try, for all our sakes."

Glorfindel rose and gave the Valië his obeisance before allowing Tiutalion to lead him back along the path to the cottage. They found the place all lit up, warm light spilling out and welcoming them. As Tiutalion started to leave, though, Glorfindel felt a sense of panic rise within him.

"Wait!" he shouted and then took a couple of deep breaths, trying to get the panic under control. "C-could you stay, pl-please?"

It was well after midnight before Glorfindel finally fell asleep with Tiutalion promising to stay and keep watch over him. The Maia assured him that he did not mind and in fact considered it part of his duties towards his lady. Glorfindel opined that the Maia must have something better to do than watch over him while he was sleeping, now beginning to feel stupid about the whole thing

"Better, perhaps," Tiutalion averred even as he saw Glorfindel to his room, "but not as important. Now go to sleep and if you need anything I’ll be in the next room."

Soon, Glorfindel was fast asleep. Nienna and Námo appeared in the larger room where Tiutalion was busy putting away the dishes. He gave them both a bow and smiled. "He’s afraid to be alone," he said. "Being alone terrifies him."

"So we noticed," Námo said with a frown. "That’s going to make things difficult for him during the rest of the week."

"Perhaps what he needs is not so much to be alone as to be alone with another person, someone who doesn’t threaten him," the Maia ventured and both Valar gave him considering looks.

Tiutalion shrugged. "I listen without passing judgment. I think he even trusts me to some extent."

"And trust is something he needs to work on," Námo said. "Glorfindel no longer trusts us, indeed he no longer trusts himself. Therein lies his dilemma."

"Yet, I do not think having me or any of the other Maiar acting as his companion is going to help any," Tiutalion said with a slight frown. "He needs to feel safe around other elves."

Both Námo and Nienna shook their heads in disagreement. "He needs to trust us first," Nienna told the Maia. "He needs to feel safe around us again. The rest will follow."

"So, do you want me to continue being his friend and confidant?" Tiutalion asked, looking doubtful.

"Only if he asks you to," Nienna said. "Give him to know that you will not censure anything he does and will leave him alone if he wishes. Let him call the tune."

"If he can feel himself relax around you, Tiutalion," Námo said, "it will go a long way towards helping him relax around others."

Tiutalion bowed, giving them both a sly smile. "Then I will do as you wish, lady, and be Glorfindel’s partner in crime, if he will let me."

Both Valar chuckled at that and shortly thereafter the cottage was empty save for one sleeping ellon and a Maia who occupied his time reading and nibbling on ginger biscuits.

The next morning Glorfindel woke to the smell of bacon and eggs and found himself feeling ravenous. He quickly went through his ablutions and dressed, stepping into the main room to the sight of Tiutalion scrambling eggs. The Maia looked up and pointed to the table where there was already a place setting. "Help yourself to some fresh juice," he said. "The eggs will be ready shortly."

"You don’t have to cook for me, you know," Glorfindel said as he took his seat. "I’m quite capable...."

"Of course you are," Tiutalion said as he came over with the skillet in his hand and dished out the eggs onto Glorfindel’s plate. "I thought you would enjoy having someone else cook breakfast this morning. I suspect left to your own devices you would probably make do with a piece of fruit and a sip of tea."

"You’re quite welcome. Now, when you finish eating you should take a walk and enjoy the fresh air. You might want to go exploring in the woods to the east of here. They’re not very large, but they’ll do."

"Is there a reason why you want me to go there?" Glorfindel asked between bites.

"Ah... you’ve caught me out," Tiutalion said with a mock grimace. "I’m planning a surprise party for you and need you away for a time."

Tiutalion just smirked. "But you don’t know when the party will be or even why it’s a surprise."

"In that case, I’ll pretend ignorance and make my way to these woods in all innocence."

"Don’t forget your sword," Tiutalion said as he started to clear the table once Glorfindel was finished. The ellon gave him a surprised look. The Maia shrugged. "You never know what dangers might lurk in the woods."

That brought the elf up short and with a nod he went and grabbed his sword and cloak before heading out the door, following the path to the east where a smudge of dark green marked the forest that was his destination.

The woods were indeed small, stretching in any one direction for less than a half a league, but they seemed friendly enough to Glorfindel. There was no real path to follow so he made his way through the bracken, silently greeting the trees, mostly firs, as he sauntered by. Birds sang sweetly around him and one or two squirrels gave him cheeky greetings before scampering off on business of their own. Sunlight filtered through the branches, giving everything a greenish-gold glow as ferns waved in the slight breeze. There was a sense of peace that was felt almost immediately and Glorfindel could feel himself relax in a way that was hard to describe. Yet, he recalled Tiutalion’s admonishment and maintained vigilance, his hand only inches from his sword just in case.

At some point he came upon a small clearing, no more than a slight opening of the dense undergrowth where there was a knoll on which a single pine stood. He sat beneath it, enjoying the play of light, shifting here and there through the branches, casting green shadows everywhere. The silence was almost absolute and Glorfindel could feel himself relaxing a bit more though he never relaxed so far as not to remain vigilant.

A rustle between the trees alerted him and he tensed somewhat, meaning to rise so as to better defend himself if need be but then he breathed a sigh of relief when a doe and her fawn stepped out into the sunlight. He went perfectly still, marveling at the sight of such innocence and beauty and felt a thrill run through him when both deer came to him, sniffing delicately at his outstretched hand. The fawn skipped around a bit in the pure pleasure of being alive and Glorfindel smothered a laugh, not wishing to destroy this perfect moment. The doe, more interested in eating than playing, nibbled on some leaves and then made her way back into the forest, her child gamboling beside her.

Even after they disappeared into the brush, Glorfindel sat there with a grin, staring after them. After a while though he sighed and decided he had had enough of the woods. He stood and made his way back the way he had come, checking for the signs he had automatically left to mark his trail so he would be able to find his way back to the cottage. He did not think he had been in the woods for too long so he was surprised to come out of them to find that it was already a couple of hours past noon. Entering the cottage, he found it empty, which saddened him. A plate of cold meats and cheese sat on the table waiting for him and once he washed up he sat and began to eat though his heart wasn’t in it. It would have been nice to have had Tiutalion waiting for him so he could share his day with the Maia. He could have called for him, he knew, but he didn’t, feeling suddenly shy and uncertain that the Maia would even want to hear about him seeing the deer. For some reason he couldn’t quite vocalize it just didn’t seem important or interesting any more.

After his lunch Glorfindel wondered what he should do next. The beach held no interest for him at the moment and he had no desire to return to the woods even though he had barely explored it. Neither did he have any desire to read. He found a harp by the sofa and started to tune it, but after practicing a few arpeggios he sighed and put the harp down, not really interested in playing. Instead, he settled himself more firmly on the sofa, his hands around his knees as he gazed out the window, mournfully wondering how he was going to survive the rest of the week with nothing to do.

By noon on the third day, Glorfindel was convinced he was going to go insane before the week was up. He was down on the beach, having decided to explore the coves and grottos along the shore. The tide was out so he spent some time wandering along the sandbars, picking up interesting shells or stones, then throwing them away. He realized he was just killing time until dinner when he would at least have a couple of hours of conversation with Lady Nienna.

Not that he was actually looking forward to dinner and conversation, but it broke up the monotony of his days. Lady Nienna had a disconcerting way about her and her questions seemed pointless, even random. She never asked about how he spent his time. Instead, she would ask him about his feelings concerning certain people or places, either in Beleriand or Aman. There never seemed to be any rhyme or reason to her enquiries. He answered as truthfully as he could, but often enough he found he had no real answers to the questions and that disturbed him. He would go to his bed thinking about those questions to which he could give no satisfactory answer, at least to his mind. Sometimes he would find an answer after some reflection, sometimes not. He wondered if that was what Lady Nienna wanted, for him to think.

Yet, thinking was hard work after awhile and he tired of his own company and the constant whirl of his thoughts. He sighed as he stood on the sandbar looking out towards the waters still some distance away. The tide would not turn for some time yet, but Glorfindel had no intention of remaining there that long. He turned to face the shore and made his way back, his mood darkening, not towards despair, but towards anger — anger at himself, anger at his situation, anger at... well at everything!

He plopped down on the dry sand, his arms around his knees. He thought of simply packing his things and leaving, but he had promised to stay the week and he still had three more days of misery to endure. He would not renege on his promise no matter how much he wanted to. He wasn’t going to give Them the satisfaction.

"Get into some mischief," he muttered out loud, scowling at nothing in particular. "She wants me to get into mischief. Why? What’s the point and what kind of mischief? Steal some tarts? Offer to do the gardening and pull up everything but the weeds? Set fire to the cottage? What!?" He lay down, staring up into the azure sky, idly watching the clouds go scudding by. "What do they all want from me?" he demanded in a louder voice, his frustration and anger rising.

Glorfindel turned his head to the left to see Tiutalion sitting serenely on a large piece of driftwood. He scowled some more. "Why are you here?"

Tiutalion raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me. I thought perhaps you wished to talk." He rose and started back towards the stairs.

The Maia nodded and resumed his seat. Glorfindel shifted his body around to face him, his arms around his knees once more. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude." He ran a hand through his golden hair and closed his eyes, sighing. "This was a bad idea," he said.

"In every way," Glorfindel replied heatedly, opening his eyes and glowering at the Maia. "I’m not sure what everyone was expecting but I certainly wasn’t expecting to be bored to the point of insanity."

"Oh, I don’t think you need worry about that," Tiutalion said with a smile. "Surely there were times in Gondolin when you were at leisure. I know that as the Lord of your House you had many responsibilities, but not all your days were tied up with duty, were they?"

"So what did you do when not attending to your King or to the duties of your House?" the Maia asked.

"Oh well," Glorfindel muttered, looking down, suddenly embarrassed. "It’s not important anymore."

Glorfindel nodded. "More than I thought I would." He gave the Maia a pensive look. "Do you know when he’ll be released from Mandos?"

The Maia shook his head. "About that I have no knowledge. He will be released when Lord Námo deems him ready and not before."

Tiutalion smiled. "No one, and I do mean no one, is permitted in Lord Námo’s demesne without his expressed permission. I would not be so foolish as to even try."

The ellon gave the Maia a considering look. Tiutalion smiled more broadly at the pensive expression on the elf’s face. "What you need, my friend, is a hobby."

"Excuse me?" Glorfindel responded in disbelief, not sure he had heard correctly.

"And so?" Glorfindel asked with a sneer. "Do you expect me to spend my days making flowers?"

"Perhaps an hour a day on a small project," Tiutalion suggested. "There’s a linen table runner that could use some... sprucing up. You might consider it a thank-you gift to Lady Nienna."

At the mention of the Valië’s name, Glorfindel scowled. "She told me to get into mischief," he muttered, his eyes full of confusion. "Why would she say that? It makes no sense."

For a moment Tiutalion did not answer. When he did, it was with a question of his own. "If you were to get into mischief, what sort of mischief would you get into?"

Glorfindel blinked a couple of times, the Maia’s question throwing him. "Well... it’s been my experience that getting into mischief is no fun on one’s own. One usually likes to get into mischief with at least one other person." He gave Tiutalion a wry grin. "Someone to share both the glory and the punishment that follows."

The Maia laughed loudly at that, reminded of past times when he and his brother in the Thought of Ilúvatar used to do precisely that and still did, much to the despair of both Lady Nienna and Lord Námo. "What you need is a partner-in-crime."

The Maia shook his head. "Nay. Or at least not in so many words. She asked me to, let us say, encourage you to simply be yourself and not be what you think others want you to be."

"Do you think that’s what I’ve been doing, trying to be what everyone else wants me to be?"

"What you think everyone else wants you to be," Tiutalion replied with a shake of his head. "There’s a difference."

"What others want you to be is ultimately immaterial," Tiutalion answered. "People generally either choose to be themselves or they try to be what they think others want them to be, whether that is actually true of others or not. Our perceptions color our choices in all things, and sometimes our perceptions are faulty. The safest road is to simply be yourself — the good and the bad — and let others worry about themselves. What they think of you is also immaterial so long as you remain true to yourself."

Glorfindel thought about it for several minutes, staring out to sea, idly noticing that the tide seemed to be turning, for the breakers appeared to be closer than before. He finally turned back to the Maia waiting patiently. "I am the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin, which no longer exists. I am a warrior, a balrog-slayer no less, and a Reborn. No one seems to care about what I used to be before my death and I’m not of much use to anyone now that I’ve been re-embodied... except possibly as target practice for the discontented." This last was said with a scowl.

Tiutalion gave him a sympathetic look. "You were quite young when you left Aman, so your self-image has centered around, not Laurefindil of Aman, but Glorfindel of Gondolin. Yet, as you pointed out, Gondolin is no more. However, to say that no one cares about you is not true. You have Ingwë and Arafinwë and Findaráto and a host of others, including the Valar and many of the Maiar, who wish you nothing but well and are your staunchest supporters. You have lost one life and those who gave you a sense of purpose and identity but you have a new life and there are those, including me I might add, who would gladly help you find your way to a new purpose and identity, if you will let them."

"So what do you suggest?" Glorfindel asked, somewhat at a loss as to how to respond to the Maia’s words.

For a moment, Glorfindel did not answer, staring pensively at the tide turning. Soon the sea would reclaim the cove once again. He turned his face to the Maia and for some reason he could feel tears forming. He shook his head, trying to stem the flow, but not succeeding. "I don’t know," he whispered, sniffling a bit. "I don’t know what my heart tells me. I... I don’t know what to...what to do." His weeping became more intense the harder he tried not to weep at all.

Tiutalion rose and took the ellon into his embrace and held him through his tears. "You don’t have to do anything, child," the Maia said softly. "Doing is not important right now; being is. Concentrate on just being yourself, nothing more."

Glorfindel’s sobs quieted somewhat. Tiutalion gave him a warm, sympathetic smile. "Come. Let’s go back to the cottage and I’ll fix you some lunch."

The elf nodded and allowed the Maia to lead him away from the beach, too forlorn to offer any resistance.

Lunch consisted of a rich vegetable broth and fresh-baked bread slathered with creamy butter and strawberry jam. This was followed by a peach cobbler and all of it washed down with a light yellow wine. Glorfindel felt immensely better for it. Afterwards, when the dishes were cleared, Tiutalion brought out the white bleached linen table runner he had mentioned earlier along with various spools of different colored ribbons of various widths, needles, scissors and embroidery thread, laying them out on the dining table. The runner was only about two feet in length and a foot wide.

"It’s not very large," the Maia pointed out, "so I think you could do something with it in the time you’ll be here. As you can see, I have all the materials you need."

Glorfindel sighed. "I’m only going to be here for another three days. That’s not much time." He gave the piece of linen a critical eye. It was indeed plain with only the tiniest bit of pulled thread embroidery beginning about two inches in from the edge, making a kind of border. "I suppose I could do some spider-web roses along this border interspersed with leaves connecting one rose to the other. Those are rather easy to do and go quickly."

Glorfindel nodded, reaching for a spool of white thread and a needle. He expertly threaded the needle and then, choosing one corner of the runner, pushed the needle up through the fabric, explaining as he did so. "You make five spokes of various lengths, always coming back up the center hole." He quickly made the spokes and then tied off the thread, exchanging the thread for a length of red silk ribbon. "You come up the center hole again with the ribbon and then you weave over and under the spokes like this." He did so and in a moment a rose started to form as he wove the ribbon around the spokes until they were mostly hidden. "See?" He pushed the runner at Tiutalion who examined the rose, giving the ellon a bright smile.

"Well, simple or not, I know Lady Nienna will appreciate it," the Maia said. "And you said you would do some leaves as well?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Yes, but I’ll wait and do them last after I’ve gotten all the flowers done."

Tiutalion nodded and remained silent for a while as Glorfindel went to another corner and there created a yellow rose. "I’ll do the four corners first and then do a center rose along each side," the ellon said even as he started making a third rose, this time blue. "Once I do that, I can place the other roses evenly around."

"I’ll make some tea while you’re doing that," Tiutalion suggested and Glorfindel nodded, not looking up, suddenly engrossed in the project. The Maia simply smiled knowingly and went about making some peppermint tea and placing a plate of ginger biscuits on the table. "So, what kinds of mischief were you thinking of getting into while you were here?" he asked as he puttered around the stove.

Glorfindel sighed, stopping his embroidering long enough to look up at the Maia. "I considered setting fire to the cottage," he replied. It was the most outrageous thing he could think of and he was curious to see the Maia’s reaction.

Tiutalion raised an eyebrow at that. "The cottage is made of stone," he pointed out, "or didn’t you notice."

Tiutalion laughed. "You realize of course that if you actually succeeded in burning this poor cottage down Lady Nienna will only make you rebuild it from the ground up." Glorfindel gave him a startled look and Tiutalion nodded. "Besides, it’s already been done," the Maia added.

"Yes. It was Arafinwë who nearly burned the place down before. Oh, not on purpose. It was purely an accident, a kitchen fire. However," and here the Maia gave him a wicked grin, "once the fire started our Arafinwë was in no hurry to put it out."

Glorfindel could only stare at the Maia in shock, his embroidery forgotten. "Th-the Noldóran?" was all he could think to say, trying desperately to envision Findaráto’s atar as an arsonist.

Tiutalion nodded. "Well, he wasn’t exactly the Noldóran at the time. He was still apprenticed to Lord Manwë and had been sent here when he... um... well, that’s unimportant at the moment. Suffice to say that he spent several weeks repairing the damage. He’s almost as useless with a hammer and nails as you are." The Maia gave Glorfindel a wide grin and the ellon found himself blushing.

"See this woodwork here?" The Maia pointed towards the kitchen area. The walls were painted white with a turquoise trim along the top and a wainscot made from a pale yellow wood. "This is all his work. The damage was contained to this part of the cottage."

Glorfindel gave the kitchen another look, trying to imagine Arafinwë with a hammer or a brush in his hand and finding it difficult. He gave the Maia a considering look. "Well, maybe I won’t burn the cottage down then."

"Good idea. I know Lady Nienna would appreciate it. She’s rather fond of the place herself."

"You’re serious about getting into mischief, aren’t you?" Glorfindel asked, suddenly becoming suspicious about the Maia’s motives.

"Only if you want to, child," Tiutalion answered. "No one is forcing you to do anything here, are they?" Glorfindel shook his head and the Maia nodded. "Well, there you go. If you want to get into some sort of mischief, I’ll help, but if you don’t want to, that’s all right as well."

Glorfindel sighed, not sure what the Maia was talking about. He nibbled on a biscuit and drank some of the tea before returning his attention to the table runner. He’d already decided he wanted to at least get the corner roses and the center roses done that day.

The next day dawned fair and Glorfindel spent a little time after breakfast working on the table runner. He figured he could actually finish it by the next day and was rather pleased in spite of himself at the way it was coming along.

After he had done as much as he wished to do on the runner he put everything away and went outside, wondering if he should wander through the woods or take a walk along the headlands or go down to the beach. In the end he did none of those things. Instead, he wandered over to the main house. Once he moved to the cottage he had not been inside the main house except in the evenings for dinner. He was curious to see what the place was like during the day.

Approaching the house he noticed what looked like paint tubs stacked along the north wall. Curiosity drew him, for he could not imagine what they were doing there. The house was made of stone after all, and much of the interior was fine woodwork without any need of paint. He walked over and saw that there were several different colors of paint, including, oddly enough, turquoise. He was reminded of the turquoise trim in the cottage.

Then a glimmer of an idea came to him and he felt a frisson of delight mingled with — yes, he had to admit it — fear as he glanced around to see if anyone was there. He noticed that there were brushes placed neatly in a wicker basket next to the tubs. Holding his breath and expecting at any moment to have one of the Maiar show up and stop him, he reached down and grabbed one of the brushes and then took hold of the tub of turquoise paint. Glancing around one more time, even going so far as to peek around the corner to see if anyone was hanging about the front entrance, he quickly made his way back to the cottage, nearly running, hoping against hope that he would not be caught.

He did not look back so he did not see Tiutalion standing at the doorway watching him with a smile on his face. The Maia sauntered around to where the paint supplies were and casually took one of the brushes before making his way towards the cottage.

Glorfindel stood staring at the cottage with the tub of paint in one hand and the brush in the other, suddenly feeling hesitant. He wondered just what madness had taken him. Paint the cottage turquoise? He didn’t have enough paint to do even the stonework around the front door, much less the entire edifice. And painting the fine oak door with its lovely carvings of plants and animals intertwined did not seem mischievous enough.

"Maybe I should just paint ‘Glorfindel was here’ across the stonework," he muttered out loud.

Glorfindel gasped as he turned to see Tiutalion coming towards him, the Maia smiling. He belatedly remembered the paint and brush in his hands and in a futile gesture hid them behind his back. Tiutalion gave him a smirk.

"Um... Tiutalion... what are you doing here?" Glorfindel asked in as nonchalant a voice as possible and mentally cringed at the fatuousness of his question.

For an answer the Maia held up the brush in his hand. "I thought I would come and help with whatever you have in mind for that tub of paint you’re hiding behind your back."

"I was thinking of painting the cottage turquoise, but I don’t have enough paint for it," Glorfindel admitted with a sigh as he brought the tub and brush out from behind his back.

Tiutalion gave a convincing shudder. "Paint the entire cottage turquoise? As lovely a color as turquoise is, my friend, an entire house of that color would give even me nightmares."

Glorfindel grinned. "Well, do you have any ideas? I don’t think Lady Nienna would actually mind if the door and the shutters were painted though it would be a shame to deface such lovely wood. Painting them, however, just doesn’t seem to be mischievous enough."

"Then paint something that doesn’t need paint and in the natural course of things would never need paint," the Maia said.

Glorfindel stared about him, wondering what could possibly not need paint. Then he noticed the stone lintel above the door. It was a single slab of smooth granite that extended beyond the width of the door. It was also a lighter shade of grey than the rest of the cottage. The smoothness of the stone drew him and he thought it was a shame it was so plain to look at.

"Does this cottage have a name?" he asked Tiutalion suddenly, not even looking at the Maia.

The Maia gave him a measuring look and shrugged. "It’s just known as ‘The Cottage’, since there’s only the one."

Glorfindel nodded, still looking at the lintel and making swift calculations of the amount of space available to him. "Well, I think it should have a name painted on the lintel for all to see, but I’m going to need a smaller brush and a ladder."

Tiutalion was tempted to ask just what name the elf was proposing but stopped himself in time. He had noticed the gleam of pure unalloyed wickedness in the ellon’s eyes and decided to let the Child have his fun. Whether Lady Nienna found it amusing would be interesting to see. "I’ll go get one," was all he said and faded from view.

Several minutes later, the Maia returned with a number of different sized brushes and a step-ladder. Glorfindel looked over the brushes and picked out a couple of different ones. "Would you mind seeing if there is any yellow paint as well?" he asked casually even as he was setting up the ladder. Tiutalion raised an eyebrow, now properly intrigued.

Glorfindel cast him a bright smile. "Just keep everyone away from here until I’m done."

Tiutalion nodded and gave the ellon his own smile. "That’s easy enough to do. I’ll be back momentarily with the yellow paint." Again, he faded from view even as Glorfindel began to dip one of his brushes into the turquoise paint.

Nienna viewed Glorfindel’s handiwork some hours later. The ellon had been sent away with a picnic lunch to the woods by Tiutalion after he had completed his paint job, with the Maia telling Glorfindel that he had earned it.

"You won’t go and paint over it?" Glorfindel asked, somewhat suspicious of the Maia’s motives.

"On my honor, I will not, nor will I allow anyone else to do so," Tiutalion answered and Glorfindel had to be content with that.

Now, with the ellon safely away, he called to Lady Nienna and the rest of the household to come see what Glorfindel had done with a couple tubs of paint. Nienna was reading the sign over the lintel, her expression unreadable to her Maiar, though several of them were hard put not to laugh out loud.

The Maia nodded. "All I did was supply him with paint and brushes and the ladder. He did the rest."

"‘Band Glorfindel: Boe le garo dâf amminnad’," Nienna read the fine Beleriandic script aloud.

"In more ways than one, I think," Nienna responded wryly. "Well, it’s a start. Keep at him, Tiutalion. We only have two more days."

"I gave him my word he would be free to leave at the end of the week," Nienna said with a shake of her head.

"Maybe we can give him one," Marilliën said, her expression wickedly gleeful and several Maiar nodded enthusiastically.

Nienna gave her People a measuring look and then nodded. "You may try, but he is not to be bullied or bribed into staying longer. You have two days, my children. Use the time wisely and well." With that the Valië left them and the Maiar huddled around Tiutalion and Marilliën, offering suggestions as to how to convince this most stubborn of ellyn to stay longer.

Oblivious to it all, the ellon in question sat deep in the woods, happily sharing his picnic with a family of raccoons.

Band Glorfindel: Boe le garo dâf amminnad: (Sindarin) ‘Glorfindel’s Prison: You need permission to enter’; literally, ‘It is necessary for you to have permission in order to enter.’ The construction amminnad is what is called the ‘infinitive-as-gerund-in-dative’ with the meaning of "for the purpose of/in order to...", thus ‘for the purpose of entering/in order to enter’.

"So what’s your next plan of action?" Tiutalion asked Glorfindel when the ellon returned from his picnic.

"Hmm?" Glorfindel muttered, as he concentrated on making a leaf, for he had decided to spend some more time on the ribbon embroidery project before dinner with Lady Nienna.

"What additional mischief do you plan to get into before you leave?" the Maia clarified.

Glorfindel looked up from his work with a frown on his face. "I hadn’t really thought about it, to tell you the truth. Isn’t what I did with the lintel mischief enough?"

The Maia’s expression became unreadable to the elf. "I’m afraid you’ll have to wait and find out when you go to dinner."

The ellon scowled as he reached for another strip of dark green ribbon for the next leaf. "I still don’t understand this desire on everyone’s part for me to get into mischief. Next thing you’ll be telling me is that you all want me to stay longer."

When Tiutalion did not answer, Glorfindel looked up, suspicion written all over his face. "That’s what you want, isn’t it? For me to stay here longer than a week."

"I think Lady Nienna would like you to," the Maia said, choosing his words carefully. "A week is hardly enough time in which to relax and I don’t think you’ve had as much time to think about things as you would like, have you?" He gave Glorfindel a shrewd look and the ellon just shrugged.

"Perhaps not," he admitted somewhat reluctantly. "But to tell you the truth, I find thinking to be hard work. I’d rather be doing something instead."

"Well, I fear that if you leave now things will start to unravel again," Tiutalion said with a degree of trepidation, hoping he wasn’t pushing things too far, but wanting Glorfindel to see the benefits of remaining where he was for a time. "Once you are with Findaráto or even back in Tirion, things will become... hectic again and if you have not centered yourself before then...."

Glorfindel sighed. "I know what you mean. Ever since Finrod and I came back from... well, from wherever we were... I’ve been feeling... fractured, as if some vital part of me was left behind or something. At least I haven’t... what is it Lord Námo calls it?... oh, yes, ‘slipped my leash’." He grimaced at that, feeling somewhat insulted by the image the phrase evoked in him.

"And if you return too soon to a more hectic schedule, that just might happen again," Tiutalion stated baldly, deciding not to pull any punches about it. What Glorfindel experienced when his fëa left his hröa was too dangerous and if he didn’t learn to control it, it could spell doom for the youngster. Tiutalion loved the ellon too much to wish that on him.

"Perhaps," Glorfindel said, his tone noncommittal, and went back to his embroidery.

Tiutalion resisted a sigh and after a few minutes excused himself, saying he had other duties to attend to but he would return to escort Glorfindel to dinner at the proper time. Glorfindel didn’t even look up as the Maia faded from view.

"This is going to be harder than I thought," Tiutalion said to his fellow Maiar. Several of them were gathered together on the beach below the main house, though those who were attending to duties elsewhere were listening in on the conversation.

"He’s one stubborn ellon, that’s for sure," Nyéreser said with a chuckle. The Maia was taking a break from dealing with Lisselindë, who had been assigned to the most menial of tasks in Lady Nienna’s household. Nasarindil, his partner in overseeing Lisselindë’s rehabilitation, was presently with her. So far, the disgraced Maia seemed to be adjusting to her new status well enough, but there was a core of sorrow and even self-hatred that they had yet to breach. Nyéreser and Nasarindil both feared that Lisselindë’s resentment over what had happened would fester and they were striving to heal her as much as possible. For the moment, though, Nyéreser was concentrating on helping his fellow Maiar with Glorfindel who, truth to tell, intrigued the Maia very much.

"Has he mentioned any plans for further mischief?" Marilliën asked. "It seems that Aldundil and Vorondil were getting into some kind of mischief nearly every day. I rather miss that."

The others all nodded. Watching the two ellyn, father and son, come up with one insane idea after another had kept them all laughing and looking forward with great anticipation to the next misadventure. With them gone and only Glorfindel around, life had gotten just a little too dull for their tastes.

"Maybe we should take the initiative and lure Glorfindel into some hare-brained escapade," suggested Aiwendilmë.

"Remember, though," Pallando, who was Nienna’s Chief Maia, warned, "we are not to bully him or trick him into staying. He has to come to that decision on his own."

Tiutalion gave the Chief Maia a strange look. "Lady Nienna said we could neither bully nor bribe him into staying. She said nothing about tricking him."

"Yet, do you not see that it comes to the same thing?" Pallando said. "If he ever discovers that he was tricked into remaining, his sense of trust will be destroyed even more and that is not what we want, is it?"

Tiutalion and the other Maiar all sighed in agreement. *Do not forget,* they all ‘heard’ Nasarindil say from within the house, *that is what Lisselindë did and look where it’s gotten her.*

That thought sobered them all and they remained quiet for some time, trying to think of alternatives. It was actually Lisselindë, listening in on the discussion, who offered them a workable suggestion. Speaking only to Nasarindil, she hesitantly offered her own observation. "I... watched Glorfindel while he was in Lórien. Above all, he needs to feel needed. If... if he thinks that someone here needs him, perhaps...."

Nasarindil relayed Lisselindë’s words to Nyéreser. *Is she offering herself for the role?* he asked.

"Who do you suggest needs Glorfindel, Lisselindë?" Nasarindil enquired of the Maia.

For a moment Lisselindë did not answer, keeping her head down. Finally, not looking up, she said, "I... thought I understood them. I... thought I knew everything I needed to know about them, but... but I was wrong."

Nasarindil had no trouble realizing that ‘them’ referred to the Firstborn. "Go on," she said encouragingly when the other Maia stopped.

Lisselindë sighed and then looked at her... guardian, as Lady Nienna had put it. "I need help, Nasarindil. I need to understand. Glorfindel could... could help." This last was said in a tight whisper and Nasarindil put her arms around the Maia and hugged her gently.

The two Maiar looked up to see Lady Nienna standing before them. The Valië was smiling warmly at them both.

"I am glad that you are able to see your need, child," she said to Lisselindë, "and to see Glorfindel’s need as well. I think it just might work."

"But we don’t want it to be too obvious, do we?" Nasarindil asked. "I mean, I don’t think Glorfindel will go along with it if we just ask. I think he needs to be... shown that he is needed rather than told."

"Nasarindil is correct, lady," Tiutalion said as he appeared along with the other Maiar of the household who had been on the beach. "If Glorfindel is to come to this decision on his own, he has to... to see that he is needed."

Nienna nodded, then looked searchingly at the newest member of her household. Lisselindë tried not to squirm and kept her gaze on the floor. Nienna reached over and lifted her chin so she was forced to look the Valië in the eye. "Are you sure of this, child? Do you truly recognize this need within you?"

"Then, I will leave it to you and your brethren to come up with a suitable plan of action. Let our impossible ellon see that he has nothing on impossible Maiar." She gave Lisselindë a wink and for the first time since the disaster that had destroyed her life, the Maia smiled.

Glorfindel stood nervously beside his seat at the dining table, waiting for his hostess to arrive, wondering if Lady Nienna would comment on his artwork or not. He sincerely hoped she would, even if she merely told him to paint over it. It would mean, to his mind, that she actually cared about him. Her incessant and somewhat inane questions were wearing him down and he wanted to have a different topic of conversation for dinner.

Lady Nienna entered and he gave her his obeisance. "Please be seated, Glorfindel," she said as she took her own seat. Behind her, as usual, came Tiutalion, who had been acting as server for their meals. Surprisingly, though, he was followed by Lisselindë.

The ellon raised an eyebrow at the sight of the disgraced Maia, who kept her eyes demurely down as she served the bread and honey butter while Tiutalion handled the cream of asparagus soup that was their first course.

"That’s ‘Fine, Lord Glorfindel’," Nienna said somewhat sharply, though only Glorfindel was unaware that it was all an act.

Lisselindë flinched convincingly and Glorfindel felt suddenly sorry for her. He put a hand on her arm and smiled warmly. "Don’t pay Lady Nienna any mind, dear. ‘Glorfindel’ is good enough for me. No need for me to put on airs before those who have existed since before Arda."

"I know my place... my lord," Lisselindë snapped, stepping out of Glorfindel’s reach, her eyes dark with anger and inner pain.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "You may be the lowest of the low as far as the Valar are concerned, Lisselindë, but you are still a Maia, and I never thought to see one of your kind sniveling like a five-year-old elfling denied his favorite sweet."

"You do not know of what you speak, child!" Lisselindë snarled and neither Nienna nor Tiutalion was sure how much of her act truly was an act.

"Oh, don’t I?" Glorfindel sneered back. "I’m a Reborn, despised by half the population of Aman and apparently the bane of the Valar’s existence. Everything I knew and loved has been destroyed and I’m left picking up the pieces, but you don’t see me hiding in a corner, do you?"

Lisselindë smiled and it was not a pleasant one. "No. You just go around painting inane words on door lintels. ‘Band Glorfindel’. How pathetic can you get? You have no idea what a prison truly is like."

Now Glorfindel was incensed. He leaped up, his expression darkening and turning dangerous. Nienna silently called on Manwë for the loan of several of his warrior Maiar who came unclad in an instant. "A lot you know," he fairly screamed. "I had the pleasure of spending a month in one of Turgon’s little cells after one of my pranks went very wrong. Believe me, I know all about prisons."

"Hah! A prank, was it? Why am I not surprised," Lisselindë rejoined with a disgusted look.

"Well, speaking of pranks," Glorfindel said, his voice dropping to a lower register that truly spelled doom for the Maia before him. "What were you thinking when you pulled that prank on Findaráto, using an innocent child for your nefarious deed no less, manipulating her and probably scarring her for life, twisting her fëa the way you did? Why, you’re no better than Melkor and you dared to do this to one of the best of us?"

The mention of Lindorillë set the Maia suddenly crying, crumpling to the floor in abject sorrow, and they could all tell it was no act. Tiutalion started to go to her but a silent command from Nienna stilled him and all the Maiar throughout the house paused to see what would happen next. Glorfindel stood there watching the Maia weeping inconsolably with an expression that was at first cold and unforgiving, but slowly began to transmute into one of compassion. He knelt beside her.

"I’m sorry," he said gently. "I did not mean to compare you to Melkor. That was unforgivable of me."

Lisselindë just continued weeping and Glorfindel sighed, looking up helplessly at Nienna. The Valië watched the tableau with a cool look. "Well, it seems you both have something in common," was her only comment and when Glorfindel gave her an enquiring look she continued, smiling thinly. "Pranks gone wrong."

Glorfindel grimaced at that, remembering all too well the prank that went so terribly wrong. Even Ecthelion had warned him against it. Well, he had paid dearly for that particular instance of stupidity on his part and it seemed the Maia before him was paying for her own brand of stupidity. He sighed. "You don’t know us very well, do you?"

Lisselindë looked up, a puzzled expression on her face. Glorfindel just nodded. "The Firstborn, I mean. For all that you’ve known of us since the beginning of our days, you really don’t know us. I don’t think even the Valar really know us."

"In that you would be correct, child," Nienna said with a slight smile, "and the Maiar, or rather, most Maiar, know even less. You are an endless source of wonderment to us, but sometimes our very ignorance causes unforeseen tragedy. You yourself are a victim of one such miscalculation." She nodded when Glorfindel raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "We never saw the Rebellion coming."

Glorfindel winced at that. Then Lisselindë, feeling the time was right, set the trap. She reached out a tentative hand and placed it on Glorfindel’s arm to get his attention. "Wo-would you teach me, lord?" she asked in all humility.

"Teach me about the Firstborn," she answered. "Teach me where I went wrong with... with Lord Findaráto."

"Begin by just being yourself, Glorfindel," she said. "Let Lisselindë observe you and question you whenever she is confused by something which makes sense only to one of you Eldar."

"If you agree to be Lisselindë’s tutor in this, though," the Valië added, "it would mean having to stay here a bit longer; Lisselindë cannot leave my demesne at this time."

For a moment Glorfindel said nothing and all there waited for his response. "How long...?" he finally asked with a sigh.

Nienna smiled and the invisible Maiar practically cheered. "Not long. Let us say for two more weeks. I don’t expect Lisselindë to learn everything about the Firstborn that she needs to know in that amount of time, but it will be a fair start. Afterwards, you may depart."

"It’s not all that long when you stop and think about it, child," Nienna said sympathetically.

Glorfindel nodded. "Two more weeks then," he said, but he didn’t look very happy about it.

Nienna just nodded, silently dismissing the warrior Maiar with her thanks. They all bowed reverently to her and departed, eager to relay the news of Glorfindel’s agreement to remain at Lady Nienna’s longer. "Well, the soup’s gone cold," she said aloud, "but I suppose...."

"I’m not really hungry," Glorfindel interrupted. "I think I would just like to return to... to my prison." He cast a wry grin at Lisselindë and the Maia had the grace to blush and would not meet his gaze.

Nienna nodded. "Very well, dear. We’ll see you tomorrow then. I’ll send Lisselindë to you in the afternoon. She has other duties she must perform in the morning."

"I’m still not sure what I’m suppose to do with her, though," Glorfindel protested, though only half-heartedly, wondering if he’d been stupid to agree to this.

"Just be yourself, Glorfindel," the Valië advised. "All else will flow from that."

The ellon nodded and gave her his obeisance. As usual, Tiutalion escorted him out of the room. When they were sure that Glorfindel was safely on his way back to the cottage, Nienna turned to Lisselindë with a smile. "That was splendid, dear."

But instead of returning her mistress’s smile she started to weep again. Nienna took her in her embrace and held her. "It... it was s-so hard...." she stuttered.

"I know, child," Nienna whispered, "and I thank you for that. There is hope for you yet, my dear, and I think you and Glorfindel will be good for one another, though not for the same reasons. Now, dry those tears. You are dismissed for the rest of the night and tomorrow you may spend the morning as you please. You need not go to Glorfindel until after luncheon."

"Your only duty tomorrow is to enjoy yourself. You may go where you please, as long as either Nasarindil or Nyéreser is with you. Just return an hour past noon."

"You’re quite welcome, my dear," Nienna replied. She then dismissed all the Maiar from her presence and sat, deep in thought. She was unsurprised to see Námo, Irmo and Manwë appear, each taking a seat.

"Do you think it will work?" Irmo asked, looking doubtful. He had more experience in dealing with the Reborn than the others, even Námo, who dealt primarily with the dead.

"He has promised us another two weeks," Nienna answered somewhat sharply. "That’s two weeks more than we originally hoped for. It matters not if he does help Lisselindë; it only matters that we have the opportunity to help him without interference from his friends."

"I sincerely hope that he is able to offer Lisselindë some guidance, though," Manwë said mildly. Nienna had the grace to blush and nodded in acquiescence. "She is no less our concern than Glorfindel."

"I know," Manwë said, "but let us not confuse motives here. Both those children are in need of our attention."

"Glorfindel will be good for Lisselindë," Námo stated with a straight face. "Just think of all the mischief the two of them can get themselves into, especially with Tiutalion there to goad them on."

Nienna just stared at her younger brother in disbelief and then rolled her eyes. "Atar help us!" she muttered while Irmo and Manwë laughed and Námo smirked.

The next morning, Glorfindel wondered at the wisdom of his promise to remain for another two weeks. He was not feeling sanguine about it at all and was at a loss as to what he should do with Lisselindë.

"Don’t do anything with her," Tiutalion suggested when Glorfindel broached the subject while Tiutalion was busy restocking the kitchen now that Glorfindel would be with them longer. "Let her observe you in your everyday activities or better yet, let her join you. She’s bound to have questions concerning the Eldar in general and perhaps Findaráto in particular."

Tiutalion stopped what he was doing to give Glorfindel a measuring look. "The truth, child. Nothing more."

"She’s not going to be... well... around me all the time, is she?" the ellon grumbled.

The Maia gave him a knowing smile. "Only for a few hours in the afternoon," he explained. "She does have other duties. There may be times when Lady Nienna will ask you to change your schedule to accommodate this."

Glorfindel gave the Maia a sour look. "Schedule? What schedule? Do you see a schedule lying about? Where do you think we are, in the High King’s court?"

Tiutalion laughed. "I only meant that if you have a specific plan to do something Lady Nienna might ask you to wait until Lisselindë can join you."

"Oh. Sorry." Glorfindel sighed, running his hand through his golden locks, not liking the situation at all. "If I’d known I was going to be here this long I would have brought more bags."

"No, Glorfindel. If there is something you want, something you left behind in Vanyamar or Tirion, please let me know. It will be easy enough to retrieve it. Regardless of the sign you painted over the door, this is not a prison and you are not our prisoner. You’re our guest and we want you to feel comfortable for as long as you are here."

Glorfindel gazed at the Maia intently, as if gauging the sincerity of his words. Finally he nodded. "Well, if I made a list...."

Tiutalion smiled. "Just don’t make it too long. I’m only one Maia, you know."

When Lisselindë appeared later that afternoon she was greeted by the sight of Glorfindel happily practicing his archery. He was using an altaquinga that had been made for him by Aldarion and his other friends in Vanyamar. The ellon was shooting at a target set up on the beach. The Maia stood to one side out of the ellon’s line of sight and quietly observed him. Over time, Glorfindel had improved his accuracy with the bow and his arrows landed in the center of the target more often than not. He was still not a match for Aldarion or Mithlas and was certainly nowhere near the level of competence that Beleg displayed, but it was obvious to the Maia that he would be able to hold his own if the situation warranted it. She suspected, though, that Glorfindel would always be the better swordsman.

Glorfindel did not notice Lisselindë until he had spent his arrows and was heading towards the target to retrieve them. He gave the Maia an embarrassed look. "How long have you been here?" he asked.

Lisselindë shrugged. "Just long enough to admire your form," she said, her expression making her statement ambiguous as to her meaning.

Glorfindel gave her a knowing grin as he continued to the target and retrieved the arrows.

The ellon pulled the last arrow out of the target and turned to give the Maia a shrug. "I don’t think the Valar will let me practice my swordfighting after what happened between Finrod and me, but I can’t get into too much trouble doing archery, can I?"

Lisselindë’s expression was one of faint amusement. "I think the Valar would not want you to practice your swordfighting with Findaráto, but I don’t think they would mind you sparring against a... lesser opponent."

Glorfindel scowled. "Perhaps not, but if I fight only those of lesser ability then I will never improve. Finrod is just about the only ellon who is my equal if not my better in the art of swordfighting."

"What about some of the warrior Maiar?" Lisselindë suggested. "I’m sure Lord Manwë would not object to you fighting them. They certainly have had enough experience in warfare from the very beginning of our coming into Eä."

The Maia did not answer immediately and Glorfindel thought perhaps he had somehow offended her and was ready to offer an apology when she nodded. "When I had to," she answered softly. "We all fought, though our weapons were not those used by you Children. We rarely fought as Incarnates. As one of the People of Lord Irmo and Lady Estë, I was often charged with tending the wounded."

Lisselindë gave him a somewhat superior smile. "There are always wounded in any war, child, even those fought by the Valar and Maiar."

Glorfindel stood for a moment, trying to assimilate this new knowledge. He could not imagine any of the Ainur suffering wounds such as were common among the Incarnates. Then he shook his head as if to clear it of disturbing thoughts and made his way back to his starting point. "Care to join me?" he asked.

Lisselindë gave him a disbelieving look. "Why would I want to do that? I have no need for such a weapon."

Glorfindel shrugged. "Just thought I would ask. It’s always fun to have companions against whom you can test your mettle."

"Perhaps another time," the Maia said diffidently, not sure what to make of the ellon.

Glorfindel nodded as he chose an arrow and set to shoot. Then, he lowered his bow and put the arrow back in its quiver, suddenly no longer interested in resuming the archery. Lisselindë gave him a puzzled look.

He turned to her, his expression blank. "I don’t think this is going to work."

"What won’t work?" she asked, suddenly afraid that all their plans were going to unravel. She sent a silent plea to Lady Nienna who responded by sending her a wave of encouragement and support. The love and concern that the Maia felt from her new mistress was nearly overwhelming and she was hard-pressed not to gasp out loud.

Glorfindel, oblivious to what was happening, just shrugged. "My staying here. I don’t think I can help you. I’m not the right person...."

"Of course you are," Lisselindë said quickly, hoping to divert the ellon’s thoughts. "You are an Elda, are you not? I have a need to better understand the Eldar. You are close to Findaráto, are you not? You can give me insights about him that have escaped me. Perhaps then I can figure out where I misjudged."

"Perhaps the Valar should have had you become Finrod’s thrall for a time," Glorfindel said in all seriousness. "I’m sure my otorno could have taught you much about himself and the Firstborn."

"Me, a thrall?" the Maia responded, shocked to the core of her being at the thought of being anyone’s thrall, especially one of the Children. It was too ludicrous and she felt insulted that this... this ellon would even suggest it. "I am a Maia, one who sang before the throne of Ilúvatar before ever Eä was brought into existence." Her voice rose in continuing anger. "You dare to suggest that I be the thrall of one of the... the mirroanwi, someone who is a mere child in my eyes...."

Glorfindel stared in fascinated horror as Lisselindë began to glow with a reddish light and seemingly grow larger. He was not actually afraid but he was somewhat concerned about what he should do to calm the clearly incensed Maia. Lisselindë continued to rant, her rage overtaking her and Glorfindel actually took a step or two back, wishing he had his sword. He didn’t think arrows would offer him much in the way of defense if the Maia suddenly took it into her head to attack him.

He was wondering if he should call for help but was saved the trouble when suddenly there were many bright lights which coalesced into several Maiar. Three of them were warrior Maiar whom Glorfindel recognized. Manveru, Erunáro and Fionwë appeared before him facing Lisselindë and the ellon realized they were there to protect him!

Two other Maiar, only one of whom Glorfindel recognized, also appeared, flanking Lisselindë. Nyéreser and Nasarindil grabbed Lisselindë’s arms, preventing her from moving. Their arrival was enough to still Lisselindë’s tantrum and an unnerving silence ensued. After a few tense moments Nyéreser spoke, giving Lisselindë a stern look.

"NO!" Glorfindel shouted, pushing his way past the warrior Maiar, now angry on his own behalf. "Everyone remain where you are," he enjoined them in a commanding voice and was somewhat surprised that they obeyed. He would not know that his order was reinforced by one from Nienna, who watched with interest what was happening while she sat in one of her workshops, weaving.

The ellon then called for Tiutalion, who appeared immediately. Glorfindel handed him his bow and the quiver of arrows. "Get rid of these," he said, indicating the target as well, "and bring me my sword and fighting gear."

Tiutalion did not comment on Glorfindel’s imperious manner but did what he was bid with alacrity and in no time he was helping Glorfindel into his hauberk and vambraces, while everyone else stood by and watched with great curiosity. When the ellon was fully armed, he took a few minutes to go through a series of warm-up exercises. Then he sheathed his sword, the same one Olwë had given him, before turning to Lisselindë, his expression grim.

"I’ve changed my mind," he said, speaking in a dangerously low voice. "I’m going to stay for the two weeks and show you what we Eldar are all about. Here’s your first lesson." Without warning he whipped out his sword and swung it in a wide arc. Lisselindë and the two Maiar flanking her flinched automatically, but the disgraced Maia was not Glorfindel’s target. With a yell of defiance he suddenly turned and was on the three warrior Maiar who only just brought their own swords out in time.

Glorfindel laughed at the surprised looks he got from Fionwë and Erunáro. Manveru merely grinned, and he was the first to engage the ellon while the other two Maiar stood to the side and watched. The two fought hard, each taking the measure of the other, but it became clear to everyone watching that Glorfindel was not about to play by the rules of the tourney. Even as he parried a thrust by Manveru he kicked out with his left foot into Fionwë’s midriff, then did an almost impossible spin on his other foot and swept the blade at knee-level, forcing Erunáro to jump in order to avoid being taken down. In the three seconds it took him to execute these moves he was already facing Manveru once again, and his expression was absolutely void of any emotion.

The three warrior Maiar got the message and attacked as one. Glorfindel never blinked. He parried and thrust, dipping low and then jumping high. The four of them battled up and down the beach, and it was clear that Glorfindel would never yield the field and neither would they. The uneven ground and the sand did not seem to bother the ellon, for he was as nimble as if he were fighting in the salle.

At one point the Maiar managed to drive him into the waves, but even that did not slow the ellon down. Instead, he attacked Fionwë, who was on his left, by taking a flying leap and landing on the Maia’s chest with both feet, sending Fionwë crashing into the surf, his sword flying. Without pausing, Glorfindel tucked his body and rolled as he landed just before Erunáro and lashed out with his legs once again, tripping the Maia. Then he was up and facing Manveru once again and the clash of their weapons could be heard for miles around. For several more minutes the two fought and then Glorfindel feinted to his left before spinning to his right and continuing in a circle, bringing the flat of his sword against the Maia’s right arm, forcing Manveru to drop his weapon. Glorfindel held the point of his sword at Manveru’s throat, both of them dripping with seawater. For the longest time the only sound on the beach was the shu-shursh of the surf breaking on the shore and Glorfindel’s breathing.

"You’re dead," he said calmly as he shook his dripping locks out of his eyes and for the first time since he began the fight, there was a faint light of emotion in his eyes and a small smile crept across his face. Then he sheathed his sword and turned to face a thoroughly shocked Lisselindë, his expression going cold once again. "We fought against your fallen brethren," he said, moving slowly towards her, "against balrogs and werewolves, against Morgoth himself and Sauron. We fought and died while you all sat behind your precious mountains wringing your hands and bewailing the loss of the Trees and did nothing!" By now he was almost screaming. "So, yes, you could do much worse than to be a thrall to Finrod for a year or three, child!" The absolute scorn in his voice left no doubt that he meant the word as an insult.

Then he glanced around, suddenly noticing that the headland was lined with Nienna’s Maiar who had come to watch the spectacle. He grimaced. "Lesson’s over!" he shouted, "You’re dismissed... all of you." Without another word he strode up the path leading to the cottage. A few moments later they heard the sound of the front door slamming.

The silence continued for some time before Pallando, standing on the highest point of the bluff, gave them a wry grin. "You heard him. Lesson’s over. Back to your duties. Nyéreser, Nasarindil, Lord Námo is expecting Lisselindë. He apparently has a few words of wisdom he wishes to impart to our sister. He’s waiting for you in Valmar."

Lisselindë actually moaned as the other two Maiar wrapped their minds around hers and thought themselves away. Pallando, meanwhile, was addressing the three warrior Maiar.

"My regards to the Elder King with my lady’s thanks." He gave them a brief bow which the three returned.

Manveru then gave him a wide grin. "Tell our sword-brother that we enjoyed the workout. If he ever wants to play again, all he has to do is holler."

Pallando gave his fellow Maia a jaundiced look. "I doubt me that Glorfindel was playing."

"But we were," rejoined Erunáro with a laugh, which was echoed by the other two warriors as they faded from view. Pallando just shook his head in bemusement and then spied Tiutalion standing alone on the beach, his expression one of deep thought.

"Keep an eye on him, will you?" Pallando asked him. "Our mistress will not insist he join her for dinner tonight. He may feel the need to speak to you later."

"Or not," Tiutalion replied with equanimity. "I will stay with him even if he doesn’t know I’m there."

"Good enough," Pallando said, nodding in satisfaction. Then, he gave his brother Maia a wry grin. "Rather interesting lesson, wouldn’t you agree? I hope we don’t have too many more such lessons in the future. This one was more exciting than I like."

"From your lips to Atar’s ears, my friend," Tiutalion admonished him with a laugh. Pallando laughed also as he faded from view. Tiutalion made his way towards the cottage and soon the beach was empty as the sun began to set in fiery glory.

Altaquinga: Great Bow, the war bow of the Eldar. It’s Sindarin equivalent would be daerpheng.

Glorfindel slammed the door behind him, still fuming. He unstrapped the sword belt and reverently laid the sheathed sword on the dining table. Then he practically tore off his vambraces and threw them in a corner. He was struggling with his hauberk when Tiutalion came in.

"Here, Glorfindel, let me help you with that," the Maia said as he reached to offer the ellon a hand.

Tiutalion took him by the shoulders and held his gaze. "Peace, child. I am not the enemy," he said softly and Glorfindel gave him a chastened look.

"The Elder King," was Glorfindel’s surprising reply. "He sent three... three!... warrior Maiar to protect me." His voice started to rise again in anger. "I don’t need protection! The one they should have been protecting was Lisselindë because I was this close" — here he put the thumb and index finger of his right hand less than an inch apart from one another — "to strangling her."

Tiutalion raised an eyebrow at that revelation, but he forbore to speak. Glorfindel was too upset to listen to anything he might say. The ellon was still ranting. "Three! I can’t believe he sent three of them. It’s not as if I were an elfling or an elleth. Well, I showed him, didn’t I? I’m not as helpless as he may think. Three, Tiutalion! Can you believe he sent three?"

Tiutalion was at a loss. Glorfindel was in a rare mood and couldn’t stop pacing or ranting. The Maia wanted to take the ellon in his embrace but he feared how Glorfindel might respond and then those three warrior Maiar would be needed all over again. He wondered if he should alert his lady, but was saved the trouble when a flurry of multi-colored lights coalesced into the shape of the Elder King himself.

Tiutalion gave Lord Manwë his obeisance. Glorfindel nearly gave the Elder King a black eye as he suddenly launched himself at the Vala. "You sent three of them!" he shouted as Manwë grabbed the ellon and held him tightly to him, letting Glorfindel writhe and scream to his heart’s content, mouthing invectives at him. Manwë never spoke; he just continued holding Glorfindel, even rocking him a little. After five minutes or so Glorfindel suddenly stopped, sagging into Manwë’s arms, weeping dejectedly. "You sent three of them," he said over and over again through his tears as if he were chanting a litany.

"And I will not apologize for doing so," Manwë said softly into Glorfindel’s ear, still rocking him until the ellon was nearly asleep. "Manveru, Erunáro and Fionwë told me they quite enjoyed their little workout with you. Fionwë especially liked the fact that you refused to play fair."

"In war there’s no such thing as ‘fair’," Glorfindel muttered, sighing. He straightened his stance, wiping the tears from his cheeks. His entire disposition was one of dejection and he felt empty.

Manwë, gauging the ellon’s state, looked at Tiutalion. "Let’s have some tea, shall we? And I think a light supper would not be amiss."

"Tush," Manwë admonished him, steering Glorfindel to the table and making him sit. The Elder King removed the sword and placed it in a corner of the room, then returned to the table and sat opposite him.

Tiutalion, meanwhile, fixed some peppermint tea and a bowl of soup made with a thick beef broth and full of vegetables. He put a basket of bread on the table as well, along with some herb butter. "Eat," he ordered Glorfindel as he placed the bowl before him. "You’ll feel better for it."

Glorfindel did not respond, simply staring at the bowl before him. Manwë gave Tiutalion a wry look and then leaned over, picked up the spoon and put it into Glorfindel’s hand. "Eat, Glorfindel," he said gently. "That’s it, one spoonful at a time. Have some bread with it."

Slowly, almost as if he were sleepwalking, Glorfindel complied with Manwë’s suggestions, but he did not respond otherwise. After about fifteen minutes, the bowl was empty and most of the bread eaten and the tea all drunk. Glorfindel continued to sit there, not looking up. Manwë rose and came around to stand behind the elf, placing his hands on Glorfindel’s shoulders.

"Tired," Glorfindel barely breathed, as if he had no strength left even to speak.

"Then I think you should sleep," Manwë said, pulling the ellon to his feet. "Tiutalion will see you properly settled."

The Maia took Glorfindel’s right elbow and led him into the bedroom where he helped the ellon out of his clothes and into a nightshirt, then tucked him into bed. When Manwë came in a couple of minutes later, Glorfindel was already asleep. "I’ll stay with him for the night," the Vala said to the Maia. "You need not remain."

Tiutalion gave the Elder King his obeisance, recognizing a dismissal however politely put, before fading from view. As Manwë took a seat in the room’s only chair, Nienna appeared, giving him an appraising look. Manwë merely smiled as he gestured. Another chair appeared and Nienna took it. Together, the two of them watched over Glorfindel whose sleep appeared restless, for he tossed and turned and muttered words too low to make out though the Valar recognized the language as Sindarin.

Sometime around midnight, Glorfindel suddenly bolted upright screaming Turgon’s name. Manwë was up immediately, laying a calming hand on Glorfindel’s brow, soothing him until the ellon settled back into sleep, unaware that Manwë was even there. The rest of the night passed more peacefully.

Both Manwë and Nienna left at dawn and when Glorfindel woke an hour later, he did so to the smell of breakfast being made. Rising, he went through his ablutions, dressed and stepped out into the other room to find Tiutalion in the kitchen cooking some ham slices and pouring pancake batter into a skillet. He looked up and gave the ellon a smile.

"If you insist," Glorfindel muttered as he flopped into a chair, putting his elbows on the table and his head in his hands.

"Oh, indeed I do," Tiutalion rejoined with a laugh. "I ordered the day just for you."

"You’re too kind," Glorfindel said somewhat sarcastically, lifting his head to give the Maia a sour look.

Tiutalion merely chuckled as he expertly flipped the pancake in the skillet and then checked the ham slices, removing them from the fire. "Breakfast will be ready shortly. Why don’t you start on that fruit compote while I finish with the pancakes?"

Tiutalion came over and stared down at the ellon, his expression stern. "Eat. Now."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow, but dutifully picked up a spoon and scooped up some of the fruit. Tiutalion nodded in satisfaction as Glorfindel began to eat in truth before returning to the stove to rescue the pancakes. Soon, a high stack of the fluffy cakes smothered with butter and maple syrup was placed before the ellon, who stared at it in disbelief.

"You actually expect me to eat all of that?" he demanded as Tiutalion set a smaller plate of the ham slices next to the pancakes.

"Yes," the Maia said in a no nonsense voice, "by order of both Lord Manwë and Lady Nienna. You are not leaving this table until you’ve eaten every bite, so I suggest you get started before it all goes cold."

Tiutalion merely smiled and pointed at the fork and knife on the table. Glorfindel sighed and began to attack the stack of pancakes, muttering imprecations, but after a couple of bites he found himself too busy eating to continue and before he knew it he had eaten every bite, much to his surprise and Tiutalion’s satisfaction.

"There now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?" Tiutalion couldn’t resist saying as he cleared the breakfast dishes.

The ellon covered his face with his hands and let out a groan. "I have no idea. The thought of having to deal with Lisselindë...."

"Which won’t happen today," Tiutalion interrupted, his voice colder than Glorfindel had ever heard it, "since our... wayward sister is presently having a little chat with Lord Námo."

Glorfindel actually winced, having been a victim of Lord Námo’s ‘little chats’ himself. "Then I don’t know what I should do," he said, feeling suddenly, and for no reason he could fathom, tired.

Tiutalion, gauging the ellon’s physical and emotional state, pointed to the front door. "Go out and enjoy the day. Take a long walk or sit on the beach, whatever, but go out and enjoy it. I didn’t order this day just for you to mope around the cottage."

Glorfindel gave the Maia an amused look as he stood up. "Yes, Nana, anything you say, Nana," he muttered in Sindarin, while Tiutalion merely laughed as the ellon stepped outside.

It was indeed a lovely day with bright sunshine, blue skies and a warm gentle sea breeze that ruffled his golden locks. Glorfindel took a deep, cleansing breath and actually smiled, feeling more alive than he had felt in a long time. He strolled down the path leading towards the main house, having decided to explore that part of the lady’s demesne. He found himself humming a merry tune and when he chanced upon a Maia tending to a small herb garden that was situated on the southern side of the manse, he gave him a cheery "Mae govannen!" which the Maia returned with his own greeting, smiling at the ellon who had so entertained them all with his martial prowess the day before.

Glorfindel leaned over the garden gate to examine the herb beds just beginning to sprout. "What do you grow here?" he asked in honest curiosity.

The Maia smiled and began pointing to the various beds, naming the plants that would be in full bloom by summer. "We have thyme, parsley, and several kinds of savory here, the basil is in these pots there and over there we have other herbs exclusively for the kitchen. Then on this side are a number of plants for making teas and medicinals, including asëa aranion. Lady Nienna often has some of Lord Irmo and Lady Estë’s apprentices come and learn herbology with us."

Glorfindel nodded. "Like Manwen," he said, remembering Laurendil telling him about his wife’s oath taking to Finrod and then spending time here with Lady Nienna.

"When he’s not attacking someone," Glorfindel retorted with a laugh of his own.

"Would you like to help?" the Maia asked after they had both stopped laughing, gesturing to the garden.

Glorfindel raised his hands and backed away. "Thank you, but no. The last time I worked in a garden I pulled up all the asëa aranion thinking they were weeds and every time I had to deadhead roses I would start crying for some reason."

The Maia gave him a considering look and his expression was more sympathetic than anything. Glorfindel wasn’t sure he liked that, but he smiled gamely. "Tiutalion ordered me to enjoy the day, so I think I’ll just wander around a bit. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me." He gave the Maia a bow and started walking away at a fast pace that was just shy of actually running.

The ellon stopped, cringing at the sound of the hated Quenya version of his name, refusing to look back.

"Glorfindel," the Maia said again more quietly, "turn around." His tone was warm and gentle but quite insistent.

The elf tried to refuse, but in spite of himself he turned to face the Maia, who gestured, inviting him forward. Before he realized what he was doing, Glorfindel found himself before the garden gate once more. The Maia smiled at him. "My name is Niondil of the People of Nienna and, incidentally, brother to Cemendillë, whom I think you already know," he said.

Niondil opened the gate. "Come inside, child," he said and, much to his chagrin, Glorfindel found himself obeying.

"I... I’m not good at gardening," he whispered, giving Niondil an almost terrified look.

Niondil nodded, leading the ellon further into the garden and handing him a hoe. "I’m not asking you to weed, you know," he said with a smile. "All I want you to do is turn the soil here along this patch of ground. You can surely do that much, can’t you?"

Glorfindel stared at the bare patch of earth to which Niondil was pointing and nodded, looking less frightened, and without a word, started turning the soil over as Cemendillë had taught him. Niondil watched him for a moment or two and then nodded in satisfaction as he went back to his own work.

"Cemendillë tells me that Lady Yavanna told you that not all gardens are made of flowers or even herbs for that matter," Niondil said conversationally.

The elf stopped his work to give the Maia a puzzled look. "To tell you the truth, so much has happened to me this past year I’ve barely had time to think."

"One reason why Lady Nienna invited you to stay here," Niondil said. "The Valar know how... hectic your life has been of late and have been seriously concerned for you."

Niondil stopped what he was doing and went to Glorfindel, taking the hoe out of his hand and leading him to a bench that was situated on the northern side of the garden. The early Spring sun was warm and as Niondil surreptitiously rubbed the ellon’s back, Glorfindel found himself relaxing more and more.

Glorfindel thought about it for a moment before shrugging. "Growing things, I guess."

Niondil shook his head. "A gardener grows nothing. That is the purview of the plants themselves. No, what a gardener does is nurture... nurture and protect. A gardener, you might say, is something like a warrior in that respect."

"Think about it," he said. "You, as a warrior, strive to protect those who are weaker than you or at least are not in a position to protect themselves. In so doing, you also nurture the environment which allows others to live and thrive in peace. Is that not so?"

Glorfindel had to think it through for a moment or two before answering. "So that means I’m a gardener of... of people?"

"A gardener of souls," Niondil answered. "Your role as protector gives others peace of mind, knowing that they are safe because you are looking out for them, caring for them, keeping them out of harm’s way, just as a gardener makes sure the plants in his garden are adequately watered and protected from the fierceness of the sun and the elements, so each may grow and thrive as intended."

Several minutes passed in silence while Glorfindel digested the Maia’s words. Niondil sat patiently, watching the play of emotions across the ellon’s face as he tried to understand what had been said. Finally, Niondil spoke again. "Did you know that when you gave Lisselindë her lesson yesterday you were acting as a gardener?"

Niondil smiled. "You might say you were ‘dead-heading’ a part of her that needed to be removed so that the rest of her fëa could thrive, just as a gardener deadheads dying blooms so the rest of the plant continues to thrive."

"What part was that?" the ellon asked, clearly confused. He thought he’d been showing off more than anything else.

"Her arrogance," Niondil replied without any levity. "Her belief that she is superior to you by virtue of having been created before Eä ever came into existence."

"But she is," Glorfindel protested. "All of you are. Do you think we call you ‘lord’ or ‘lady’ and bow when any of you appear before us because we’re just being polite?"

Glorfindel blushed a bit. "Well, yes, but we do so as an acknowledgment that you are our superiors in all things...."

"Now there you are wrong," Niondil interrupted. "We may have greater powers and have existed for longer than you but other than that we are created beings, no less than you, and we make mistakes just as you do. Each order of being has its own gifts and abilities which Ilúvatar meant to be shared with his other Children for the benefit of all. In Ilúvatar’s eyes we are all equal. In Ilúvatar’s eyes the lowest soul in all of Arda is of no less worth or importance than the Elder King himself and the converse is equally true. Lisselindë’s fault lies in thinking she is more worthy of Ilúvatar’s love than you simply by virtue of being a Maia while you’re a... shall we say... a latecomer to the scene."

"No. Oh, I have no doubt that Lisselindë’s attitude is not unique to her, but most of us do not suffer from that particular form of stupidity and those who do I suspect have had very little direct contact with any of you Children."

"Oh, not recently," Niondil answered with a straight face, "and the Children with whom I interacted were not aware I was even there."

Glorfindel gave him a quizzical look. Niondil’s expression never changed, though there was a hint of humor in his eyes. "I was one of those assigned to protect the Quendi at Cuiviénen from the effects of the war which the Valar waged against Melkor." He laughed at Glorfindel’s expression of disbelief. "You see, I was a gardener even then."

Glorfindel stared at the Maia for a moment, wondering if people like Ingwë or Olwë knew about this. He let his eyes roam the garden. Most of it was still bare earth but he knew that in a few short months it would be alive with color and scent and beauty. Niondil stood up.

"Why don’t we get back to work," he said. "I have some seedlings I want to plant today."

Glorfindel reluctantly stood, not sure he really wanted to spend the day digging in the dirt, but really he had no other plans and Tiutalion didn’t specify how he was to pass the time. He nodded and went back to where he’d been working. Niondil watched him for a while with an indulgent smile on his lips. When he heard the ellon softly start humming a merry tune, he nodded in satisfaction, going back to his own tasks.

Some hours later, as the sun was slipping into the sea, Tiutalion looked up from the book he was reading as Glorfindel entered the cottage, his brow and the knees of his leggings smudged with dirt, his braids somewhat in disarray. He was wearing a smile on his face and humming.

"Have a nice day?" Tiutalion asked, though he was well aware of how the ellon had spent his time.

Glorfindel nodded. "Though I think I need a bath," he said as he stared down at his soiled clothes.

Tiutalion chuckled. "It’s already waiting for you." At Glorfindel’s appraising look, the Maia smirked. "Niondil let me know you were on your way back."

"By the way," Tiutalion added, "Lady Nienna sent word that you are not required to eat dinner with her again tonight unless you wish."

Glorfindel nodded as he headed for the bedroom, struggling to suppress a yawn. "Maybe I should just stay here. I fear I might fall asleep in my soup."

The Maia laughed. "Then I’ll let her know. Take your bath, have a light supper and go to bed early. Tomorrow’s another day."

"She’ll be here tomorrow as well," Tiutalion answered, "but I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Remember what Lady Nienna told you. Just be yourself. We’re not asking anything more from you at this time."

"That’s the wisest course," Tiutalion said with a nod. "Now, go divest yourself of your dirt and I’ll have supper ready for you."

That night, Glorfindel dreamt of a garden consisting of all the people in his two lives for whom he cared deeply. He went from one person to the next, brushing their hair or their clothes, giving them drinks of water, and murmuring words of encouragement that they continue to thrive. Many of the people smiled at him, thanking him for being such a wonderful gardener to them, which made him blush. At one point he entered a part of a garden that was empty. He stood there, wondering what it could mean. He felt, rather than heard, someone approach from behind. Turning, he was unsurprised to see Niondil there, smiling at him.

Niondil looked to where the ellon was pointing before turning his attention back to him. "This part of the garden is for future plantings, child," he said. "This is the future where you will nurture others whom you have yet to meet."

Glorfindel stared at the bareness before him, noting though that the rich black soil was already turned, just waiting for planting. "The future," he whispered.

Niondil placed a hand on his shoulder. "Yes, the future," the Maia said, "but for now, it’s best to tend to the present." He canted his head back towards the rest of the garden and Glorfindel understood. Giving Niondil a nod and a shy smile, he went back to the people-filled part of the garden and spent the rest of the night happily tending it.

Niondil: ‘Bee Lover’, brother to Cemendillë (Yavanna’s Chief Maia) in the Thought of Ilúvatar.

1. Believe it or not, the word ‘pancake’ is a late Middle English word first recorded in the early 1400s. The synonymous ‘griddle-cake’ is first recorded only in the late 18^th century. And if any wish to complain that ‘maple syrup’ is an anachronism, here is a quote from the Silmarillion:

‘For all living things that are or have been in the kingdom of Arda... lived then in the land of Aman.’ [Chapter 5, ‘Of Eldamar and the Princes of the Eldalië].

And while this quote speaks directly of the kelvar (animals), I have to assume it applies equally to the olvar (plants) and no doubt Yavanna would know that the sap of the sugar maple tree (Acer saccarum) would produce a sweet syrup when boiled down. The making of maple syrup (though not necessarily as we know it today) was known to the Algonquins (a Native American tribe who lived in present-day New England, New York and southern Ontario, Canada) from before the arrival of the Europeans.

2. Obviously, the names of the herbs mentioned are English translations of whatever they were called in Quenya. Unfortunately, Tolkien did not provide us with such names.

Nyéreser thought it odd that Lord Námo would have him and Nasarindil bring Lisselindë to the Vala’s mansion in Valmar rather than to Mandos, but his was not to question the orders of his masters and so there they stood, the three of them, before the gates of Lord Námo’s mansion. The Maiar knew enough not to materialize within the mansion itself. Only those pledged to the Vala and his spouse could do so with impunity.

Thus, Nyéreser was unsurprised to see Ancalequirindë, who acted as Námo and Vairë’s steward in Valmar, standing at the gates waiting for them. She gave Nyéreser and Nasarindil a brief nod of acknowledgment, but ignored Lisselindë, who was still in the grip of terror that had settled over her at the announcement that she was to be taken before the Doomsman of Arda.

"My lord is waiting for you," Ancalequirindë said impassively. "If you will follow me."

Nyéreser and Nasarindil had to nearly drag poor Lisselindë with them and they kept a firm grip on her mind, preventing her from simply thinking herself away. Not that she could go anywhere in Eä and not be found, but why borrow trouble? Nyéreser was surprised though when Ancalequirindë led them, not up the steps of the front portico, but along a path that wended its way through the garden that surrounded the mansion. They went around to the west side where they could see the dead husks of the Trees looming before them and just beyond them the grim sight of the Máhanaxar. Ancalequirindë brought them through a leafy arcade into a private enclosure where there was a maze, of all things, the hedges of boxwood twice the height of the average elf.

Ancalequirindë turned to her fellow Maiar. "She goes in alone," she said with a nod to the maze’s entrance. "You may wait for her here."

Nyéreser and Nasarindil nodded and released their hold on Lisselindë. Nyéreser gave her a slight nudge. "Off you go," he said to her softly. "It’s best not to keep this particular Vala waiting."

Lisselindë took a deep breath, trying to control her fear. She wondered why she was being made to travel the maze. She decided to just think herself to its center, but when she tried she realized that there did not appear to be any recognizable coordinates for her to latch on to. It was almost as if the maze, or perhaps its center, did not exist, which made no sense. So, she would have to do it the hard way, just as if she were one of the mirroanwi.

She knew she had been in error in her reaction to Glorfindel’s words, but the absolute effrontery of the ellon had appalled her and she had allowed her anger to overcome her good sense. And now, here she was, about to face Lord Námo, of all the Valar the least forgiving of the sins of others, or so she imagined, never actually having had any dealings with him. She squared her shoulders but still hesitated to take that first, irrevocable step towards the maze’s entrance. Nasarindil put a hand on her shoulder and she turned to look at the Maia, whom she still counted as a friend, along with Nyéreser, even though they were now her guards.

Nasarindil’s expression was sympathetic. "We’ll be right here," was all she said, yet it seemed to be enough, for Lisselindë gave her a tremulous smile then turned and entered the maze. Looking back she was unsurprised to see that the entrance was no longer there. Taking a deep breath she followed the one path opened to her until she came to a branching of ways. She stopped for a moment before making a decision and took the right-hand path. She continued to take the right-hand fork whenever she came to a split in the path, only once encountering a dead-end. She had to retrace her route to the last fork and take the left-hand fork. Thereafter she continued to take the left branch until she suddenly found herself in the center of the maze.

It was not large, perhaps thirty paces square. There was a gazebo in the center where she saw Lord Námo sitting, watching her impassively. She gave him her obeisance, made slightly awkward by her nervousness.

"Well, you can at least make decisions and stick to them," was the Vala’s only comment as he gestured for her to approach and join him in the gazebo where a small table and two chairs took up most of the room. "Most people tend to flounder around for a while before sticking to a single route."

She could not tell if he approved of her decisiveness or not, for his tone and his expression gave nothing away. She sat down, keeping her hands and her eyes on her lap. For a long moment there was only silence. Then Námo spoke and his tone was cold.

Lisselindë cringed inwardly. ‘Daughter’ or ‘son’ were generally reserved for the Eldar. Some of the Valar might call the Maiar who were pledged to them by such as a sign of affection, but it was unheard of for any Vala to call one who was not pledged to him by such sobriquets. Lisselindë was not sure if Lord Námo calling her daughter was a good thing or not.

"We are wondering if you are serious in your desire to learn about the Firstborn from one of them," Námo continued.

"A reasonable suggestion," Námo said. "I’m sure he was thinking of Vorondil and how well he has progressed in his rehabilitation under Findaráto’s loving tutelage. As Glorfindel said, you could do much worse."

"Is that what you want me to be, then?" Lisselindë asked, not bothering to be polite. She raised her head to look at Námo, her eyes smoldering with anger and shame mixed. "Is that what I am to be reduced to, to be a thrall to one of the mirroanwi?"

"Had we wished that, my dear, be assured we would have turned you over to Findaráto at the trial," Námo answered equably. "However, since we did not, you need not act so outraged. I’m more inclined to make you Glorfindel’s thrall for the next century; the two of you almost deserve each other. However, my brother considers it cruel and unusual punishment for you both, so that option is out as well."

Lisselindë stared at Námo in uncertain shock, not sure if the Lord of Mandos was jesting, for his expression gave nothing away as to what he was feeling. Before she could reply to his words, though, Námo continued, his voice becoming even colder.

"You are at a crossroads, Lisselindë," he said. "You can either acquire a modicum of humility and learn from Glorfindel what he will teach you about the Eldar in the two weeks agreed upon or you can go your merry way in arrogance and defiance until we will have no choice but to exile you lest you corrupt your brethren with your rebellion. Trust me when I say that we would have no compunction in doing so. If nothing else, Melkor taught us that particular lesson."

Lisselindë blanched and found herself trembling. The very thought of being expunged from the society of the Ainur, to be labeled a rebel, sickened her and she did not know how to respond to such a threat, or rather a promise, for she believed every word the Lord of Mandos spoke and saw the truth in his eyes.

She shook her head, trying to make sense of the emotions roiling within her, feeling confused and out of her depth. "I thought I knew them," she muttered, looking back down at her lap so she did not see the look of pity on the Vala’s face. "I’ve observed them over the ages since they first stepped ashore. I thought I had Findaráto figured out from the beginning, but now... and Glorfindel.... he just confuses me."

A ghost of a smile lit the Vala’s mien, though Lisselindë did not see. "He confuses us all, my dear," he said, "but that’s no excuse for treating him as you did. And your intent to bring Findaráto down a peg or two... that was ill-conceived as well, born out of arrogance rather than out of an actual concern for his spiritual well-being. Nor was it your right to do so."

"Whose right is it?" she asked in all sincerity. After all, was that not the purpose of the Ainur, to correct the Children when they strayed?

"Certainly not ours," Námo answered. "We may advise, we may caution, but we cannot command and only Atar has the right to chastise any of us. You know as well as I that when the Noldor left we did not stay them, little though we liked their going. Even when they eventually came to me they were shown mercy rather than vengeance for their truculence. If any correction is to be had it will occur from within the Eldarin society itself. Arafinwë or Ingwë, even Glorfindel, would be the proper ones to chastise Findaráto if they deemed it necessary."

"Then what are we to do?" the Maia demanded. "Are we just to stand by and watch them make fools of themselves?"

"If necessary," Námo replied, "just as Atar stood by and watched us make fools of ourselves from time to time."

That thought brought Lisselindë up short and she remembered those days before days when Arda had yet to be created and what they did then. Some of their actions had indeed been foolish in retrospect. She sighed, looking back down to her lap. "Then what is our purpose?"

Námo leaned over and placed a hand on the Maia’s chin, forcing her to look up. "Love them," he said gently. "All we are required to do is love them, nothing more and certainly nothing less."

"Yet, isn’t a part of love chastising the beloved when they stray?" she asked.

"You were not attempting to chastise Findaráto out of love but out of your own arrogance," Námo replied. "And your response to Glorfindel proves it with all your protestations about being a Maia and therefore somehow superior to the Eldar."

"Yet have you ever known any of us to lord it over you and the other Maiar?" Námo replied. "There is only one of us who has ever done so and he now resides in the Void."

Lisselindë shivered involuntarily. Silence enveloped them as Námo allowed her time to think over his words. The Maia struggled to gather what shreds of dignity she still possessed as she addressed the Vala. "Still, Glorfindel had no right to... to chastise me as he did before...."

"On the contrary," Námo interrupted coldly. "We applaud him for it, for your chastisement was richly deserved and if he had not done so, be assured, Daughter, that we would have and our brand of chastisement would have been less merciful. You said you wished to know the Eldar better and at the same time help Glorfindel. While it was not your intent, your actions cemented his resolve to teach you what he can. I suggest you take his lessons to heart, my dear. You may not get another chance."

Lisselindë sighed and nodded, feeling defeated, all her neatly thought out defenses torn to shreds. "I will do my best, lord," she said humbly and meant it.

"That is all any of us are ever asked to do," Námo said gently. "Now, you can find your way out of the maze on your own. Just reverse your path. You will not be seeing Glorfindel tomorrow. My sister has decided you both need a day to calm down. Nyéreser and Nasarindil will escort you back to Nienna’s."

It was a dismissal and the Maia stood and bowed to the Vala. Without another word she reentered the maze and was soon lost to sight. A moment later Irmo and Nienna appeared in the gazebo, for it was a construct of the Valar and they knew its coordinates well enough.

Námo shrugged. "Time will tell. She’s not the only one with a superiority complex towards the Eldar, but hopefully her downfall will be the wake-up call for any others who might feel inclined to lord it over the Children."

"If you are amenable, brother," Nienna said to Irmo, "I would like to send Lisselindë to you just for the day."

"Any particular reason?" Irmo said. "I made it clear that I would not accept her back in Lórien until such time as we all agreed to release her to me."

"And that still holds," Nienna said, "but I understand you have a new batch of Returnees who have come to you for healing. I would like Lisselindë to spend the day following one of your Lóriennildi as they minister to these poor unfortunates."

"Ah..." Irmo said, nodding, divining his sister’s plan. "I think that can be arranged. Laurendil might do."

Námo gave his younger brother an approving look. "And everyone accuses me of being devious."

His siblings just laughed and soon the three of them thought themselves away from the maze to go their separate ways.

When Lisselindë appeared at the cottage the next morning after Glorfindel’s meeting with Niondil it was to find him up on a ladder with a paint tub in one hand and a brush in the other, white-washing the lintel. Of Tiutalion there was no sign.

Glorfindel glanced down at her with a wry smile. "Well, you were right about one thing. This isn’t a prison so I’m erasing this bit of childishness on my part."

The ellon shrugged as he continued to dab white paint over the words. "Haven’t decided yet. Perhaps I’ll just leave it blank for the next person who resides here." He leaned back and gave the lintel a critical eye. "Well, that’s done." He then proceeded to descend the ladder. Lisselindë held it steady for him and he gave her a smile in thanks. He capped the tub and washed the brush, setting it out in the sun to dry. Then he turned to the Maia who had stood by watching.

"Me?" she exclaimed in surprise. "I thought I was supposed to follow you, not the other way around."

For a moment Lisselindë said nothing, staring at the elf, trying to guess at his intentions. Finally, she shrugged and pointed east where the woods lay. Glorfindel nodded and set off with the Maia beside him.

"So what did you do yesterday?" he asked, making polite conversation as they wended their way towards the forest.

Lisselindë grimaced slightly. "I spent the day in Lórien helping Lord Laurendil to tend to some recently arrived elves from Tol Eressëa."

"Ah... a condition I never experienced, thank the Valar," Glorfindel responded with all sincerity. "Were they very bad off? I understand from speaking with Laurendil and Manwen that they both suffered terribly from it."

"They were pale and weak and did not seem to understand where they were. One of them kept babbling about the war."

"War? What war?" Glorfindel stopped in his tracks, his expression one of concern mingled with confusion.

Lisselindë couldn’t help feeling superior to the ellon at the moment. "The War of Wrath, of course."

For a moment, Glorfindel just stared at her, his eyes dark, then he shrugged and resumed their walk. "An experience I am thankful I never had to endure."

Now Lisselindë stopped, looking puzzled. "But you are a warrior," she said. "You live for war, do you not?"

Glorfindel looked at her with a surprising degree of sympathy. "If you truly think that, Lisselindë, then you have no concept of what a warrior is. Perhaps you should ask Manveru or Eönwë how they feel about it."

"But I’m asking you," she retorted, though her tone was civil. "It is, after all, why I am here, to learn about the Firstborn."

Glorfindel nodded. "Let’s sit here then, under this oak, and I will try to explain." So saying, he moved to where a wide-spreading oak stood sentinel over the landscape. The tree silently greeted both elf and Maia as they approached and they politely returned its greeting before sitting on the ground beneath it. Glorfindel did not immediately speak, gathering his thoughts as he gazed towards the forest in the middle distance.

"I spent the day yesterday gardening," he said without preamble. Lisselindë forbore to comment. "Niondil and I... we talked. I did not become a warrior by choice but by necessity. Granted, I could have remained here in Aman, never taking up arms, but when I joined with Turgon, I accepted the fact that I would live and possibly die by the sword. While there were people who were not warriors who joined in the Rebellion, most of us, especially those who were scions of noble families, took up arms."

Glorfindel gave her a puzzled look. "What? Taking up arms or joining in the Rebellion?"

The Maia shrugged. "Perhaps I mean both, but I leave it to you to answer as you will."

Glorfindel leaned back, resting his body against the oak. "I do not regret either choice. Both choices — joining the Rebellion and taking up arms — define who I am at this moment. I can’t even imagine myself as other than what I am now. I like to think that had I remained in Aman that when the call to arms came at the end I would have joined the Host of the Valar. But that really is neither here nor there. To answer your question, though: no, I do not live for war. No true warrior, no sane warrior ever does. I would love to not have to be a warrior but until such time as Arda has no need of them, I will continue to do what I do best: protect those who are in need of protection against the evils which beset them."

Lisselindë pondered his words for a long moment. "If you no longer had to be a warrior, what would you be, instead?"

"A fair enough question, I suppose," Glorfindel responded. "Truthfully, I cannot say. All I’ve ever known is war. Even hiding behind the Echoriath we were always in a state of readiness. Turgon feared discovery, determined to keep Gondolin safe, but, of course, that didn’t happen." He paused and gave her a rueful look. "When I was in Lórien, Sador suggested I learn to be a potter so we could go into business together. Perhaps, when my sword is no longer needed, I might just take him up on his offer."

Glorfindel snorted. "No doubt, but Sador is truly gifted for all that he is barely out of elflinghood and I am in awe of his talents."

The ellon shrugged and stood, brushing twigs and leaves from his clothes. "Shall we resume our walk?" he asked and Lisselindë stood as well.

They continued along in companionable silence for a while, heading towards the woods. It wasn’t until they were entering them that Glorfindel asked a question. "So, what did you learn while you were following Laurendil around?"

For a time, Lisselindë did not answer and Glorfindel allowed her space to gather her thoughts. Their path through the woods was aimless and the two merely walked in enjoyment of the day. Finally, though, the Maia spoke.

"I don’t think Lord Laurendil was pleased to see me," she said with a quirk of her lips, "and was even less pleased to learn that I would be his... student for the day."

"Laurendil is Finrod’s vassal," Glorfindel said without heat. "He would naturally feel... displeased with how you treated his lord." Then he flashed the Maia a knowing grin. "Methinks Lord Irmo is almost as devious as his brother or Lady Nienna."

Lisselindë laughed and it was neither forced nor bitter. "That’s what Laurendil said...."

Laurendil kept his expression polite as he stood there listening to Lord Irmo explain why he wanted Lisselindë to spend the day with him. He gave the Vala a quirk of the lips. "Getting devious in our old age, are we, my lord?" he couldn’t help saying and Irmo burst out laughing.

"You have no idea just how devious, my son," he replied. "Enjoy yourselves," he added. Then he walked away, leaving the apprentice Lóriennildo with the disgraced Maia.

"Well, I’m not sure what I can teach you in a day, Lisselindë," Laurendil said with a sigh, purposely not using the usual honorific, "but I will do my best to answer any questions you might have."

The Maia felt herself grow cold with anger and was ready to berate the elf for his insolence, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly, realizing that Laurendil was not being disrespectful, only treating her as he would any other elf under his tutelage. She nodded. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I will try not to get in the way of your duties."

"Fine, then," Laurendil said a little stiffly. "Shall we go? I understand that some elves have arrived suffering from Sea-longing and are in need of healing."

"So Lord Irmo told me," she said as she matched the ellon’s stride. They were walking through the section of the Gardens reserved especially for those elves suffering from Sea-longing, for it was deemed a particular disease of the fëa which affected the hröa of the sufferer. She gave Laurendil a sideways glance. "You were affected by it, were you not?"

"Yet, if I understand correctly, neither of you sought healing here in Lórien." Her tone was not accusing, merely curious.

The ellon stopped and Lisselindë waited patiently for him to answer. She noticed that there was a haunted look in his eyes and wondered. Finally, he spoke, but it was barely above a whisper and he did not look at her.

"I fled Aman because I was frightened of my destiny. I... I accepted Melkor’s lies as truth and Fëanáro’s reasoning for defying the Valar as just in order to excuse my own... cowardice." He stopped, staring at the ground, but whether in shame or for some other reason, Lisselindë did not know. She held herself to stillness, not wishing to break the spell the ellon’s words were weaving. She had watched in stunned disbelief as the Noldor fled the darkness that enshrouded Aman to journey into greater darkness. She never thought to wonder at the motivations of those who followed Fëanáro, believing them to be in the grip of insanity, an insanity born of despair. Now, for the first time, she was hearing about it from one who had experienced it in truth. After a moment or two, Laurendil continued.

"For some time before that, while the Trees bloomed, I had been... plagued, I suppose is as good a word as any, by dreams of... of Lord Irmo calling me to Lórien, dreams that frightened me."

He looked up at her, his face frozen in an expression of pain. "My atar wanted me to follow him into government service. Atar is one of the Noldóran’s councillors now, but at the time, he was secretary to Lord Minalcar who later followed Fëanáro but never made it past Alqualondë. I was reluctant to do as my atar bid, for it would have meant serving under Lord Minalcar and I did not wish to."

"Why?" Lisselindë found herself asking again. She had a sudden image of one of the elflings in Findaráto’s care constantly asking the same question over and over again and forced herself not to smile. Perhaps, in some ways, she was much like an elfling in search of answers.

Laurendil gave her a sour look. "He was one of Fëanáro’s staunchest supporters and forced everyone working under him to ‘speak correctly’, as he put it."

"Ah... You mean using thúlë rather than súlë," Lisselindë said with a nod of understanding. She remembered the debate the Valar had had over the sound change and how they would respond to it. Lord Manwë had finally decreed that they and the Maiar were to speak the dialect of the person being addressed. That was easy enough among the Vanyar and Teleri, but with the Noldor divided on the issue it became more problematic. Many of the Maiar got into the habit of remaining silent, waiting to hear if the elf standing before them used ‘s’ instead of the more expected ‘th’ sound. Such practice inadvertently gave the Maiar an aura of mystery greater than they deserved, but it worked. When Fëanáro led the Noldor into exile, those who remained behind spoke the newer dialect and so it became simpler for the Maiar to converse with the Noldor. Many of her fellows, though, kept to the practice of not speaking immediately, allowing that they rather enjoyed seeing the Children squirm a bit. Lisselindë had to admit to herself that she was one of them.

Laurendil nodded. "Atar was somewhat hypocritical about it himself, using ‘th’ at work and ‘s’ at home and insisting we always used ‘th’ when in public, even though he himself had no love for Fëanáro; he just wanted to remain on Lord Minalcar’s good side. One time when I was visiting Atar at his office, I forgot and used ‘s’ in Lord Minalcar’s hearing." He gave her a wry look that nonetheless held a modicum of pain. "Lord Minalcar was not polite about his displeasure and Atar was even less so. From that moment, I vowed that I would not enter government service, though Atar kept insisting that was my only choice. Then the dreams started." He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "I didn’t understand them and they frightened me. I tried to speak to Atar about them but he would not listen and Amillë would not go against her husband. She would only tell me to follow my heart." He shrugged. "So I did and fled Aman, Atar and what I perceived as enslavement to the Valar, for I had no doubt that Lord Irmo was indeed calling me to his service, but the Darkening and Fëanáro gave me the excuse to ignore the call."

"Except you could not ignore it forever," Lisselindë said with assurance. "Lord Irmo has a way of... insinuating himself when he is in search of those whom he wishes to enter into his and Lady Estë’s service."

"You mean, he always has the advantage and we poor mirroanwi have no defense against him, or any of the Valar for that matter," Laurendil retorted though his tone was not angry, or even resigned, merely accepting of reality as he perceived it.

"Yet, he did not force you to his service," Lisselindë pointed out. "He allowed you the freedom to flee, knowing though that eventually your destiny would catch up with you one way or the other. But we were speaking of the Sea-longing."

"Yes," Laurendil said and with a gesture, they resumed their walk through the groves. "It first came to me during the War of Wrath, but I was able to put it aside during the war itself. Staying alive took priority over everything else. Afterwards, when Manwen and I were helping in the founding of Lindon, it came upon me again, more insistently. I understood what it was but would not heed it, for I truly had no desire to return to Aman. I was no longer Laurendil Rialcarion but Glorendil of Nargothrond, once one of Finrod’s Rangers and now one of Gil-galad’s, and that is all I wanted to be. When Manwen began to exhibit signs of Sea-longing as well, I... well, I panicked and we fled east into Eriador, following Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel to Lórinand. For a time we were both fine, but, after a while, some of the symptoms associated with Sea-longing began to return. King Amroth of Lórinand could see how we were both suffering and made arrangements through Lord Celeborn to send us back, for he needed someone to travel to Lindon for diplomatic reasons. I didn’t think much about it, and in truth, I was looking forward to seeing Lindon and some of my old friends again and Manwen felt the same."

He paused for a moment, grimacing at the memory before continuing. "It was a mistake, of course. Had we remained in Lindon for only a short time I think we would have been fine, but we were there for some months and that close to the sea.... Well, Gil-galad and Elrond saw what was happening and insisted we take the next ship available. By then, of course, neither I nor Manwen were in a position to argue, but when we finally reached Tol Eressëa I flat out refused to travel any further, that is, until the delegation to the Noldóran was proposed and I accepted the position of being its leader. The rest, as they say, is history."

"You apparently recovered from the Sea-longing well enough once you took ship, though," Lisselindë observed. "Why then do these elves come here for healing when proper rest is probably all they need?"

By now they had reached the groves set aside for those suffering from Sea-longing, finding that there were three people there, an ellon and two ellith. Only the ellon looked up as they entered and the lines of worry that had marred his fair face mutated into a smile of relief.

"Mithlas!" Laurendil exclaimed in surprise, as the Sinda rose from where he had been crouched between the two couches where the ellith lay. "What do you here, mellon nîn?"

The two ellyn embraced, giving each other kisses as between brothers, then clasping their arms in a warrior’s salute. Mithlas grinned at the healer, but Laurendil could see the worry in the other ellon’s eyes.

"What is it, Mithlas?" he asked quietly. "What has brought you back to Lórien?"

For answer, the Sinda turned to the two ellith, neither of whom had made any attempt to rise from their couches or even seemed to know that they had visitors. "My naneth and my sister," Mithlas said in a hoarse whisper. "They arrived only days ago from Ennorath." He turned his gaze back to Laurendil, deep sorrow now etched on his face. "I fear they left it too late," he said.

Laurendil gave him a warm hug, patting him on the back. "We will see," he said, then he released the ellon and went to examine the two ellith. Mithlas introduced them. "This is my naneth, Lalwen, and my sister, Mitheryn."

Both had silvery-white hair that reminded Laurendil of Beleg, though Mitheryn’s coloring was a shade or two darker. Their eyes were closed at the moment but Laurendil suspected they would be either blue or silver-grey, though green or hazel eyes were not uncommon. They appeared paler than usual and gaunt, as if they had not eaten for some time. In fact, they were both exhibiting all the classic signs of fading.

All this time, Lisselindë had remained silent and unobtrusive. She had thought to go invisible at first but in the end decided to remain clad in hröa in case she was needed. Thus, she stood to one side and watched.

"When it was decided I would find no healing for my malady in Ennorath and that I would have to come West," the Sinda answered, "I told Naneth I did not want her and Mitheryn to accompany me. Neither truly wished to leave the only home they knew and I did not wish for them to come with me just for me. As much as their presence would have comforted me, I knew that eventually they might resent being torn from their home because of me. I had no choice but to come. It was either that or fade, and I wasn’t ready for that."

Laurendil nodded, well aware of Mithlas history. "They appear to have fought the call of the sea for as long as they could, though. I wonder why they did not come earlier, knowing that you were already here waiting for them?"

For a moment Mithlas did not answer and Lisselindë saw the sorrow that lay deep in the ellon’s eyes as he gazed upon his mother and sister. "They were waiting for Adar," he said with a sigh. "They were waiting for his return."

Mithlas shook his head. "We don’t know. He... he was lost to us during the war. We do not know if he survived the final cataclysm that drowned Beleriand or not. I always thought he was in Mandos with... with Glassiel. Naneth and Mitheryn, though... Naneth insisted he was still alive and Mitheryn accepted that and remained hopeful that he would some day find them." He shook his head in dismay and tears started to roll down his cheeks. "They should have come sooner. They should have...."

Without conscious thought Lisselindë went to the ellon and took him into her embrace, holding him through the spasms of his tears, her eyes on Laurendil, who stared back with grave sorrow. Yet, there was a glint of steel in his eyes, a glint that she had seen in Glorfindel’s eyes and Findaráto’s. It was the glint of one about to go into battle. Whether Laurendil knew it or not, he had never ceased to be a warrior, he had simply become a different kind of warrior, one who battled against the maladies that could beset the fëar of elves.

The healer stood. "Mithlas," he said with as much authority and confidence as he could muster, "your naneth and your sister are near to fading, but they have not faded in truth. There is still hope for their complete recovery. Have faith, mellon nîn. We will do all we can to save them, I promise you."

Mithlas stepped out of the Maia’s embrace with a shy smile, which she returned more warmly, wiping the tears from his face as he turned to face Laurendil. "Le hannon, mellon nîn. iPhith lîn annar enni estel."

Then there was a stir from Lalwen, who opened her eyes, though she did not seem aware of them or her surroundings. "El-elendir... man sad ci, hervenn?... Man sad...?"

"She’s calling for Adar," Mithlas said softly, going to his naneth and kneeling beside her, stroking her hair, murmuring gentle words of comfort. It was unlikely she even heard him, but in a few moments she was calmer and soon her eyes closed as she slipped into unconsciousness again.

Mithlas stifled a sob as he looked up at Laurendil and Lisselindë imploringly, his eyes glittering wetly with tears. "Please, help me."

Laurendil put a comforting hand on the ellon’s shoulder. "We will, Mithlas. My oath as a healer."

Only Lisselindë saw Eönwë standing in the corner of the pavilion, calmly recording Laurendil’s words in his book. When he finished, he looked up at his fellow Maia, who gave him a nod of respect. He nodded in turn, giving her a brief smile before fading....

"If anyone can help Mithlas’s family, Laurendil can," Glorfindel said firmly as Lisselindë ended her narrative. By now they had come near to the middle of the woods where there was a clearing through which a brook made its way. The sun was high above them and white fluffy clouds raced one another across the cerulean sky. The two of them were seated beside the brook where Glorfindel was throwing twigs in the water, idly watching them float away.

"We spent the entire day with them, singing glad songs and encouraging them to return to us," Lisselindë replied. "Laurendil even ordered warm baths for them, scented with lavender and lovage. I helped the ellith who came to assist while Laurendil took Mithlas to get him something to eat, for the ellon had not eaten since leaving Tol Eressëa."

The Maia nodded. "By evening, Mitheryn had awakened and taken some sustenance. Lalwen never woke completely, but her complexion seemed rosier and she fell into a real sleep. Laurendil was very hopeful for them both."

For a long moment, the Maia did not answer, staring out across the glade where they were seated. "I learned about compassion," she finally said in a low voice.

"That’s a start," Glorfindel said with an approving nod as he continued to toss twigs into the stream.

Le hannon, mellon nîn. iPhith lîn annar enni estel: ‘I thank thee, my friend. Thy words give me hope.’

Elendir... man sad ci, hervenn?...Man sad...?: ‘Elendir... where are you, husband?... Where...?’

Laurendil dismissed Lisselindë when their duty rotation ended, telling her he was pleased with how she had conducted herself that day, thanking her for her assistance. The Maia blushed slightly, gave him a respectful bow and faded from view. He then turned to Mithlas and suggested they go see Finrod. "I know he will be glad to see you," the healer said, but Mithlas was reluctant to leave his naneth and sister.

"They’re sleeping now," Laurendil said soothingly, "and they are being closely watched, just as you were when you first came here for healing."

The Sinda nodded, somewhat appeased. "I know, but somehow it...it’s different...."

"I know," Laurendil said sympathetically, "but we’ll not be far and you need rest. When was the last time you slept?" He gave the ellon a shrewd look and the blank expression on the Sinda’s face answered his question. "Let’s go see Finrod and you can give him your greetings."

Mithlas nodded, giving him a wan smile as they made their way towards Finrod’s grove. "I’ve been so busy seeing to Naneth and Mitheryn, I’ve barely said hello to anyone."

Laurendil smiled. "Well now that the initial crisis is over you can relax a bit. Ah... here we are."

They entered the grove to find themselves in the middle of what appeared to be an argument. Finrod was standing outside his pavilion facing Ingil. From their expressions it was clear that the elf was angry while the Maia appeared to be mildly amused.

"...and just how long is that going to be?" Finrod was asking as Laurendil and Mithlas entered. The two ellyn stopped, not sure they should be a witness to whatever was going on. Laurendil made to leave, beckoning to Mithlas, but Finrod saw them and with an impatient gesture motioned for them to remain where they were.

Laurendil sighed, looking resigned; Mithlas simply looked curious. He had yet to see Finrod in what Laurendil termed his ‘King of Nargothrond’ mood and seeing Finrod facing off a Maia was... interesting, to say the least.

"It will be as long as it needs to be, Findaráto, and no longer," Ingil replied mildly.

"That is not an answer and you know it!" Finrod exclaimed, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "I see no reason why there is always one of you lot hanging around whenever the elflings and I are together. I find it insulting and the children are beginning to feel intimidated."

Now Ingil exhibited surprise. "Is there something wrong with that?" he asked and the three elves could see the Maia was clearly confused.

Laurendil couldn’t help chuckling, though he tried to stifle his laughter. Mithlas had a wide grin on his face. Both Finrod and Ingil turned at the sound of Laurendil’s chuckle. Finrod’s expression was still one of anger though they could see a glint of amusement in his eyes as well. Ingil frowned at them, as if he just realized they had an audience, though none of the elves believed this.

"Perhaps you could explain," Finrod said to Laurendil, gesturing for him and Mithlas to approach. He smiled warmly at the Sinda. "Mae govannen, mellon," he said, giving the Sinda an embrace. "Lord Irmo told me you had come. How are your naneth and sister doing?"

If Mithlas was surprised that Finrod already knew why he was in Lórien he gave no indication. "Laurendil says they will recover given time."

"Good, good," the prince said. "I am glad." He then turned to Laurendil, rasing an eyebrow in expectation.

Laurendil grimaced as he faced the still waiting Maia. "You’ve never really dealt with elflings before, have you?" he asked and Ingil shook his head.

"Actually," he replied, "few elflings find their way here and those that do are usually not in a position to do anything but lie still. I still don’t understand what these children being on their best behavior has to do with anything. I would think you would want them to be." He stared pointedly at Finrod who nodded.

"At the appropriate moments," he said, "but to expect children to be on their best behavior at all times is expecting the impossible. They are elflings, not... not Maiar," he ended, sounding exasperated.

When Ingil raised an eyebrow at that, Laurendil stepped in. "He means, that we don’t expect them to behave all the time; it’s not natural." He turned to Finrod. "From what I gather, aranya, the elflings are feeling stifled whenever they interact with you because there’s always a Maia present."

"Exactly," Finrod said, nodding emphatically. "And quite frankly, I am finding myself feeling equally stifled. I am afraid to even pat them on the head in case someone misconstrues my action and thinks I’m going to harm them, which I would never do." He glared at the Maia.

"You and Glorfindel...." Ingil started to say but Finrod just threw up his hands again in frustration and stormed off, muttering angrily to himself.

He didn’t go too far, only to one side of the grove before turning around and stalking back to them, his expression still angry. "If Lord Irmo does not call off his watchers, I will take the elflings to Tirion with me."

"Am I a prisoner here?" Finrod fairly screamed, now incensed. Ingil actually took a step back, his expression wary. Laurendil and Mithlas, on the other hand, held their ground. "If so, then I suggest you chain me. The Valar know it wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened to me, though this time I would like it to be a mithril chain. Sauron’s chains were made of iron and rather rusty," he quipped, though none of them could tell if he was being serious or not. "I will take the elflings with me to Tirion where none of the Valar have dominion," he continued, speaking more softly and sounding more dangerous. "I can do my work as easily there as here and none of you will be allowed to interfere with my interactions with the children."

"Are you threatening....?" Ingil started to ask with a frown but he stopped when Finrod gave him a feral smile.

The healer gave Ingil a thin smile when the Maia turned to him. "Findaráto never makes threats, Ingil, only promises. Just ask any of the Valar. They’ll tell you."

For a long moment there was silence as Ingil digested all he had heard. Finally, he said, "I will speak to Lord Irmo about this." Then he gave them all a bow and faded from view.

"As if Lord Irmo doesn’t already know," Finrod said, still fuming. Then he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his anger dissipating. He glanced at the other two ellyn and gave them a sheepish smile. "Sorry you had to witness that," he said as he gestured for them to enter the pavilion and sit while he poured them some wine. "I’ve been trying to get Lord Irmo to call off his watchers for days now, but this is the first time any of the Maiar have bothered to speak to me about it and relay my message since Lord Irmo and Lady Estë appear to be suddenly and inexplicably unavailable." He gave them a sour grin.

"Maybe they’re hiding," Laurendil said with a smile. "They know what you’re like when you go all King of Nargothrond on them."

Finrod chuckled as he took his own seat. "No doubt you are correct. Well, there’s naught I can do about it at the moment, so tell me the news, Mithlas. What is happening on Tol Eressëa?"

Mithlas shrugged. "It’s been rather quiet. Those who attended the tournament have been talking about nothing else and everyone is eager to hear the details. Gilvagor and others are keeping a close eye on things, though. I suspect that he is in constant communication with both the Noldóran and King Olwë."

"I did not stop in Tirion on my way here, so I did not have a chance to see Sador," Mithlas said. "How is he doing? And Beleg? Have you heard any news from him?"

Finrod snorted. "They were here not too long ago... without permission, I might add, and immediately got themselves into trouble." He then related the events surrounding their arrival and what followed. Mithlas could only sit there, shaking his head in disbelief. "By now they will have returned to Tirion," Finrod concluded. "I have no idea what Atar or Anatar will do with them, but I’m sure it won’t be pleasant." He gave them a droll look and they all laughed.

When they went missing, Arafinwë immediately sent word to Olwë as well as a troop of guards to bring the errant ellyn back. When the escort returned without them, saying that they had been told by a Maia of Lord Irmo that the Lord of Lórien would see to their return in due time, the Noldóran stifled an oath, wishing the Valar would just for once stop interfering with their lives. By the time Olwë arrived, he was calmer, but when the two miscreants finally returned looking sheepish — As well they should!, he couldn’t help thinking — his ire rose again.

"Do you have any idea what you put us through with your stupidity?" he asked them in a scathing tone.

They were in his private study, he, Olwë, Sador and Beleg. Eärwen had wisely decided to leave any punishment to her husband and atar. If there were any tears afterwards, she would be there to dry them and offer comfort, though she would not gainsay whatever decisions were made by the two kings. Arafinwë and Olwë sat while the two younger ellyn stood facing them, shuffling their feet and not looking up.

"Sorry," Sador muttered, though he looked more angry than apologetic at that moment. Beleg’s expression mirrored his friend’s. Both ellyn resented the way everyone was treating them, as if they were no older than Veryandur.

The two kings exchanged exasperated looks. "Your apology seems somewhat lackluster," Olwë said mildly.

Sador looked up, his eyes blazing. "I resent being treated as if I’m a... a brainless Mortal."

Both Arafinwë and Olwë sat up straighter with identical looks of concern on their faces. "No one...." Arafinwë started to protest but Beleg cut him off.

"As am I," the ellon said. "I was a Marchwarden of Doriath, one of Elu Thingol’s trusted councillors, but apparently that counts for nothing here. Here, I’m a Reborn and a nuisance. Here, I’m treated as if I were ten. I may have died, and my memory of my former life may be... faulty, but I know what I was and I know who I am."

"And who is that?" Olwë asked softly, a hurt look lurking in the depths of his eyes.

The ellon stared at Olwë. "I am Beleg Cúthalion. I fought against orcs and other demons of Morgoth for many long ages, keeping the borders of Doriath safe. I... I died at the hands of... of one whom I loved... whom I still love as a brother. I think I deserve a little more respect than what I’ve received so far. Newly Reborn I may be, but I am not an elfling needing anyone’s permission for anything."

"We’ve discussed this before, child," Olwë said. "No one is disputing anything you’ve said, but your emotional responses to things are those of an elfling and it will be some time, a century, before you become emotionally mature. I wish it were otherwise, but it is not and we both have to live with it."

"That goes for you as well, Sador," Arafinwë said. "I know it’s difficult for you and I understand your frustrations, but you are going to have to learn to accept the situation as gracefully as you can. If you can demonstrate to me that you are taking your responsibilities seriously, I will treat you as you deserve."

"You’re learning to be a diplomatic aide to Findaráto," Arafinwë replied, sounding exasperated.

"It’s hard to be an aide to someone who’s never around to require any aid," Sador retorted in a rather petulant tone.

"And what of your apprenticeship with Netilmírë?" Arafinwë continued, ignoring Sador’s comment. "She was rather upset that you left without giving her any notice or even asking for her leave. I hold your wardship...."

"I’m not an elfling," Sador growled. "I’m of age. I don’t need to be anyone’s ward."

Arafinwë sighed, feeling hurt at the ellon’s obvious truculence. He glanced at Olwë, hoping the older elf would have something to say. It seemed as if both young ellyn had had plenty of time on their way back to Tirion to share their feelings of frustration with one another and to line up their arguments accordingly. He couldn’t really fault them. He well remembered he and Eärwen having similar arguments with Findaráto in the early stages of their reacquaintance with the stranger bearing their beloved firstborn’s face. It had been somewhat trying and he thought he had mastered the art of defusing irate Reborn by now, but apparently having two of them at the same time was different from dealing with only one. Thank the Valar we don’t have Glorfindel here as well, he thought and shuddered mentally at the image that thought evoked.

"And you, Beleg," Olwë said, "I noticed that at the first opportunity you jumped at the chance to leave Alqualondë. Why is that, hinya?"

"Alqualondë is not my home," the ellon responded quietly, not looking at his uncle, thus missing the hurt in Olwë’s eyes. "And I tire of being stared at, snubbed or just ignored by... your people." He took a deep breath before going on. "Also, I feel... useless. In my previous life I had a purpose, but now I have nothing. All that I was is looked upon by the Teleri as...wrong. When I’m with Sador or Finrod I don’t feel... worthless."

Olwë closed his eyes at the pain he could detect in the ellon’s voice and then he stood and took Beleg into his embrace, rubbing his back. "I am sorry, hinya. I wish I could wave my hands and wish away the prejudices and misconceptions of our people, but I cannot. We Teleri, of all the Eldar, were the most grievously hurt by the madness that consumed Fëanáro. We are still recovering from the shock."

"It’s the same complaint we are hearing from the Returnees in Tol Eressëa," Arafinwë said, "even more so than from the Reborn, for Lord Irmo sees that they are given instructions in various crafts if they did not practice one before their deaths. The warriors who have sailed are finding it difficult to adjust to their new surroundings."

Olwë stepped back to give Beleg a quizzical look. "Did you learn anything while in Lórien?"

Beleg smiled. "I am one of the greatest archers in Arda," he said without any arrogance. "I was crafting my own bows, arrows and quivers before I was fifty. I need no other craft to support me. I’m rather interested in those... altaquingar used by the Vanyar. I would like to learn the making of them. I can also give lessons in the art of archery, the constructing of bows and the fletching of arrows."

"And you have no interest in learning anything else," Olwë said somewhat sadly.

Beleg paled, realizing he may have insulted his own uncle and looked contrite. "Until I came to Alqualondë I had never even seen the Sea and the one time I sailed with you, I was... um... sicker than Túrin was after he ate some mushrooms he shouldn’t have." He gave Olwë a rueful look and the King of the Teleri threw back his head and laughed.

"That you were, hinya," he said jovially, giving the ellon another hug. "That you were."

"I watched the Tol Eressëans at the tournament," Sador said out of the blue. "They were not just happy, they were... contented, perhaps for the first time since coming to Aman, I deem, if what you say is true, Atar. Gilvagor and Laurendil did tell you about the sense of unrest that has become endemic among the Returnees. Of course, all that nonsense with the Amaneldi did not help."

Olwë gave Arafinwë a knowing look. "I noticed how all the Tol Eressëans and not a few of the Amaneldi who fought in the War of Wrath always saluted Eönwë whenever that Maia made an appearance."

Arafinwë nodded. "He was the Captain of the Host of the Valar and held the supreme command. Even Ereinion, who is the High King of the Noldor still residing in Endórë, deferred to him."

"I wish I had lived long enough to see that," Sador said wistfully. "I mean, the Host of the Valar coming, not Gil-galad bowing to Lord Eönwë, although that would have been fun to see, too...." His voice trailed off in embarrassment as the others stared at him and then Arafinwë started laughing.

"How did the Elves of Heceldamar react?" Olwë asked. "I have never gotten a full report on what happened from you."

"They were at first quite welcoming and very relieved to see us," Arafinwë answered. "Unfortunately, many of our warriors, especially among the Vanyarin, gave them the impression that this was a... rescue mission and the elves of Heceldamar were at best poor cousins who were to show proper gratitude to their saviors."

Arafinwë shook his head. "It did not and there was almost dissension in the ranks because of it. Lord Eönwë put a stop to it almost at once, reminding the Host that their mission was to defeat Melkor. Whatever their personal feelings about the elves of Heceldamar, they were as beloved of the Valar as any of the Amaneldi and they were not to be disparaged."

Arafinwë sighed and then gave a piercing stare at Sador and Beleg, who had remained still as the two kings spoke, hoping not to draw attention back to themselves and remind the older elves of why they were there.

"Why, put you to work, of course," Arafinwë replied in a tone that indicated that the answer should have been obvious.

"What sort of work, lord?" Beleg asked, looking somewhat disconcerted. He had visions of himself and Sador on their hands and knees scrubbing the front hallway of the palace with tiny brushes and forced himself not to shudder.

"Starting tomorrow Sador," Arafinwë replied, "you will return to your studies as a junior diplomat and you will also begin attending council meetings, which is something you have not done before. You will also go to your anamillë after we speak here and apologize to her. I’m sure she will have her own ideas about suitable punishment for an apprentice who leaves without his master’s permission."

Sador nodded, expecting no less and relieved it wasn’t worse. Having to attend council meetings did not seem too onerous. He remembered Finrod and Glorfindel telling him about them.

"As for you Beleg," Arafinwë continued. "With your uncle’s permission I would like you to start training the Noldor in archery."

Beleg gave him a surprised look and turned to Olwë, seeking confirmation. His uncle nodded. Olwë decided then that when Beleg was done teaching the Noldor he would have him do the same with the Teleri. No one knew when the final war against Melkor would commence. The Teleri had kept out of the doings of the other Amaneldi to their detriment. He had vowed to himself as he watched helplessly while his city went up in flames that they would not make that mistake again.

Beleg turned his attention back to Arafinwë. "You want me to teach them archery, lord?"

"Yes," Arafinwë answered with a nod. "We Noldor are excellent swordsmen, but we know little of the bow and I think it high time we learned. The Vanyar excel in the use of the altaquinga. I would like to see my people at least become efficient in its use."

"As I would for the Teleri," Olwë said, "so when you are finished teaching the Noldor all that you know, you will return to Alqualondë to do the same there."

Sador frowned. "I thought we were going to be punished," he said, giving the two kings a suspicious look. "Yet, I am only going to be doing what I have been doing since coming to Tirion and Beleg is going to be doing what he loves best: be an archer."

"The point is, hinyar," Arafinwë said, "that punishing you is a waste of time. You fully expected to be punished for what you did and I suspect that in some perverse way you were even looking forward to it." He gave them a knowing look and they both had the grace to blush. "Well, you’re about to be disappointed, because instead we intend to give you the responsibilities you crave and demand. You will find, Sador, that your duties, especially now that you will be attending council meetings, will leave you little time for future mischief. The same goes for you, Beleg."

There was silence between them for a long moment and then Sador turned to Beleg, speaking Sindarin. "Correct me if I am wrong, gwador, but I think we both have just been promoted."

Beleg snorted and Arafinwë smiled, having gotten the gist of what had been said. Olwë’s own expression was unreadable. He would wait until the ellyn left before he asked Arafinwë for a translation.

Amaneldi: An attested plural of Amanelda: an Elf of Aman. One would expect the more normal plural form *Amaneldar, but apparently Tolkien decided differently in this case.

Heceldamar: Beleriand. A learned word used by the loremasters of Aman, literally meaning ‘Land of the Forsaken Elves’ i.e. those who forsook the Sea journey once they arrived in Beleriand.

Irmo had already decided that Beleg and Sador would remain in Lórien just long enough to offer Findaráto their apologies for their part in the ‘Reborn Rampage’ as everyone in Lórien was calling it. They had arrived early enough in the morning that they could easily set out again an hour or so later and be well on their way to Valmar before the day’s end. Ingwion would be going with them part of the way, leaving them for Vanyamar once they reached Eldamas. He, Aldundil and Vorondil did not accompany Beleg and Sador to their meeting with Finrod. In fact, Finrod was unaware that they were even in Lórien, for Irmo had warned the two younger ellyn not to reveal that information to their gwador.

"One thing at a time," Irmo told them as he led them to Finrod’s grove. "The meeting between Findaráto and Vorondil needs to be handled delicately and I know he and Ingwion have things they need to speak about in private."

Thus, their own meeting with Finrod was brief and to the point. The Noldorin prince had since lost his anger if not his disappointment and accepted their apologies graciously enough. "You should have trusted me," he said at the last. "You and Glorfindel should have trusted me. We’re supposed to be gwedyr after all."

The hurt the two ellyn sensed from him pierced their own hearts and they went away feeling much chastened, wondering if they had lost not only Finrod’s love but his respect. Finrod was not ready to assure them of the contrary.

"They should have trusted me," he reiterated sadly to Irmo when the two of them were alone once again.

"Your gwedyr, even Glorfindel, are still very young emotionally," Irmo said gently. "They see you more as the elder brother and we all know that elder brothers were born to interfere with the fun of their younger siblings." He gave the elf a knowing smile and Finrod was forced to acknowledge that bit of truism.

"I wish we could have left Mandos together," he said with a sigh. "There are times when I really hate having to be the responsible one."

"I know," Irmo said sympathetically and then he gave Finrod a wicked smile. "Which is why I’m eternally grateful to Ilúvatar that Námo is the older brother, not I."

Finrod stared at the Vala in disbelief for a moment or two and then burst out laughing at the implications of Irmo’s statement. "Then I guess Lord Námo and I are more alike than I’d thought," he finally said.

Irmo refrained from commenting. "Ingwion has also come," he told Finrod. "He will leave with Beleg and Sador to return to Vanyamar. Will you see him?"

"I am merely being the polite host," Irmo replied, his expression now unreadable to the elf.

"Both," was Irmo’s answer and before Finrod could question him, he was on his way out of the grove and the ellon was forced to follow.

They did not go far, for coming down the sward was Ingwion escorted by Nielluin, whom Finrod recognized as Lady Estë’s chief Maia. The two cousins greeted one another warmly and with much affection.

"I wish you could stay longer," Finrod said. "I’m beginning to feel deserted."

"I wish I could as well," Ingwion responded with a smile. "Unfortunately, I have my own duties that have been somewhat neglected of late."

Finrod nodded in understanding. "Will you give your family my love?" he asked, sounding somewhat wistful.

"Of course," Ingwion replied. "That goes without saying." He gave his cousin a knowing look. "What troubles you, Findaráto? I’ve not seen you so... dispirited."

Finrod sighed. "While everyone was away I finally had the opportunity to actually examine some documents Lord Irmo gave me detailing something of what happened here in Aman when... when I was away."

Ingwion felt the blood rush from his head, leaving him feeling suddenly faint, and stole a glance at the Vala standing calmly beside them, listening to their conversation but not a part of it. Irmo’s expression was unreadable though his eyes were bright with some emotion Ingwion could put no name to. He turned his gaze back to Finrod. "Wh-what did you learn?"

Finrod shook his head. "Too many things... and not enough," and there was a note of deep frustration in his voice that made Ingwion wince.

"What do you not know of those times?" Ingwion asked in a hoarse whisper. He was loath to speak of that period in his life, yet he owed it to his cousin to tell him what he needed to know. He doubted that either his atar or Arafinwë would be fully forthcoming with details. Even he did not know the entire story and probably never would, but he knew more than most, having been in the very center of the events that nearly tore Eldamar apart.

Finrod stared at Ingwion, gauging the level of unease he sensed from his cousin, an unease that was near to panic and he wondered at that. Instinctively he put his arms around the Vanyarin prince and hugged him. "It can wait," he whispered into Ingwion’s ear. "When you are ready. I will not press." He gave the ellon a light kiss on his forehead in benediction, then stepped back, giving him a warm smile.

"And if I’m never ready?" Ingwion asked, giving his cousin a somewhat sardonic look.

Ingwion’s eyes widened at the implied threat. He knew Findaráto was only teasing him but he couldn’t help giving him a fierce scowl. "Leave her out of this," he growled half-convincingly.

"Or what?" Finrod couldn’t help retorting, though there was a glimmer of laughter in his eyes that did not go unnoticed by Ingwion.

"Or I will tell Glorfindel, Sador and Beleg all about your elflinghood," Ingwion replied with a smirk. "I have lots of stories to tell. I suspect even Glorfindel doesn’t know much about your early years, seeing as how you were already an adult by the time he was born. I’m sure he’ll find them endlessly amusing."

"No, that’s revenge," Ingwion replied with an arch of an eyebrow. When Finrod just stared at him blankly he gave a supercilious sniff. "You still owe me for that shovel you hit me with."

Finrod threw up his hands, rolling his eyes in disbelief. "Oh for the love of Ilúvatar!" he muttered.

Ingwion looked to Irmo, giving him a satisfied smirk. "Guess I win this round," he said and the Vala started laughing, having enjoyed the bantering between the two cousins. Nielluin just smiled.

Finrod found that he couldn’t stay angry at Ingwion, though. They knew each other too well. He gave Ingwion another heartfelt hug. "All right," he said, "I won’t go to Indil...."

His cousin nodded, looking more sober. "Soon, I promise," he said. "I just need some time to think some things through first."

"As I said, when you are ready, Cousin," Finrod replied. "Now, I think you had best go see how Sador and Beleg are getting on. I imagine you want to get on your way sooner rather than later."

Ingwion nodded and the two cousins embraced one last time before Nielluin led the Vanya away, leaving Finrod alone again with Irmo. The Vala gave him a sympathetic look, for Finrod was watching Ingwion walk away with a wistful expression on his face.

"You’ll see one another soon enough," Irmo said. "And now, there are two more people whom you must see."

Finrod turned his attention back to Irmo with a questioning look. Irmo merely gestured and they resumed their walk, coming to another grove where Vorondil nervously awaited Finrod’s arrival with his atar, wondering if his master would accept him back. Aldundil was also nervous though for different reasons. Finrod stopped in surprise when he saw the two of them and looked at Irmo for confirmation.

The Vala nodded. "My sister deemed them ready to return to the fold, as it were," was all he said.

Finrod stared at him for a long moment before turning back to Vorondil and Aldundil. Vorondil stood there, looking lost and forlorn and not a little scared but when Finrod opened his arms wide he gave a gasp and ran into his embrace.

"Hush now," Finrod whispered in his ear, gently rocking him. "All is forgiven. Welcome back, child. The other elflings have missed you, as have I." He pulled back to give the ellon a smile. "Now I can finally have my tunics folded correctly. Veryandur is completely hopeless at the task."

Vorondil stared at Finrod for a moment, wondering if his master was serious, but when Finrod gave him a wink, he burst out laughing. "I guess I should teach him then," he said.

Finrod gave him another hug, keeping one arm around Vorondil’s shoulders as he greeted Aldundil. "I’m glad to see you as well, Aldundil. I trust your time with your son was well spent."

Aldundil bowed. "Indeed it was, aranya," he answered, "and you should know that I’ve resigned my office in the Noldóran’s government. I’ve taken up a new career as an illuminator."

Finrod nodded. "So Atar informed me in his last missive. I’m glad that you have found a new calling. I hope it works out for you."

"As do I," Aldundil admitted. "I have yet to know if I can even provide for my son and myself as an illuminator. The income generated by my personal estate barely covers the cost of maintenance."

"You need have no fear of that," Finrod said. "I have already decided that the history of Heceldamar should not be lost even if it now lies within Lord Ulmo’s realm never to rise again. I have begun to compile such an account, at least of my own part in it, and would like you to illustrate it. You were there," he said, forestalling Aldundil’s half-hearted attempt to decline the commission, "unlike most of the illuminators working in Tirion or elsewhere in Eldamar. You will be able to render scenes and people more accurately than they."

"I did not see everything or meet everyone," Aldundil protested. "And I am only just beginning to learn the art of illumination. Surely there are others more skilled than I...."

"That may be," Finrod said with a smile, "but the difference is you are here and they are not. Also you are my vassal, in case you’ve forgotten, and they are not."

Aldundil had no answer to that observation so he did the only thing he could: he bowed low and thanked his lord for the opportunity to serve him. Finrod’s smile deepened.

"Well, that’s settled," he said with satisfaction. "Now, why don’t we gather up the elflings and Laurendil and Manwen and have a celebration." He turned to Irmo. "Do you suppose the cooks could come up with something special for us for lunch?"

Finrod turned to Vorondil. "Why don’t you go find your friends while your atar and I look for Laurendil and Manwen. We’ll meet back at my grove."

Vorondil did not waste any time, but gave Finrod a hasty bow before rushing out. Finrod shared a smile with Aldundil. "So, why don’t you bring some of your work and you can show it to us over lunch."

Aldundil bowed and went to find his portfolio before the two of them left the grove.

Ingwion was quiet and somewhat distant as he, Sador and Beleg made their way into Eldamas. He had been thinking about his conversation with Findaráto while journeying between Lórien and Valmar and was lost in memories of an earlier, darker time. The other two ellyn quickly left him alone and were not too surprised, if a little hurt, when he decided not to stay the night with them at the Laughing Vala but elected to continue on to Vanyamar in spite of the fact that it was now late afternoon.

"I have no desire for sleep," he told them, "and I would like to get home sooner rather than later. I will borrow a fresh horse from the stables and be on my way after I’ve had a bite to eat."

Ingwion gave the younger elf a surprised look. "No, Sador. I am not angry with you or Beleg. I... I just have much on my mind and I need to consult with my atar about some things. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much company anyway. Best I continue on. Give my regards to Arafinwë and Olwë and everyone else, will you?"

Sador nodded and Ingwion gave him a brief but heartfelt hug and did the same with Beleg. "Now, behave, both of you," he admonished them somewhat sternly. "If you do not wish to be treated as an elfling, stop acting like one."

The other two ellyn nodded sheepishly. An hour later they were waving farewell to Ingwion as the Vanya rode away, their expressions wistful.

Ingwion reached Vanyamar before midnight and when he identified himself to the gate guards he was readily admitted into the city. Once he was sure his two horses were being cared for he made his way to the palace where he was surprised to see his atar still awake, though it appeared the rest of the household was asleep. Ingwë gave him a warm hug.

"Something told me you would be home tonight," the High King said as he and Ingwion took seats before the fireplace. "So I decided to stay up even though I have an early court session in the morning." He poured some wine from a decanter for them both.

"You shouldn’t have stayed up on my account, Atto," Ingwion said after taking an appreciative sip. "I will probably seek my own bed soon enough."

"May I ask what drove you to travel through the night rather than staying in Eldamas until the morning?" Ingwë asked.

Ingwion stared into the fire burning on the grate, not sure what he should say, if anything. "Findaráto is asking questions," he finally said in a soft voice, "questions about what happened in Aman after the Noldor left." He turned to look at his atar, his expression bleak. "What do I tell him?"

"Why?" Ingwion asked in surprise. "It is not as if he knows nothing about it. Findaráto told me that the Reborn are instructed in the history of Aman from the time of the Darkening until the present."

"But only in generalities," Ingwë reminded him. "They are not given personal details, at least not by the Maiar or the Lóriennildi. That is the responsibility of their families if and when they are asked. You know the reluctance on both sides to seek such answers or to give them." Ingwion nodded, well aware of the conspiracy of silence that had recently come to light amongst the many elven factions, whether Reborn, Returnee or Amaneldi. All appeared reluctant to speak of their experiences, either out of a sense of shame or regret or because it was too painful a memory for them to recount. "I know Arafinwë will not speak of that time willingly," Ingwë continued saying, "not even to me."

Ingwë sighed, rubbing the space between his eyes. "I honestly do not know, yonya. I can only advise that you listen to what your heart tells you."

Ingwion nodded, took a final gulp of the wine and put the goblet on the table. "I will retire now," he said as he stood. "I have much to think on. Do you require me at court tomorrow?"

Ingwë rose as well. "Actually I do, but you are excused if you wish. You’ve had a long journey...."

"That does not matter," Ingwion assured him. "I will be there. Goodnight, Atto." He started to give his sire a respectful bow but Ingwë stopped him and embraced him, giving him a fatherly kiss.

"Goodnight, child," he said, then let him go. For some time afterwards, Ingwë sat before the fire deep in thought. Dawn was only a few hours away before he finally sought his bed.

Ingwion did not fall into bed immediately either. Instead he undressed and readied himself, but then he threw on a house robe and sat in his sitting room before the unlit fire, mulling over his conversation with his atar. He found himself fiddling with the ring Lord Námo had gifted him and on a hunch softly called out his master’s name. He didn’t really expect anything so he was pleasantly surprised when a multitude of colored lights, too bright for him to look at directly, coalesced into the dark figure of the Lord of Mandos. Ingwion stood and gave the Vala his obeisance.

Ingwion nodded and gestured to the other chair. "Will you sit and I will explain?"

Námo sat while Ingwion went to a sideboard and poured some wine for them both. When he turned around he gave a startled gasp, for there was now a cheery fire blazing away in the grate. Námo smiled. "I thought a fire would be welcome."

Ingwion smiled back as he sat down, handing one of the goblets to the Vala. "I wasn’t going to bother as I need to sleep soon. Atar needs me in the morning for court."

Námo nodded, sipping his wine, but said nothing else, waiting for Ingwion to explain why he had summoned him. Ingwion took a sip of wine and sighed, staring into the fire.

Ingwion proceeded to tell him about his conversation with Findaráto and then with Ingwë. "What do I tell Findaráto?" he asked as he concluded his narrative. "How do I explain what really happened? Even I don’t know what really happened. Not entirely. I know I was... not myself at the end and much that happened after is... hazy."

"I know," Námo said sympathetically, well aware of the mental state the prince had been in at the time.

"Your atar is very wise," Námo said. Then he gave the ellon a piercing glance. "So, are you asking me if you should tell Findaráto everything or if you should remain silent?"

"I promised him we would talk," Ingwion replied, not willing to commit himself either way.

Námo shrugged. "Then I do not see the conflict. Speak to him. Answer his questions. He needs to know what happened, Ingwion, even if only from your perspective, which admittedly is limited. He needs to have the past illuminated or he will not understand what he sees happening around him in the present, for it has no context for him. Without that context he cannot hope to prepare himself for the future."

"Is that what he is trying to do?" Ingwion asked, sounding perplexed. "Prepare himself for the future?"

"It is what we all do on one level or another," Námo replied. "Our past illuminates the present and from that we draw conclusions about the future. Right now, Findaráto is staring into the darkness and has no light, if you will, to guide him, so he cannot make intelligent decisions about the future."

"But he was not here at the time," Ingwion protested. "Why would what happened here affect him in any way? Certainly, the events in Heceldamar don’t affect me and you don’t see me asking questions about what happened there."

The Lord of Mandos gave his apprentice a hard stare and Ingwion gulped, unsure what was going to happen next. "You speak foolishly, child," Námo said coldly and the light of the fire seemed to dim perceptibly and the temperature in the room dropped noticeably. "What happened in the elvish realms your cousin and the other Exiles carved for themselves very much impacts on the lives of the people of Aman. One need only observe the conflicts that have arisen of late over the Returnees and Reborn now populating the land. Conversely, what happened here impacts those who were not present just as surely as it does those of us who were. It is, in fact, simply all of a piece with Melkor’s taint and the Marring that we must all endure until the End."

For several tense moments Ingwion remained silent, mulling over the Vala’s words. Finally, he shook his head. "I’m afraid," he muttered as he looked at Námo, his expression bleak.

Námo nodded, his expression sympathetic. "The truth is the most frightening thing of all, for there are no defenses against it and it lays our fëar bare. Yet truth is our only real weapon against the Darkness. Truth is the real illuminator of our lives, Ingwion. Truth is what sets us free from self-doubt and self-pity. Truth is what Findaráto needs now. He cannot adequately function in his new role without it."

Ingwion sighed, recognizing the verity of Námo’s words. He gave the Vala a sly look. "Would you tell him, then?"

Námo raised an eyebrow. "He asked you, Ingwion, not me. If he ever bothers to ask me I will tell him, but until then, I’m afraid it is up to you."

"That’s what I thought you would say," Ingwion replied in a dejected tone. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the chair. "You must think me a coward," he said without opening his eyes.

Námo leaned over and brushed a hand over the ellon’s hair. "Never," he replied. Then, he stood, drawing Ingwion with him. "You should rest. Dawn comes soon and we don’t want you falling asleep in the middle of court, do we?"

Ingwion snorted. "I guess not," he admitted. He looked upon the Vala shyly. "Thank you for putting up with me."

"I don’t ‘put up’ with you, Ingwion," Námo said. "You’re my apprentice, but more than that, you are one of the Eruhíni, and it is a joy to serve you."

The ellon frowned. "If I’m the apprentice how is it you’re the one doing the serving?"

"Ah... now that’s a question for another time," Námo responded with a light chuckle. "Go to bed, my prince."

Any inclination on Ingwion’s part to continue arguing was forestalled by a large yawn. He gave Námo a sheepish smile, bowed and made his way into his bedroom, closing the door. Námo resumed his seat, staring at the fire, looking up only when he sensed the presence of Irmo seated in the chair Ingwion had recently vacated. The Lord of Lórien gave his brother a quizzical look.

"Why did you give Findaráto those documents?" Námo asked, his tone one of mild curiosity rather than of censure.

Irmo shrugged. "Perhaps, or perhaps not. It’s rather hard to say with that one. There are depths to Arafinwion that only Atar can fathom, I deem."

"Do you think Ingwion will tell him?" Irmo asked after a moment or two of silence.

"Yes," Irmo replied shortly. "He fears he will lose his son’s respect when Findaráto learns what happened after his atar turned back. He’s been dreading this since the day Findaráto was released from my care."

"His fears are baseless," Námo insisted. "Findaráto loves him too much. Arafinwë will never lose either his son’s love or respect."

"May I point out that it was you who gave Findaráto the documents, not I," Námo couldn’t help saying in a rather prim manner.

"And we may all live to regret that decision on my part," Irmo replied somewhat sadly.

Irmo gave his brother a jaundiced look. "We, perhaps, but what of the Children? We have not asked any of them if they are willing to take the risk."

Námo sighed and nodded, acknowledging the truth of his brother’s words. "I suppose we have no choice but to play this out to the end. More is at stake than the loss of a son’s love and respect for his atar."

"Yet, that loss, if it happens, can change everything," Irmo stated. "Are we prepared for that eventuality?"

Námo did not answer immediately, and when he did, he spoke so low Irmo had to strain to hear. "I hope so."

"Atar help us if we’re wrong," Irmo retorted with a sigh as he faded from view, leaving Námo alone in Ingwion’s sitting room staring morosely at the fire.

Author’s note: While some of the events alluded to in this chapter will be addressed in subsequent chapters, the full story will appear in a future tale, In Darkness Bound.

Glorfindel stood up suddenly, his attention riveted by something deeper in the woods. Lisselindë stared at him in consternation. "What’s wrong?" she asked.

Glorfindel did not answer immediately. Instead, he swept his gaze around, as if searching for something, but apparently when he did not find what he was looking for, he turned back to the Maia. "Would you go back to the cottage and fetch my bow and arrows?" he whispered.

"Whatever for?" she demanded, though she kept her voice low, not sure what was going on.

Glorfindel made an impatient gesture. "Will you or not? Stop wasting my time with questions I will not answer."

She stepped back, obviously stung by his words and shook her head. She was not his thrall. She didn’t have to do anything he might command of her. She would watch and listen but that was all.

Glorfindel scowled. "Fine. Stay here," he ordered and before she could even open her mouth to protest he was gone, leaping over the brook and nearly flying across the clearing into the woods to the east.

"I will not," she said to herself, now becoming more angry than alarmed. "Of all the... Impossible ellon, indeed! I will never understand them!" She sent her mind forward to see where Glorfindel had gone. She would just think herself to wherever he was though she would remain unclad. She found him racing through the woods, heedless of the underbrush or the trees, which seemed to understand his urgency and moved limbs and roots out of the ellon’s way. She was about to think herself to him when Tiutalion appeared, along with Nyéreser, who was carrying Glorfindel’s bow and quiver.

"I believe he said to stay here," Tiutalion said coldly. "You may indeed watch, but only from a distance." He then nodded to Nyéreser, who nodded back before calmly jumping the brook, running swiftly across the field in the direction Glorfindel had gone.

Lisselindë just stood there, glowering, but said nothing, merely extending her senses to keep track of the ellon and the Maia, who, in spite of the fact that Glorfindel had had a good lead, was nearly caught up with him.

Glorfindel heard a twig snap behind him and whirled, flexing his right arm in such a way that a knife fell easily into his hand, then going into a defensive crouch all in one fluid movement. Aman or not, he was too much the warrior not to go armed, even if it was only with a knife. While others would consider this to be impolite or against all protocol, especially when in the presence of the Valar, he did not care and was not about to change his warrior habits even for them. While he wasn’t so foolish as to wear any weapons openly, unless specifically asked to do so, he wasn’t about to enlighten anyone about the weapons that were hidden about his person. The Valar and Maiar probably knew, but in his estimation, they did not really count; it was the Amaneldi from whom he kept such things secret. He rose from his crouch, sheathing his knife when he saw Nyéreser coming towards him and realized that the Maia had deliberately stepped on the twig to alert him to his presence. Nyéreser smiled knowingly as he came to a stop before him, handing him his bow and quiver.

Glorfindel could only nod his thanks as he slipped the quiver over his shoulder then took the bow, expertly stringing it, silently resuming his run with the Maia easily keeping up with him. He was grateful that Nyéreser did not seek to question him or stop him. He was not sure why, but need drove him and he had learned long ago not to question such urgings; too often they had saved his life, or the lives of others.

Now, the vague sounds of distress that had alerted Glorfindel became clearer and louder as he and Nyéreser leapt over a fallen tree and ran into another clearing, stopping just long enough to take in the scene. Glorfindel found himself blanching at the sight. Before him was a pack of silver-backed wolves, perhaps the very pack with whom he had run some time before. There was also a small herd of deer, but what stunned him was not that the wolves were attacking the deer, but rather attacking something else, or rather, several somethings, monsters the like of which the ellon had never seen, not even in his darkest nightmares.

It took him a stunned moment to see that the wolves were actually protecting the deer. Then, he pushed all that aside. In the split second it took him to take in the scene he had already loosed two arrows into the closest of the monsters and was nocking a third. They were hideous creatures, with long curved upper canines. They appeared vaguely feline but their coats were shaggy and they were half again the size of the largest of the wolves. There was a glimmer of unexpected intelligence in their eyes, an intelligence that was purely evil, that left him with the same sick feeling he had had just before he had leapt off the precipice to attack the balrog.

There were many more of the feline monsters than he had originally thought and not all his arrows found their targets. Wolves and the one stag among the deer herd, fought to bring down the felines, but only one of the monsters was down, obviously gored by the stag’s antlers. Two wolves and one of the does were down as well. Glorfindel did not know if the wolves had originally been attacking the deer when the monsters came upon them and he didn’t much care. He understood the ways of nature and would not have interfered with the natural order of things, but the feline monsters were obviously unnatural.

By now, some of the monsters had realized that they had a new threat and two of them left off their attack on the wolves and deer and went for him, flanking him so that he knew that if he shot at one the other would take him. He glanced at the Maia standing beside him.

Even before Glorfindel could muster a retort, a horn rang out in the distance, its notes silvery clear and sweet, yet there was an undertone of darkness to it that tugged at Glorfindel’s fëa. He gasped unconsciously, feeling his blood pulse with a heat that he had experienced only once before when he had run with the wolves. He felt Nyéreser lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Steady," the Maia whispered and Glorfindel could feel the heat abate somewhat and he shuddered with an effort to keep himself focused.

If the animals still fighting heard the horn they gave no sign. If anything the ferociousness of their attacks grew. Again the horn sounded and then through the woods came a troop of Maiar, all on foot, carrying spears. With them came Oromë astride Nahar. It was he who had wound the horn. As soon as they entered the clearing, the Maiar gave bloodcurdling yells and leapt into the fray. Nyéreser held Glorfindel back.

"Do not move," he whispered and then suddenly a spear that was at least a foot longer than Glorfindel was tall was in the Maia’s hand. With a yell of his own, Nyéreser rushed at the feline that was on Glorfindel’s right. At the same moment the one on his left leapt but was skewered by a spear thrown by one of the other Maiar. Glorfindel found himself stepping back a pace or two and was not surprised to see the wolves and deer also retreating to the edge of the clearing as they all watched the Maiar fight against the monsters.

It was something he would never forget. As consummate a warrior as he was, Glorfindel realized he was but a babe-in-arms in comparison to the Maiar attacking the monsters. He watched as Nyéreser, the only one of the Maiar he knew, attacked three of the felines at once, his movements a blur even to the Elf. Unlike the wolves though, the Maiar’s attacks were without any heat, without any rage behind them. Their faces were without expression, their eyes burning with a coldness that defied anything Glorfindel had ever witnessed before. Even the balrog had been filled with fury, a fury that matched his own at the time. Glorfindel suddenly realized a truth he had avoided recognizing until then: the Maiar whom he had fought, even those who had beaten him into a pulp somewhere on the slopes of the Pelóri to get him to speak about his feelings of anger towards Ingwë, had been holding back, fighting him at his level, not theirs.

It was a sobering thought, yet at the same time almost liberating. He felt something open up inside him, something was freed within him, and he felt a tension he did not even know existed melt away, leaving him feeling suddenly weak. He found himself collapsing on the ground, his head swimming. Then, someone was there, kneeling before him and he looked up into the eyes of Lord Oromë, warm with concern.

Glorfindel stared at Oromë, trying to gather his scattered wits. "I... I am not sure," he whispered and that very uncertainty sent him into a state of panic, his breathing shallowing and becoming rapid. Almost at once, he felt rather than saw Nyéreser kneeling beside him, gently rubbing his back while Oromë pulled a flask from his belt and handed it to him. "Drink this," he commanded and Glorfindel took the flask and drank. It was miruvórë. Even with the first sip Glorfindel could feel his world righting itself again and he became calm, his breathing slowing.

He handed back the flask with a nod of thanks and Oromë smiled. "I did not think the sight of my People battling these monsters would upset you so, child."

Glorfindel took a deep breath. "I’ve been arrogant, haven’t I?" he asked forlornly.

Oromë sat back on his heels, gazing at the ellon who now could not look the Vala in the eye. Oromë exchanged a glance with Nyéreser, who shrugged while still rubbing Glorfindel’s back. Oromë turned his attention back to the elf. "Arrogant in what way?" he asked.

The former Lord of the House of the Golden Flower sighed. "The Maiar have been playing with me, haven’t they? I thought... but having seen these Maiar in battle... was it like this during the War of Wrath? No one has ever said."

There was almost a plaintive tone to the question and Oromë realized what the ellon was babbling about. "Glorfindel," he said gently, "you are perhaps the greatest swordsman in all of Arda. I think only Findaráto can claim to be your equal. The Maiar... well, they were fighting Melkor’s minions for uncounted ages before Arda was ever created. You have never truly seen any of us, Maiar or Valar, fight when in our true forms. None of the Eruhíni have and indeed they never will. To do so would destroy you utterly. You have no concept of the powers we Ainur truly possess. I say this not to belittle you, for you are full worthy of respect from us, but to point out the fundamental difference between we who are created spiritual beings and you who are the mirroanwi."

"So I did not really defeat Lord Manwë’s Maiar," Glorfindel said, feeling deflated.

"I never said that," Oromë replied with a smile. "I said you have never seen us fight in our natural forms and using our full powers which, if we employed them, would rip this world apart, literally. Do not belittle yourself, child. Do you seriously think that balrog you fought was holding back? I assure you it wasn’t. You have nothing to be ashamed of. If you are arrogant, it is with reason and I and my People respect you as the warrior you are and always will be."

Glorfindel swallowed, still looking pale. "I guess this time it was my turn to have a lesson, wasn’t it?"

Oromë gave him a considering look. "It depends on what you take away from this. If you believe that we Valar and the Maiar are laughing behind your back, then you are mistaken. If you go away knowing that there are forces and powers greater than your own, powers that fight alongside you as comrades, as macilhánor, if you will, who respect your own prowess as a warrior, then, yes, that is certainly a lesson worth learning."

"You are not alone in your fight against evil, Glorfindel," Nyéreser interjected. "None of you are. You have comrades who fight beside you, often invisible or in forms more like to the mirroanwi, but there nonetheless. Those of us who fought in the War of Wrath did so clad in the forms of the Children, not as a sign of our contempt for you, but for the Enemy."

Glorfindel gave the Maia a surprised look. Nyéreser nodded. "We were showing the Enemy that even limiting our powers as we did to the level of the Children we could still outfight them. It is why the war took as long as it did. Even so, we could not contain all our powers, especially since the Enemy had no compunction about using its powers to the fullest, and so Beleriand was destroyed in the process." He sighed, giving Glorfindel a rueful look. "It is something I will always regret, for it was a fair land."

Oromë stood up and pulled Glorfindel along with him, giving him a clap on the shoulder. "You are a wonderful ellon, Glorfindel. Do not think yourself otherwise, for I assure you none of us do. Now, let us see about cleaning up this mess." The Vala turned and surveyed the clearing. The feline monsters were all dead and their carcasses piled in a heap. The two dead wolves and the doe were lying separately from them. Glorfindel walked over to the pile of monsters to get a better look at them. He shuddered, for up close he realized that the smallest of them stood nearly chest high to him.

"Leftovers from an earlier age before your ancestors awoke by the shores of Cuiviénen," Oromë said, standing next to him. "Melkor was very busy corrupting Yavanna’s creations back then. They usually don’t come this far south, though," he said stroking his chin pensively. "I’ll have to look into that."

Glorfindel shuddered again, though now for a different reason. He turned to follow Oromë when the Vala moved away to kneel amongst the carcasses of the wolves and deer. He put his hands out so that they hovered over the bodies. Glorfindel was never sure what he saw or felt just then, but some kind of power went out of the Vala and slowly the torn bodies of the wolves began to heal and in a matter of minutes they were both standing, reverently licking the Vala’s face before bounding off to join their pack. The doe, Glorfindel noticed, also began to stir and soon it was being greeted by its herd. Oromë stood and smiled at the two groups of animals, traditional enemies of one another, yet, for a brief time, comrades against a common foe.

"Go, my children," he said. "Go in peace this day." He then spoke directly to the wolves. "Hunt further to the east, my friends. You will find what you seek there."

The wolves all bowed as one and then, letting out a howl, they leapt through the trees, heading east. Oromë, meanwhile, moved to stand among the deer, and addressed the stag. "You did well, my beloved, very well indeed. Go. Take your family south. You will find what you seek there."

The stag bowed its magnificent head and then the deer were fleeing swiftly to the south. Soon only Oromë, the Maiar and Glorfindel were alone in the glade. Glorfindel found himself letting go of a breath he was unaware that he had been holding. He realized rather belatedly that Nyéreser had been holding him tightly by the shoulders, for when the wolves had howled and leapt away he wanted to join them and it was only the strength of the Maia that had held him in check.

"Not yet, my friend," Nyéreser whispered gently in his ear. "The time is not yet, but soon."

"All times are soon to us, Glorfindel," the Maia said with a chuckle, "for we came into existence outside of Time. Even now it is only a convenience for us, a way of interacting with the Children who must live within Time."

Oromë was suddenly there before the elf, smiling benignly. "You can claim three of these alatyauli for yourself, Glorfindel. I think their pelts would make fine gifts for your gwedyr."

Glorfindel gave the Vala a pleased look. "Thank you, lord. I would like that. Perhaps I could have them made into cloaks."

"That might do well," Oromë said with a nod. "Come. Choose whichever of these you would and I will see the pelts delivered to you later. I would not bother with the meat. It is rather rancid and tough."

Glorfindel nodded. "Thank you," he said again as he looked over the carcasses, finding three of the largest to his liking. One of the Maiar casually lifted them from the pile and placed them to one side, then Oromë pointed a finger at the rest of the pile and immediately the carcasses burst into flames. Glorfindel found he had to step to the edge of the clearing for the heat of the fire was ferocious and within the space of a half dozen breaths there was naught left of the monsters but ash.

Oromë smiled in satisfaction at the sight and then turned to Glorfindel who was standing there with a stunned expression on his face. "Now, if I were you, child," he said, "I would return to where you left Lisselindë and go back to the cottage. I’m sure after all this excitement you could do with something to eat."

Glorfindel gave the Vala a blank look for a moment and then his eyes widened. "Lisselindë! I forgot all about her."

The Maiar in the clearing all laughed. Nyéreser clapped a hand on the ellon’s shoulder. "Come. We’ll go back together."

Glorfindel nodded, giving Oromë a deep bow. The Vala smiled. "Off you go, then," he said and a few seconds later he was alone in the glade with his Maiar. The Vala turned to them. "Well fought, my children. Come. Let us away."

Three of the Maiar picked up the carcasses set aside for Glorfindel and soon all that was left in the clearing were the ashes of the alatyauli blowing away in a light breeze.

Macilhánor: Swordbrothers. The Sindarin form would be megilchenair or magolchenair.

Alatyauli: Plural of alatyaulë: Great cat, a species of prehistoric saber-tooth cat. An interesting article on the many species of prehistoric cats can be found at: www(dot)messybeast(dot)com/cat-prehistory(dot)htm. Feel free to chose your favorite illustration for this chapter.

Note: The War of Wrath lasted approximately forty-two years according to Tolkien’s timeline of the events in the First Age.

When Glorfindel and Nyéreser returned to where they had left Lisselindë and Tiutalion, they found Lady Nienna there as well. Elf and Maia gave her their obeisance and Nienna gestured for Glorfindel to approach, giving him an approving smile. "That was very well done, Glorfindel," she said, "but I am curious to know why you asked for your bow rather than your sword."

Glorfindel frowned in thought. "Truthfully, lady, I do not know. I think unconsciously I have refrained from taking up my sword in fear of... of having it taken from me." He gave her a deprecating grin. "I was actually surprised when I demanded my sword the other day and it was given to me. Asking for my bow seemed... er... safer."

Nienna’s expression became thoughtful. "You think we no longer trust you with a sword because of what happened between you and Findaráto."

"Well, we would indeed be very uneasy if you and Findaráto ever decided to spar against one another under similar circumstances, but truly, you have no fear that we would prevent you from using your sword in defense of others." She gave him a wry smile. "We Valar are many things, child, but stupid is not one of them, at least not very often, and it would be very unintelligent of us if we denied you your heritage. Take up your sword, Glorfindel, whenever you see a need to do so. We will not gainsay you."

Nienna nodded, then turned her attention to Lisselindë. "You are puzzled, my dear," she said.

The Maia nodded, her expression unreadable to the elf. "Why did I not sense the alatyauli yet Glorfindel did?"

The ellon shook his head. "No. I only sensed that there was something wrong, something not right, but if my life depended on it I could not tell you what that something was or even how I knew it was there. I only knew that I had to...to confront it."

Nienna nodded then turned back to Lisselindë. "You did not sense the alatyauli because I prevented you from doing so." Both Glorfindel and Lisselindë had similar expressions of shock and disbelief on their faces. Nienna hid a smile and continued. "I wished to see how you would respond to Glorfindel’s reactions to the presence of evil and his request for weapons."

Now Nienna could not help but smile. She turned to Tiutalion and Nyéreser. "You may go," she said. Tiutalion offered to take Glorfindel’s bow and quiver of arrows with him and Glorfindel handed them over with his thanks. The two Maiar gave the Valië their obeisance before fading from view. Nienna gestured for the other two to join her beneath a nearby linden tree under which were a single chair and two stools. Taking the chair, she indicated that they should sit on the stools and Glorfindel had the distinct impression that he and Lisselindë were being treated by Lady Nienna almost as elflings sitting before their tutor. The thought did not rankle him too much, for he knew himself to be ignorant of many things and was willing to learn from those who would teach him. He wasn’t too sure if Lisselindë felt the same way and suspected that the Maia was less than pleased at the thought of being relegated to the schoolroom, in a manner of speaking.

For a moment Nienna remained silent, gauging the mental and emotional states of the two sitting before her. Glorfindel was calm, his expression inquisitive, obviously open to learning from her. His earlier moods of apathy and sullen anger were gone and she suspected the ‘workout’ with Manwë’s Maiar had done much to release some of that dark mood from him, that, and the day spent with Niondil had also helped him to regain his equilibrium.

Lisselindë, on the other hand, was still feeling resentful, though she kept her expression carefully neutral and her emotions tightly under control. She had not liked Glorfindel’s tone when he refused to answer her question or his command for her to remain behind. She still was refusing to understand her role in all this.

"There are a couple of reasons why I did what I did," the Valië finally said. "The first concerns you, Glorfindel. I and the other Valar were curious to know to what extent you are capable of sensing the presence of evil."

Glorfindel felt his eyebrows leave his forehead. "Is there a reason why I should be able to?"

"Perhaps," came the reply. "Had it only been the wolves chasing the deer you would not have sensed them, for the wolves would only have been acting as their nature dictates. There would be no evil intent in them."

Glorfindel nodded. "While I would have regretted the death of any of the deer, I would not have intervened, for to do so would have meant denying the natural order of things. Only if the wolves had threatened me or another elf would I have stepped in."

Nienna smiled. "And so we thought. Thus, when the situation arose where actual evil was present we decided to see how you reacted to it."

"Yet, are not the alatyauli entitled to their kills?" Glorfindel asked. "How else would they survive?"

Nienna nodded. "You are correct, but you fail to understand what was happening here. The alatyauli, in their natural forms, play an important ecological role within their own environment, something similar to that which the wolves and other predators serve here within Aman proper. However, my Fallen Brother took some of them and warped them, giving them a heightened intelligence that they were never meant to have, imbuing them with evil intent. They, in fact, became unnatural creatures of the Dark."

"Yes, he does," Nienna replied. "He is unsure how they managed to come this far south without his knowledge. That disturbs him. It disturbs us all. Yet we welcomed the situation, for it gave us an opportunity to see you in action."

For some reason her words caused Glorfindel to blush and Nienna gave him a merry laugh. "Do not fret, child. We suspect that sooner or later a situation would have arisen where you would act as you did here. We are well pleased that such an ability to sense the presence of evil exists within you."

She shook her head. "Unfortunately no. Oh, do not mistake me. The Firstborn are gifted with the ability to resist succumbing to evil, but they can be deluded by it, as you yourself are aware." The ellon nodded and she continued. "The ability to detect evil in others who may show a fair face to all, however, is a rare gift. Findaráto has it and certainly his sister, others as well, but perhaps not as strongly. We are pleased that the ability lies in you as well."

"And why is that?" he asked, though he suspected he would not get a true answer and was not too disappointed when it was not forthcoming.

"The reasons for that will become clearer in time, Glorfindel," she said. "For now, it behooves us to see that you strengthen the innate power which you possess. There may be a time when you will have great need of it. You sensed something wrong in this instance, but could not put a name to that wrongness, am I correct?"

"Well, if you are willing, we will train you to use this power to its fullest so that you will understand what you are sensing."

Nienna nodded, satisfied, then turned to Lisselindë, who had remained quiet all this time. "As for you, my dear, we wished to see what you would do in a situation where one of the Firstborn has, shall we say, an advantage over you. Under other circumstances, you would have sensed the alatyauli long before Glorfindel did. I kept you from sensing them in this case to illustrate an important point."

"That even you, a Maia with ages upon uncounted ages of experience with which the experiences of even the oldest of the Firstborn cannot compare, do not know everything. If you had acceded to Glorfindel’s request for his weapons, you would have been permitted to join him in the hunt, acting as a partner to him, protecting him the way Nyéreser did. That was to be your role in all this, child, but you failed to understand that."

She paused to allow her words to sink in. Lisselindë’s expression remained unreadable, at least to Glorfindel, who kept his own expression neutral. He thought about Lord Oromë’s Maiar fighting the alatyauli and his own feelings of inadequacy at the time. If even someone like Lisselindë, whom he had not thought of as all that threatening, fought in a similar manner, he would make it a point from now on to be very careful never to make her angry.

Lisselindë sighed, looking more chagrined as she realized the import of the Valië’s words. "I’m not doing so well, am I?" she finally said.

"My dear, we don’t expect rehabilitation overnight," Nienna said kindly. "Such things take time. I’m sure you remember how long it took to bring my brother Námo around." She gave her a knowing grin which the Maia returned. Glorfindel sat there watching the interchange with obvious interest, but knew that he would not be enlightened, so he kept his thoughts to himself.

"I’ll try better next time, lady," Lisselindë then said, her expression more rueful as she cast her eyes down.

"I’m sure you will, dear," Nienna said warmly. "Just keep in mind that Ilúvatar meant for us to be the elder siblings to the younger races, not their masters. We are here to teach as well as to be companions to them on their life’s journey. That is perhaps more true for the Firstborn than the Secondborn, for they dwell here in Aman among us."

The Maia nodded and gave Glorfindel a shy smile. "I am sorry for earlier," she said contritely enough. "I did not understand."

"That makes two of us," Glorfindel said with a brighter smile. "Sometimes I have to wonder which of us is crazier, you for agreeing to learn from me, or me for agreeing to let you." He shook his head in bemusement. "I really should be back in Tirion. Atar must think I’ve deserted him."

Nienna smiled, leaning over to place a hand on the ellon’s shoulder. "I assure you he thinks no such thing. In fact, I think he’s rather grateful that you are not there at the moment."

"I have it on the best authority that he’s having a difficult enough time handling Sador and Beleg. He’s very happy that you’re not there causing trouble as well."

Glorfindel scrunched his face in dismay. "Is that what he thinks, that I just cause trouble?" His tone was one of hurt and uncertainty.

"Not at all!" Nienna assured him. "Arafinwë loves you, but he knows that you are still in, shall we say, elfling mode." She laughed lightly at the scowl on his face. "That is not meant to be a disparagement, child, merely the truth." She suddenly stood and the other two hastily got to their feet. "Now, I think that’s enough for the day. Glorfindel, Tiutalion has some lunch waiting for you, so you might as well go back to the cottage."

"You’ll have to finish it another time," Nienna said, "as I need Lisselindë for something else. Now, off you go. You’ve done good work this day, child. Know that I and the other Valar are well pleased with you. After your lunch, amuse yourself as you will but stay near the cottage. If you would like, perhaps rather than joining me for dinner I will join you instead. I will leave it to you and Tiutalion to devise the menu."

Glorfindel arched an eyebrow at that, but nodded. "I suppose we can manage something," he said in a noncommittal tone.

The ellon bowed and strode off towards the cottage, leaving Nienna and Lisselindë alone in the glade.

When Glorfindel reached the cottage he found Tiutalion there putting a light lunch of creamed spinach soup and a salad of early spring greens on the table. "Lady Nienna has invited herself to dinner," he said to the Maia without preamble. "Any idea what we should serve her?" He eyed the dining table with a critical eye. It was rather plain looking and not very large. He wasn’t even sure if they had any table linens such as graced the Valië’s dining table.

"Oh." Glorfindel sighed as he sat down before his lunch, drumming his fingers on the table, thinking. He had found the dinners with Nienna to be somewhat strained, for there was always a sense that he should be on his best behavior and so the dinners had been stiff and formal in tone. Thinking about it though, he realized that that had been his perception. Lady Nienna had been prepared to treat him however he wished to be treated, even if she would have preferred to treat him differently. He recognized now the love and concern that she had for him, and that she wished only to be his friend.

"Do you think it will be a fair night tonight?" he asked the Maia, a plan forming in his mind. He was tired of all the formalities of the previous dinners with the Valië. He would prefer something a little less structured.

"It will be a clear night," Tiutalion answered. "Isil is already risen and will set near midnight."

Glorfindel nodded. "Then, I think I know just what kind of dinner I would like to have," he said, giving the Maia a grin. "That is, if you’re willing to help me pull it off."

"Good," the ellon said, as he picked up his soup spoon and began eating. "So this is what I was thinking...."

Tiutalion exacted a promise from all the other Maiar in Nienna’s service to keep quiet about the dinner arrangements. Glorfindel wanted it to be a surprise and Tiutalion was willing to help make it so. He went to Lady Nienna to inform her that dinner would not be until an hour or so after sunset.

"You did not give us much notice," he said, "and Glorfindel wants to make this perfect for you."

"Good," Tiutalion said with a smile, "because that’s not what you’re getting."

Nienna’s curiosity was now piqued but she promised that she would remain ignorant of everything. "I’ll go visit Vairë for the rest of the day," she said. "My sister has just completed a new tapestry and I wish to see it."

"I will call you when all is ready," Tiutalion said with a bow and went to help Glorfindel complete the preparations.

When the summons came, Nienna followed Tiutalion’s request and walked to the cottage from her house instead of simply thinking herself there. The Maia was waiting for her outside. The cottage itself appeared to be dark. She gave him a quizzical look. Tiutalion bowed. "If you will follow me, my lady, your table is waiting."

"Lead on, then," she said with suppressed amusement and refrained from commenting when the Maia led her down the path leading to the beach. Even before they reached it she could see that a fire had been built there. Glorfindel could be clearly seen silhouetted against the firelight, with the stars shining brightly and Isil, nearly full, climbing down the western sky. As she and Tiutalion reached the beach she saw Glorfindel rise from the piece of driftwood on which he had been sitting, stirring something in a pot suspended on a tripod over the fire. There was also a small table set between the chair and the piece of driftwood on which were placed a couple of trenchers, goblets and a decanter of wine as well as a cloth-covered bowl.

He bowed to her as she reached the fire. "Welcome, my lady," he said. "Please be seated." He gestured to a straight-back chair with arms that apparently had been brought down from the cottage.

"And where will you sit?" she asked, for she noticed there was only the one chair.

Glorfindel pointed to the piece of driftwood. "I will sit here," he said. "I need to keep an eye on dinner anyway."

The driftwood was large and could easily seat three people. "If it’s all the same to you, I think I will join you on the driftwood."

Before Glorfindel could formulate a reply, she sat down, gathering her grey gown about her, and actually putting out her hands to the flames as if seeking the fire’s warmth. Glorfindel glanced at Tiutalion who merely shrugged.

"I will leave you then," he said, giving them both a bow. "If you need anything, just call out." With that, he walked away back up the path to the cottage.

Glorfindel turned and poured some wine into goblets, handing one to her. "Yes. I caught the rabbits myself this afternoon. I hope you don’t mind. I... I just thought eating by a campfire would be... fun."

"It usually is, unless one is on the run from orcs, I understand," Nienna said with a faint smile as she sipped on the wine. Glorfindel gave her a sharp look, then blushed, realizing she was teasing him and was not taking any offense at his decision to have their dinner on the beach.

Glorfindel laughed as he sat down next to her. "I’m glad you think so. Tiutalion stole it from your own cellars."

Nienna raised an eyebrow, giving the ellon an amused look. "I’ll have to reward him for his... initiative."

"I hope he doesn’t get into trouble on my account," the elf said more soberly.

"Have no fear for him, child," Nienna said soothingly. "I rather approve of Tiutalion’s outlook on life. He has a mischievous streak that’s worse than yours. Pallando often despairs of him, but I’ve always enjoyed his sense of humor. So, what possessed you to decide on having dinner here?"

Glorfindel did not answer immediately but stared into the fire, his expression contemplative. "When we first settled in Vinyamar," he finally said, "Turgon would sometimes take Idril onto the beach and build a bonfire. She loved it. Some of us would go hunting earlier in the day and bring back rabbit or deer and then cook it in a stew over the fire. If the weather was fair, Turgon would allow Idril to sleep under the stars, with a suitable guard, of course." He smiled as he said it, though his eyes were dark with memory.

"Of course," Nienna said in agreement. "That goes without saying. Turucáno was many things, but where it came to his daughter, he was no fool."

"It always surprised me how readily he accepted Tuor as Idril’s husband," Glorfindel said as he took a seat at one end of the driftwood, staring into the fire. "He had little use for Mortals, though he was fond of Húrin and Huor." He sighed and closed his eyes. "I just wish he had listened to Tuor in the end."

"We all do," Nienna said quietly, "yet we knew that there was a good chance he would not, and so we were forced to wait longer than we wanted to before we could act."

The ellon gave her a puzzled look. "If he had listened to Lord Ulmo’s words...."

"Things might have gone differently, or they might not have," Nienna said firmly. "There is no way to say, and it is a useless exercise in futility playing ‘what if’. Turucáno did not heed Ulmo’s words, and from that all else flows. We are left to deal with what is, not with what might have been."

"So, I could have died regardless," Glorfindel stated, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

"Perhaps," Nienna replied. "Does it really matter, child? You died and now you are living with the consequences of having died, just as Findaráto does and Sador and Beleg and all the others."

"Living with the consequences of having died," Glorfindel repeated slowly, giving the Valië a wry look. "A contradiction in terms I think."

"Life is full of contradictions, Glorfindel," Nienna said with amusement. "Now, unless I’m mistaken, your stew is about to burn."

Glorfindel jumped up. "Pui-en-orch!" he cried even as he swung the kettle out of the fire. "And I wanted this to be perfect," he said with a sigh.

"I’m sure it’s only burned a little on the bottom," Nienna said. "The rest should be just fine."

Glorfindel nodded and began dishing out the stew into wooden trenchers, handing one to Nienna along with a spoon. He also took the cloth-covered bowl and set it between them, removing the cloth to reveal some freshly baked bread. Nienna tasted the stew and smiled at the ellon sitting beside her with an expectant look on his face.

Glorfindel blushed, looking pleased. "I learned to cook over a campfire out of pure survival. There was little in the way of herbs and such along our trek across the Helcaraxë, so we made do with what was available to us. Once in Beleriand, we learned from our Sindarin neighbors the properties of the herbs and plants that were unfamiliar to us. I spent the first fifty years in Beleriand hunting down orcs, spending days, even weeks, on patrol, making sure the land of Nevrast was free of the vermin. We all took turns cooking. I got rather good at it."

Before Nienna could respond to him, there was a stir in the waters and Ulmo rose out of the sea, moving slowly towards them. Glorfindel started to rise, a look of shock on his face, but Nienna held him down.

"Mind if I join you?" the Lord of Waters asked as he reached the fire, not even dripping.

"I believe I will," the Vala said and a trencher appeared in his hands as he bent over the kettle to ladle some of the stew into it.

Nienna, meanwhile called forth another goblet and poured some wine for him. "It’s from my own cellars," she said and Ulmo nodded as he sat in the chair.

Glorfindel just sat there, staring at the fire, his meal forgotten, wondering what was happening. He felt a little resentful, for he had been looking forward to the meal under the stars and had actually felt relaxed in Nienna’s presence for the first time since coming to her place. Now, however, he could feel himself stiffening again with Ulmo’s arrival. The sense of well-being he had been enjoying fled.

He stirred from his contemplation but did not look at her. "I’ve lost my appetite. If you’ll excuse me...." He started to rise, meaning to leave the two Valar to themselves, but Nienna stayed him again, pulling him back down onto the driftwood.

Ulmo watched him under hooded eyes, his expression unreadable in the flickering light of the campfire. He took a slow sip of the wine before speaking. "I heard you speaking about Tuor and thought I would join the conversation."

Glorfindel turned to him in surprise. "How could you hear us? We weren’t speaking that loudly."

Ulmo and Nienna shared amused looks before the Vala answered him. "You are sitting on a beach," he explained. "All that is said near water comes to my attention. I heard you from across the seas and decided to drop by, as I believe the saying goes. Good stew, by the way. My compliments to the cook."

"Glorfindel made it," Nienna said with a fond smile for the ellon, sitting there trying to digest Ulmo’s words.

"Ah... an ellon of many talents," Ulmo said, "not the least of which, I hear, is the ability to detect the presence of evil."

The Valië nodded. "We can begin in the morning if you like. I’ll have Lisselindë give you your first lesson."

"Oh, we are far too occupied with other, more weighty, matters than teaching you something every Maia knows," Ulmo said gravely, "though I grant you, Lisselindë is probably not the best choice as a tutor. However, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Other Maiar will take over your training once you have the basics down."

"I’ve already told Lisselindë that one of her duties will be to teach you about this ability. She will help you, even as you are helping her."

Both Valar nodded, though it was Ulmo who spoke. "In order to learn to detect the presence of evil, you need to be in its presence."

"Where will we go, then?" Glorfindel asked in confusion. "No evil exists in Aman."

"In Aman, perhaps not," Nienna conceded, "but Valinor is a wide continent, most of it unexplored. Evil creatures roam the wilderness, creatures Oromë hunts to this very day."

"Now, enough talk about this," Ulmo said decisively. "Tomorrow will take care of itself. I’m more interested in hearing you speak of Tuor. A rather dense young man, as I recall. I had a terrible time getting him to Gondolin. Foolish Mortal kept stalling, wandering about the countryside smelling the flowers as if he were on a picnic or something."

Glorfindel couldn’t help but laugh at the description. "Turgon called him feckless when he first met him, but he seemed to mature rapidly enough. I suppose the sight of Idril gave him an incentive to... er... grow up."

He gave them a dry look and the two Valar laughed. Nienna rose gracefully and ladled some more stew into Glorfindel’s trencher. "Why don’t you tell us what you recall about Tuor and Idril," she suggested as she handed him his trencher.

He took it readily enough, suddenly realizing he was still hungry. The ellon spent a couple of minutes eating and then washing it all down with some wine while the two Valar sat patiently waiting for him to speak. Finally, feeling full and more relaxed, he began to reminisce. "Tuor’s coming was a shock to us all. I remember being summoned to Turgon’s court...."

The moon was setting, casting a silvery glow upon the dark waters of the sea, before Glorfindel finished his tale. He would never know that his appreciative audience included more than just the two Valar sitting with him by the fire. All the other Valar, and several Maiar, were listening in with rapt attention as the ellon spoke of one of the most momentous events in the history of Arda: the coming of Tuor to Gondolin.

And all the while, as he spoke of those times, an inchoate desire rose in Glorfindel’s heart, a desire he kept carefully hidden within the depths of his fëa where not even the Valar could sense it: to seek out the grandson of his king and fulfill his oath to Turgon.

The next morning, Glorfindel woke to find Tiutalion, Lisselindë and Nyéreser all waiting for him when he came out of his bedroom. He gave them a surprised look, for they were all armed with spear and sword.

Tiutalion and Nyéreser both laughed while Lisselindë just rolled her eyes, shaking her head. Tiutalion pointed to a haversack that was leaning against the door. "Bring your weapons," he said. "Your horse is waiting outside."

"Do I get to break my fast first?" Glorfindel asked, refusing to move. He didn’t care for the Maia’s tone, ordering him about as if he were an elfling or something.

"Had you risen an hour ago, there would have been time," Tiutalion said, "but we need to leave now. You will have to be content with breaking your fast as you ride."

"What’s the rush?" the ellon demanded, his eyes narrowing. "I’m sure wherever we’re going, these evil creatures will wait for us. I’m not going anywhere with anyone until I’ve had my breakfast."

The Maiar sighed almost as one. Lisselindë looked the most displeased with Glorfindel’s truculence and Tiutalion just looked resigned, but Nyéreser’s expression was unreadable. It was he who spoke. "Glorfindel, you are, for the time being, our student, and we are your teachers. If we command anything from you, then it would be well for you to obey. You do remember how to obey an order, do you not?"

"The concept is vaguely familiar to me," Glorfindel said, giving the Maia stare for stare, refusing to back down.

Nyéreser hid a smile, enjoying the game they were playing, even if Glorfindel did not realize it was indeed a game, a game of wills. He was willing to bet that under most circumstances Glorfindel would win such a game even against someone like Eönwë, but today it was imperative that the Maiar win; too much was at stake.

"I will be happy to reacquaint you with the concept if your memory needs refreshing," the Maia said in as cold a tone as he could manage and was pleased to see the ellon pale at the implied threat.

The tension in the room was palpable as the battle of wills continued in silence between the three Maiar and the elf for several long minutes. Finally, though, Glorfindel broke eye contact, scowling as he turned away to fetch his weapons. "You could have just woken me earlier, you know," he snarled as he threw his cloak about him and grabbed the haversack, yanking open the door and striding out without bothering to see if the Maiar were following. He took a few minutes to strap the haversack onto the packhorse before mounting his own horse. The Maiar, meantime, exited the cottage and stood waiting. When Glorfindel was astride his steed, Tiutalion handed him a piece of cloth tied with string. "Here is some fruit, bread and cheese," he said.

Glorfindel scowled down at him. "Keep it. I’m not interested." With that he spoke softly to the horse in Sindarin. He had named him Alagos for his fiery temper and fleetness of foot. The stallion, a beautiful black steed with pure white mane and tail, gave a nod of his head and a snort and set off, following Nyéreser who was already moving away, heading south. The packhorse followed. Tiutalion and Lisselindë exchanged rueful looks as they trailed behind.

Glorfindel was surprised they were heading south, for he had assumed they would be going north but he refused to question the Maiar, not about to give in to them any more than necessary. In the back of his mind he recognized the stupidity and even silliness of his stance, yet he could not help it. The good mood with which he had woken had dissipated in the face of the Maiar’s highhandedness (as he saw it). Thus, they continued on for some time in silence, the Maiar easily keeping up with Glorfindel, though it was Nyéreser who set the pace.

They followed a trail that led along the headlands overlooking the ocean, though as they continued south their course veered to the southeast and by noon they were moving away from the coast and heading inland towards a dense forest that lay dark upon the horizon. When they came upon a small copse of trees — maples and birches for the most part — Nyéreser and the other Maiar stopped, forcing Glorfindel to do the same.

Glorfindel nodded, alighting from Alagos, rubbing him down with some sweet grass and then letting him graze. Tiutalion removed the packs from the packhorse, a placid dun-colored gelding, and let it go as well. Glorfindel sat beneath one of the maples, still refusing to speak to any of them. When Tiutalion came and offered him the food he had refused earlier, he shook his head.

"I told you I’m not interested." His tone was surly and the three Maiar gave each other worried glances.

Nyéreser, who apparently had taken the role of being the leader of the expedition, knelt down before Glorfindel, his expression solemn. "Glorfindel, what is wrong?"

"Everything, you stupid Maia!" Glorfindel practically screamed, jumping up to stomp away but Nyéreser held him back. The ellon stood there, fuming, refusing to look at them.

"All this over missing breakfast?" Lisselindë asked, more annoyed than perplexed.

"What is it about then?" Nyéreser asked softly. When Glorfindel did not answer he gave Tiutalion a concerned look. His fellow Maia had more interaction with the Children than he normally did and he hoped Tiutalion could enlighten him as to Glorfindel’s mood.

"Glorfindel, look at me," Tiutalion said. His tone was quiet but there was a ring of authority to it that the ellon was unable to resist. "Tell us what is wrong."

That surprised the Maiar, whose expressions went suddenly unreadable as they consulted each other silently, trying to understand the ellon’s words.

"Can you explain?" Nyéreser asked, speaking carefully so as not to set the elf off again.

Glorfindel gave him a surly look. "I’m not your thrall," was all he said but it was enough, for the Maiar suddenly divined where the trouble lay between them.

Tiutalion spoke then. "No, you are not, and we apologize if anything we did or said implied otherwise."

Glorfindel was not appeased though and his expression remained dark, his eyes stormy with anger. Lisselindë, not understanding the ellon’s continued truculence, gave a snort of disgust. "We’ve apologized, Glorfindel. What more do you want from us?"

"More than you’re willing to give, apparently," the ellon retorted. Then, he shook his head, scowling. "I’ve changed my mind. I’m going back. You do whatever you want, but I’m not interested in going with you."

With that he gave a whistle and Alagos came willingly to him, the packhorse following. The Maiar just stood there in shocked surprise as Glorfindel grabbed his gear where Tiutalion had placed it under the tree, draping the haversack over Alagos before leaping onto his back. He glared down at the three Maiar. "Tell Lady Nienna she can send the rest of my things to Tirion at her convenience." Then he spoke to his horse. "No lagor, Alagos, a northo athar i-laden. Na Dirion beditham."

"What of your promise to Lady Nienna?" Tiutalion called after him. "Will you renege on your oath to her?"

Without missing a step, Alagos turned in one fluid motion and headed back to the Maiar, stopping a couple of feet from them at a soft command from Glorfindel. The ellon glared at them, his hands on his sword, his breathing suddenly harsh. "I took no oath," he said between clenched teeth.

Glorfindel turned to see Eönwë standing there, the Book of Oaths in his hand and opened to a particular page. His expression was colder than the snows of the Helcaraxë. "Get down, Glorfindel," he commanded. "We need to talk." When Glorfindel hesitated, his expression became even colder and his tone was absolutely glacial. "Now."

Glorfindel found himself standing on the ground without any conscious memory of actually getting there. Alagos, with a toss of his proud head, gave the ellon a nuzzle, then trotted away to munch on some more sweet grass, leaving the two-foots to their own devices.

Now Glorfindel found himself completely surrounded by the four Maiar and the only way he was going to escape them was to fight them. He had no fear for himself in that regard, but he wondered if they would hold back this time. He doubted they would hurt him unto death; Lord Námo would probably take exception to that. Still, they could do him serious harm if they wanted to. The four Maiar, for their part, watched the ellon warily, unsure how he was going to react. They recognized that he was very close to snapping, though they were at a loss to understand why.

*I wish we could have reached Lord Oromë’s demesne before this,* Nyéreser said. *It would have gone a long way towards diffusing his anger.*

*We’ll just have to deal with it here and now,* Eönwë said. *Too much is at stake.*

*We could provoke him into fighting and then beat him to a fare-thee-well,* Tiutalion suggested, only half jesting.

*That might make us feel better, but not him,* Nyéreser replied with a grim smile that Glorfindel never noticed.

*We need to discover the root of his anger,* Eönwë said. *It’s more than about missing breakfast or feeling put upon by you three. I suspect that is only the excuse he is using.*

*Yet, he appeared to be in a good mood when he woke,* Tiutalion mentioned, *and he seemed to have enjoyed himself with Lady Nienna and Lord Ulmo last night.*

*I guess we’re not going to know unless we ask,* Eönwë said with a silent sigh. Then he spoke aloud to Glorfindel. "Do you want to explain yourself? I thought you wanted to learn about honing your ability to detect evil."

The entire conversation between the Maiar took the time that Glorfindel needed to draw two breaths. He was drawing a third when Eönwë spoke to him. "I did... I mean, I do... I mean...." he stuttered, then drew another, deeper breath to steady himself. "She said Lisselindë would teach me," he ended quietly, his eyes on the ground at his feet.

*Does that mean he’s upset because I’m here?* Lisselindë enquired of her fellow Maiar with some exasperation.

*Or because Nyéreser and I are with you,* Tiutalion answered, gauging the ellon’s words more carefully.

"Is that it, Glorfindel?" Nyéreser asked aloud. "You’re upset that Tiutalion and I are accompanying you and Lisselindë?"

"But why?" Lisselindë demanded, throwing up her hands in frustration. "Honestly, child, I cannot keep up."

That apparently was the wrong thing to say. Glorfindel moved so quickly, even Eönwë was not able to stop him in time. Suddenly, Lisselindë was on the ground looking up at the sword Glorfindel had in his hand. "Do not call me that, ever," he said in a hoarse whisper.

The Maiar were all frozen by surprise. Almost immediately several blinding lights appeared, coalescing into Námo, Nienna, Oromë and Manwë. Their expressions were, if not cold, then certainly not friendly. Glorfindel didn’t seem to notice them, his attention solely on Lisselindë.

Glorfindel snarled as he turned his attention to the Valar. "I am not your son! I’m nobody’s son or child! Nobody’s!" He slammed his sword back into its sheath and stalked away towards where Alagos was standing. Reaching the horse, he did not mount, but held onto him, burying his head in his mane. Alagos whickered, turning his head to give the ellon a nuzzle, but otherwise did not move.

Tiutalion, meanwhile, was helping Lisselindë up. All four Maiar were nonplused, unsure what they should do next, and looked to the Valar for assurance. Manwë gave them all warm smiles. "Eönwë, you have other duties, I’m sure. Nyéreser, why don’t you and Tiutalion scout out a more suitable camp for our elfling. I don’t think you’re going to reach your destination today."

The three Maiar gave the Valar their obeisance. Eönwë faded from view while Nyéreser and Tiutalion loped off, heading towards the southeast, leaving Lisselindë alone. The Maia looked uncomfortable and perplexed.

"He makes no sense," she said to the Valar in a quiet voice. "First he’s angry because we wouldn’t let him have breakfast, then it’s because Nyéreser and Tiutalion are with us, and now.... What is wrong with him?"

"Nothing," Námo said. "He’s merely remembering something from his previous life, something that has upset him."

"Perhaps," Námo said. "Certainly it may be something that was triggered by his speaking about Gondolin."

After a moment’s thought, Námo nodded, his expression clearing as he at last understood. "Yes, that makes sense."

"Care to enlighten us?" Oromë said with a faint grin, looking at Manwë and Námo. "I had everything all set, and naturally, Glorfindel goes and ruins it all."

"Not his fault, really," Námo said sympathetically. "I think he was remembering events at Alqualondë."

Oromë and Nienna both grimaced, though Lisselindë still looked confused, not understanding. She knew, though, that the Valar would not be forthcoming with details just yet. Their primary focus was on the ellon still clinging to his horse, his sobs clearly audible to them. Tiutalion appeared just then, moving with long strides through the grass, coming from the south.

"We found a small secluded dell with a spring just to the south," he said as he reached them. "Nyéreser is already setting up the camp."

"Good enough," Manwë said. "Let’s see if we can convince Glorfindel to join us there. I’ll let you do the honors, Tiutalion."

The Maia grinned and went over to Glorfindel, being careful to stay out of sword’s reach. "Lord Manwë would like you to join us at our camp for the night," he said.

Glorfindel raised his head, wiping the tears from his eyes but did not look at the Maia. "I need to get on to Tirion," he muttered, preparing to mount Alagos.

"You won’t reach it tonight, Glorfindel," the Maia pointed out in a reasonable tone. "You might as well join us for the night and set out tomorrow."

Glorfindel sighed, suddenly feeling too tired to argue anymore. He nodded, still not looking at the Maia. "Just for tonight," he said.

Maia and elf made their way southward with the two horses following. Soon they came upon a grove of oaks and beeches surrounding a small dell where a pool of spring-fed water took up a third of the area. The other two Maiar as well as the Valar were already there. A small fire was blazing cheerfully. Lisselindë offered to see to the horses, while Tiutalion and Nyéreser grabbed their spears and set off in search of game. That left Glorfindel alone with the Valar, who engaged in their own conversation, not purposely excluding the ellon, but leaving him to himself, allowing him time to pull himself together.

"... so I told Aulë that if he wanted more star cores for his forge, he could get them himself," Oromë was saying, "I have better things to do and besides, Vána hates it when I go off-planet without her."

The other Valar grinned knowingly. Glorfindel, sitting in their midst, just blinked in confusion, not understanding anything Lord Oromë was saying.

"I thought Yavanna told him no more star cores after that last one he brought home nearly ended up burning a hole straight through the planet," Námo said with a laugh.

"Yes, well, Aulë insists that he’s figured out the proper parameters for the containment field this time," Oromë said with a shake of his head, his expression one of amusement.

"Hmm... Where have I heard that before?" Manwë muttered, apparently unconvinced, and the others started laughing.

So it went. Nyéreser and Tiutalion returned with a deer not long after and soon they were busy preparing the evening meal. Glorfindel was conscripted to help, and the familiar rhythm of dressing the deer and cutting up the meat helped to steady him. No one attempted to make conversation with him, for which he was grateful. It was not until the meal had been eaten — Glorfindel found himself having two bowls for he had not eaten anything that day — and the stars were shining brightly down upon them, that Manwë decided it was time to address the issue that they had all avoided. He looked kindly on Glorfindel sitting by the fire somewhat at a distance from the Valar and Maiar.

*He probably feels outnumbered,* Námo observed to the others. *Don’t push too hard, Manwë. He’s in a fragile state.*

Manwë nodded in acknowledgment then addressed the elf. "Where are your thoughts, Glorfindel? What dark memory has stained the beauty of this day for you?"

Glorfindel stared into the fire for several minutes before answering. "I should have killed him," he said in a low voice.

"But you didn’t," Manwë said calmly. "Instead, you remained by your amillë’s side and comforted her in her final moments."

"I couldn’t stop the bleeding," Glorfindel said, his voice breaking. "I tried, but I’m no healer."

"Why isn’t she here?" Glorfindel asked. "Why wasn’t she there to greet me when I was finally released from Lórien? Why is she still in Mandos?"

The Valar sighed almost as one. The anguish in the ellon’s voice made them flinch in sympathy. "It is not yet her time," Námo replied. "She told us she had no desire to leave Mandos without your atar."

Glorfindel looked up at the Vala, his expression one of disbelief. "He killed her!" he shouted. "He slew her and never looked back and she still wants him?"

"Love is like that, child," Manwë said. "It’s rather unreasonable even under the best of circumstances. Your amillë understood that your atar was in the grip of emotions that defied description. He was probably not even aware of what he did."

Námo nodded. "When he finally came to us, he could not accept that he had slain his own wife, would have slain you if others had not intervened."

For a while, the only sound was the crackling of the fire and the chirping of crickets. Somewhere further away came the hoot of an owl. "How did he die?" he finally asked.

Glorfindel glared at him, his fury rising again. "Tell me," he insisted, his voice hoarse with pent-up emotions. "I think I deserve to know how my own atar met his end."

"He was taken captive after the Dagor Bragollach," Námo said. "He became one of the Mólanoldor. An orc beat him to death when he didn’t move fast enough for it."

Glorfindel closed his eyes and they could see the pain that lashed at his fëa. "No more than he deserved," he whispered.

"No, Glorfindel," Manwë said firmly. "No one deserves what your atar suffered. And you know better than anyone that he is now free of the taint which marred him. His innocence has been restored, though it will be some while before he is ready to be released from Mandos. Ilúvatar has not yet given the word."

Glorfindel stared at the Elder King in surprise. Manwë nodded, a small smile on his lips. "You believe that Námo has sole authority over who is released and who is not, but in that you are wrong. It is a joint decision between the two of us and Ilúvatar."

"Your friend, Thandir, was correct," Námo said in the silence that followed Manwë’s statement. "You were all insane to one degree or another. Do not hate your atar overmuch, Glorfindel. He has paid for his crimes."

"What I don’t understand," Lisselindë said then, "is what brought all this on. What triggered the memory? Glorfindel was fine when he woke."

"The day the Noldor set out," Glorfindel said quietly, "I woke to find that there was another haversack sitting beside mine near the door. Atar had already left. I remember asking Ammë if she was going anywhere, for she already had her cloak on. She said she was coming with me. I tried to persuade her to remain behind, but she refused. She even told me that we would have to break our fast on the march for she had not bothered to make breakfast for us. When Atar found out she had come with me, he blamed me for her decision and refused to have anything more to do with either of us, moving over to Maedhros’ camp while we remained with Prince Arafinwë, though later we attached ourselves to Turgon."

Glorfindel nodded. "I know it wasn’t the same, but the similarities were too close. I guess it all just came rushing back to me. I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t handle it very well."

"There’s no need to apologize, Glorfindel," Manwë said. "We’re aware of what happened between you and your parents and we’re sorry for it, more than you will ever know. The question remains though, what will you do now? Will you break your promise to Lisselindë and return to Tirion, or will you stay?"

Silence stretched between them for several minutes before Glorfindel sighed, shaking his head. "I don’t know," he said. "I just don’t know anymore."

"An honest response, if nothing else," Manwë replied. "Why don’t you sleep on it? Tomorrow will be soon enough to make decisions."

Glorfindel was somewhat reluctant to comply with the Elder King’s suggestion, but Nienna started to sing a lullaby commonly sung among the elves to their elflings. The Maiar joined her and soon the effects of the song began to impinge on Glorfindel’s consciousness. It wasn’t long before he was curled up beside the fire, fast asleep, while the four Valar and three Maiar watched over him. He stirred only once, muttering softly, his dream at the moment troubling. Nienna reached over and gently soothed his brow and he fell into a more restful state.

No lagor, Alagos, a northo athar i-laden. Na Dirion beditham: ‘Be swift, Alagos, and ride across the open land. To Tirion we shall go’.

Mólanoldor: (Quenya) Noldor enslaved by Morgoth. The word mólanoldorin, the language spoken by the Noldorin slaves, is attested.

Note: Glorfindel also mentions his parents and what happened to them during the Flight of the Noldor in my Tapestry story, ‘MARCHES: Crossing the Ice’.

Birdsong woke Glorfindel, that and the smell of eggs cooking. He focused his eyes to find that the Valar and Maiar were still there, apparently never having moved the entire night. It was Lisselindë who was tending the fire, cooking eggs and leftover deer meat. A kettle was next to the fire, the water beginning to boil. Everyone looked over at the ellon as he rose, his expression one of bemusement and embarrassment at the same time.

"Good morning," Manwë said. "As you can see, breakfast is almost ready. Why don’t you go freshen up? After you’ve broken your fast, we’ll hold a council."

"Go freshen up," Manwë ordered. "We’ll explain after you’ve eaten. Tiutalion will show you where to go."

Glorfindel nodded, going over to his haversack and rummaging about for a scrap of cloth and some soap before following the Maia out of the dell towards a copse further west where a small rill trickled out of the ground, running southwest towards the sea.

Glorfindel nodded and the Maia left. For a moment or two the ellon just stood there, not sure how he was feeling, then he gave himself a shrug and went through his ablutions. Fifteen minutes later he was making his way back into the dell. Everyone ignored him, continuing their own conversations. Lisselindë handed him a tin plate of the eggs and deer meat, along with bread and cheese. He sat beside the fire and slowly ate, feeling self-conscious, for none of the others joined him. He kept his eyes on the fire as he ate and thought about the events of the previous day, wondering what sort of council they would have. It sounded a bit ominous to him.

He ate slowly, trying to delay the inevitable, but finally the last of the eggs were gone and his plate was clean. Lisselindë took it, handing him a cup of tea, then went about the business of cleaning up the camp. The other two Maiar were already looking after the horses, gathering up gear, thus leaving Glorfindel alone with the Valar.

Glorfindel looked up from the fire to find that the Valar were seated a few feet away in camp chairs set in a circle. There was one empty chair obviously meant for him. The circle was arranged so that his chair was facing Manwë and Oromë while Námo was on its left and Nienna was on its right. With a sigh, he rose and took his seat, keeping his eyes on his lap.

"Yesterday was not a good day for you," Manwë said quietly, "nor for the Maiar who were with you. Lisselindë was correct: we cannot keep up with you."

"I’m sorry," he said in a whisper. "I knew I was acting like an idiot but I couldn’t stop myself. It... it was as if someone else was doing all the yelling and I was just standing there watching it."

The Valar nodded, well aware of the phenomenon. "It happens," Manwë said. "Even we Valar are not immune to it, though I suspect in your case it was more frightening."

"How did I know?" the Elder King said with a smile. "Glorfindel, you are not the first Reborn to suffer this. It happens."

The elf nodded, his eyes going blank. "Somewhere in the back of my mind I was screaming to myself to stop, but it was as if I was caught in some kind of whirlpool and my emotions just kept spiraling out of control." He gave them an embarrassed look.

"You were caught up in the memory of what happened between you and your parents at Alqualondë," Námo said sympathetically. "I imagine you had a difficult time separating what happened then to what was happening now."

Glorfindel nodded, looking glum. "It’s not as if I didn’t already remember what happened, but it was as if I was reliving it again for the first time."

The Valar nodded in understanding. "My brother refers to it as a flashback when the memory returns in this fashion," Námo said, "when you are unsure if you are back in the past or still in the present. It’s something you have experienced before."

"Yes," Glorfindel admitted with a sigh. "I thought by now I would recognize what was happening and be able to control it. It’s bad enough when it’s a new memory that crops up, but this was an old one. It shouldn’t have bothered me so much."

"It was a memory of an event that brought home to you in a very personal way the face of evil," Oromë said.

"No, he was not," Oromë averred. "He was as much a victim of it as were you and your amillë. The difference is, he allowed himself to be an instrument of evil when he followed Fëanáro in committing the atrocities inflicted upon the Teleri. Your amillë’s death at the hands of your atar was the moment your own innocence was forever lost. The price you paid for it cannot be ignored. I suspect that that memory will haunt you all the days of your life when others, even those more horrific than this one, will not trouble you as much."

The ellon sighed and nodded, recognizing the truth of the Vala’s words. His expression was one of deep pain but the Valar knew that there was nothing they could do or say to assuage it completely. This was something Glorfindel would have to deal with himself. In the meantime, though....

"While we regret that you had this experience, Glorfindel," Manwë said, "we still need to address the question of what you want to do now, to return to Tirion or to go with the Maiar as originally planned."

The ellon did not answer immediately, and the Valar sat patiently, allowing him as much time as he needed. Finally, he looked up, his expression one of deep resolve. His eyes were on Manwë as he spoke though his words were addressed to Nienna. "Your Maiar accused me of being an oathbreaker. I will not give them the satisfaction of proving them right. I will go with them, little though I like the idea now."

"You wished to learn more about your ability to sense evil," Oromë reminded him. "Surely you have not lost your desire to hone this skill, have you? A warrior never disdains the weapons given him, but seeks to use them to their fullest."

"After yesterday, I doubt they would want to teach me anyway," Glorfindel said. He gave them a rueful look.

"In that you would be wrong," Manwë answered. "You will find that the Maiar are quite forgiving of the foibles of you Children. They understand how young you all are and make allowance for it."

Glorfindel gave them a disbelieving look and for the first time the four Valar smiled. Manwë stood as did the others, Glorfindel following somewhat belatedly. "That’s settled then," the Elder King declared. He gave Glorfindel a warm sympathetic smile. "I hope your training goes well, child. This talent of yours is too precious not to be developed as fully as possible." With that, Manwë, Námo and Nienna all faded from view, taking the chairs with them. Only Oromë was left, giving the ellon a smile.

"As soon as you’re ready, we’ll set off," he said. "We still have some distance to cover."

Glorfindel looked around and realized that the camp had been struck while he and the Valar had held their council. Leaving the dell, he found the Maiar waiting for them with the horses. Glorfindel stopped before Alagos, giving him a pat on his neck as he looked upon the Maiar. "I’m sorry about yesterday," he said sincerely. "I shouldn’t have taken my frustrations out on you."

"Now that we understand why, you have our deepest sympathy," Nyéreser said, speaking for them all.

"Thank you," the ellon replied, then mounted his steed and they were off. He glanced down at Oromë striding beside him. "I was surprised that we weren’t heading north," he said.

The Vala glanced up at him, giving him a wide smile, then pointed towards the southeast. "See those mountains on the horizon?" he asked and Glorfindel nodded, shading his eyes for a better look. A smokey purplish line like jagged teeth marked where a range of mountains cut across the southern horizon. Between their party and the mountains lay a dense forest, which he knew was the demesne of the Vala striding next to him. "There was a time when the region beyond those mountains was lost in perpetual darkness and much evil lived there. You may remember that Ungweliantë came from that region."

"Well, technically, that applied only to the land between the southern Pelóri and the Sea," Oromë said, "but I suppose it could apply to the rest of the lands beyond those mountains. At any rate, with the coming of Anar, all those lands, which were fairly barren at the time, began to flourish. We have thought to open them to the elves in due time, but for now they are our hunting ground, for Ungweliantë was not the only evil creature to dwell there."

Glorfindel stared at the horizon in dismay. "It will take me weeks to reach the mountains and then I must find a way over them."

Oromë chuckled and the Maiar grinned. "We’re not going quite that far," the Vala assured him. "As it happens, some of the evil creatures make their way from time to time across the mountains into that forest before us. I have my Maiar standing guard and they usually hunt the creatures down. However, we’ve allowed a few to escape. It will be your task to find them."

"You have an innate, almost instinctual, ability, but we will try to bring it to a more conscious level. Once you’ve mastered the technique, you should have no trouble sensing the presence of evil."

"How great a range?" the ellon asked, thinking in terms of weaponry. It would be a poor gift indeed if he could never sense the evil unless it was virtually on top of him.

"How far were the alatyauli from where you first felt a wrongness?" Oromë countered. "I think they were at the very limit of your power of detection. You probably will not be able to sense much further than that, but certainly you will have a better focus once you’ve been properly trained."

Glorfindel nodded, and spent some time mulling over the Vala’s words. They continued to make good time and by the second hour past noon they were coming to the eaves of the forest, a mighty stretch of wood, hoary with age. The trees were impossibly tall and their trunks massive. Glorfindel suspected that it would take nearly a half dozen elves to ring even the smallest of them. Their rough bark was a reddish-brown and their feathery leaves were dark green with silvery undertones. Glorfindel stared at them in absolute awe, for even the malinorni were dwarfed by these red giants.

Oromë motioned for Glorfindel to dismount, giving him a smile. "They are called carnitavari," the Vala said, "in case you were wondering. Here we must leave the horses," the Vala said. "Fear not! They will be well cared for, but this hunt must be done afoot." He pointed to one of the trees on the very perimeter of the woods, and Glorfindel was surprised to see that a door-like entrance had been carved at its base. Peering inside he saw a comfortably appointed lodge where travelers might rest with an area marked off for horses further in the back.

"As the hour grows late," Oromë said, "we will not go any further into the woods. Spend the night here and tomorrow the Maiar will take you to where you will begin your training." With that, the Vala faded away. Lisselindë and Tiutalion also left. Glorfindel gave Nyéreser a questioning look.

"Don’t worry," the Maia said with a smile. "They’ll be back later. For now, why don’t I show you around? I’ll give you your first lesson in finding your way through the woods. We’ll see how easily you are able to find this lodge again."

Nyéreser took a piece of dark cloth and tied it over Glorfindel’s eyes. This was the tenth time they had played this game. The Maia would blindfold him and lead him away from the lodge walking erratically through the woods until Glorfindel was completely confused as to which direction they had come. Then the blindfold would be removed and he would have to find his way back to the lodge. The first few times, Nyéreser pointed out the necessary clues for him to look out for in the trackless forest, but after that he left Glorfindel to find his own way. Sometimes he wandered around for a while before hitting upon familiar territory, but eventually he was able to find his way back to the lodge with little effort.

Now came the final test. Nyéreser led him in a set pattern which Glorfindel needed to memorize. Then, at some point he stopped and turned the ellon around. "You are now facing the direction from which we have come. Without removing the blindfold, see if you can retrace our path."

Glorfindel nodded and started tentatively to walk away. He had been given a stick with which to guide himself and as he continued to walk, he gained some confidence in where he was going. He was confident that he would be able to find the way back to the lodge.

"Why build the lodge?" he asked, suddenly curious. "I would think that flets would be better."

"Further into the forest there are indeed flets," Nyéreser said as he walked just behind the ellon, "but one cannot take a horse up one." He laughed and Glorfindel joined him. Then the Maia continued his explanation. "Along the perimeter of the woods are these way stations, as they are called by the elves who help patrol this forest and the passes over the mountain. Lord Oromë asked Lady Yavanna about it and the trees themselves gave their permission for them to be created."

"I was unaware that any elves were involved in patrolling for monsters," Glorfindel said in surprise, even as he neatly jumped the small rill that marked the halfway point back to the lodge. "Do they all have this ability to sense evil?"

"Some, perhaps," Nyéreser said, "but most have simply a love for the woods and wished to take service with Lord Oromë. They are known as Taurevaryari. Lord Oromë’s Maiar train them and they help protect the forest, guarding the passes to assure that nothing evil reaches the more inhabited parts of Aman. Their flets are known as treegards and they are scattered throughout the woods with the Taurevayari assigned specific parts of the forest to guard."

Glorfindel nodded. "I wonder if some of the Sindar and Nandor on Tol Eressëa would like to join them. They would certainly be in their element. Beleg, for instance, would feel right at home, I deem."

Nyéreser smiled though Glorfindel could not see. "I am sure Oromë looks forward to the day that Lord Manwë permits the Tol Eressëans to come to the mainland permanently, but that day is not yet."

"I think it would go a long way towards diffusing some of the frustration and resentment the Tol Eressëans now feel," the ellon suggested, now making his way around the bole of a tree. He suspected that he could have gone straight on but the path Nyéreser had taken necessitated going around this particular tree, and so he would do the same. Glorfindel would never know that had he gone straight he would have fallen into a deep hole created when part of the ground had subsided after a quake some years before.

"Yes, it would," the Maia agreed, "but there are other factors involved. The elves of Beleriand were under the Shadow of Melkor’s evil for many centuries. Their fëar have been, shall we say, darkened by its touch. The incessant warfare, and the horrors visited upon them by Melkor and Sauron, have taken their toll. Lord Manwë believes that over time the Sérë Valion will dispel that darkness from them. Until then, it is best that they stay on Tol Eressëa for the time being. The presence of the Reborn among them, I suspect, will go a long way towards helping them to heal."

Glorfindel nodded but said nothing more, concentrating on where he was stepping. Soon they were back at the station and Glorfindel removed his blindfold, grinning triumphantly, but Nyéreser shook his head. "You went off the track."

"But not the way we had come," Nyéreser replied. "Though, I’m curious to know just how you managed to find the lodge even though you went completely off the path I’d laid out for you."

Glorfindel gave the Maia a wide smirk. "That’s easy," he said. "I just followed my nose. Supper smells really good, don’t you think?"

He heard laughter and turned to see Lisselindë and Tiutalion approaching. "He’s got you there, Nyéreser," Tiutalion said and Nyéreser shrugged, though his eyes were shining with amusement. "Well, let’s not stand out here letting dinner go cold," Tiutalion said, motioning them into the lodge. Soon Glorfindel was seated, happily digging into the venison stew. As he ate, the three Maiar told him about the schedule for the coming days.

"Lord Oromë has allowed certain creatures to come over the passes at this time," Nyéreser told him. "They are predators imbued with an evil intelligence. We know that in the early wars for Arda, many of the Úmaiar who survived fled into the depths of Eä only to return to Arda in secret. Some, like Ungweliantë, we suspect had thrown off their allegiance to Melkor and hid in the dark regions of Valinor unlit by the Two Trees. They took on animalistic shapes in conformity with their fëar, much as the Valaraucar were once spirits of fire."

"Most have been destroyed," Tiutalion said. He gave the ellon a wry smile. "Lord Oromë’s Maiar have been rather busy since Anar was created."

"However, it appears that in their animal forms, some were capable of procreating, not with one another, but with true animals whose forms they had adopted," Nyéreser went on to say. "These offspring have a heightened intelligence, imbued with the evil of their progenitors, and these are the ones that we hunt today."

"Tomorrow, we will make our way to one of the treegards deeper in the forest," Tiutalion said. "The rangers have been keeping track of the monsters who are roaming the woods. They will be able to tell us more about them and their habits."

"For now, though," Nyéreser added, "rest well tonight and fear not! No evil will come to you this night, for we will guard your sleep."

With that, Glorfindel readied himself for bed and soon only the Maiar and the nocturnal creatures of the forest were awake.

Anar was halfway up the sky when Glorfindel and the three Maiar came to a rise in the forest marking the beginnings of the foothills. The trees were thinner here and a glade opened up before them. Glorfindel looked about him with interest. He had never traveled through the forested regions of Beleriand much during his first fifty years there. Certainly he never went into Dorthonion, held by Finrod, or into the great forests of Ossiriand where the Nandor dwelt, so these primeval woods intrigued him.

Nyéreser, again taking the lead, brought them to one particular redwood around which had been built a circular stair. "Here is one of the treegards from which the watch is set," he said to Glorfindel. "Come. We are expected."

With that he started climbing the stairs with Glorfindel right behind. The other two Maiar trailed them. As they rose further into the tree, Glorfindel looked out over the landscape. The mountains were closer here, rising precipitously into the blue sky, deep jagged peaks, forbidding and sheer.

"They make the Echoriath look like hills in comparison," he commented, pointing to the mountains.

Nyéreser paused to look where Glorfindel was pointing, then glanced back at the ellon, his expression unreadable. "They are higher than they used to be," he said. "The Valar raised the heights of the Pelóri after the Noldor left to further prevent Melkor’s return."

But all three Maiar shook their heads. "No," Tiutalion replied. "The raising of the Pelóri was in response to Melkor’s attack upon Tilion soon after Isil rose."

"We remember the ruin of Almaren," Nyéreser said then. "The Valar vowed that Aman would not share the same fate." He turned and continued up the stairs and Glorfindel followed, his expression thoughtful.

Soon they reached the first great branches of the tree and came upon a talan where they were greeted by two elves, one an elleth, both Noldorin. Their dark tresses blended well with the shade of the tree. They wore simple hunter’s tunics in shades of deep green and red-brown to better blend into their surroundings. Nyéreser made the introductions.

"This is Palarran," he said, motioning to the ellon, who gave Glorfindel a brief bow, "and his wife, Amauriel."

"Welcome to our humble home," Palarran said with a laugh, gesturing for them to come further into the talan.

Glorfindel looked about, seeing a comfortably appointed home. He approved of the way the talan blended well with the tree. It was made up of three tiers, the highest being the bedroom while the middle tier served as their living space, including a kitchen. The first level, where they were, was where weapons and gear were stored, always at the ready.

"There is also a fourth level, the aldinga," Amauriel said quietly as she pointed out the features of her home to Glorfindel. "It is reached by a series of rope ladders. It is merely a four-foot square lookout. It is from there that we keep watch over our part of the forest."

"How long have you been here?" Glorfindel asked with interest. "This talan looks... permanent somehow."

Amauriel smiled. "We have been here for only three hundred and fifty years," she replied. "We took service with Lord Oromë shortly after we were wed. Many of the rangers are married to one another, keeping watch together over the woods and its denizens. Lord Oromë prefers it, for the life of a taurevayar can be a lonely one. Some have even brought forth children. When they are of an age to be parted from their parents, Lord Oromë insists they be sent back to Tirion or Vanyamar to be fostered, for in truth, these woods are too dangerous for elflings. Lord Oromë will not even accept any elf under the age of one hundred into his service and they must spend the first thirty years under the tutelage of his Maiar, who teach us woodlore and weaponry, before they are ever assigned to a posting."

While Amauriel was showing Glorfindel around the talan, even inviting him to climb to the lookout platform at the treetop, the Maiar were consulting with Palarran. "Any sightings?" Nyéreser asked.

The ellon shook his head. "We had word that the monsters were making their way towards Clearwater Glade, but that’s fourteen leagues to the east of us. There have been no sightings closer than that."

"About a dozen," Palarran said. "An entire pack, including two females and their cubs."

"We have received no orders from Lord Oromë to herd them in any particular direction," the ellon told them, "else we would have done so. There’s a place about two leagues south of here, a deep crater with sheer walls and only one way in or out where we have often herded them to make it easier to kill them."

The Maiar nodded, well aware of the geography of the land, though none of them had ever hunted these woods with Lord Oromë’s People. Such knowledge had been given to them by Lord Oromë himself when it was decided to have them accompany Glorfindel. It was felt by the Valar that the ellon would be more comfortable around them than around Maiar whom he did not know.

"We’ll set off first thing tomorrow," Nyéreser said. "Say nothing about the creatures or where they are," he admonished the ellon. "We will lead Glorfindel in that general direction and see if he senses anything and from what distance. Once we have ascertained the strength of his ability we will be better able to teach him what he needs to know."

Palarran nodded. "I’ve already set up a sleeping place for him," he said. "I was told he would be with us for a few days."

"Yes," Tiutalion said. "Lisselindë will be his chief instructor and will remain here with him. Nyéreser and I will return in the morning. Remember, speak not of the monsters but if he asks, tell him only that they were seen heading east."

The ranger nodded. "Until tomorrow then, lords," he said with a respectful bow. The two Maiar faded away, leaving Lisselindë alone with Palarran. He gave her a tentative smile which she returned more fully.

"While your lovely wife is entertaining Glorfindel," she said in a friendly tone, "perhaps you could tell me something about your life here in the woods. What brought you and Amauriel here in the first place? Do you ever think of returning to your families in Tirion?"

Palarran gestured to the Maia to follow him up to the middle talan where he offered her a seat on a comfortable settee. When the two were settled he started speaking. "I think I always was more comfortable playing in my ammë’s garden than anywhere else...."

As he continued to inform the Maia about his life, Glorfindel stood on the aldinga with Amauriel. She was pointing out certain landmarks but Glorfindel was not paying too much heed. His eyes kept wandering eastward. The day was bright with sunshine, a warm late spring breeze teasing their hair and bringing a wealth of pleasant scents to them, but Glorfindel did not notice. Somewhere to the east lay a shroud of darkness and the light there seemed dimmer than anywhere else. Somewhere to the east, he was sure, lay evil.

Taurevaryari: Plural of Taurevaryar: Ranger, literally, ‘Forest Protector’ [taurë ‘wood, forest’ + varya- ‘protect’+ -r ‘gender neutral agential suffix’; cf. envinyatar ‘renewer’].

Carnitavari: Plural of carnitavar: Redwood [carni- ‘red’ + tavar ‘wood’].

Sérë Valion: Peace of the Valar. Vali is an attested alternative plural form of Vala.

Úmaiar: Plural of Úmaia: A Maia who became evil and followed Melkor; an attested word.

"Palarran told us last night that the creatures we will be hunting were sighted some days ago coming out of the mountains," Nyéreser told Glorfindel the next morning as he and the other two elves were sitting at the table, breaking their fast, "but he is unsure what route they took. Any thoughts as to which direction we might take?" His expression was one of polite detachment, waiting to see what the ellon would say.

Glorfindel gave the Maia a strange look. "There is a darkness in the east," he said softly, almost as if speaking to himself.

The other two elves and the three Maiar all paused to stare at him. "You know this," Tiutalion said and it was more a statement than a question.

Glorfindel nodded. "Yesterday, when Amauriel was showing me the aldinga, there was sunlight all about shining upon the forest yet, somehow, the light seemed dimmer to the east than anywhere else and a... a shadow and a threat grew in my mind. I cannot explain it any better than that."

The Maiar exchanged glances that were unreadable to the elves. Palarran gave Glorfindel a considering look of his own before turning to his wife. "Did you sense this darkness?"

Amauriel shook her head. "All appeared normal to me," she replied. "The east looked no less bright under the sun than any other direction."

"Do not be sorry, Glorfindel," Nyéreser said. "That you could sense anything is remarkable given you have had no training in this. When you are ready we will depart."

Glorfindel nodded, and in a few short minutes he finished with breakfast and went to freshen up and retrieve his gear, meeting everyone at the foot of the treegard. Palarran gave him a warrior’s salute and wished him good hunting. Amauriel handed him a small satchel with a shy smile.

"You will probably be gone for a few days," she said, "so I put together some provisions to make the trek merrier for you."

Glorfindel smiled as he accepted the satchel. "Thank you. I take it, since you’re giving it to me, I don’t have to share with them?" He tossed his head in the general direction of the Maiar waiting for him. Their expressions were more amused than annoyed.

"Thank you again for your hospitality," Glorfindel replied as he slung the satchel over his shoulder. "I hope I will have an opportunity to visit again after the hunt."

Then they were off, heading eastward. They traveled swiftly and silently, the Maiar allowing Glorfindel to set the pace. The ellon slipped effortlessly through the trackless forest, as fleeting as a cloud-shadow under the trees. They were not expecting to reach their goal that day, yet Glorfindel moved at a faster pace than the Maiar were expecting.

Glorfindel gave her a brief smile, though he did not falter in his stride. "I weary of delay," he said. "I would confront these creatures sooner rather than later."

"Would you confront them weary indeed?" Tiutalion retorted. "Come. Stay your pace. I would show you something that will be to your benefit."

Glorfindel slowed to a walk, turning to follow Tiutalion who had veered off to the left, heading north. The other two Maiar followed behind them. They traveled for nearly an hour before Glorfindel found himself entering a forest glade. It was not large but it was quite lovely and appeared no different than any other forest glade Glorfindel had ever seen, except for one thing. In the glade’s center was a stone platform. It was made from a single block of granite, easily twenty feet square and about six feet thick. Steps had been carved on the side they were approaching and when they reached the top Glorfindel could see that similar steps had been carved on the other three sides.

A rather remarkable object stood in the middle of the platform. It was a globe, created from emerald and sapphire melded together. It took Glorfindel a moment to realize that the irregular shapes of the emerald pieces might represent landmasses, while the sapphire must clearly represent the seas. The globe was surrounded by rings of clear crystal. Two of them were thick and encircled the globe, one at the equator and the other at the poles. Other, thinner, rings of crystal lay within these two greater circles, bisecting one another and the larger rings at different angles.

The entire structure was upheld by four creatures that appeared dragon-like though they sported no wings and were narrower in body than the typical wyrm. Each upheld the object with a single clawed arm. Glancing at the sun’s position in the sky, Glorfindel realized that the wyrms were standing at the cardinal points of the compass, each a different color — the north wyrm was black, while the one to the east was blue; the south wyrm was red while the one to the west was green. Their composition was unknown to him, for they were not made of any stone or metal with which he was familiar. There was something almost alien about the creatures, as if they did not belong to this world at all.

Glorfindel stared at the structure in awe, for he belatedly realized that the globe in the center was spinning and some of the crystal circles were also moving, apparently in relation to the spin of the globe.

"It’s called a meneldëa coron," Tiutalion answered Glorfindel’s unspoken question. "Lord Aulë created it soon after we built Valinor. That is Arda in the center."

"What is it doing here in the middle of the forest?" Glorfindel asked in confusion as he walked around the structure, admiring its beauty, trying to comprehend its purpose.

Glorfindel gave the Maia a surprised look. Tiutalion nodded, pointing at the globe. "See you that light pulsing in the middle of this landmass here? That is where we are."

"This is Valinor?" Glorfindel asked pointing at the landmass Tiutalion had indicated and the Maia nodded. The elf stared at the globe as it slowly spun. He recognized none of the landmasses, for what maps of Valinor he had seen showed only that central portion known as Aman and Eldamar. He tried to relate what he was seeing to what he knew. He pointed to a land mass east of Valinor.

"No," Tiutalion said. "What you are seeing is Endórë as it is today." He pointed to where there was a wide expanse of blue between the two landmasses. "This is where Beleriand once was."

Glorfindel gave him a confused look. "But you said that Lord Aulë created this a long time ago. Should not Beleriand be represented?"

"Until it was destroyed in the War any who visited this place would have seen it," the Maia answered. "But it lies beneath the waves of the Great Sea, and so it is no longer there. What you see is a true representation of Arda as it is today, this very moment."

Glorfindel shuddered, suddenly feeling overwhelmed, much as he had when watching Oromë’s Maiar fighting the alatyauli. He decided to change the subject, not willing to examine the Maia’s words too closely. "You said coming here would be of benefit to me."

The Maia nodded. "Close your eyes and slow your breathing as much as possible." The ellon complied, standing perfectly still. "Can you hear it?" Tiutalion asked.

Glorfindel stilled himself as far as he could, slowing his breathing until he was completely unconscious of it. He realized suddenly that all the time they had been in the clearing there had been no sound, neither of birdsong nor the usual rustlings of the forest. Then, he felt rather than heard a vibrational hum, musical in tone, that seemed to permeate the very air around him. It was faint but there, deep and joyous, wild and free, and it never ceased, ringing eternally through all of Eä.

"That is an echo of the music sung by the Valar when they brought Arda into existence," Tiutalion answered in a low voice. "You are hearing the very Song of Arda."

Glorfindel trembled at the thought and Tiutalion put a hand on his shoulder to calm him. The ellon opened his eyes, which were clouded with confusion. "I still don’t understand," he said. "Why did you bring me here?"

"That echo can be heard anywhere in the world if one knows what to listen for but it is loudest here in this spot," the Maia explained. "The Forest of Oromë is large and trackless. If ever you become lost, still yourself as you did just now and listen for the Song. It will guide you here. From here go directly north and you will eventually find yourself coming upon the Southern Fiefdoms of Eldamar."

Glorfindel nodded, looking about and memorizing the glade. "Seems rather odd to have this in the middle of a forest though," he said. "I would think Lord Aulë would build it out in the open."

The elf stared at the Maia in disbelief, trying to grasp the enormity of time it had taken for the forest to grow around the platform. Then he shook his head, deciding having a headache this early in the day would not be conducive to his general well-being.

"Shall we go on?" Tiutalion asked and Glorfindel nodded. They made their way back to where Nyéreser and Lisselindë stood by the trees waiting for them.

Later, that evening, Glorfindel sat by a fire, staring contemplatively into it. His thoughts wandered aimlessly from the fight with the alatyauli to the treegard of the taurevayari and his sensing of the darkness to the meneldëa coron and back again, going in circles and getting nowhere. He sighed, reaching over with a stick to stir the embers and bringing the fire back into higher flame.

He looked up to see Lord Oromë sitting across the fire from him. Of the Maiar there was no sign.

"I think too much has happened at once," Glorfindel replied with a rueful sigh. "I’m finding it difficult to take it all in."

Oromë nodded. "That is to be expected, but I am sure you will adjust. Yet, I sense there is something else, something more than trying to assimilate new ideas."

Glorfindel sighed. "So much I do not understand," he said, staring at the flames.

"Sorry," the ellon said. "I guess I’m not clear even to myself. I meant, why is this happening to me? What is the purpose of all that has happened?"

"You think that everything that has happened to you has a purpose behind it?" Oromë asked.

"I would like to think so," Glorfindel replied softly. "I would like to think that even the darkest moments of my life, both my lives, have a meaning to them, a reason for them happening at all."

"Your feelings are not unique to yourself, Glorfindel," Oromë responded with a kind smile. "All of us like to believe that."

"Of course," the Lord of Forests and the Hunt answered. "You little realize the depth of pain we Valar suffered in our wars with Melkor in the uncounted ages of the past ere Arda was ever brought into existence. We suffered much and sometimes we wondered if it was worth it."

Oromë’s smile broadened and he nodded. "You are here, are you not? You and all the other Children made it so."

"We’ve given you nothing but grief," Glorfindel protested, giving the Vala a jaundiced look.

Oromë actually chuckled. "Goes with the territory. Yet, as much as you have grieved us, you have even more so given us joy and that is what we treasure most. That is what you must do as well, learn to be joyful even in the midst of the sorrows and confusions of your life, for that is what will sustain you in your darkest hours."

Glorfindel snorted. "Joy. I’m not sure I even know what that word means or even how to find it."

"You do not find it," Oromë replied solemnly, "it finds you. Actually, you already have it, you just don’t know it yet."

The elf stared at the Vala for a long moment, then shook his head and sighed, looking back into the fire. "I wish I understood."

Oromë gave him a sympathetic smile though Glorfindel did not see it. "You will, I promise you. In the meantime, concentrate on your hunt. At the moment, that is the most important thing."

"Will you be there?" Glorfindel asked, looking up, but the Vala was no longer there. He sighed again and made ready for sleep, unconcerned about any danger, for the Maiar had assured him that they would keep watch.

They set off towards the southeast the next morning at Glorfindel’s suggestion. "It seems as if the threat is in that direction," he told the Maiar.

"Clearwater Glade," Nyéreser said. When Glorfindel gave him a quizzical look, he smiled. "It’s a large clearing almost directly southeast of us, hard against the mountains. It is a favorite grazing area for the forest denizens for there is a small lake there and the grasses are succulent."

Glorfindel nodded, then gave the Maiar a considering look. "You knew where they were all this time."

There was no anger in his tone, but they sensed that he was not pleased. "We thought to see if you could detect anything from the treegard," Nyéreser said. "We wished to ascertain your range. We frankly did not expect you to sense anything from that distance."

"What would you have done had I chosen some other direction?" Glorfindel then asked, sounding more amused now.

"We would have put it to a vote," Tiutalion said with a twinkle in his eyes. "Three against one; we would have come east regardless."

"Well, let us go to Clearwater Glade then," the ellon said once he was calmer. "We have some hunting to do."

They reached the glade some hours after noon as Anar was beginning her slow descent into the west, approaching it from the northwest. Shadows were lengthening across the meadow and several animals were already drinking from the lake along the far eastern side. It was one of the largest glades Glorfindel had ever seen, perhaps a couple of miles wide in any direction. The lake, situated further to the south, was indeed small, more like a large pond, but even from where he was crouched behind the trees he could see the sparkling clarity of the waters fed, he supposed, from a mountain stream, for in the far distance he could see a waterfall that issued from the mountains which were still a two-day trek away.

"Do you sense them?" Lisselindë asked him in a whisper. Now that they were there she took over this part of Glorfindel’s training while Nyéreser and Tiutalion stood by on guard.

Glorfindel nodded and pointed. "Almost directly south but I cannot tell if they are on this side of the lake or not."

"You heard the Song of Arda," Lisselindë said and Glorfindel nodded. "Well, all of Arda resonates with that Song, but in different tones or colors, you might say. You have seen the Valar in their natural forms as lights of many hues." Again Glorfindel nodded. "Well, each of those hues which we call aurae is unique to a particular Vala. No other has exactly the same aura. The same is true for the Maiar. That is how we identify ourselves to one another in our natural state. The same is true, to a lesser extent, for the mirroanwi, for all creatures in fact, including the evil creatures we hunt today."

"How do I detect these... aurae?" Glorfindel asked. "How do I know the difference between one creature and another?"

"You already know the answer to that, Glorfindel," Lisselindë said. "Think about what you experienced yesterday."

"Exactly," Lisselindë said. "It is a stain on the landscape, is it not?" Glorfindel nodded yet again. "That is what you must concentrate on. Close your eyes and still yourself as you did at the meneldëa coron and tell me what you sense."

Glorfindel complied and for several long moments he was silent and unmoving. He heard the faint throbbing of the Song, an infinitesimal vibration upon his skin. He let his senses roam outward, concentrating his attention to the south. He could ‘hear’ the waters of the lake singing joyfully and he smiled unconsciously. Then the smile fled as he sensed something discordant, something not right.

"It lies just to the west of us," he whispered. "The darkness is settled along the northwestern shore."

Glorfindel furrowed his brow, concentrating further, trying to distinguish between different shades of darkness, but it was all the same to him. He shook his head. "Sorry," he said, opening his eyes and frowning.

If the Maia was disappointed she did not show it. "That’s fine, Glorfindel. It takes practice. It is enough for now that you can at least pinpoint the direction more clearly. That’s the most important thing. I will tell you now, so you are prepared, that twelve creatures were counted, including females and cubs. We will be facing an entire pack."

Glorfindel gave him a puzzled look and the Maia nodded. "They are waiting for the herds to come to drink at sunset," Nyéreser explained. "We will attack then when they will be less on guard, for they will be concentrating on hunting themselves. Come. Let us move closer to our prey."

The four of them moved silently along the eaves of the woods until they were closer to the creatures. They appeared somewhat like the wargs Glorfindel had seen in Beleriand but these seemed more bear-like in appearance with their thick bodies and shaggy fur. They were tall, nearly as tall as Glorfindel’s horse, their fur coal black, and when one of them turned its head he could see its eyes held an intelligence that not even wargs possessed.

"There is something wrong here," Glorfindel said suddenly. "I count only five of the creatures, two females and their cubs."

The Maiar gazed out across the glade. "He’s right," Tiutalion said. "Where are..." He never got a chance to finish his question, for suddenly, there was a snarling cough and then something leapt at them from behind.

"’Ware!" Lisselindë cried even as she brought her spear up in defense against the creature attacking them. The other two Maiar were also quick to respond as several more shapes rushed towards them from out of the underbrush and then chaos ensued. Glorfindel was slower to react, but still managed to leap out of the way of one of the creatures charging him, drawing out his sword in one fluid movement. Then with a yell, he fell upon the warg-like creature before it had a chance to turn on him, clinging to the monster’s back for dear life. His intention was to slit its throat and he actually succeeded but in its death throes it knocked him hard against a tree and he fell to the ground, his sword landing just out of reach.

Shaking his head to clear it, he looked up in time to see another of the monsters looming over him, its muzzle slavering, a clawed forefoot already in the process of slashing at him. He managed to roll away so he was saved from being eviscerated but a burning sensation rippled down his back and left leg. He screamed, nearly blacking out from the pain, but he forced himself to stay conscious, grabbing his sword with his left hand and swinging around to skewer the creature in the heart before it had a chance to finish him off.

Rolling on his back as he had sent more waves of searing pain through him and he had just enough presence of mind to pull the sword out of the creature’s chest before it fell on him, the weight of its body forcing the air out of his lungs and plunging him into darkness.

Meneldëa Coron: ‘Heavenly Globe’, what we would call an armillary sphere (also called a celestial globe or astrolabe). The name is ultimately from Latin armilla ‘circle, bracelet’. Armillary spheres are generally skeleton celestial globes, though some, like this one, have an actual representation of the earth at its center. They are an early astronomical device made of fixed and moveable rings representing circles of the celestial sphere such as the ecliptic, the celestial equator, the meridian, as well as the equinoctial and solstitial colures. Armillary spheres were used in China as early as the third century before the Common Era as both a teaching instrument and an observational tool.

A beautiful photo of the armillary sphere designed by the Chinese astronomer Guo Shoujing (1231-1316), which is located at the Ancient Observatory in Beijing, and which I used as the basis for the armillary sphere that Glorfindel is shown, can be seen at the following link: http://hua(dot)umf(dot)maine(dot)edu/China/astronomy/tianpage/0025Armilla9252w(dot)html

Glorfindel climbed out of the darkness of unconsciousness and wished that he hadn’t. The pain was excruciating and his body felt as if it were on fire. He tried to will himself back into oblivion but voices caught his attention.

"...our fault, lord," someone said. The voice sounded familiar but Glorfindel couldn’t immediately place it.

Ah, Lord Námo! Glorfindel felt pleased that he could recognize the voice, then immediately worried that he might be in deeper trouble than he suspected if the Lord of Mandos was there. The Vala’s tone had been... dark.

"We deliberately kept our awareness at Glorfindel’s level," the first voice answered and now Glorfindel could put a name to it: Nyéreser.

"That’s why we never felt the ulcamorcor," Glorfindel heard Tiutalion say. "They apparently had been hunting and were on their way back to the lake when they found us."

"You are assuming they were hunting at the time," Oromë said. "Yet, where is the game? They would not have returned without any. No. They knew you were there, or at least they sensed Glorfindel, who, unlike you, is mirroanwë , and laid an ambush."

"Impossible, lord!" Lisselindë protested. "We would have seen them entering the woods. Yet, they were already there when we arrived at this spot."

"It was Glorfindel who saw that there were only five of the creatures by the lake," Nyéreser said, sounding rueful. "Until he pointed it out, I did not notice."

"Nor were you meant to," Oromë said and the silence that greeted that statement was so profound that Glorfindel opened his eyes to make sure that he wasn’t alone and discovered he was lying on his stomach. He raised his head and tried to twist his body and nearly passed out from the pain.

"Easy now, child," he heard Oromë say as several hands braced him so he could look up to find five pairs of eyes staring down at him. Automatically, Glorfindel’s gaze centered on Námo’s.

"Whatever possessed you to throw yourself on one of the ulcamorcor, best beloved?" Námo asked with a smile, though there was a hint of worry in his eyes that Glorfindel did not want to examine too closely.

The ellon smiled weakly. "I attacked a balrog," he said in a hoarse whisper, his voice laced with pain. "What else would you expect from me?"

The Maiar all rolled their eyes while the two Valar merely grinned. Lisselindë handed him a cup and helped him to drink some water.

"What happened?" Glorfindel asked after taking a sip or two, grimacing as he fought back the pain and forced himself to remain focused.

"You almost were killed, is what happened," Oromë said in a forbidding tone. "Trust me when I say that if you had died, Lord Námo would not have been the only Vala displeased by your stupidity."

"Sorry," was all the ellon could think to say, closing his eyes. He felt his body sag, his strength dissipating and he wanted desperately to fall back into oblivion but the pain was too distracting. He did not see the looks of concern that crossed the faces of the two Valar as he lay there.

*But his wounds are not life-threatening,* Námo countered, *else I would have called for Estë to help us keep his fëa within his hröa until we could repair the damage.*

*To do so, I think, will defeat the purpose of all this,* Námo said. *You and I can do what repairs are necessary to keep him alive, but I think it best that he heal on his own. It will serve as a lesson for him.*

*One of many today,* Oromë said with a nod. *He can’t be moved then.* He then directed his thoughts at the Maiar. *Set up camp beside the lake. Construct a lean-to. Until he can stand on his own, Glorfindel’s not going anywhere.*

The Maiar bowed and went to do the Vala’s bidding. Námo, meantime, caressed Glorfindel’s brow, soothing away some of the pain. When the ellon opened his eyes Námo saw that they were full of gratitude and relief.

"We will repair the damage to your hröa," Námo told him, "but most of the healing must come from you."

Glorfindel nodded, then sighed, looking defeated. "Sorry," he said, "I guess I messed up again."

"No, child," Oromë answered, giving him a warm smile. "You were splendid. Now, we will put you into healing sleep for a time."

The ellon nodded his understanding and soon was deeply asleep, unaware when Námo gently lifted him up and carried him to the lean-to which the Maiar had constructed. They had been tempted to call for a proper bed and other furnishings, but decided to construct a sleeping pallet made from the furs of the dead creatures after they were properly cured, a process that the Maiar speeded up once they had stripped the furs from the ulcamorcor.

"He’s started quite a collection, hasn’t he?" Oromë said with a chuckle as Námo placed the ellon on the pile of furs face down. "I’ll save out the one he killed first and have it made into a cloak for him."

"I’m sure he’ll appreciate it," Námo said as he called forth a light cotton blanket to cover the elf’s naked form now wrapped in bandages from neck to heel. They had had to cut his clothes off him in order to address his wounds.

Once Glorfindel was settled, Námo took his leave, bespeaking Oromë so that the Maiar, all of whom had troubled looks upon their faces, could not hear. *Keep me posted. Call me if you need help with them,* indicating the Maiar who were hovering over the sleeping ellon like three hens with a single chick. *I suspect Nyéreser is the most upset, as he was their nominal leader.*

Oromë nodded. *I think they’re all going to be very unhappy with me for a while,* he said ruefully.

*Goes with the territory,* Námo replied with a smile. Then he faded from view, leaving Oromë to deal with the Maiar while Glorfindel slept on.

The Vala gazed upon the three Maiar, his expression warm and loving, as they continued to hover protectively over the oblivious elf. He could see that they were all distraught over the near disaster, though on the surface their expressions were calm. Looking upon them at the electro-magnetic level, however, he saw that Lisselindë’s aura fluctuated more than the other two, her usual bright green muddy with hues of red and purple, a sure indication of confusion and anguish. Tiutalion’s aura was shifting from its normal golden-yellow to deep orange and then brightening to almost white before shifting again to yellow. Oromë knew that the usually unflappable Maia was fighting to remain calm. Nyéreser’s aura was a steady cold blue and it did not fluctuate much from its normal frequency, yet Oromë sensed that the Maia’s emotions were hanging by a thread and he was more likely to explode in real anger than the other two.

For a long moment silence hung over them as the three Maiar tried to figure out what the Vala meant and then Nyéreser finally asked a single question. "Why?" His voice was taut with barely restrained emotion.

Oromë resisted a sigh and indicated that they should all follow him. "Glorfindel isn’t going anywhere," he said with amusement at the hesitation of all three Maiar. He led them closer to the lake and for a moment or two no one spoke. Oromë gazed across the waters to the distant mountain waterfall. The Maiar remained respectfully silent. When Oromë did speak it was with a question of his own.

"Which one of you plans to go with Glorfindel when we Valar finally send him back to Endórë?"

The Maiar stole glances at one another, the unexpectedness of the question throwing them. "What do you mean, lord?" Tiutalion finally asked. "Do you truly intend to send him back?"

Oromë turned his gaze upon the Maiar and nodded. "It was our plan all along, almost from the moment he died."

"We guessed that it was your intent to send someone back," Nyéreser said, "but I always thought it would be Findaráto."

"No," Oromë said shortly. "That was never an option. It was always Glorfindel whom we meant to send. So, I ask you again, which of you plans to go with him?"

Now there was open confusion on their faces. It was Lisselindë who finally spoke. "I would go with him, but I do not think you would permit it, not after... well not after." She looked more embarrassed than anything at that moment.

Oromë gave her a fond smile and placed his hand gently on her head in benediction. "You are correct, my dear, but not for the reason you assume. In truth, none of you, indeed none of the Maiar, will be allowed to accompany Glorfindel. He goes alone."

"Then I do not understand your question, lord," Nyéreser said. "If you never intended...."

Now the Maiar became silent as they thought out the implications of the Vala’s question. Oromë noticed absently that Lisselindë’s aura was now only fluctuating in the green spectrum, from her usual bright green to a deeper blue-green, an indication that her emotions were more under control. Tiutalion’s aura was now a steady copper orange showing deep thought on his part. Nyéreser’s aura never shifted from its normal cold blue.

"He will have to protect himself, or other elves will if he is unable for some reason," Tiutalion finally said.

The Vala nodded, a smile gracing his visage. "And there you have it, my children. It is very easy to forget that Endórë is not Aman. There are none of us guarding the Children in the Outer Lands, though that is not to say there are none of us keeping watch. Glorfindel should not become so complacent in believing that anytime he lands himself in trouble a Maia will be there to pull him out, otherwise, he will be of no use to us or to the peoples of Endórë to whom we will send him."

"Possibly," Oromë conceded, "though even I am not so foolish as to get on my brother Námo’s bad side by allowing that to happen." He gave them a deprecating grin and the tension that was palpable between the Maiar eased noticeably and they grinned back. The Vala nodded, satisfied. "You and others will continue to train Glorfindel, but keep in mind that you are not his ultimate protectors. Leave that to us. When you find yourself in a situation such as occurred here, accept it. It is no slight against you, but Glorfindel needs to learn not to depend on being coddled or he will never become what we need him to be."

The Maiar all nodded. "I guess Glorfindel is not the only one in need of lessons," Nyéreser said, looking rueful.

Oromë smiled. "You are all worthy Maiar, even you Lisselindë. We are very pleased with all of you and your willingness to help with Glorfindel. He is not the easiest student, to be sure." They all chuckled at that. "Do not think we Valar are unaware of the sacrifices you are making on his behalf. I assure you, your efforts will be suitably rewarded. Now, let the elfling sleep for another hour or so and then rouse him so he might have something to eat and see to personal needs. If he becomes feverish alert us."

The Maiar nodded their understanding as Oromë faded from view. They stared at one another for a moment in silence and then Lisselindë shrugged. "I’ll build a fire," she said and the other two nodded.

"We’ll do some hunting," Nyéreser said and together he and Tiutalion headed into the gloaming while Lisselindë gathered dry wood.

Glorfindel was tired of being roused with, in his mind, interminable regularity. All he wanted was to sleep. Every time he was wakened to take sustenance or to tend to other needs the pain was excruciating.

"I didn’t feel this bad when I died," he muttered at one point, grimacing as fire swept along his back when he attempted to sit up.

He didn’t notice his three caretakers grinning at the quip. Sometime after midnight though he woke on his own feeling hot, groaning from the barely suppressed pain as he struggled to remove his blanket and then almost at once began to shiver with cold, groping for the very same blanket he had thrown off only minutes earlier. The pain was not as bad as earlier but it was bad enough. He felt a cool hand on his brow and he heard soft words he couldn’t make out and then there was blessed darkness.

When he next woke on his own it was bright daylight. Birds were singing in the nearby trees and the sun was warm on his back where her beams stole into the lean-to. The pain, he noticed, was much less and at a more manageable level, but he still moved cautiously, attempting to roll over so he could sit up. Almost at once hands gently held him down.

"Do not try to move yet," he heard Nyéreser say in a soft voice. "We need to change the dressing first, then we will help you to sit up so you may have something to eat."

"How long have I’ve been asleep?" Glorfindel asked while Nyéreser gently lifted him up so the bandages could be unwrapped.

"Such language!" Lisselindë exclaimed in mock dismay. "And on such a lovely day as this."

"What’s so lovely about it?" Glorfindel demanded and hissed at the pain as Lisselindë applied some sort of sweet smelling salve to his wounds. The Maia uttered soft apologies but did not cease her ministrations.

Glorfindel turned his head slightly to see the Maia grinning down at him and scowled. "If I weren’t in such a compromising position I would wipe that smug smile off your face."

"He’s always in a bad mood when he first wakes up," Lisselindë replied as she began working on his leg. "Haven’t you noticed?"

"I suppose having one’s back ripped to pieces would make anyone grouchy," Tiutalion answered with a straight face.

Glorfindel sighed. "Is it really that bad?" he asked worriedly. "And my leg? Will I even be able to walk again?"

The genuine fear that they heard in his voice sobered the three Maiar and they ceased their banter. Nyéreser reached down and stroked the ellon’s head. "Have no fear," he said. "Bad though your wounds are they will heal fully. You will have to work to strengthen your leg muscles, but I assure you that in time you will be able to walk and you will be able to wield your sword."

Glorfindel sighed again, this time in relief as Nyéreser and Tiutalion gently helped him to roll over and sit up, though the world lurched sickeningly for a moment or two and he thought he might black out. Once they had him settled with soft pillows piled up supporting his back the world righted itself. He couldn’t believe how weak he felt just from that small amount of effort and was grateful when Tiutalion gave him some water so he could slake his sudden thirst.

Lisselindë, who had left the lean-to while the other Maiar were moving Glorfindel, came back bearing a bowl of creamy porridge. "We’ll see if you can handle something more solid than beef broth, which is what we’ve been feeding you for the last four days," she said. "Do you think you can manage on your own if I hold the bowl for you?" she then asked, handing him a spoon.

Glorfindel nodded and, though it took some effort and it was slow going, he managed well enough. When the bowl was empty he lay back against the pillows, his body trembling with fatigue.

"That was very good," Lisselindë said with a smile. "Why don’t you rest for now. Do you want to be placed on your stomach again or are you fine as you are?"

"I’m fine, thank you," Glorfindel said in a whisper, feeling sleep stealing over him. The Maiar stood or sat around him, keeping watch.

Days passed and Glorfindel felt himself growing stronger, staying awake longer and taking more interest in his surroundings. When he began to complain about the view (virtually nonexistent as far as he was concerned) the Maiar moved him outside so he could better see the lake and the surrounding glade. His mood improved almost at once and so they left him there for most of the day, bringing him back to the lean-to only at night. About a week after he woke completely he was standing with the aid of the Maiar and was able to walk to the lake though it seemed to take forever. Still, that was the highlight of the ellon’s day and when night fell he walked back to the lean-to, again with aid. He slept better than he had previously and the Maiar took it as a good sign. After that they began encouraging him to walk as much as he could and strengthen the leg muscles. Thus, after another week had passed, Glorfindel was well enough to begin sparring with Nyéreser and Tiutalion to bring his body back to peak performance.

When he was not training with the Maiar, he wandered along the shore of the lake and watched the wildlife around him. Lisselindë accompanied him one time and offered to continue their lessons, which surprised him. "There is no evil presence here in this glade," he objected.

"Your abilities can be used for other purposes," Lisselindë explained. "Come. Close your eyes, reach out and tell me what you sense."

Glorfindel complied and did as she bade, reaching out with his mind as he had been taught to do when hunting for evil and realized that he could sense other less inimical life forms. He heard the rush of wings as waterbirds suddenly fluttered up from the lake only to circle for a moment or two before settling back down. Somewhere further east he felt a herd of deer go bounding across the field and back into the forest. There was the rustling of leaves and the soft breeze brought him fragrant scents which were hard to identify. He recounted all that he could sense with his hröa and fëa, opening his eyes only when he could not think of anything else to mention.

"That was a very good start," Lisselindë said with a smile. "With more practice you should be able to sense more in greater detail. As a warrior you must be constantly aware of your surroundings, is that not true?"

"And one that has held you in good stead," the Maia affirmed. "These exercises will merely reinforce that lesson."

Thus, Glorfindel spent the early mornings training with swords with Nyéreser and archery with Tiutalion. After lunch, he and Lisselindë would wander through the glade and learn of the life that teemed there. Sometimes, Glorfindel would be blindfolded and taken in a random manner to some part of the glade and told to find his way back to the camp or simply to identify everything in that particular place about which his other senses told him.

At night, the four sat around the fire and traded stories. The Maiar regaled Glorfindel with tales of the times before Time began when even Arda had not yet been brought into existence. Glorfindel drank those tales in like someone suffering a great thirst. In turn, Glorfindel spoke of his days in Gondolin, concentrating mostly on his friendship with Ecthelion of the Fountain and the trouble they got themselves into and out of.

"We were the bane of Turgon’s existence," Glorfindel chortled, "and we prided ourselves on the ingenuity of our jests."

"And when they didn’t," Lisselindë added. The Maiar were highly amused by Glorfindel’s unusual lighthearted demeanor. By common consent no one mentioned the Darkening or what happened after the Noldor left.

"Oh, Turgon usually exiled us to the loneliest outpost in the Echoriath he could find," Glorfindel replied with another chuckle. "It took him some time to realize that sending us both to the same lonely outpost only gave us plenty of time to come up with even more outrageous jests, undisturbed by such inanities as attending court or our other duties in the city."

The Maiar laughed at that. "So I’m assuming Turgon sent you to different outposts after that," Tiutalion stated.

Glorfindel nodded. "Not that it stopped us. When we were permitted back in the city we just compared notes as to what we had come up with on our own during our time of exile." He gave them a sly grin. "Turgon never stood a chance, especially after Tuor arrived and he and Idril joined us in our little escapades. When he found out that even they were in on it, he threw up his hands and muttered something about his own family being the death of him."

At those words, Glorfindel sobered, his eyes sad as he gazed into the fire. "He was right, though not in the way he thought."

The Maiar remained respectfully silent. For several minutes Glorfindel just stared into the flames, seeing something that was not there. "When Aredhel died of the poisoned dart Eöl meant for their son," Glorfindel finally said, speaking almost to himself, "for the first time I was honestly afraid of my king. Never have I seen anyone so cold and merciless before or since. After we threw Eöl from the Caragdûr, Ecthelion and I resolved to end our jests, for they seemed out of place now."

"Yet, you said that Tuor and Idril helped you with your jests," Nyéreser said, "and Tuor came afterwards. What changed your mind?"

"Turgon did," came the surprising answer. "About a month or so after Tuor arrived, Turgon asked Ecthelion and me to attend him after one of our council meetings. That was not unusual. Turgon often would invite one or two councillors to share some wine with him after such a meeting. Often we would spend the time speaking of this or that, nothing really consequential; Turgon merely wished to know each of us better."

He paused to throw a few sticks on the fire and to freshen his tea, before he settled back on the log he was sitting on and resumed his narrative. "That day, Turgon spent the entire time reminiscing about the many jests we had pulled in the past, citing his favorite ones, the ones that normally got us exiled or one time got me thrown into prison for my troubles. He never said anything specific but we got the message. When we spoke to Idril and Tuor about it they offered to help with the jest."

"Tuor," Glorfindel said decisively. "When the Mortal came to Gondolin and won Idril’s heart, for the first time since Aredhel’s death, there was genuine joy in Turgon’s eyes whenever he gazed upon his son-in-law. Then, when Idril presented him with his grandson, Eärendil, it was as if the darkness that had shrouded his fëa was lifted." He gave the Maiar a wry smile. "His greatest delight was in Eärendil and he shamelessly spoiled the lad."

The Maiar smiled at that but noticed Glorfindel’s pensive mood as he stared back into the fire. "I wonder whatever happened to them? Idril and Tuor, I mean. No one has ever said."

"Nor are we permitted to speak of it," Tiutalion said. "Their fate is in the hands of the Valar and Ilúvatar. Be content that they are well. Beyond that we will not say."

Glorfindel nodded not at all upset. Instead, he decided to change the subject. "What news have you had of Eldamar? Has aught of any importance happened?"

"Ingoldo and Tinwetariel, along with the other prisoners were transported to Formenos. Our brethren from among Lord Tulkas’ People presently guard them."

"I pity them," Glorfindel said sincerely. The three Maiar gave him quizzical looks and the ellon expanded on his words. "To have to stand watch over such as they, it must be galling, not to mention boring."

The Maiar started laughing, much to Glorfindel’s amazement and bemusement. "You little understand our nature, then," Tiutalion said. "We Maiar were created to serve the Valar in whatever capacity they deem suitable. It is both an honor and a special joy whatever the task may be."

Glorfindel shrugged, as if to indicate that he wasn’t going to argue the point even if he thought it silly. The Maiar simply smiled indulgently at his reaction. "Any other news?" he asked.

"There is talk that Arafinwë means to go ahead with the royal progress to Tol Eressëa at midsummer," Nyéreser answered.

Glorfindel sighed. "Sador told Finrod and me about it. None of us are happy with the idea, though for some reason Ingwion, when we spoke to him, did not seem upset by the possible dangers that the rest of us seem to see so clearly." He shook his head. "And that’s another thing," he said, looking up at the Maiar in obvious confusion. "Apprentice to Lord Námo? What could Lord Námo possibly teach him? How to greet the dead?"

"Did you not pay heed to our tales, Glorfindel?" Nyéreser enquired, trying not to laugh at the ellon’s words. "What do you think Lord Námo was doing all those uncounted ages before Mandos was ever built?"

"The Halls of Mandos were built only after we settled here in Aman," Nyéreser explained. "Even when we built Almaren there was never a hint of Lord Námo’s future role as Lord of the Dead. Before that he was one of our most able strategists, along with Lord Oromë, in our wars against Melkor."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at that, clearly skeptical, but when the Maiar continued to gaze at him without any hint of levity in their eyes, he realized they were speaking the truth. After a moment or two he nodded. "Ingwion has not said anything specific, but he has hinted that he has a role to play that concerns Tol Eressëa, perhaps with the progress itself. Finrod and I resolved to join the progress whether Atar invites us to or not. If Atar means to leave at midsummer that does not give me much time to recover my former strength though. I do not wish to be of no use to anyone if trouble occurs."

"We will continue to work on it," Nyéreser said. "I was thinking of pushing you a little harder than I have been. We Maiar have been fighting at your level, but I wonder if it won’t be wise to try to bring you up to our level of skill or as near to it as you can come being mirroanwë."

"Then we will start tomorrow," Nyéreser said. "Perhaps, with Lord Manwë’s permission, I will ask some of his warrior Maiar to help. They’re always eager for new challenges."

"I’ll try not to disappoint them," Glorfindel quipped and the Maiar laughed. Soon afterwards, Glorfindel went to his bed while the three Maiar, now joined by Manveru, Erunáro, Eönwë and Fionwë, sat around the fire planning Glorfindel’s new training program.

Note: The Caragdûr was a precipice of black rock upon the north side of the hill of Gondolin. The description of Eöl’s death is taken from the Silmarillion, Chapter 16, ‘Of Maeglin’.

Manveru stepped back immediately from the fray, never completing his strike, thereby overbalancing a winded Glorfindel who staggered slightly when his parry met empty air. The Maia gave him a grin and grabbed his forearm to keep him from falling on his face. Sweat was dripping from under Glorfindel’s helm and the tunic under his chainmail was soaked. Manveru looked as if he hadn’t done anything more strenuous that day than bend down and smell the meadow flowers.

Eönwë stepped forward and took Glorfindel by the arms so that the ellon was facing him. The Herald of Manwë gave him a piercing look as if gauging the health of his very soul. Glorfindel just stood there trying to catch his breath and did not flinch from the Maia’s gaze. He was beginning to get used to it, though it still made him feel uncomfortable.

"I think that’s enough for today," Eönwë said. "You’re too tired to continue."

Glorfindel shook his head. "No. I just need to... catch my breath," he protested, straightening his body even though every muscle was screaming at him and he wanted nothing more than to soak in a hot tub, though in the weeks since he had come to Clearwater Glade he had yet to see one.

Now Manveru stepped forward, a more solicitous look on his face than before. "You’re overextending yourself, Swordbrother," the Maia said. "Rest and tomorrow we will go at it again."

"There’s little time...." Glorfindel started to say but Eönwë interrupted him, giving him a slight shake.

"There is more than enough time," he said. "You’re not going to do anyone any good if you kill yourself trying to be what you are not."

"Glorfindel," Nyéreser said, coming towards them from the sidelines where the other Maiar were watching, handing the elf a flask of water which he gratefully took, "you are already a better swordsman than you were before you came to this glade. I doubt even Finrod could best you now. We still have a month before Arafinwë leaves for Tol Eressëa. I assure you that in that time you will be even better, but you will still not be as good as we are."

"I don’t want to be as good as you are, Nyéreser," Glorfindel said with a scowl as he handed the flask back to the Maia. "I want to be better."

There was laughter all around even though it was obvious from Glorfindel’s expression that he was entirely serious. Eönwë shook his head and gave the ellon a fond smile. "That will never happen, child," the Maia said, "for we have one talent that you do not possess that gives us an edge."

Eönwë glanced at Manveru and Nyéreser, both of them nodding slightly at an unspoken question, before returning his attention to Glorfindel. "We have the ability to see a little into the future, not very far, just a few minutes ahead, but enough to know where your strikes will come and be able to counteract them."

Glorfindel blinked a couple of times trying to assimilate what the Maia had told him. "You’re cheating?" was all he could think to say.

Now there were rueful looks on the Maiar’s faces. "It’s not cheating when it’s a natural ability," Manveru said apologetically, "one that is simply there and used unconsciously."

"Even when you were fighting at my level?" Glorfindel demanded. His expression was one of hurt and confusion bordering on anger, anger none of them wanted to provoke.

The Maiar all shook their heads. "When we fight at your level," Manveru said, "we don’t... cheat, as you put it. But you are fighting at our level and that is one of our natural weapons, you might call it. We all employ it when sparring. It adds to the challenge and we used it against our Fallen Brethren even as they used it against us when we fought in ages past."

"It’s still cheating, though," Glorfindel stated firmly, "because I don’t have that talent. I’m fighting at a disadvantage. How can I hope to improve if I am fighting under a handicap?"

"But that’s just the point," Nyéreser said. "Even not knowing about this little talent of ours, you still found ways to surprise us. Your own natural talents have been honed over these last few weeks so now you are fighting at a level few of the Eldar could reach, no matter how long and hard they trained. You should be proud of your accomplishments, Glorfindel."

Eönwë shook his head. "Enough. The lessons are over for the day. Rest and reflect on what you have learned. Tomorrow will be soon enough for you to take your frustrations out on us again." He gave Glorfindel a wry smile.

Glorfindel sighed, unbuckling his helm and removing it, wiping the sweat drying on his forehead with the sleeve of his tunic. "I so wish for a hot bath," he said dejectedly. "I think the moment I return to Tirion I’m going to order one and never come out."

Chuckles swept through the throng of Maiar who had come that day to see Glorfindel train. "Well, if it’s a bath you’re looking for...." Manveru said as he gave the ellon a broad grin. Before Glorfindel could react he found himself being lifted into the Maia’s arms and then he was flying through the air towards the lake. He gave a screech of pure terror as he plummeted towards the waters, fearing that he would land in shallow waters, thereby breaking every bone in his body, or sink with all his armor on if he was fortunate enough to land in deeper waters. At the very last moment before he hit the lake strong arms grabbed him. It took several precious minutes before his heart stopped racing and he was no longer panting in fright. He felt cool water wash over him and, opening his eyes, found himself staring up at Manveru smiling down at him. He was cradled in the Maia’s arms. Manveru dipped him gently into the water. It was cool and refreshing and Glorfindel gave an involuntary sigh of relief.

"You didn’t seriously think I would let you become injured or drowned, did you, Swordbrother?" Manveru said gently. "Lord Manwë would never forgive me and Lord Námo would make my life so miserable I would probably wish for death." He chuckled as if at a jest, but Glorfindel was feeling too weak from the scare he’d been given to respond with a rejoinder. Manveru gazed at him much the same way Eönwë did and he tried not to flinch, but his thoughts and emotions were all in a jumble and he wasn’t sure how to still them.

"Let’s go back, shall we?" the Maia finally said and walked a few feet towards the shore until they were in waters that were not over Glorfindel’s head. Then he released the ellon from his embrace. Glorfindel found that he was able to stand, though Manveru had to hold him up, lending him a hand as together they made their way back to the camp. Eönwë was waiting for them, his expression unreadable to Glorfindel who had begun to tremble from reaction.

"You’re white as a sheet, child," Eönwë said solicitously, taking Glorfindel by the other arm. The two Maiar helped him to the fire where they stripped him of his wet things and threw a warm blanket over his shivering frame. Lisselindë, who had been tending the fire, handed the ellon a cup of hot tea but Glorfindel was shaking so much now that he couldn’t hold the cup in his hands.

"He’s in shock," Eönwë muttered as he gave Manveru a disapproving glare. The other Maia had the grace to look chagrined. "He may get his wish for a hot bath sooner than he thinks." Without another word he lifted Glorfindel in his arms and then started running at a pace no elf could hope to match, making his way around the lakeshore towards the northeast. All the Maiar who were still at the camp kept pace with him, knowing where they were heading.

"Those springs are much too hot," Nyéreser said as he ran beside Eönwë. "Glorfindel will be scalded."

"We can draw off some of the water and mix it with the cooler lake water," Eönwë replied, not even breathing hard.

"I’ll see to that," Manveru said and thought himself away. Lisselindë disappeared as well.

The rest of them made their way to the edge of the glade where a tumble of boulders hid a hot spring bubbling up through the rocks. Water flowed into a natural cavity, forming a small pool. When they came to it, they found that Manveru had already caused a channel to be dug leading some of the water into another depression that was deep enough to bathe in. Lisselindë appeared with a couple of large buckets full of lake water and was mixing it in with the steaming spring water that smelled faintly of rotten eggs. When enough water filled the depression, Manveru closed the channel. Lisselindë tested the water and nodded to Eönwë, who removed Glorfindel’s blanket and slipped him into the pool. It was deep enough to cover him but shallow enough to keep his head above water. All the while, Glorfindel never stopped trembling and it was several long minutes before the spasms slowed while the Maiar stood about watching anxiously.

"Next time," Eönwë muttered angrily at Manveru, though he never took his eyes off Glorfindel, "think before you act. It’s one thing to do something like that to one of us, but Glorfindel is mirroanwë and his fear of injury or death was very real in those brief seconds before you caught him."

"Too real," Glorfindel whispered, giving a sigh of relief as he felt the final tremors leave his body. He sank further into the steaming water and closed his eyes, letting the heat soothe him though the faint rotten egg smell irritated the back of his throat and stung his eyes.

"As opposed to what?" Glorfindel rejoined, never opening his eyes. He could feel himself drifting and would have welcomed sleep now that he was over the terror and his sore muscles began to ease. He heard a sigh that was nowhere and everywhere and then there was silence. He cracked open an eye to see if he had suddenly been deserted by the Maiar but found that most of them were still there, but now there was another presence. Opening both eyes he looked up to see Lord Manwë standing there. That surprised him. He would have figured Lord Námo or at least Lord Oromë. Lord Tulkas had come around on occasion to watch his training and give him some pointers before going on his way again, but none of the other Valar had made an appearance during the last few weeks while the Maiar trained him.

And now, here was Lord Manwë and he did not look at all pleased. "I trust there’s an explanation for all this," he said quietly.

Eönwë began to explain but Glorfindel cut him off. "I complained about not having had a hot bath since coming to this place. No one told me about the hot springs until now."

Manwë gave him a piercing look, one that Glorfindel could not easily meet and the ellon soon found himself staring down at his toes, the redness of his skin not entirely due to the heat of the pool. "Your terror was felt on every wavelength, Glorfindel," Manwë said. "Only the fact that Eönwë assured me that he had the situation under control prevented every one of the Valar from rushing to your aid."

Glorfindel looked up in surprise and Manwë nodded, a faint smile creasing his lips at the sight of the ellon sitting in water up to his shoulders looking nonplused and completely surrounded by warrior Maiar, Lisselindë being the only exception.

"I was just taken by surprise," Glorfindel said somewhat lamely, giving a shrug. "No blood, no blame, as Finrod will say."

"Hmm...." Manwë said, looking unconvinced. "Well, see that it doesn’t happen again." This last was directed at the Maiar, particularly Manveru, all of whom bowed deeply to the Elder King. Then Manwë glanced back at Glorfindel and a genuine smile graced his lips and reached his eyes. "You are doing quite well, hinya. We are very pleased with your progress. However, fighting is not the only skill you will need to hone. Tomorrow, you will rest completely and then the following day I will send you another teacher. You can resume your sword training next week."

There was something in the Elder King’s tone that stopped Glorfindel from issuing a protest. Instead, the ellon just nodded meekly. Then he gave Eönwë a cheeky grin. "As long as I’m here, do you mind fetching me some soap and a towel?"

Eönwë chuckled. "I’ll have Manveru do that. Consider him your personal valet for the rest of the day, punishment for his not thinking."

"Punishment for whom?" Glorfindel quipped, sticking his tongue out at Manveru who took the ribbing in good grace.

The rest chuckled at that. Satisfied that all was well with the ellon, Manwë took his leave, taking most of the Maiar with him. Only Nyéreser, Tiutalion, Lisselindë and Manveru remained along with Eönwë. Manveru called forth some scented soap and a washcloth and Glorfindel set about undoing his braids so he could give his hair a good wash. Glorfindel had long ago ceased feeling self-conscious before the Maiar, especially Lisselindë. During the days of his recovery, she was the one who often bathed him and kept him clean, changing the dressings on his wounds, while Nyéreser and Tiutalion held him up during her ministrations. When he was finished with his bath, Manveru held out a large absorbent towel for him to slip around his shoulders. Drying off, the ellon then dressed in the tunic and trews that the Maia brought to him.

"It’s a fair distance back to the camp," Eönwë said when Glorfindel was finished dressing, running a comb through his golden locks so that the afternoon sun could dry them. "It’ll be dusk before you get there. Dinner will be waiting for you. Manveru can show you the way. If you would like, I’ll see about constructing a real bathing pool for your use."

Glorfindel thanked the Maia who, together with Lisselindë, Tiutalion and Nyéreser, then faded from view, leaving him and Manveru alone. "Camp is this way," Manveru said, pointing in the direction of the lake. Together the two made their way back, walking in companionable silence, reaching the camp just as Anar was setting. Glorfindel ate perfunctorily and then retired early, but his dreams were disturbing and once he woke in a state of terror, though he could not say why. It took the Maiar some time to reassure him and help him fall back to sleep again.

It was nearly noon before Glorfindel woke again, feeling groggy and out of sorts. His muscles ached and his head throbbed. The sky was a brilliant blue and there were high white clouds that hid the sun at times. A light breeze swept across the lake, glinting with sun glare that made Glorfindel’s eyes water.

"Take a long walk after you’ve broken your fast," Lisselindë suggested. "That will ease your aching muscles. I think you’re still recovering from the shock you received yesterday, which is why Lord Manwë ordered complete rest for today."

Glorfindel nodded and in truth he didn’t want to do anything more strenuous than decide which direction to go for his walk. In the end, he chose to walk into the forest where the shade of the trees blocked the glare of the sun, bringing some relief to his throbbing temples. After a little while he could actually feel the tension leave his body and he began to relax and enjoy the forest for itself.

He did not wander too far from the area, perhaps only a mile or so away from the camp. Eventually he tired and settled himself against the bole of a tree, allowing the forest to sooth him. He could hear the chatter of birds and squirrels and the rustling of leaves. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift, seeing if he could sense anything the way Lisselindë and the others had been teaching him. Somewhere nearby was a burrowing creature, perhaps a rabbit or mole, he wasn’t quite sure. Further afield he thought he sensed deer making their way through the forest towards the lake. He felt nothing threatening in the area, not even the usual threat of predators after their prey. All was peaceful and after a time Glorfindel let his mind drift even further and soon he was fast asleep.

Thunder woke him and he sat up with a start, momentarily disoriented. The light of the forest, which had been a soft golden-green earlier was now darker, gloomier, though not quite the darkness of night. The forest canopy kept most of the rain now falling from reaching him so he was relatively dry, but it would be a soggy walk back to the camp nonetheless. While he had paid little attention to directions as he wandered through the forest, he had instinctively chosen the north side of the tree to lean against once he stopped. It was one of the lessons in woodscraft that Nyéreser had taught him early on, so in a situation such as he now found himself where the sun was lost to him, he would always know which direction he was facing. Thus, he headed towards his right, cautiously making his way through the forest, flinching when thunder rolled in the distance, though he did not see any lightning.

In the gloom it was hard to tell what time it was but from the rumbling of his stomach that almost matched the rumbling of the thunder overhead, he guessed it was close to the dinner hour and hoped that a hot meal would be waiting for him once he reached the camp. He did not think he would come out of the forest right where the camp was, and that assumption proved correct. The forest began to open up more and he eventually found himself back in Clearwater Glade. He was soaked almost immediately even standing under the forest eaves as rain lashed at him. Now he could see lightning flashing over the mountains illuminating the area in an eerie glow. He could see the lake just before him, its waters grey with choppy waves. He knew enough of the glade’s geography to realize that he was some distance south of the camp, so he turned to his left and walked along the forest edge. By now, the gloom of the storm had deepened into true night, so he did not travel as quickly as he would like.

Lightning flashed nearly overhead and he cringed, shutting his eyes from the glare. There was a sound of something cracking and he had just enough time to realize that a nearby tree had been hit before half the tree (or so it seemed to him) fell on him, pinning him to the ground. He almost passed out, but gathered his wits about him and tried to push what turned out to be one of the larger tree limbs away, but it was too heavy and he could not get any leverage, for he was face down and his legs were trapped.

"Great, just great," he muttered angrily as he spat out some mud, trying to gauge his situation. It would be useless to call out. No one was going to hear him above the storm. His only option was to wait it out and hope that the Maiar would find him eventually, but he feared they would waste time searching the woods, not thinking that he would be here in the glade. There was no help for it, so he put his head down in the crook of an elbow and waited.

The other Maiar shook their heads. Even before the storm hit they had been out hunting for the ellon. He had been gone longer than any had anticipated and they were beginning to worry. The coming storm did nothing to allay their concerns for Glorfindel’s safety.

"He’s nowhere nearby, as far as we can tell," Tiutalion said with a frustrated sigh. "Yet, he could not have gone too far."

"We should have told him to stick to the glade," Lisselindë replied with a scowl. "We knew the storm was coming."

"Yet, we did not warn him of it," Nyéreser said, "so he had no reason not to leave the glade."

"An oversight that I will make sure never happens again," Lisselindë said, taking it personally.

Tiutalion shook his head. "We were all at fault, so don’t blame yourself. We’ll find him. I suspect that whatever else he may have been doing, as soon as the storm hit he started back towards camp. It’s possible that he simply made his way back to the glade from a different direction. Nyéreser, head south while I go north. Lisselindë, stay here in case by some miracle he actually returns."

"I’ll make sure the lean-to is sufficiently protected from the storm and have a hot meal ready for him," she said and the other two Maiar set off.

Glorfindel stirred as he felt someone kneeling beside him. He opened his eyes to see Nyéreser there, his eyes full of concern. "Are you injured?" the Maia asked as his eyes swept the limb holding the ellon in place.

"I can’t feel my legs," Glorfindel answered, "but I don’t know if it’s just that they’ve gone numb from lack of circulation or if it’s something more."

"I’ll remove the limb but I do not want you to move until I’ve checked you over, is that clear?"

Glorfindel nodded, wiping the rain from his eyes. The storm had moved northward and the rain was falling less heavily. He was shivering from the wet and cold. "I fell asleep and the storm woke me," he explained as Nyéreser began lifting the limb off him. "I would have made it if I hadn’t been walking under the tree when it was hit."

Nyéreser said nothing, pushing the heavy limb away so that Glorfindel was completely clear. He then knelt down and ran a hand above the ellon’s body, ascertaining if there was any serious damage. He could sense that the spine was uninjured and that it was only the weight of the limb and the awkward position that Glorfindel was in that had prevented him from freeing himself.

"You appear uninjured, though I suspect you will have many bruises," Nyéreser said. "Try moving your legs but do not attempt to rise."

Glorfindel complied, though he still had little feeling in his lower extremities. Still, the numbing sensation was being replaced by prickling and he felt his left leg bend at the knee. Then he did the same with the right leg.

"Good," Nyéreser said and Glorfindel detected a sigh of relief coming from the Maia. "When you have full feeling in your legs let me know and I’ll help you to stand."

"Not far," came the answer. "We wasted time searching the woods before we decided to look for you in the glade."

Glorfindel nodded. "I thought you might do that. I didn’t mean to wander so far afield."

"Not your fault," Nyéreser said. "We knew a storm was coming but forgot to mention it. Lisselindë is going to take you being felled by the tree personally."

Glorfindel could hear the smile in the Maia’s voice and chuckled. "She’s not the only one. All right, I think the worst of the tingling is over. Help me stand up. The sooner we get back to camp the better."

Nyéreser reached down and gently lifted him up, holding him steady as he tried to get his feet under him. He hissed as he placed his right foot firmly to the ground, for the leg was stiff and dead feeling still. "This may take a while," he said through gritted teeth.

"Then we will walk," the Maia responded. "Try moving forward. The more you move your legs the better the circulation. Do not fear. I will not let you fall."

Glorfindel nodded and took a hesitant step forward, glad for the Maia’s support. It was indeed slow going and the bruising he had suffered was beginning to be painful. Still, after a dozen or so steps he was walking more normally, though slowly. With no stars to light the way, his path was dark and he could see very little ahead. Nyéreser helped steer him around obstacles and kept their path true. Thus, after about an hour they could see the campfire burning brightly. By now the rain had stopped completely, but a cold wind made Glorfindel uncomfortable, his wet clothes clinging to him. Lisselindë and Tiutalion were there, Nyéreser having informed them through ósanwë that Glorfindel had been found.

"Let’s get him out of these wet clothes and dried off," Nyéreser said as they came into the camp. At once, Tiutalion helped Nyéreser with the task of stripping the ellon of his clothes, then bundling him up in a couple of warm blankets, pushing him towards the fire while Lisselindë thrust a cup of hot tea into his cold hands.

"Thank you," Glorfindel whispered after taking a grateful sip. "Sorry to be such a bother. I never saw the tree coming down."

"At least you are uninjured," Lisselindë said solicitously, "except for the bruises. It could have been much worse."

"I know," Glorfindel agreed. By now the events of the last couple of hours were taking their toll and he found himself yawning. The Maiar insisted that he have some hot broth to take the chill out of his bones before letting him crawl into the dry lean-to where he fell instantly asleep.

The next morning dawned bright and clear and Glorfindel felt only the slightest twinge of pain from the bruising he had received. Breakfast was waiting for him and then afterwards he decided to go to the hot spring and soak away some of the stiffness he was still feeling.

"I promise not to go any further than that," he told the Maiar. "I know Lord Manwë is sending someone today. Do you have any idea who it might be and what they will be teaching me?"

All three Maiar shook their heads. "We have not been told," Tiutalion answered. "It will be as much a surprise for us as it is for you. Go and enjoy your soak. When you return I suspect your new teacher will be here waiting for you."

Anar was high enough to begin drying the grasses so his walk towards the hot spring was not as wet as he had feared. It was a lovely spring morning and in spite of the pain he was in Glorfindel’s mood reflected the day. Before he was out of sight of the camp he was humming a sprightly tune. When he reached the hot spring he found that the Maiar had created a lovely bathing pool with a sluice gate to allow the water to run down from the spring. Another channel had been dug that led away from the pool. It too had a sluice gate, thus allowing the pool to drain after use. A wooden cistern had been built next to the pool filled with lake water and rainwater. A pail stood beside it and once Glorfindel had filled the pool with enough hot water, he began pouring some of the cooler water until the temperature was just right. Then, with a grateful sigh, he slipped into the steaming bath and soaked. Only when he noticed that the sun was now nearly at noon did he climb out, opening the other sluice gate to let the water run out while he dried himself off and got dressed. Then he made his way back to camp, thinking about who Lord Manwë would send to him. He tried to imagine which of the Maiar he knew would be sent and what they might teach him. Thus he was pleasantly surprised to see who was sitting by the fire with the other Maiar.

The Maia rose and gave Glorfindel a warm hug. "I have been released on my own recognisance," he said with a laugh.

Glorfindel gave him a jaundiced look. "I’m sure there’s more to that than you’re telling, but I’ll let it go for now. Are you the one Lord Manwë meant when he said he would send me another teacher?"

The Maia nodded, the twinkle in his eyes very evident. "Indeed and I was quite happy to comply with my lord’s wishes."

"So, what are you here to teach me?" Glorfindel asked as he accepted some tea from Tiutalion, joining the others around the fire.

Olórin gave him a considering look. "Are you up for another trip? I hear you had something of an accident yesterday."

Instead of answering, Olórin looked at his fellow Maiar. "He woke in terror during the night," Nyéreser answered. "He found it difficult to go back to sleep."

"Just a feeling of being trapped," Glorfindel answered. "Not unexpected, given what happened earlier." He was not going to tell them about the balrog that figured prominently in the dream. It wasn’t the first time he had dreamt about his fight with the balrog, though this time there had been the added element of being trapped by a tree while fighting it. It simply made the dream that much worse, but he didn’t think it meant anything and didn’t want the Maiar fussing over him.

"No. Not unexpected at all," the Maia said with a nod. If Olórin thought he was not being as forthcoming as he should be, he gave no sign. "As to your question, we will head for the mountains."

"That’s at least a two-day trek," Glorfindel said with a frown. "Lord Manwë assured me that I could continue my swordfighting lessons next week."

"So why must we go to the mountains for this lesson? Why can you not teach me here?"

"Some lessons are best taught when in unfamiliar territory," Olórin said. "This glade is too familiar to you now."

"I suppose," Glorfindel said reluctantly, then gave the Maia a shrewd look. "You haven’t said just what the lesson will be about."

"I know," the Maia said, grinning even more broadly. The other Maiar chuckled at the sour expression on Glorfindel’s face. "We’ll leave first thing in the morning," Olòrin continued, ignoring the ellon’s darkening expression.

"I hate surprises," Glorfindel reiterated with a glower, not willing to let it go.

Olórin sighed and gave him a gentle smile. "I assure you, Glorfindel, it’s not what you think. Telling you about the lesson will not enlighten you. It’s best to show you what you will be learning. Can you trust me that much, child?"

Glorfindel stared at the Maia, gauging his sincerity and finally nodded. "For now," he said, not ready to give in completely.

"Well, now that that’s settled," Lisselindë said briskly, "how about some lunch?"

Glorfindel sighed, realizing that he was outnumbered once again and nodded. His mood did not darken but neither was it as lighthearted as it had been earlier and for the rest of the day he was subdued, retiring earlier than usual. When he woke sometime in the night, crying out in another nightmare, they debated as to whether he and Olòrin should leave in the morning but in the end it was decided to stick to the original plan.

"A change of scenery might be good for him," Olòrin said, though he did not sound entirely convinced.

"We can only hope," Tiutalion replied with a sigh as they watched the ellon drift off into uneasy sleep once again.

Glorfindel and Olórin set off soon after dawn the next day. The other three Maiar had spent the night putting together supplies for the ellon, so when he awoke, everything was ready.

"What will you do while we’re away?" he asked them as he crouched before the fire munching on a meat pie and washing it down with some tea. They would leave once he had broken his fast.

"Oh, do not concern yourself with that," Tiutalion said with a laugh. "We’ll be here when you return."

"What! You don’t find my company stimulating enough?" Olórin demanded, giving him a mock scowl.

Glorfindel grinned. "It’s not that. It’s just that I guess I’ve gotten used to being surrounded by Maiar everywhere I go."

"Hardly surrounded," Nyéreser said with a grin, "and you shouldn’t get too used to having us around; you might begin to depend on us too much. You don’t understand what a rarity it is for any of us to companion you Children for any length of time. We’re usually messengers, not caregivers."

"Well I appreciate the care you’ve given me these last few weeks," Glorfindel said with all sincerity.

The three Maiar bowed to him. Lisselindë handed him his haversack when he indicated he was ready to leave. "Try not to get yourself injured," she said with a twinkle in her eyes. "I’ve run out of bandages."

Glorfindel laughed and all the Maiar were pleased at the sound of it, for it was unstrained and there was joy behind it, a joy that had been missing of late. "I’ll keep that in mind," he said with a wink and then he and Olórin set off, skirting the lake on the west side, keeping a steady pace throughout the day, which had dawned bright and cloudless. It was, in fact, a perfect late spring day and in spite of things Glorfindel found he was enjoying the trek. He refrained from asking questions that he knew would not be answered. The Maiar, like the Valar, liked to keep their little secrets, he knew, though whether it was out of a need to seem mysterious to the elves or for other, perhaps darker, reasons, he could not say and frankly no longer cared. Whatever purpose there was behind this trip into the mountains would reveal itself in its own time and not before.

Thus, the day was spent in companionable silence. They did not bother stopping for a noon meal; Glorfindel munched on an apple as they continued walking. He was completely healed from his encounter with the ulcamorcor and the fighting practice with the Maiar had strengthened him even further so his stamina was better than it had been even before his death. He wondered if it was because he was a Reborn or if there was another reason but he was reluctant to ask. So, it wasn’t until the sun was nearly setting before they agreed to stop for the night.

"Though I feel as if I could continue walking through the night," Glorfindel opined as he went about gathering wood for a fire.

"No doubt," Olórin said with a smile, "but there’s no hurry. We made better time than I thought. We’ll be at our destination before noon tomorrow."

Glorfindel glanced to the south where the mountains loomed in purple shadows, the lower slopes free of snow, though higher peaks behind them were still wreathed in it and would remain so even during the summer. He could make out the waterfall which fed the lake behind them and indeed they had been following the stream for most of the day as they climbed into the foothills.

"Now that I’m closer to the mountains, I’m amazed anything can get across them. I can’t even see where there is a pass," Glorfindel commented as he shaded his eyes for a better view.

"Here, no, there is no pass," Olórin said. "What passes exist are further west where the mountains are lower as they approach the sea. That is where the heaviest concentration of rangers are."

"How far into the mountains will we go then if there’s no way up?" Glorfindel asked.

Olórin smiled. "I didn’t say there was no way into the mountains, only that there are no passes that will allow us to cross them to the other side."

"Oh," the ellon said somewhat disappointedly. "I was sort of hoping to get a glimpse of the lands beyond."

"Someday perhaps, but not now," Olórin said and Glorfindel had to be content with that.

The next morning Glorfindel woke to find the area fogged in. "Oh no, not again," he muttered to himself as he stared at the grey-white mist surrounding him. It was so thick, he could barely see two feet in front of him.

He heard Olórin laugh and turned around to see the Maia standing there, looking amused. "Fear not! This is just mountain mist, nothing more. It will burn off soon enough. Now, here is some tea. When you’re ready we’ll set off. The going will be a bit slow for the first hour or so, but we’re not that far from our destination so do not fret."

Glorfindel sighed and took the offered cup and set about breaking his fast and going through his ablutions. By the time he was ready to continue the journey the fog was beginning to dissipate and the sun was shining through. They walked for about an hour, following the stream, and then without warning Olórin veered to the right along a path that apparently only he could see, for Glorfindel saw nothing but the trackless forest. However, he decided not to ask any questions. He suspected that Olórin would only smile and say nothing.

Thus, they made their way west along what proved to be a ridge overlooking a fold in the mountain forming a narrow valley on their left while on their right the forest continued northward as far as he could see. The trees here were mostly dark pine with none of the towering redwoods that graced the forest in the plains below the mountains. Glorfindel, in fact, could not see much of the mountains from this angle; they were too close and all he could see were trees.

They continued on their way with Olórin in the lead. Now Glorfindel could detect a rise in their path as it wound its way around the lower slopes. At one point they had to actually climb over giant boulders set almost like steps leading further up. By now they were beyond the tree line to where most of the trees were dwarf pines barely elf-tall. Glorfindel stopped for a moment to catch his breath and take in the view, what there was of it.

The mountains were now visible and he could see that they had actually come well into them. The jagged peaks here were snow-covered, though bare granite peeked out in places and he suspected that in summer some of these slopes would be bare. The valley to their left had disappeared as the gap between the ridge and the mountain narrowed. Now the ridge leveled out and the way was more open on their left; to the right was an escarpment overlooking the forest below.

"We’re almost there," Olórin said suddenly and Glorfindel startled at the Maia’s voice, for neither had spoken since leaving the camp that morning.

"Almost where?" Glorfindel couldn’t help asking, for there didn’t seem to be any place congenial for their camp.

Glorfindel shrugged and gamely followed the Maia. The going proved easier than it had been and they made quick time until they came to a mountain tarn nestled between two peaks. The area around them was bare of trees for the most part but the ground was covered by mountain grasses and spring flowers bloomed merrily around the tarn. They were not so high up yet that the air was cold. It was, in fact, a rather pleasant place. Glorfindel could see higher snow-wreathed peaks rising behind the tarn and stood for a moment gazing at them in wonder.

"And where exactly are we?" Glorfindel asked as he placed his haversack on the ground, his hands on his hips as he turned slowly around to take in their surroundings.

"We call this Mornaringwë," the Maia answered. "We can set up camp over there where those rocks are. They will form a good windbreak."

Glorfindel looked to where Olórin was pointing and saw a jumble of rocks and boulders where part of the mountain had fallen in some ancient quake. They were to the south of the tarn. He nodded. "I’ll go back down the way we came and gather some deadwood for a fire."

Within a half hour they had a fire going and Olórin busied himself with providing Glorfindel with a meal while the ellon sat on a rock sipping some tea. "So when do the lessons start and of what will they consist?" he asked.

Olórin cast him a fond smile. "You’ve been extraordinarily patient with your questions," he said. "I ask that you remain patient just a little longer. Tomorrow we will start the lessons. For what is left of the day, spend it as you please. Explore the area or take your ease beside the fire."

Glorfindel nodded. "Perhaps after I’ve eaten I’ll take a walk. That you name this tarn leads me to suspect that this place is known to the Maiar and used by them."

Olórin nodded as he handed Glorfindel a bowl of rabbit stew and a hunk of bread. "This is a favorite haunt of the Maiar," he said, "though I do not know if any of the Valar bother with it."

Glorfindel woke the next morning to someone licking him and nibbling on his hair. He focused his eyes to see a mountain goat standing over him. Their eyes met and the goat, a kid actually, bleated and Glorfindel couldn’t help but laugh, even as he shooed the animal away so he could sit up.

"And a good morning to you," he said, brushing his golden locks back, "but I’m afraid you’ll have to find something else for breakfast. My hair is not on the menu today." The goat gave another more indignant bleat then gamboled away to munch on some flowers.

He heard laughter then and turned to see Olórin smiling at the byplay. "Breakfast is ready whenever you are," he said.

Glorfindel nodded and went to splash some water on his face from the tarn, its dark waters ice cold but refreshing. A few minutes later he was sitting beside the fire eating, watching with amusement as the goat, joined now by a few others, including his dam, munched on the grass and flowers. A ram, its great horns curled back, stood on a flat rock overlooking his domain with an imperious gaze, ostensibly ignoring the Maia and ellon.

"They showed up around dawn," Olórin said, answering Glorfindel’s unspoken question. "The others ignored you but the little one was more curious."

"So I noticed," Glorfindel said with a smile. "I hope I don’t wake up every morning with it eating my hair. I won’t have any by the time we leave here."

"So, I think I’ve been patient enough," Glorfindel then said, putting down his mug of tea. "Shall we get on with the lesson, whatever it is?"

"As you wish," Olórin said in a congenial manner. He handed the ellon a silver bowl. "Go fill this with water and bring it back here. Do not fill it to the rim, only about three-quarters full."

Glorfindel took the bowl and did as he was bid and soon he was back beside the fire, his expression inquisitive. Olórin nodded for him to take a seat, indicating that he should hold the bowl in his lap.

Glorfindel looked into the bowl. He hadn’t paid any attention to the water when he was filling the bowl and was surprised to find that it was just as dark as the tarn from which he had drawn it, a sort of deep blue that was almost black. The water, in fact, reflected the mountains and sky, but oddly enough, not his own image. He said as much, glancing up at the Maia in confusion. Olórin smiled.

"Just keep looking in the bowl and tell me what you see other than the reflection of the mountains and sky."

Glorfindel complied, wondering what he was supposed to see, if anything. He gazed into the still waters, trying to block all other sights and sounds from his mind, concentrating solely on the bowl in his lap. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there staring into the reflective waters, wondering why he could not see his own reflection, but finally, he gave a sigh and looked up, giving Olórin a sour grimace.

"So far I’ve seen nothing, not even my own reflection," he groused. He was surprised when he happened to look skyward to see where the sun was to find that it was now nearly noon. He had been staring into the bowl of water for nearly four hours!

If Olórin was upset by his lack of success, he did not show it. "That’s enough for now, I think," was all he said. "We will work on it some more tomorrow. Have some lunch and then relax for the rest of the day."

"If I were to tell you, it would defeat the purpose of the exercise," the Maia answered. "Do not fret. I did not expect you to see anything right away. It will take a little time. Now, go empty the bowl and then have something to eat."

The ellon sighed but did what he was told. The noon meal, consisting of roasted rabbit, chunks of cheese and bread and an apple, all washed down with sweet cider, did much to improve Glorfindel’s mood, so by the time he was finished eating he was feeling more cheerful.

"A strange sort of lesson," he said as he sipped on the cider. "What is its purpose, other than to frustrate me?"

Olórin smiled. "Its purpose will become clear enough in time. As I said, this lesson is better shown than told about. When you succeed in seeing other than the reflection of your surroundings, you will understand the purpose of all this readily enough."

"I have every confidence that you will," the Maia said soothingly. "As does Lord Manwë, else he would not have ordered this particular lesson."

With that, Glorfindel had to be content. Olórin assured him that the lesson was over for the day and that he was free to do as he pleased. He decided to do some hunting. Taking up his bow and arrows, for he had refused to come without all his weapons, he sauntered off down the ridge to the lower slopes where he sensed deer and other game abounded. He had to stop a couple of times to shoo the goat kid away, for it tried to follow him. Only the bleating of its dam convinced it to return to the herd. Olórin chuckled to himself, relaying the scene to the other Maiar and the Valar. There was laughter all around Aman, though no elf ever heard it.

For the next couple of days Glorfindel’s routine did not change. He would wake to the bleating of the goats, followed by breakfast, followed by hours staring into the silver bowl with no apparent success. After lunch he would wander about, sometimes going hunting, sometimes just lazing under the sun. One afternoon he occupied himself with playing with the goat kid, chasing it about, laughing hysterically as it skipped and gamboled about, clearly enjoying the game. He was sorry when on the fourth day he woke to find that the herd had moved on.

"This place seems too empty without them," he said to Olórin as he went to fill the silver bowl with water. He was feeling dispirited with his lack of success with whatever lesson he was supposed to be learning and now the goats were gone and he felt oddly bereft.

"If I knew what it was I’m supposed to be seeing in the blasted thing, I wouldn’t feel as if I were wasting my time here," Glorfindel groused, sloshing the water a bit in his frustration as he sat down with the bowl. "I don’t see the point. We’ve been here nearly a week and nothing has happened. I want to leave for Clearwater Glade tomorrow. Lord Manwë promised I could resume my fighting practice in a week. By the time we get back to the camp, a week will have gone by."

"I know you’re feeling frustrated, Glorfindel," Olórin said soothingly, "but let us give it a couple of more days. I promise, if you see nothing in the bowl by tomorrow, we will start back after lunch. Does that suit you?"

"And do not think nothing has been accomplished," the Maia continued. "If you think about it I’m sure you will agree that since being here you have started to relax more, am I not correct?"

"Well... except for feeling frustrated, I suppose you are correct," Glorfindel agreed, though reluctantly. "Certainly, the peace and quiet has been beneficial and I suppose spending hours staring into this bowl has had a calming effect. I feel more... um... centered, I suppose you could say. I don’t feel quite so... fractured as when I came to Lady Nienna’s."

"Then, if nothing else, that alone has justified this little trip, wouldn’t you say?" Olórin asked and Glorfindel nodded.

It was true, in spite of the frustration of not seeing anything in the bowl of water, he had begun to feel calmer and more centered within himself since starting the exercise and he had discovered that he was not so concerned about what might be happening elsewhere. He was still uneasy about Arafinwë’s planned trip to Tol Eressëa and had every intention of being a part of the progress, but the intensity of his drive for perfection as a warrior had somehow lessened. He still wanted to get back to his training, but there wasn’t the same urgency in it as he had felt prior to coming to Mornaringwë.

With these thoughts in his mind he gazed idly into the bowl and gasped, nearly dropping it as he hastily stood up. Olórin was beside him immediately. "Man cennig?" he asked softly, switching to Sindarin.

"And what does your reflection tell you about yourself?" the Maia asked, gently pushing Glorfindel back down, joining him so that they were sitting side-by-side.

Glorfindel never took his eyes off the bowl, too mesmerized by the sight of his reflection to notice anything else. He stared intently into his own eyes unsure what he hoped (or feared) to find.

"Do you see anything else?" Olórin asked and Glorfindel started to shake his head in denial, but then stopped, for now his image began to shift. He could still see himself, but now his reflection was overlaid with other images, images he recognized, images of his own past. It was almost like being back in the Máhanaxar and facing judgment, but this time there was no sense of actually reliving these moments. It was more as if he were seeing someone else’s life unfold before him yet recognizing that what he was seeing was indeed himself in all his strengths and weaknesses.

He mentally cringed at those images that did not show him at his best: his querulous nature when things were not going his way, his sudden flares of temper, though thankfully they were rather rare and he noticed with relief that there was never any vindictiveness in his anger. More importantly, the images of his failings were not as many as those showing his strengths: not only his martial prowess, but his generosity and compassion towards others, especially those who through their own failings did not live up to the high standards he had set for himself. He suddenly realized he was less compassionate towards himself than he was towards others. Sometimes, he knew, he tended to place his own personal standards at too high a mark, as if daring himself to fail, and when he did, castigating himself mercilessly. It was a no-win situation and he knew he had to start treating himself more kindly, as kindly as he treated others. He recalled a conversation that he had had with Lord Irmo when he was still in Lórien.

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

Only now did Glorfindel realize what Lord Irmo had truly meant by those words. He had assumed that he should be more compassionate towards others and indeed he had tried hard to be so, especially towards his attackers. Now he realized that the Vala had meant something different. He had shown more compassion towards his enemies than he had towards himself and somehow that seemed wrong. He recalled the compassion he himself had received from others, especially from the Valar, compassion he had been unwilling to give himself. It was an unsettling revelation, but he accepted it as he tried to accept all things, with grace, determined to learn from this.

Almost as soon as he came to that conclusion, the images faded and he saw himself for just a brief moment more before the water showed him only mountains and sky. He looked up at Olórin sitting patiently next to him, feeling dazed.

"I think that’s enough for today," the Maia said gently as he took the bowl from Glorfindel’s unresisting fingers. "No need to tell me what you saw, child," he continued. "That is for you and you alone. We’ll head back to Clearwater Glade tomorrow, after you have rested."

Glorfindel blinked a couple of times, trying to understand. "You mean, that’s it? That was the lesson?"

"And did you learn from it?" Olórin asked. Glorfindel nodded."Then there is nothing more to teach you, at least not here." Olórin stood up and went to the tarn, pouring the water from the bowl. When he turned around and started back to the fire Glorfindel noticed unsurprisingly that the bowl was no longer there. "Now, how about a bit of lunch?" the Maia said with a smile as he reached for the pot of venison stew warming on the fire.

The next morning, they said good-bye to the tarn and the mountains. When they reached the camp at Clearwater Glade the following afternoon, Glorfindel saw that his Maiar friends, including those who had been sparring with him, were waiting for them as promised. He gave them a broad smile.

The next week or so went quickly for Glorfindel. He continued training, though, in truth, there was little more that the Maiar could teach him and so they concentrated on honing his skills more fully. They all noticed a new level of maturity in the ellon since returning with Olórin. When Glorfindel told them where they had gone, the Maiar nodded in understanding, knowing exactly what lesson Lord Manwë had wished for the elf to learn. They were pleased that Glorfindel was attempting to be more compassionate toward himself, the same compassion they saw him exhibit toward others, even those undeserving of it. Not that Glorfindel had become completely mature — and some of them wondered if, in Glorfindel’s case, that could even be possible — for they knew it would take many more years for him to reach full emotional maturity, but they were pleased that he had made advancements in that area.

"The Valar say it takes a Reborn about a hundred years to achieve the same level of maturity as they had when they died," Erunáro reminded his fellow Maiar when they were discussing this matter. "Of course, that is probably an average, taking into account elflings who are released from Mandos and must now contend with being adults, so I imagine that someone like Glorfindel might advance more quickly than others, given his past."

The other Maiar agreed, mentioning how Findaráto had reached his own maturity much earlier than the norm. "Though, once Glorfindel showed up, I detected something of a regression in his emotional responses," Fionwë said with a smile and they all laughed.

"But taking on the responsibility of those elflings helped steady him," Olórin pointed out, "to the point that Glorfindel, Sador and even Beleg are now complaining that he’s no fun anymore."

That set everyone laughing even more. "It’s hard being the older brother," Manveru said with a wink to his twin who merely smirked.

Thus, the Maiar continued to tutor Glorfindel in the ‘fine art of slaying’, as Lisselindë put it while she herself continued to work on honing his senses as fully as possible. At one point Glorfindel remarked that he hoped more monsters would find their way over the mountains so he could see if his abilities had improved any, but Lisselindë stated that there were bound to be other opportunities and a better test of his ability would be if he were unaware, because no one told him, that any evil was attempting to infiltrate Aman.

"There are always monsters," she pointed out to him. "I’m sure eventually you’ll meet up with them." She refrained from saying that it might not be until he went to Endórë that he would do so. All knew that Glorfindel was not to know the ultimate reason for all this training.

"Let him assume it’s in preparation for the Final Battle or simply to keep him amused and out of trouble," Eönwë told them, speaking for Lord Manwë, and there were many smiles as bets were made as to which reason Glorfindel might be holding to.

In the end, of course, it hardly mattered. Glorfindel was an eager student and even taught the Maiar a thing or two. Finally, the ellon decided that it was time for him to return to Tirion. "I am hoping to have a chance to speak with Sador and perhaps Finrod, if he’s there, before Atar goes on this Royal Progress," he said to Eönwë as he was taking his ease in the bathing pool after a strenuous workout. He and the Maia were alone at the time. "I know I have no chance of dissuading Atar from this course of action, but I want to consult with my gwedyr to see what security measures have been taken." He gave the Maia a somewhat sheepish smile. "I know Atar fought in the War of Wrath, and he is an excellent Noldóran, but sometimes I think he’s a bit... um... naive." He ducked his head to scrub his neck so he wouldn’t have to look at the Maia. When he heard no response, though, he lifted his head slightly to give Eönwë a shrug. "Just my opinion," he said apologetically.

"Arafinwë had the misfortune of having to learn to be the leader he is the hard way," Eönwë replied softly. "His lessons during the time of the Darkening were, in many ways, as harsh or even harsher than the lessons the Exiles learned over the years in their war against Morgoth. If you detect a certain level of naivety in him, it is a naivety born of deep pain, a conscious choice to not be as cynical as others or as circumstances might dictate. Some will see that as a weakness, others as a strength."

Glorfindel did not reply immediately, but climbed out of the pool, while Eönwë mentally released the sluice gate to empty it. The ellon grabbed the towel sitting on the pool’s edge and dried himself off, but he did not dress at once. Instead, he wrapped the towel around his middle and sat on a flat rock, running a comb through his golden locks, letting the warmth of the sun dry them.

"So you’re saying that Atar has decided to keep a certain innocence about him?" Glorfindel finally asked, shaking his head. "Innocence or blindness?"

The Maia shrugged. "Perhaps it comes down to the same thing," he said, "but I do not think so. Arafinwë has chosen not to become jaded in how others act and react to situations. He could have easily chosen that route, given the history of his own family. He learned from others when he went to Beleriand, about the treacheries between various members of his kin and where they all led. He was there when Nelyafinwë and Macalaurë attempted to steal the two remaining Silmarils. Many would say he has every right to be cynical about other people’s motivations, but he made a conscious effort not to be."

"He’s chosen the harder way," Glorfindel said with a nod as he began braiding his hair.

Eönwë nodded. "And not everyone thinks that is a good idea where the Noldóran is concerned. Yet, Arafinwë is not alone in this. Both Ingwë and Olwë exhibit similar types of naivety, if that is what it is. None of them walked away from what happened during the Darkening unscathed, but they all chose not to let those events darken their spirits."

For a long moment the two sat in silence, but finally, Eönwë asked a question. "What is it about the idea of Arafinwë and Olwë going to Tol Eressëa that disturbs you? Are you saying that none of the Eldarani should concern themselves with the people of Tol Eressëa?"

Glorfindel shook his head as he rose and began pulling on tunic and trews. "No, but I think there might be some people, especially those from Tol Eressëa, who will see any interest by the Amaneldi and particularly by their kings as interference in their affairs."

"And yet, it was a delegation from Tol Eressëa that approached Arafinwë and not the other way around," Eönwë pointed out.

"True, but I doubt if the idea of sending the delegation was universally approved," Glorfindel replied as he sat down to place some sandals on his feet. "Certainly what happened to Sador afterward is proof of that. Look, all I’m saying is that I think it might be too soon for the kings to go to Tol Eressëa, given recent events, rather than they should not go at all. But since I know Atar is set on this, then I plan to do what I can to minimize the danger for him and everyone else."

"And for this reason, among many others, have you been trained by us," the Herald of Manwë exclaimed.

Glorfindel nodded. "I leave tomorrow," he said simply, standing again and collecting his bathing things to return to camp.

Eönwë nodded. "Lisselindë will take you to where your horse will be waiting for you," he said. "From that point you only need to head directly north and you will meet up with a road that winds through the Southern Fiefdoms. Follow it north and it will bring you to Tirion. If you leave tomorrow around dawn you will reach the city before dusk."

With that, the Maia gave him a slight smile and a bow and faded from view. Glorfindel took a last look around the hot springs and then headed back to the camp.

When Glorfindel awoke the next morning he was surprised, yet gratified, to see all the Maiar with whom he had been training for the last month or so there to see him off. Only Nyéreser was missing and Glorfindel knew the Maia had gone to fetch his horse.

"If you feel you need a refresher," Manveru said to him with a smile and a wink, "just let us know."

"It was truly our pleasure, child," Eönwë said gravely, though there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes when he spoke. "Off with you now."

And Glorfindel went with Lisselindë by his side. They walked in companionable silence for the entire length of the journey out of the forest, Glorfindel feeling relaxed yet alert, moving preternaturally through the underbrush, barely making a sound. He thought that Beleg would be pleased by his efforts and smiled gently at the thought. It would be good to be reunited with his gwedyr, though he wasn’t sure if Beleg would be in Tirion. Still, it was likely that they would meet up on the Progress, since Glorfindel knew that Olwë intended to join Arafinwë when he went to Tol Eressëa.

They made good time and it was only mid-morning when they came out of the woods once more to find Nyéreser patiently waiting with Alagos by his side. The Maia gave them a brilliant smile. "So, here we part company," he said as Glorfindel slung his haversack over Alagos' hindquarters and greeted the horse with a soft word, stroking his forehead. "Remember all that we have taught you, Glorfindel, and you will do well."

"Will I see you again?" Glorfindel asked, suddenly feeling bereft for some reason.

"Perhaps," Nyéreser said, not wishing to commit himself either way. "It will be as the Valar decree, but even if you do not see me, I will know how you fare."

Glorfindel gave him a nod and turned to Lisselindë. "I hope you learned from me what you needed to learn, Lisselindë, and I hope it stands you in good stead."

"I did indeed, Glorfindel, and I thank you for your... patience." She gave him a sly smile and he laughed, enjoying the jest.

"Well, if you ever feel you need a refresher, you know where to find me," he said with a smirk.

Glorfindel was soon mounted and riding away. When he happened to look back, intending to wave, he was unsurprised to find that the Maiar were gone. He turned his attention to the road ahead. Before him, he could see a fertile land of softly rolling hills and wide stretches of flat land. This was the Southern Fiefdoms, a collection of small farming villages, usually consisting of no more than a hundred souls in any one village, surrounded by fields. This was the breadbasket of Eldamar, Glorfindel knew, where the elves practiced agriculture and animal husbandry. A large portion of the farms belonged to one or the other of the three crowns and it was from these farms that the kings drew much of their income. Some of the farms were owned by the great lords of Eldamar, but a vast majority were freely owned by the people who lived on them.

As he made his way through the farmland, past orchards blossoming and fields burgeoning with grain, he found himself smiling at nothing in particular and started singing a lilting song. He well remembered the fields surrounding Gondolin where Noldor and Sindar worked side-by-side to bring in the harvest. Turgon had insisted that his lords help out and Glorfindel laughed out loud at the sudden memory of his king sitting under an apple tree with a goblet of wine ‘directing the workers’, as he put it, and then being pelted with apples by Eärendil who had climbed up into the same tree without his daerada’s notice. The lad had been six, if he recalled correctly. He shook his head, a slight melancholy overtaking him as he realized that that was the last harvest any of them had enjoyed. By the time the next harvest rolled around Gondolin was deserted and its people either fled or dead, himself included.

Still, after a bit, he found his good mood returning. It was too lovely a day and he refused to let old memories ruin it for him. Around noon he reached the farming community Eönwë had told him about. If the elves there were surprised to see him, they gave no sign, merely greeting him cheerfully. He asked for the road and they pointed to a line of trees — elms, as it turned out — that marked it. They invited him to stop for the noon meal. He hesitated only for a moment before agreeing.

"My name is Laurefindil," he said. As much as he hated his Quenya name, for there were too many bad memories associated with it, he realized that these good folk would not understand his Sindarin name. These farmers were far removed from the cities and the doings of the courts. He doubted many of them had even heard of the Sindar, except as a dim rumor. He eschewed giving them any title. He did not think any of them would be impressed and he would rather just be himself, if only for an hour or so. Time enough when he reached Tirion to reclaim his titles and all that went with them.

The farmers assured him, when he enquired, that Tirion was easily reachable and he was bound to arrive before nightfall. "The road is fairly straight from this point," one of them said as they sat at a table groaning with the fresh produce of the land. There was no wine but the ale was excellent and Glorfindel promised himself to ask for a keg or two of it to be sent to him in Tirion. He was sure Beleg and Sador would appreciate it, even if Finrod turned his nose up at it.

"You should have no trouble reaching the city," the ellon continued with a straight face "unless you do something stupid."

The farmer shrugged, giving him his own smile. "Anything that prevents you from reaching Tirion before nightfall," was his answer and everyone at the table, including Glorfindel, laughed.

He set off soon after the meal was finished, having elicited a promise to have three kegs of ale delivered to him. The farmers had been reluctant to do so at first and he was forced to explain who he was, showing them a ring with the Noldóran’s seal on it which Arafinwë had given him as a means of identification. When the farmers saw the seal they recognized it and were more than happy to oblige him. They and Glorfindel soon came to an understanding, so when he left, he left with a light heart, pleased with his bargaining skills.

The day continued fine and the road, as promised, was fairly straight and unencumbered. There were few travelers either to or fro, for this was not a market day. He greeted the few whom he met with a cheerful smile which was returned but otherwise he did not stop to chat, wanting to reach Tirion as soon as possible. Thus, it was dusk with the sun just slipping under the horizon when he saw the great hill of Túna rising out of the plains of the Calacirya. The white stones of the city were stained red and gold with the last of the sunlight and he could see the Mindon Eldaliéva towering over all, its light blazing down the cleft towards the sea as if defying the coming of night.

He made his way through the southern gate, glad that none stopped him. The guards merely gave him polite nods as he rode past them and he nodded graciously in turn, softly wishing them a good evening. Then he was making his way along the main avenue that led to the palace where he was greeted by servants who apparently were waiting for him.

"A message came saying you were on your way, lord," one of them said as he took charge of Alagos. "The Noldóran is waiting for you in the main council chamber."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at that, wondering what was going on, but did not comment. He took his haversack and with a word of thanks to the servants made his way through the palace to Arafinwë’s council chamber. There was a guard standing before the door who saluted him as he approached and then opened it to let him pass. It was only when the door closed that he realized that the room was dark.

Dark, but not empty. He could sense the presence of several people, although they were all very still, their breathing barely noticeable, but the weeks of training had heightened his senses enough that he could even tell how many were in the room.

"You know how I hate surprises, Atar," he said mildly and chuckled when he heard a stifled groan from Sador.

Then a flame appeared and a candle was lit. Soon the room was awash in light and Glorfindel could see that, besides Arafinwë and Eärwen, Finrod, Sador and Beleg were there, along with Amarië and Alassiel (and that was a surprise!). They were all grinning at him rather foolishly and Glorfindel couldn’t help but grin back.

"I take it you wanted to give me a surprise welcome," he said, coming further into the room to give his obeisance to Arafinwë and Eärwen before hugging them and all the others.

Arafinwë gave him a rueful glance. "That was the general idea, but apparently it didn’t work."

Glorfindel chuckled again. "Blame the Maiar," he said. "They taught me how to sense the presence of others even if I cannot see them."

Ah...." Arafinwë said, then gave him a genuine smile. "Welcome home, yonya. You’ve been sorely missed."

He noticed that the council table was set with dishes and platters. Clearly they were meaning to hold an intimate welcoming feast for him and he realized that he was hungry. As Eärwen gestured for them all to take their seats, Sador gave Glorfindel a mock scowl. "Atar had the cooks make all your favorite dishes in honor of your return. He didn’t do anything like that for me or even for Finrod, so you should feel doubly honored."

Glorfindel noticed the Noldóran roll his eyes and Finrod just snorted. Turning his attention to the young Sinda, he sniffed. "Well, what do you expect? I am, after all, the great Balrog-slayer. Even Finrod cannot claim that."

"No," Finrod answered with a slight smile, "I can only claim to be the once King of Nargothrond and slayer of a werewolf, as well as being haryon to the Noldóran. Obviously, the title of Balrog-slayer is far more exalted than any of mine."

"Well that may be true," Sador grumbled, "but I still don’t see why you get a welcoming feast and we don’t."

"Actually, this is a welcoming feast for you all," Arafinwë interjected, "including, I might add, to you, my dear." He gave a slight bow to Alassiel who blushed and murmured her thanks.

"Then, by all means, let us sit and enjoy this repast before it goes cold," Finrod said and soon they were all seated and passing around dishes, talking animatedly about inconsequential things. Sador, at one point, asked Glorfindel what he had been up to for the last few months and he regaled them with several amusing anecdotes of his time among the Maiar. There was much laughter and not a few gasps of disbelief at some of what he told them, especially about the existence of the meneldëa coron.

"I cannot believe that such an artefact exists," Amarië said, "except I would not accuse you of lying, Glorfindel."

"Yet it does exist," Arafinwë stated, "for I have seen it myself, though at the time Lord Oromë’s Forest had yet to surround it."

The younger elves gave him considering looks. Finrod furrowed his eyebrows in thought before speaking. "It seems wondrous to me that the globe you mentioned, my brother, though it be made of precious gemstones, can change its shape to show Arda as it is today. That almost defies comprehension. I do not think we will ever know the full range of powers the Valar have. I think they show us only the very least of them."

Glorfindel nodded as he picked up his goblet of wine. "I had that impression when speaking with the Maiar and their telling me tales of days before Days when even Arda had yet to be created. It beggars the imagination, or certainly mine."

There was silence for a while as everyone digested his words and then Glorfindel stirred, giving Arafinwë a hard stare. "You are determined to go to Tol Eressëa?" he asked.

Arafinwë nodded. "Yes, but we will discuss your objections in the morning," he replied mildly, although there was no doubt that he was speaking more as the Noldóran than as their Atar. "Tonight, let us just enjoy our time together as family."

Glorfindel stole a glance at Finrod and Sador. They both gave him brief nods and he nodded as well, returning his attention to Arafinwë. "Yes, by all means, let us just be family tonight. While I enjoyed my time with the Maiar, I found that I was missing all of you more and more. I am glad to be finally back home where I belong."

The others smiled warmly at that and Arafinwë raised his goblet. "To family," he said.

"To family," the others all replied, lifting their own goblets and drinking deeply. Then they moved on to other topics of interest, taking delight in each other’s company, as the night deepened.

Eldarani: (Quenya) Plural of Eldaran: King of the Eldar [Elda + aran; cf. Ingaran].

The next morning, after breakfast, Arafinwë asked Finrod, Glorfindel, Sador and Beleg to join him in his study. The four younger ellyn found seats while Arafinwë went to a sideboard and poured some fresh juice into goblets, handing them to the others before taking his own seat at his desk.

"Very well, who wants to be the first to voice their objections?" the Noldóran asked without preamble, his eyes bright with wry amusement as the four ellyn all blushed and looked away.

"You already know our objections, or at least mine, Atar," Finrod said finally. "And I suspect that they are similar to the ones my otornor have."

"Possibly," Arafinwë conceded, "but I would still like to hear them. So, why don’t we begin with you, yonya."

Finrod nodded. "Very well," he said firmly, "my main objection is this: what do you hope to achieve by going to Tol Eressëa, other than making yourself a fine target for anyone with a grievance?"

Arafinwë pursed his lips, staring at nothing in particular as he seemed to gather his thoughts. "We all agree, I think, that the political uncertainties on Tol Eressëa need to be addressed. Laurendil said as much. There is no one person who has emerged to lead the disparate factions and give these people a purpose."

"Agreed," Finrod said. "So, what are you thinking to do about it?" There was almost a challenging tone to the question and the other three ellyn stared at him in amazement.

If Arafinwë was upset by his son’s tone, he gave no sign. "I want to see for myself just what is going on there. It isn’t enough to sit here reading reports by others." He turned to Sador with a brief smile. "Though Sador’s reports were far more illuminating than most others."

The young ellon gave them a bashful look. Finrod smiled at the Sinda. "What was your over-all impression of Tol Eressëa, Sador?"

The young apprentice potter and diplomatic-aide-in-training glanced up at Finrod and shrugged. "It’s a nice place. I wouldn’t mind living there, myself. It sort of reminds me of the Havens at Sirion, without the Mortals." He flashed them a teasing grin and they all laughed. Then he sobered. "There was a lot of dissatisfaction among many of the Tol Eressëans, especially among the Sindar."

"Why the Sindar?" Glorfindel asked. "I would think the Noldor would be more dissatisfied than the others."

Sador shook his head. "The Noldor with whom I spoke seemed... resigned to their fate."

Sador gave the Noldóran a steady stare. "They believe that they deserve to be... um... contained on the island. I heard a number of them referring to themselves as the Dispossessed. They do not believe that the Valar will ever permit them to return to their former homes. Even those who were born in Beleriand think they will not be allowed to be reunited with their Amanian kin."

Finrod and Glorfindel nodded. "A similar sentiment among many of the Reborn Noldor," Glorfindel said.

"And among the Sindar," Beleg interjected. "Very few of us welcomed the idea of being reunited with our Telerin kin, if we even knew who they were. We knew we had... changed. We were no longer the same people as those who crossed to Valinor. Some in Doriath, I know, even spoke of us as a Fourth Clan."

"And the Nandor as a Fifth," Finrod added, nodding. "I well remember having similar discussions with the loremasters in Doriath."

"But we’re getting off topic, I fear," Arafinwë said, "interesting as this is."

But Sador shook his head. "Nay, Atar, I do not think so. It is all of a piece with what is happening on Tol Eressëa. I died before the War of Wrath, so I cannot speak from my own experience, but I spoke to those who survived the war and remember the summons from the Valar. The Noldor, almost to an elf, told me the same thing, that the summons felt just that, a summons, not an invitation, not a declaration of forgiveness, but a summons. They were being called for an accounting and some of them are still waiting for the verdict."

"What about the Sindar and Nandor?" Beleg asked. "Did they have the same experience?"

Sador shook his head. "What they told me was that it felt more like an invitation and there was no sense of condemnation. They felt welcomed, at first."

"The fact that once they came here they realized they were as much prisoners of the island as the Noldor even though they could not be accused of rebellion against the Valar," Sador answered.

"Not precisely, but I believe Ingwë does," the Noldóran replied. "I can tell you that there was much debate, some of it quite heated, against allowing any of the elves of Beleriand the right to return."

"Well, I suppose that the Vanyar and Teleri would be the ones to object the most," Glorfindel ventured.

"And you would be wrong in your assumption," Arafinwë said, grimacing. "The most vocal objections came from the Noldor."

Now Finrod and Glorfindel stared at him in shock while Sador and Beleg gave them sympathetic looks. "Our own people?" Finrod finally whispered.

Arafinwë nodded, looking decidedly unhappy and even embarrassed. "Those who turned back with me seemed to be the most vocal in their disagreement with the Valar’s plans."

"Makes a kind of twisted sense," Glorfindel said with a nod. "Guilt can drive one to extremes."

"So we have resentment from the Amaneldi for the presence of the Tol Eressëan elves," Finrod said, "and we have the Tol Eressëans feeling as if they are being treated like second-class citizens, tolerated but not accepted." He gave his atar a hard stare. "And you want to go there under those conditions?"

"Is there any other choice, yonya?" Arafinwë fired back with a grimace of his own. "The people of Tol Eressëa, whatever anyone says to the contrary, are our people. We should not be thinking in terms of clanship. That is an outdated and outmoded way of thinking. I know that there was much intermarrying between Noldor and Sindar both in Nargothrond and Gondolin and elsewhere." He cast a warm smile at Sador, who blushed for no particular reason. Both Finrod and Glorfindel nodded and Arafinwë continued. "So, to which clan do these children belong? How were they judged?"

"Those of Nargothrond were judged as Noldor," Finrod said, "but I made no distinction between my subjects. All were considered equal under the crown and I was careful not to play favorites even with my brothers or their children. You can ask Laurendil about it."

"In Gondolin there was little distinction after a while among the common people," Glorfindel then said. "Among the nobles there was an actual class distinction. None of the Sindar ever rose to lordships among the Twelve Houses, though Tuor took over the House of the White Wing and Maeglin," — Glorfindel had to visibly force himself not to spit — "took over the House of the Mole, but as he was Turgon’s nephew he was counted among the Noldor and not the Sindar."

"There was no resentment among the Sindar in Gondolin that the Twelve Houses, or at least the others besides the House of the King, were ruled by Noldor?" Arafinwë asked.

Glorfindel shook his head. "The Houses were created by the Noldor before we even went to Gondolin. In fact, they have their origins even before we reached the shores of Beleriand."

Glorfindel nodded. "Turgon divided his people into twelve groups under the leadership of his stoutest captains," he explained. "It was his way of making sure that loss of life would be minimal while crossing the ice if people only had to look out for a small number of companions. Not all the captains survived the crossing, so there were replacements, but always these were voted upon by the group as a whole. Turgon left it to each group to govern themselves. Our groups were not known by the House names that were adopted in Gondolin, of course. We usually referred to ourselves as belonging to this captain’s group or that one. It wasn’t until we reached Beleriand and were building Vinyamar that people began to give their groups actual names. It was just natural I guess for everyone to stay with their original group, both for safety and for comfort. So, by the time we removed to Gondolin most of the Houses were well established and their lords were all Noldor, becoming by default Turgon’s Inner Council. The Sindar who joined with us usually entered a House through marriage or by the fact that if one was an archer, for instance, or a craftsman, then it made sense to attach oneself to the House of the Swallow or the House of the Hammer of Wrath, respectively."

"So, in a way, some of the Houses became equivalent to guildhalls," Finrod said.

Glorfindel gave the ellon an imperious sniff. "We were always the best dressed."

Everyone laughed at that and there was some further teasing from Beleg and Finrod before they calmed down and Arafinwë reminded them that they were again getting off topic.

"Do you think that there are any survivors of those Houses among the Tol Eressëans?" he asked Glorfindel.

The ellon gave him a considering look. "You’re thinking that perhaps if there are then the Houses can be revived and their leaders can act as a governing council of a sort."

"Something like that," Arafinwë replied. "Or new Houses could be created using those of Gondolin as models. At any rate, it’s an option that we can explore and present to the Tol Eressëans. I have no desire to impose someone upon them. I don’t think that will work."

"Yet, that may, in the end, be the only solution, at least in the short term," Finrod said. "There needs to be a definite presence of one person leading them, someone they can all look to for guidance, someone they can all agree to lead them."

"But finding that someone will be the trick," Beleg said, "and then we have to get the Tol Eressëans to agree to it."

"That is why I think it is important for Olwë and me to go there, to speak to the people and learn what their desires are," Arafinwë said. "The delegation that came here last year with Laurendil was a first step, but only a step and nothing conclusive came from it except to inflame resentment in certain quarters, resulting in Sador’s kidnapping."

"And you don’t think resentment will flare when two Amanian kings show up on their doorstep, so to speak?" Glorfindel asked. "You may claim that you are only seeking to help, Atar, but I think many of the Tol Eressëans will see it as interference."

"Yet, why did Laurendil and the others come here seeking a solution if most of the inhabitants of the island do not want us to interfere?" Sador asked.

"I wish Laurendil were here so we can ask," Finrod said with a sigh. "When I asked him if he and Manwen would join me he requested to be excused. I think they are trying to put the past behind them and look to the future as Lóriennildi. I did not feel right invoking oaths to compel either of them to come with me."

"Your relationship with them is... delicate," Arafinwë said, giving his son a sympathetic smile. "You did well not to force them to come and unfortunately it is too late to send an enquiry."

"What about Gilvagor?" Sador asked. "He was a part of the delegation and Laurendil’s second."

"A good point," the Noldóran replied. "He is on Tol Eressëa coordinating the Progress from there, arranging for lodgings and such in Kortirion, though I assured him that we would be camping most of the time as we make our way from Tavrobel to Avallónë."

"And again there is no time to send a message," Finrod said with a frustrated sigh. "I suppose we will have to wait until we get there to find our answers."

"Not that you would listen to me if I forbade you," Finrod retorted with a wry smile.

"I always listen to you, yonya," Arafinwë said sincerely, leaning over and placing a hand on Finrod’s knee and patting it, "but in the end the decision is mine and mine alone to make."

"I know, Atar," Finrod said, "and I respect that. Having been a king myself I know that such decisions are not easily made and ultimately, it comes down to trust, trust in oneself and trust in one’s councillors. We’ve given you our objections, though I think you had already made up your mind before hearing them, but I promise that if anything goes wrong, I won’t be the one to say ‘I told you so’. I leave that to Glorfindel."

"Hey! Not fair!" Glorfindel protested, giving Finrod a smack on his arm while the others laughed.

When they calmed down, though, Glorfindel spoke, his expression grave. "My biggest concern is security. The number of people comprising the Progress cannot be too large or you overwhelm the island’s economy, yet it has to be large enough to provide adequate protection for two kings. I don’t know enough about the martial abilities of the Amanians, whether Noldor or Teleri, to feel confident that they will be able to address any situation that might arise." He grimaced, running his hands through his hair. "I would love to have a contingent of Maiar visibly present, but I know that is not going to happen. I very much doubt Lord Manwë will send any unclad, even if you request it."

"True," Arafinwë said, "which is why I have not done so. If the Valar plan to send any of their People it will be without our knowing."

"And since we do not know, we cannot rely on that hope," Glorfindel said. "We must rely solely on ourselves."

"And that is as it should be, I think," Beleg said. "We of Doriath had no one but ourselves to rely on. Melian rarely used her powers except to maintain her Girdle. The rest was up to us."

"For better or for worse," Arafinwë said with a nod, "the Valar have made it clear, at least to the kings, that our internal affairs are our own. They will only directly interfere when their own Peace is disturbed."

"That is a good question, yonya," Arafinwë replied, "but I have no easy answer to it. I can only say that we must do what we can and let the Valar worry about the rest."

"Well, I think then we should concentrate our efforts in keeping our people as safe as possible while they are on the Progress," Glorfindel said. "So my idea is this: there are a number of Reborn, here in Tirion and in Lórien, who are experienced warriors. I think we should use them as guards. I will trust one of them before ever I trust the braidless ellyn of Tirion or Alqualondë." He lifted one of his own warrior braids as if to emphasize the point.

"Would they want to do it?" Finrod asked. "And more to the point, would Lord Irmo allow them to leave Lórien before they are ready?"

"Even if Lord Irmo agrees," Arafinwë pointed out, "there isn’t enough time. We are due to leave for Tol Eressëa by week’s end."

"Postpone the departure," Sador suggested, "at least for another week. That will give us a chance to get everything ready to our satisfaction before we let you go, Atar." He smiled as he said this, letting Arafinwë know that he was merely teasing, though his eyes showed no amusement.

Arafinwë thought for a moment or two, casting his gaze upon the four ellyn sitting expectantly before him. Three of them were proven warriors, and Sador was wise beyond his years with a wisdom born of pain and loss and ultimately of death. He had been ready to dismiss their concerns as a case of over-reacting, but in the end he realized that perhaps they might have a point. Finally, he nodded. "I will send word to Olwë that we will wait until you are satisfied with the security arrangements. Gilvagor will need to be told as well."

There was a collective sigh of relief from the four ellyn. "So now all we need to do is ask Lord Irmo for the loan of his Reborn," Finrod said with an amused laugh.

"We can request that he send Laurendil with them to keep them in line," Glorfindel retorted with a teasing smile.

"Oh, I can just imagine what he would say to that," Finrod rejoined, rolling his eyes.

"So, how do we go about contacting Lord Irmo and who will ask him?" Beleg enquired.

Glorfindel shrugged, his expression one of secret amusement. "Like this." He stood up and went towards one of the embrasures that looked out upon the city. He leaned out and called out in a clear loud voice that carried across nearby courtyards and streets, startling passers-by. "Any Maia hanging about, will you kindly inform Lord Irmo that the Noldóran wishes to speak with him? Thank you."

He ducked his head back into the room and gave them a cheeky grin. Finrod, Sador and Beleg stared at him with various expressions ranging from disbelief (Beleg) to wry amusement (Finrod). Arafinwë gave him a disdainful sniff. "I could have done that," he said dismissively.

Lord Irmo appeared in Arafinwë’s study about thirty minutes later. The elves had continued talking about the upcoming trip to Tol Eressëa while they waited. Sador was in the middle of voicing his opinion about using warriors under Gilvagor’s command as additional guards when there was a blinding flash of multi-colored lights that coalesced into the fana of the Lord of Lórien. He smiled benignly on them as they hastily rose to give him their obeisance.

"I believe you wished to see me, Pityahuan?" he said mildly, looking directly at Arafinwë.

Several eyebrows went up among the younger ellyn and Finrod gave his atar a hard stare. "Someday you will have to tell us why the Valar call you that."

Arafinwë looked suddenly uncomfortable and gave Irmo a pleading glance, which truly surprised the others. Irmo came to his rescue, casting a sympathetic smile on the Noldóran as he spoke. "The reason for the name is our own, Findaráto. Do not harangue your atar over it."

Finrod blanched at the reprimand, however mildly spoken, and mumbled an apology. Irmo nodded. "You wished to see me about something," he said, bringing them back to the purpose for which they had called for him.

Arafinwë cleared his throat. "My sons are concerned about the planned Progress to Tol Eressëa. I’ve already agreed to postpone it for at least a week because of their worries over security measures. Glorfindel came up with an idea but we need your permission first." He gestured to the ellon and Irmo gave him a warm smile.

"I hear you’ve been an excellent student, Glorfindel," the Vala said. "The only thing the Maiar can seem to talk about these days is how much they enjoyed training you. They are much impressed by your abilities."

Glorfindel blushed and would not look at anyone. His gwedyr gave him considering looks and Sador turned to Irmo with a mock frown. "Should we be jealous?" he asked.

Irmo shook his head. "Nay, child. Glorfindel needed to hone certain innate skills and Lord Manwë’s Maiar were called upon to tutor him. Now, what is this idea of yours?"

"We want to borrow some of the Reborn still residing in Lórien," Glorfindel replied, "specifically, those who were once warriors, to act as guards for Atar and Olwë."

Irmo glanced at Arafinwë, who merely shrugged. "Glorfindel doesn’t trust my... um... braidless warriors, as he put it, to do the job adequately."

"Glorfindel even suggested you have Laurendil come along to keep an eye on them," Sador said with a slightly wicked gleam in his eyes.

"There’s not much time," Arafinwë pointed out. "I’ve already agreed to a week’s postponement, but I don’t think I can delay any longer than that. Messages have already been sent to Olwë and to Gilvagor, who is overseeing things on Tol Eressëa."

"You will have my decision in good time, never fear," Irmo assured them. "If I agree to this I promise that your guards will be here before you are ready to leave. How many guards were you thinking of taking?"

"In spite of what Glorfindel and the others wish, I do not want all our guards to be Reborn," Arafinwë answered. "That would be unfair to my own people as well as Olwë’s."

Irmo nodded. "Agreed. There is already enough tension between the various groups; you do not want to exacerbate the situation further."

"Nor do we wish to bring so many guards as to defeat the purpose of the visit," the Noldóran continued. "Olwë and I agreed that there should be no more than forty to forty-five people in the Progress altogether. I know Olwë will bring his heir, Lindarion, and no doubt his chief guard, Elennen, and of course Beleg. We agreed to split the guards and support personnel between us. I would say no more than a score will be guards, the rest will be cooks and ostlers and the like."

Irmo nodded, giving them a wry look. "More than that and it will be seen as an invasion."

"At the least, it would be in imposition on the island’s economy," Finrod pointed out. "Like Glorfindel, I would trust those warriors who come from Beleriand before any of the Amanians." He cast Arafinwë an apologetic look. "At least I know what sort of training they have had, having fought against orcs and such. The Amanians, even those who fought in the War of Wrath, have less experience in the fine art of treachery." This last was said sardonically and the other three Reborn nodded grimly in agreement. Arafinwë’s expression was pained. The Vala’s expression became instantly unreadable to any of them.

"Treachery," Irmo said softly. "Always there is that to consider. Very well. I will let you know what I decide. Other factors need to be considered before I can give you a final answer."

Before any of them could comment, the Vala was gone. For a long moment, no one spoke. Then, Glorfindel gave a snort. "Not very encouraging, was he?"

"At least he did not say ‘no’ outright, yonya," Arafinwë pointed out. "But in the case that he does, I want to make contingency plans as to which of my own warriors we can take. Beleg has been working with some of them who show promise as archers. Perhaps you would give us your thoughts, Beleg."

The others turned to the former Marchwarden of Doriath, who swallowed a little nervously at being the center of attention. "Well, I haven’t had a chance to teach too many, but the few I have been working with do show great promise," he said, becoming more animated as he warmed to his subject. "If you need archers, I think there are two or three on whom we can safely rely...."

Lord Irmo’s answer came two days later, though not in the way they expected. Finrod and Glorfindel were with Beleg putting the Noldorin warriors with whom Beleg had been working through their paces, gauging their skill levels and deciding whom they would take with them to Tol Eressëa. They were interrupted by a page summoning them to the Noldóran’s study. When they entered the room it was to find not only Arafinwë, but Sador, and two others.

"Ingwion!" Finrod exclaimed as the cousins greeted one another with an embrace. "What are you doing here?"

Then Finrod turned to the other ellon and smiled warmly. "Eärnur. It’s good to see you again."

"I know, but I didn’t expect to see you again so soon," Finrod replied as Glorfindel and Beleg gave Ingwion and Eärnur their own greetings. "So what are you doing here?"

"I was actually returning to Alqualondë to visit my family," Eärnur said, "when one of Lord Irmo’s Maiar came to me just as I reached Eldamas and told me to wait for Prince Ingwion. She said something about me watching over the Reborn." He gave them a quizzical look. "Do I dare assume Lord Irmo meant you lot?"

"We asked Lord Irmo for the loan of some of the Reborn warriors to act as guards on the Royal Progress," Arafinwë explained. "I’m assuming that if he has had you come here then he has decided to send them."

Eärnur frowned. "I was on my way to see my family," he said. "My sister, Eärnilmë, will be celebrating her begetting day next week."

The others all looked uncomfortable at that news. "I’m sorry," Finrod said. "We actually asked for Laurendil. There’s no reason for you to miss your sister’s begetting day celebration."

The Teler shook his head. "If Lord Irmo needs me here then I will not disobey him. I am, after all, pledged to him."

"Then we welcome your presence, child," Arafinwë said, giving the ellon a brief hug. "And frankly, you can help me to mind these particular Reborn. Singly, they’re bad enough, but together..." he shook his head and gave Eärnur a sly smile and a wink. "I keep expecting to wake up some morning to find Tirion has disappeared or something."

Eärnur snickered while the four Reborn in question rolled their eyes. Glorfindel even went so far as to slap an innocent look on his face and start whistling, his hands behind his back, looking at no one in particular. That set the others laughing and soon the tension eased and Arafinwë and Finrod started briefing Ingwion and Eärnur on their plans for the Progress.

"Which is where I come in," Ingwion said as they sat around Arafinwë’s desk, sipping wine and nibbling on cheese and fruit. "Atar would have liked to come on the Progress himself, but he felt he needed to be in Vanyamar at this time, so he asked me to go in his stead. He’s interested in knowing what you and Olwë decide once you’ve seen the situation on the island for yourselves."

Arafinwë nodded. "I had asked him to join us but at the time he could give me no definite answer. I’m glad, though, that he decided to send you. I think it necessary that all three Amanian clans be represented to show a united front. Some of the Tol Eressëans are going to be suspicious of our motives, but hopefully if they see that we of Aman are dedicated to helping them find a solution to their problems, then they will more easily welcome our presence."

"We can only hope," Finrod said, scowling slightly. When Ingwion and Eärnur gave him enquiring looks, he continued. "We’re not too happy with this Progress." He gestured towards Glorfindel, Sador and Beleg. "It’s not that we think there shouldn’t be one, only that it’s too soon. I would prefer waiting until next spring or summer. Too much has happened recently and I... we... fear that there will be those on the island who will try to disrupt the Progress in some way."

"Hmm...." Ingwion said, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes in concentration. "One of the reasons Atar felt he could not leave Vanyamar is that he wanted to monitor the situation in Formenos. He doesn’t trust Ingoldo or those closest to him."

"Perhaps," Ingwion said. "Still Atar just felt uneasy about it all and so...." He gave them an apologetic shrug.

Arafinwë nodded. "Ingwë is wise and if he feels he needs to oversee the prisoners at Formenos, then it is well that he does so. You are his heir, so your opinions will hold greater weight than if he had sent someone else."

"I understand my cousin Alassiel is here as well," Ingwion said. "I should go give her my greetings."

"She came with Amarië," Finrod said. "My betrothed decided at the last minute to accompany us on the Progress. She said something about getting an elleth’s point of view." He gave them a smirk and there were chuckles all around.

The Noldóran shook his head. "Neither is Lirillë. They will remain behind to govern our realms while we are away. So, I did not dismiss Amarië’s wish to come with us out of hand. I think she is correct and it’s possible she and Alassiel will be able to strike up conversations with the ellith there and get their opinions about things."

"That makes sense," Ingwion said. "Ellith are more likely to speak freely with other ellith rather than to any ellon. Still, two ellith among all of us ellyn...."

"Some of the guards and support staff will be ellith," Glorfindel pointed out. "They won’t be entirely outnumbered."

"Hmph," Eärnur said. "It’s been my experience that even if there is only one elleth in the group, it’s the ellyn who are outnumbered."

Gales of laughter floated across the gardens from the Noldóran’s study and those who heard it found themselves smiling for no particular reason.

Later, Ingwion and Finrod were alone, sitting in the knotwork garden, taking their ease, catching up on each other’s news. "So where are the elflings and Vorondil?" Ingwion asked at one point.

"The elflings are here," Finrod said, "under the care of Mistress Lótemalda. They will remain here while we’re away. As for Vorondil, he’s still in Lórien with Aldundil."

Finrod shook his head. "I left Aldundil with a task and Vorondil’s training has intensified a bit. I think when he reaches journeyman status he will be pledged to Lady Estë. The ellon seems to have a great feeling for the healing of hröar."

Ingwion smiled. "Hard to believe that only a few short months ago he was an obnoxious brat. I pitied Valandur for having to take him on as a fosterling when he came to Vanyamar with Glorfindel. I’m glad he’s turning out so well."

Ingwion started to chuckle and Finrod gave him a puzzled look. "What’s so funny?"

"Oh, I was just remembering when I was at Lady Nienna’s, Lord Námo was showing me a map of Tol Eressëa and explaining what the socio-political situation was there and in comes Vorondil, full of curiosity."

"Ah, yes," Finrod said with a smile, "he told us about that. He said he tried to find the library again but never could."

Ingwion raised an eyebrow. "Odd. I never had a problem finding it, considering that I’m the one who put it in order." He gave Finrod a wide grin.

"According to Vorondil," Finrod replied with a grin of his own, "when he asked Lady Nienna, she said the library would be there when he needed it."

"Ah... I always suspected there was something odd about Lady Nienna’s house," Ingwion said, giving Finrod a thoughtful look. "Sometimes I would swear that rooms appeared where there hadn’t been one before and then disappear just as mysteriously. The library, for instance. I know that room didn’t exist when I first arrived, yet suddenly, there it was."

"As I told Glorfindel not too long ago, I don’t think we truly know the full extent of the powers which the Valar have," Finrod replied. "I think they only show us the very least of their powers."

Ingwion sat silently for a few minutes, contemplating Finrod’s words, then looked up at his cousin, his expression pensive. "Which leads me to suspect that the Valar and possibly the Maiar are exhibiting great restraint where we are concerned."

Finrod nodded. "Let us hope none of us do anything to test that restraint. I don’t think Arda would survive otherwise."

Because of the Progress, Arafinwë had made no plans for the usual festivities that normally were celebrated at Mid-summer by the royal family, but with the delay, he decided to go ahead with the usual feast, though this year it would not be as extensive or as elaborate. The rest of the populace was encouraged to celebrate as they pleased and the city was soon festooned with garlands and ribbons. Elves from the Southern Fiefdoms made their way into the city to join in the celebration and Noldor living in Eldamas also came to visit with family and friends.

As the festival day approached, though, many in the palace noticed that Glorfindel was becoming more and more withdrawn. Finrod and Ingwion, remembering what happened at Mid-winter, kept a wary eye on him and alerted Arafinwë. A couple of days before the festival the king summoned Glorfindel to his study.

"You are troubled," Arafinwë said to him without preamble. "Your otornor and I can see it. Would you like to tell me what ails you?"

Glorfindel sighed, shaking his head, and Arafinwë could see how he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

"I will not press," the Noldóran said, "but I trust that you will not do to me what you did to Ingwë back at Mid-winter."

The younger ellon looked up in surprise. "I would never do that," he said earnestly. "I learned my lesson."

"Good," Arafinwë replied. "I’m glad to hear it. Now, are you sure you do not want to talk about it? I can see that you are in great emotional pain."

For several minutes Glorfindel did not respond, keeping his gaze on his lap. Finally, though, he looked up and Arafinwë saw that he was fighting back tears. "It... it was at Mid-summer that Gondolin... that I... died," he whispered, then put a hand to his mouth, his eyes full of despair.

Arafinwë went to him and held him in his arms, offering him comfort. "I’m so sorry, child," he said softly. "I’d forgotten about that."

"This is the first time since being released from Mandos that I was consciously aware of the date," Glorfindel said, trying to explain. "I guess it just hit me all of a sudden."

Arafinwë looked down at him and smiled. "You’ve had little time to reflect on such things lately. I wish I could make the pain go away, but I do not have that power, alas." He said this in such a droll manner that Glorfindel couldn’t help sniggering in spite of his tears. "But I can do this much for you," Arafinwë continued. "You need not participate in the festivities and if you wish to have your brothers around then they are excused as well. I only ask that you not be alone during this time. I don’t think that will help."

Glorfindel shook his head. "No. I will be there. I think it would be better for me than sitting around moping even if Finrod and the others are there to see me do so."

"Then, that is what you will do," Arafinwë replied with a nod of approval. "But if at any time things become too much for you, you may leave without seeking my permission. Just be sure you do not leave alone."

"I will tell Findaráto and the others so they will know to keep an eye out for you," the king said.

"I think they’re doing that already," Glorfindel said with a slight smile. "They’re trying to be discreet about it, but I’ve learned a few tricks while I was with the Maiar and so I’m not easily taken unawares."

"So I’ve noticed," Arafinwë said, giving him his own smile. "According to Sador, you’ve taken all the fun out of stalking you, and Beleg is just plain disgusted."

Glorfindel actually laughed at that. "Coming from someone like Beleg, I’ll take that as a compliment."

Thus, Mid-summer came. True to his word, Glorfindel participated in the festivities, though his heart wasn’t in it. At one point, he found he needed to excuse himself, his memories of that last Mid-summer in Gondolin becoming too much and he ended up sitting quietly in his room, staring out the window. Finrod was with him, softly playing on his harp which he had thought to bring at the last moment when Glorfindel asked him to accompany him. Glorfindel remained silent and Finrod did not press him to speak. After a while, though, Glorfindel curled up in his bed, wrapping himself around the stuffed toy Lord Námo had given him and began rocking himself. Eventually, the soft melody Finrod was playing calmed him into sleep. Finrod put his harp down to throw a blanket over the somnolent ellon before resuming his playing. When Arafinwë came in some hours later to relieve Finrod and take over sitting with Glorfindel, the ellon never woke.

Glorfindel seemed to recover within a couple of days after Mid-summer. He was still somewhat subdued but not grieving. Those around him did not press him but by their presence let him know that he was loved and cherished and he seemed to appreciate it. By the evening of the third day he was quietly jesting with Sador and Beleg and when something Beleg said set him laughing, those who heard him rejoiced, for the laughter was joyous and unforced.

Sometime on the fourth day, a small group of people reached Tirion and made their way to the palace where they presented themselves. The guards immediately sent for the Noldóran and Prince Findaráto. When they arrived, followed by Glorfindel and Ingwion, there were glad cries of welcome for the travelers, who turned out to be Laurendil and Manwen and four other elves, who, for some reason, went cloaked and hooded in spite of the warmth of the day.

"So you came after all," Finrod exclaimed as he gave Laurendil a heartfelt embrace.

"Like I had a choice," Laurendil said with a grin. "Lord Irmo was rather... insistent that I come."

Finrod gave her a welcoming hug as well, then stepped back, his expression initially puzzled, but clearing almost immediately into a wide grin. "When?" was all he asked.

Manwen smiled shyly. "Two weeks ago, just after you left Lórien," she answered and unconsciously placed a protective hand over her belly. Laurendil came and put an arm around her shoulders, looking both sheepish and pleased at the same time.

The others caught on almost immediately and began congratulating the happy couple. Then they turned their attention to the other four travelers. "Lord Irmo said these were the only ones he felt confident about letting go at this time," Laurendil said with a sly grin as he gestured to one of the cloaked elves who doffed his hood, smiling hugely. "I think some of you already know Celepharn who was once called Artelemnar Ringilion," he said, and the Noldo stepped forward to give Arafinwë a bow.

Glorfindel greeted him warmly. "I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble on my account," he said.

Celepharn shook his head and laughed. "Except for the fact that I and all the other Reborn slept for two days afterwards, Lord Irmo did not punish us, although some of the Lóriennildi were quick to give us all stern lectures. The Maiar put a stop to that, thank the Valar. I found it rather annoying being scolded by someone who was born just four hundred years ago."

Finrod chuckled as well. "So who are the others and why are you all cloaked and hooded on such a warm day?"

"Oh, but you’ll love this surprise, aranya," Laurendil said and when he nodded the other three elves pushed back their hoods, all three of them grinning hugely.

"Mithlas!" Glorfindel cried, going to the Sinda and embracing him. Ingwion gave him his own greeting.

Glorfindel laughed and turned to Finrod, but his laughter died at the look of shock on the ellon’s face. Finrod was absolutely white, staring at the other two elves who stood there looking suddenly uncertain. Neither of them were known to Glorfindel.

"Laurendil?" Glorfindel asked but the other ellon just shook his head, not taking his eyes off of Finrod.

"Finda?" Arafinwë asked, placing a hand on the ellon’s shoulder. "What’s wrong, yonya?"

Finrod just stood there staring at the two elves, and when the others noticed tears running down his cheeks they became alarmed. Then, before anyone could react, he crumpled to the ground.

"Finrod!" Glorfindel yelled as he sought to catch him before he went all the way down. Ingwion was shouting to one of the guards to bring some water for the prince while Arafinwë just stood there, his expression unreadable, watching the entire tableau.

Meantime, Laurendil went immediately to his knees before the collapsed ellon and held Finrod’s head between his hands. "It’s all right, Findaráto," he murmured. "Deep breaths. Take your time."

By now the other two elves were beginning to panic, completely unsure of their welcome and started backing up, but Mithlas and Celepharn took them in hand and held them steady, murmuring words of encouragement. Manwen was also there, speaking softly to them. Arafinwë cast a look at the two ellyn who had apparently shocked his son by their presence. He could see that one of them was a Sinda and the other appeared to be a Noldo, though his hair was a shade of brown that was too light and Arafinwë suspected the ellon had some Sindarin blood in him as well. Both of them were now silently weeping. Mithlas, Celepharn and Manwen tried to comfort them but to no avail.

"Let’s take this inside," Arafinwë said quietly, bending down to place a hand on Finrod’s head. "Come, yonya. Let’s go somewhere more private."

Laurendil and Glorfindel helped Finrod to his feet and between them they made him walk. Arafinwë gestured for the others to follow and soon they were making their way towards the royal apartments. Along the way, Sador, Beleg and Eärnur came running, having heard of Finrod’s collapse. They started demanding answers, but a quick gesture from Arafinwë silenced them and they fell into line, bringing up the rear. Arafinwë led them, not toward his study, which would have been too small, but into the family’s sitting room where they found Eärwen, Amarië and Alassiel along with the queen’s handmaidens embroidering or playing musical instruments to entertain themselves. They all looked up in surprise at their entrance. Eärwen took one look at her son’s white face and rose in haste to go to him. Amarië and Alassiel were right there as well, looks of concern on their fair faces.

Arafinwë shook his head. "That’s what I hope to learn. Please dismiss your ladies, though I think Amarië and Alassiel should stay."

Eärwen nodded and turned to the other ellith, but they were already standing and gathering their things, giving the group their curtsies before exiting. In the meantime, Arafinwë and Eärwen were leading Finrod to one of the couches, sitting on either side of him. Laurendil went to a sideboard and poured some wine into a goblet and handed it to Arafinwë.

"Try to get this down him while I look after the others," he said and his tone was that of a healer and Arafinwë simply nodded as he took the proffered goblet and began encouraging Finrod to drink.

Sador, Beleg and Eärnur made their way into the room and hovered over Finrod, while Mithlas, Celepharn and Manwen, along with the other two ellyn, stood uncertainly near the door, not sure what they should do next. Glorfindel took over and gestured for them to take seats while Laurendil went back to the sideboard and began pouring wine into more goblets. Two of them he handed to the two elves who had still not been introduced. They had stopped weeping and were more composed but their expressions were still ones of confusion and uncertainty.

"This is not your fault," Laurendil said quietly to them both. "Do not fret. All is well."

"I wish someone would explain to me what is wrong," Arafinwë demanded, though he kept his tone mild, not wanting to upset Finrod or the two elves any further, but before Laurendil could offer an answer Finrod suddenly leapt out of his seat and stumbled to his knees before the Noldorin ellon who had not yet been introduced.

"For...forgive me..." he stammered through his tears. "I never meant... I never...." and then he was weeping again, his face in his hands.

The other ellon sat there looking on, his own tears beginning to flow again and then he handed his goblet of wine to Manwen before sliding to his knees in front of Finrod and gathering him into his arms. "Ah, aranya, there is nothing to forgive," he whispered though all there heard him. "I did not think we would have succeeded anyway, but I refused to allow your cousins to turn me into an oathbreaker. I knew we were going to our deaths, though I admit I did not care for the manner in which I died." This last was said in a rather dry tone and Finrod hiccupped, trying not to laugh. The ellon continued to hold Finrod in his arms, rocking him gently. He seemed to collect himself, for he gave a deep sigh and looked up at Arafinwë and Eärwen, still sitting on the couch, their expressions ones of distress.

"Forgive me, my lord and lady," he said, giving them a bow of his head, "I fear my presence was too much for Findaráto. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Edrahil, and once I was your son’s liegeman. We both... died in Sauron’s dungeon."

"You are one of the companions who went with Finrod and Beren," Sador exclaimed, looking upon the ellon with not a little awe.

"Yes," Edrahil said simply, casting a curious eye on the younger ellon with his single warrior’s braid.

"Ah..." Laurendil intervened with a fond smile. "This is Eregil, who was one of my rangers when we patrolled Dorthonion before Morgoth overran it. You may recall my mentioning him. He’s the one who tricked me into peeling the onions."

"And me into peeling the carrots," Finrod said as he raised his head and gave the ellon a watery smile which Eregil returned somewhat hesitantly. Then Finrod looked up at Laurendil with a more hurt expression on his face. "You knew Edrahil had been released, and Eregil. Why wasn’t I told?"

Laurendil knelt down beside him, his own expression sympathetic. "I did not know myself at first. There are many Reborn in Lórien whom I’ve never met. We Lóriennildi are assigned certain ones and usually never see any of the others. When Lord Irmo brought these two to me I was as shocked as you were, believe me."

"So whose bright idea was it to surprise us?" Glorfindel asked, raising an imperious eyebrow in a manner that unconsciously imitated Arafinwë, much to the Noldóran’s amusement.

Laurendil gave him an innocent look. "Not me," he said virtuously and there were sniggers from the others.

"I’m afraid the fault is mine," Edrahil said, standing and giving Finrod a hand up.

Laurendil stood as well and went to sit beside Manwen. Edhrahil resumed his own seat even as Eärwen reached up and pulled Finrod back between her and Arafinwë. The others shifted their chairs a bit so they were all sitting in a circle. By now, Finrod seemed to have collected his wits and was staring at the two ellyn dry-eyed, his expression calmer.

"I don’t understand," Amarië suddenly said, giving Finrod a puzzled look. "These are friends of yours from... before?"

Finrod shook his head. "My vassals, actually," he replied, giving Edrahil and Eregil a warm smile.

"I think other introductions are in order now that the crisis seems to have passed," Arafinwë said, giving them all a wry smile, then he turned to the Reborn who had accompanied Laurendil and Manwen. "In case you haven’t figured it out by now, I am Arafinwë and this is Eärwen, we are Findaráto’s parents."

"Sometimes known as the King and Queen of the Noldor," Glorfindel added with a bland expression on his face, "but who cares?"

Both Arafinwë and Eärwen laughed while the others, except Finrod and Sador who were both sniggering, looked on with bemusement. "Who cares, indeed?" the king said. The Reborn visitors started to rise to give their obeisance, but Arafinwë waved them back to their seats. "No need to stand on ceremony. We’re all family here." Then he quickly introduced Amarië, Alassiel, and Sador. When he started to introduce Beleg, the ellon forestalled him.

"There is no need, lord," he said. "Edrahil and Eregil came to Lórien about the same time as I and we already know one another, as well as Celepharn, who was already there."

Arafinwë nodded then looked at his son, running a hand through the ellon’s hair. "Are you all right now, Finda?" he said solicitously.

Finrod nodded, giving them an abashed look. "I’m sorry. I’m afraid I was just overwhelmed...."

"No need to apologize, aranya," Edrahil said. "I never thought seeing us would distress you so."

"Is that a recent thing with you or have you always been that way?" Sador suddenly asked and Glorfindel turned to him with a scowl.

"Not that it’s any business of yours, gwador," he replied, "but if you must know, I’ve not been too fond of surprises since Gondolin fell. Morgoth’s surprise attack was too much for me, I guess."

"At any rate," Arafinwë interjected, "I wish to formally welcome all of you to Tirion." He gave Laurendil a considering look. "You said these ellyn were the only ones Lord Irmo felt he could safely allow to leave Lórien?"

Laurendil nodded. "Yes. Oh, well, Gwindor wanted to come, but Lord Irmo felt he needed some more time. Just before we were ready to leave he had a sudden memory of how he died." He frowned and then sighed. "He hadn’t completely recovered from it when we set out."

There were knowing nods among the other Reborn. Finrod then turned to Mithlas, his expression one of puzzlement. "Surely you would not have left your naneth and sister at this time?"

"Actually, it was Naneth who insisted I come," Mithlas replied, blushing somewhat. "Claimed I was just getting underfoot."

"Yes," Mithlas said. "Lord Irmo thinks that they will be ready to leave Lórien in a few more weeks. He was concerned for their physical state, especially Mitheryn. She’s still much too thin and weak."

Finrod nodded. "I am glad though that they have improved enough to throw you out." The others all laughed. "Your presence on the Progress will be much appreciated."

However, it was Arafinwë who spoke, rising from his seat, everyone else scrambling to their feet as well. "It is nearly time for the noon meal. Why don’t we have someone show you your rooms and you can freshen up. We will discuss the Progress over luncheon."

"Beleg and I can show them their rooms, Atar," Sador suggested and when Arafinwë nodded his approval the travelers gave the king and queen their obeisance and then followed Sador and Beleg out. "Laurendil and Manwen, you can have the same rooms as before," Sador said, "and I’ll put the rest of you in the same wing. You’ll be quite close to our own rooms...."

Glorfindel closed the door behind them, then turned to Arafinwë. "I’ll go alert the kitchen staff to set additional plates."

"That would be well," Arafinwë said. "Ingwion, why don’t you, Eärnur and Alassiel go with him? We will join you all shortly."

The four gave him their obeisance and departed, leaving Finrod alone with his parents and Amarië. What was said between them in the few minutes before they separated to prepare themselves for the noon meal none ever learned.

With the arrival of Laurendil’s party the preparations for the Progress intensified. Along with discussions on logistics and what they hoped to achieve by going to Tol Eressëa, there were some heated discussions about who should actually be allowed to go. Laurendil, for instance, did not want Manwen to come, fearing for her safety and that of their unborn child.

"If anything were to happen...." he started to say when he first made his objections.

"I am going with you," Manwen said firmly. "I promise not to do anything stupid to jeopardize either me or the baby." She flashed him a wicked smile. "I leave that sort of thing to you."

Laurendil turned an interesting shade of red and Finrod, who happened to be in on the conversation, sniggered. Laurendil appealed to him. "Aranya, you have our lives...."

"Yes, I do," Finrod replied firmly, "but as I told you before, in some things Manwen ranks me. While I share your concerns, I can hardly order your wife to remain behind yet allow Amarië and Alassiel to come."

Manwen gave him a scathing look. "And so can I or have you conveniently forgotten that it was I who skewered that orc that almost got you?"

Finrod gave Laurendil a quizzical look. "You never did tell me how you two met."

Laurendil blushed and then sighed in defeat. "Fine. Have it your way," he huffed gracelessly. He gave Finrod a perfunctory bow and strode out of the room without another word.

Finrod went to Manwen, who stood there looking forlorn and wrapped his arms around her. "He’ll come around," he said softly.

Manwen nodded. "I had better go over the medical supplies again," was all she said and Finrod let her go.

Eärnur was another problem altogether. Even Arafinwë was in two minds about letting him come. The afternoon after Laurendil’s party came to Tirion, Arafinwë was discussing this very matter with Finrod and Glorfindel. "With Laurendil and Manwen in the party it doesn’t make sense for Eärnur to join us," he told them. "We don’t need three Lóriennildi looking after the Reborn or us."

"Yet, Eärnur is a journeyman while Laurendil and Manwen are still apprentices," Glorfindel pointed out.

"And Lord Irmo specifically ordered him here," Finrod added, "though I confess the reason for him doing so escapes me."

Arafinwë nodded. "It is something of a puzzle, but long experience tells me that asking for an explanation will be an exercise in futility." He gave them a wry grin and they both smiled, knowing the truth of his words. "If Lord Irmo wants him with us, then there must be a reason and we should respect that."

"The Teleri who will accompany us on the Progress might prefer one of their own as a healer if there is need," Glorfindel mused.

Arafinwë nodded. "I have done what I could to regain the trust of the Teleri on behalf of our people, but I know that there is still resentment against us in some quarters. Eärnur’s presence and the fact that he is your friend may help."

Both Reborn sighed. "This will never end, will it?" Glorfindel asked dispiritedly.

"Only if we believe that there is no hope," the Noldóran answered. "Only if we allow ourselves the self-indulgence of believing that Fëanáro was correct after all."

Silence stretched between them for a time and then Finrod uttered a brief sigh. "I sometimes wonder what would have happened if we all had turned back and left my uncle and his people to their madness and doom."

"Well, for one thing, you and I would never have become otornor," Glorfindel replied with a wry smile.

"So, you’re saying something good came out of all this?" Finrod asked with feigned disbelief.

Glorfindel’s only answer was a smirk while Arafinwë chuckled. "Regardless," he said, "we need to remain focused in our belief that our troubles will eventually resolve themselves. The presence of the Reborn and the Returnees have already changed perceptions among the Amaneldi. Your experiences have perforce opened up vistas of which we of Aman little dreamed. I know that it was not the Noldor who followed me to Beleriand during the War of Wrath who objected to the Valar allowing the Exiles to return, but those who remained behind."

"Perhaps," Arafinwë conceded, "but whether they like it or not, the Tol Eressëans are here to stay and Elves will continue to return from Endórë for some time to come. Eventually, I think, the Valar will begin allowing them to move to the mainland."

Glorfindel nodded. "When I was with the Maiar training in Lord Oromë’s Forest, they told me that it was the Valar’s intention to eventually open the lands south of the Pelóri to us."

"I wonder why they haven’t done so already?" Finrod mused. "It would solve much of the troubles plaguing us now."

"Except the lands are not yet suitable for habitation," Glorfindel replied. "Much evil still lurks there. Don’t forget, Ungoliant came from that region."

"Well, something to think about later," Arafinwë said after a moment’s pause. "Let us return to the Progress and discuss how best to use the Reborn Lord Irmo has sent us."

Later that evening, Finrod and Glorfindel gathered with Sador, Beleg, Celepharn, Edrahil and Eregil in Finrod’s apartments. "Just us Reborn," Finrod said with a conspiratorial wink and they all laughed.

"Or anyone, for that matter," Edrahil said with a sigh. "They treat us like elflings." Celepharn and Eregil merely nodded in agreement.

"That’s because you are," Finrod replied with a grin, "at least emotionally speaking. I promise you that it will get better. Try not to give into your first impulses. Think about how it was when you were in Beleriand and you will find yourselves responding more maturely than others will be expecting. If you act mature, they’ll start treating you that way."

"I was told it will be at least a century before we reach full emotional maturity," Eregril said with a scowl. "Seems highly unfair."

"Perhaps," Finrod said with a smile, "but in your case, my friend, I doubt you will ever reach full maturity. I can remember some of the stunts you pulled...."

"Is this how you treat your king?" Finrod laughed as he tried to push the ellon off him.

"Of course," Glorfindel responded. Then he calmly picked Eregil off Finrod and handed him to Edrahil before straddling Finrod, beginning to tickle him as well.

"That’s not what I meant," Finrod yelled all the while laughing as he tried to push Glorfindel off him.

"Payback for last time," Glorfindel answered, but he relented and, rising, gave Finrod a hand up. The others were all grinning.

They all laughed. When they were calmer Finrod spoke. "At any rate, I asked you here because as Reborn we’re constantly under scrutiny and I want to be sure you can handle it."

"Well, Sador and I have been out for almost a year now," Glorfindel pointed out. "I think we’ll be able to hold our own."

Sador nodded. "And, unlike any of you, I’ve been to Tol Eressëa, though admittedly I did not see all of the island."

"Still, it’s more than any of us have done, so we’ll rely on you to tell us what we need to know," Finrod said, then he turned to the other ellyn. "I’m more concerned for you four. Beleg has been out for a while but he’s still feeling his way and you three...." He stared intently at Celepharn, Edrahil and Eregil, none of them able to maintain his gaze for long.

"We’ll be fine, aranya," Edrahil said softly and both Eregil and Celepharn nodded briskly.

"Perhaps," Finrod averred with some reluctance, "but the fact remains that none of you have had a chance to get used to your new situation and now we’re asking you to act in ways you may not be ready for."

"And there is this," Glorfindel interjected solemnly. "There is no telling when or if a memory will resurface. We all have had times when such memories have overwhelmed us, especially when we’ve made an emotional connection, as Lord Námo calls it."

Edrahil nodded. "Like Gwindor. He told me later that intellectually he remembered how he had died but it was as if it had happened to someone else. Only this time he said it was as if he were experiencing his death all over again." He shook his head. "You could hear his screams from the lake."

There were grimaces all around. Finrod nodded. "What Glorfindel says goes for all of us, except perhaps for me. I’ve been out for over a hundred years already."

"If at any time things begin to be overwhelming for you, tell us," Finrod answered. "Tell me or Glorfindel or even my atar or any of the Lóriennildi." Finrod gave them a wry grin. "The good thing is that the Tol Eressëans are used to dealing with the Reborn more than the Amaneldi and they are more accepting of us, knowing what some of us suffered. They generally have more respect, especially for the warriors. Which reminds me... why do none of you wear warrior braids?" This last was addressed to Celepharn, Edrahil and Eregil.

The ellyn exchanged uneasy looks, then Edrahil answered. "We were told not to make ourselves obvious."

There was a brief pause as they all contemplated the ellon’s words. Then Beleg spoke. "Makes sense," he said. "If our guards are all braidless...."

"Yet, at the same time it means that some people will underestimate us," Glorfindel pointed out. "If they see guards with warrior braids they’ll be recognized for who they are, but without braids...."

Finrod nodded. "Exactly. So for now, do as Lord Irmo suggested. We will hide you in plain sight." He smiled and gave them a wink and the others chuckled.

"I was actually surprised that Lord Irmo even allowed me to come," Celepharn said, looking somewhat dismayed.

Celepharn blushed and refused to look at any of them. "I’m a... a kinslayer twice over," he whispered.

Finrod reached over and put a hand under his chin, forcing him to look up. "You were a kinslayer," he said, "but that is not what you are now. Now you are Reborn and that is all that matters."

"Tell that to those who survived Doriath and perhaps wait for us on Tol Eressëa," Celepharn said glumly.

"Are you even sure anyone would recognize you?" Sador asked in a reasonable tone. "I didn’t and I was there when Doriath was sacked."

"If Lord Irmo felt you should join us then there is a reason," Glorfindel said. "I’ve been around long enough to know that the Valar do nothing without reason even if we cannot see it. I would not worry too much about it. Remain braidless. You will be just another Noldorin guard."

"What about Mithlas, though?" Eregil asked. "He continues to wear warrior braids."

"Well, he is not a Reborn and he is well known among the Tol Eressëans," Glorfindel answered.

Finrod, Glorfindel and Sador all nodded. "If you have any trouble and cannot find any of us," Finrod said, "go to Mithlas. There are a few others on the island you can trust," he added. "When we get there I will introduce you to them."

"I’m sure," Glorfindel responded smugly, "but the point is you and Lindarion are going to be targets along with Atar and Olwë. We’ll watch your backs."

"Well, we’ll just make sure everyone is watched, won’t we, Eregil?" Edrahil said with a wink and the other ellon nodded, giving them all a wicked grin.

There was a brief moment of silence and then Sador spoke. "Why am I suddenly afraid?"

For no particular reason they all started laughing and it was some time before they calmed down.

They set out around dawn a week after Mid-summer. Finrod, Glorfindel, Sador, Amarië and Alassiel, rode with Arafinwë, while Mithlas, Celepharn and Beleg rode in the vanguard with some of the Noldorin guards. Edrahil and Eregil rode with the other guards in the rear. Laurendil, Manwen and Eärnur rode behind Arafinwë’s group while the support staff followed. One other person traveled with them at Arafinwë’s insistence. Lord Pelendur, Haldir’s atar, rode beside the High King, carrying Arafinwë’s standard. He alone of all the party looked decidedly unhappy to be there.

They made their way down the Calacirya and both Finrod and Glorfindel looked about in dismay.

"Where did these watchtowers come from?" Glorfindel asked as he pointed to several towers that lined the cleft on either side. They were tall stone edifices, round and smooth, made of a dark unreflective material. No doorways could be seen that would allow entrance, yet on each tower Maiar stood sentinel, gazing down on them with dispassionate regard. Glorfindel shivered involuntarily and noticed Finrod doing the same.

Arafinwë sighed. "Shortly after Isil rose, Melkor attacked Tilion. The Valar, fearing a repeat of what happened to Almaren, raised the Pelóri to new heights and set a ceaseless watch upon them, closing all passes except this one, for they knew that even the Vanyar needed at times to breathe the airs that come from the lands of our awakening, nor would they willingly sunder the Teleri from us. Instead, they built these towers which even now are manned. There was a time, in fact, when an entire host of Maiar was encamped at the place where the Calacirya issues upon the plains of Valmar, ensuring that neither bird nor beast, elf nor mortal nor any creature that resided in Endórë could pass the leaguer."

"Yes," Arafinwë answered. "Surprisingly, when the Valar declared a time of festival, as is their habit from time to time, all of the Calacirya was emptied of Maiar and the host was disbanded."

"Most likely," Arafinwë replied. "Eönwë did greet him, after all, and brought him before the Valar, none of whom showed any surprise at his appearance, though we elves were rather astounded to see one who was not entirely of elvenkind." He gave them an amused smile.

"Eärendil and Elwing were elvish enough to be our lord and lady after Tuor and Idril left," Sador said. "Even Gil-galad and Círdan treated them both with respect."

"At any rate, these towers were built and so they stand," Arafinwë concluded. "Most of us have gotten used to them and don’t even think about it."

They continued to ride in silence, each lost in his or her own thoughts as the party made their way through the Calacirya until at last they reached the small harbor that looked out upon Tol Eressëa. Glorfindel gazed across the narrow channel separating them from the island with much interest and many of the others did as well, never having been there. As they came to the harbor they found another party already encamped and Glorfindel could see the swan standard marking the Teleri. Two swan ships were tied to the quay.

"Right on time," Arafinwë said with a smile as they made their way to where they could see Olwë standing before a small pavilion waiting for them. Beside him stood an ellon whose looks were so like Olwë’s that it was clear to all that this must be his heir, Lindarion.

The King of Alqualondë gave them a smile. "Greetings," he said, then gave Arafinwë a puzzled look. "I thought we were going to keep our numbers to the absolute minimum."

"A slight change in plans," Arafinwë said as he dismounted and gave Olwë a kinsman’s kiss. "The ellith decided to join us and would not take ‘no’ for an answer." He gave Olwë a wink and the Teler chuckled even as he gestured for Finrod to approach, giving him a hug.

Finrod gave him a surprised look. "Of course I do, Anatar." Then he turned to the ellon standing next to Olwë and gave him a brilliant smile. "So, how much do you owe me?"

Lindarion laughed and threw his arms around Finrod, giving him a kiss. "I have forgotten," he replied.

"Besides, I heard that you died," Lindarion rejoined, giving him a sly look. "Doesn’t death cancel all debts?"

Glorfindel shrugged. "I’ll let you know when I try to collect from Ecthelion whenever he’s released from Mandos."

They all laughed at that and then introductions were made all around. When Olwë saw Eärnur among them he gave the ellon a wistful smile. "I’m sorry you will miss Eärnilmë’s begetting day," he told him. "I would be the first one to release you from your duty to us, but if Lord Irmo has bidden you to come with us, I am not so foolish as to go against his wishes."

"Nor am I," Eärnur said. "There will be other begetting day celebrations, and this just means I have more time to come up with an appropriate gift. I’m running out of ideas!"

There was laughter all around at that and then Amarië spoke up. "Well, in that case, Eärnur, perhaps we ellith can help you there. We may find something interesting for her on Tol Eressëa."

"That would be nice," Eärnur said, "and it would certainly be unique. Thank you."

"The tide is against us so we will have to wait until morning to depart," Olwë said.

"Then, let us plan to sleep aboard the ships," Arafinwë said, "and we will leave boarding the horses until we’re ready to depart."

Olwë nodded and orders were given. They stowed all their gear aboard the two ships, though they took their evening meal on the shore where afterwards they entertained themselves with singing and story-telling until quite late.

An hour before dawn saw them all up and bringing aboard the horses. Olwë and the Teleri went to one ship while Arafinwë and his people boarded the other, though the ship itself was manned by Telerin sailors. Lindarion chose to travel in the ship carrying the Noldor as he wished to visit with Finrod and Ingwion and their friends. Once all were aboard, the ships were launched and they sailed across the calm waters of the Bay of Eldamar to Tol Eressëa. Tavrobel came into view and everyone went forward, eager to see the city.

Lindarion shrugged. "I don’t know. I just assumed...." He gave Finrod a rueful look. "I guess I’m just not as well traveled as you."

"The architecture of Tavrobel and Kortirion are a mix of Noldorin and Sindarin sensibilities," Sador said from where he stood further along the rail. "I did not see Avallónë but I suspect it is similar in style."

"I think it’s lovely," Alassiel said, "though I’m not sure I like the smell."

Some of them laughed. "That’s the smell of fish and seaweed and brine," Sador explained. He gave them a wistful smile. "Brings back memories," he said to no one in particular. Mithlas, who happened to be standing next to him gave him a brief hug. Lindarion looked at Finrod, his expression one of puzzlement.

Lindarion softly gasped and gave Sador, who was speaking quietly with Mithlas and not paying any attention to them, a sympathetic look. "He seems rather young," he said.

Finrod nodded. "He was sixty-eight when one of my cousins’ warriors struck him down," he answered, his expression suddenly grim.

Lindarion gave him a knowing look and then sighed as he looked out towards the fast approaching port. "I lost some good friends from the Kinslaying," he said quietly. "It took me a long time to find forgiveness in my heart for what was done to us."

Lindarion threw an arm around his shoulders and hugged him, giving him a light kiss on his forehead. "It is in the past," he said softly, "and it is forgiven. Let us not dwell on it, but look to the future instead."

Finrod nodded but before he could comment there were shouts between the sailors and the workers on the docks as the ships glided gracefully into the harbor and everyone dispersed to make themselves ready to disembark.

"Doesn’t look as if there’s much of a welcoming committee, though," Glorfindel commented with a slight frown.

"Maybe they’re hiding," Sador suggested with a sly smile, "and they want to surprise us."

The ships reached the docks. The sailors threw out the ropes and dockworkers expertly caught them and began securing the lines. Shortly thereafter the gangplank was lowered and Arafinwë stepped down and made his way to where Gilvagor and Haldir were standing. The two ellyn bowed to him even as Olwë was making his way to them as well.

By now the others had also made their way off the ships while the guards and servants handled the off-loading of the horses and their supplies with the help of the sailors and dockworkers. When Haldir saw his atar descending from the ship, carrying Arafinwë’s standard, he gasped in surprise, giving the Noldóran an enquiring look, but Arafinwë just shook his head. "Later," he said quietly and Haldir nodded his understanding. Pelendur studiously refused to look at his son.

"Not much of a welcoming committee," Arafinwë said dryly, echoing Glorfindel’s words. The tension that had risen among them a moment before dissipated as some in the group chuckled, casting amused glances at Glorfindel, who merely smirked.

Gilvagor and Haldir, on the other hand, had nearly identical expressions of dismay on their faces. "You must forgive us," Gilvagor said. "We thought it prudent to keep your visit as unobtrusive as possible. You will notice that the harbor is virtually empty."

Everyone nodded. "I did notice a decided lack of industry," Olwë remarked with a wry smile.

"Yes, well, the fishermen are all out," Gilvagor continued. "I purposely arranged for you to reach the island during a lull time. The merchants are taking their ease before the catches are brought in. I found a field just to the north of the city where you can set up camp. Later, you can wander through the city and see what there is to see."

Both kings glanced at one another and then Olwë gave his son-in-law a nod before turning to Gilvagor. "Lead us then to this field."

Both Tol Eressëans breathed sighs of relief and in short order the two kings and their entourage were making their way northward along the harbor with Gilvagor and Haldir in the lead. They encountered few inhabitants along the way and some in the party suspected that this was deliberate. They made their way around a headland before climbing along a rise until they were behind the city looking upon an open field of meadow flowers and trees.

"Tavrobel lies on the other side of that copse," Gilvagor stated, pointing south. "There is a path that leads down into the city. It’s rarely used except for lovers and elflings as it wends its way through the woods to another smaller glade where there is a waterfall. I doubt you will be disturbed here."

"Thank you," Arafinwë said then turned to Finrod. "Well, yonya, where do we set up camp?"

Finrod ignored the surprised looks on some of the faces of the Noldor and Teleri and cast a knowing eye across the landscape. "Water source?" he asked, speaking Sindarin.

Gilvagor pointed further east. "Waterfall, as I said, and a stream that runs further north before making its way to the sea," he answered in the same language.

Finrod nodded still analyzing the terrain, making judgments about security. Glorfindel and Beleg were doing the same. Beleg pointed northeast. "There where the copse clears somewhat," he said, also speaking Sindarin.

Both Finrod and Glorfindel nodded. Finrod turned to his atar, who was patiently waiting. "To the northeast there is a space near a stream where we can easily defend ourselves if need be."

"It always pays to be careful," Finrod answered in a distracted manner and then began issuing his own orders in Sindarin. "Edrahil, Eregil, go with Mithlas and check the area."

"At once, aran nîn," Edrahil replied and soon the three ellyn were melting into the forest like ghosts.

Arafinwë said nothing, but Olwë gave him a puzzled look. The Noldóran shook his head, giving him a wry look. "Findaráto has allowed me to come here on the condition that he be responsible for security, he and his otornor."

Finrod shrugged. "I spent over three hundred years as king of Nargothrond, helping to maintain the Leaguer against Melkor with my cousins. I fought against orcs and other of Melkor’s minions. I saw my brothers perish in the Battle of Sudden Flame." He gave his uncle a steady look. "I know how to protect my people. Laurendil, please check the area around the stream. Let us know if there is anything of which we should beware. Celepharn, go with him."

"Aranya," Laurendil said as he alighted from his horse. Celepharn did the same and they moved away to where there was a glint of sunlight on water. The roar of the waterfall was muted but an ever present sound in the background.

"And just what danger do you think to find in the stream?" Olwë asked in surprise.

"None, I hope," Finrod said, flashing him a brief smile, "but I learned the hard way never to assume anything. This place looks idyllic enough, but that is not to say that it is."

"Haldir and I explored this field extensively," Gilvagor said, though neither he nor Haldir appeared overly upset by Finrod’s precautions.

"And that was two days ago," Glorfindel said. "Anything could have happened since then."

"Are we going to have to put up with this nonsense throughout the Progress, Atar?" Lindarion asked, sounding irritated.

"I was there during the Tournament at the New Year," Olwë replied. "I think I will allow my inyo the luxury of paranoia. These are troubled times and you have the evidence of that standing next to you." He nodded toward where Sador was standing with Beleg and the young ellon blushed at their sudden regard.

Lindarion’s expression became more thoughtful though it was clear he thought they were all over-reacting. Before he could say anything more though Mithlas returned with Edrahil and Eregil and right behind them came Laurendil and Celepharn.

"The path Gilvagor mentioned loops to the east about where the copse fails so we will have a clear view of anyone approaching from either direction," Mithlas reported. "The area is clear of wildlife other than squirrels and birds and the trees were most welcoming." He gave them a smile.

Laurendil shook his head. "The water runs swiftly and the plants growing along the banks are healthy and as Mithlas said, the trees are most welcoming."

"Thank you," Finrod replied and turned to Arafinwë. "I think we’ve found our campsite."

"I’m glad to hear it," Arafinwë answered, his tone only slightly mocking. "Let us set up camp and then we will discuss our next move."

And that is what they did. Almost as soon as the camp was set, Glorfindel grabbed his bow and arrows. "There is nothing here to endanger us," he said to Finrod and the others, "but I sense larger game to the east. I’m going to make sure it’s just a herd of deer rather than something more dangerous."

They all gave him strange looks and the Sindar in the party glanced eastward with expressions of doubt. "I sense nothing evil...." Mithlas started to say.

"I didn’t say there was evil abroad," Glorfindel interrupted. "I said I sense larger game. It may just be deer but it could be wild pigs which means there could be a boar nearby. I’m just going to check to make sure."

"You seem to have gained some new powers while you were away," Finrod commented.

Glorfindel shook his head. "Not new powers, merely enhancement of talents that were already there but had not been developed as fully as they should have been."

"Then go and relieve us of the worry," Arafinwë said, "and don’t be afraid to bring back something for dinner."

They all laughed at that and Glorfindel gave them a cheeky smirk before heading off, but stopped after a few steps and turned to Sador. "Want to tag along?" he asked.

Sador’s eyes widened and all he could do was nod. "Grab a hunting knife then," Glorfindel ordered and the younger ellon hurried to do as he was bid. Glorfindel and Finrod exchanged knowing smiles and when Sador was ready the two loped off towards the path, quickly disappearing into the brush as the path curved away behind the trees.

"I think Glorfindel is just acting the older brother," Finrod answered. "Sador is the youngest of us Reborn in terms of experience and I think he sometimes feels left out of things because he doesn’t have the same kind of history as the rest of us."

"Well, while Glorfindel and Sador are checking out dinner," Arafinwë said and there were chuckles all around, "why don’t we sit and discuss what we should do next?"

They did so, gathering around the main campfire, drinking wine. As soon as they were settled, Arafinwë addressed Gilvagor. "I hope that the islanders actually know that we are here and why."

Gilvagor nodded. "Yes, they do. However, there was enough talk among some of them complaining of, and I quote, those damn Amaneldi interfering," he blushed somewhat as several eyebrows shot up, "that those of us who welcome your presence felt it prudent to keep this as low-key as possible."

"You should find a better welcome when we come to Kortirion," Haldir added. "There are many there who are looking forward to seeing some of you." He cast a glance at Finrod and Beleg, both of whom sighed almost as one, causing the others to smile.

"I have arranged for you to stay at an estate just outside Kortirion owned by Lady Meril. It is called Cormë Alalvëa."

"Lady Meril?" Finrod asked, his brows furrowed in thought as if seeking an elusive memory. "Do I know her?"

"Possibly," Gilvagor said with a nod. "She is the wife of Lord Gildor Inglorion."

"Of course!" Finrod exclaimed. "I’d forgotten that. Meril was one of Galadriel’s ladies-in-waiting and Gildor was part of my entourage whenever I visited Doriath. So, did Gildor also come West?"

Gilvagor shook his head. "Nay. He remained in Endórë, but Lady Meril began to weary of those lands after Doriath fell and when the way was opened for the elves to return to Valinor she decided to sail with Lady Galadriel’s blessing. I understand Lord Gildor was most distressed at her decision but he was not willing to forsake the Outer Lands just yet and their parting was somewhat bitter. At any rate, she built the estate and holds it for the time when her lord comes. It’s quite a prosperous farm and there will be plenty of space for all. She is looking forward to meeting all of you."

"In the meantime," Haldir said, "you should spend some time here in Tavrobel and speak to its inhabitants." He turned to Olwë. "Many here are Sindar who once dwelled in the coastal cities of Beleriand and called Círdan their lord. The same is true of those living in Avallónë. Most of the Noldor tend to live inland, either in Kortirion or in smaller villages and estates outside the city."

"And the very few Nandor who decided to sail tend to live in the forested areas further afield and have little commerce with the rest of us," Gilvagor added.

Arafinwë nodded. "I remember Sador telling me that it was difficult to find any to speak to when he was here."

"The Noldor seem to feel shame for the most part," Gilvagor replied, "considering their rebellion, though in truth many of them were born in Beleriand. I suspect that any sense of shame is inherited, passed down from their parents who were part of the rebellion. The Sindar are wary but not necessarily hostile. Some are beginning to regret coming here, feeling they are being punished along with the Noldor when they had done nothing wrong as far as they are concerned."

"A situation that needs to be addressed," Arafinwë said. He looked at Ingwion. "Has Ingwë ever mentioned to you why the Sindar are not being allowed to leave the island?"

"Actually, Lord Námo explained it to me," Ingwion replied. "He said that those who come from Beleriand are... shadowed, was the word he used. They have been infected by Melkor’s evil whether they are aware of it or not and it will take time for them to be cleansed of the... corruption — his word, not mine."

"So I gathered," Arafinwë said. "And Glorfindel told us that the Valar have plans to open the lands south of the Pelóri to us at some future time. Perhaps they are merely waiting for this... cleansing to take place first."

"Yet, there are always elves sailing West," Gilvagor pointed out. "If their presence pollutes us..."

"I think the opposite will happen," Olwë remarked. "You who have been here the longest will help to cleanse the newcomers of the corruption and perhaps as new waves of elves arrive, those who have been here for some time will be encouraged to leave and begin the task of colonizing the new lands."

"At any rate, if the issue arises, we will address it," Arafinwë said. "Our main objective is to address the problem of leadership which you and Laurendil tried to solve earlier."

"I still think having Finrod assume leadership would solve the problem," Laurendil said. "There are none here who would dispute his claim for they have nothing but respect for him, remembering his kingship in Nargothrond."

"Perhaps," Finrod said, "but I do not desire such a role nor do I think installing a king will work, for then the question arises, which king? Someday soon those who held kingship in Beleriand will be released from Mandos. Which of them has the better claim over the Tol Eressëans? I think it best that you find a different way."

"Hopefully, this Progress will help us to find a viable solution to this problem, one that the islanders will accept," Olwë said and Arafinwë nodded.

"So, once Glorfindel and Sador return, I think we should visit Tavrobel and see what there is to see," the Noldóran said.

"Might I suggest that you go in small groups rather than all together," Gilvagor said. "I think it will be less threatening for the people there."

"I agree," Arafinwë replied. "So, let us spend some time deciding who will go with whom and how we will coordinate this."

It took some time and several disagreements before everyone was satisfied as to the make up of the different groups who would visit Tavrobel and it was only after they had settled the matter that Finrod looked about, an expression of concern on his face.

Others looked about as if expecting to see the two ellyn suddenly appear in their midst, their own expressions ones of dismay.

"I’m going after them," Finrod said, rising from where he had been seated. "Who wants to come along?"

There was a chorus of voices all volunteering but in the end Finrod chose Gilvagor, who was the most familiar with the land, and Beleg, as well as Edrahil and Mithlas, asking Haldir, Eregil and Celepharn to watch over the kings and the ellith along with the rest of the guards. Armed with bows and arrows, and in Finrod’s case, a sword, the five ellyn made their way towards the path, tracing the route Glorfindel and Sador had taken earlier, while those left behind did their best not to worry.

Note: I borrowed Meril from Tolkien’s earlier versions of those dwelling on Tol Eressëa (see Book of Lost Tales I) where she is known as Meril-i-Turinqi who dwelled ‘in a great korin of elms’. Her being the wife of Gildor Inglorion is my own invention.

"So why did you invite me to come with you?" Sador asked as he and Glorfindel made their way along the path eastward towards the glade that Gilvagor had mentioned. The sound of the waterfall was getting louder.

"Hmm... I suppose," Sador said, his eyes glinting with mild suspicion as to what Glorfindel was getting at.

"Well, I thought it would be fun for the two of us to spend a little time together," Glorfindel continued blithely. "We’ve hardly had any time to ourselves of late."

"That’s true," Sador averred. "But why not ask Beleg along, as well, or even Finrod?"

Glorfindel stopped, raising a hand. "Hey! One brother at a time," he said with a laugh. "I doubt Beleg feels left out, as he knows you and I are sort of adopted brothers, calling Arafinwë and Eärwen ‘Atar’ and ‘Ammë’ as we do. And Finrod, as the oldest and Atar’s heir, has responsibilities that preclude him from always joining in on the fun."

"You’re going to have to tell me how you do that," Sador said as the two made their way into a smaller glade.

"Someday, perhaps," Glorfindel said and then he stopped, Sador right beside him, and looked about him with interest.

It was a smaller field than where they were encamped, but it was still quite beautiful. To the east a cliff rose from which the waterfall descended. It was not a high cliff, more like a bluff and they could see the land rising gently behind it. The water flowed northwestward towards the edge of the glade where it entered a small pool before rushing away to the sea. Rainbows glittered all about and there was a sense of serenity to the place that made them smile. Sador breathed a long sigh of pleasure.

Glorfindel just nodded, then pointed towards the pool and they made their way to it. The pool was not large nor did it appear to be very deep, but obviously it was a favorite watering hole for the forest denizens, for even Sador’s untrained eyes could pick out the different spoors of various animals along the pool’s edge. Glorfindel knelt beside one such set of prints that appeared fresher than the others.

"Wild pigs," Glorfindel answered as he stood. "Possibly there’s a boar. Keep a sharp lookout. I wish I had thought to bring a spear along. A charging boar could be too fast even for me to use my arrows against it effectively."

"Let’s hope it’s not in a charging mood, then," Sador quipped, though his expression was wary as he gazed about him.

Glorfindel gave him a chuckle. "Come. I think we should go this way. I want to cross over to the other side and the stream looks shallower here than closer to the waterfall." So saying, he led the way downstream a bit to where some rocks protruded out of the water, making a precarious ford. Luckily the stream wasn’t all that wide so they were able to make it across without mishap.

Once on the other side, Glorfindel returned to the pool to see if he could find any more spoors. Sador stayed out of his way, carefully keeping a watch on their surroundings. "It’s quite lovely here," he said suddenly. "I can see why it’s a favorite trysting place for lovers."

Glorfindel merely smiled as he rose. "Let’s head further up into the hills," was all he said.

They headed a little north of east to pass around the bluff, climbing slightly through the forest until they came to yet another clearing. This one was even smaller than the last. They were crossing it, heading east when a thrashing sound to their right alerted them. Glorfindel immediately moved to place himself between Sador and whatever was making the noise, his bow already strung and an arrow at the ready before Sador had time to register the fact that the ellon had even moved.

"Back up towards the trees," Glorfindel whispered, keeping his eyes in the direction of the thrashing noise that was getting louder by the second. "Slowly. Do not look behind you," he continued to instruct the ellon. "The trees are about fifty paces behind us. One step at a time. That’s it."

The two stepped slowly backward. Sador held his hunting knife in his hand, though he suspected it would be next to useless and was silently berating himself for not bringing his own bow or a spear. Glorfindel never even glanced back at him, keeping his eyes and his bow steady before him. Then, before they had gone even a dozen paces back, the bushes on the other side of the field were violently swept to the side and a boar came crashing through. They could see a spear lodged between its shoulders.

"Don’t run!" Glorfindel said firmly. "Stand your ground. When I tell you to, jump to your right."

Sador gulped nervously but did as he was told, resheathing his knife as he prepared to jump. In the few brief seconds before the maddened boar would be on them, Sador kept expecting Glorfindel to give the signal but as the boar came closer and closer the ellon never moved or spoke. Just when it seemed to Sador as if the creature was going to gore them, Glorfindel loosed his arrow, stringing another one and releasing it almost at once. "Now!" he shouted at the same time and Sador leapt to the right even as Glorfindel went left. The boar, meanwhile, squealed in pain as both arrows hit their mark, lodging in either eye. It stumbled a few feet as the momentum of its charge took it past them and then with a final grunt it collapsed to the ground, kicking futilely once or twice before becoming still. Sador released a breath of relief he didn’t know he was holding as he slowly picked himself off the ground. Glorfindel was already up and examining the boar.

"Looks as if there are hunters somewhere about," he commented as Sador joined him.

"They’re not going to be happy," Sador said. "We... I mean, you’ve taken their kill."

Before Glorfindel could comment, several ellyn came out of the woods following the path the boar had taken. Glorfindel and Sador turned to see a half dozen elves, Sindar and Noldor, running toward them. Most were carrying spears. None of them looked at all pleased to see them.

"That’s our boar!" one of the Sindar shouted in Sindarin as they came running to them.

Glorfindel gave them a scathing look. "I’m sorry," he said in the same language. "I don’t recall seeing your name written anywhere on it."

The six ellyn stopped about a foot from them, glaring belligerently. "What do you do here?" another of them demanded, this one a Noldo. "From your dress, you’re obviously from the mainland. Why are you here? Who are you?"

"My, my," Glorfindel replied rather haughtily, "we are an inquisitive bunch, aren’t we? And not a single courteous ‘Mae govannen’ among you."

"We did nothing of the sort," Glorfindel said with a disdainful sniff. "You’re welcome to it. Come, Sador, let’s be on our way."

"We’ll bag some rabbits on the way back," Glorfindel replied as he took Sador’s elbow. "I don’t fancy dragging a boar carcass all the way back anyway."

"Wait!" the Noldo exclaimed, blocking them with his spear. Glorfindel raised an eyebrow but otherwise stood his ground. The Noldo gave them the once-over, his gaze lingering on their warrior braids, especially Sador’s single braid. The young ellon tried not to blush at the scrutiny. He noticed that none of the hunters wore warrior braids, tying their hair back with leather strips. They also did not appear very old. The oldest, the Noldo who was blocking their way, was probably only a yén or three at the most, the youngest probably closer to Sador’s age.

"And still with all the questions," Glorfindel said with an exaggerated sigh. "Let me ask you one for a change. What are you children doing out alone without adequate supervision?"

Sador sucked in a breath in amazement at Glorfindel’s audacity even as the hunters all bristled, some of them raising their spears as if to threaten them. "Ah... brother," he said, deciding not to reveal Glorfindel’s identity, "in case you haven’t noticed, there are six of them and only one of you."

Glorfindel turned to him, his expression one of amusement. "Don’t you mean, two of us?"

"Coward," Glorfindel said with a laugh, giving the younger ellon a brief hug, "and six to one odds is just about right."

The hunters stared at them in bemusement. Then the Sinda who had spoken gave them a feral grin. "You think you can take us all on?" he sneered.

"Peace, Damrod," the Noldo said, not taking his eyes off Glorfindel and Sador, giving them a considering look. "I think we should all take a deep breath, step back, and start again."

"My name is Bronweg," the Noldo said, "my brother, Handir," he indicated another Noldo whose features clearly showed their kinship. "Damrod, you know," he continued, casting a wry look at the still belligerent Sinda, "and the others are Amlaith, Egalmoth and Balamir." Amlaith and Egalmoth were the other two Sindar, while Balamir’s name and his honey-brown hair spoke of a mixed heritage.

"Mae govannen," Glorfindel said politely, giving them a bow of his head. "Gil híla nan lû e-govaded vîn."

"That’s a Sindarin name," Damrod said with a suspicious frown. "Yet, you dress like one of those Amaneldi and why the single braid? What mockery is this?"

"No mockery," Glorfindel replied smoothly before Sador could answer. "Sador is originally from Doriath and the Havens of Sirion. He didn’t survive the kinslaying there."

"You call him ‘hanar’," Bronweg said, "not ‘gwador’, yet it’s obvious you two are not related."

The looks of bemusement on the hunters’ faces was priceless. Sador tried to hide a smile and failed. "You know, Glorfindel, I can speak for myself," he said, secretly pleased at the startled looks on the Tol Eressëans’ faces, not to mention the scowl on Glorfindel’s.

"Now look what you’ve done," Glorfindel glowered at Sador, though Sador could tell that it was all an act. "You’ve spoiled my surprise."

They all turned at the sound of a new voice and saw five ellyn approaching from the west. "So, what have we here?" Finrod asked as he and the others reached them. "Can’t I leave you two alone for five minutes without you getting into trouble?"

"What makes you think we’re in trouble?" Glorfindel demanded with an imperious look. "We’re merely meeting the locals."

Finrod raised an eyebrow and his companions all cast amused glances at the young ellon.

"Is that so?" Finrod asked, taking a quick look at the carcass. "Two arrows?" he asked, giving Glorfindel a disbelieving look.

"Huh!" Beleg said with disdain. "I would have made sure with just the one arrow."

Finrod turned to him with a smile. "We all know how deadly you are with a bow, Beleg, but please don’t rub it in. You know how sensitive Glorfi is about these things."

In the meantime, the six hunters were standing there with their eyes wide and their mouths hanging as legends kept coming to life in front of them.

"The one and only," Glorfindel replied, while Beleg just blushed and wouldn’t look at anyone.

"So, what are you doing here, Finrod?" Sador asked. "Acting responsibly was getting too boring for you?" One of the hunters let out a soft moan. Sador turned to see Damrod visibly reeling. He held out a hand to steady the ellon. "Easy now," he said softly. "Take a deep breath and let it out slowly."

"I think we’ve surprised them enough," Glorfindel said to Finrod, noticing the shocked faces of the other hunters. "Gilvagor, do you know these children?"

"No," the ellon replied, giving him a sardonic smile, "but then I don’t know everyone on the island. It is rather large after all."

Finrod nodded. "Come. We are all friends here. Why don’t we find some shade and take our ease. The boar isn’t going anywhere."

With that, Finrod took Bronweg’s arm and led him towards the very trees Glorfindel and Sador had been aiming for when the boar attacked. Sador followed his example and led Damrod while the others took charge of the other four hunters. Soon they were all seated under a tree and the hunters were beginning to regain their equilibrium. Bronweg was the first to recover fully. He gave Finrod and his friends a wary look.

"Why are you here?" he asked, his tone one of confusion rather than belligerence. It was Gilvagor who answered, though.

"You are aware that the kings of Aman planned to come to the island and visit, are you not?" he asked.

Bronweg and the others nodded. "We just didn’t think... I mean... we didn’t know when...." Bronweg’s voice trailed off in confusion.

Finrod smiled, hoping to put him and the others at ease. "We are keeping the visit as unobtrusive as possible," he explained, "for we realize that some of you might misconstrue our visit."

Finrod shook his head. "No, I’m sorry, I am not." Egalmoth’s face fell and Finrod reached out and put a comforting hand on the ellon’s arm. "It would be very dangerous for me to assume the kingship."

"For us all," Gilvagor answered. "Think about it. As each of the kings of Beleriand is released from Mandos, to whom will we give our allegiance? The Noldor among us will not recognize Elu Thingol as their lord, and those who gave their allegiance to Finrod or Turgon will not necessarily accept Fingolfin as king, assuming that any of them came here to live, which I think is doubtful."

"Besides," Finrod said, "we think it best if the people of Tol Eressëa find their own leaders and look to them for guidance. My atar and King Olwë are here to see if they can help you come to a solution to your situation. They do not plan to dictate to you to do this or that, but they will offer their advice based on their observations while visiting your people."

"Actually, we did, in a way," Gilvagor answered. "Do you recall last year when Lord Laurendil and I went to Tirion?"

"Oh yes," Balamir said. "I was working on the docks when you and Lord Laurendil came with some others. I didn’t know why you were there, though. You actually went to them for help?" He nodded towards Finrod and Glorfindel.

"Yes," Gilvagor answered tersely. "Or rather, we went to seek their advice. Do not forget, we Noldor once were of Tirion and nominally look to Arafinwë as our king."

"But only you Noldor," Damrod pointed out. "That cannot be said for those of us who are Sindar or Nandor."

"Nor can it be said for all the Noldor who live here," Bronweg added. "My parents were born in Beleriand as were I and Handir, and though we are Noldor by blood we do not necessarily see this Arafinwë as our natural lord."

"True," Gilvagor averred, "but we, I mean Lord Laurendil and those of us who accompanied him, thought that an outside perspective might be useful. You have to admit that no one has emerged as a natural leader of our people. And what happened to Sador when he was visiting Tol Eressëa is proof of that."

The hunters stared at the ellon and his single braid and then a light dawned in Handir’s eyes. "You’re the one who was kidnapped, aren’t you?" he asked.

Sador nodded. "They cut off one of my braids as a warning to my friends, but I managed to escape from them before they could harm me further."

"I was looking for news about my family," Sador replied, electing not to speak about the failed embassy to the Tol Eressëan guilds. "I died without ever knowing if they survived the attack at the Havens."

"That’s true," Gilvagor said. "In fact, I was helping him with his enquiries."

"Why would anyone kidnap you for asking after your family, though?" Amlaith pressed. "Lots of people ask after kinfolk."

"Let’s just say that there were or are people on the island who would like nothing more than to stir up trouble between us and the Amanians," Mithlas said with a scowl, speaking for the first time. "I have spent much time with Lords Finrod and Glorfindel and others of Aman. In fact, Lord Finrod saved my life when I suffered the blood-trance." The hunters’ eyes widened at that revelation. "I, for one, welcome them," Mithlas continued, "and hope they will be able to offer us viable solutions to what ails us."

"We are hoping to speak to as many different people, nobles and commoners alike, as possible while we are here," Finrod said, "so we can have a good idea of what the people of Tol Eressëa are looking for. Perhaps you would care to join us at our encampment and speak to my adar about your thoughts, hopes and dreams for yourself and your people."

The hunters eyed one another and Bronweg, who seemed to be their leader, turned to Finrod with a nod. "I think I would like to speak further with you about this," he said. "All of us were either born here or came here as elflings. This is the only home we know."

"Then you all have a vested interest in the outcome of our visit," Finrod said, "perhaps more so than your parents and the others who came here from Ennorath."

The six ellyn nodded, then Damrod gave them a wicked grin. "We’ll even supply dinner," he said, pointing to the boar carcass.

Everyone laughed and soon they were trussing the boar onto one of the spears to carry it back to the encampment.

Gil híla nan lû e-govaded vîn: ‘A star shines at the hour of our meeting’.

Arafinwë watched his son head off in search of Glorfindel and Sador with his four companions and smiled somewhat wistfully.

"You wish you were going after Glorfindel and Sador as well," Olwë replied, giving him a shrewd look.

"It’s all right, yonya," the older ellon said with a sympathetic smile. "I would like to do the same, but you and I both know that our place is here while the young ones go off to have adventures."

"Too true," Arafinwë said ruefully. Then he shook his head as if to clear it of his thoughts and looked about the encampment. He smiled to see Amarië, Alassiel and Manwen sitting together in front of their pavilion laughing over something one of them had said. There was the usual bustle of servants and guards going about their business, but he noticed that Eregil and Celepharn were standing around looking a bit lost. Haldir was with them, studiously not looking at his atar, who was just as studiously not looking at anyone at all, standing beside the king’s standard and ignoring everyone and everything around him.

Arafinwë sighed. "Time to mend some fences and keep the Reborn too occupied to get into trouble," he muttered as he rose from his chair. Olwë stood as well.

"You deal with your subjects and I’ll take Celepharn and Eregil in hand," he said.

Arafinwë nodded and the two moved to where the three Reborn were standing. They looked up as the two kings approached, giving them their obeisance, the two younger ellyn looking suddenly nervous. Arafinwë spoke first. "Haldir, I think it time you and your atar and I had a talk."

"That is my wish," Arafinwë said with a smile. "Come. I would see you and your atar reconciled with one another. It will make for a more pleasant time for all of us." With that, he gestured for Haldir to join him. The ellon sighed, gave the other two Reborn a grimace and followed Arafinwë to where Pelendur was standing.

Olwë, in the meantime, smiled at the other remaining Reborn. "I understand you are both recently released from Lórien," he said.

"Yes, lord," Celepharn answered, keeping his eyes on the ground before him, not willing to look into the eyes of the Telerin king.

Olwë tilted his head as if in thought, then put a finger under Celepharn’s chin, forcing him to look up. Eregil just stood there in silence, casting a sympathetic look at his friend. "You have a Sindarin name but you are clearly Noldorin," he commented.

"Lord Celegorm," he replied and when Olwë gave him a puzzled look, clearly unfamiliar with the name, he added, "You would know him better as Turcafinwë."

Olwë’s eyes widened and his expression darkened somewhat with remembered pain. "I see," was all he said as he dropped his hand, releasing Celepharn, though the ellon did not now lower his gaze. Olwë stared at him for another moment or two, noticing the same conflicted look he had seen in other Reborn, especially among the Noldor. He realized that it was not so much an indication of shame for their past deeds as it was uncertainty that they would ever be accepted by others in spite of those deeds. For the Returnees, he suspected, this was even more a problem, for at least the Reborn had the experience of passing through Death and Judgment to Forgiveness and Acceptance by the Valar, but even so, the rejection of some of their own people must weigh heavily upon them. He stole a glance to where even now Arafinwë was speaking to Pelendur and Haldir and sighed. Then he turned his attention back to the two ellyn before him and gave them a smile.

"I would like to introduce you to my own guards," he said to them, "so you will know who is who and then perhaps you will tell me about yourselves. Do you have kin here on Tol Eressëa, do you know?"

The two ellyn gave one another uncertain glances and then Celepharn spoke, clearly confused. "You... you are not going to... to yell at me?"

Olwë looked surprised at the unexpected question. "Why should I yell at you?" he asked. "Did you do something that requires my yelling at you?" He was suddenly reminded of when his own children were very young and had asked a similar question.

Now Celepharn lowered his gaze, looking very young to Olwë. "I...I was at Alqualondë...."

"All judgments are rendered, all debts paid," Olwë quoted softly, remembering the words Findaráto had spoken in describing his own Judgment to him. "Is that not what the Valar say at the end of each Judgment?"

Both Reborn nodded, their eyes wide in surprise at hearing him quoting Lord Námo.

"Then, what is true for the Valar must be true for us all," Olwë continued. "I will admit that it took a long time for me to forgive what happened, and I almost came too late to the realization that my hatred and anger were self-destructive, but come to it I did and I have endeavored to put aside my grief and help my people to forgive what happened. I cannot say that I’ve been entirely successful, but I think in time we will be able to put that sorry event behind us. When Lord Námo began releasing the Teleri who had been slain, we who were there to welcome them learned quickly and to our dismay that they held no animosity toward their slayers. It was a sobering revelation and not all have been able to accept it."

He paused to let his words sink in and then he gestured for them to follow him. "Come. If you are to effectively guard our encampment, you should be introduced to the Telerin guards with whom you will share the watches." He led them toward where a number of warriors from both clans were congregated. "My chief guard is Elennen," Olwë continued. "He and Arafinwë’s chief guard, Calandil, share the captaincy and you will answer to them both...."

Arafinwë, with Haldir in tow, approached Pelendur who noticed them and stiffened. The king raised a hand to stay him. "We need to talk, the three of us," he said softly. "Come. Let us adjourn to my pavilion where we will have some privacy."

He did not bother to see if Pelendur obeyed him but made his way purposefully toward the center of the encampment where the pavilions of the two kings were situated. As he gestured for Pelendur and Haldir to proceed him into the pavilion he took a moment to glance to where Olwë was speaking to Celepharn and Eregil. He was aware of Celepharn’s history, for Findaráto had confided in him and wondered how Olwë would react upon learning it. He gave a mental shrug, realizing that it really was not his concern, then he entered the pavilion where the two who were his concern at the moment were standing, looking uncertain, the tension between father and son almost thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Please sit, both of you," he said, gesturing to where a dining table was set up along one side of the pavilion as he went to a sideboard on the other side and poured some wine into goblets, handing them to the two ellyn before taking his own seat. Father and son were sitting facing one another across the table while Arafinwë sat at the head. He sipped on his wine for a moment or two, watching the two ellyn not look at each other.

"I think it’s time to put a stop to this," he finally said, putting his goblet down. "Pelendur, you’ve had plenty of time to think about things and I had hoped you would return to us willing to reconcile with your son. It grieves me to see a family divided in this manner."

Pelendur shrugged. "I do not think, your Majesty, that I am the only person in Tirion who will not welcome back a wayward son or daughter."

"True, but we’re not talking about them," Arafinwë pointed out, "we’re talking about you. You are a member of my council and as such you are held to a higher standard of conduct. Your refusal to accept Haldir...."

"His name is Hallatiro," Pelendur interrupted, casting a dark look at his son who simply sat there staring at the table.

"His name is whatever he chooses it to be," Arafinwë replied, his tone and his expression cold, "or will you deny your son the right of essecilmë that you accord to others?"

Pelendur grimaced, but did not otherwise contradict the Noldóran. Arafinwë took another sip of wine as he looked at Haldir who was still staring at the table, seemingly ignoring them, though the set expression and the thinning of his lips told a different tale.

"As I was saying," the king continued, "as you are a member of my council I expect better from you. Others look to you to gauge their own responses and if they see that you will not welcome your son back, then they assume they can act accordingly where their own kin are concerned, whether Reborn or Returnee. That is an untenable situation, as far as I’m concerned."

"He defied me," Pelendur said with a scowl. "I forbade him from going and he defied me."

"Was he an elfling at the time?" Arafinwë asked, knowing full well the answer to that question.

"No, he wasn’t," Pelendur averred with some reluctance, "though he certainly was acting like one."

"Many of us were," Arafinwë said with a wry twist of his lips, "including, I might add, myself."

Now both father and son looked up at the king in surprise. Arafinwë nodded. "Oh yes. I acted in ways unbecoming of a lord of Eldamar. Not necessarily when we left Tirion, but afterwards, when I returned. I made certain assumptions and acted in a manner unbefitting a king."

"It wasn’t what I did, so much as what I didn’t do," Arafinwë said with equanimity.

"I do recall that you were absent from Tirion for some time," Pelendur said. "Eärwen was acting as your regent."

"Yes," Arafinwë said. "Never having had any real experience in governing our people, Lord Manwë felt it prudent to take me as his apprentice. I spent most of the time of the Darkening by his side."

Pelendur nodded. "I know that when you did return to us you ruled wisely and well, though your style of kingship differed greatly from how your atar ruled. I had my doubts at first, but soon came to appreciate what you were doing and have supported you all these long years since."

"For which I am grateful," Arafinwë said sincerely. "Which is why this intransigence of yours puzzles and grieves me. I would think my own example of welcoming Findaráto back would be the model for others."

"But your son did not willfully defy you," Pelendur said, "and that is something I cannot forget or forgive."

Arafinwë turned to Haldir. "What do you have to say about all this, son?" he asked gently.

Haldir sighed. "I was of age, and well beyond it," he replied. "I neither needed nor looked for approval of my actions from anyone. I did what I did because I felt it was the right thing to do... at the time."

"Following Fëanáro and killing your own kin was the right thing to do?" Pelendur sneered.

Haldir turned absolutely white and stood up so abruptly that he jostled the table, upsetting the goblets. Wine spilled from his goblet and spread across the table. Arafinwë and Pelendur were quick enough to grab their own goblets in time. Arafinwë scowled.

Haldir sat even as Pelendur stood. He rummaged about the sideboard and drew out a piece of cloth from a drawer, then wiped the wine from the table. Arafinwë, meanwhile, poured some more wine in all their goblets. When Pelendur resumed his own seat, Arafinwë gave him a dark look.

"Your son is not guilty of Kinslaying, Pelendur," he said. "Not all of us were following Fëanáro, and he reached Alqualondë with his people well before the rest of us. Haldir, I believe was following Turucáno’s banner and he forbade any of his people from joining in, either for Fëanáro or for the Teleri."

"What it got me was Gwilwileth, who is my beloved wife. What it got me was a sense of purpose and belonging and the respect of my Lord Glorfindel, for I became a member of his House and was one of his trusted captains. What it got me was a life of my choosing, rather than one of yours."

"And still you died," Pelendur retorted, not willing to acknowledge Haldir’s words.

Haldir gave him a sardonic smile. "More an accident than anything. We were already in the pass that would see us to safety. Lord Glorfindel and his people, including me, were the rearguard. The line of refugees was strung along the path leading into the pass for nearly a mile and my lord feared that the enemy would overtake us if the line did not move more quickly. He sent me ahead to speak with Lord Tuor. I was making my way toward the front when our worst fears were realized. Suddenly boulders were being thrown down upon us from above. One of them hit me. I was on the edge of the path and simply fell into the chasm below." He paused, his expression reflective. Arafinwë sat motionless, enthralled by Haldir’s tale. Even Pelendur eschewed making any comment. Then, with a sigh, Haldir continued speaking.

"I think I must have died almost instantly," he said. "I remember hearing shouting and then something struck me on the head and for an instant there was excruciating pain that was gone almost before my mind could register it. Then, from somewhere, I heard my name being called and then... and then I was... I was in Mandos, staring into the face of Lord Námo with no idea how I had gotten there."

Silence reigned within the pavilion. Arafinwë vaguely heard the sounds and voices of others in the encampment, but ignored them. He stared at Haldir compassionately and reached over to place a hand on the ellon’s arm. Haldir looked up.

"Glorfindel told me something similar," Arafinwë said softly. "He told me he had to hold Gwilwileth back, for she would have followed you into the chasm if he hadn’t."

"You have Glorfindel to thank for saving her, though he did not himself live too much longer after your own fall."

Haldir nodded, then looked at his atar. "I regret that I disappointed you, Atto, but you wanted for me what I did not want for myself. I do not regret leaving, for in doing so, I found myself and became the person I wished to become. I’m sorry you do not approve, but I will not stop being who I am just to please you. Emmë has forgiven me and welcomes Gwilwileth as my wife. I hope, in time, you can do the same, but I will not live the rest of my life running after you and begging you to accept me back into your life."

"I had such hopes for you," Pelendur said quietly. "I wanted only the best for you and all I saw was you throwing it all away on a whim."

"Not a whim, Atto," Haldir insisted. "I went from an honest desire to see new lands and to carve out a life for myself. Tirion, indeed all of Eldamar, was becoming too small for me and I wanted more."

For a moment or two no one spoke, then Pelendur gave Haldir a wistful look. "Were you... happy?"

Haldir nodded. "Yes, I was. In spite of our exile, many of us were content with what we had. Gondolin thrived for three hundred and eighty-five years and in that time I was the happiest I had ever been, especially when I found Gwilwileth. We were married only a short while before the end came, but now we have all the ages of Arda in which to be together." He paused for a moment and gave his atar a small shy smile. ""We’ve even been talking about... um... starting a family of our own."

Pelendur raised an eyebrow at that and cast a glance at Arafinwë who sat there smiling. "Don’t you think you should wait to have elflings until you’re no longer one yourself, son?" the Noldóran couldn’t help asking.

Haldir chuckled and blushed. "Gwilwileth thinks that having the responsibility of raising a child will help hasten my own maturity."

Arafinwë nodded, pursing his lips. "Your wife is very wise. She endured much in the centuries that followed your death, from what she’s told me. I would not discount her idea out of hand. I think, though, you should wait a little longer. You’ve only been out of Lórien for less than a year. There is plenty of time for making elflings." He winked and Haldir couldn’t help laughing, nodding in acknowledgment of Arafinwë’s words.

Pelendur gave his son a small smile. "Your amillë will be happy if you do have elflings," he said. "I know she despaired of ever seeing any children of yours when you left."

"And you, Atto?" Haldir asked quietly. "Will you welcome any child Gwilwileth and I bring forth?"

"An honest enough answer," Arafinwë said, seeing Haldir’s face fall. "I asked you to join me on this Progress, Pelendur, in the hope that you and your son will take some time to get to know one another again. Do you think you can put aside your animosity long enough to see Haldir as he is, not as you wished he could have been? And you, Haldir, can you give your atar the time and space he needs to come to terms with who you are now?"

Haldir nodded. "I will try if you will, Atto," he said, looking intently at Pelendur.

Pelendur did not speak, but he nodded his head. Arafinwë smiled. "Good. That is all I ask, that you both try. It is important to me that you two reconcile one with the other, not only for your own sakes but also for the sake of our people. We need to end these false divisions that are tearing our society apart and I think your reconciliation will go a long way toward healing those divisions."

Then he stood and the other two ellon stood as well. "So, let us see if my son has returned yet. I don’t fancy sending out a second party to rescue him as well as Glorfindel and Sador." He gave them a sardonic grin and the other two chuckled.

"I’ll head the next party that goes out," Haldir said. "I know this land almost as well as Gilvagor."

Arafinwë nodded as he left the pavilion with Pelendur and Haldir following. "Ah... but it looks as if you won’t have to, for see," he pointed eastward, "here comes Findaráto with our lost lambs. And it looks as if they brought not only dinner but guests as well. Shall we go greet them?"

Pelendur and Haldir grinned and nodded and the three made their way through the encampment towards the returning ellyn even as others were doing the same.

Essecilmë: (Quenya) ‘Name-choosing’, an Eldarin ceremony in which an elf chooses a name for him- or herself based on personal lámatyávë, or sound-taste.

Historical note: According to the Silmarillion, Turgon spent 52 years secretly building Gondolin, after being led by Ulmo to the hidden vale of Tumladen shortly after the Dagor Aglareb (Glorious Battle) which occurred in First Age 75. Gondolin fell in 512.

Haldir’s death is described from Glorfindel’s point-of-view in my story, ‘Morituri’, found in my Tales from Vairë’s Loom series.

Arafinwë, with Haldir and Pelendur in tow, met his son and the others about the same time as Olwë and the ellith reached them. Everyone exclaimed over the boar and asked for details. Finrod raised a hand, calling for silence.

"Let me first introduce our guests," he said mildly and some of the elves blushed and stammered apologies, casting interested and curious eyes upon the six ellyn who were standing about looking somewhat uncertain in the presence of all the Amaneldi.

"Atar, Anatar, may I present Bronweg," Finrod said, bringing the ellon closer to him, "and his brother, Handir. The others are Balamir, Damrod, Amlaith and Egalmoth. They all hail from Tavrobel or its vicinity." He then turned to the Tol Eressëans, speaking Sindarin. "This is my adar, Arafinwë, whom you would know better as Finarfin, and this is my daeradar, Olwë of Alqualondë."

"Hîr Finarfin," Bronweg said in Sindarin, as he gave Arafinwë a bow, his expression one of awe. "My adar has often spoken of you and the War of Wrath."

"I hope he has said only good things about me," Arafinwë answered in halting Sindarin, giving the ellyn a smile.

The Tol Eressëans gave him considering looks. "You speak Sindarin," Amlaith said unnecessarily, then blushed as he realized he’d stated the obvious.

"Very badly, I’m afraid," Arafinwë replied with a laugh, "but my sons say I am doing well."

"Didn’t I say Sador and I were adopted?" Glorfindel interjected with a wicked grin.

The Tol Eressëans all evinced surprise and dawning realization of what Glorfindel had meant as they cast considering glances between him, Sador, Finrod and Arafinwë. Then, other introductions were made with the Tol Eressëans switching to Quenya, though none of them spoke it very easily, except Balamir. Sador volunteered to act as a translator and the ellyn gave him grateful smiles while Arafinwë nodded his approval.

"I fear that will be something we will have to deal with while here," he said as he motioned for them all to gather around the campfire that had been set aside for the use of the kings and their entourage and take their ease. The boar was wisked away by the cooks with a promise that it would be the main attraction at that evening’s dinner.

"Not everyone has bothered to learn Quenya," Bronweg stated, "not even those of us who can claim Noldorin descent. Balamir probably speaks it better than any of us, but that’s because his naneth insisted he learn."

"And what of your parents?" Arafinwë asked. "I can tell that you and your brother are fully Noldorin."

The two brothers shrugged and it was Handir who answered. "My brother and I and our sister were all born in Lindon though our parents brought us here while we were still elflings. Quenya wasn’t spoken among the populace, only Sindarin. Our parents did begin teaching us Quenya once we came here, but Bronweg and I don’t really speak it well. Nimbrethil, our sister, is a better linguist and speaks it quite fluently."

"And the Quenya spoken among the Tol Eressëans is somewhat different from that spoken by the Noldor in Tirion," Finrod pointed out.

"Yes," Arafinwë said with a nod. "I remembered when you first returned to us that your Quenya sounded a bit slurred. Sometimes I wasn’t sure what you were saying." He gave Finrod a fond smile and Finrod smiled back.

"Well, as interesting as this may be," Olwë now interjected, "I’m more interested in learning the views these fine ellyn have about what they wish for their people. It is, after all, why we are here."

"Bronweg and Handir were telling us about their lives when they first arrived on the island as elflings while we were making our way back here," Finrod said. "They had a very interesting experience. Perhaps they will be willing to share it with all of you."

The Amaneldi gave the brothers interested looks and Bronweg nodded. "Yes, well, it happened shortly after our arrival. I wasn’t much older than about twenty-five or so at the time. Handir and I went out exploring with our sister one day. All this," he spread his arms to include the surroundings, "was untouched wilderness. Tavrobel wasn’t even a proper port city, just a few small houses clustered around the cove."

People nodded and Bronweg continued. "So, anyway, we went exploring. I was feeling upset because I had overheard our parents speaking about some... some Amaneldi coming and speaking to the adults in the community, telling us we were only there on sufferance."

There were many frowns from the group listening and Bronweg paused, unsure of the import. Arafinwë waved a hand in dismissal. "Do not concern yourself. This is something about which we have learned only recently. Olwë and I were unaware that any of our people had come here and said such things to you. We regret that it ever happened. One of our hopes in coming here is to show the Tol Eressëans that they are welcome here and that the kings of Eldamar wish you well."

"Adar said something similar when I asked him about it," Bronweg said. "He reminded me that the Valar had invited us to come and he suspected that the Amaneldi were just jealous. Even so, I think he and naneth have remained somewhat bitter toward the Amaneldi ever since."

There was an uncomfortable pause and then Arafinwë spoke. "Pray continue with your tale."

"Yes, well, as we were out exploring, a beautiful white fawn came to us and from its actions it was clear that it wished for us to follow it. Remember, this was all wilderness so it took us some time but eventually the fawn led us to the glade where the waterfall is."

"Ah, the lovers’ trysting place," Olwë said with a knowing smile once Sador had finished translating Bronweg’s words.

"Now it is," Handir said with a disgusted look on his face which set several elves laughing, "but at the time it was our secret hide-away."

"Interesting that a fawn would approach you in that manner and lead you to the glade," Ingwion said, giving them a considering look.

"If it were an ordinary fawn," Bronweg replied with a smile, "but as it turned out, it wasn’t. When we reached the glade the fawn had disappeared, but suddenly we were confronted with three Maiar."

There were gasps of surprise from the listeners. "What did you do? Were you not frightened?" Alassiel asked in excitement.

The two brothers nodded and Handir took up the narrative. "When we first saw them, we were ready to run, but they told us not to be afraid, saying that we were welcome now and always. Then they invited us to dance and we did. Later, we figured they must have overheard us talking about what the Amaneldi had said to our parents because Nimbrethil became very upset at the thought that we might have to leave the island. She was so happy that there were no orcs here."

Bronweg answered him. "Two of them named themselves People of Glurim... ah... Ingil and... um...."

"Lisselindë," Handir supplied when his brother’s memory seemed to fail him, "and the other said he was of the People of Manweg. His name was Olórin."

There were looks of surprise among the Amaneldi and excited murmurs, which stilled when Arafinwë raised a hand for silence. "A most interesting tale," he said. "Some of us are well acquainted with the Maiar you mentioned."

"Yes, most interesting," Olwë said. "I’m sure the Maiar’s message was of much relief to your parents when you told them."

Now the two brothers looked somewhat sheepish. Bronweg cleared his throat. "Actually, we never did tell them." He shrugged at the inquisitive expressions on the older elves’ faces. "I think at the time we decided it was just our secret and besides, we didn’t want to tell them about the glade in case they forbade us from going there again."

"Understandable," Arafinwë said with a nod, "though a pity as I think telling your parents would have proven beneficial to them. They may not have continued in their bitterness."

"Well, we heard stories from others, and these were adults, who claimed to have had strange encounters with Maiar about the same time as we did, but no one really believed them," Handir said with a shrug. "Another reason to keep quiet." Bronweg nodded.

"Is that why you never told us the story?" Amlaith asked, giving his friends a curious look.

Bronweg nodded. "More or less. Don’t forget, you and Damrod were not even born yet and Egalmoth and Balamir were yet babes."

"Handir and I and our sister all were," Bronweg said, "but Amlaith, Damrod and Egalmoth were born here."

"I was actually born in Lindon," Balamir said, "but my family sailed when I was not yet two. Tol Eressëa is the only home I remember."

"The kings are concerned about the lack of leadership among us," Gilvagor said, addressing the six hunters. "That is why they are here."

"No," Olwë said firmly. "To offer suggestions. I will admit that I and my people have studiously ignored your presence, but as my son-in-law has reminded me, we are all elves and we are all living here. You of Tol Eressëa are as much a part of Eldamar as Alqualondë, even though we Teleri tend not to mingle with the other Amaneldi. It is to the benefit of all that there exist a stable government on Tol Eressëa, whatever its shape."

"We’ve been getting by all right so far," Amlaith said with a frown. "Here in Tavrobel we have a council made up of merchants, sea captains and guildmasters who meet on a regular basis to discuss any problems that might arise."

"Yet, you know that there has been some tension between Tavrobel and Kortirion of late," Haldir pointed out. "And it was recently discovered that some of our guildmasters deliberately set the cost of imported goods at a ridiculously high price, blaming it on the Amaneldi when in fact they had nothing to do with it. I think if any of our kings had been in charge, such would not have happened."

"Yet, which king?" Damrod asked. "All my life I’ve heard the older elves speak of the kings of old: Elu Thingol, Fingolfin, Fingon, Turgon and even you, my lord Finrod, and now the newer arrivals speak of this Gil-galad. They pine for what they can no longer have and cling to outdated ideas of what constitutes proper government." He scowled and shook his head. "I would fain have nothing to do with kings. They only cause trouble to my mind."

"Is this how you all feel?" Finrod asked quietly. Bronweg and Handir nodded, the others just shrugged.

Laurendil then spoke up, addressing Arafinwë and Olwë. "And their feelings are not unique," he said. "All through the island you hear similar complaints, especially from the younger elves who know only Tol Eressëa as their home and have no memory of either Beleriand and their High Kings or Aman before the Darkening. Their parents speak of the various kings with fondness. Some even speak of the Fëanárioni in the same vein. And while they were not kings, they did rule their own demesnes and were high in the councils of the Noldorin Exiles."

Finrod nodded. "Nelyafinwë and Macalaurë, especially," he said, then turned to Bronweg and the other hunters. "You would recognize them as Maedhros and Maglor." Light of understanding brightened their eyes and they all nodded. "And of course there’s Elu Thingol to consider as well," Finrod continued. "Those who once hailed from Doriath would be loath to accept any of the Noldor as their overlord."

"True," Sador said. "Even at the Havens of Sirion, while we of Doriath nominally accepted Lord Tuor and then his son Eärendil as our lords, it was always to Lady Elwing that many looked for guidance. I have since learned that only because there were so few Iathrim remaining after the War of Wrath that they either accepted Gil-galad as their king or sailed here to Tol Eressëa."

"It’s a melting pot of many conflicting histories, cultures and loyalties," Gilvagor said. "The center cannot hold for there is none."

"Which is why the embassy was sent in the first place," Laurendil said, "to hopefully find a solution to this problem, a problem we of Tol Eressëa seem unable or unwilling to resolve ourselves."

"When I was here before," Sador added, "I sensed that Tol Eressëa was an explosion waiting to happen." He cast a faint smile at Finrod and Glorfindel. "I kept wishing you two were with me. I was sure you would know what to do."

The two ellyn gave snorts of amusement. "Not likely," Glorfindel said. "If anything, we would probably have set off the explosion by our presence at the time."

"You may even yet," Gilvagor said with a grim smile. "You are both legends and heroes, as is Beleg."

"What was the mood of those Tol Eressëans who participated in the tournament once they returned here?" Ingwion asked.

Haldir smiled as did Gilvagor and even the younger Tol Eressëans seemed to brighten. It was Damrod who spoke first. "When they got back, all they could talk about was the tournament. I was soon regretting not attending even though I wouldn’t have participated as I’m not trained in the warrior arts."

The other five hunters nodded enthusiastically. "My brother and I were kicking ourselves for not going," Bronweg said. "Perhaps if there is ever another tournament held we will go. We are both craftsmen and would like to see our trade expanding."

"I’m sure Ingwë will hold another tournament," Arafinwë said with a smile. "In spite of some unfortunate incidents, most of them concerning either Finrod or Glorfindel," — the Amaneldi all laughed lightly at that while the two ellyn in question blushed — "I would say that overall the tournament was a success."

"Lord Námo didn’t think so," Glorfindel couldn’t help saying, "at least not completely. He said that while the original purpose for the tournament was never fully realized, nevertheless, it wasn’t a complete failure because bonds of friendship and camaraderie were being forged between the various contestants and that was a good thing."

"I agree," Olwë said. "I saw how the warriors and archers, whatever their origins, treated one another with respect and admiration, at least for the most part. If Ingwë decides to hold another tournament I plan to encourage my own people to at least attend if not participate. I think they could only benefit from the experience. It’s time we put an end to our isolationistic point of view. It simply is no longer tenable."

"And that is what we are hoping to achieve here on Tol Eressëa with this Progress," Arafinwë said, "to start breaking down the barriers so that we stop thinking of ourselves as either Amaneldi or Tol Eressëans; as Noldor, Vanyar, Teleri, or Sindar; as Native, Immigrant, Returnee or even Reborn. We are all elves and once we were a single people. It’s time we were again."

All the elves scrambled to their feet in shock at the sight of Oromë standing in their midst along with Vána. As the elves gave them their obeisance (the six hunters were a little slow, standing there slack-jawed in amazement), the Valar smiled broadly. Oromë cast a fond look at Sador and Beleg and then turned his attention to Bronweg and Handir, both of whom gulped at being the center of the Vala’s attention.

"Well, now you can go and tell your parents and anyone else who will listen that you dined with two of the Valar, as well as with these worthy elves from Aman."

"Dine?" Olwë said with an amused look. "Odd. I don’t remember issuing an invitation."

"Must have gotten lost in the bay as we were making the crossing," Glorfindel quipped and suddenly they were all laughing, Oromë and Vána the loudest.

"The boar smells delicious," Vána said once everyone calmed down, "and we brought dessert."

"Wild berry pie," Oromë said, giving Sador and Beleg a knowing grin and a wink.

"I hope you made more than one, then," Beleg said to Vána with a sly smile, "else none of us will get any."

"Lord Oromë just loves wild berry pie," Sador piped in, giving everyone a knowing grin.

Both Oromë and Vána smirked. "Don’t worry. I made one pie just for him. The rest of you, however, will have to be content with a single slice."

Beleg and Sador responded by both sticking out their tongues at the Vala and Oromë threw back his head and laughed, taking both ellyn into his embrace and hugging them.

"Then be welcome to our humble gathering, my lord and lady," Arafinwë said with a bow. "Will any of the other Valar be joining us?"

"If they are, they haven’t told us," Oromë said with a smile. "But don’t worry. If any of them do show up, they’re not getting any wild berry pie."

Olwë then issued orders for trestles to be laid out under the nearby trees and when the cooks announced that dinner was ready, everyone sat where they pleased, for the Valar insisted on no ceremony and the two kings agreed. Thus, to Bronweg and Handir’s everlasting delight, they found themselves seated on either side of Lady Vána while their four friends were seated with the kings, Ingwion, Finrod and Glorfindel. Lord Oromë sat between Sador and Beleg at another table along with Amarië, Alassiel, Laurendil, Manwen and Eärnur. Gilvagor, Mithlas, and Haldir sat with the other guards, including Celepharn, Eregil and Edrahil. At the last moment, Pelendur chose to sit across from his son, which surprised Haldir, but he gave his atar a shy smile and the two were careful to speak in generalities, allowing those around them to choose the topics of conversation.

The meal was long and merry and in the end everyone got two pieces of wild berry pie, which made them very happy indeed.

Iathrim: Sindarin name for the people of Doriath, literally "Fence-people" in reference to Melian’s Girdle.

Note: The attentive reader will recognize Bronweg and Handir and their tale from my Tapestry story ‘WICKED: Maiar Games’.

"Will not your families be worrying for you?" Arafinwë asked the six ellyn once the meal was over and they were all seated around the campfire, along with the two Valar. "It’s getting late."

Bronweg shook his head. "We were not intending to return until the morrow," he told them. "We six are in the habit of going hunting every once in a while and camping out. In fact, we left our gear elsewhere while we were out hunting."

"Why don’t one of you show us the way to your camp," Haldir said, "and we will help you to move. You might as well spend the night here as anywhere and this way we can accompany you back to Tavrobel in the morning."

"Haldir is correct," Olwë said. "Take some of our guards with you and bring your things here."

Bronweg looked at his brother and friends and one by one they all nodded. Balamir volunteered to show the Amaneldi the way. Haldir said he would accompany him and Celepharn and a Telerin guard named Eäralato were chosen to go, as well. Soon the four ellyn were on their way and the others settled back to enjoy the evening, speaking of many things, not all of them having to do with the Progress.

At one point Glorfindel turned to Oromë with a question. "Some of the Maiar told me that the Valar eventually plan to open the lands south of the Pelóri to us. Do you know when that will happen?"

"Not for some time yet," the Vala answered truthfully. "Those lands were a wasteland before the rising of Anar and many evil creatures still abide there. You know that."

Glorfindel nodded. "I was hoping that in all this time the danger would have lessened enough so some could begin colonizing the land."

"Would it not be better if we elves did the clearing out?" Gilvagor asked. "After all, if those lands are destined to become ours, we would have a vested interest in seeing the lands safe for our families."

Oromë did not answer immediately and some there wondered if he was not bespeaking to his fellow Valar at that moment, but before the silence became too long, he looked up and smiled. "It is something I have said to my brethren, especially since we opened Tol Eressëa to you, but Lord Manwë feels you need more time."

"And you are not speaking solely of the Tol Eressëans, are you, lady?" Finrod asked, giving the Valar a shrewd look.

"No, child," Vána replied. "There must be healing on all sides before we Valar will allow any expansion of your territories here in Aman. We do not want another revolt on our hands."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments as the elves all contemplated the Valië’s words, but finally, Arafinwë spoke. "Another revolt would not be a good thing," he said quietly, staring into the flames of the campfire.

"Now who’s stating the obvious?" Olwë couldn’t help saying, giving his son-in-law a wide grin. Arafinwë chuckled but did not offer any apology.

"Sometimes the obvious needs to be stated in order to be acknowledged," Oromë said, his expression one of amusement.

Just about then, Haldir, Balamir and the two guards returned, lugging camping gear and several people went and helped them with it. Oromë and Vána took their leave and shortly thereafter most of the elves were settling in for the night save for those on watch.

"Tomorrow we will go into Tavrobel and begin speaking with the people," Arafinwë said to the others before they all went to their beds, filling in Glorfindel and Sador as to what had been decided earlier while they were away from the encampment.

"Assuming any will speak to us," Sador retorted. "They were very reluctant to speak to me when I was here." He turned to Gilvagor with a scowl. "My warrior braids weren’t as good an introduction as you said they would be."

"And for that, I apologize," Gilvagor answered. "I was unaware of what was truly going on among these people at the time."

The original plan of who would go into Tavrobel was altered slightly by the presence of the six ellyn. Together with Gilvagor and Haldir, they volunteered to ‘lead’ one of the groups, introducing the Amaneldi to their friends and family. "Perhaps in more intimate settings than the open market people will be more willing to talk to you," Bronweg suggested and the kings took up their offer with gratitude.

Thus, Bronweg and Handir took the three ellith to meet their sister and parents. Accompanying them were Eärnur and Eregil. Amlaith and Balamir, along with Mithlas agreed to take Olwë, Lindarion, Beleg and Elennen. Arafinwë and Ingwion, along with Pelendur, Calandil and Celepharn went with Gilvagor and Haldir, while Finrod, Glorfindel, Sador, Laurendil and Edrahil accompanied Damrod and Egalmoth.

"Do we dare let Finrod and Glorfindel be in the same group?" Olwë asked Arafinwë, giving him a wry look as they watched the ellyn setting out. It had been decided that the four groups would not leave all at once. The group with the ellith had left first, and now Finrod’s group was leaving. Olwë and Arafinwë would set out together, but their groups would separate when they reached the city as they would be heading in different directions.

Arafinwë shrugged. "Sador and Laurendil will make sure they stay out of trouble." Olwë gave a nod of acknowledgment. "I’m rather surprised that Beleg didn’t insist on joining them," the Noldóran continued, giving a knowing look at the former Marchwarden who was speaking with Lindarion and Mithlas.

Olwë gave him a wistful look. "I think he might be feeling... guilty." When Arafinwë raised an eyebrow in surprise, Olwë nodded. "We are kin, uncle and nephew, but while I have accepted him as such, he has had a harder time of it. I think he regrets his earlier snubbing of my attempts to welcome him as family."

"I see," Arafinwë said. "Let us hope that this time together proves fruitful for you both and for Lindarion as well. Beleg has no other family but you and your children."

"And you and yours," Olwë pointed out with a smile. "Finrod is his cousin also through Eärwen."

"Hmm.... all these family connections are becoming too confusing," Arafinwë quipped and the two kings laughed.

Finally, everyone was ready and they set out, leaving the rest of the guards at the camp along with the staff. The Tol Eressëans assured the kings that no one would molest the camp while they were away and they had to be content with that.

"But if anybody from the town approaches," Olwë told Eäralato, who was now in charge of the camp, since Elennen and Calandil were going with the kings, "greet them courteously and let them know why we are here."

"And here is a token," Gilvagor added, handing the Teler a seal ring made of gold. The seal showed a five-pointed star with an ‘E’ rune on one side and a ‘G’ rune on the other. "If you show them this and say that I, Lord Gilvagor, gave this to you, you should be fine."

Eäralato took the proffered ring and studied it carefully and with great curiosity. He looked up at the Noldo. "May I ask, lord, what significance this ring has and how will any elf of the island recognize it."

"The Cirth runes," Gilvagor stated, pointing to them. "They stand for ‘Ereinion Gil-galad’. This was given to me as a parting gift from the High King himself for friendship’s sake and for the many yéni of service I rendered him. Just about any elf of Tol Eressëa will recognize the seal as belonging to Gil-galad and my name is well known among the islanders even if my face is not."

Eäralato nodded and tucked the ring inside a pouch on his belt, then gave them all a bow before turning to his men to set the watch. The others made their way out of the camp towards the town.

"A princely gift," Lindarion stated as he walked beside Gilvagor. "You must have stood high in this Gil-galad’s regard."

"May I ask then, what induced you to leave your king’s side to come here?" the Telerin prince asked, his tone politely curious.

"Like many elves I began to suffer the Sea-longing," Gilvagor answered readily enough. "Unlike many, though, I recognized the signs as did Gil-galad. He insisted I come before I was too overwhelmed to make a conscious decision. He did not want to force me onto a ship."

"Only for the one suffering it," Gilvagor stated with a wistful smile. "I did not truly wish to leave Endórë or my king, yet I recognized the wisdom of his words and agreed to sail. That seal ring was Gil-galad’s parting gift to me so that no matter where I was I would always know that I was his liegeman still. That ring and what it means has given me great comfort. Someday it is my hope that I will be able to return it to the one to whom it belongs."

Lindarion and the others who heard Gilvagor’s words looked thoughtful as they reached the outskirts of the town. There the two groups separated. Olwë’s group would be heading towards the cove, for Balamir’s family lived nearer to the wharf district and the Teleri were naturally interested in seeing the ships. Gilvagor was planning to take Arafinwë and his group on a general tour of the town, planning to end up at the Blue Dolphin Inn where he, Netilmírë and Sador had stayed.

"It’s a good place for lunch and for meeting locals in an informal setting," Gilvagor told them when he explained where he meant to take them. "Also, I thought you would be interested in seeing where Lady Netilmírë and I had an interesting conversation with a certain Maia," he added with a wry smile.

Arafinwë nodded in agreement. "Yes. I would be most interested in seeing the inn and thanking the people there for the hospitality they showed towards Sador and Netilmírë. So, lead the way, Gilvagor. Today, I plan to be nothing more than a curious visitor gawking at the sights."

Gilvagor and Haldir laughed. "Not much in the way of sights, lord," Haldir said, "but I think you’ll enjoy your visit here nonetheless."

"Our first stop," Gilvagor then said as the group set off, "will be the central square. It’s where the town council meets on a regular basis. The council is comprised of sea captains, guildmasters and the more prosperous merchants. You will notice that the architecture of the buildings is a blend of Noldorin and Sindarin sensibilities, though Sindarin forms tend to dominate...."

Eärnur was feeling somewhat outnumbered. On the one hand were the three ellith who were speaking amongst themselves with Manwen pointing out certain landmarks to them, but most of their conversation seemed to center around Manwen’s baby. On the other hand Eregil was speaking to Bronweg and Handir in rapid Sindarin, far too quickly for him to make out more than a word or two, for his own knowledge of the language was still limited. It seemed the three ellyn were discussing who among the Tol Eressëans might remember Eregil, but that was as much of the conversation as he could figure out.

And there he was in the middle of the group ignored by all. He was now wishing he were with one of the others. Ostensibly, he had agreed to accompany the ellith because they were still insisting on helping him find a suitable begetting gift for his sister, but now....

He shook his head, wondering, not for the first time, just what he was doing there and why Lord Irmo insisted he come. He’d been all set to go to Alqualondë and had been looking forward to visiting his family again. Glancing about as they wandered along a particular street he could see well-kept houses, mostly made of wood, and gardens. The architecture was a little off, to his way of thinking, but not unduly so and he admired the splashes of color on doors and window frames, though the houses themselves were left untouched.

"Why are all the buildings made of wood?" he asked suddenly, breaking into the other conversations, startling them. He noticed with grim satisfaction the guilty looks on some of their faces, as if they only just realized that he was with them.

"There is little in the way of stone for building in this part of the island and importing them from elsewhere is too prohibitive," Bronweg finally answered. "That’s how the town got it’s name."

"Here we are," Bronweg then said, pointing to a house trimmed in turquoise paint. "This is our home."

"It’s lovely," Amarië said with a smile and the others nodded. Bronweg and Handir looked both pleased and embarrassed at the same time.

"Come," Bronweg said. "Our parents and sister are probably in the workshop behind the house." He led them along a path that wended its way to the right through a small garden full of summer flowers. As they came around to the back, Eärnur could hear the steady pounding of a hammer and the clacking of a loom. He saw a large wooden structure open along one side, neatly divided into two rooms by a low wall. On the right was a carpenter’s workshop where an ellon was industriously nailing together pieces of what appeared to be a clothespress. On the left were two looms and they were both in use.

The three in the workshop looked up as they approached, their eyes widening. The ellon stood up, hammer in hand. "You’re back earlier than expected," he said, speaking Sindarin.

By now the two ellith at the looms had risen and had come to stand at the front, their gazes more curious than anything.

"From the mainland, you say?" the older of the two ellith said, speaking Sindarin as well. "Why would anyone from the mainland be wandering around Tavrobel unless it is to cause trouble?"

Manwen stepped forward just then. "No trouble, I assure you," she said in the same language.

Now there were looks of surprise on the faces of the ellon and ellith. "You speak our language!" the ellon said almost accusingly.

Manwen raised a delicate eyebrow. "And why should I not, for I, too, come from Beleriand, though I now make my home in Lórien."

Now Bronweg stepped in and this time spoke in halting Quenya. "Let me make the introductions," he said. "Atar, Ammë, this is Lady Manwen, Lord Laurendil’s wife, and these are Lady Alassiel, Lady Amarië, Eärnur and Eregil. This is our atar, Boromir, our ammë, Morwen, and our sister, Nimbrethil."

"Lord Laurendil!" Boromir exclaimed, speaking Quenya now. "You are his wife?" Manwen nodded.

"We heard rumors that you and he were taken prisoners by the Amaneldi," Morwen ventured, giving their group a dark look mixed with uncertainty.

There were exclamations of dismay from said Amaneldi and Manwen shook her head. "Prisoners! Whyever would anyone think such a thing?"

"You did not return with Lord Gilvagor and the others," Boromir stated, "though rumor had it that your husband was seen on the island for a short time."

"Indeed," Manwen said. "He came to rescue a friend who was being held prisoner here. But neither Laurendil nor I have been kept from returning to Tol Eressëa against our wills. In fact, we now reside in Lórien, for when we were in Tirion, the Noldóran, knowing of my interest in the healing arts, suggested I go to Lórien and ask Lord Irmo for permission to become one of his apprentices, which permission he granted. In that time, Laurendil, too, found a new calling as a healer and is now an apprentice to Lord Irmo, as well."

It was Bronweg, though, who answered. "We met these people and others yesterday while hunting. They have come to Tol Eressëa in response to that embassy that Lords Laurendil and Gilvagor headed last year. These people have come to see for themselves how we live in the hopes that there will be closer communion between our two peoples. Not all Amaneldi are like those who visited us when we first came here, telling us we were unwanted."

"Indeed, your son speaks truly," Amarië said. "When my betrothed and his family heard of it, it sorely grieved them and so they decided to come and assure the good people of Tol Eressëa that you are welcome."

"We have been living here for quite some time, but only now do you come to welcome us?" Boromir demanded with a scowl.

"What is it they say, better late than never?" Eregil piped up with a smile. "I know little of what has happened here or elsewhere, for I am newly released from Mandos and am not even sure where I will be welcomed."

Boromir, Morwen and Nimbrethil gave him surprised looks and then Nimbrethil turned to Amarië with a shy smile. "Who is your betrothed?"

Amarië smiled at the ellith. "You would know him as Finrod Felagund," she answered and there were gasps from Morwen and Nimbrethil, while Boromir merely raised an eyebrow.

"Do we really need to be standing around staring at one another?" Handir suddenly asked, looking rather disgusted. "We promised these good people a warm welcome, but so far all you’ve done is interrogate them."

Morwen was the first to recover, blushing slightly. "My son is correct," she said. "Please accept our apologies. I’m afraid we’ve had little to do with the Amaneldi and our encounters have not been happy ones."

"We are aware of this," Amarië said, "and when the kings learned of it they were dismayed. The truth is, not all were happy with the Valar’s decision to open up Tol Eressëa to you. It was only when Lord Laurendil and his embassy came to speak with the Noldóran that we came to the realization that we could no longer ignore you and your problems were our problems. Atar Arafinwë is constantly telling us that we are all of Aman now and can no longer pretend otherwise."

Boromir nodded. "I remember Finarfin in the War of Wrath," he said. "But come, you are all welcome here. Let us sit and you may tell us about yourselves and I would be interested in knowing how my sons met you."

"Why don’t you take our guests to the upper garden, then?" Morwen said with a smile to her children. "Your atar and I will be along with refreshments."

Bronweg, Handir and Nimbrethil all nodded and soon the Amaneldi were following them along the path to a terraced garden which looked towards the harbor. Bronweg gave them a sheepish look. "I’m sorry about that," he said. "I didn’t think they would act that way."

"Do not concern yourself, Bronweg," Manwen said with a smile. "I think though you should heed Lord Oromë’s advice and tell your parents what happened to the three of you when you were elflings. It’s high time they learned of it."

Bronweg and Handir nodded, while Nimbrethil stood by with eyes wide with surprise. The brothers than drew their sister aside to fill her in on what had happened while the others admired the view. Eärnur stood next to Manwen and spoke quietly to her, though the others in their group could hear what was being said. "These rumors that you and Laurendil are being held prisoners by Amaneldi are troubling. Who would say such things?"

Manwen shook her head. "I do not know, and I wonder why none who met us at the tournament spoke up against these rumors when they returned here."

"Perhaps they are unaware of them," Alassiel suggested, speaking for the first time.

The others shrugged, and then Amarië sighed. "I just hope that these rumors are all we have to contend with while we are here. We can easily counter them simply by your and Laurendil’s presence." Manwen nodded, though her expression remained doubtful.

They had no answer to that, but all were wondering the same as Boromir and Morwen came with food and drink. They gathered around a garden table while Bronweg and Handir took turns describing the hunt and what came of it to their parents and Nimbrethil, who responded with gasps of surprise and even laughter at the recital, especially when they spoke of the appearance of the Valar and the discussion about wild berry pies. Then they began describing their encounter as elflings with the Maiar and Boromir and Morwen sat there in speechless wonder. When the brothers, with Nimbrethil adding her own observations, finished their narrative, there was silence that stretched for some time before Boromir turned to their guests.

"It seems Morwen and I have been... misinformed about a good many things," he said, looking chagrined. Morwen nodded.

Before anyone else could say anything, Nimbrethil spoke up, her eyes shining with curiosity. "Tell us about Finrod Felagund," she said. "Is he really as handsome and noble as all the ballads say?"

The older elves looked upon the young elleth with various degrees of bemusement, while her brothers groaned and covered their faces with their hands in obvious embarrassment. Amarië caught Alassiel’s eye just then and the two of them started giggling. Soon, all the Amaneldi, as well as Manwen, began laughing and it was some time before any of them calmed down long enough to give an answer.

Tavrobel: This is given in G[nomish] L[exicon] with the translation ‘wood-home’.... The element pel is said to be ‘usual only in such place-names as Tavrobel’, and means ‘village, hamlet, -ham’. In a separate note elsewhere an additional Gnomish name Tavrost is given, and Qenya names Tavaros(se), Taurosse. [from Book of Lost Tales 1, ‘Appendix: Names in the Lost Tales - Part I’] — Gnomish or Goldogrin was the ancestor of Noldorin, which eventually became known as Sindarin. Qenya is the earliest form of what we now call Quenya (pronounced the same).

"So, are your families fisherfolk or shipbuilders?" Lindarion asked Balamir and Amlaith as they wandered along a cobbled street, ignoring the curious stares of passers-by.

"Neither, actually," Amlaith answered. "My family own sheep. We supply the weavers and the tailors with wool and the butchers with meat. The land here is not good for farming, but excellent for sheep. Balamir’s family are merchants and have a store near the harbor."

"Primarily general maritime supplies," the ellon answered. "You know, rope and sailcloth, nails and nets and the like. When my parents first came here, they were at a loss as to what to do, for my adar fought in the War of Wrath and knew no other life than being a warrior."

Balamir continued. "At first, they and everyone else were occupied in constructing homes and building up the town. In the process, Adar discovered he had a knack for finding just the right tool or material that someone else needed and couldn’t find. In fact, he often traveled to Kortirion or even Avallónë to find what was needed. After a while he started to collect more supplies than what he originally set out to get, knowing that someone was going to need it later on and why make two trips?" He gave them a shrug. "The store just sort of grew from that. As Tavrobel became more settled and most of the industry centered on fishing and shipbuilding, Adar decided to limit his merchandise to maritime supplies rather than just any merchandise." He gave them a bright smile. "Adar would say that, even if there’s only one ship left in the harbor, we would still never run out of business."

"It sounds as if your adar found a new purpose for his life," Olwë commented. "Yet, from what Laurendil and Gilvagor have told us, many have not."

Amlaith nodded. "That’s certainly true of those who are recent arrivals," he said. "I’ve overheard some speak of a growing darkness in Ennorath though none can say what it portends. There seems to be a general unease among them. Adar says he remembers how it was when he first came here. He said he was constantly looking over his shoulders, as if in fear of something. It took him some time before he stopped doing so."

They pondered the ellon’s words as they continued toward the harbor. Of them all, only Beleg was unused to the sight of the bay and the ships that sailed upon it. He looked upon the bustle of activity with great interest. "I never saw the Sea when I was in Beleriand," he said to no one in particular. "Even when I was with Túrin we never ventured that far west. I still cannot get used to the smell." He wrinkled his nose and everyone laughed.

"Don’t worry, yonya," Olwë said as he gave the ellon a hug. "It’ll grow on you."

They came upon a square and Balamir gestured toward one particular building. "There’s our store," he said. "We live on the upper floor."

They paused for a moment to look about. The square was large with a fountain in the middle. Elflings of various ages played around it. The buildings surrounding the square appeared to be a mixture of shops and homes, and it was obvious that the shop owners lived above their stores. People moved serenely across the square, stopping to visit with their neighbors as they went about their business. Some noticed the new arrivals and there were a few frowns at the sight of them, but as Balamir led them across the square to his family’s shop, no one attempted to importune them. It was unlikely that any of the onlookers would know that two in their group were Amanian royalty, for Olwë and Lindarion were dressed simply in plain tunics and wore no jewelry save that each wore a single signet ring.

As they reached the store, they noticed that above the door lintel was a small anchor. It was the only sign that this place catered to those who were employed in maritime pursuits. Inside, they saw a shop with many free-standing shelves creating wide aisles and additional shelves along two walls. To their left was a long counter behind which stood an elleth, clearly Noldorin by her features. She was softly speaking to another elleth who was in the process of making a purchase. There were a couple of other customers ranging the aisles. When they came inside the two ellith looked up. The one behind the counter smiled broadly.

"Balamir! I didn’t expect you back so soon," she exclaimed. "Did the hunting not go well?"

"It went very well, Naneth," Balamir said with a laugh, "for see what we caught." He gestured to the Amanians standing a little uncertainly near the entrance.

Just then, an ellon, entered from a back room, carrying a wooden crate. "Back so soon?" he asked as he put the crate down on the counter and began to open it. The ellon’s locks were a shade too dark to be truly silver and it appeared that he was of mixed heritage. Olwë suspected that this was Balamir’s atar, a suspicion that proved true when Balamir began making introductions, now speaking Quenya.

"Atar, Ammë, these people come from Alqualondë," he said. "Well, except for Mithlas, who hails from Kortirion." Then he turned to Olwë. "This is my atar, Artohir, and my ammë, Galadhmíriel."

"Actually, it’s Aldamíriel," Balamir’s ammë said with a smile, "but I haven’t been able to convince them of it."

Olwë and the others bowed. "Mae govannen," the king said. "Garo ’lass min govaded vîn."

Balamir’s parents as well as the customers there stared at him in surprise. "Never did I think to hear anyone from there speak our language," an ellon said, jutting his chin in the direction of the mainland. "So, what are mainlanders doing here anyway?" His tone just bordered on the belligerent and he looked at them with some suspicion.

"Sîdh, Gellamion," Artohir said. He gave them his own bow, switching to Quenya. "Herunyar, alatulya Tavrossenna."

"Thank you," Olwë said. "May we look?" he asked, gesturing at the wares on the shelves.

Balamir gestured to them. "You might find what you’re looking for down this aisle," he said and led them to where ropes and such were stored. Beleg glanced about him with great interest and kept asking Amlaith what things were and what they were for. Amlaith, for his part, tried his best to answer the ellon, but confessed even he didn’t know what some of the items were or what their purpose was.

"Ask me about sheep and wool, and I’m the expert," he said with a wide smile, "but I know less than nothing about sailing."

Lindarion, overhearing them, snorted. "That’s a winch for raising the sails," he pointed to the object that had stumped the other two ellyn. "If you’re going to live in Alqualondë for any length of time, Beleg, you’d best start learning the... er... ropes." He cast them a grin and they both chuckled.

"The only thing I know about ropes," Beleg said with a glint of humor in his eyes, "is how to use one to set a trap for orcs."

Mithlas, who had wandered by and overheard their conversation snorted in amusement. Lindarion gave Beleg a look of mock disgust, shaking his head. "Your education is woefully lacking, Cousin. Come, let us find a nice piece of rope to buy and I will teach you all the different knots used in sailing."

Now Beleg gave him a scowl. "I barely kept my breakfast down crossing the bay yesterday. I don’t think I’m ever going to make a good sailor."

"Hmm..." Lindarion said, "I knew I had forgotten something. I meant to bring some ginger root for you as I remember how sick you were when Atto and I took you sailing. Sorry."

The haryon to Alqualondë nodded. "It’s quite effective against sea-sickness. Very often some shops will even sell ginger biscuits just for that purpose. I wonder if they have any here?"

"Well, while you and Beleg are looking over the ropes, I’ll go find out," Amlaith said. "I’ve only been in this shop a few times and mostly just to meet with Balamir so I don’t know what they actually sell here."

Lindarion nodded. "Come along, Cousin. Let us find some rope for you while Amlaith looks for the biscuits."

Lindarion steered a still reluctant Beleg away with Mithlas trailing them while Amlaith went to the counter to make enquiries.

Olwë meanwhile was wandering in another section of the shop, examining some sailcloth, Elennen walking discretely behind him. Balamir was with him. "So, are you an only child?" Olwë asked the younger ellon as he fingered some of the cloth, casting an expert eye over the merchandise.

"I have an older brother," Balamir answered, his voice soft, his expression wistful. "His name is Geliredhel. He... he died saving Atto’s life in the war. I never knew him, for I was born afterwards."

Olwë put down the bolt of cloth and placed an arm around the ellon’s shoulders and gave him a brief hug. "I’m sorry, hinya," he said softly. Deciding to change the subject, he pointed to the bolt of cloth he’d been fingering. "This weave is somewhat different from what we Teleri use for our sails."

Balamir brightened a bit, eager to show off his knowledge to this ancient Elf-lord. "It’s the same kind of cloth used by the Sindar who ply the seas," he explained. "I understand that Lord Círdan himself designed the weave."

"Interesting," Olwë said. "I remember Ciryatan, as he was known then." He gave Balamir a bright smile. "Even at Cuiviénen he was fascinated by the water and had even constructed some rude rafts. He and some others would take them out into the bay and try to fish." He chuckled at the memory. "More often than not they ended up falling off the rafts. Ciryatan and his folk became quite good swimmers very quickly."

Balamir laughed and Elennen smiled. "I’d forgotten about that," he said. "Ciryatan never stopped trying to improve on his designs, as I recall. Kept insisting there was a trick to making the rafts stable, but he never could figure it out and then we left."

Artohir, having finished with one of the other customers, came over to see how they were doing and gave them a warm smile. "You are interested in this cloth?" he asked.

Olwë nodded. "I would like to take some of it back with me and show it to those who make our sails. I think they would find it very interesting."

"Perhaps then we can come to some agreement," Artohir said. "How much would you like to take back with you?"

"And what will you do then, steal from our sailmakers and drive them out of business?"

They looked up to see Gellamion standing there looking belligerent. The blank look on Olwë’s face alerted Artohir and Balamir that the Teler had not understood the ellon’s rapid Sindarin. Elennen’s stance, however, stiffened, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He didn’t need to understand what was said to know a potential threat when he saw one. Balamir quickly translated for the two Teleri while Artohir spoke to Gellamion.

"That was uncalled for," he said heatedly. "These are guests and you should not accuse them of such a thing."

"They are mainlanders," Gellamion retorted with a sneer. "They cannot be trusted."

By now Lindarion, Beleg and Mithlas, hearing the raised voices, came to investigate. Lindarion held a slim piece of hithlain. Amlaith made his way to them as well, carrying a small carton.

Olwë sighed. "No, son, just more of the same." He turned to Artohir and gave the ellon a slight bow. "Forgive us if we have caused any trouble," he said. "It was not our intent. We’ll leave you now."

Balamir and Amlaith looked distraught. "But, my lord, you haven’t seen all of the shop," Balamir exclaimed, "and I was hoping you could join us for the noon meal. Please do not let Gellamion ruin things for you. He’s always grousing about something."

"Only when he does, Ada," the ellon retorted. "I don’t think it’s polite for someone to accuse the King of the Teleri of stealing."

There was a stunned silence. Artohir turned white, but Gellamion just became angrier. "King is he?" he sneered. "So now what? Have you come to lord it over us, your Majesty?" The way he spoke, it was obvious he meant the title as an insult.

Before anyone could respond to the ellon, Beleg was on him, casually grabbing him by the placket of his tunic and lifting him off the ground. "You do not have the right to speak thus, orchvann," he said coldly in Sindarin.

Now both Artohir and Gellamion stared at the former Marchwarden in shock. "D-did you call him Beleg?" Artohir asked in an awed whisper.

Olwë gave another sigh. "Perhaps we should introduce ourselves," he said, looking rueful.

Ingwion stared about in curiosity as he and the others made their way inside the Blue Dolphin Inn. They had spent a pleasant morning wandering through the town with Gilvagor acting as a guide. He had watched the people of Tavrobel going about their business, barely noticing them as they made their way from one square to another, and saw that life here was not much different than it was in Vanyamar, save that Sindarin seemed to be spoken more often than Quenya. It had been an interesting tour and he was busy mentally cataloguing all that he had learned so he could tell his family when he returned to Vanyamar. Now, an hour past noon, they were looking to have a quiet meal. Gilvagor was gesturing towards a large table by one of the windows where they all took a seat.

"So this is where you met one of Lord Oromë’s People?" Ingwion asked Gilvagor.

The ellon nodded, pointing to another, smaller table, that was closer to the fireplace, unlit this time of year. "Right over there," he said. "He wasn’t all that helpful. Just told us to look for Sador in Kortirion." He flashed them all a wry smile. "I told him that Kortirion was rather large and could he be more specific."

"No. If anything he became more mysterious, telling us to wait for reinforcements without saying where they were coming from and when," Gilvagor answered with a rueful chuckle. "I really wanted to strangle him right then and there." They all chuckled at that.

"I thought Finrod and the others would be here by now," Ingwion then said, but Arafinwë shrugged, seemingly unconcerned.

Just then, a young ellon came to take their orders. His eyes brightened at the sight of Gilvagor. "Mae govannen, hîr nîn," he said. "I am glad to see you again."

"As I am to see you, Margil," Gilvagor said with a smile. "These are some friends of mine from Aman, though Haldir here comes from Kortirion."

"Welcome to the Blue Dolphin, sirs," Margil said politely, switching effortlessly to Quenya, "and to Tol Eressëa. Glad I am that we are finally seeing more commerce with those of the mainland."

"We are pleased to be here, Margil," Arafinwë said with a gracious smile. "I believe my son and his anammë stayed here last year. They had nothing but praise for your kindness towards them while they were here."

Margil gave them a puzzled look. "The lady and the young ellon who were with Lord Gilvagor?" he asked Arafinwë, "He is your son?"

"They hurt him," the ellon said, shaking his head in sorrow. "I couldn’t believe it when I heard what happened."

Margil just shrugged. "All I did was accompany the lady to the docks to wait for Lord Laurendil."

"It was enough, and I know Netilmírë appreciated it," Arafinwë said. "One of the reasons I decided to come here was to thank you and your family for all that you did."

"Let me go get Atto then," Margil said and he went away, only to return a few minutes later with another ellon who looked upon them with mild interest.

"Is there aught amiss, my lords?" he asked in Quenya. "My son said you wished to speak to me. I am Belegorn, proprietor of this inn. If there is anything amiss...."

"Nay, good Belegorn," Arafinwë said, raising his hand to forestall the ellon’s words. "I wished only to thank you and your family for the kindness you showed my son and his anamillë when they were here last year."

Arafinwë nodded. "Sador was given into my custody when he was released from Mandos as he apparently has no family living here on Tol Eressëa. He is now my ward," he said and then gestured towards a couple of empty chairs. "Please, join us. I am much desiring to speak with you and young Margil."

Belegorn glanced at Gilvagor, whom he apparently recognized. Gilvagor smiled. "Let me make the introductions," he said and as he gave the names of the members of his party father and son just stared at them in shock, barely able to acknowledge the greetings from the Amaneldi.

"Wh-why are you here, lord?" Belegorn finally managed to say, unconsciously wringing his hands in his distress.

"To speak to people like yourself, good Belegorn, about what you hope for yourself and your fellow Tol Eressëans," Arafinwë replied. "As the owner of this fine inn I have no doubt you hear many things and I would welcome your opinion, yours and your son’s."

For a moment, Belegorn just stood there, a bemused look on his face. Then, he nodded. "Margil, take these fine gentlemen’s orders and see that they have everything they need." He gave Arafinwë a bow. "My lord, if you will allow me to see to my other customers first, I will join you after you have eaten and we will talk."

"Thank you, Belegorn," Arafinwë said, smiling. "I... we appreciate it very much. We were expecting others to be here by now to join us for lunch, but they seemed to have been delayed, so I think we’ll just order now and hopefully they will be along presently."

Belegorn nodded and left, giving his son a significant look as he did. Margil turned to their guests with a smile. "So, would you care to see a menu, lords, or perhaps you would prefer the luncheon special which is a freshly caught redfish lightly grilled in garlic butter and....."

Mae govannen. Garo ’lass min govaded vîn: ‘Well met. I have joy in our meeting’.

Herunyar, alatulya Tavrossenna: (Quenya) ‘My lords, welcome to Tavrobel’. Alatulya is attested [see Parma Eldalamberon 17, ‘Eldarin Roots and Stems’ under PEN-].

Damrod and Egalmoth led Finrod and the others through a market square that was just beginning to see business as stalls were opened, the owners arranging their wares to their best advantage, speaking quietly to their neighbors. A few shoppers were strolling along the narrow lanes created by the stalls, stopping to inspect a ceramic bowl or finger some fine wool cloth before either moving on to the next stall or beginning the process of bargaining.

"Not much different than what one finds in Tirion or anywhere else in Eldamar," Finrod said as he glanced about with avid interest.

"That’s the point," Finrod replied. "It isn’t different. People are people wherever you go, doing the same things. In Beleriand, you may recall, there was little in the way of commerce between the various realms. Everyone was too busy concentrating on staying alive and we needed to be self-sufficient. It was too dangerous, even during the time of the Leaguer for us to set up trading routes."

"That was certainly true with Gondolin," Glorfindel pointed out as they meandered through the market. "We had to produce everything ourselves or go without. Still, the city boasted two market squares."

"So, where are we going, anyway?" Edrahil asked. He was walking next to Finrod, his eyes never ceasing to move as he watched with wary suspicion all that was happening around them. His nervousness was evident to the others. Finrod gestured for everyone to stop and he wrapped an arm around the ellon’s shoulders.

"I’m not afraid for myself, aranya, but for you," Edrahil replied. "There are too many people." He shook his head in dismay, clutching at the hilt of the sword that he wore at his hip, "and... and they make me nervous."

"I know," Finrod said with a smile, gently easing the ellon’s hand from the hilt. "I had the same problem. It’s a typical reaction among Reborn." Glorfindel and Sador both nodded as he said this, their expressions sympathetic.

"We’re not too far from where we meant to take you," Damrod said, frowning a little. "And if you think this is a crowd," he gestured to the people milling about the square, "just come back here in an hour."

Laurendil looked at Edrahil with a critical eye. "Are you feeling as if everything is closing in on you?" he asked.

Laurendil nodded and turned to Damrod and Egalmoth. "Is there a tavern nearby? Perhaps some wine will help."

"There’s the Golden Ship just two streets away," Egalmoth suggested. "It’ll take us a little out of our way, but not by much."

Finrod nodded, still keeping his arm around Edrahil, "Then why don’t we go there and sit for a bit until Edrahil is feeling better."

"We’re not fussing," Glorfindel said. "In fact, I wouldn’t mind a glass of wine myself. The day is already growing overwarm."

"Then, by all means, we had best get ourselves to the tavern posthaste," Finrod said with a laugh, "else Glorfi’s bound to faint from the heat."

Sador snickered and Laurendil even went so far as to place a hand on Glorfindel’s forehead which the ellon pushed away, sticking his tongue out at all of them. There was laughter all around, even from Edrahil. Satisfied, Finrod nodded to Egalmoth, who gestured for them to follow him down a narrow lane heading east. They did not have to go far, and soon they were sitting at one of the tables set up outside the tavern which fronted a pleasantly shaded courtyard. A small fountain splashed merrily in the center of the court. They sat under an arbor, sipping cooled white wine. This early in the day, they were the only patrons.

"Now, this is more like it," Glorfindel said with a sigh. "I’m feeling better already." The others grinned.

"It’s a very fine wine," Finrod said, eyeing Edrahil who was looking less tense and not as pale as before now that they were away from the crowds. Then he turned his attention to Damrod and Egalmoth. "So, your families are in business together," he said and the two ellyn nodded. "How did that come about?"

"Ah... I noticed a resemblance between you," Laurendil said, "and thought you might be related."

Both ellyn nodded. "Our edair are in fact cousins to one another," Egalmoth said, "So we are both first and second cousins, depending on who in the family you ask."

"The soil here is not very good for most crops other than what can be used to feed our animals," Damrod explained. "When they came here our parents brought with them seeds from Ennorath, for in their hearts they were or wished to be farmers."

"Why settle here, though?" Glorfindel asked. "There are other parts of the island that are more conducive to farming."

The ellyn nodded. "I think they came here because of our edair," Egalmoth replied. "They both fought in the war and afterwards they desired to settle among others who fought beside them."

"Makes sense," Sador said. "People seem to want to settle among those whom they already know, for there is already a bond of trust between them. When one is forced to start over, it always helps to have those upon whom you can depend. That was certainly the case with those of us who ended up at the Havens of Sirion."

Damrod nodded. "At first, our parents were too busy helping with the construction of the town and their own homes to worry about anything else. My naneth, however, ranged far and wide and observed the kinds of grasses and wild grains that did grow where there was no forest. She began collecting their seeds and then growing them along with the seeds they had brought with them from Ennorath. She began experimenting with them, cross-pollinating them to see what might happen. Egalmoth’s naneth helped her and together they were able to produce grains and grasses that were stronger and more resistant to disease and bugs. Meanwhile, our edair began looking at the sheep, goats, cattle and horses that were being raised by others to see if their stocks could be improved as well. So, they became breeders while our nenith became experts in improving food production for the animals."

Egalmoth shook his head. "Not at first. We import most of those kinds of foods from other parts of the island. In truth, it makes for good trade, for there are others who raise livestock and we are always looking to improve the herds."

"The crops that we do grow here don’t seem to do as well elsewhere for some reason having to do with the soil," Damrod added, "so there is a constant demand for animal feed and our nenith handle that part of the business."

"An interesting combination, yet they do go hand-in-hand," Edrahil said as he sipped his wine, his color returning to normal. "While you are improving one’s livestock, it is good to improve that on which they feed if they are to continue to thrive."

"In fact, we don’t just concentrate solely on crop production for livestock anymore," Damrod said. "We’ve begun looking at improving fruit trees and herbs and such that are grown in this area as well. Many people are now coming to us for advice on improving what is grown in their own gardens, including ornamental flowers. Egalmoth’s nana especially has been concentrating on cross-breeding certain flowers, selling the seeds far and wide so others can enjoy them in their own gardens."

"Well, if we’re all set, why don’t we go on?" Finrod said, giving Edrahil an enquiring look which the ellon returned with a nod.

Everyone agreed and after settling the bill, they went on their way. Damrod and Egalmoth led them south, crossing squares and moving down streets until they came to the outskirts of the town where they found themselves coming upon a large estate. There was a wooden gate with the words Pêl Cuil ’Wain carved into it.

"Nana came up with it," Damrod explained when Glorfindel asked about the name, "when our two families decided to create this joint enterprise. Nana said that it was a new start for them all."

The others nodded in understanding as they passed through the gate and walked up the path. They could see two houses surrounded by fields of different grains and grasses carefully bounded by stone walls. The houses were connected by a common courtyard. As was typical, a flower garden grew before the houses. Looking at some of the flowers, Finrod realized that they were unknown on Aman. These, he suspected, must be some of the flowers specially bred by Egalmoth’s nana. He made a mental note to ask for seeds to take back with him.

"Our edair are away at the moment," Damrod said as they made their way through the garden towards the courtyard. "They are visiting another horse breeder, checking over the herd, but our nenith are home."

"My sister, Melmíriel, is married and lives elsewhere in Tavrobel with her husband and family," Damrod said.

"I have a brother, Hathaldir, and a sister, Hareth," Egalmoth said. "They’re twins, actually. They are younger than I."

They passed through the courtyard of flagged river stone of various shades of grey, from slate-blue to a light grey that was almost white, in a pleasing geometric pattern. A trellis upon which roses climbed, gave part of the court shade. Other flowers and fragrant herbs were placed in pots around the perimeter and there was also a trestle table and benches where apparently the members of the two families would gather. Behind the houses they saw more walled fields as well as a small orchard. To their left they saw a large conservatory and it was towards this that the ellyn led them.

As they entered, they found themselves surrounded by rows of different plants, some even in pots suspended from the crossbeams. Finrod and the others who had lived in Beleriand recognized a few as being native to Ennorath, while others were completely unknown to them. The conservatory was divided into two sections separated by a wall that did not go all the way to the ceiling. A door connected the two areas of the conservatory.

"The back room is where our nenith do most of their experimentations," Damrod explained as he led them down the central aisle. He opened the door and gestured for them all to enter.

This part of the conservatory was more like a workshop, with several long tables set against three walls. The one with the door had a series of shelves that were divided into cubicles where supplies were kept. As they entered, several people, who were standing around the table to their right, looked up in surprise. Finrod saw three ellith and two ellyn, two of the ellith and one of the ellyn obviously older than the others.

The older ellon smiled. "Your uncle and I just got back. He’s seeing to the horses. So, what have we here?" He gazed on the others with mild interest.

"Damrod and I met them yesterday while we were hunting with our friends," Egalmoth replied.

"And were they hunting as well?" Egalmoth’s adar asked, giving them a skeptical look.

"Not exactly," Glorfindel said with a smile, "though we did... er... kill their boar for them."

"You mean, you did, Lord Glorfindel," Damrod retorted with a laugh, "and with only two arrows."

"Beleg said he could have done it with one, though," Sador couldn’t help interjecting with a wicked smile at his gwador.

"Well, that’s Beleg for you," Glorfindel said with a disdainful sniff. "I’m surprised he didn’t also declare that he could have done it blindfolded."

"He probably could," Finrod said with a chuckle, "but that is neither here nor there." He gave them a knowing look before turning to Damrod and Egalmoth’s family who were standing there with their mouths hanging open. "You have to forgive us," he said with a bow. "Perhaps Damrod could make the introductions."

"Huh? Oh, yes, sorry," the ellon said, looking sheepish. "My lords, may I present my naneth, Melian, and these are my Uncle Ecthelion and Aunt Míriel, and my cousins, Hathaldir and Hareth. Nana, everyone, this is Lord Finrod, Lord Glorfindel, Lord Sador and Edrahil, and Lord Laurendil."

Sador had started at hearing Melian’s name while Glorfindel’s expression became unreadable when Egalmoth’s adar was introduced. Finrod’s own expression was politely amused.

"Lord Laurendil?" Melian asked, staring at the ellon, who gave her a brief bow. "But we heard you were kidnapped."

Hareth nodded enthusiastically, pointing more or less at Finrod and Glorfindel. "By them," she said. "Or... er... I mean, by the Amanians," she amended, now looking a bit uncertain at the thought that she might have insulted two of the most famous elves in history.

Finrod gave them an amused snort. "Child, I’ve been accused of many things," he said, "but kidnapping has never been one of them."

"Well, I did kidnap Idril once," Glorfindel admitted, then shrugged when everyone turned disbelieving eyes on him. "It was a jest."

"Let me guess," Sador said, giving him a shrewd look. "That’s the jest that Ecthelion refused to participate in and got you thrown into a cell for your trouble."

Now Finrod and Sador rolled their eyes, while Laurendil and Edrahil exchanged amused smiles. The others just stood there, not sure what to say. Then Laurendil spoke. "Well, regardless of what Glorfindel did in Gondolin, I assure you he is not guilty of kidnapping me or anyone else here. Why would anyone think I’d been kidnapped?"

Now there was genuine puzzlement among the other elves. "Someone noticed you and Manwen did not return with the other members of the embassy and decided to spread rumors that you were being held in Tirion, perhaps as hostages," Finrod suggested. "But why didn’t Gilvagor and the others mention it when we met them at the tournament?"

They turned to see an ellon whose features obviously marked him as Damrod’s adar. Melian went to her husband, her expression excited. "Halmir, you’ll never guess who these people are."

Halmir gave them a critical look. "Well, by their garb I can see that they are Amanians, two Vanyar by their looks, though this one," he pointed at Finrod, who raised an eyebrow at his tone, "appears to have some Telerin blood in him, judging from the silvery glint of his hair. These two are Noldor," he continued, nodding towards Edrahil and Laurendil, before gesturing towards Sador, "and he is a Sinda, though I think he has some Noldorin blood in him as well."

"Honestly, Cousin," Ecthelion said with a wry look, "must you always categorize everything by bloodlines? And you are mistaken, for they are all Noldor, except for Sador, who is indeed of mixed heritage." He gestured towards the young ellon.

"Indeed," Halmir said, looking unconvinced. "I don’t recall seeing any Noldor with golden hair."

"You’re forgetting King Finarfin and his daughter, the Lady Galadriel," Melian reminded him. "This is his son, Prince Finrod."

Now the ellon was nonplused and could only stand there staring at them all, stealing glances at his wife and cousin to see if they might be jesting with him. The sober expressions on their faces told him they were not and he paled somewhat and tried to stammer an apology. Finrod raised a hand to stay him.

"Do not concern yourself, mellon," he said gently. "Let me introduce my companions." He quickly made the introductions. When Laurendil was introduced, Halmir’s eyes narrowed.

"You’re supposed to be a prisoner of the Noldor," he said baldly, giving the other visitors a dark look. "Or are you still?"

"Do I look as if I’m a prisoner?" Laurendil shot back. "My wife and I have been living in Lórien studying to be healers under Lord Irmo and Lady Estë. We were both at the New Year Tournament in full view of everyone there. Whoever has been spreading these scurrilous lies is going to answer to me if I ever learn who they are."

"Well, we’re not going to learn their identities this very minute, gwador," Finrod said in a reasonable tone, "so let us put this aside for the nonce and visit with these good folk. It’s why we’re here after all."

Laurendil nodded. "You are correct, aran nîn," he averred. "Though I plan to speak with Gilvagor about this when we return to camp."

Finrod nodded and then gave Míriel a warm smile. "I understand from Egalmoth that you have been breeding new species of flowers. I saw some in the garden that are unfamiliar to me. I would like to purchase some seeds and take them back to Tirion if I may. I think those blue ones with the reddish tinge on the edge of the petals would look particularly lovely in my naneth’s garden."

Míriel’s eyes brightened. "Oh! Do you really like them? They’re one of my better successes. I call them ‘claur-e-minuial’, because they open right at sunrise and only stay open for a few hours. The petals will close by noon. The best thing is that the flower is edible and can also be candied. The children love those."

"Aunt Míriel!" Damrod also protested with a groan. "Do you really have to embarrass us in front of our guests?"

Míriel merely smiled and gave Finrod a wink. He laughed and there were amused smiles from the others. "Come," she said, "let us give you the grand tour. Here, as you can guess, Melian and I do most of our work." She led them to the table where they had been congregating. "We were examining a new type of flower when you came in and trying to come up with a name...."

They spent a very pleasant morning touring the fields, orchards and gardens. Finrod, especially, was very interested in obtaining seeds for his ammë and when they finally left, he had a small selection of them with a promise for more to be shipped later.

"I know my adar would be very interested in perhaps importing some of your feed for our own livestock," he said to them, "and perhaps even begin cross-breeding some of our animals with your own."

"We’ll have to think about that," Halmir said, "but it does sound promising. Perhaps later we can arrange a visit to view your herds so we can judge for ourselves."

"That would be fine," Finrod said. "Thank you for your hospitality. I hope we can return at a later time and visit for longer, but alas, I promised Adar we would meet him for lunch at the Blue Dolphin."

Ecthelion nodded. "A good inn with a fine reputation. Damrod and Egalmoth can show you how to get there."

"Actually," Laurendil said, "I know the way, having been there myself once or twice."

"Then we will bid you farewell," Finrod said and gave them a bow and the others followed suit. Damrod and Egalmoth and his siblings offered to walk down to the road with them and then they were all waving good-bye as they made their way back into the town.

This close to the noon hour, the streets were more crowded. Remembering Edrahil’s reaction earlier, Finrod had him walk between him and Glorfindel, keeping a light hand on the ellon’s arm, talking softly as they went. "You’re doing fine, gwador, just breathe normally and keep your eyes on Laurendil."

Laurendil, with Sador by his side, was leading them through the narrow streets. They were angling toward the wharf district and Laurendil assured them that they were nearly there. "We just have to cross this square and it’s only three more...."

There was the sound of something crashing somewhere behind them and Edrahil panicked. "Down, aranya!" he shouted, pushing Finrod to the pavement, whipping out his sword at the same time. Before Glorfindel, who had been pushed aside by Edrahil’s move, or anyone else could react, the ellon was running off and then there were screams from the crowd around them.

“After him!” Finrod shouted, even as Laurendil was helping him from the ground.

“Yes, yes!” Finrod said impatiently, looking around, trying to gauge what was happening with the crowd milling about in confusion. “I’m fine. It’s Edrahil that should be your concern. Where’s Sador?”

“Ran after Edrahil,” Glorfindel said, picking himself off the ground, “just as you ordered.”

“And you’re standing here, why?” Finrod asked and then shook his head. “Which way did they go?”

“Come, then,” Finrod said, ignoring the stares and expressions of consternation from the crowd around them. They loped off in the direction Glorfindel had pointed, trying to push their way through the press of people without being rude about it, but Finrod wasn’t in the mood to be polite at this point. His main concern was Edrahil and what the ellon might do in his panicked state. “Why did he run off, do you suppose?” he asked more to himself than to the others. Edrahil had thought that Finrod was being attacked and had pushed him to the street to cover him, yet had not remained with him. That was puzzling to him but neither he nor the others had any answer.

“Any sign?” Laurendil asked as he pushed his way (with many apologies) around a small group of unamused matrons with their elflings.

“There,” Glorfindel said, pointing. Finrod and Laurendil looked and saw Sador standing on the lip of a fountain that was raised above the street level by several steps, scanning the crowd. His gaze alighted on them and he waved, urging them forward even as he began to descend from the fountain.

“Sorry,” he said as the other three met him, “I lost him right about here. I was hoping I would spot....”

There was a sudden sound of yelling coming from the north where lay the market square they had walked through earlier that day. Laurendil had avoided it on their way back into town, remembering how nervous Edrahil had been there. He had taken them along less crowded streets, angling towards the wharf district.

“Never mind,” Sador said with a wry grin and together the four ran in the direction of the commotion.

The market square, when they reached it, was now full of shoppers and the press of people was tight, but the commotion appeared to be coming from their right as they entered the square and this area seemed less crowded so they headed in that direction. However, as they came closer to where the yelling was, people were beginning to move quickly in the opposite direction in obvious fear of being in the center of the commotion, forcing them to move against the tide, thereby slowing them down. They could clearly hear Edrahil threatening someone.

Finrod and the others finally found themselves before a butcher’s stall and Finrod realized instantly that the sight of the knives used for cutting the meat must have caused Edrahil, in his panicked state, to equate these with weapons of the enemy, for he was brandishing his sword at the poor ellon standing behind the stall attempting to protect himself with just a cleaver. There were two ellyn wearing warrior braids who were attempting to subdue him, trying to get through Edrahil’s guard to bring him down, but they sported no weapons other than knives and could not get under his reach as he brandished his sword at them as well.

“Where is he?” Edrahil was screaming. “Where is the king? What have you done with him?”

“Stand back!” Finrod commanded as he and the other three approached. “Let me handle him.” The authority of his voice caused everyone to do just that and the two warrior ellyn gazed upon him with surprise and, in at least one of them, a growing recognition of who he was.

“He’s g-gone insane!” the ellon with the cleaver said, his voice quavering with fear and Finrod realized he was quite young, perhaps a son or even a grandson of the stall owner.

“No, not quite,” Finrod said with a grimace as he sidled his way around another stall and moved to stand in front of the butcher, with the stall itself between him and Edrahil, raising his hands in a placating manner. “Edrahil! Edrahil! Avthrasto ellon hen! Ho úgoth. No sedho.”

Edrahil, his expression one of crazed fury, did not seem to hear him at first. “Where is he? What have you done with the king?” was all he said, and Finrod could feel the fear and despair that fueled the rage the ellon was experiencing.

“I’m right here, Edrahil,” Finrod said forcefully. “Dost thou not see thy king before thee, sadron nîn? Put the sword down, Edrahil. Rememberest thou thine oaths to me.”

Slowly, Edrahil’s eyes seemed to clear and he stopped brandishing his sword about, his expression of fury mutating to one of confusion. “A-aran nîn?”

“Yes, mellon nîn,” Finrod said soothingly. “All is well, now. Put the sword away. We’re all friends here.”

Edrahil did not sheath his sword, however, but dropped it, staring at Finrod with an expression bordering on shame and despair at what he apparently had done. One of the warrior ellyn quickly reached down and picked it up.

“That’s better,” Glorfindel said with a sigh of relief as he accepted the sword from the ellon and everyone else began to relax. Finrod moved around the stall to take Edrahil’s arm and lead him away.

The ellon who had given Edrahil’s sword to Glorfindel gave them a look of disgust. “Which one of you orc-brained idiots let him loose?” he demanded with a scowl.

Edrahil suddenly screamed, “Yrch!” and then the next thing Finrod knew Edrahil was leaping on him, pulling out a knife to slit his throat.

“Finrod!” Beleg suddenly yelled, turning white. Lindarion, who was standing next to him, grabbed him before he collapsed. The others stared at him in consternation. They had been walking through the store while Artohir and Balamir were showing off their wares, Olwë and Lindarion asking intelligent and informed questions about maritime matters that impressed even Gellamion. At first, everyone had been in awe of Olwë — and Beleg especially — and had been properly stiff and formal, but the two soon put the Tol Eressëans at ease and even Gellamion had backed down from his original belligerence enough to apologize.

“What’s wrong?” Lindarion demanded as he led the still shaking Beleg to a bench that was placed there for the benefit of customers desiring to sit and take their ease. Everyone else hovered around them while Balamir went to fetch some water.

“Isn’t he always?” Mithlas couldn’t help saying, but any amusement in his eyes died when Beleg turned on him, his expression cold.

“He’s been hurt,” he said, standing, trying to push through them to get to the door. “I must go to him.”

“How do you even know this, hinya?” Olwë asked, grabbing his nephew and holding him, forcing him to look at his uncle.

“I... I just do,” Beleg said, his stance and his expression one of resolve. “I must go to him,” he repeated.

“Then we go together,” Olwë said. He turned to the Tol Eressëans. “I fear that we must cut our visit short, my friends, but I will return when I can, for I am much interested in your sailcloth.”

Artohir gave them a puzzled look. “How will you even know where to look for... for King Finrod?” he asked.

Olwë shook his head. “Both my grandson and Beleg are Reborn,” he answered, “and they seem to have a special connection, though just how or why, I cannot say, for I don’t understand it myself. I can only trust that what Beleg says is true.”

“Then go, lord,” Artohir said with a bow, “and we look forward to seeing you and your people again.”

They made their way out of the store and Olwë kept a firm hand on Beleg. “Lead us to Findaráto,” he said to him with quiet authority, “but know that whatever has happened is beyond your powers to change, so you are not to run off and leave us stranded. Is that clear?”

Beleg nodded, his face strained with worry. “That way,” he whispered, pointing north.

“Then let us go,” Olwë said, and he released his hold on Beleg, who kept at a steady pace, allowing for the crowds, while Olwë, Lindarion, Mithlas, and Elennen followed closely behind.

Ingwion was just about to take a sip of some very fine wine when he dropped his goblet. “Findaráto!” he yelled, standing, his eyes dark with shock.

The others at the table started and turned to look in the direction of the inn’s entrance, expecting to see Finrod and his group, but there was no one there. Other patrons were giving them startled looks. Arafinwë turned back to Ingwion just in time to grab him as he was about to rush off.

“Whoa, Cousin,” he said, standing to get a better grip on the ellon. “Where are you going?”

“I just do,” Ingwion said with a shake of his head. “He’s not far,” he added. “Come. There’s no time.” He tried to push himself away from Arafinwë who refused to let him go.

“Easy now,” the Noldóran said. “We will go, Cousin, but together. Gilvagor, settle the bill but let them know that we will return. If my son has been hurt we will need a place where he can recover.”

Gilvagor nodded and called to Margil, who came running from the kitchens, his expression one of surprise. “Something has happened and we must go, but we will return,” Gilvagor said, fishing out some coins from a purse, even as Arafinwë was steering Ingwion towards the door, followed by the others. “Here, this should cover....”

“Save your coins, lord,” the ellon said, “my adar has already decided that your meal is on us.”

“We’ll discuss that when we return,” Arafinwë said, having overheard Margil’s words as he and Ingwion reached the door. “In the meantime, I would ask that one of your private eating rooms be kept free for our use. I have a feeling we’ll need it.”

Then they were all outside. “Which way?” Arafinwë asked and Ingwion pointed north. “Stay with us, Cousin,” he added firmly. “I do not want to lose you in the crowd. Whatever has happened to my son you cannot change by getting to him before us.”

Ingwion nodded and Arafinwë let him go. “This way,” Ingwion said, and the others followed.

“Oh for the love of the Valar!” Glorfindel exclaimed even as he dropped Edrahil’s sword and launched himself at the ellon. Finrod had managed to grab Edrahil’s knife arm with both hands, preventing him from slicing open his throat, but the ellon’s other hand was now wrapped around said throat. Glorfindel landed on top of Edrahil and was attempting to pull him off Finrod.

“Blood trance!” someone yelled and one of the warrior ellyn immediately drew out a knife and tried to get near enough to slice Finrod but there was too much thrashing among the three fighting. Finally, with a grunt of effort, Glorfindel was able to wrench Edrahil’s knife out of his hand and it skittered across the pavement, people dodging to avoid its sharp blade.

“Hold him!” Glorfindel yelled as he fought to loosen Edrahil’s fingers from around Finrod’s throat. Finrod, himself, was weakening from lack of air and his skin had a definite blue tinge to it.

Sador, Laurendil and the ellon who had grabbed Edrahil’s sword earlier then came forward with Sador grabbing Edrahil’s legs and the other ellon grabbing the arm Finrod still had a grip on, allowing Finrod to loosen his hold. Laurendil held Finrod down while the ellon waiting with the knife then rushed in, grabbed Finrod’s right arm, slicing through tunic and shirt to the skin beneath. Soon, there was a thin trickle of blood flowing and Glorfindel managed to push Edrahil’s nose into it, holding the ellon’s head down until his thrashing slowed and his grip on Finrod’s throat lessened. That was all they needed and Glorfindel immediately pulled the ellon off Finrod wrapping his own legs around Edrahil’s legs to keep him in place. Finrod was gasping for breath and Laurendil was helping him to sit up to drink from a flask that Sador handed him.

“Breathe, aranya,” Laurendil said. “That’s it. It’s over with. Here, have some water, it’ll help soothe your throat.”

Finrod gasped and it took several tries for him to finally swallow. “How is he?” he rasped as he leaned back against Laurendil.

“Quiet,” Sador said, kneeling beside him, stroking his hair. “Glorfindel is looking after him.”

Finrod nodded, then glanced up at the people around them, staring at them all in shock and wonder. “Have ye naught else to do, my children, but stand about and gawp?” he asked in a tone that he had used on occasion among his own subjects. Though the words were barely whispered for the soreness of his throat, all heard and many looked suitably embarrassed and began to drift away, pretending they hadn’t just witnessed a spectacle. The ellon who had been manning the butcher’s stall stammered thanks to Finrod for saving his life. The Noldorin prince merely nodded in an imperious manner, silently letting the ellon know that he too should go about his own business. He did, though with some reluctance.

Meanwhile, Finrod, after drinking more water, struggled to rise with Laurendil and Sador beside him, helping him up. “You should rest, Finrod,” Sador said worriedly.

“I’m all right, Sador,” he said, giving the ellon a weak grin. “I just won’t be able to yell at you and Glorfindel very effectively for a few days.”

“For which we can all be thankful,” Glorfindel quipped, even as he loosened his hold on Edrahil, though he did not move from his position, keeping Edrahil still in his embrace. Edrahil had gone quite still, his eyes wide open, but unseeing.

Finrod knelt beside Glorfindel to examine his liegeman, worry etched on his fair face. “Laurendil,” he called and the apprentice healer was kneeling on Glorfindel’s other side, looking deeply into Edrahil’s eyes.

“He doesn’t seem to be there,” Laurendil said. “I can’t really sense him.”

“I think so,” Laurendil said, not entirely convinced by his own words. “I do not know. I’ve only heard about what happened with you. I’ve never actually seen anyone flee their hröa in this manner.”

Finrod took Edrahil’s face in his hands and stared deeply into the ellon’s unseeing eyes. “Edrahil, come back, sadron nîn,” he said softly but with as much force of will as he could muster, still feeling weak from his ordeal. “Come back. I cannot lose you a second time.”

Arafinwë was not too surprised to see Olwë coming towards them, nor did the King of Alqualondë seem surprised at seeing him.

Arafinwë gave his father-in-law a wry grin and Olwë just shrugged. The two groups merged with Ingwion and Beleg leading. “Beleg said Findaráto has been hurt,” Olwë said to Arafinwë as they walked directly behind the two ellyn.

“Ingwion said the same,” Arafinwë replied. “I can understand Beleg feeling something, for he and my son are both Reborn, but Ingwion....”

“They were all part of the ‘Hunt’ to bring back Findaráto and Glorfindel,” Olwë pointed out. “We never did learn all the details of what happened to any of them, but I think a deep bond has been forged between them.”

“This way,” Beleg suddenly said as they found themselves entering a large market square. He was pointing to the right and they made their way purposefully through the crowd, ignoring the curious stares which greeted their passing.

“Look!” Beleg exclaimed, “There they are.” They all rushed forward to find Finrod, Laurendil and Sador kneeling beside Glorfindel and Edrahil, expressions of worry on their faces. Two other ellyn sporting warrior braids stood nearby, keeping the curiosity-seekers away.

Finrod looked up at their approach, his eyes widening with unspoken questions which Arafinwë supplied without prompting. “Beleg and Ingwion both felt you being hurt,” he said and then frowned at the sight of the deep purpling bruises on his son’s throat and the blood still trickling down his right arm.

“We had a little trouble,” Finrod rasped, “and now we can’t seem to rouse Edrahil.”

Arafinwë and Olwë knelt to examine the still comatose ellon. Arafinwë glanced up at the two ellyn standing guard. “And what is your role in all this?” he asked them.

The others glanced up at the two ellyn and Finrod finally took the time to actually notice them. Both were Noldor and he recognized the pattern of their braids. “You fought under Amras and Amrod, didn’t you?” he asked them. They both nodded, now looking somewhat nervous.

“I am Dúnamdir,” one of them said, “though once a long time ago I went by the name Núnestel. This is my gwador, Eredhel.”

Everyone looked in surprise at the other ellon. “A rather odd name,” Glorfindel said.

“I have my reasons, lord, for naming myself so,” the ellon said softly and the ones who had once been of Beleriand nodded knowingly.

“Thank you for your assistance,” Finrod said, rising and giving them both a bow, which seemed to surprise them.

“We were glad to help,” Dúnamdir said, “though I regret that I may have inadvertently set your friend off with my careless words.”

“Careless indeed,” Glorfindel remarked with a grim smile, “considering that the orc-brained idiot who let Edrahil loose, as you put it, happens to be the Lord of Lórien.”

The two ellyn blanched at that and Dúnamdir attempted to stammer an apology but Finrod just waved it off. “You couldn’t have known,” he said. “But come. We cannot stand here all day and Edrahil needs care. He seems to have slipped his leash, as Lord Námo likes to put it.”

“I don’t know, Atar,” Finrod said, wincing slightly at the soreness of his throat. “We may have to call upon the Valar to help.”

“We’re not far from the Blue Dolphin,” Ingwion said then, “and you did ask Margil to reserve one of the private eating rooms,” he added to Arafinwë who nodded.

“Let’s get you all there and then we’ll see what we can do for Edrahil,” the Noldóran said. Then, he turned to the two warrior ellyn. “Perhaps you would care to join us,” he said and though his words were mildly spoken, there was a hint of command to them that the ellyn dared not ignore. They gave him slight bows of acknowledgment and with Glorfindel on one side of Edrahil, holding him up, and Finrod on the other, they all made their way back towards the Blue Dolphin, studiously ignoring the stares of those whom they passed.

Avthrasto ellon hen! Ho úgoth. No sedho: (Sindarin) ‘Do not harass this ellon! He is not an enemy. Be still’.

They made their way as quickly as they could to the Blue Dolphin, with Laurendil, Haldir and Gilvagor in the lead, forcing their way through the crowd while Pelendur, Mithlas, and Elennen took the rear. Lindarion and Ingwion walked just behind the vanguard while the two kings walked just before the rearguard, leaving Finrod and Glorfindel still half-carrying, half-supporting Edrahil in the center. Beleg, Sador, Celepharn, Calandil, along with Eredhel and Dúnamdir, flanked the group on both sides, effectively screening those in the center. Passers-by stopped to stare at the small, fast moving group but none attempted to hail them or intervene, though there were many whispered conversations that followed in their wake.

Reaching the Blue Dolphin, they were glad to see that it was mostly empty of patrons, for the noon hour had come and gone. At their entrance, Margil and Belegorn looked up from where they had been sitting, going through the accounts, expressions of surprise on their faces.

“Which room?” Gilvagor asked shortly and Margil scrambled to his feet and led the way down the hall where the private eating rooms were located, leading them into the largest of them.

“I need hot water and bandages,” Arafinwë said quietly to Belegorn as he passed him and the ellon nodded, moving towards the kitchen to effect the king’s order.

The room in which they found themselves could comfortably seat a dozen people. Laurendil and Gilvagor, with Margil’s help, shoved chairs out of the way, allowing Finrod and Glorfindel to place Edrahil on the table.

“I’ll find a pillow and blanket,” Margil suggested and with a nod of thanks from Finrod left the room.

“How is he?” Olwë asked as they got Edrahil settled, Sador removing his boots while Glorfindel undid his sword belt. The others ranged around the room, staying out of their way.

“I don’t know yet,” Finrod said distractedly as he checked Edrahil’s pulse and looked into his eyes. “He seems to have fled deep inside himself.”

“We should look at that cut, Findaráto,” Arafinwë said standing next to his son, but Finrod waved him away.

“It’s a scratch and the bleeding has already stopped,” he said. “I’ll tend to it once we know that Edrahil is well.”

“No, it’s more like when Glorfindel fled,” he said. “At least it has that same feeling.”

Finrod gave his cousin a considering look, then turned to Glorfindel. “Can you describe what you did when you... er... slipped your leash?”

Glorfindel grimaced. “I wish Lord Námo had come up with a better description,” he muttered. “Makes me sound like one of Turgon’s wolfhounds running loose.”

The others smiled grimly and Glorfindel sighed. “I can’t really describe what I did or how. I vaguely remember feeling fear, that I needed to keep running because if I were caught something terrible would happen.” He gave them a shake of his golden head and a rueful look. “Truth to tell, I have very little memory of any of it.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” Arafinwë said sympathetically. “Ingwë told Olwë and me about his own experience and even he could tell us little, except for the overwhelming sense of fear. He did say though that even in his fear he had a specific goal in mind as he fled, though he did not consciously know what that goal was, only that when he came to Cuiviénen he knew he had arrived even if he didn’t know where he was.”

Glorfindel nodded. “I had that same sense of needing to be somewhere even though I wasn’t sure where I was going, only that I would recognize it once I arrived, which I did.”

“Both you and Ingwë fled to a specific place,” Arafinwë said musingly, “a place with great meaning for each of you.” He gave Finrod a considering look. “Where would Edrahil flee where he would feel safe?”

“But only in his mind surely,” Lindarion said, entering the conversation. “He cannot go their physically.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “Lord Námo said that I and Ingwë and a few others were able to flee into the Past and the way he said it leads me to suspect that he wasn’t speaking metaphorically.”

There was a knock on the door and Celepharn, standing beside it, opened it to admit Belegorn who was carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming water and several strips of cloth. Margil was right behind with a pillow and blanket. Olwë thanked them and asked that they not be disturbed.

“Unless one of the Valar or their Maiar show up,” Glorfindel said, “though I suspect if any of them do, they won’t bother to come through the door or even knock.”

Belegorn wasn’t sure how to take that, but bowed to Olwë and Arafinwë, assuring them that no one would disturb them and if they needed anything else, they need only ask. Then, he ushered Margil and the servers out the door, leaving them alone.

“Try calling to him, aranya,” Laurendil suggested. “Call him back the way you called back Lindorillë.”

Finrod nodded and placed one hand on Edrahil’s forehead, stroking it gently. “Edrahil, sadron nîn, come back to us... to me. Come back, mellon nîn, for I would fain not lose you a second time.” He spoke softly yet with a tone of command that would not be denied, yet Edrahil did not stir. Finrod closed his eyes and reached out with his fëa. If Edrahil had indeed fled to Nargothrond, even in seeming, he decided, then perhaps he could call upon his own memories of the hidden kingdom to aid him in his search for Edrahil’s fëa. He called up images of Nargothrond, remembering with as much detail as he could, hoping to latch on to an image that coincided with wherever in Nargothrond Edrahil had fled and a connection could be made, but after several minutes of calling and searching, he felt nothing.

Finrod opened his eyes, now full of despair at his failure. “I can’t find him,” he said with a sigh. “I’m not even sure I’m doing this correctly. I do not know how to follow him.”

“Does he have a Life Oath with you?” Beleg asked softly. Finrod nodded. "When we were hunting you and Glorfindel,” the former Marchwarden of Doriath continued, “Lord Oromë had us use the bonds that were growing between us as the anchor by which we searched for you. Would not such a bond be present between the two of you? Perhaps you can use that to bring him back.”

Finrod shrugged. “I have not yet felt it,” he said. “I think for Edrahil it may be too soon. I did not even remember anything about the Life Oath until Laurendil and I met again and he invoked the Oath between us.”

“He’s a Reborn,” Olwë said, his expression contemplative. “Where would a Reborn go to feel safe?”

“Besides up a tree?” Haldir asked with a wry chuckle and there were a few smiles from among them. Pelendur’s eyebrows went up at his son’s words, which Haldir ignored. “Lórien?” he suggested more soberly. “He’s only just been released from there, after all.”

“And if you don’t find him there,” Glorfindel said, “there is still one last place he would go.”

For a moment there was silence and a few of them had puzzled looks on their faces, but then Sador nodded, his expression turning slightly grim. “Mandos,” he said in a whisper, staring at the comatose Edrahil, his expression becoming more sad.

Again he placed his hand on the ellon’s brow and closed his eyes, calling to his mind every image of Lórien, especially those places reserved for the Reborn, that he could. He roamed through the groves and down the swards, skirting Lórellin where Lord Irmo’s colorful pavilion sat on the shore, calling Edrahil’s name over and over, hoping to find a spark of a connection between them, but after a time he realized the ellon was not there. Taking a mental breath, he steeled himself for what he needed to do next. The Gardens of Lórien faded from his mind and in their place he called up the somber gates of Mandos.....

Edrahil was running, but to where or from what he wasn’t sure. He only knew that he could not be caught, that something terrible would happen to him if he was. Somewhere a voice that he thought he knew called to him, but he refused to respond to it, afraid of what it might mean. He had no clear memory of anything after he and the others had left the garth and were heading back through the town. There was a confusion of images, but the one that made him quail was seeing his own hand around his lord’s throat. He gave out a strangled sob, shying away from that particular memory, and continued to run.

Eventually though he stopped when he found himself before a large gate of wrought mithril, shining with an inner light. It was closed and beyond he could see a building, beautiful in its alienness, for the architecture was just different enough from what one would expect to see in an Elf-wrought building to indicate that no elf’s hand had ever touched these stones. He stood there in awe, his hands clutching the gate, a deep hunger in his eyes and a longing in his fëa that he had not realized was there. He found himself reaching out, frustrated that he could not breach the gate.

Edrahil stopped, his fëa shivering with mingled delight and dread at the sound of the voice behind him. It was dark and melodious and he recognized it. Turning slowly he found himself gazing into the amaranthine eyes of the Lord of Mandos, the Vala’s expression not exactly warm, but neither was it forbidding. He was dressed in a floor-length tunic of deep burgundy velvet, with wide sleeves, the sides of the tunic split to the hips. Underneath he wore a shirt of pale rose figured silk and leggings of fine white wool tucked into calf-high black suede boots. The edges of the tunic sleeves were trimmed with a wide band of black velvet, as were the hem and the side slits. Sewn onto the trim were evenly spaced pearls. Upon his head he wore a wreath of morihelinyetilli intertwined with nieninqui and around his neck hung a mithril and gold pendant of the Sun-in-Eclipse.

“I... I want to go home,” the elf whispered, stealing a glance over his shoulder at the building behind the gate.

“But that is not your home, child,” Námo said gently, “not any more. You have to go back.”

Edrahil turned his attention reluctantly away from Mandos to look at the Vala, his eyes beseeching. “No, please. Don’t send me back. I... I did something... terrible. I can’t go back... please....”

But Edrahil could only shake his head in dismay, unable or unwilling to confess his crime. For a moment that might have been eternal there was absolute silence between them, then Námo gestured. “Come here, Edrahil,” and the elf came willingly enough, for he had been under the care of the Lord of Mandos for too long not to obey him. Námo took his arm and led him to one side of the gate where there was a stone-carved bench under an arbor upon which helilohti climbed. The two sat, the Vala giving him a considering look while Edrahil merely stared forlornly to his right where the gate stood.

“Tell me what you did,” Námo said again. When Edrahil started to weep, Námo took him in his embrace. “Tell me,” he said.

“Are you so sure of that?” Námo asked, planting a kiss on the ellon’s head.

Edrahil nodded. “I had my... hand around his throat and I was... was choking him.”

“Did you see him die?” the Vala continued his interrogation, rubbing the ellon’s back to comfort him.

“N-not exactly,” Edrahil admitted somewhat reluctantly, “b-but I must have. I... can’t seem to remember what happened afterwards.” He looked up into the sympathetic gaze of the Lord of Mandos. “I killed him,” he said more firmly. “I don’t deserve to live anymore.”

Edrahil gasped and turned to see Finrod standing there, a wryly amused look on his face, and cringed, cowering deeper into Námo’s embrace, weeping even more. Námo tightened his hold on the ellon. “It took you long enough, Findaráto,” he heard the Vala say, his tone somewhat sardonic. “I was wondering if I was going to have to put up road signs for you to follow.”

“Forgive me, Master,” Finrod said, his voice still amused, “but I’ve never done this sort of thing before and frankly this was the last place I thought to look.”

“Understandable,” Námo said. “Well, you’re here now, so you can take him back.” Námo stood up and forced Edrahil to his feet as well.

“No, Edrahil, you did not,” Finrod replied, “though you were doing a good job of it. You were in a blood trance, do you not remember?”

Edrahil shook his head, though there was a dubious look on his face. “No. I... I see myself with my hand wrapped around your throat, but then nothing.”

Finrod nodded. “Well, we were able to bring you out of the trance before you did any real damage to me or anyone else. Come, we cannot linger here. Neither of us truly belongs here anymore.”

“No, sadron nîn,” Finrod said forcefully, grabbing Edrahil by the shoulders. “You were trying to kill what you thought was an orc. You know how the blood trance works, what it does to those who experience it.”

“Do you remember when I suffered it?” Finrod suddenly asked. “Do you remember whom I attacked while in the depths of the trance?”

Edrahil stopped his protest to dredge up the memory of that incident. “Lord Celeborn,” he said.

Finrod nodded. “Not long after the Dagor Aglareb,” he said. “I was so embarrassed to have suffered it, not even knowing what I was suffering, for none of the Noldor had witnessed the blood trance before. When I realized I had attacked my own kinsman, nearly becoming a kin-slayer, I fell into a state of despair. Neither Celeborn nor any other of the elves with us that day held it against me, telling me that they knew it was not my kinsman whom I was attacking. When Elu Thingol learned of it, he merely held me and comforted me, assuring me that all was well, and that is what I am telling you now, Edrahil. All is well between us. Now come. We’ve lingered overlong here.”

Edrahil glanced uncertainly at the Lord of Mandos who nodded. “Findaráto is correct, child. Neither of you belong here any longer. Go back and know that none blame you for what happened, including me.” He leaned down and kissed the ellon on the top of his head and released him.

Finrod held out his hand to him and Edrahil took it. “I’m so sorry, aranya,” he said.

“I know you are,” Finrod said kindly, “but there is nothing to forgive.” Then he turned to the Vala, his expression somewhat wry. “I’m not really sure how to get us back.”

Námo smiled. “I’ll show you the way.” Then suddenly, Edrahil felt a wave of dizziness assault him and everything went black for a moment, but when he opened his eyes he found himself back in his hröa, looking up into the concerned eyes of Finrod and several others. He blinked a few times, trying to focus, and then sighed, a great weariness enveloping him and he slipped away into true sleep....

Finrod came to himself, blinking rapidly to clear his vision and saw Edrahil blink as well. The ellon gazed up at him and then sighed, closing his eyes and Finrod could feel him drifting into a natural sleep. A great weariness seemed to descend upon him and before he could utter any word he found himself slipping into unconsciousness, never aware of his atar and Glorfindel catching him before he tumbled to the floor.

Morihelinyetilli: Plural of morihelinyetillë: black pansy (Viola x wittrockiana ‘Black Prince’). In the language of flowers, it means ‘think of me’, from the French pensée ‘thought’, as well as ‘heart’s-ease’, the meaning Tolkien associates with this flower. In alchemical circles the viola family is associated with the planet Pluto and with transformation, doorways, death and rebirth.

Nieninqui: Plural of nieninquë: snowdrop, literally ‘white tear’; the Quenya equivalent of the Sindarin niphredil, which actually translates as ‘little pallor’. In the language of flowers, the snowdrop (Galanthus nivalis) means ‘consolation’, as well as ‘hope’.

Dagor Aglareb: (Sindarin) The Glorious Battle which took place in the year 75 of the First Age.

Finrod woke to find himself in a strange bed, staring up at a ceiling of carved wood beams, wondering where he was. He stirred and immediately his atar was there, leaning over him, giving him a concerned look.

Arafinwë reached over to a night table and poured some water into a cup, handing it to Finrod who accepted it gratefully. “We’re still at the Blue Dolphin,” Arafinwë answered as he sat on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“My throat is sore and my arm is stiff,” Finrod answered after taking a drink, looking at where a bandage covered the wound on his arm, “but otherwise I am well.” He gave the now empty cup to his atar, who replaced it on the table. “Edrahil?” he asked.

“Still sleeping,” Arafinwë answered. “He’s in the room next to this one. Laurendil is watching over him.”

“Maybe an hour or so, not very long,” came the answer. “Are you hungry? You never did have lunch.”

“Starving, actually,” Finrod said with a smile. “Searching for Edrahil as I did used up much of my energy, I think.”

“Which is why you fainted, no doubt,” Arafinwë said, standing. “I’ll have hot water sent up and the privy is at the end of the hall. Come down and join us in the private parlor and I’ll have something waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” Finrod said as he climbed out of the bed, stretching and running his hands through his locks.

Arafinwë nodded and left. Finrod decided to look in on Edrahil while waiting for the hot water to come. Laurendil looked up from the book he was reading and gave him a smile as he entered the room. “Are you well, aranya?” he whispered, putting the book down and rising to greet his friend.

Finrod nodded. “Well enough. I’m starving more than anything. Atar is seeing to that while I freshen up. I just wanted to check on Edrahil.”

“He still sleeps,” Laurendil said as Finrod made his way to the bed to look upon the ellon. “If you are awake, I think he will waken soon himself.”

“And probably just as starved as I am,” Finrod said with a smile and Laurendil chuckled. Then Finrod left and fifteen minutes later he was making his way down the stairs and to the parlor where he found the others. They gave him looks of concern which mutated to expressions of relief when he smiled.

“That was scary, what happened,” Sador said as he came to Finrod and gave him a hug. “Don’t ever do that again,” he admonished him, sounding like Veryandur.

“I’ve ordered lunch for you,” Arafinwë said, “and for the rest of us, as we never got to finish our own lunch and no one was particularly hungry while we were waiting for you to awaken.”

There was a knock on the door as he was speaking and Mithlas opened it. Belegorn and Margil entered with trays loaded with food and drink while a couple of servers came in behind with trenchers and goblets. The proprietor gave Finrod a searching look as he put down his tray. “I am glad that you are better, my lord,” he said.

“Thank you,” Finrod said. “I appreciate all the help you and your son have given us today.”

Belegorn nodded and gave them all a bow. “If there is anything else I or my people can do for you, please do not hesitate to ask.”

The kings thanked the proprietor and when he and Margil and the servers left, everyone fell upon the repast, though they insisted that Finrod have first dibs on everything. Soon, though, they were all eating. There weren’t enough chairs for them all to gather around the table, so additional chairs had been brought in and the two Tol Eressëans who had followed Finrod back to the inn, along with Celepharn, Elennen and Calandil, sat where they could, balancing their trenchers on their knees.

Finrod explained between mouthfuls and the others were suitably impressed by his tale. As he was finishing describing his conversation with Lord Námo, there was a knock on the door and before anyone could answer it, it opened to reveal Laurendil there with a sheepish looking Edrahil.

“I trust you saved some for us,” Laurendil said with a smile as he and Edrahil entered to glad greetings from the others.

“Here, Laurendil,” Calandil said as he stood. “You take my chair. I’m finished.”

Elennen stood as well. “As am I,” he said, gesturing for Edrahil to take his seat, even as Margil appeared at the doorway with additional trenchers and goblets, having seen the two ellyn descending the stairs. He then offered to find additional chairs but the two guards assured him that would not be necessary. With a warm smile of thanks from everyone, the young ellon bowed and left them, closing the door behind him.

“How are you faring, Edrahil?” Finrod asked, pouring some wine into a goblet for him.

“A little confused, aranya,” the ellon responded as he filled his trencher. “I am not sure what exactly happened to me.”

“You suffered the blood trance,” Glorfindel answered, “and that was bad enough, but then you apparently attempted to flee your hröa when you realized whom you attacked.”

Edrahil nodded. “So I gather from what Laurendil told me when I awoke, but I don’t have any clear memories of doing so.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Which is just as well. Take it from someone who has suffered something similar to what you experienced.”

“At any rate,” Finrod said briskly, “the important thing is that you are still with us and all is well between us, is it not?”

Edrahil nodded. “Yes, aranya. All is well between us. I only regret that I....”

“There is nothing to be sorry for,” Finrod insisted. “It happened. It has happened to others, including me, and no one thinks the less of you because of it. So, let us put it aside and go on to other matters. For instance, where are the ellith and Eärnur?”

Several people shrugged. “We are assuming that they are still with Bronweg and Handir. We did not arrange for them to meet us here anyway.”

Finrod nodded, then turned his attention to Eredhel and Dúnamdir. “And how are you two faring?”

The two ellyn gave him surprised looks, not expecting him to enquire after their well-being. “Well enough, my lord,” Dúnamdir answered and Eredhel nodded.

“Good,” Finrod said, giving them a warm smile. “I regret that we met under such trying circumstances, though.” There were chuckles all around.

“While we were waiting for you to awaken,” Arafinwë said then, “we’ve been talking with Eredhel and Dúnamdir as well as with Belegorn and Margil about how they feel about things here in Tol Eressëa. Belegorn, naturally, would like to see more commerce between us. He was quite happy to see mainlanders, as he put it, patronizing his inn.”

“Balamir’s parents felt the same,” Olwë interjected. “We were in the process of negotiating a sale when Beleg felt the need to find Findaráto. I plan to return to the shop and conclude my business with them before we leave Tavrobel.”

“And don’t forget the ginger biscuits,” Beleg chimed in. “They’re the most important item of purchase.”

Olwë and Lindarion laughed. “Not to worry, Cousin,” Lindarion said. “I’ll make sure we put in a large order for the biscuits before we set sail again.”

“So, what do you feel about all this?” Finrod asked the two warriors. “Have you been here long or are you new come to these shores?”

“We came recently,” Eredhel replied. “We were actually looking for employment here when we had our encounter with you.”

“What sort of work are you looking for?” Finrod asked as he took a sip of his wine.

The two ellyn shrugged. “Whatever we can find,” Dúnamdir said. “Unfortunately, we both have been warriors for so long we don’t really have any employable skills. I’m beginning to regret ever sailing.”

Eredhel was the one who answered. “Why do any of us?” he retorted. “Beleriand is no more and our own lords are dead. As able a king as Gil-galad is, we found we had no desire to live under his rule. Also, there is a darkness that many are sensing growing in the east. We do not know what it portends, save that some of us are weary of warfare and would know peace.”

“But peace in Endórë is a fragile flower, quick to bloom and quicker to fade,” Dúnamdir added. “We decided to find a place where peace lingers, though I have gotten the feeling that even here in the Blessed Realm, peace is a chancy commodity.”

“There is no doubt that the Sérë Valaron has been seriously breached of late,” Arafinwë said with a nod. “Yet, that is why we are here, to see to the healing of that breach.”

Both ellyn shook their heads. “They are either still living in Endórë or they are in Mandos,” Eredhel said quietly, not quite looking at anyone. “And any who reside in Tirion would not want us back, I deem.”

“It is one reason why we decided to sail,” Dúnamdir added, “to be here when our loved ones are finally released.”

“Their stories are not dissimilar from any others,” Haldir said. “I was fortunate that Gwilwileth was there to greet me. She spent the intervening centuries perfecting her culinary skills and was able to find employment as a cook in one of the inns in Kortirion, so she is able to support us both while I work at developing the talents that have nothing to do with warfare.”

“You were always good with organizing the warriors of the House,” Glorfindel said. “Surely, such a skill can be useful elsewhere.”

Before Haldir could reply, Pelendur spoke, looking darkly between his son and Glorfindel. “You were a member of Lord Glorfindel’s House,” he said to Haldir, “yet, I sense little love between you. It is almost as if you will not acknowledge each other’s existence.”

Glorfindel and Haldir exchanged bemused looks before Glorfindel turned to Pelendur. “That is untrue,” he said. “Haldir was one of my ablest warriors and I trusted him with my life. Indeed, I still do, but our deaths changed the relationship between us.”

“You do not have this Life Oath between you that I’ve heard about?” Pelendur asked, clearly puzzled.

Both ellyn looked shocked. Indeed, all those who had once been of Beleriand looked equally shocked. “Oh no,” Glorfindel replied. “The Life Oath is something that exists only between one’s sovereign lord and oneself. Turgon held my life in his hands, and through me, those of my House, but never did I hold such an oath with my retainers. Indeed, such would be forbidden, given the nature of the Oath.”

Finrod nodded. “Only the kings, or, in the case of my cousins who ruled their own demesnes, ever held such Oaths.” He turned to Eredhel and Dúnamdir. “Are you Life Bound to either Amras or Amrod?”

Eredhel shook his head. “I wished not to enter into such an Oath, yet, in my own way, I am bound to Lord Amras. He was ever a good lord to me and mine.”

“You followed them when they attacked the Havens of Sirion, though,” Sador said, “along with Maedhros and Maglor.”

Both ellyn nodded, now looking pale. “Something that we both regret and always will,” Eredhel said. “We tried to make up for what we did during the war, always putting ourselves at the forefront of the worst of the fighting, but I fear our hands are too blood-stained for any to forgive us.”

There was silence for a bit and then Sador rose from his chair and stood before the two ellyn who stared at him with some confusion. “I was there at the Havens,” Sador said gravely, “and I died there, trying to protect my sister from being slain. I have no idea who slew me nor do I care. It matters little now, at least to me. For my part, I forgive you for whatever you may have done that day, though others may not.”

He gave them a measuring look and then resumed his seat. There was complete silence in the room, and all saw the tears that coursed down the faces of the two ellyn. Arafinwë gave Sador an approving look. “Nicely done, yonya,” he said.

Then Olwë spoke. “And I, too, forgive you for whatever you may have done at Alqualondë, assuming you did anything.”

“Actually, by the time we reached your city, my lord,” Dúnamdir said, “much of the fighting was over. We did little but succor the wounded among the Noldor and bring them to the ships.”

“How did you feel when Fëanáro ordered the ships to be burned when you reached Losgar?” Glorfindel asked and both ellyn sighed.

“It was ill done,” Eredhel said and Dúnamdir nodded. “I felt the sorriest for Lord Maitimo, for he truly wanted Lord Findecáno to join him and I could see the look of shock and sorrow and despair that was on him when his atar ordered the ships burned.”

“It took some time for us to reconcile with the Fëanorians,” Finrod said. “If Findecáno had not gone to look for our cousin at Thangorodrim and rescue him from Melkor, I think we would have ended up becoming so divided that our Leaguer against Melkor would have failed before it was started.”

There were nods all around by the Noldor who had gone into exile, while the others had thoughtful expressions on their faces.

“Well, getting back to our earlier discussion,” Arafinwë said, looking at Eredhel and Dúnamdir, “what hopes do you have for yourselves now that you are here?”

The two ellyn exchanged considering looks before Dúnamdir answered. “Mainly, we just want to feel useful again. When we first came here we lived for a time in Avallónë, but we realized that we both missed our old homes in Tirion and desired to at least look upon the shores of Eldamar even though we are forever forbidden to step foot there.”

Arafinwë shook his head. “Not forever,” he said. “I have been told by Lord Oromë that in time the Valar plan to allow any who live here to remove to the mainland. Indeed, new lands are being opened up south of the Pelóri for any who might wish to carve for themselves new lives, though any who desire to return to Tirion will be welcomed to do so.”

“Truly?” Eredhel asked, his eyes almost pleading. When Arafinwë nodded, he gave a great sigh. “I would like that. I find I have no real desire to return to Tirion. What life I had there is no more and I don’t wish to try to reclaim it, but I would enjoy going to the new lands. It will almost be like when we came to Beleriand and had to build our lives anew there.”

“What did you do in Tirion before you left?” Haldir asked. “I doubt you were warriors then, no more than I or Gilvagor or any of the rest of us.”

“Truly?” Finrod asked with great interest. “I learned the art of making horseshoes when I was in Lórien. Lord Aulë gave me my first lesson and Lord Irmo would not let me ride until I not only was able to make the shoes but also put them on the horse that they gave me while I was there.”

Arafinwë chuckled. “And I remember when you first returned to us how critical you were of the shoeing of our horses, insisting that it was sloppy work and you could do better.”

“What about you, Eredhel?” Ingwion asked, entering the conversation for the first time. “What were you doing at the time?”

“My family owned a small farm in the Southern Fiefdoms,” he answered. “I hated it there, actually, though looking back I know that I had a good life. I guess I was just too restless to see that.”

“Would you like to take up farming again?” Finrod asked and the ellon shrugged.

“When I told my parents that I was leaving,” he told them, “my atar said that if I did I was no longer his son and I would never be welcomed back.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Arafinwë said with a sigh. “I fear that is all too common a sentiment among those who chose not to leave.” Pelendur expression went thoughtful and he stole a glance at Haldir, who refused to look at anyone.

“There is little farming here on the island,” Mithlas said then, “but we do breed cattle and sheep and horses.”

“And we were at Pêl Cuil ’Wain earlier,” Laurendil said. “They specialize in improving livestock feed as well as the breeding of horses, sheep and cattle.”

“In fact, the people who run the garth told us they were looking to hire additional help,” Finrod said. “So, if you will, go to them and tell them that Finrod Felagund commends you to them. I do not know what your duties might be, but at least you will be gainfully employed and perhaps you will find a new calling.”

Eredhel and Dúnamdir exchanged glances and then nodded. “Thank you, lord,” Eredhel said. “We will go there now, if it pleases you.” Finrod nodded and told them how to find the garth and to whom they should speak.

“I wish you both well,” he said, and all the others echoed him with their own good wishes. The two ellyn then bade them all farewell and departed.

“Well, I think it’s time for us to return to our camp,” Olwë said and the others agreed. Belegorn was called and, in spite of his insistence that no money was owed, the two kings, along with Finrod, insisted on paying for their meals and the use of the rooms. In the end, Belegorn was a few silver pieces richer with the promise that Arafinwë and Olwë would encourage their people to begin traveling to Tol Eressëa and to stop at the Blue Dolphin for food and lodging.

They made their way to the encampment to find that the ellith, Eärnur and Eregil were already there. Manwen saw her husband and ran to him, giving him a wifely kiss. “Did you know that you and I are prisoners of the Amaneldi?” she asked with a coy smile.

Laurendil grimaced. “So I heard.” He turned to Gilvagor. “So, do you want to explain why you did not tell us about these rumors or why those who attended the Tournament have not spoken out against them?”

Gilvagor gave him a puzzled look. “Rumors? What rumors? I have no idea what you are talking about. I have heard nothing about any rumors.”

“Yet, apparently Manwen and the others were told of these rumors even as we were,” Finrod said, looking pensive. “They had to come from somewhere.”

“I swear Laurendil,” Gilvagor said fervently, “there have been no rumors about you and Manwen being held prisoners. This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

Laurendil muttered a half-heard curse in Sindarin. “Well, someone is spreading these specious lies about us. I think we should try to find out just who is doing so and why before they cause even more damage. If the people of Tol Eressëa believe that the Amaneldi are holding us against our wills then the whole purpose of this Progress will be for naught.”

Olwë nodded in agreement. “If these rumors are very recent then they may have been started for the very purpose of sabotaging this Progress, in which case, our hope for a good outcome is doomed before it is even realized.”

There were sober expressions all around as they contemplated Olwë’s words. Then, Finrod shook his head. “So, the question is, who started the rumors, Tol Eressëans or Amaneldi?”

To that no one had an answer. Eventually, the question was put aside and they sat around the main fire, enjoying the early evening, drinking wine, while waiting for dinner. Each group took turns describing their day. The ellith, Eärnur and Eregil stared in amazement at Finrod’s telling of what happened with Edrahil and when he was finished with his narrative Eärnur shook his head. “Some people have all the fun,” he exclaimed with a sniff.

There were snorts of disbelief and amusement all around and Edrahil reached over and tipped his goblet of wine over Eärnur’s head. Eärnur let out a surprised yell and began cursing Edrahil in a mixture of Quenya and Sindarin that set the others laughing.

The laughter rang through the fields and down into the town and the people of Tavrobel paused in their own activities to listen and wonder at the sound of it.

The next morning, not long after breakfast, while everyone was sitting around the main fire sipping tea and discussing what they wished to do that day, a group of people from the town showed up, led by three who identified themselves as the heads of the town’s Council. One was Noldo and the other two were Sindar. They were met by Elennen who enquired as to their purpose in coming.

“I am Councillor Dúlinn,” said the Noldo, speaking Quenya and giving the guard a bow, “and I represent the various guilds of Tavrobel, and these are my fellow Councillors, Baradir, Captain of the Nimalphwen, who represents the sea captains and Mistress Sîdhwen, who represents the merchants. We wish to speak to your kings.”

Elennen gave them a studied look and then glanced at the twenty or so others who had come with the three Councillors. “And these?” he asked. “Do they also wish to speak to their Majesties?”

Dúlinn smiled wryly. “More likely they wish to get a look at some of those in your encampment who were legends in their own time in Beleriand.”

Elennen arched an eyebrow at that, then nodded. “If you will wait here I will inform their Majesties of your request for an audience.” The three Councillors bowed and Elennen strode towards the center of the camp to speak with Olwë and Arafinwë.

“An audience?” Olwë enquired, looking surprised when Elennen informed them of the delegation.

“There are three who say they are the leaders of the town Council,” Elennen explained, giving their names, “but as for the rest, I think they are primarily... er... curiosity seekers.” He stole a glance to where Finrod was sitting near Glorfindel and Beleg with Sador on the other side of the prince.

There were simultaneous sighs from Finrod, Glorfindel and Beleg, which caused several of the others to snicker. Arafinwë and Olwë exchanged knowing smiles. Olwë turned to the captain of his guards. “Let the three Councillors in but for now ask the others to wait on our pleasure.”

Elennen gave a bow and went to do his lord’s bidding, returning about five minutes later with the three Councillors who gave the kings their obeisance while Elennen made the introductions. When the introductions were done, Arafinwë turned a puzzled look at Finrod. “I have noticed that even those who are clearly Noldorin choose not to give their names in Quenya.”

Finrod shrugged. “Sindarin was the common tongue amongst us all,” he said. “Most of us just got used to rendering our names in Sindarin. When I was first re-embodied, I had a hard time responding to ‘Findaráto’; I still thought of myself as ‘Finrod’.”

Arafinwë nodded. “Yes, I remember,” he said, giving his son a fond smile. Finrod blushed slightly.

“In Gondolin, where Quenya was taught and spoken freely, Sindarin was still the language of the streets,” Glorfindel then said. “Even Turgon never used the Quenya form of his name except on official documents, but the documents and his signature were always recorded in both languages.”

Arafinwë turned to Laurendil. “Yet, I understand you went by a different name in Endórë, but now you use your Quenya name.”

Laurendil nodded. “I was called Glorendil in Beleriand. It is merely a Sindarized form of Laurendil. Yet, when I returned here, I made a conscious decision to refer to myself as Laurendil and not Glorendil.”

Laurendil shrugged. “I was a different person in Endórë and when I left it, I knew I could never be that person again. That part of my life was over and so I put ‘Glorendil’ away and became once again ‘Laurendil’. But that is me. Not everyone felt the need to do so; it’s a personal decision on each person’s part.”

“And I was born in Beleriand,” Dúlinn said. “I know my name in Quenya is rendered as Tuilindo, but I prefer Dúlinn. It is the name my parents gave me and it is how I always think of myself.”

“I suppose you can say it is a type of cilmessë,” Finrod said with a shrug and there were nods from the Tol Eressëans and the Reborn. Pelendur’s expression turned thoughtful.

“Different lives, different identities,” Arafinwë muttered as if to himself and then he shook his head and gave his attention to the three Councillors. “We bid you welcome. To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”

“First of all, my lords and ladies,” Dúlinn said, “we wish to formally welcome you to Tol Eressëa and Tavrobel in especial. I, personally, had long wondered at the indifference with which the Amaneldi seemed to treat us.”

“And for that, we apologize,” Olwë said. “For some of us, the events of the Darkening are still a painful memory and we did not wish to be reminded of that time by your presence.”

“Understandable, to a degree,” Captain Baradir said somewhat gruffly, “yet, we Sindar and Nandor had naught to do with any of it. Ignore the Exiles if you wish, but the rest of us....”

“The rest of you should not be punished for the crimes of those who fled Aman in pursuit of Melkor and the Silmarils,” Arafinwë interjected and the three Councillors nodded.

“Nor should you be punishing the Noldor who returned,” Laurendil said to the kings. “The Valar have seen fit to welcome us back. I think it behooves the Amaneldi to do the same.”

“In that, you are correct,” Olwë said, “and I regret that I allowed my personal feelings to cloud my judgment in this case.”

“As do I,” Arafinwë said, “and I have even less excuse seeing as my own son returned to us, albeit through the Halls of Mandos and not by ship.”

“At any rate,” Finrod said, “we are hoping that this Progress will open the way towards better communications between the two groups of Elves. Certainly the lack of true communication gave rise to the events of last year when my brother, Sador, was kidnapped.”

The three Councillors sighed almost as one, all looking glum. “That was unfortunate,” Sîdhwen said, “and we would like to apologize for what happened.”

“As well as for the fact that it was some of our own guild leaders who forced the higher prices on the rest of us, pretending that it was the Amaneldi who were behind it,” Dúlinn said, shaking his head.

“No, lord,” Dúlinn said firmly. “I... er... inherited the role of Councillor when it was discovered that Master Corudir was found to have been in league with those from Kortirion. He was summarily removed from office and has lost his standing as a master of the jewel-smiths’ guild. I am a bookbinder by trade.”

“Oh!” Finrod said excitedly. “Do you know an elleth named Hithrían? She was being taught the art of bookbinding in Lórien when I was there. I told her that if I ever needed a volume bound she would be the one I would ask to do it.”

Dúlinn gave the prince a surprised look. “Why yes, I do. She came here about a hundred years ago and was placed in my care while she completed her apprenticeship, for her brother had yet to sail and she had no close kin here.” Then he gave them a shy smile. “She is now my wife,” he added.

Finrod clapped his hands in delight. “How wonderful!” he exclaimed. “I had always meant to keep in contact with those who were in Lórien with me, but I’m afraid I had my own concerns, readapting myself to my new life here. It was not always an easy transition. Perhaps while we are here I may see her.”

“Hithrían has often spoken of you, my lord,” Dúlinn said with a nod. “She was rather upset to learn that there was little or no commerce between us and the Amaneldi and couldn’t understand why. I got the feeling from listening to her and her Reborn friends speaking together that they found the situation incomprehensible.”

“Yet, they do not seem to have taken the initiative in counteracting the suspicions of the rest of you,” Ingwion commented.

“For good reason,” Sîdhwen said with a rueful look. “The rest of us were not interested in hearing anything good that they had to say about you. We simply assumed that they had been... induced into believing that you had no ill feelings towards us.”

There were several raised eyebrows at that revelation. Finrod turned to Haldir. “Did you get that impression?”

Haldir nodded. “Which confused me,” he replied, “especially where Gwilwileth was concerned. It puzzled me that she never wanted to hear of my experiences in Lórien and would always change the subject if I said anything about the Amaneldi. Of course, now I know why, but at the time....” He gave them an elegant shrug. “I have the feeling other Reborn experienced similar reactions by the... er... Once-born among them and so after awhile they just kept quiet.”

“A conspiracy of silence,” Arafinwë said with a nod. “A conspiracy perpetrated on both sides, for we of Aman were similarly disinclined to listen to the Reborn among us. I freely admit that I never gave those of Tol Eressëa much thought. When I was in Beleriand, I found that those Noldor who had fled Aman and were still alive were no longer as I remembered them. They were as alien to me as were the Sindar and Nandor, almost as alien as the Atani, who were a wonder to me, never having seen the Secondborn before. I could no longer see the Exiles even remotely as kin. So, I was happy enough to leave them to their own devices once they came here, though I made a point of ensuring that any of our merchants and farmers who wished to set up trade with you were free to do so as long as they kept their prices fair. I was very strict with that.”

“As was I,” Olwë said. “I, too, wished to have nothing to do with any of you, and many of my people felt the same, but neither did I forbid any from initiating commerce with you, as long as they traded fairly. I think those who agreed to sail the ships that took the Host of the West to Beleriand, even though they did not participate in the war, nevertheless came to know those of Beleriand, especially their Sindarin kin under Ciryatan, and their feelings towards them changed.”

Baradir nodded. “I was one who served Lord Círdan, first in Brithombar and then on the Isle of Balar and met the captains of your ships when they helped us to ferry the wounded to Balar. Later, when the lands began to sink, I and my fellow captains were able to convince them, for friendship’s sake, to help ferry as many of the survivors as possible towards higher ground.”

“Well, it is time that this conspiracy of silence, as you call it, Atar, comes to an end,” Finrod said decisively. “That is one reason why we are here.”

“And we are interested in knowing what you hope to accomplish by coming here, my lords,” Dúlinn said respectfully.

“Last year a delegation, headed by Lords Laurendil and Gilvagor, came to Tirion seeking advice as to what to do about the lack of clear leadership among you. They had hoped to convince my son to reclaim the title of king and come here to rule.”

“Something I refuse to do,” Finrod said firmly. “It would cause more problems than it would solve, anyway.”

“So we have been told,” Baradir said with a slight frown. “Still, I agree that the lack of a true central government has proven detrimental to us. There have been tensions between the various communities of late and we are at a loss as to how to handle the situation. If nothing is done I fear there will be an explosion.”

“So I felt when I was here,” Sador chimed in. “There are too many conflicting loyalties and no one seems willing to put them aside to work for the good of all. If everyone would focus their loyalty towards one person, acknowledging him or her as having the final say in all matters, that would help ease the tension to a more manageable level, I think.”

There were nods all around. Then Olwë gestured towards Celepharn. “If you would, go to Elennen and tell him to let the other townspeople in. I think it time we hold a meeting at large.”

Celepharn bowed and went to do as he was bid. Arafinwë suggested that they rearrange themselves so that all could be seen and heard. Orders were given and there was a flurry of activity as chairs were set out in a more open area of the camp. In the meantime, though, Celepharn returned to tell them that the score or so townspeople who had followed the three Councillors to the encampment had grown to over a hundred and Elennen hesitated allowing so many to enter the camp.

“Then, if I may make a suggestion,” Dúlinn said. “Why don’t we return to Tavrobel and continue this discussion at the Town Hall? It is large enough to seat most of our residents and designed so all may see and hear those in the front.” The other two Councillors nodded in agreement and soon orders were given and the townspeople rapidly dispersed to go set up the Hall and to inform the other residents of the meeting which, by agreement, was set for two hours past noon. The kings invited Dúlinn, Baradir and Sîdhwen to join them for luncheon, to which they happily agreed.

During lunch there was a discussion about how the meeting would be conducted and who would actually attend. In the end it was decided that they would open the floor to anyone who had a question for them and all who had been to the town the day before would attend. Then they departed the camp for Tavrobel, the streets strangely empty even though it was still early afternoon. When they entered the Hall they found that it was indeed large enough and designed much like an amphitheatre with spectators sitting on cushioned benches in a semi-circle before a large dais where there was a long table and six chairs. The two kings and Ingwion, representing the High King, along with the three Councillors would sit there while the other members of the Progress took seats in the first row. Should any of them desire to address the citizens of Tavrobel, they would come and stand on the dais.

The Hall was made of dark wood with white plaster in between the beams. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, which was arched, though at this time of day they were unlit, for there were high clerestory windows admitting enough light. Above the dais was a large carving in high relief within a square frame of three trees, the middle one taller than the other two, standing above a bridge with three arches through which flowed three streams. When Amarië asked about its significance, Sîdhwen, who was escorting the Amaneldi to their seats, told them that it was the heraldic emblem of Tavrobel.

“It’s more representative than the devices used by the Noldor, which are rather abstract,” Sîdhwen said, “and there was a lively debate about how it should look, but in the end everyone agreed to this design. I understand that the people of Kortirion and Avallónë have created similar devices.”

They took their seats, ignoring the naked curiosity of the people sitting behind them, whispering in excitement when they recognized Finrod, Glorfindel and Beleg. Glorfindel’s expression was one of wry amusement while Finrod simply sighed, looking more resigned. Beleg was looking more and more uncomfortable and by mutual consent Finrod and Glorfindel kept him between them, with Sador sitting on Glorfindel’s right and Amarië on Finrod’s left. The others were seated as they pleased. Edrahil, however, was sitting between the two Lóriennildi, much to his disgust, but Finrod would not allow him to attend the meeting otherwise.

The Hall went silent as Councillor Dúlinn stepped up to the dais followed by Olwë and Arafinwë, with Ingwion between them, the other two Councillors coming after. Finrod stood as soon as he saw his anatar approach and the others with him rose as well. The Tol Eressëans were a little slower, not understanding the reason, but at the sight of the kings and Ingwion, there was an audible gasp from the townspeople and a sudden rush to stand. Finrod stole a quick glance behind him before turning his attention to the front, smiling knowingly at the awed expressions on the faces of the Tol Eressëans.

The kings and Ingwion had elected to wear more formal garb to the meeting, though no one else in their company had bothered. Olwë was dressed in a tunic of deep blue figured silk, the front of which was embroidered with his personal device of a swan ship. The hem, placket and cuffs were studded with sea pearls and he wore on his head a silver circlet with a single large pearl in its center. Arafinwë wore a tunic of peacock blue figured silk embroidered on the front, not with his device, but with a stylized representation of the Two Trees in gold and silver thread. Along the hem, neck and cuffs was an intricately embroidered knotwork design in gold and silver thread with sapphires and emeralds sewn in the middle of the knots. His circlet was gold with a single large sapphire. Ingwion, though not a king, was nonetheless equally impressive with his tunic of pure white samite, shot with gold thread. The front was embroidered with a star of four radiating points in silver thread, which was Ingwë’s personal emblem. In the center of the star was a crown wrought in gold thread, thus indicating that Ingwion was not only a prince of Eldamar, but the High King’s throne-heir. He wore a circlet of white gold with a single large blue diamond.

Once everyone was on the dais, Finrod bowed and the others followed suit, the Tol Eressëans again being somewhat slow in copying them. Then Olwë gave a nod and Finrod sat. The Tol Eressëans were now quick to follow and in a few minutes everyone was settled and silence again reigned within the Hall. Dúlinn then spoke.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said. “For the sake of our esteemed guests, we will conduct this meeting in Quenya. As usual Mistress Sídhwen will act as interpreter and translate for anyone who is not conversant in Quenya.” He nodded to Sídhwen, who spoke in rapid Sindarin, then he continued. “Allow me to introduce our guests. This is Olwë, who is Teleraran....”

“Actually, the correct title is Lindaran,” Olwë interrupted mildly, giving Dúlinn a teasing smile. “We call ourselves the Lindar. It is only the Noldor and the Vanyar who refer to us as the Teleri.” He gave a disdainful sniff. “Not my fault that we ended up being the last clan to arrive. I kept telling Elwë we needed to move a little faster, but he never listened.”

Ingwion gave a snort. “The way Atar tells the story, you would still be on the Thither Shores sitting on your thumbs if Lord Aulë hadn’t insisted you come to Aman.”

“And my atar was always complaining about how he had to wait nearly an entire yén before, as he put it, ‘you deigned to come ashore’ once you got here,” Arafinwë added, smiling wickedly at his atar-in-law.

“Hmph,” Olwë said with a feigned glare at his fellow royals. Finrod was heard to snigger and even Lindarion gave a light chuckle. Dúlinn was standing there looking nonplused, unsure what to do next, but Olwë gave him a friendly smile. “Don’t worry about it, hinya,” he said gently. “Go on with the introductions.”

Dúlinn nodded and cleared his throat. “Ah, as I was saying, this is Olwë, Lindaran of Alqualondë.” He stressed the title and there was a round of light laughter all around. “Next to him is Prince Ingwion of the Vanyar, representing Ingwë Ingaran, and beside him is Arafinwë, Noldóran of Tirion. Accompanying them are Prince Findaráto and Prince Lindarion, as well as Lord Glorfindel, Lord Pelendur, Lord Beleg Cúthalion, Lord Sador, Lady Amarië and Lady Alassiel.” At the mention of their names, each elf stood and turned to give a brief bow to the audience before resuming their seats. It had been decided earlier that only these would be named as the principle members of the Progress.

Olwë thanked Dúlinn for the introductions and then sat, the others on the dais following him. “We are pleased to finally be here,” Olwë said, “and I regret that we did not come sooner. We welcome any questions you might have for us.”

At first, there was only silence, and then, one ellon stood. “With respect, lord,” he said, “we wonder at the timing of your visit. Many of us have been here since the beginning of the Age, and yet only now you deign to grace us with your presence.”

Olwë nodded. “There are many reasons why that is so,” he answered. “Suffice it to say that circumstances have forced us of Aman to confront our own past and recognize that we were at fault for not welcoming you from the beginning.”

“Yet, there was a welcome of a sort,” an elleth ventured, standing as she spoke. “We were met by several people from the mainland who told us in no uncertain terms that we were here only on sufferance by the Valar and that we would never be allowed to leave this island and enter Aman proper.”

“And they told us our kin who had died were brought before the Valar in chains for judgment, just as they had done to the Nameless,” added the first ellon. There were quiet murmurs and nods all around.

Before anyone could offer an answer, Finrod stood. “With your permission, Anatar, I would speak.”

Olwë nodded and Finrod walked up to the dais. “Let me address the elleth’s complaint first,” he said as he faced the people. “It has only recently come to our attention that some of the people of Aman came to Tol Eressëa and spoke such words to you. We still do not know who they were, whether they were Teleri,” — here he couldn’t help turning to Olwë, giving his anatar a wicked grin, at which Olwë laughed — “or Noldor or even Vanyar, though the last is most unlikely. At any rate, these people, whoever they were, lied, speaking out of spite and hate. We recently learned from two of your own people that when they were elflings newly come to the island they were greeted by three Maiar who welcomed them and let them know that this was their home, not a prison. I think, that perhaps others had similar experiences.”

At that, another elleth stood. “I can attest to that,” the elleth said. “My name is Hithwen. Some of you may recall when I came here with my brother, Brandir, who was... damaged in fëa by the horrors he saw in the war. I did not think he would ever recover but one day two Maiar visited us and when they left, Brandir was actually smiling. Not long after, another Maia came to us and invited me to bring Brandir to Lórien where he could receive proper treatment. In time, he did indeed recover and then he decided to remain in Lórien and help others who were similarly damaged by what they had experienced in Endórë. I will always be grateful for those two Maiar who happened by that day. They were very welcoming and I felt such love and concern from them that I never afterwards believed the words of spite and hate that were spoken by others.”

“Yet, the question remains,” the ellon insisted, “why in all this time we have never felt as if we were actually welcomed here, especially those of us who once dwelt in Tirion.”

“And for that, I apologize,” Arafinwë said. “I am afraid that when we returned from Beleriand after the war many of us just wanted to forget, myself included. It was only when a delegation came to us last year that we were forced to confront the situation. Other events intervened in the meantime, and so it is only now that we are able to come to Tol Eressëa to meet and speak with you.”

“At any rate,” Finrod said, “let me address the other statement about those who stood before the Valar in judgment. There are several of us here who died and suffered judgment, and while each judgment is unique, they all have one thing in common. None of us were brought before the Valar in chains. Some were not brought before the Valar at all, or at least not before any but Lord Námo. Those Noldor who were elflings at the time we Noldor fled Aman or were born afterwards in Beleriand, stood before only the Lord of Mandos. The same is true for the Sindar and Nandor. Only those of us who, as adults, participated in the Rebellion stood within the Máhanaxar in fëa to answer to all the Valar for our deeds. Yet, even then, we were not chained.”

“Yet, we have been told that Morgoth was chained when the Valar first brought him to Valinor as a prisoner,” someone called out. “If they would chain even one of their own....”

“Morgoth was a Vala,” Finrod interjected, “and while his powers were diminished, he was still dangerous. Think you that we Firstborn ever presented a danger to the Valar by our powers?” He gave them a wry grin. “I assure you, that the very least of the Maiar stand far above us in power. How much more so do the Valar? No, my friend, they had no fear of us and had no reason to chain us.”

There were murmurs among the people at that and then Haldir stood and turned to speak to them. “I was certainly surprised and appalled when I learned that even my own wife thought that I had been brought before the Valar in chains when I died. While judgment is terrifying, I was ever treated with the gravest of respect by the Valar, respect and even compassion.”

There were considering looks on the faces of many, as well as expressions of relief on others. Some were seen to be weeping quietly, held in the arms of their loved ones.

“Our main purpose in coming here,” Arafinwë then said, “is to dispel these false words and to assure the people of Tol Eressëa of our best wishes for them. To that end, we hope that while visiting the various communities and speaking to the residents we will be able to better understand your unique situation and the problems you face and offer possible solutions.”

“I know I speak for my fellow guildmasters when I say that the revelation that it was our own people who were forcing the higher prices for imported goods upon us and not the Amaneldi was a shock,” Dúlinn interjected, “and I was dismayed and embarrassed to learn that my hatred was directed towards the wrong people.” There were expressions of chagrin on the faces of several of the townspeople and nods of affirmation all around.

“So, in the coming days while we are here in Tavrobel,” Arafinwë continued, “if any of you desire to speak to us about your thoughts, we will be willing to listen.”

Olwë nodded. “We will be sailing to Avallónë in three days’ time and then we will go to Kortirion while our ships return to await us here in Tavrobel.”

“Then, I think we will adjourn this meeting for now,” Dúlinn suggested. “We wish to thank you for agreeing to meet with us, my lords, and I hope that the future will prove brighter for us all.”

“My fellow Councillors and I wish to host a feast in your honor while you are here,” Dúlinn said. “Perhaps tomorrow night?”

“We would be honored, thank you,” Olwë said, speaking for them all. “In the meantime, we would like to wander about your town if we may.” He turned to Captain Baradir with a smile. “I, for one, am most interested in seeing how Ciryatan has improved his shipbuilding techniques since last I saw him.”

Baradir gave him a startled look and then threw back his head in laughter. “I assure you he’s gotten much better since those days of raft-building at Cuiviénen,” he said, looking highly amused, and there was general laughter throughout the Hall as people began to disperse now that the town meeting was come to an end, though quite a few lingered, hoping for a chance to speak with three who were legends among them.

Cilmessë: (Quenya) Literally, ‘choice-name’; an attested variant of essecilmë, literally ‘name-choosing’.

1. Ingaran (Ingwë’s title) and Noldóran (Arafinwë’s title) are attested. Lindaran as Olwë’s title is constructed. Lindar ‘The Singers’ is the name by which the third tribe of the Eldar to reach Aman called themselves. Teleri ‘The Hindmost’ is a word coined by the Noldor.

2. The description of the heraldic device representing Tavrobel is based on Tolkien’s rendition found in Parma Eldalamberon XIII. The description of Ingwion’s personal device is based somewhat on Eldarin Heraldry as devised by Tolkien. You can see some examples of such heraldic devices at: www(dot)forodrim(dot)org/gobennas/heraldry/heraldry(dot)htm.

The other members of the Progress were joining the kings, Ingwion and Finrod on the dais where they were speaking to Dúlinn, Baradir and Sîdhwen when several townspeople came forward all in a rush. Immediately, Elennen, Calandil, Edrahil, Eregil, Celepharn and Mithlas took up defensive positions before the dais.

“Finrod! Finrod!” several people shouted, waving as they made their way to the front of the Hall.

Finrod turned at the sound of his name and smiled. “Hithrían! Nestadôr! Saelmir!” he exclaimed and pushed his way past the guards to greet the three he had named. Elennen gave a resigned sigh, muttering something that only Calandil and Eregil, standing on either side of him heard. Both ellyn smiled and Eregil leaned over to speak to the Teler.

“He was always like that in Nargothrond,” he said softly. “He was the bane of his personal guards, I understand. Just ask Edrahil.”

Edrahil, overhearing Eregil’s words, responded with a rolling of his eyes, setting the others chuckling.

“I don’t know why I even bother,” Elennen said in disgust, shaking his head as he watched the Noldorin prince greeting several people with great enthusiasm. “Prince Lindarion is much the same and Olwë is even worse.”

“Tell me about it,” Calandil said with a snort. “Between Arafinwë and Findaráto I can’t keep up.”

The others who were acting as guards all snickered even as Finrod was now pushing his way back onto the dais, bringing several people with him. He paused to give Elennen and the others a wicked grin. “At least you can’t complain about your jobs being boring,” he said even as he continued up the steps. Elennen blushed and the others laughed.

“Atar, Anatar,” Finrod called out. “Here are some friends of mine from when I was in Lórien.”

Arafinwë and Olwë turned and gave them smiles. Dúlinn saw his wife and went to her, giving her a hug. Finrod introduced his friends to everyone else. “This is Hithrían, who is Dúlinn’s wife, and this is Nestadôr and Saelmir. Saelmir shared my pavilion along with Brethorn, who now resides in Avallónë, I understand. We were all in Lórien together.”

The others of the Progress gave the three Reborn Tol Eressëans greetings. “Have you been out as long as Finrod?” Sador asked.

“Oh yes,” Saelmir answered. “Although Finrod left Lórien before us, or at least before me. I think Nestadôr actually left first among those of us who became friends.”

“Not the first, Saelmir,” Hithrían said with a laugh. “Don’t you remember Alphedis? She left before the rest of us.”

Finrod laughed. “Oh I remember her.” He gave Hithrían a wicked grin. “As I recall, I found you weeping away when she left, thinking you would never see her again. I managed to calm you down by reminding you that she said she would run away to Tol Eressëa if she were sent to Alqualondë and if that were so you could help hide her.”

They all laughed while Hithrían blushed. Her husband gave her a hug. “You never told me that,” he said chidingly, though his tone was gentle, and she blushed even more.

Nestadôr, who was a Noldo, spoke up, his face full of amusement. “Actually, I’m the one who ran away. Alphedis, I learned, was met by both kin from Alqualondë and friends from Tol Eressëa who encouraged her to go to Alqualondë first. Eventually she came to Tol Eressëa with the blessings of her Telerin family and now resides in Avallónë, though she does keep in contact with her kin in Alqualondë.”

“So what happened with you?” Finrod asked. “I know you were in a quandary as to where to go once you left Lórien.”

Nestadôr nodded. “So I was, but when it came time to leave, Lord Irmo summoned my family still residing in Tirion and so I went with them. I was absolutely miserable. No one spoke Sindarin, which I preferred speaking to Quenya, and no one wanted to hear of my experiences in Beleriand. They all expected me to be the person I was before I left under Lord Macalaurë’s banner, as if the last millennium never happened.” He shook his head in dismay. “It was not a happy time for me.”

“I think other Reborn Noldor have had similar experiences,” Arafinwë said. “Since the New Year, I have been making enquiries about those who now reside in Tirion, asking for their stories. Many report the lack of understanding and tolerance of their families and friends who remained behind, unwilling to listen to what their Reborn kin have to say. Some few eventually left to come to Tol Eressëa, finding no real acceptance in Aman.”

“So it was with me,” Nestadôr said. “In Beleriand I was one of Lord Macalaurë’s battle healers, as well as tending to the illnesses that beset the Atani who lived under my lord’s aegis. When I was released from Lórien, my family expected me to take up the family trade as a cloth merchant once again. I had no desire to do so. After about six months or so, I literally fled during the night, making my way here.”

“I’m surprised, given that you were a healer in Beleriand, that you did not go to Lórien and seek to be admitted as a Lóriennildo,” Laurendil commented.

Nestadôr gave him a wry grin. “Except I had no desire to take up an apprenticeship. I knew that my skills were no longer needed here where there are no battles and no illnesses, but that didn’t matter. What did was that I had found no acceptance among my family in Tirion and so I sought to find those whom I had met in Lórien or whom I knew from my first life and that meant coming here.”

“A logical assumption,” Arafinwë said with a knowing smile. “My own son did something similar. Lórien was the first place I looked for him.”

The others turned to Finrod with inquisitive expressions. Finrod just smiled. “A long story, and I’m more interested in hearing about Nestadôr.”

“Yes, well, by the time they figured out their error, I was already on the island,” Nestadôr continued. “I did not come to Tavrobel, however. I took the first ship I could find which was going to Avallónë. I hired on as a hand to pay for my passage.”

“Hardly,” Nestadôr answered with a laugh. “I was never so glad to find myself back on solid ground as when we finally came into the port. I vowed I would never set foot on a ship again. No. I am now living in a small community outside of Avallónë where I have a farm and raise horses. I only happened to be here in Tavrobel at this time because I wished to visit with friends.” He gave Hithrían and Saelmir warm smiles which they returned. “And now, of course, I have the added bonus of renewing our friendship, aran,” he ended, giving Finrod a wicked smile.

Finrod raised an eyebrow. “Just for that, you can do the dishes after tomorrow night’s feast,” he said in an imperious tone and Nestadôr laughed along with several others.

“Of course,” Finrod replied in a tone that said the ellon was stating the obvious. The only ones who appeared to be shocked by his words were the three Councillors and Lindarion. “I am sorry, though,” he continued, “that your family was less than accepting.”

“We reconciled eventually,” Nestadôr said with a shrug. “In the end, all they wanted was for me to be happy. When they saw that I was content with what I had here on Tol Eressëa they accepted my decision. I still refuse to take ship to the mainland, so they come here every once in a while to visit.”

“And you, Saelmir,” Finrod turned to the Sinda, “what have you been up to?”

“Oh, this and that,” the ellon replied, giving them an ingenuous smile. “In Gondolin I was a metalsmith and I’ve taken up my trade again, making everything from kettles to candle sconces.”

“Then you belonged to the House of the Hammer of Wrath,” Glorfindel commented.

Saelmir nodded. “Though I was not much of a warrior,” he admitted, “being more interested in perfecting my craft. Still, at the end, I stood beside my lord and fought as I could, though it did little good to anyone, including me.”

“You made it possible for others to escape,” Glorfindel said gravely, “and that is the important thing. And at least you’re in good company,” he added, gesturing to the other Reborn.

Finrod gestured to the several people who were still lingering in the Hall. “These people all want to speak to me or Glorfindel or Beleg,” he said. “Perhaps we can stay here for a while and meet you later at the camp.”

Arafinwë and Olwë exchanged looks and Arafinwë gave Finrod a nod. “Very well. We will leave you for now. This might be a good opportunity for you to follow up on what was discussed earlier.”

With that the two kings, and Pelendur, along with Elennen and Calandil took their leave. As they were exiting the Hall, Olwë turned to Arafinwë. “I’d like to return to the shop run by young Balamir’s parents and finish negotiating for the sailcloth I told you about. Care to accompany me?”

Arafinwë nodded. “Yes, I am interested in seeing more of the harbor myself.” Captain Baradir then offered to escort them and Olwë accepted. Dúlinn and Sîdhwen claimed other duties and left as well.

“Why don’t you all take seats here in the front and we will sit here on these steps,” Finrod suggested, following his words by sitting on the top step of the dais, with Glorfindel and Beleg on either side of him. Ingwion, Lindarion, Sador, Alassiel, Amarië, Haldir, Eärnur, Laurendil, Manwen, and Gilvagor sat with them or on a lower step, as there was not enough room for them all on the top step. Edrahil, Eregil and Mithlas stood behind them in guard position, with Edrahil behind Finrod, Eregil behind Glorfindel and Mithlas behind Beleg. Hithrían, Nestadôr and Saelmir took seats immediately in the front and the others of Tavrobel who had remained behind found seats as well.

Before Finrod could say anything, one of the Tol Eressëan ellyn spoke up, speaking Sindarin. “Do you remember us, any of you?” He looked at the various Reborn who responded with puzzled expressions.

“How do you mean?” Glorfindel asked. “I see a few here that I think I remember from Gondolin, but I can put no names to the faces.”

Beleg shrugged. “Sorry. I don’t remember, but I’ve only just begun to reclaim most of my memories from before. Finrod, what about you?”

The ellon who had first asked the question nodded. “We would have been surprised if you had remembered us, actually. We,” and here he made a broad gesture to include all those sitting with him, “were just ordinary citizens of Gondolin or Nargothrond or the other kingdoms in Beleriand. Most of us had nothing to do with our rulers. Indeed, speaking for myself, I don’t think I ever saw you, Aran Finrod, except once or twice and then from a distance.”

Finrod looked thoughtful. “You lived in Nargothrond,” he said and it was more a statement than a question.

The ellon nodded. “I was actually born there,” he answered. “My name is Gwîrendur Gwîrendilion. My family were weavers in Nargothrond. I still am, in fact.”

Finrod nodded. “Gwîrendil Nathron, your adar was called,” he said, his eyes brightening with the memory. “He was renowned for the cloths that he wove as well as for his tapestries. I even purchased a couple for my own residence. Does he still live?”

Gwîrendur shook his head. “Nay. Neither of my parents survived the destruction of Nargothrond. My brother and sister were taken into captivity. I never did learn their fate, but must assume they too died in the end. I escaped a similar fate only because on that day I was wandering through the Taur-en-Faroth, collecting various plants that we used for making dyes for our wool.”

“I am deeply sorry to hear this,” Finrod said with a sigh. “I sometimes think that had I not left with Beren....”

“Nargothrond still would have fallen,” Glorfindel said, giving Finrod a stern look. “Lord Námo told you as much.”

Finrod nodded reluctantly. Gwîrendur shook his head. “We who survived never blamed you for what happened, aran,” he said. “We just wanted you to know that.” Several people there nodded their heads.

“No, aran,” an elleth said. “Thank you. Thank you all for your sacrifices so that the rest of us could live.”

Beleg gave them a wry look. “Well, I don’t think you can include me in that statement, seeing as how I did not die defending anyone.”

“Yet, you were a victim of Morgoth’s curse on the family of Húrin Thalion as much as the rest of us were to one extent or another, I deem,” someone said and there were affirmative nods all around.

“How do all of you feel about the lack of clear leadership here on Tol Eressëa?” Ingwion then asked. He had to wait for Manwen to translate his words into Sindarin before receiving an answer. She had taken upon herself to translate the conversation into Quenya for those of Aman who did not speak Sindarin.

There were a number of shrugs. Finally, Nestadôr answered. “Speaking solely for myself, I think we need a king of our own, someone we can all accept, but I know that not everyone feels as I do.”

Nestadôr gave him a wry grin. “Well, not you, obviously. Every time anyone addressed you as ‘aran’ they would end up doing the dishes.”

Saelmir and Hithrían started laughing, as did Finrod. “I couldn’t believe it when you threatened us with that,” Saelmir said.

Finrod shook his head. “Nothing to explain, really. My first day in Lórien was not very comfortable for me with everyone staring at me and calling me ‘aran’. I finally threatened that the next person to call me that would end up washing the dishes of all the households in Eldamar.”

“We weren’t sure if he was serious or not, but decided not to chance it,” Nestadôr said. “No one ever called him ‘aran’ after that.” Finrod’s smile was smug.

“But getting back to the question at hand,” Ingwion then said, “what are all of you hoping for? If not Findaráto as king, then who?”

“Do we need a king?” an elleth of Sindarin features asked. “Could we not choose among those who have shown leadership qualities since coming here to be our leader?”

“Yet, who would do the choosing and how?” Beleg asked, looking clearly puzzled.

“Here in Tavrobel each of the guildmasters votes for the one among them they feel would represent them in the Town Council fairly,” Hithrían said. “The same with the sea captains and the merchants. I’m not entirely sure how things are done in Kortirion or Avallónë....”

“Pretty much the same,” Laurendil said, “though in Kortirion there is a Head Councillor who is chosen by the other Councillors to be the one who has the final say in all decisions.”

“While here, there has to be a consensus between our Councillors before anything becomes law,” Hithrían said.

“In Avallónë it’s pretty much the same as you will find in Kortirion,” Nestadôr said. “Yet, the system doesn’t always work and often there are internal feuds between the various parties advocating one thing or another. It can become quite acrimonious at times.”

“Would you settle for someone who is chosen to act as a governor or steward with a type of privy council comprised of representatives from the three main communities to act in concert with the governor in making policy decisions by which all of you would abide?” Ingwion enquired, ignoring the considering look that Finrod gave him.

“He wouldn’t be a king,” Saelmir said, “but he would have a king’s authority?”

Ingwion shook his head. “Not absolute authority, though his would be the deciding vote if there is a tie among the council members. But he would act much as any king does to ensure the well-being of his subjects.”

“The question remains though, who would be chosen and how?” Gilvagor asked. “Do we ask people to put themselves forward and then have everyone vote with whoever gets the most votes becoming governor?”

“That is one possibility,” Ingwion said. “Another is that the governor, but not the privy council, is chosen by the Valar or by the three High Kings of Eldamar.”

“Yet, for how long would such a person rule?” Mithlas couldn’t help asking, forgetting for a moment that he was on guard duty. No one seemed to mind. “Do they govern for only a certain number of years before someone else takes over or until one of the kings is reborn and agrees to take up the crown?”

“Such details can always be decided later,” Glorfindel stated. “The important thing is to agree on a form of government by which all can abide. The rest will follow.”

“This is not something that needs to be, or even should be, decided now,” Finrod said. “We will be speaking to the people in Avallónë and Kortirion about this as well. For now it is important that people start thinking about it and the various options available. Care must be taken that the right course of action is agreed upon by as many as possible. The last thing we need is to have a small group of disgruntled people seeking to undermine the government, however that is ultimately conceived.”

There were nods all around. “I know how shocked I was to learn of the events that took place last year,” Saelmir said with a shake of his head. “I kept thinking that if we had a king of our own nothing like that would have happened.”

“Perhaps,” Finrod said mildly, “or perhaps not. Even within sight of the city of the Valar my brother was attacked and severely beaten by people who have lived under the Sîdh Belain all their lives.”

“You have given us much to think on,” Gwîrendur said. “We thank you for taking the time to speak to us and listen to us as well.”

“That is the reason for our being here,” Ingwion said. “Hopefully we will be able to come to a solution together.”

There was a brief pause and then Finrod decided it was time for them to head back to camp. The townspeople were reluctant to see them go but finally everyone departed. Finrod invited Hithrían, Nestadôr and Saelmir to the camp. The two ellyn accepted but Hithrían declined, saying she had things she needed to do. “I will see you tomorrow night at the welcoming feast, anyway,” she reminded them and with that she left them, after giving Finrod a fond kiss. Just outside the town they met Olwë and Arafinwë and those with them and together they made their way back to the encampment, quietly discussing the events of the day.

Nathron: Webster or weaver. This is the masculine form; the feminine would be nethril. Cf. masc. lathron and fem. lethril ‘listener’.

Taur-en-Faroth: Also called High Faroth, the wooded highlands west of the river Narog above Nargothrond. In the Lay of Leithian they are referred to as the ‘Hills of the Hunters’.

Over dinner, Nestadôr and Saelmir kept the company amused with tales about Finrod in Lórien, much to the ellon’s embarrassment. It didn’t help any that Eärnur chimed in with tales of his own, telling them how it was that a lowly apprentice became the former King of Nargothrond’s chief counsellor. There was much laughter and not a few shocked looks when the three ellyn regaled them with some of Finrod’s less than sterling moments.

“You actually called her that?” Glorfindel asked Finrod when Eärnur explained the circumstances surrounding his sudden promotion after Finrod’s original counselor had been relieved of her duties.

“She was being annoying,” Finrod said with a blush, “and I was still pretty young emotionally. I did apologize afterwards, though she took it with ill grace.”

Saelmir nodded. “She annoyed everyone, not just you, Finrod,” he said and then proceeded to tell them a story of his own run-in with the Lóriennildë. “She obviously has no respect for the Reborn,” he said at the end of his tale, shaking his head. “I was surprised that Lord Irmo kept her on. I would have thrown her out of Lórien long before.”

“Lord Irmo is more patient than we are and sees further into the hearts of others than we can,” Eärnur said. “I know Míriel, and she has come a long way since those days.”

Finrod nodded. “Yes. I noticed that she has become more compassionate and more patient in her dealings with the Reborn and others who come to Lórien for help.”

“Some of the Lóriennildi weren’t too compassionate when Manwen and I were there initially,” Laurendil said. “I couldn’t understand why Lord Irmo had not done something about it sooner.”

“He did say he would address the situation in his own time,” Finrod replied with a smile. “And with the Valar....”

“I know, I know. All times are soon,” Laurendil said with a dismissive wave of his hand. There was much quiet chuckling at that and then silence ensued for a while as everyone sipped their wine and watched the flames of the fire around which they were sitting. Then Laurendil looked up and addressed Nestadôr and Saelmir. “Do you know anything about rumors saying that Manwen and I are being held prisoners by the Noldor? Gilvagor says he has not heard of such rumors, yet yesterday we heard about them from two different sources.”

Before either ellyn could answer, Gilvagor spoke up. “I swear, Laurendil, I never heard any such rumors in Kortirion. I think they must be a recent thing, though why now after all this time escapes me.” He then turned to Haldir. “Have you heard these rumors?”

Haldir shook his head. “Yesterday was the first I’d heard of them, else I would have alerted you and the Noldóran about them.”

Nestadôr shrugged. “I have only been in Tavrobel for a few days myself and no one mentioned any such rumors in my presence. Saelmir?”

“So the question remains, who started such rumors and why?” Laurendil asked. “All those who attended the New Year Tournament saw Manwen and me there tending to the fighters who sustained injuries. So, why these rumors and why now?”

Alassiel then spoke. “When we asked Boromir and Morwen those same questions, they said that it was only recently that they heard such rumors, maybe only in the last month or so.”

“And they thought the rumors were started by someone from Aman, but they were not sure,” Manwen added.

There was silence for a moment or two as everyone digested the news. Finally, Finrod sighed. “If what you say is true, then we have a graver problem than we first thought.”

“Remember the rumors that flew around the tournament camp about Glorfindel and Sador?” Ingwion asked. “Do you suppose the same rumormongers responsible then might be responsible now?”

“And Lord Súlimondil,” Ingwion added, looking equally grim. “Atar released them from his custody about a month after the tournament.” He sighed. “I had better send him a missive to let him know what we suspect. He can look into it from that end while we continue investigating it from here.”

Olwë nodded. “There is plenty of traffic between Tavrobel and the mainland. Who will you entrust to deliver the letter to Ingwë?”

Ingwion shrugged. “I really hadn’t thought about it. I suppose I could give it to the captain of whichever ship will take the missive and hope he finds someone to take it on to Vanyamar.”

“We’re going to have to establish a regular courier system between Aman and Tol Eressëa,” Arafinwë said. “However, I was going to send my own letter to Ingwë to let him know what was happening so far. I intended to send him periodic reports so he wouldn’t have to wait until we returned to hear about the Progress. To that end, I have made arrangements to have one of my couriers come to the mainland harbor periodically for my missives. He is due to come on the day we sail for Avallónë.”

“Then why don’t we pool our letters together?” Ingwion asked and Arafinwë agreed. Manwen, Alassiel, Amarië, Eärnur and Eregil were quizzed by Arafinwë for all the details concerning the rumors as told to them by Bronweg and Handir’s family, while Finrod told them about what his group had learned when they were visiting with the families of Damrod and Egalmoth.

“I hope we can find out where these rumors about Manwen and me are coming from and put a stop to them before they do irreparable damage to our purpose for coming here,” Laurendil said with a sigh once all the details about the rumors had been garnered. Arafinwë and Ingwion would compose the letter in the morning after breakfast.

“I think that is the reason the rumors were started in the first place,” Finrod stated. “I am glad though that both of you are here. It will go a long way towards dispelling these rumors if people see you and see that you are not prisoners.”

The others nodded. Then Saelmir stated that he and Nestadôr should be getting back to town, but Finrod was able to convince them to stay the night. “We can catch up on all our news and share our stories with one another.”

They agreed and soon the camp was quiet as most took to their tents. Laughter occasionally floated through the still night air from Finrod’s tent, setting the guards to smiling. Eventually, though, even that stopped and the only sounds to be heard were the rustling of the wind across the field and the occasional hooting of an owl in search of food.

Early the next morning, Gilvagor took Mithlas and Haldir and went to the docks to talk with the captains and sailors and fisherfolk plying their trades, asking after the rumors about Laurendil and Manwen, hoping to get an idea as to where they might have originated. While they were doing that, most of the rest of the company was idling away. Finrod, with Nestadôr and Saelmir, were sitting quietly with the other Reborn, drinking tea and discussing the problems which many Reborn still faced. Arafinwë, Ingwion and Olwë were in Olwë’s tent hammering out the letter that they wished to send to Ingwë. Alassiel and Amarië decided to drag Eärnur, Laurendil and Manwen into Tavrobel, ostensibly to look for a suitable gift for Eärnur’s sister’s begetting day, but actually to show the people of Tavrobel that Lord Laurendil and Lady Manwen were far from being prisoners, but were part of the Royal Progress.

Eventually, others began drifting into town for one reason or another. Finrod, Glorfindel, Sador and Beleg went with Nestadôr and Saelmir to Saelmir’s house, which was situated on the outskirts of the town, east of the main square. One of the streams that watered the area around Tavrobel ran close by. A canal had been dug which joined the stream further down and a waterwheel had been constructed, attached to a mill that looked across from Saelmir’s smithy.

“It belongs to one of the farmers,” Saelmir told them. “He grinds what grains are grown here, primarily for our animals, for the other farmers. He also purchases grain from elsewhere on the island and grinds it and sells the flour. It’s somewhat expensive to transport such grains across the island, and he is always grousing about the high prices for mainland grains. He thinks that it would be cheaper to buy grain from the mainland, but the cost of importing goods has been too prohibitive.”

“Well, we know now that it was certain people here on the island who were raising the prices of goods from Aman,” Finrod said. “Now that has stopped he should find it easier to purchase what he needs.”

“Hopefully,” Saelmir said. “I, too, would like to see more trade between us. When I was released from Lórien, we stopped in Eldamas for a couple of days before resuming our journey. I had a chance to visit the markets and admire the goods that were sold there. In spite of everything, especially having to literally start over, we of Tol Eressëa have done a decent job of building our communities and turning our skills to more peaceful endeavors, but I think we could do better if we had access to the artisans of Tirion or Alqualondë and if there was more interchange of ideas and techniques between us.”

“The kings will see to that,” Sador said. “It won’t happen overnight, but I think you will see more trade between Aman and Tol Eressëa in the coming months and I know my anammë is still interested in the idea of exchanging apprentices between the guilds.”

“I also think that if word gets around that the Valar intend to open up new lands for you sometime in the future, it will go a long way towards diffusing any resentment about being forced to live here,” Glorfindel said. “Of course, that’s not strictly true even now. The Valar not only allowed but encouraged Tol Eressëans to participate in the New Year Tournament and people like Laurendil and Manwen are living in Aman even though they have only been here a short time and Laurendil took part in the Noldor’s flight from Aman.”

The others nodded and Beleg gave them a wicked smile. “Perhaps we should start some rumors of our own to that effect.” Everyone laughed and thought it a good idea.

Saelmir showed them around his smithy and they spent some time admiring his work. “I do everything but make horseshoes and such,” he said. “I leave that to others. I much prefer making other things that people need even if they are somewhat utilitarian and not very fancy. Sometimes I make something just for fun. Here, you might like this.” He went to one of his worktables and picked up a small object about four inches high. It was a miniature tree set in a low planter. The whole of it was fashioned out of copper, intricately crafted so that one could see the veins on the tiny leaves, which were actually made of gold. There was a small nest and a couple of birds roosting in the branches and sitting under the tree were an ellon and an elleth feeding some squirrels. The two figures were painted so that one could see that they were Sindar by their clothing and hair.

Everyone exclaimed in delight at the object and Finrod insisted that he purchase it. Saelmir was reluctant to accept any money from him, but in the end, they came to an understanding. Saelmir promised that he would have the piece carefully boxed for transportation and ready for him when the Progress returned to Tavrobel on their way back to Aman. There were other pieces that they admired. Glorfindel purchased a small knife that had a silver hilt shaped like a dragon’s head with ruby chips for its eyes. Beleg and Sador each purchased bronze cloak pins in styles popular among the Sindar of Doriath.

Eventually, they parted, for Finrod had promised his atar that they would meet him at the Blue Dolphin for lunch where they hoped to meet up with Gilvagor, Mithlas and Haldir to hear their report. Afterwards, there was a planned meeting with the Town Councillors and several other leaders of the town to discuss certain matters before the feast that evening.

“You and Nestadôr and the others must come to Tirion soon and visit,” Finrod said, giving the latter a wicked grin. “I’ll ask Eärnur to concoct a sleeping potion for you, Nestadôr, so you can sleep your way across the bay.”

“I can concoct my own potion, thank you very much,” Nestadôr said with a sniff and the others laughed. Both ellyn promised that they would plan a visit for later in the autumn before winter set in.

When Finrod and his gwedyr arrived at the Blue Dolphin, they were greeted warmly by Margil and Belegorn who led them to the same private room they had used before to find that Olwë, Arafinwë and Ingwion were already there, along with Calandil, Elennen and Urundil as their guards. Even as they were finding seats for themselves, Gilvagor came in with Mithlas and Haldir. Orders for food and drink were quickly given. While waiting for their meal to arrive, Finrod described their visit to Saelmir’s workshop. The knife and cloak pins were passed around and admired. When their lunch was served and they were again alone, Gilvagor began giving his report.

“We met with Captain Baradir who introduced us to the other captains of those ships that were in harbor, specifically those who are in the habit of taking on passengers,” he told them. “None had had any passengers from Aman since the end of the tournament, except for one. She recalled two ellyn, finely dressed, who asked for passage to Tavrobel about five weeks ago.”

“Nothing specific. She did say that both had Noldorin features, though,” answered Gilvagor.

“Well that lets Valacar and Súlimondil off the hook,” Ingwion said in disgust.

“Not necessarily,” Glorfindel said. “Remember, two of those who attacked me while I was being Martandur’s thrall were Noldor.”

“That’s true. I’d forgotten that,” Ingwion averred. “So there seems to be a connection between Vanyamar and Tirion.” He paused to take a sip of his wine, his expression thoughtful. “You know, when Fëanáro was sent into exile, my atar believed that Uncle Ingoldo was in sympathy with him. He could never prove it, but he suspected that my uncle was in communication with someone in Formenos.”

“Yes,” Arafinwë said with a nod. “I recall Ingwë sending word to my brother that he did not think all those in sympathy with Fëanáro went with him into exile and that some were still in Tirion, possibly fomenting further unrest, not only among the Noldor but among some of the Vanyar. When my atar married my amillë, there was more interaction between our two cities than had occurred previously. In fact, there were several intermarriages between the two clans, as a result of it. When Fëanáro was exiled by the Valar, loyalties were tested and some, I think, were strained.”

Ingwion nodded. “I remember how saddened Atar was when he learned that some of our own people joined with the Noldor when you fled. They were mostly people who had married Noldor and had gone to live in Tirion, leaving out of love for their husbands or wives and children, but there were still some who simply left.”

“Martandur’s apprentice was one such,” Glorfindel said. “Until I came to live with him and Míriel, he had refused to take on any more apprentices. Now, I understand, he has actually petitioned Lord Irmo to let him take in any Reborn who might wish to learn from him. I think he is hoping that one day his former apprentice will be released from Mandos and he can take him back.”

“At any rate, was there anything else this captain could tell you about these two Noldor?” Olwë asked.

“Only that they were overheard speaking about the tournament and being surprised to see Lord Laurendil and Lady Manwen there. Apparently, one of the ellyn recognized them from when they came with the embassy and had wondered what had happened to them since neither had left with the other Tol Eressëans.”

“Did either specifically say that they thought he and Manwen were being held prisoners?” Finrod asked.

“No,” Gilvagor replied. “At least, not in the captain’s hearing. She told me that she thought it odd that they happened to mention all this so many weeks after the tournament because she specifically remembered how some of the Tol Eressëans she transported back from Aman spoke among themselves about seeing Laurendil and Manwen and how pleased they were to learn they had become apprenticed to Lord Irmo.”

“Hmm,” Finrod said, his eyes narrowing in thought. “I am assuming these ellyn were speaking Quenya.” He gave Gilvagor an enquiring look.

“Ah...,” Gilvagor said with a smile. “Captain Gilraen is conversant in Quenya as are many of her crew, for they must deal with Amaneldi who do not speak Sindarin.”

Finrod nodded. “It’s almost as if these two Noldor staged their conversation so it would be heard by the captain and possibly by the sailors. I take it the ship and its crew are from Tol Eressëa.”

“Yes,” Gilvagor said, “and that was the other odd thing about them. According to Captain Gilraen, hers was the only Tol Eressëan ship in harbor that day, all the others were Telerin, yet they specifically sought her out for passage even though there were plenty of other ships plying the waters between the two harbors.”

“Obviously, they chose her ship because none of the Teleri would know or care about Laurendil and Manwen,” Sador said. “Did the captain indicate that she recognized Laurendil’s name?”

“Oh, yes,” Gilvagor said as he took a sip of his wine. “As it turns out, she was the one who transported our embassy to and from Tol Eressëa.”

“Ah....” Finrod said. “I have to wonder how long our mysterious Noldor waited before her ship entered the harbor.”

There were considering expressions on all their faces as they contemplated Finrod’s words.

“So now the question is, where did they go once they came here?” Arafinwë said. “Did they continue to Kortirion or Avallónë? They came here five weeks ago. Are they still here or did they return on a different ship?”

“I can give you no answer to any of your questions, lord,” Gilvagor said. “Captain Gilraen only knows that before they disembarked they asked her recommendation for lodgings.” He gave them a wry grin. “Want to guess which inn she recommended?”

There was a brief pause and then Beleg was at the door. “Margil!” he shouted and the young ellon came running, his expression one of concern.

“No, Margil,” Finrod said with an easy smile. “We are in need of some information and we are hoping you can supply it.” The ellon nodded, still looking a bit flustered, but when Finrod asked about two Noldorin ellyn staying at the inn, his expression brightened.

“Let me get the register,” he said and was quickly gone, returning a few minutes later with a large ledger. He placed it on the table and began flipping its pages. “Hmm... about five weeks ago, you say? I do recall two such as you describe staying here. They were here for three nights. Atto was disappointed that during their stay they never ate here, though on the last night of their stay they did sit in the common room and ordered a couple of bottles of wine. Ah... here it is.... Nambarauto and Amandur. That’s odd.”

“Well, usually people give their patronymics or their place of residence or even their occupation when they sign the register,” Margil explained. “See here... Ninglorwen Halthorniel or here... Ragnor Thavron of Kortirion.” He pointed out other signatures and everyone nodded.

“These two only signed their names with no other designation,” Arafinwë said, “and unfortunately their names are rather common among us. I know at least two people named Nambarauto, one of them a member of my court.”

“And I know a few ellyn named Amandur,” Ingwion said. “One of them happens to be Alassiel’s cousin, her Uncle Telemnar’s oldest son.”

“So they give you common names,” Glorfindel said, “with no other designation. Do we even know if these are their real names?”

“Without a clear description we cannot readily identify them,” Olwë commented. “Can you describe them?” he then asked Margil.

The ellon shrugged. “Dark hair and eyes, your typical Noldor,” he answered. “Their clothing was very rich and fine. Oh! That’s another thing. The morning they left they were not wearing their usual brightly colored tunics but ones that they must have purchased here, for the style was definitely Tol Eressëan.”

“And being Noldor would not necessarily mark them out as different, since so many Noldor live here,” Gilvagor said.

“But their accents would give them away,” Margil said. “Their Quenya is not quite what is spoken here and they knew no Sindarin.”

“You said the last night they were here they sat in the common room,” Olwë said then. “Did anyone join them?”

Margil nodded. “Two or three ellyn, I think, but to tell you the truth I paid them little heed. While Atto was upset that they took none of their meals here, they were quiet and polite and made no trouble. We tend not to remember that type.” He gave them a cheeky grin and they couldn’t help grinning back.

“They hired horses,” Margil offered. “We don’t have horses for hire ourselves. Our stables are for the horses of patrons, but there are other inns where one can hire horses.”

“If they hired horses, they would have gone to Kortirion,” Haldir pointed out. “There is only the one road linking Tavrobel with Kortirion and Avallónë.”

“What puzzles me is why we weren’t confronted with the rumors as soon as we came here,” Beleg said. “You would think there would have been more of an outrage at the news that someone like Laurendil was being held prisoner.”

“I thought about that,” Arafinwë replied, “and I think that our rumormongers misread the situation. After the trial for Sador’s kidnappers, I made a point of having three copies of the trial transcript translated into Sindarin. Haldir and Gwilwileth helped there.” Haldir nodded in confirmation. “Then I gave them to Gilvagor to take to the leaders of each of the major towns here with instructions to have the transcripts made available to the public at large. I encouraged Ingwë to do something similar with the transcript for the trial against Glorfindel’s attackers.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Beleg said. “I was still in Lórien at the time and have no real knowledge of what happened.”

“During the trials it was revealed that people from the mainland came to the Tol Eressëans and spread lies about how those who had died were treated by the Valar. Lord Námo and those Reborn present at the trials made it clear that they were indeed lies, pure fabrications.”

“So making the transcripts public allowed people to read or hear what Lord Námo had to say about how the dead are treated,” Beleg said with a nod.

“And the fact that the lies originated among Amaneldi would make any other rumors from that source suspect,” Finrod added. “I did think it odd though that at the meeting yesterday people were still questioning that.”

“I think they were merely seeking confirmation of what has since been revealed to them,” Arafinwë said, “confirmation from the Reborn themselves.”

“You think that’s what has happened here?” Gilvagor asked. “These two ellyn wander around the island spreading rumors about Laurendil and Manwen being prisoners, but in spite of the fact that they are dressed like Tol Eressëans, everyone can tell that they are Amaneldi, and so, remembering how other Amaneldi spread vicious lies about the fate of their loved ones who had died, people simply ignore these rumors.”

“Certainly Damrod and Egalmoth’s parents did,” Glorfindel pointed out. “They knew of the rumors but dismissed them out of hand because of their source. If someone from Tol Eressëa had been spreading such rumors, that might have been a different story altogether, but as it is....” He gave a shrug and there were nods all around.

Then, Arafinwë spoke. “We will have to amend our letter to Ingwë with this new information. Margil, thank you for your help. We greatly appreciate the cooperation you and your family have given us.”

“Atto is so glad that we are finally seeing customers from Aman,” Margil said. “When we opened the inn we had such high hopes that people from the mainland would want to come visit with their kin and would need a place to stay. That’s why he insisted that we all learn to speak Quenya, in anticipation of having to serve people who did not speak Sindarin. When the expected visitors did not materialize, Atto was very despondent.”

“I think we will see a greater flow of commerce and visitors between Tol Eressëa and the rest of Eldamar,” Olwë said, giving the ellon a smile.

“Well, we must go,” Arafinwë said, rising and the others began to rise as well. “We still have the meeting with the Town Councillors to get through before the feast tonight.”

With that, everyone made their farewells to Margil and his family. Olwë, Arafinwë, and Ingwion went on their way to meet with the Councillors, their guards following them, while the rest returned to the encampment.

Thavron: (Sindarin) Carpenter. The Quenya form would be Samno, originally Þamno.

The meeting between the kings and Ingwion and the leaders of Tavrobel went well and at the end of it there was an agreement to open up trade relations and to have trade agreements in place before the winter solstice.

“Until a centralized government is in place, we will have to make separate agreements between the three major towns,” Arafinwë said. “Perhaps the agreement with Tavrobel can become the model for all other agreements so that there is a consensus among us.”

“That makes sense,” Dúlinn said. “Tavrobel is usually the first port of call for any Amanian ship. Under the guildmasters who kept the prices on import goods high, we were forced to send our goods overland, which made it even more prohibitive cost-wise. It would have been more economical for ships to take goods to Avallónë directly.”

“What about Kortirion?” Ingwion asked. “Is it easier to transport goods from this side of the island or the other?”

“It is probably easier to transport goods from Avallónë,” Captain Baradir replied, “for the land between here and Kortirion is steeper and more rugged and the road must wind through the hills. The road between Kortirion and Avallónë is straighter, for the land is somewhat flatter. It is where most of our farming communities are located.”

“Yet, there is still a need to transport goods between Tavrobel and Kortirion,” Sîdhwen said. “If the tariffs on import goods were lowered, then we would be able to use the money for improving the road between the two towns, something we haven’t been able to do before this.”

Olwë shook his head in disbelief. “It seems that some of your own people were more intent on fomenting distrust and anger towards us Amaneldi than they were in improving the conditions under which you all lived.”

“True,” Dúlinn said, looking rueful. “Well, hopefully, things will improve for all of us now that we are aware of the truth of the matter.”

“That is our hope as well,” Arafinwë said and shortly thereafter the meeting ended so all could prepare for the coming feast.

“It will be held in the square before the Town Hall,” Sîdhwen informed them, looking suddenly shy. “I’m afraid it will not be all that fancy or elegant, but....”

“I have no doubt that it will be a lovely feast however plain or fancy it may be,” Arafinwë said graciously, “and probably a lot less boring than some of the feasts I’ve had to endure.”

“Násië,” Ingwion muttered fervently, rolling his eyes, which caused the others to laugh.

The feast was, in fact, quite enjoyable. The square was set up with several tables along one side. A high table on a hastily built platform covered with several rich looking carpets stood before the Town Hall facing the large fountain that graced the middle of the square. Awnings were set up behind the tables to provide shade from the summer sun which would not set for a few hours more. Free-standing candelabra stood in strategic places, their candles lit once the sun set, casting a warm glow upon the scene and providing all the illumination needed for the feasters. The feast itself was being catered by several inns, each one responsible for a particular dish. The Blue Dolphin Inn, for instance, provided the sea trout cooked in a butter and almond sauce for the third remove.

There were about fifty townspeople who had been formally invited to the feast, mostly business owners and guildmasters. At Arafinwë’s insistence, the families of the six ellyn whom Glorfindel and Sador had first met were invited to attend the feast and were placed at one of the tables directly below the high table. Hithrían, it turned out, took it upon herself to ensure that some Reborn, besides Saelmir and Nestadôr, who had been in Lórien with either Finrod or Glorfindel were present as well. They, too, were seated close to the high table.

The Amanians came garbed in their finest, the bright gem-studded silks and satins favored by them a sharp contrast to the more subtly textured cloths preferred by the Tol Eressëans. At the insistence of the two kings, there was no formal procession by them to the high table. Instead, Councillor Dúlinn simply announced their approach and everyone stood as Olwë and Arafinwë led the Amanians into the square. Only Arafinwë, Olwë, Ingwion, Finrod, Lindarion, Alassiel and Amarië would be seated at the high table along with Dúlinn, Hithrían, Captain Baradir, Sîdhwen and her husband, a Noldo named Eldacan, who was a member of the Guild of Engineers, responsible for maintaining the bridges, roads and sewers of the town. Everyone else was seated at nearby tables, much to their relief.

While only the more important citizens of the town were invited to attend the feast, there appeared to be a spontaneous decision on the part of many of the other residents to bring their families to the square lugging picnic baskets, settling themselves on blankets on the other side of the fountain from the tables. Dúlinn tried to apologize to the kings for them, but neither Olwë nor Arafinwë objected to their presence and insisted that they not be sent away.

“They obviously wish to join in the merriment even if only vicariously,” Olwë said. “Perhaps, in between the removes we will wander over and visit with them.”

Arafinwë thought that was a good idea and the others agreed. Thus, the feast turned out to have more of a carnival feeling to it. Minstrels and others who performed for the high table were directed by Olwë to wander among the picnickers so that they too could enjoy the entertainment. In between the removes, he and Arafinwë along with the other Amanians visited not only those who were attending the feast proper, but also the other residents, much to their everlasting delight. In spite of the fact that they were picnicking, most of them had donned their best garb for the occasion. The kings, along with their heirs and Ingwion, were seen sharing glasses of wine with one family or another, sitting on the blankets, often dandling a young elfling or two in their arms as they visited with the parents.

At one point, while everyone was waiting for the final remove, Finrod found himself seated beside Hithrían at the high table while her husband was visiting a friend at one of the other tables. It was now quite late in the evening and there was a mellow feeling in the air as people continued to enjoy themselves. An area just before the fountain had been set up for dancing and many were taking advantage of the lull between removes to join in, including even some of the picnickers. The two friends sat there watching the dancing as they sipped their wine and nibbled on some candied fruits.

“So, did you ever write that history of Beleriand you mentioned?” Hithrían suddenly asked Finrod.

“Yes, I did, though it is more a memoir describing my own part of the history,” Finrod answered with a nod. “What happened after my death I leave for others to write about. I have someone working on the illuminations at the moment, and, as I promised you, when it is ready to be bound, I will send it to you.”

“I plan to have several copies made of it once it is completed,” Finrod said, “and place them in the public archives for any to read. I will make sure that some copies are sent here. Do you have a public archive here in Tavrobel?”

“No, but there is one in Kortirion and in Avallónë,” she answered. “We’re not large enough to warrant one. People tend to simply lend any books they happen to have to their friends and neighbors who ask for them. I have been thinking that it would be nice to have a small library where all such books could be gathered in one place for easier access, but there really are not enough books to justify building a library or even renovating an existing building.”

“Perhaps in time you will be able to collect enough books to warrant having a library for everyone’s use,” Finrod said. “If you would like, when I return to Tirion, I will have our archivists and librarians gather extra copies of books and have them sent to you. Perhaps you could encourage the people here to allow copies of their books to be made for our libraries as well.”

“Most of our books, I fear, are written in Sindarin,” Hithrían said, looking apologetic.

“And all of our books are written in Quenya,” Finrod pointed out with a smile. “There are those of Aman who are interested in learning Sindarin and would enjoy reading original texts in the language. It is something to think about,” he added and Hithrían nodded in agreement and then Dúlinn returned to the table and Finrod excused himself to find Amarië, for he had promised her a dance.

And so the evening ended on a pleasant note for them all and everyone declared the feast to be a resounding success. When the Amanians indicated that they would be leaving for their camp, they were escorted by many of the townspeople bearing torches to light their way, with much singing and laughter as they went.

The next morning, before dawn, the encampment was struck and everything sent to the ships while the kings and the main company made their final farewells to the people of Tavrobel who gathered on the quay to see them off. The two swan ships were escorted out of the harbor by several of the Tol Eressëan ships and then they were on their way, taking the southern route around the island to Avallónë.

Much to everyone’s surprise, Glorfindel specifically asked Lindarion to join him on the ship carrying the Noldor while Beleg decided he wished to travel with his uncle. Eärnur went with him, just in case, for in spite of the ginger biscuits that were readily on hand, the former Marchwarden of Doriath still looked decidedly green at the thought of traveling on the sea. This time the voyage would be longer, for they were not intending to reach Avallónë until the next day.

As the ships sailed out of the harbor, Lindarion turned a quizzical look at Glorfindel as the two stood at the rail watching the passing coastline. “Was there a reason why you wished for me to sail with you?” he asked quietly.

Glorfindel glanced around. Others were standing near them, also taking in the view. Glorfindel nodded towards the aft where an awning had been set up for any who wished to have shade. A few chairs were under it along with a table on which were carafes of juice and wine and several cups. At the moment no one was there so the two ellyn had it to themselves. Glorfindel noticed with relief that no one sought to join them, respecting their privacy.

Lindarion sat and stared contemplatively at the Reborn ellon, eyeing Glorfindel’s outlandish front braids. Glorfindel noticed and gave him a quizzical look. Lindarion blushed, realizing he might have been rude.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m not used to seeing this kind of braids. I was surprised to see Findaráto wearing them. I noticed that many Tol Eressëan ellyn wore them and assumed that you and my nephew were copying them for some reason.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “These are warrior braids and you may have noticed that how I do mine is not the same as how Findaráto does his.” Lindarion nodded and Glorfindel lifted one of the braids in his hand. “These are both badges of honor, you might say, as well as a means of identification.” Lindarion raised an eyebrow at that but refrained from speaking. Glorfindel continued. “One has to be initiated into the warrior society in order to be able to wear these braids. There is a whole ceremony involved. Each of the different kingdoms in Endórë had their own style of braids with specific gemstones and beads and pattern of the braids themselves. One only had to look at an ellon and know to whom he owed his allegiance.”

“Rather like the shields I remember you Noldor carried about,” Lindarion said musingly. “I saw them when you came to Alqualondë demanding our ships. I was not sure of the significance of the different designs until I asked Eärwen about them some time later.”

Glorfindel paled at the Teler’s words, but Lindarion’s tone had not been accusatory, merely making a statement of fact and he nodded. “Except one can easily lose a shield in battle. These braids served a third and more poignant purpose: identifying the dead, at least with respect to which lord a particular ellon was bound. Even the Atani warriors whom I saw at the Nirnaeth adopted a similar custom, interweaving different colored ribbons into their hair as a way of declaring themselves. I think those who allied themselves with Nargothrond, Findaráto’s kingdom, wore ribbons of teal blue and gold.”

He paused and picked up the carafe of juice, pouring some into a cup. Lindarion picked up a cup for himself and silently indicated that he would have some juice as well. Then they settled back and there was silence between them for a while. Lindarion was content to follow the other ellon’s lead and did not press for Glorfindel to speak. After a few moments, though, Glorfindel asked a question.

Lindarion’s eyes widened at the unexpectedness of the question, but he answered readily enough. “Oh yes,” he said, “though I did not meet Eärendil until much later. He was speaking with the Valar. Elwing, however, spent much time with us.”

“Would you tell me about them?” Glorfindel asked simply and there was a hunger in his expression mingled with some other emotion that Lindarion could not readily identify.

“Whatever you can tell me,” Glorfindel replied. “As much as you are willing to.”

Lindarion took a sip of his juice, gazing out and seeing, not the ship and the ocean under a clear blue sky, but a gem-encrusted strand under bright stars where a lone elleth walked, softly singing. “She came north from the Bay of Eldamar,” he finally said. “We had seen the ship coming from the east, shining with the Silmaril and wondered at its import, but Atar forbade any to go and investigate, saying that it was for the Valar to act. Later, we learned that Eärendil had gone up the Calacirya, leaving Elwing behind, for it was his destiny to be the messenger to the Valar, and none other could accompany him. So, she wandered aimlessly along the shore, waiting for his return, and eventually came to Alqualondë.”

He paused to take another sip of his juice, his eyes still seeing another time and place. “Atar had her brought to him as soon as she came to the city,” he continued and gave Glorfindel a wry smile. “She was not very fluent in Quenya, and the way she pronounced some words, well they were almost unintelligible to us. She kept lapsing into Sindarin when her Quenya failed her and that just made it worse.” He chuckled. “Atar finally called one of his loremasters who specializes in languages to speak with her. The two of them had a merry time of it, let me tell you, but in the end we learned who she was and why she was there. Atar was so surprised to learn that she was his brother’s great-granddaughter and was equally grieved to hear of his death and the manner of it.” He shook his head, his expression dark with anger mingled with sorrow. “The Silmarils have ever been a curse. Would that Fëanáro had died before ever creating them.”

“I think many people have similar sentiments where Fëanáro is concerned,” Glorfindel said quietly. “On the other hand, Findaráto told me once that, in spite of all the pain and misery those gems caused us, he is grateful that they were created, because otherwise he would never have left Aman and founded his own kingdom.”

Lindarion gave him a disbelieving look. “But he died, and horribly at that. Why would he be grateful?”

Glorfindel flashed him a brief smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “I died just as horribly, if not more so, but I understand what he means. I would not be the person I am today if Fëanáro had never created the Silmarils and all that followed from that. I would have stayed in Eldamar with my atar and amillë, probably would have entered into the Noldóran’s service, and it would not have been Arafinwë wearing the crown but Finwë and all of us would still remain ignorant of the wider world and our Sindarin kin. At least, one would think, but with Melkor around, I have no doubt that he would have corrupted us in some other ways and perhaps the Light of the Two Trees would still have been destroyed save for what could be salvaged for the creation of Isil and Anar. But, if you will forgive me, we were talking about Elwing.” He gave Lindarion a pointed look and the Teler prince nodded.

“Sorry. I guess it is still a sore point with me,” Lindarion said apologetically, but Glorfindel waved it away with a single gesture, pouring more juice in their cups. “At any rate,” Lindarion continued, “we were quite enthralled by the elleth who yet had the blood of Mortals in her veins.” He frowned slightly and Glorfindel, divining somewhat his emotions spoke.

“Beren, from what I have since learned, was honorable and noble and even Elu Thingol eventually accepted him as his daughter’s husband. Oath or no oath, Findaráto would not have gone with Beren on his quest if he had been anything less than noble of spirit and blood. Beren was of the House of Bëor, the first clan of the Atani whom Findaráto met and ever were they loyal and faithful to him. The Atani, for all their weaknesses, are an admirable people. Turucáno has reason to know this, for it was the Mortals who held the rearguard to our retreat from the Nirnaeth, sacrificing themselves for our sakes.”

Lindarion was silent for a bit, then gave Glorfindel a rueful smile. “We seem to keep getting sidetracked.”

Glorfindel grinned back. “Tell me what you can of their fate,” he said. “I know that the Valar gave them a choice as to which kindred they would belong, and that they chose to be counted among the Firstborn, but no one to whom I have spoken seems to know where they went, for certainly they do not live among us.”

Lindarion shook his head. “Eärendil came to Alqualondë some time later looking for Elwing. He was graciously received by us and Atar acknowledged him as Turucáno’s heir, for Elwing had told us all about the fate of the Noldor and the war that Melkor waged upon the remnant of her people. We feasted them and Eärendil, whose Quenya was much better than Elwing’s, told us more about what was happening in Endórë. They did not stay long, though, for Eönwë came and escorted them back to Valmar. Eärendil we never saw again, but Elwing returned to us at the behest of Ingwë and Arafinwë and the Valar, asking for aid in the coming war. It was her pleas and the fact that she could claim kinship with us that convinced Atar to allow our ships to be used to transport the Host of the West, though he made it clear that none of our people would actually participate in the war.”

“So I’ve been told,” Glorfindel said, “though once there they were very helpful in transporting the wounded to Balar and other havens as well as helping to rescue the survivors as the lands began to sink and ferry them to higher ground.”

Lindarion nodded. “At any rate, Elwing remained with us for some time, but at the last, she desired to depart. For all that she was now counted among the Firstborn, she still felt uncomfortable around us. I am afraid that there were those who were not very welcoming of her because of her mixed heritage. For all that she was now considered to be of Elfkind, she still had the blood of Mortals in her veins and some people could not accept that and thought her less than she was. Atar tried to assure her that he did not feel that way, but in the end, he let her go.”

“North,” Lindarion answered, “upon the borders of the Sundering Seas. There is a cove, quite pleasant actually from what I’ve been told, where a white tower was built by us at the behest of the Valar for her use. Eärendil eventually went there to live with her and as far as I know they are still there.”

Lindarion shrugged. “I think over time a few others have gone there to live, but truthfully, I do not know the answer to your question. As far as I do know, that is where they are. Neither apparently feel comfortable among us Eldar because of their Mortal heritage and so they live apart.”

“A pity,” Glorfindel said with a sigh. “Turucáno was quite accepting of Tuor and doted on his grandson. He never disparaged Eärendil’s mixed heritage and in fact was quite proud of him. All could see the love and devotion that existed between them.” He took another sip of his juice, his eyes narrowing in thought, gazing out upon the ocean. Then he turned to Lindarion. “North, you say?”

Lindarion nodded. “Somewhere on the borders of the Sundering Seas. There are many small coves along that way but I cannot tell you which one is theirs.”

“Would there be those who would know, those who helped in the building of the tower?” Glorfindel enquired.

“Yes,” Lindarion said, “but you would have to come to Alqualondë to speak with them.”

Glorfindel nodded, his gaze turning back to the ocean view and for a time the two ellyn sat in companionable silence, each with their own thoughts. Lindarion wandered through the past as he remembered the perelleth who was the great-granddaughter of an uncle he had never met, while Glorfindel contemplated the future and made plans.

Avallónë proved to be a larger and busier port than Tavrobel. The amount of traffic coming in and out of the harbor even this early in the morning fascinated the Amanians as they lined the rails of their ships to watch. There was an air of excitement all about and the bustling activity on the quays made Tavrobel seem like a sleepy little fishing village by comparison. Several ships were seen heading out as they were arriving, even as one lone grey ship appeared out of the glare of the rising sun.

“Where are those other ships heading?” Finrod asked Gilvagor, who was standing next to him. “They don’t appear to be fishing ships.”

“They’re heading for Númenor,” Gilvagor told him, pointing to the horizon where they could just make out a greyish-green smudge of land. “Many elves sail there to bring gifts to the Mortals.”

Gilvagor shook his head. “My life is here now,” he answered. He gave Finrod a shrewd look. “You could go there if you wish. None would gainsay you.”

Finrod gazed out onto the sea and the ships and slowly shook his head. “No. As with you, my life is here now. I will go no further east than Tol Eressëa while Arda lasts.”

They continued to watch as smaller boats, obviously fishing boats, headed out into the wider ocean. They could hear the sailors singing a sea chanty. Then, they were passing the harbor bar and got their first real glimpse of Avallónë. There were gasps of surprise all around at the sight. Where Tavrobel was built mostly of wood, Avallónë was constructed of white stones that gleamed in the morning light. There were soaring towers upon which colorful pennants flew, the sound of them snapping in the sea breeze audible even from the ships. The city rose from the harbor, surrounded by a wall, but they could see beautiful villas dotting the headlands surrounded by flourishing gardens.

“They modeled the city after those of the Falasseldi,” Gilvagor told Finrod as they stood gazing at the port.

Finrod nodded. “I was at Brithombar once, where I met Lord Círdan. My uncle sent a delegation of the Noldor to him shortly after we arrived in Beleriand and asked me to lead it.”

“I remember Fingolfin sending the delegation,” Gilvagor said, now speaking softly in Sindarin. “I was unaware that you were leading it.”

Finrod gave him a wry smile. “Actually, Fingon was leading it,” he answered, speaking Sindarin as well, “at least, that is what everyone thought. My uncle gave me certain instructions.”

Gilvagor gave him a puzzled look. “I don’t understand. Why would Fingon be given the leadership of the delegation only in seeming?”

“It was a ruse to get him out of the way,” Finrod said. “He was still mourning the loss of Maedhros. This was before he went alone in search of his cousin and best friend, you understand.”

Gilvagor nodded. “I remember how upset Fingolfin was when his eldest son and heir disappeared one day shortly after the delegation to Círdan returned.”

Finrod barked a laugh. “Upset is not the word I would have used. My uncle was beyond furious. At any rate, I think Fingon made the decision to go in search of Maedhros while we were returning from Brithombar.”

“Did he know he was not the actual head of the delegation?” Gilvagor asked, intrigued.

“He was despondent, Gilvagor, not stupid,” Finrod answered with a wide grin. “At any rate, he acknowledged the fact that in his present state of mind he was in no mood to be polite to anyone, least of all to some — how did he put it? — ‘Telerin fishmonger with pretensions to lordship’.”

Gilvagor raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “He actually called Lord Círdan that?”

“Well, not to his face,” Finrod said slyly and Gilvagor couldn’t help but laugh.

By now, they were reaching the quays and there were glad greetings between the sailors and the dockworkers. Soon, the two ships bearing the royal standards of the kings of Aman were docked and all disembarked. Unlike at Tavrobel, there was an actual delegation of elves awaiting them further along the wharf, or so they thought. A large group of people stood together, yet Finrod noticed that their attention was not on them and the expressions on the faces of most in the group were more anxious than welcoming, their eyes gazing outward. He followed their gaze and saw that the grey ship that had appeared out of the east was now gliding effortlessly into the harbor, docking at a nearby quay.

The Amanians stood and watched as the group of elves surged forward toward the grey ship where people were slowly beginning to disembark. Finrod could see that some of them needed help in leaving the ship. When one ellon nearly collapsed as he was being led down the gangplank, Finrod acted without conscious thought.

“Glorendil, Eärnur, godolo lim nin!” he commanded and before anyone could utter a protest, he was running down the quay, dodging laborers, with Laurendil and Eärnur right behind, making his way to the other dock.

Lindarion stared after his nephew in consternation, then turned to Arafinwë. “I don’t remember him being so... forceful.”

“That’s because you never saw him when he was King of Nargothrond,” Edrahil answered with a knowing grin before Arafinwë could speak.

Lindarion merely raised an eyebrow. Arafinwë exchanged an amused look with Olwë, then turned to the others. “Shall we go see if we can help?” he asked and there were nods all around as they made their way along the quay.

Finrod, meanwhile, had reached the other ship, politely, but insistently pushing his way past the people gathered at the wharf. Laurendil took the initiative, shouting, “Make way! Healers!” and the crowd opened up, allowing the three to pass through. The ellon who had nearly collapsed as he was being led from the ship was lying beside the gangplank surrounded by several people, presumably family or friends. Again, Laurendil shouted, “Healers! Make way!” and a few of those around the fallen ellon stepped aside, giving them room.

Finrod knelt beside the ellon, a Noldo, who appeared pale and almost unconscious. The prince stared at him for a moment, his eyes full of concern. He brushed the ellon’s hair in a gentle manner. “Water,” he demanded without even looking up, holding a hand out. Someone rushed to where a water barrel stood nearby and, grabbing a metal pan, scooped some water into it before returning to Finrod. Laurendil took the pan with a smile of thanks and knelt beside Finrod.

“Here, aranya,” he said quietly, “if you hold him up I’ll give him the water.”

Finrod nodded, shifting his position slightly. “He looks so pale and faded,” Finrod whispered. “I hardly recognized him.”

“You know him?” Eärnur asked in surprise where he was kneeling on the other side of the ellon, competently checking his vitals.

“We both do,” Finrod replied. Then, he bent down slightly, brushing the ellon’s hair out of his eyes, and kissed him gently on the brow. “Lasgalad,” he whispered in Sindarin. “Stay with us, mellon nîn. Heed not Lord Námo’s call.”

“Come, Lasgalad,” Laurendil then said, also speaking Sindarin. “Is this any way for one of my rangers to act? Eregil would be most displeased.”

Lasgalad fluttered opened his eyes. “Eregil is dead,” he whispered in a rasping voice.

They all turned at the sound of the voice coming towards them. It was Eregil, who had rushed ahead when he, too, recognized the ellon. His expression of dismay and concern belied the light tone of his voice. He knelt beside Laurendil. “Ah, Lasgalad,” he said sadly. “You were always the most stubborn of us. Why did you wait so long before coming?”

But Lasgalad had slipped into unconsciousness by then and gave no answer. Finrod took command. “Let’s get him somewhere more comfortable,” he said.

“Here, lord, let me help.” It was the ellon who had been bringing Lasgalad off the ship. “My name is Iorlas. I am a friend of Lasgalad.”

“Thank you,” Finrod said graciously as he stood, glancing around. “Gilvagor, let’s get everyone to wherever you were planning on lodging us. We’ll bring Lasgalad and Iorlas with us and let the rest of these good people depart with their loved ones.” He nodded towards the group of people that had originally come to meet the ship and its passengers, ignoring the whispers and stares as they and those from the ship slowly came to the realization of who he was.

Gilvagor nodded. “As you wish, Finrod,” he said, deliberately using the prince’s name without any honorific, thereby causing several eyebrows to lift among the bystanders at the unexpected familiarity. Finrod didn’t even blink. “I arranged for one of the villas just outside the city to be given over for our use while we are here.”

By now the others in their group had reached the ship. Arafinwë gave his son a considering look. “Another of yours?” he asked as Laurendil and Eärnur continued checking Lasgalad’s condition, speaking softly to Iorlas, who was telling them something of his history and his friendship with the unconscious Noldo.

Finrod nodded. “Yes, Atar, another of mine. His name is Lasgalad, though I think he was known in Tirion as Calilassë, and that’s a friend of his, Iorlas. I think it best if we bring them along. Gilvagor has secured for us one of the villas.”

“Then, let us hence,” Arafinwë said, and without further ado he bent down and lifted the unconscious ellon into his arms, much to the amazement of those watching from the sidelines. “Celepharn, help Iorlas with any baggage they might have. We’ll wait for you at the end of the wharf. Gilvagor, how far is this villa?”

Gilvagor pointed to the north where they could see several villas overlooking the city. “It’s just there, lord,” he replied. “The road goes that way. I would guess it is a ten or fifteen minute walk from here, no more.”

Arafinwë nodded. “Lead the way then,” he said and in short order the Amanians were making their way off the quay and onto the road leading north towards the villas. Pedestrians stopped and stared, moving quickly out of the way as Gilvagor, along with Edrahil, Glorfindel and Beleg, acted as the vanguard. The two Lóriennildi walked on either side of Arafinwë, keeping clinical watch on their patient. Finrod strode behind them with Iorlas, who looked somewhat out of his depth.

“Do you have family here, Iorlas?” Finrod asked quietly as they moved along the street which now was winding up through the hills surrounding the city.

“No, lord,” Iorlas said. “All my kin are still living in Lindon. I came with Lasgalad out of friendship, for I did not wish for him to sail alone without anyone who knew him, especially in his condition.”

“He left it rather late,” Laurendil said, having heard the conversation between Finrod and Iorlas.

“It is not the Sea-longing, though,” Eärnur stated, having divined something of what was being said, for the three were speaking in Sindarin. “The symptoms are similar but there is something else.”

Finrod translated for Iorlas, who nodded. “He was poisoned by an orc arrow,” he explained. Now Manwen, walking beside her husband, acted as translator for the rest of the group.

“Orcs!” Mithlas exclaimed from where he was walking, acting as one of the perimeter guards. “There cannot be any orcs in the vicinity of Lindon, surely?”

Iorlas shook his head. “No, but there were rumors that orcs were multiplying again east of the Ered Luin,” he said. “Dwarves from Belegost sent word to Gil-galad and he sent out patrols. Lasgalad and I were in one such patrol and there was indeed a small band of orcs hiding out in the northern reaches of the mountains. We were fighting side-by-side when suddenly Lasgalad shouted and pushed me to the ground, taking the arrow meant for me. Luckily, it did not strike a vital spot but the poison on the arrowhead was quick and he collapsed almost immediately. It took us days to reach Lindon where he could get adequate treatment. None of us in the patrol had any real knowledge of healing or poisons. I saved the arrowhead and gave it to Lord Elrond, Gil-galad’s chief healer. He was able to counteract the poison, but only to a point and told us that if Lasgalad did not sail he would surely die.”

He paused, giving a sigh. “He had no family that I knew of still in Lindon and so I said I would accompany him even though I had no real desire to leave my home.”

“Your sacrifice will not be in vain, Iorlas,” Finrod said quietly, laying a hand on the ellon’s shoulder to give him some comfort.

“I felt... responsible for his being struck down,” Iorlas tried to explain. “The arrow was meant for me....”

“That is foolish thinking, hinya,” Olwë said suddenly from where he was walking with Lindarion, Amarië and Alassiel. “You are not responsible for the decisions made by others. Would you have done the same if the situation had been reversed?” Iorlas nodded but said nothing. “Then do not dishonor your friend’s sacrifice with such foolishness. Accept that you came with him out of love for him as a friend, not wishing him to be alone among strangers.”

“But I did not truly wish to leave,” Iorlas said forlornly. “I... I was going to ask Ivorwen to...to....” But he could not finish his words and Finrod wrapped an arm around the ellon’s shoulders and held him as they continued climbing the road. The others gave Iorlas sympathetic looks as they realized what he had given up by accompanying his friend to Tol Eressëa.

By then, they had come into the hills and Gilvagor led them along a pleasant lane that headed northwest until they reached a gated wall. The gate stood open and they filed through. “The villa belongs to a friend of mine,” Gilvagor explained as they made their way up the path. “He was on one of those ships that we saw heading for Númenor and will not return until late autumn before the winter seas make travel difficult.”

When they reached the villa they found several people waiting for them. One, an elleth, stepped forward and curtsied. “I am Faelivrin, Lord Ithildor’s chatelaine. Be welcome, my lords and ladies. Lord Gilvagor, my lord Ithildor sends you his greetings and good wishes for a successful Progress.”

“Thank you, Mistress Faelivrin,” Gilvagor said for them all. “We have a companion who arrived on the ship from Lindon and is gravely ill....”

“Speak no further, lord,” the chatelaine said. “I was going to introduce you to the rest of the staff, but that can wait. If you will follow me, I will show you where you can bring your friend.”

With that, she turned and began issuing orders to the other members of Lord Ithildor’s household and there was a flurry of activity as the servants began helping with baggage and supplies while Faelivrin led the others into the villa. “Here,” she said, opening a door leading into a dayroom. “This room is close to both the kitchen and Lord Ithildor’s herb garden. He has many medicinal plants growing there. I can send for a healer....”

“No need,” Arafinwë said as he laid the still unconscious Lasgalad on a sofa. “We have three healers with us.”

“If you could have someone on the staff help with fetching supplies for us,” Laurendil said, “that would be a great help.”

“Of course,” Faelivrin said. “I’ll send Berethrandir to help. He is the most knowledgeable about Lord Ithildor’s herb garden, for he often works in it at my lord’s side.”

With that, she gave them a curtsey and left. Iorlas was helping Laurendil and Eärnur remove Lasgalad’s outer tunic so the healers could examine the arrow wound and determine the course of treatment. Iorlas was explaining to them what sort of poison was found on the arrowhead and what Lord Elrond had done to treat the ellon.

“Here,” he fumbled at a pouch on his belt. “Lord Elrond wrote out a description of all that he did in treating Lasgalad.” He fished out a sheaf of paper and thrust them at Eärnur, who took a quick glance at them, ready to hand them to Laurendil, for he assumed that the healer’s report would be written in Sindarin. To his surprise, though, he saw that the report was written in Quenya. He did not stop to question Iorlas about it, but quickly read what was written, nodding to himself. Whoever this Lord Elrond was, he was obviously a very competent healer, very much a master of his craft.

The door to the dayroom opened and an elfling of about forty entered, giving them a bow. “Faelivrin said you would need my help,” he said in Sindarin, gazing in wonder at the sight of them all. “My name is Berethrandir.”

“Mistress Faelivrin said you were the one who knew Lord Ithildor’s herb garden the best,” Laurendil said in the same language and when the ellon nodded, he continued. “Good. Do you speak any Quenya?”

“Oh yes,” the ellon replied switching languages. “Lord Ithildor insists that all who are of his household be fluent in it.”

“That makes it easier for us all, then,” Eärnur said. “I am Eärnur, a journeyman Lóriennildo and at the moment, the chief healer, although I think Laurendil and Manwen, who are also healers, though still apprentices, will have a better idea of the proper treatment for this kind of poison. I am unfamiliar with it, but Lord Elrond’s notes are very thorough. Here, Laurendil, take a look at this and see if you agree.”

“Lord Elrond is well respected for his healing abilities,” Laurendil said as he perused the notes, nodding to himself. Then he passed them on to Manwen. “Based on the nature of the poison and the state of the wound, I would think a concoction of the following might be effective.” He then proceeded to name several herbs and Eärnur nodded in agreement. Manwen suggested a substitution for one of the herbs Laurendil had mentioned and the other two healers agreed that that would work better. Eärnur then turned to Berethrandir.

“Oh yes,” Berethrandir replied. “Both fresh and dried. There is a small workroom off one side of the garden where you will find everything you need to make the potion. I can show you where all the herbs are planted.”

“Good,” Eärnur said. “Manwen, will you go with Berethrandir and gather the herbs we need? I’ll meet you in the workroom and we’ll put together the potion while Laurendil continues monitoring Lasgalad.” Manwen nodded and Berethrandir took her through another doorway leading out into the gardens.

“And what do the rest of us do in the meantime?” Finrod asked with a faint smile.

Eärnur raised an eyebrow and in a most imperious tone said, “The rest of you can clear out and let us do our job. Iorlas, you should stay in case Lasgalad comes to and asks for you. He will want to know that you are there, but I suggest everyone else find something else to do in the meantime.”

“Regardless, Eärnur is correct,” Olwë said with a nod. “Come. Let us leave them to care for Lasgalad. Gilvagor, perhaps we can be shown to our rooms so we may freshen up and then a tour of the grounds might be in order while we discuss what we plan to do while we are here. I imagine the leaders of the city will want to meet with us and....”

Olwë and Gilvagor led the way out and the rest followed, though Finrod lingered at the door, staring at the ill ellon. “Take good care of him,” he said.

“We will, Findaráto,” Eärnur replied gently. “As soon as we have anything to report, we will let you know.”

Finrod nodded, then paused, a reflective look on his face. “It cannot be coincidence that Lasgalad arrives in Avallónë on the same day as we do, can it?”

Finrod gave him a searching look, then nodded, exiting the room without another word.

Falasseldi: (Quenya) Plural of Falasselda: Falas-Elf, a name of the Teleri under the lordship of Círdan. In Sindarin they were called the Falathrim ‘People of the Falas’. Cf. the attested name Amaneldi.

They all gathered for the noon meal after having toured the villa and its grounds, admiring the view of the harbor and the city from one of the garden terraces. The three Lóriennildi, along with Iorlas, joined them, and Eärnur gave them a report on Lasgalad’s condition. Gilvagor acted as translator for Iorlas who knew only a few phrases in Quenya.

“He is responding well to treatment and is now in healing sleep,” he said as he slathered some butter on a freshly baked roll. “Berethrandir is watching him for the moment.”

“What did you do for him that Lord Elrond could not?” Mithlas asked. “I know Lord Elrond and he is a master healer for all that he is not even six hundred years old yet.”

Eärnur nodded. “Indeed, he is a master of his craft, but he has not had the benefit of having Valar and Maiar as his teachers.” He gave them a grin. “As it is, I had to purify Lasgalad’s blood.” They all looked at him in surprise. “It’s a technique taught only to those who have reached journeyman status. While I am more interested in learning the art of healing the fëa, all journeymen are required to have extensive knowledge of certain healing techniques that apply to the hröa as well.”

“So, if you had not been here,” Finrod said, giving the Teler a considering look, “Lasgalad might have died?”

“He would have died,” Eärnur said baldly. “He would not have made it alive to Lórien. Neither Laurendil nor Manwen know this technique and I doubt anyone else on Tol Eressëa knows about it either.”

Eärnur shook his head. “He is in no danger of dying or fading but he is not completely healed. He will have to go to Lórien for that, but at the moment he is too weak to travel that far. I think it best that he and Iorlas travel with us so we Lóriennildi can monitor his condition. We are not leaving Avallónë for a few days. That will give him plenty of time to recover some of his strength, enough at least to travel in short stages. The journey to Kortirion should not overtax him.”

Then Arafinwë spoke, addressing Iorlas. “I know that this must be very overwhelming for you, Iorlas, but I want you to know that you are among friends. Your devotion to Lasgalad, even to the point of giving up your own happiness to accompany him, will not go unrewarded, I assure you.”

Iorlas sighed, his expression troubled, but he thanked the king with softly spoken words, though he did not look up from his plate. He had sat there listening to the conversation, picking at his food, but not really eating. Manwen placed a hand on his arm to get his attention. “You will not do Lasgalad any good if you continue this way,” she said, speaking Sindarin. “He will need you to be there for him in the coming days. Now, stop playing with your food and eat.” She gave him a stern look which forced a smile from him.

“Yes, Nana,” he said, sounding like an elfling. “Anything you say, Nana. If I eat all my vegetables, can I go out ’n’ play, Nana?”

“We’ll see,” Manwen responded with a smirk and the others started laughing.

“So now we know why Lord Irmo had you come with us,” Olwë said to Eärnur once they calmed down.

“I am sure it’s not the only reason,” Finrod interjected hastily when he saw the startled look on Eärnur’s face, “though it cannot be denied that it was an important reason. I am very glad you are here with us, but not just because of Lasgalad. You were my first real friend after I was re-embodied and I have always treasured that. Lord Irmo knows this and he no doubt knew how much I would enjoy having you with us on this trip.”

Finrod’s words mollified the young Teler and the conversation drifted to other topics, in particular, what they hoped to accomplish while in Avallónë. “I want to find out if the rumors about Manwen and me have reached Avallónë,” Laurendil said. “Manwen and I lived here for a time before moving to Kortirion and we still have many friends here. I was thinking we should stroll through the city alone and see what reaction we get from people who will recognize us.”

The others nodded with Gilvagor quickly filling Iorlas in on the situation and the reason for the kings being there. Then Finrod spoke up. “And I want to find Brethorn and Alphedis. Nestadôr told me where they live.” He turned to Amarië. “Would you like to come with me, you and Alassiel?” The two ellith both smiled and nodded their heads.

“Take Iorlas with you,” Eärnur suggested, “and introduce him to his new home.” Iorlas started to protest but Eärnur cut him off. “No, my friend. You need to get away for a few hours. Lasgalad is fine and is not going anywhere. Time for you to take care of you for a change.”

“Eärnur is correct,” Finrod said. “Come. We will explore the city together, the four of us.”

“Why don’t we split up into small groups as well and wander about like we did in Tavrobel?” Lindarion suggested.

Arafinwë and Olwë both nodded. “That sounds like a good idea,” the Noldóran said. “We won’t be meeting with any of the local leaders until tomorrow anyway, so the rest of the day is ours to do as we please. However, I think it best if you Reborn are not all in one group.” There were groans from several of the Reborn but no one raised any objections. In the end, Edrahil agreed to accompany Finrod while Arafinwë insisted that Laurendil and Manwen not wander alone. “I don’t think it wise,” he said and so it was agreed that Eregil would go with them. As a Sinda he would not be immediately associated with the Noldor. Olwë said he would take Lindarion, Beleg and Elennen while Sador, Celepharn and Calandil would go with Arafinwë. Gilvagor, Mithlas, Glorfindel and Ingwion decided to tour the city together. Pelendur hesitantly asked Haldir if he cared to join him, just the two of them, which surprised the ellon, but he readily agreed. Eärnur elected to remain behind to keep an eye on Lasgalad.

“There will be plenty of time for me to see the sights,” he told them. “For the moment I think it best that I remain here. Besides, in treating Lasgalad I used up much of my own energy and am in no mood to go wandering any further than to my bedroom for a nice long nap.” That set everyone laughing and shortly thereafter they dispersed to wander through the city.

Laurendil and Manwen walked arm-in-arm through the city while Eregil trailed slightly behind them gawking at everything. Laurendil exchanged an amused smile with Manwen and then turned to speak to the Reborn. “Try to keep up, Eregil. I don’t want to lose you in this crowd.”

“I’m not going to run off like poor Edrahil,” Eregil protested, but he closed the gap between them and walked on Laurendil’s other side. “It’s a lot different from Dorthonion.”

“Do you know what happened to the others of our company?” Eregil suddenly asked. “Did any survive?”

“Most did,” Laurendil answered, “and as far as I know they still reside in Ennorath. Carangil died, as did Dúlinnion. Perhaps now that you’ve been released from Mandos, they will be, too.”

Eregil nodded. “I don’t recall seeing them in Mandos, but the Halls seem to go on forever and I never explored them all. It’ll be nice to see them again when they are released.” Then he lapsed into silence, too busy taking in the sights to speak further. Manwen then asked a question of her husband as they traversed a small square. “Do you have a specific goal in mind or are we merely wandering?”

“I was thinking of making our way to the central square,” Laurendil replied. “Do you remember that small bookshop that we discovered shortly after our arrival?”

“Oh yes,” she answered, her eyes brightening. “We’re bound to run into one of our old friends there or somewhere in the square. It’s a popular meeting place, after all.”

They entered the central square in a short time. It was not as crowded as Eregil expected and Laurendil pointed out that it was not a market day. “Believe me, this square becomes rather busy then. Ah, there is the shop.” He pointed to where a small shop nestled in one corner of the square. There was a sign above the entrance showing an open book and the words ‘The Book Nook’, written in both Quenya and Sindarin script. In smaller letters was the shop owner’s name, Minyon Vardamirion, followed by the words ‘Parmamacar’ and ‘Bachor i-pherf’.

“Anyone home?” Laurendil called out as he and Manwen entered the shop with Eregil close behind. The shop turned out to consist of nothing but shelves stuffed full with leather-bound books of every size and quality. There were a few embossed with gold or silver or precious gemstones, while many others were plain and unadorned. A small counter was tucked into one corner of the room and at the back of the shop a set of three steps led to a raised area where comfortable chairs and a sofa were placed around a low table. Behind the counter was a curtained doorway which was pushed aside as an ellon came through. Eregil looked upon him with interest. He was a Noldo, and Eregil suspected that this was probably the shop owner, as the name on the sign attested. What was unusual about him was that his hair was definitely black, a rarity among the Eldar, and Eregil could not recall seeing any other Noldo with black hair. When the ellon saw them he broke out in a broad smile.

“Laurendil! Manwen!” he exclaimed, holding out his hands in greeting. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“We just came today,” Laurendil said with a grin, “and naturally you were our first stop.”

“Oh, excuse me,” Laurendil said apologetically. “This is Eregil, who was once a member of the company of rangers I led in Beleriand. Eregil, this is Minyon, who gave up being a warrior for books.”

“A much safer occupation, I assure you,” Minyon said with a smile, then bowed to Eregil. “Mae govannen. Have you recently sailed?”

Eregil shook his head. “No. I died in the Dagor Bragollach,” he said simply.

Minyon gave him a startled look, turning to Laurendil for confirmation. Laurendil nodded. “Eregil has only recently been released from Mandos.”

“Well, will wonders never cease,” Minyon exclaimed. Then he turned to Laurendil. “So what brings you back to Avallónë?”

“You still brew that sorry excuse for wine you kept telling the Edain was actually miruvor?” Laurendil asked with a wicked grin.

Minyon laughed. “Indeed I do. Come. Make yourselves comfortable in the reading corner while I close up the shop and then you can tell me all about it.”

He proceeded to do just that while Laurendil, Manwen and Eregil made their way to the upper level of the shop. Eregil raised an eyebrow. “Miruvor?” he asked.

Pelendur and Haldir walked along a tree-shaded avenue, neither of them speaking, but the silence between them was not strained. “I overheard Gilvagor tell Findaráto that this city was modeled on the ones built by the Falasseldi,” Pelendur said without preamble. “Did you ever see them?”

Haldir shook his head. “I was busy helping with the construction of Vinyamar,” he replied and when Pelendur gave him an enquiring look, he explained. “Turucáno’s first city before he built Gondolin.”

Pelendur shook his head. “I cannot imagine being hidden away for so long. How did you endure it?”

Haldir stopped and leaned against a low wall that bounded someone’s garden, staring pensively at the flowers but not actually seeing them. “It wasn’t so bad,” he finally answered. “We had more than four hundred years of peace and prosperity. The city and the people flourished. I flourished. I had a respected position in Lord Glorfindel’s household and when Gwilwileth consented to marry me, my joy knew no bounds.”

“In the end, I still have Gwilwileth,” he said quietly, “and that is all that truly matters. What happened to me, happened, and there is nothing either of us can do to change that. I am sorry that we parted so bitterly, Atar. That has always been my deepest regret.”

They were silent for a time. Haldir continued to stare at the garden while Pelendur kept his eyes on the ground, deep in thought. Then he raised his head and stared at his son. “Is Haldir a direct translation of Hallatiro?” he asked suddenly and Haldir gave him a surprised look.

“No,” he answered, shaking his head. “It is a name in its own right and means ‘hidden hero’.” He smiled at his atar’s look of surprise. “I thought it was appropriate.”

They continued on their way, stopping at one point to admire a fountain that graced a small square, depicting Lord Ulmo surrounded by dolphins.

“Do you think you will ever return to Tirion?” Pelendur asked as they walked around the fountain, neatly avoiding the group of elflings playing with the water.

Haldir shook his head. “Unlikely, at least not in the immediate future,” he replied. “Gwilwileth and I have only just been reunited. She’s lived a life that I never got to share with her and we need time together, time alone, to rebuild what we once had.”

“I know,” Haldir responded, “but it’s not a permanent separation and we can always visit or you could come here. Gwilwileth and I would love to have you both visit our home.”

“Perhaps I should have asked your emmë to come with us,” Pelendur said, then gave Haldir a wry look. “Although, I am not here voluntarily, as you know.”

Haldir gave his atar a shake of his head. “While I admire King Arafinwë’s wish to see us reconciled, I am sorry he forced you to come here.”

“I’m not,” came the surprising reply. “I think I needed to see for myself the kind of life you are now living and the respect that others have for you. It has been a... humbling experience. I cannot say that I entirely approve of what you did. So much of my own hopes and dreams died during the Darkening and I thought I had lost you forever.”

Haldir put his arms around Pelendur and hugged him. “Not forever, Atto,” he said quietly. “Just until all the Ages of Arda were spent, but, that is not what has happened, is it? Instead, by the grace of the Valar, I have been restored to you and emmë, but I am not the same ellon who left, nor do I ever want to return to what I was before. Too much has happened since.”

“I realize that,” Pelendur said, giving Haldir his own hug. “I guess I just couldn’t let go of the bitterness. It’s why I refused to follow Arafinwë to the war. I could not see why we should be rescuing you who deserted us for naught but a fool’s dream.”

“Perhaps it was a fool’s dream,” Haldir said with a sigh, “but while it lasted, it was glorious.”

They fell silent again as they walked out of the square and down a winding street that seemed to lead towards the harbor. “Come,” Pelendur said. “Let us find a tavern and have something to drink and I will tell you what happened to us after you left. I do not think you know all the details.”

Haldir shook his head. “In Lórien they told us in general terms what occurred in Aman after we fled, but specific details about individuals were not forthcoming. I think they expected our families to fill in the gaps.”

“The Darkening affected us all differently, especially we Noldor who had remained behind. Tirion was a city of mist and phantoms. It was worse than when Ingwë removed his people to Vanyamar.”

“Let us find that tavern, then,” Haldir said, “and you can tell me what it was like for you and emmë and, if you are interested, I will tell you something about how we fared as we made our way to Endórë.”

Pelendur nodded, putting an arm around his son’s shoulders. “I would like that very much.”

Ingwion insisted that the other three speak in Sindarin so he could practice. “I’ve been learning as much as I can,” he said speaking the language haltingly, “but I know I need more practice.”

The other three smiled. “That you are willing to learn is well,” Gilvagor said. “We will speak Sindarin then.”

“So, where are we going?” Glorfindel asked, “and what will we do when we get there?”

“Hmmm.... I really hadn’t thought about it,” Gilvagor said. “Avallónë is the first city for all who come from Ennorath. Here is where you are likely to hear the latest news about Gil-galad’s kingdom. We could go down to the harbor and wander around there.”

Ingwion shook his head. “If I know Olwë, he’s already headed that way.” The others chuckled in acknowledgment. “Why don’t we go somewhere different? How well do you or Mithlas know this city?”

Mithlas shrugged. “When I arrived I was in no state to pay much attention to anything around me,” he explained. “In fact, I was placed immediately on another ship that was bound for Tavrobel and from there I was sent on to Lórien. When I came back here, I went to live with friends in a small community on the north side of the island, closer to Kortirion than Avallónë. I came back to Avallónë only when news was brought to me that my naneth and sister had arrived and then I was too busy arranging for them to go to Lórien for treatment to bother with sightseeing.”

“I know Avallónë well enough,” Gilvagor said, “having been here a number of times. Is there anything in particular that you are interested in seeing or should we just wander around and see what mischief we can get into without half trying?”

The other three laughed. “Why don’t we find a tavern and sit for a while?” Glorfindel suggested. “We can let Ingwion practice his Sindarin while we have some wine. I’ll even tell you what I’ve been up to since the Tournament ended.”

“That’s right,” Ingwion said. “You remained behind at Lady Nienna’s after Aldundil, Vorondil and I left, but you’ve not really told anyone what you did there.”

“I told Finrod and Sador,” Glorfindel said, “but I haven’t felt like telling anyone else.”

Glorfindel shrugged. “I know everyone is curious about what I was doing for the last several months, but I haven’t felt comfortable explaining it to a large group of people, some of whom I barely know. I decided I would tell a few people at a time, especially those whom I consider my gwedyr. I am hoping that there will be opportunities like this one for me to speak about my adventures with Beleg and Haldir and Laurendil.”

“Well then,” Gilvagor said. “It so happens that I know a nice little tavern that looks out onto the main square of the city. We can sit outside and watch the world go by while you tell us all about what you’ve been up to.”

The others readily agreed to Gilvagor’s suggestion and after getting his bearings he led them towards the tavern. Along the way Glorfindel began telling them about his time at Lady Nienna’s. He was describing the lesson he had given Lisselindë that had involved three of Lord Manwë’s Maiar as they came to the tavern and found a table in the courtyard fronting the establishment, shaded by a grape arbor.

A servitor came and they gave him their orders. When they were alone again, Glorfindel nodded. “I was so furious, I really wanted to kill something,” he said. “I couldn’t believe Lord Manwë had sent three of his Maiar to protect me. Protect me! It was Lisselindë who needed the protection.”

The other three ellyn laughed at Glorfindel’s affronted expression. “Perhaps Lord Manwë knew that and sent the Maiar to stop you from doing anything... um... impetuous,” Ingwion suggested.

The others stared at him in confusion. “Alagos?” Glorfindel asked. “What does my horse have to do with anything?”

Now Ingwion was looking nonplused. “I didn’t say anything about your horse,” he protested.

Then Gilvagor started laughing. “You meant ‘alag’,” he said, switching to Quenya for the sake of clarity. “‘Alagos’ means ‘windstorm’. Though, mind you, I can imagine anyone who is on the wrong side of Glorfindel’s wrath would probably think they’re in the middle of one.” He gave Glorfindel a wink. Glorfindel stuck his tongue out at him and Mithlas chuckled, nodding his head in agreement.

“That’s all right,” Glorfindel said. “It can be very confusing when words are very similar in sound but not quite the same in meaning. You’re doing very well all things considered. Who’s been teaching you? Valandur?”

Ingwion nodded. “Partly,” he said, blushing a bit more. “Most of my lessons have actually been with Lord Námo.”

There were raised eyebrows at that announcement. Before anyone could respond, however, an ellon approached their table. “Well, well. What do you know? The two people I hate the most right here in front of me.”

They all looked up in surprise. “Findegil!” Gilvagor exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

Findegil raised an eyebrow. “I live here, in case you’ve forgotten,” he replied. “The question is, what are all of you doing here?”

Findegil pointed first at Gilvagor and then at Ingwion. “These two defeated me in the Tournament.”

Findegil nodded, keeping his expression blank. “With a passion. In fact, I hate you two so much that I’ve decided to name my firstborn son after you both.”

Findegil stared at them for a count of five and then burst out laughing. “You should see your faces,” he exclaimed, pointing at them.

There were groans and muttered curses as the four ellyn realized they’d been the victim of Findegil’s jest. “You’re really going to name your son after us?” Ingwion asked.

Findegil nodded as he took the seat that Mithlas offered him. “We’ve already decided on Ingilvagor, though we will probably end up shortening it to Ingil.”

No one seemed to notice Ingwion going absolutely still, staring at nothing in particular, as the others demanded details about the coming birth, but then Glorfindel turned to say something to him and saw how white he was. “Ingwion? Is there something wrong?” he asked, placing a hand on the ellon’s arm.

Ingwion stirred, as if from a dream. “Wrong? No. Nothing’s wrong.” He shook his head and forced himself to be attentive to what Findegil was telling them about his life even as Gilvagor was filling him in on why they were all in Avallónë. Glorfindel, however, noticed that every once in a while Ingwion’s attention strayed and his expression became wistful. He thought he detected unshed tears glimmering in the ellon’s eyes. Without saying a word, he reached over and gave Ingwion’s arm a squeeze. The Vanya looked at him with a puzzled expression, but Glorfindel only nodded, his own expression one of deep compassion. He leaned over and whispered in Ingwion’s ear. “It’s all right. I know.”

The other three ellyn stopped in the midst of their conversation in surprise when Ingwion suddenly burst into tears. When Gilvagor started to say something, Glorfindel shook his head, taking Ingwion into his embrace and gently rocking him, all the while softly humming an ancient lullaby.

Alagos: (Sindarin) ‘Storm of wind’, which also happens to be the name of Glorfindel’s horse. The Quenya cognate would be alacossë.

Alag: (Sindarin) ‘Impetuous, rushing’. Obviously, alag and alagos (also alagon ‘storm’), derived from the same root, ÁLAK-, are very close in meaning and therein lay Ingwion’s confusion. Further compounding the confusion (for Ingwion, at least) is the fact that the Quenya cognate of alag is alaco ‘rush, rushing flight, wild wind’, but this is a noun whereas the Sindarin word is an adjective.

1. In The Shibboleth of Fëanor, Tolkien describes Finwë as having ‘black hair, but brilliant grey-blue eyes’ (Note 19) [see Peoples of Middle-earth, HoME XII].

2. Haldir ‘Hidden hero’, according to the Etymologies, s.v. SKAL(1)- [‘The Lost Road’, HoME V]. In Quenya the name would be rendered Haldaner. Hallatiro became Heledir in Sindarin.

Olwë did indeed head for the harbor, as Ingwion had predicted, dragging his son and nephew along.

“Truly, Atar,” Lindarion said as they made their way back down the road from the villa, “there is more to life than ships. Can we not go somewhere else besides the docks?”

Olwë turned to give Lindarion a wry look, never slowing down. “Are you sure you’re my son?” he quipped.

Elennen, striding in the rear of their group, acting as guard, snickered. “I’ve often wondered myself,” he said, giving Lindarion a wink.

Lindarion just rolled his eyes. Beleg, however, grinned. “I’m with Lindarion,” he said. “I’m bored with looking at ships and sails and fishing nets. Let’s do something else. You can always visit the docks later, Uncle.”

Now Olwë stopped and looked at the two younger ellyn with an expression of dismay that they could tell was feigned. “Honestly, I cannot believe I’m hearing this and from my own son and nephew. Oh, very well. Where do you want to go instead?”

But now that the question had been put to them, neither Lindarion nor Beleg had a ready answer. “Hah!” Elennen said with a smile. “I think these youngsters are just complaining for the sake of complaining, Olwë.”

“You may be right,” Olwë said, now looking amused at the chagrined expressions on the younger ellyn’s faces, “but, perhaps they are correct. There is more to Avallónë than the harbor. So, why don’t we just pick a random direction and see where it leads us?”

“Oh, an adventure,” Beleg said, sounding excited and very young, for all that he had spent millennia hunting through the forests surrounding Menegroth under starlight.

“Yes, hinya, an adventure,” Olwë replied with a smile. “So, you may choose the direction.”

“Just don’t choose east,” Lindarion said and Beleg stuck his tongue out at him which caused Olwë and Elennen to chuckle.

Without taking his eyes off of his cousin, Beleg stuck his right arm out and pointed arbitrarily. “That way,” he said, then turned to see just where he was pointing. It turned out that he had pointed towards the southwest and it so happened that just a few feet from where they were standing a narrow lane came onto the main road from that direction.

They traveled along the lane which wended its way through what was primarily a residential area with houses set in the midst of gardens. The lane was lined with stately elms, providing them with shade, for the day was warm and the sky was cloudless. They did not meet anyone along the way.

“Not much of an adventure,” Lindarion muttered at one point. “There’s nothing happening.”

“Perhaps we should have headed for the main square,” Elennen suggested. “People are still at work or shopping.”

“This is the direction Beleg chose,” Olwë said, “so we will continue along this way until another road presents itself and then we will decide what to do next.”

So they continued along the elm-lined lane, admiring the gardens as they passed them, but no other road intersected theirs. Instead, the lane swung towards the west and rose as they went further into the hills surrounding the city. The stately elms gave way to dark firs, oaks and beeches and they left the houses and their gardens behind.

“This is no fun,” Beleg groused. “Why don’t we go back and go to the harbor instead? At least it’ll be more lively.”

“It’s odd we haven’t encountered anyone along the way, though,” Elennen remarked. “You would think we would see someone working in their garden or something.”

Olwë shrugged, not having an answer. “I admit I would much rather be speaking to the sea captains and sailors, but really it’s quite a pleasant walk and we’ve had enough excitement lately. I think we should just enjoy the peace and quiet.”

“What if this road leads nowhere?” Lindarion asked. “At some point we need to return to Avallónë.”

“Let’s just continue for a little while longer,” Olwë said. “If we don’t encounter anyone or if there is no other road soon, then we’ll turn back. I wouldn’t mind finding a tavern and having something cool to drink right about now anyway.”

The others agreed and they continued on their way. By now they were heading deeper into the hills. The road curved more to the north at one point so that they could not see what lay ahead. Lindarion started to suggest that they turn back when Beleg, who was still in the lead, stopped suddenly, gasping in surprise. The others hastened to his side to see what had startled him.

The lane ended abruptly, opening up into a clearing where they found a large pool fed by a spring. The clearing was perhaps fifty or sixty paces wide on either side. The edge of the clearing was lined with trees except to the east where it overlooked Avallónë. The pool was about twenty paces across at its widest point and looked to be deep enough to sit in. The water was crystal clear and still. It also looked quite inviting on such a hot day, particularly as it was nicely shaded by a large oak tree that stood to the west of the pool.

Beleg gave them a surreptitious look. “You don’t suppose anyone would mind....?”

“I’m just surprised that there is no one here taking advantage of the water,” Olwë said. “You would think elflings at least would be happily playing here.”

Elennen walked to the eastern rim of the clearing and gazed down into the city. “Nice view,” he said and the others joined him to admire the scenery. They were high enough that the entire harbor was laid out before them and they could even see ships plying the waters beyond the harbor bar. Further out at the horizon they could make out the cliffs that marked Númenor.

“Well, I don’t know about anyone else,” Lindarion said, “but I’m for a dip. This isn’t much in the way of an adventure, but I certainly don’t mind.”

The others agreed and soon they were all divested of their clothes and sitting in the pool, the cold water refreshing on their skin. The pool was large enough that they did not feel crowded. Lindarion offered to teach Beleg how to float on his back. “A useful skill,” he said, “for, if ever you find yourself in deep water, you can alternate between treading water and floating to save your energy.”

Beleg was a bit reluctant, but when Olwë offered to help, he agreed. With the encouragement of the three Teleri, Beleg became more confident and soon he was floating serenely, gazing up into the azure sky while the others sat in water up to their chests.

“Ah, this is wonderful,” Lindarion said with a smile. “I hate the idea of having to get out.”

“But we will have to eventually and let the sun dry us before we don our clothes again,” Olwë said. “I would like to be back at the villa at a reasonable hour so as not to cause anyone worry.”

“Spoil sport,” Elennen said with a grin and splashed some water at Olwë who laughed and splashed back. Then Lindarion got into the act and soon all three were splashing each other and laughing.

“Hey! Don’t drown me!” Beleg protested as he stood up gasping when a wave rolled over his head.

Beleg continued coughing and then suddenly splashed his uncle right in the face, causing Olwë to sputter. “Now I am,” Beleg said, laughing, and soon they were all splashing one another like elflings, their laughter ringing through the hills, hills that were not as empty as they imagined, hills that had ears that listened to their shouting and eyes that watched their play.

Arafinwë and Sador walked together while Celepharn and Calandil brought up the rear. They had decided to check out the public archives, thinking there might be some information concerning the fate of Sador’s family. Gilvagor had told them that every person who came from Endórë was asked to record as much information as they had about the fate of various family members and friends.

“It’s quite possible that there will be information concerning your family,” Gilvagor said to Sador before they set out and so the four ellyn made their way down the road, following the directions that Gilvagor had given them for the archives. They were not situated in the main part of the city, surprisingly enough, but in a small building to the south of the main harbor.

“Archivists generally meet any ship from Endórë and invite people to come to the archives before they continue to other communities and give them what information they have,” Gilvagor had told them when he explained where to find the building.

So, they wended their way along the harbor road until they came to a building set back from it. A small sign in both Sindarin and Quenya stated that this was the Avallónë Archives. They entered to find themselves in a small foyer where comfortable chairs and low tables were placed, apparently for people visiting the archives. There was a desk opposite the door behind which an elleth sat. She looked up from the manuscript she was reading and smiled. “Welcome. May I help you?”

Arafinwë nodded. “I hope you can,” he answered in carefully enunciated Sindarin. “This is my ward, Sador Bronwegion, who is looking for news about his family.”

The elleth gave them a confused look. “Ward? I’m not sure I understand.,” she said.

“I died at the Havens of Sirion,” Sador said simply, “I do not know what happened to my parents or my little sister.”

The elleth’s eyes widened. Then she slipped a piece of silk into her book and closed it. “Let me find Barancheneb. He’s the chief loremaster in charge of genealogies.”

The elleth rose and after bidding them to take seats she went through a doorway to her right and disappeared. Arafinwë and Sador sat while Calandil and Celepharn remained standing.

“Do you really think they will have any information about my family?” Sador asked Arafinwë.

The Noldóran gave him a sympathetic look. “I certainly hope so, but even if they do not, do not despair. You are not the only one who has lost kin.”

“I know,” Sador said with a sigh. “It would relieve my heart just to know that they are dead for then I will know that someday we will be reunited. It’s the not knowing that’s the worst.”

“Perhaps you should just have faith that whatever has happened to them, you and they will be reunited, even if it is not until all the Ages of Arda have passed. That, at least, is a certainty. Not even Mortals have that much.”

Sador started to reply but the elleth returned just then with an ellon, who had the silvery-grey hair of the Sindar but golden-brown eyes, marking his mixed heritage and the reason for his name. He smiled and gave them a bow. “Rivileth tells me you are looking for information about your family,” he said, speaking flawless Quenya, looking between Arafinwë and Sador, and glancing briefly at Calandil and Celepharn. His expression was one of puzzlement and it was clear he was trying to figure out just who they were.

Arafinwë nodded and introduced himself. “My name is Ingoldo and this is Sador. His anamillë was a Noldo of Aman who went into exile. She married a Sinda and their son is Sador’s atar. We are trying to find out if they still live, for Sador died at the Havens of Sirion when it was attacked. He has only recently been reborn and as he had no family here, I was asked to be his guardian.”

Barancheneb gave them a studied look. “Let’s go to my office and you can give me as much detail about your family as you can,” he said. “If you would follow me?”

Arafinwë nodded at Calandil and Celepharn and they remained where they were while he and Sador followed the loremaster. The ellon brought them into a crowded room piled high with scrolls and books and parchment. There was a desk and a couple of chairs in which Arafinwë and Sador sat while Barancheneb cleared a space before him as he sat behind his desk. He took a scrap of parchment and sharpened a quill.

“Now, tell me the names of your parents and grandparents and any other information you have on them,” he said to Sador.

“My ada’s name is Bronweg,” Sador began. “He is the son of Mallor of Doriath and Calemmíriel of Nargothrond. She is of mixed Noldorin and Vanyarin heritage. Mallor was a member of Prince Celeborn’s retinue, while Calemmíriel was a lady-in-waiting to Lady Galadriel.”

“My nana is Rían, daughter of Dirhael and Gilfaen, both of Doriath. I was born there as well and I have a younger sister, Ninniach, who was thirty when I died.”

Sador shook his head. “I know that Mallor and Calemmíriel did not survive the sacking of Doriath. Dirhael and Gilfaen survived. They were on the island of Balar when the Fëanorionnath came upon us. I do not know if they live still, though. I have not been able to find anyone who remembers them or my parents.”

Barancheneb nodded. “There was a great deal of confusion there at the end,” he said. “Many were lost who had survived the war itself.”

Barancheneb gave him a thin smile. “Yes, I remember you, your Majesty.” Arafinwë gave him a searching look. “I was attached to one of Lord Maedhros’ units,” the loremaster explained with a smile.

“Can you help me?” Sador asked anxiously. “Even if it is just to tell me that they reside now in Mandos as once I did, I would be most grateful.”

“I must search my records, of course,” Barancheneb said. “I have been collecting information on as many of our people as I can, for many come here seeking kin whose fate they do not know. I do not know how long it will take....”

“Take whatever time is needed,” Arafinwë assured him. “You have all the information you need, do you not? I know you will be diligent in your search. If we are still here on the island, you may send word to us, or if we have returned to Tirion, come yourself.”

The loremaster nodded and turned to Sador. “Is this all your family? Have you no aunts or uncles or cousins?”

Sador shook his head. “I do not really know,” he said. “I remember the names of my grandparents but if they had other children, I do not recall.”

Barancheneb arched an eyebrow and Arafinwë hastened to explain. “The memories of the Reborn do not come all at once. Sador remembers much of his life before he was struck down, but not all of it. It will take time for some memories to surface and some never do.”

“Ah... Well that explains it,” Barancheneb said. Then he stood and gave them a short bow. “I will do my best to find what information there is about your family, youngling. In the meantime, I will tell you what I tell everyone who comes to me for answers: keep estel in your heart and know that someday you and your loved ones will be reunited in truth.”

“Barancheneb is correct, yonya,” Arafinwë said when he noticed the glum look on Sador’s face. “It may be that there are no answers to be found and only Eru and the Valar know what is the truth. If they withhold the information from us, it is for a reason. I learned that lesson a long time ago, and you must learn it as well.”

“Lord Námo has said much the same thing,” Sador replied. “It’s still hard though.”

“Thank you for your time, Master Barancheneb,” Arafinwë said, standing. “As I said before, if you learn anything....”

“I will find you, never fear, my lord,” the loremaster said and saw them back to the foyer where they found Calandil and Celepharn chatting with Rivileth. The two ellyn straightened when they saw Arafinwë approach.

“Come along,” the Noldóran said with a smile. “We have concluded our business here and I would like to find a nice little tavern and sit for a while.”

“If you turn left as you leave,” Barancheneb said, “continue down the road until you come to your first right. Take that and you will come to the Eagle’s Rest Inn. They serve an excellent wine.”

“Thank you. We’ll do that,” Arafinwë said and soon the four ellyn were walking down the road towards the inn. Arafinwë put an arm around Sador’s shoulders as they walked. “We’ll find them, yonya,” he said softly. “One way or the other, we’ll find them.”

“This must be it,” Finrod said as he and the others stood before a small white-stone cottage on a street that looked no different from the others they had passed. Along the way they had admired the architecture of the city, commenting on how it differed or not from Tavrobel and the cities of the Amaneldi. Iorlas, though quiet, showed much interest in what he was seeing.

“It sort of reminds me of Lindon,” he had said and went on to describe the city of Gil-galad, Finrod’s great-nephew, as they made their way down one street after another, following the directions Nestadôr had given Finrod.

“Only one way to find out, isn’t there?” Finrod answered, giving her a smile. Then he passed through the latticed archway where wisteria climbed, followed by the others. “Hello the house,” he called out.

“I know that voice,” came the reply as someone walked around from the back of the cottage. They saw an ellon, a Sinda by his features, wearing a nondescript tunic that might once have been green but now was an uncertain grey. He was carrying a trowel which he threw down to open his arms in greeting. “Valar! Is it truly you, Finrod?” he exclaimed.

Finrod laughed as he hugged the ellon. “It is truly I, Brethorn. Guren linna an glass gen cened.”

“As does mine,” Brethorn said. “But come. Introduce me to your companions.”

“The two ellyn are Iorlas and Edrahil,” Finrod said. “Iorlas just came from Ennorath this very day and Edrahil was one of my companions from Nargothrond. He died with me in Sauron’s dungeon and has only recently been released from Lórien.”

The two ellyn gave Brethorn bows. “Be welcome, Iorlas, to Tol Eressëa, and thou, Edrahil, to Life,” Brethorn said formally as he returned their bows with one of his own.

Then Finrod turned to the ellith, switching to Quenya. “And this is my cousin, the Lady Alassiel Intarioniel, and my betrothed, the Lady Amarië Castamíriel.”

Brethorn smiled and bowed low to the two ellith. “Elen síla lumenn’ omentielvo,” he said, giving the traditional greeting. “Well met, all of you. But come. Why are we standing about here? Let us go into the garden against which I have been battling all day.”

Brethorn gave him a sour look. “Not much use for swords here anyway,” he said as he bent to pick up the trowel he had dropped.

“So what have you been doing then since you left Lórien?” Finrod asked as he and the others followed Brethorn around to the back where they found a lovely garden in full bloom. There was a flagged courtyard where Brethorn gestured for them to sit around a table.

“Let me get you something to drink and then we can share our stories,” Brethorn suggested and then went into the cottage. He soon returned with a tray on which was a flagon of wine and several goblets as well as a plate of cheese and fruit. Setting it down on the table he began pouring the wine.

“So, what brings you to Avallónë?” he asked as he handed a goblet to Amarië.

“We’ll discuss that later,” Finrod said, “but first I want to hear all about you and what you’ve been doing.” He turned to the others. “Brethorn was in the service of my cousin, Findecáno, and died protecting him at the Battle of Sudden Flame.”

Brethorn finished pouring the wine and sat, giving them a shrug. “A long time ago,” he said. “As for what I have been doing... well, that’s a tale and a half, as they say. I left not long after you did. Both Saelmir and I left together but none of our families were there to greet us. You remember Lord Irmo saying that he delayed releasing us because our families had not yet sailed?”

Finrod nodded, giving them a wicked grin. “I remember he said he would wait until they had settled in first before springing you on them.”

Brethorn laughed. “Oh yes, indeed. Saelmir and I were met by some friends whom we remembered from our first life, rather than our families, which puzzled and confused us, but Lord Irmo, before sending us through the gate, assured us that all would be well, so we went willingly enough with them. We parted at Tavrobel, for apparently Saelmir’s folk were living there.”

“I met Saelmir while we were in Tavrobel,” Finrod said. “He is doing quite well.”

“I know,” Brethorn said. “We have kept in contact over the years, which is more than I can say for some people I know.” He gave Finrod a knowing look.

Finrod blushed slightly while the others all grinned. “Please continue your story,” was all he said.

Brethorn gave him an amused smile and winked at the others. “Yes, well, we went on to Kortirion, which is where my aunt and uncle and their children lived.”

“Your parents did not sail?” Alassiel asked, her expression sad at the thought.

“Not then,” Brethorn replied. “Later, they came. In the meantime, my friends brought me to Kortirion.” He paused and shook his head. “I am a Sinda, and until the Noldor came to Beleriand, I often wandered with companions under the stars, never abiding in any one place for long. I only took service with Fingon because my atar did and I did not wish to be parted from my family. I never saw Menegroth, so I cannot compare its splendors with anything built by the Noldor. Fingolfin’s fortress at Eithel Sirion was the first city I had ever seen, yet it was nothing compared to Tirion, which awed me. Kortirion had a similar effect, though it is a lesser city.”

“A bit,” Brethorn admitted, “but everything was a shock to me back then. I had nothing from my previous life to really compare to what I saw about me, especially as we traveled through Aman. But, I digress. We came to Kortirion and my three friends, who seemed as eager to deliver me to my kinfolk as I was eager to turn around and head back to Lórien, brought me to my uncle’s house without delay.” He gave them a self-deprecating grin and they all laughed. “Two of them hid me behind their backs while the third went to the front door and knocked. One of my cousins opened the door....”

“Le suilon,” Brethorn heard Bregolas say to someone whom he could not see, for Calencheneb and Mabring were shielding him from view. “Is this the house of Baragund and Arodeth?”

“Yes, it is,” he heard an elleth reply. “Is there something we can do for you?”

“Oh yes,” Bregolas said brightly. “You can take this sorry excuse for an elf off our hands.” He must have made some sort of gesture, Brethorn surmised, for suddenly Calencheneb and Mabring stepped to the side, leaving him to face someone he vaguely remembered, though he could put no name to the face. Brethorn could see, though, that the elleth obviously recognized him, for her eyes widened and her face went white and then she screamed....

Brethorn was laughing as he described the shocked look on his cousin’s face and the others all grinned. “It was really quite funny. Barawen just stood there screaming. My aunt and uncle and all my other cousins came running, with Uncle Baragund wielding a sword, of all things. He later told me that when Barawen started screaming his first thought was that somehow orcs had made it to Tol Eressëa.”

Now everyone started laughing. “So, Lord Irmo kept his word about springing you unannounced upon your family,” Finrod said. “He must have enjoyed the show.”

Brethorn nodded. “No doubt.” Edrahil snickered. Iorlas and the two ellith, however, looked a bit scandalized at the cavalier attitude of the three Reborn towards one of the Valar.

“I wonder if Saelmir had a similar experience,” Finrod mused. “He never said.”

Brethorn shook his head. “That’s because he’s too embarrassed to speak of it.”

“His friends first took him to some tavern and got him so drunk he passed out. Then, they brought him to his family’s house when all was dark and left him sleeping on the doorstep,” Brethorn said, giving them a wicked grin. “I understand that when someone opened the door the next morning, you could hear the screams all the way to Kortirion.”

“Oh my,” Amarië said, shaking her head in amusement. “That was very wicked of them.”

“And poor Saelmir came awake with a start, totally disoriented and with a major hangover,” Brethorn continued. “He told me later that his first reaction was to hit whoever was screaming at him. Unfortunately that turned out to be his sister-in-law.”

“It was a long time before she forgave him and his friends,” Brethorn added with a smirk. “Luckily, his brother found it all too funny and eventually everything got sorted out.”

“I came here to greet my parents when they finally sailed and simply fell in love with the place,” Brethorn answered, giving them a shrug. “So once I saw my family settled in Kortirion I returned here. I found work with a woodcarver. You remember I was being trained in the art when we were in Lórien?” Finrod nodded and Brethorn continued. “Anyway, Linrod took me on as an apprentice and now we are partners together.”

“As am I,” Brethorn responded. “So, now, it’s your turn. What are you doing here on Tol Eressëa?”

Finrod took a sip of his wine before answering. “Well, it’s like this....”

Guren linna an glass gen cened: (Sindarin) ‘My heart sings for joy to see you’.

Note: Arafinwë’s mother-name is Ingoldo. See ‘The Shibboleth of Fëanor’, particularly the section entitled, ‘Note on Mother-names’, Peoples of Middle-earth, HoME XII.

Olwë, Lindarion, Beleg and Elennen stretched out upon the grass beside the pool and let the sun dry them. They were feeling relaxed, their eyes closed as the warmth of the sun seeped into their bodies, so none of them saw the group of elves dressed in greens and greys and armed with bows and spears approach. Beleg felt the tip of a spear touch his shoulder and reacted automatically, reaching up to grab the spear shaft with both hands while at the same time curling his legs and thrusting at the midriff of the person holding the spear, all before he even opened his eyes. There was a surprised grunt from the spear’s owner as he was pushed back, releasing his hold on it. Beleg leapt up with the weapon now pointed at the hapless ellon, who was now lying on his back staring up in befuddlement at the former Marchwarden. It was only then that Beleg saw that Olwë, Lindarion and Elennen were surrounded by elves pointing spears and arrows at them.

One of the stranger elves gave him an appraising look. “Impressive,” he said in Sindarin, “but rather futile. As you can see, you are surrounded. I suggest you give the spear back to Denu.”

“Who are you and what do you intend to do with us?” Olwë demanded just then, his expression more angry than afraid, but the elf who had spoken gave him a blank look.

“Why do you speak the tongue of the invaders?” he asked Olwë, still speaking Sindarin.

Beleg raised an eyebrow. “You are Nandor, aren’t you?” he asked, still holding the spear.

“I am Dairuin, once of Ossiriand,” the leader said, “and you are our prisoners.”

“Beleg, what is he saying?” Olwë asked. “And do you think we can dress in the meantime? I do not appreciate standing here naked with spears and arrows pointed at me.”

Dairuin gave them a quizzical look, but when Beleg swiftly translated Olwë’s words he smiled and nodded. “Dress,” he said, motioning towards their clothes which were neatly folded beside the pool. He motioned for his fellow Nandor to step back and Beleg handed the spear to Denu, who had risen, giving the ellon a dangerous smile, before going to his clothes. Olwë, Lindarion and Elennen followed.

“The leader is called Dairuin,” Beleg said softly as the four ellyn quickly dressed. “These are Nandor, once of Ossiriand. I have never had any dealings with them before.”

Before any of the Teleri could respond, Dairuin stepped forward, gesturing imperiously. “Enough jabbering. You must come with us.”

“You will see,” the Nando replied and then he addressed his fellows, speaking a Silvan dialect that Beleg did not understand, and soon they were being led away from the pool, heading deeper into the forested hills.

Finrod shook his head. “We searched the entire harbor area, but no one claims to have seen them.”

It was now early evening, though the sun was still high in the western sky. Everyone had returned to the villa at the agreed-upon time only to discover that Olwë, Lindarion, Beleg and Elennen were missing. Arafinwë had immediately ordered a search, dividing them into four groups. Gilvagor and Haldir, being familiar with the city, led two of the search parties, while Berethrandir and Brethorn, who had accompanied Finrod back to the villa, led the other two. Berethrandir’s group was still out but the other three search parties had returned to the villa with no news of the missing.

“Where could they have gone?” Ingwion demanded. “Avallónë is not that large. Surely someone should have seen them.”

Finrod shrugged. “Apparently not. As far as we can determine, they never made it to the harbor.”

“Could they have gone elsewhere?” Alassiel asked. “Though, where would they have gone if not to the harbor?”

“They could have decided to just wander through the city,” Gilvagor suggested, “but then someone would have noticed them, strangers that they are. Yet, none to whom we spoke remember seeing them.”

Arafinwë frowned in thought. “Is there anyone in the city to whom we can appeal for help to broaden the search? If they are nowhere in the city they may have wandered into the hills.”

“Even if that is so, why have they not returned?” Finrod asked. “Anatar would not let them go too far, knowing that we would expect them back at the appointed time.”

“And just what sort of trouble could they possibly get themselves into?” Pelendur enquired.

“They have a Reborn with them,” Glorfindel replied with a snort. “Anything could have happened.”

“Beleg and Ingwion somehow knew when Finrod was in trouble,” Haldir said, giving Ingwion a significant stare.

“Ingwion, have you felt anything similar to what you sensed when Finrod was attacked?” Arafinwë asked, but Ingwion just shook his head.

“Nor do I sense anything,” Finrod said. “What about you, Sador? Glorfindel? Laurendil?”

“So they are not in any danger,” Pelendur said, “at least none that is life-threatening.”

Just about then, Berethrandir and his party returned, the ellon looking excited. “Did you find them?” Sador asked.

“No,” the ellon replied, “but we met someone who remembers seeing four strangers walking up into the hills. He showed us the road they took.”

Then Glorfindel gestured to Finrod. “Come. Grab your sword. We may need our weapons.”

Before the two ellyn could protest, Berethrandir spoke up. “Lord Ithildor has several weapons that you can use. I know where they are stored.”

“Who cares?” Sador exclaimed. “Come. We are wasting time. Berethrandir, show us Lord Ithildor’s weapons.”

“There’s just one thing,” Berethrandir said, now looking uneasy. “The road they are said to have taken... it leads to only one place.”

The Sindarin speakers all raised eyebrows at that and Brethorn frowned. “That’s not good.”

At the grim looks on Brethorn’s and Berethrandir’s faces Arafinwë sighed and said to no one in particular, “Somehow I get the feeling I’m not going to like the answer to my next question.”

The Nandor brought their prisoners far into the woods. Not even Beleg was sure where they were in relation to Avallónë but suspected that they were only a few leagues from the city based on the length of time it had taken them to traverse the forest. Of the four prisoners, he was the only one who felt most at home and memories of earlier and darker woods filled his mind. Olwë presented a disinterested air to their captors, remaining cooly polite. His regal bearing gave the Nandor pause and they were careful to treat the four ellyn with respect. Elennen walked beside Lindarion, giving him a hand, for the Telerin prince was unused to the forest.

“Rather reminds me of the Great Journey,” Elennen said at one point, “walking through uncharted woods.”

“No dínen!” Dairuin commanded. Beleg did not bother to translate, for it was obvious even to the three Teleri what the Nando had said and so they continued walking in silence.

Eventually they came to a stand of trees that turned out to be inhabited by other Nandor. Flets could be seen high in the branches and Dairuin led them to one where a rope ladder was lowered and they were ordered to climb. At the top they were herded into a hut and left to themselves with Denu, who spoke Sindarin, standing guard at the doorway. The four prisoners looked about them with interest.

The hut was apparently a guardhouse, consisting as it did of only two rooms, the larger room apparently where the guards ate and slept; the smaller room being a store room. There were no chairs but there were cushions and the four ellyn sat on them.

Beleg shrugged. “I do not know, but I don’t think they were happy about us swimming in that pool.”

After a time, Dairuin returned and gestured for them to follow him. They climbed back down to the ground, finding themselves surrounded yet again by armed ellyn and followed Dairuin into a clearing where several scores of people were gathered near a lit fire, for by now the sun had dipped behind the hills to the west, leaving the woods in twilit gloom. The prisoners were made to sit on the ground to one side while Dairon stood before the other Nandor and began speaking.

The Sinda shook his head. “He’s speaking a dialect that is unfamiliar to me,” he said, “though there are some words that are similar to Sindarin. He keeps mentioning the ‘iaun Araw’.”

Beleg shrugged. “I don’t know the word in Quenya. ‘Araw’ is the name we gave to Lord Oromë. An ‘iaun’ is... a...um... a special place. I’m sorry. I don’t know how to describe it. There were none in Doriath nor among the wandering companies of Sindar. I think it’s something particular to the Nandor.”

“‘Iaun’....” Olwë tried the word out, saying it slowly, as if in doing so its meaning would become clear. “A special place that is apparently associated with Lord Oromë.”

“Why Lord Oromë, though?” Lindarion asked. “Pools are usually associated with the Lord of Waters.”

“Actually, it makes sense,” Elennen said. “Until any of us reached Valinor, the only Vala we knew was Lord Oromë. The Nandor split from us when we reached the Great River. Our only knowledge of the Valar was what Lord Oromë told us about them, but for the most part, they were just names. The Nandor came into Beleriand late, from what I understand, long after we had left its shores." Beleg gave him a nod and he continued. “Only the oldest of them would remember Lord Oromë, so it stands to reason that whatever this...this ‘iaun’ is, they would dedicate it to the only Vala of whom they had any knowledge.”

“I wonder what the penalty is for disturbing an iaun,” Beleg wondered out loud.

“I think we’re about to find out,” Olwë said, for Dairuin had finished his speech and now all eyes were on them.

“It’s a fane,” Laurendil said as they gathered around the pool, “most likely dedicated to Lord Oromë. See the oak?”

Laurendil nodded. “Apparently it is something that they came up with on their travels,” he said. “There was a fane on Tol Galen and no one was allowed there except the Nandor. Not even Beren or Lúthien were permitted to visit it for all that Beren had become the lord of the Nandor in that region.”

“So, what do you think happened?” Finrod asked, kneeling down to look more closely at the ground around the pool.

“They probably went swimming,” Glorfindel said as he approached the group of searchers. He had wandered off while everyone else had gathered around the pool. “It was a warm enough day and the pool would have been inviting. I found this.” He opened his hand and showed them a spiral seashell.

“Beleg,” Sador said. “I remember him showing it to me. He found it on a beach near Alqualondë and always carries it.”

Glorfindel pointed to the western edge of the clearing. “There’s a path, very faint and almost non-existent, but it’s there.”

“Then let us continue our search,” Arafinwë said and Glorfindel led the way to where he had found the seashell.

Dairuin gestured for the four prisoners to rise and come forward. He looked at Beleg. “You will translate for your fellows.” Beleg nodded.

Then one of the people gathered by the fire, an elleth, spoke. “I am Laeglîr, Speaker for this community of Garth Hallâd.”

She paused to allow Beleg to translate. “I think that means she is their leader,” he added.

Then she continued, speaking slowly enough for Beleg to translate. “You were found violating the Iaun Araw, the penalty for which has usually been death.”

When Beleg translated, Olwë raised an eyebrow. “So ye would be kinslayers?” he asked formally, his tone frigid and forbidding.

The Nandor stirred at his words and Laeglîr grimaced. “We are no kinslayers.”

“Yet thou dost threaten us with death,” Olwë said, still speaking formally, his eyes narrowing.

“Unknowingly,” Beleg interjected, not bothering to translate. “We were not aware of its significance and meant no disrespect.”

“Since we are not from the city, we cannot be expected to know,” Beleg said, giving the ellon a cold look. “We are visitors from Aman and were wandering through the city, coming upon the road that led to the iaun. The pool was inviting and so we took advantage of it. Perhaps if you had put a sign up letting people know....”

“Bah!” Laeglîr exclaimed in disgust. “This is getting us nowhere. Ignorance is not an excuse.”

“Indeed?” Olwë said, raising an eyebrow, once Beleg quickly explained to the Teleri what had been said. “Then the fact that you are ignorant of our identities is also no excuse for the way we are being threatened. Should I punish you for this?”

“But we are not the prisoners,” Laeglîr said primly, “and we are not interested in your identities. That you are of the Third Clan is obvious, but beyond that....” She gave them an elegant shrug.

Before anyone could say anything more, there was a stir as several people entered the clearing. Everyone turned to see a grim-looking Glorfindel dragging an unconscious Nando by the collar of his tunic, dumping him on the ground before the assembly. Behind him came Finrod, Ingwion and Sador, along with Laurendil, Gilvagor, Mithlas, Haldir, Brethorn and Arafinwë. All of them were armed and were herding several Nandorin guards who had sheepish expressions on their faces.

Glorfindel toed the unconscious ellon lying at his feet as he glared at the Nandor before him. “He resisted after I asked politely to take us to you,” he explained, speaking Sindarin.

Laeglîr gave him a jaundiced look and softly ordered that the unconscious guard be taken to his flet to be seen to. Two ellyn came forward and Glorfindel stepped aside to allow them to take their fellow away. Then he turned to Beleg. “Are you well, gwador?”

“Oh?” Glorfindel said, giving the Nandor a hard stare. “Any particular reason why?”

“We... uh... went swimming,” Beleg answered, giving them an embarrassed look.

Then Finrod stepped forward, his stance imperious. “Who leads these people?” he demanded.

“Laeglîr Maethlawiel,” she replied proudly, as if she expected them to know who she was.

Finrod gave her a nod of his head. “Laeglîr Maethlawiel, I am Finrod Felagund and you are holding my kinsmen prisoners.”

There was a stir among the Nandor and Laeglîr’s eyes widened. “My adar told me of having met you once when you were wandering through Ossiriand.”

Finrod nodded. “Yes. I met some of your people soon after crossing Sarn Athrad who told me of the presence of strange people encamped at the foot of the mountains.”

“The Firiath,” Laeglîr said with a scowl. “Hewers of wood and hunters of beasts. They would destroy all, these followers of Morgoth.”

“Not all followed Morgoth,” Finrod retorted. “The Edain were ever loyal to the Belain and the elves and deadly foes of Morgoth.”

“Well, we’re not here to discuss Mortals,” Glorfindel intervened before Laeglîr could respond to Finrod’s words. “We are here to succor our friends and determine what should be done with you.”

“Done with us?” Laeglîr demanded, her temper rising. “What mean you? We have done nothing....”

“Save kidnap the King of the Teleri and his heir and threaten them with death,” Glorfindel responded, staring at the assembled Nandor with cold calculation, fingering the hilt of his sword in an idle manner that fooled no one there.

Laeglîr looked uncertainly between the four prisoners and their would-be rescuers. The other Nandor murmured amongst themselves. “We did not bother to ask who they were....” she began.

“Which was your second mistake,” Glorfindel said with disdain. Then he turned to Finrod. “Well, I’m ready to leave. How about you?”

Finrod arched an eyebrow at his gwador, his mouth quirked in a slight smile. “But we’ve just arrived,” he quipped.

“They despoiled the iaun,” Dairuin exclaimed angrily, pointing at Olwë and the other three ellyn. “They should be punished....”

“They should have known,” Laeglîr answered. “They should have felt....”

Finrod turned to Olwë, speaking Quenya. “Did you feel anything special about the pool, Anatar? Did any of you?”

Olwë shook his head, as did Lindarion and Elennen. Beleg was the one who spoke. “The only thing we felt was how inviting the water looked with the day being so warm. We did not sense anything else.”

“Except how peaceful the place was,” Olwë added, “but beyond that, nothing.”

Then Laurendil stepped forward. “It seems to me that since the iaun is dedicated to Lord Araw, perhaps we should ask him if he was offended by our friends swimming in the pool.”

Without warning, there was a flash of multi-colored lights too bright for any of the elves to look upon and they all had to turn away. When the light dimmed and they could see again, they found Lord Oromë standing in their midst, his expression one of amusement. “I was wondering when you would get around to asking my opinion, my children,” he said and such was the power of his presence that, though he spoke Sindarin, those who knew only Quenya still understood his words.

The members of the Progress all gave the Vala their obeisance. The Nandor, however, were rooted to the spot, shock written upon their fair faces, shock and dread. Oromë gazed upon them with benevolence. “Fear not, my children,” he said mildly. “I do not come to punish but to instruct.” He focused his gaze upon Laeglîr, and though his expression was loving, she moaned and would have collapsed had not Dairuin caught her. “Come here, Laeglîr,” Oromë said, gesturing to her and in spite of her reluctance, she came. Oromë put a finger under her chin and tilted her head.

“You have been a wise and faithful leader of these people,” he said, “safeguarding them in this fair garth, but in hiding away in the woods you have become narrow-minded and close-hearted, demanding that even strangers know your laws and prohibitions, threatening them with death, something we Valar would never countenance.”

“And in your time you have killed those who came inadvertently upon your various ioen,” Oromë said with a nod, “though they were mostly orcs and the occasional Mortal, but none of the Firstborn has ever suffered so. Why would you threaten them now with such?”

“We wished to convey to them the seriousness of their offense against thee, lord,” Laeglîr answered.

“Against me?” Oromë echoed. “The offense was never against me, child, only against you and what you perceived as being offensive, without ever consulting me about it. The orcs would indeed have profaned your sacred places, but the Mortals who came upon them did so in ignorance and most would have left in reverence had you but taken the time to instruct them rather than summarily executing them.” He paused for a moment to let his words sink in. “Well, that is in the past. Let us speak of the here and now. No offense was intended by these four. Indeed, I enticed them there so that they might enjoy the pool.”

The Vala gave him a knowing smile. “Lessons, my son, lessons for you all.” He turned back to Laeglîr and the Nandor. “You live on an island amongst your fellow elves, hiding away in the hills, keeping apart from all others. Yet, you cannot live in isolation any longer. It did not work in Beleriand, there at the end, and it will not work here. Nor can you arrogate for yourselves something that was meant for all. The pool does not belong to the Nandor exclusively. It was meant to be enjoyed by any who reside in and around Avallónë.”

The Nandor looked troubled; the other elves kept their expressions neutral. “I think it’s time we returned to the villa,” Arafinwë said then. “That is, with thy leave, lord.” He gave Oromë a bow.

“I think it would be best,” Oromë said with a nod. “Let these good people think on what has happened and what has been said.” He gave them all a beatific smile, his gaze lingering somewhat upon Sador and Beleg, both of whom looked uncomfortable at the Vala’s regard, and then he was simply not there.

For a moment, no one moved, then Laeglîr sighed and gave the Amanians a flustered look. “I... I...”

Olwë stepped forward, placing a finger on her lips. “There is naught to be said.” He paused to let Beleg translate. “We will leave now. Perhaps someday we will meet again as friends.”

With that, he turned away and the others did as well, leaving the Nandor standing about, looking confused and uncertain, though Laeglîr’s expression was now more thoughtful. As they were leaving, Glorfindel fished the seashell from a pouch on his belt, handing it to Beleg. “This is yours, by the way. Thanks for dropping it. It saved us a lot of time.”

“I wasn’t sure if anyone would find it,” Beleg said as he took the seashell, “but it was all I could think to do.”

“We are very glad that you did,” Arafinwë said. “Now, if we hurry we might be just in time for dessert,” he added slyly and there was laughter all around as they made their way through the woods back to Avallónë.

Iaun Araw: The Fane of Oromë. Fane = holy place, sanctuary, temple. The plural is ioen.

Dinner was waiting for them when they returned to the villa and everyone sat down to eat while exchanging tales. Olwë told them about how they had come to be at the iaun rather than going to the harbor as they had originally planned.

“So you can blame Beleg for our little adventure, since he was the one who chose the direction,” the Telerin king said with a sly grin and a wink for his nephew.

“Hey!” Beleg protested as the rest of the group chuckled. “If we’re going to blame anyone it’s Lord Oromë. Did he not say that he enticed us to swim?”

“I don’t think you needed any enticing, Beleg,” Lindarion said with a laugh. “You would have swum in that pool regardless.”

“Well, perhaps,” Beleg averred with a blush, “but I still think we should blame Lord Oromë for getting us into trouble.”

Now there was laughter all around. Olwë smiled indulgently at Beleg. “Regardless, hinya,” he said, “I am impressed by the way you handled the situation, even going so far as to leave a clue for others to find. I confess, I was too angry and embarrassed to think that far ahead.”

Now Beleg was blushing for a different reason. “I guess my former training took over,” he said. “I didn’t even think about it; I just did it.”

Finrod nodded. “That often happens,” he said. “A situation arises and our instincts, or rather, our previous training and experience, take over without us consciously thinking about it. It can be a bit unnerving, to suddenly have this knowledge we were unaware that we had. It’s not even really a memory surfacing, it’s just an automatic reaction. It happened to me once or twice and afterwards I was left wondering how I even knew how to do what I had done because there was no actual memory attached to the action. It was just there.”

Brethorn nodded. “I think every Reborn has similar experiences,” he said, then turned to the younger Reborn. “So just don’t be surprised if it happens to any of you, because it will.”

“At any rate, Beleg,” Olwë stated, “I was pleased that you were able to keep your emotions under control. I worried that any impulsive behavior on your part might make things worse.”

“Well, let’s see,” Arafinwë said with a knowing smile, one hand raised as he used the index finger of the other to count off, “running off to Lórien without a by-your-leave, jumping out of a tree screaming ‘Orcs! Run for your lives!’, thereby scaring a group of elflings who were sitting under said tree enjoying a picnic....”

People burst out laughing as Beleg turned bright red. “I wanted one of the tarts they were eating,” he muttered, not looking at anyone, “and it was the only thing I could think of to get one.”

“Um... so you said,” Arafinwë stated, his tone one of disbelief at the ellon’s explanation though his eyes twinkled with humor. “What else? Oh, yes, strolling naked through the gardens past Eärwen and her ladies-in-waiting as they were sitting there doing embroidery.”

“But you’re the one who actually did it,” Sador said, trying to sound virtuous and failing utterly. Beleg stuck his tongue out at him.

“You have to watch out for the quiet ones,” Glorfindel said confidentially in a loud whisper to Finrod, “they’re very dangerous.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Finrod said, giving Sador a knowing smile. The ellon blushed while everyone else laughed.

“And then,” Olwë said, “you should have been there the first time he saw the ocean. We took him to Ollo Solosimpion. For those who have never been there, it’s a rockfall north of Alqualondë that is a favorite lookout point and it is where I often go to converse with Lord Ulmo or his Maiar. Anyway, it’s high tide, made even higher because of a storm that had swept through earlier, so the water is very deep and there’s a fierce undertow. No one goes swimming there. Lindarion and I take him out to the point. I was about to call to Lord Ossë and Lady Uinen to introduce them to Beleg when all of a sudden he gives this yell....”

Olwë nodded while Beleg just sat there turning more and more red. “...and the next thing we know, he’s jumping off the rocks into the water.”

Everyone stared at Beleg in surprise. “But, gwador,” Finrod said in disbelief, “you don’t know how to swim.”

Beleg gave them a shrug. “It was so overwhelming,” he explained. “I had never known such wildness before and it... it called to me and I just had to... I mean...

Olwë gave him a fond smile. “Luckily, Lady Uinen showed up just then and rescued him. I can tell you that for a brief moment my heart failed me when he leapt.”

Everyone looked to see Ingil standing there, the Maia’s face wreathed with a wide grin. “As long as we’re telling tales, should I tell you about some of Beleg’s more memorable escapades in Lórien?”

The ellon groaned and there were snickers all around. Arafinwë gave the Maia a grin. “I doubt that that is the purpose of your visit, though,” he said.

Ingil shook his head, still looking amused. “No, it is not, but once I’ve concluded my business, I would be happy to regale you with a tale or two.”

“Why is everyone picking on me?” Beleg moaned and Sador, who was sitting next to him, put an arm around the ellon’s shoulders and gave him a hug.

“Because we love you,” he said quietly and there were murmurs of assent from the others.

“I have been sent by my Lord Irmo to inform you that Laurendil and Manwen are needed back in Lórien.”

Both Laurendil and Manwen frowned. “Why?” Laurendil asked. “I thought Lord Irmo wanted us to be a part of the Progress.”

“But now?” Manwen demanded. “There are all these rumors about the two of us and we mean to put an end to them and find out who is spreading such lies about us.”

“As I said....” Ingil began but Laurendil cut him off with an abrupt gesture.

“We’re not leaving,” he exclaimed. “I don’t know what game the Valar are playing but....”

“We do not play games, Laurendil,” Ingil said coldly. “If Lord Irmo requests that you return to Lórien, then it would be wise to obey him.”

“I’m tired of the capriciousness of the Valar,” Laurendil said hotly, rising from his seat. “Tell Lord Irmo that he’ll have to look for new apprentices. We’re not leaving, and that’s final.” He glared at the Maia for a second or two before turning and stalking out of the room with Manwen quickly following him.

A tense silence filled the room, no one willing to move or speak. Ingil merely stood there, as patient as stone. Finally, Arafinwë stirred. “I almost have to agree with Laurendil,” he said quietly. “However, I know the Valar do not do anything without purpose. I will see that they are on the next ship....”

“Nay, Arafinwë,” Ingil said. “They must come of their own free will or not at all.”

“And if I order them?” Finrod asked. “I have their lives. For them to defy me would bring grave consequences upon them.”

The Maia shook his head. “I am afraid that would not work either. The command has come from Lord Irmo, who holds their oaths as apprentice Lóriennildi,” he explained.

“Well, I’m with Laurendil,” Sador said suddenly, his tone one of rising anger. “There has been too much interference by the Valar lately. First, that business with Glorfindel and then Lord Oromë and the Nandor and now Lord Irmo. When will it end? Will it ever end? Now that I think about it, the Valar have been manipulating us right and left. I’m surprised, given how they won’t tell me about my family, that they didn’t send an army of Maiar to block the entrance to the Archives so I wouldn’t be able to make any enquiries there. Laurendil’s right. The Valar do nothing but play games at our expense and we’re supposed to just sit there and take it.”

The others sat there stunned at the ellon’s outburst. Ingil’s expression was unreadable. “Yonya,” Arafinwë said soothingly, “don’t....”

“No!” Sador exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “Did you know I wasn’t even supposed to be Reborn yet? Lord Manwë told me. I should still be in Mandos, but they released me. Why? Why release me now when I shouldn’t have been?”

“You’re not the only one to be released early,” Glorfindel said. “Beleg and I....”

“I don’t care about you or Beleg,” Sador fairly screamed, becoming hysterical. “I’m only interested in me. Why me? Why now? What do they want from me? What!?”

Both Arafinwë and Finrod rose to go to the ellon who was backing away, tears streaming down his face, when there was a shimmer of lights and the smell of roses in the air and then a Maia wearing the Sun-in-Eclipse emblem of Lord Námo on her surcoat was there, putting her arms around Sador.

“NO!!!” Sador screamed and struggled in the Maia’s embrace while everyone else looked on, their expressions one of concern and deep distress.

“Hush, now,” the Maia said, rocking Sador gently. “Hush, child. You’re only going to make yourself ill.” Sador continued to struggle for another minute or two, mouthing invectives in Sindarin, and then suddenly he collapsed into tears, his sobs heartbreaking to hear. The Maia crooned softly to him and continued rocking him until after about five minutes the ellon stilled and drifted into sleep. Only then did the Maia address the other elves, still holding the slumbering Sador in her embrace. “Greetings. I am Vanimeldë of the People of Námo. My lord assigned me to watch over this one, fearing that he might suffer an emotional backlash.”

“Much has happened to him since he left Lórien,” Arafinwë answered. “I do not think he has quite recovered from his kidnapping and then there was the Tournament and all that happened afterwards.” He gave a shrug. “I don’t think it’s any one thing that’s set him off.”

Vanimeldë shook her head. “No. It has been a series of events culminating with what happened today.”

“What about today?” Finrod asked, clearly puzzled. “Beside the fact that Anatar and Uncle Lindarion and Beleg and Elennen went missing for a few hours....”

“That’s just it,” Vanimeldë interjected. “Sador and Beleg have become very close while you and Glorfindel have been elsewhere. I think Sador had a very real fear that something terrible might happen to Beleg, who has come to be more than just a brother to him, but is, to his mind, the one link to his own family and all that they lost when Doriath fell. The thought that he might lose Beleg and, therefore, his family all over again, and all because Lord Oromë had a hand in today’s events....” She gave them a shrug.

“And then, I come along with Lord Irmo’s message to Laurendil and Manwen,” Ingil said, “and perhaps that simply was too much for him. Hence, the outburst.”

“So what now?” Glorfindel asked. “Laurendil and Manwen are victims of vicious rumors and are in a snit over Lord Irmo. Sador is suffering from an emotional backlash that apparently the Valar were anticipating otherwise you wouldn’t be here. We have Lasgalad recovering from a serious wound gotten in Middle-earth and his friend, Iorlas, who’s given up everything, including his beloved, to be here for him and thinks his world has come to an end because of it. And on top of all that, we still have to get through this blasted Progress. Should we be worried?”

Ingil and Vanimeldë exchanged amused glances, though the elves were taking Glorfindel’s question seriously. “My thoughts exactly,” Olwë said with a frown. “This Progress is not going as I had thought it would.”

“I don’t know,” Olwë answered honestly enough. “I guess I just didn’t anticipate all the problems we would encounter and I certainly did not think that the Valar would manipulate events to suit their own purposes. Lessons, indeed!” He gave a snort of disgust.

“We have no advice to give you,” Ingil said, “except to continue as you have. Now, what should we do for young Sador?”

“Put him to bed for now,” Arafinwë ordered. “We’ll deal with it in the morning. It grows late and this first day in Avallónë has been very full for all of us.”

Vanimeldë nodded her head as she easily lifted Sador into her arms. “If you will show me his room I will take him there.”

“Yes,” the Maia answered. “My Lord Námo has not released me from my duty to watch over Sador and so I will be around even if you do not see me.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a comforting thought or not,” Glorfindel said, “but I’m glad you were here to help.”

“Don’t we all?” Finrod replied. “Sador and Beleg are sharing a room. He can show you where.”

Vanimeldë smiled at the former Marchwarden of Doriath whose expression was one of concern. “Is he going to be all right?” he asked as he led the way out of the room.

“He will be with your help,” they heard Vanimeldë say as she followed the ellon out.

Then Finrod turned to Ingil, his expression sober. “I little like that Lord Irmo has called for Laurendil and Manwen at this critical time, but as Atar said, I know the Valar do nothing without purpose. I will endeavor to convince them to return to Lórien, but I make no promises. You had best inform Lord Irmo to expect the possible loss of two apprentices just in case.”

“Laurendil may think that in defying Lord Irmo’s command that he will no longer be an apprentice Lóriennildo, but that does not necessarily follow,” Ingil said. “Laurendil doesn’t realize it yet, but his own desire to be a Lóriennildo will not let him be in defiance for long. He has finally found his calling; it will not abandon him now.”

“We’ll see,” Arafinwë said. “As my son said, we make no promises, but we will speak to Laurendil and Manwen tomorrow. Perhaps in the clear light of day when tempers are calmer they will decide on their own to obey the Lord of Lórien’s summons. How soon are they expected to be in Lórien?”

“My Lord anticipated the possibility that they might object to the summons at first,” Ingil said, “so he commanded me to tell them that they have two weeks to make their way to Lórien. If they are not at the gates of Lórien by then, only then will they be considered in defiance.”

“Two weeks,” Finrod said with a nod. “Even if it takes a couple of days to convince them, that should be enough time.”

“We’ll talk about it some more in the morning,” Arafinwë said firmly. Then he gave Ingil a bow. “My lord, I fear we will have to postpone the sharing of tales about Beleg for another time.”

“I quite understand,” the Maia said equably. “Please accept my apologies for causing such upset among you, especially young Sador.”

“It is not your fault, my lord,” Arafinwë said. “I have the feeling that Sador was due to explode sooner or later.”

For a moment there was silence and then Finrod stirred. “I better go see how Laurendil and Manwen are,” he said with a sigh.

“Your atar and I will check on Sador and Beleg before we retire for the night,” Olwë assured his grandson. Finrod nodded and left. Soon after, the others made their way to their own beds.

Sador woke the next morning to find Arafinwë sitting by his bed. The ellon felt embarrassed and tried to apologize for his outburst of the previous night.

“There is nothing to apologize for, hinya,” Arafinwë said kindly. “Beleg is well and unharmed. You need not fear for him.”

“I know,” Sador said, nodding as he climbed out of bed to don a robe, “but still, when he went missing....”

Arafinwë stood and went to the ellon, wrapping his arms around him and giving him a warm hug. “It is well,” he assured Sador. “Do not worry so.”

“Do you think the Valar are angry at me for what I said?” Sador asked then, his expression one of concern.

Arafinwë smiled fondly at him. “No. I do not think they are angry at you, child. They quite understand. Now, why don’t you get dressed and come have breakfast? I saw Beleg sitting in a tree somewhere in the garden. Maybe you can convince him to come down and join us?”

Arafinwë shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him yourself, for I have no idea.”

Sador nodded and went in search of the privy while Arafinwë headed for the dining room to join the others already there.

Laurendil and Manwen did not make an appearance at breakfast and Arafinwë left strict instructions that they were not to be disturbed. “They must come to a decision about this on their own without any of us influencing them either way.”

“Do you think they will disobey Lord Irmo’s summons?” Finrod asked with some concern as he reached for another sticky bun.

“As to that, only time will tell,” Arafinwë replied, pouring some tea into his cup. “In the meantime, we still have our own agenda to deal with.”

“What is the schedule for today, Gilvagor?” Glorfindel asked, looking down the table to where the ellon was sitting.

“I’ve arranged for a meeting with the city leaders,” Gilvagor answered. “I should warn you that things are done a little differently here than in Tavrobel. People are more formal.”

It was Haldir who answered. “This is the oldest settlement on the island, though Kortirion is larger. Most people, once they’ve arrived here, move on to Kortirion or Tavrobel or to the smaller communities dotting the island, but those who have made Avallónë their home tend to be a bit... um... snobbish about it.”

“In many ways, Avallónë is the wealthiest of the communities,” Gilvagor added, “and perhaps the most beautiful and its citizens are justifiably proud of that distinction.”

“In fact, many people living in Avallónë think that any seat of government should be located here rather than in Kortirion,” Mithlas said, “though I think the majority of the people on the island think it’s logical to have the seat of government in a central location. Kortirion is nearly equidistant from Avallónë and Tavrobel. Even the smaller communities that are not directly connected to the main road between the three cities are within at most a two-day walk from Kortirion.”

“So the city leaders will be pushing for the government to be established here rather than in Kortiron,” Olwë commented and the three Tol Eressëans nodded.

“That might make things difficult,” Ingwion said with a frown, “since we’ve been advocating having whatever form the government here will take be located in Kortirion. It just makes geographical sense.”

“And political sense as well,” Gilvagor pointed out. “The majority of the guildhalls are in Kortirion. The guildmasters who are elected to Kortirion’s city council are very powerful, for they are the council and they dictate to the guilds elsewhere on the island. Here, as in Tavrobel, the council is almost evenly divided between local guildmasters, merchants and sea captains.”

“If the guildmasters in Kortirion are so powerful,” Finrod enquired, “will they not resent the idea of a central government that might not include them?”

“There was a backlash to Sador’s kidnapping and the revelation that it was the guildmasters who were responsible for the high prices,” Gilvagor said. “With one or two exceptions, every member of Kortirion’s city council was forced to resign. Nearly half lost their masterships and are on probation for the next ten years. They will have to take journeymen wages and work under the supervision of the masters who have replaced them on the council.”

“That cannot sit well with them,” Arafinwë commented with a frown. “Is it possible that resentment from the deposed council members and their friends might cause trouble later on?”

“Possibly,” Gilvagor averred, “but many of those who now run the council are actually recent arrivals without any of the previous history which the older inhabitants have. They are less impressed by power and are more open-minded about the state of affairs between Tol Eressëa and Aman. I’ve spoken to several and they are all amenable to the idea of a central government under a single leader and perhaps a more representative council, as well as open trading with the mainland.”

“Then we will worry about them when we come to Kortirion,” Arafinwë said. “For now, let us concentrate on the good people of Avallónë. We will need to tread delicately considering what we’ve been told.”

“You’ve lost me, hanno,” Glorfindel said with a smile. “Mind you, I like shows of force. They get much more immediate results than all this side-stepping diplomatic nonsense, but Atar is correct that the situation here in Avallónë is delicate and needs to be treated as such.”

“Good,” Arafinwë muttered, raising an eyebrow at his son, and there was a spate of light laughter from the rest of them.

“Haldir said that the people in this city tend to be snobbish and I am assuming he means people who helped found the city, not necessarily new arrivals who stay on.”

Haldir nodded. “There is a group of families, perhaps about a score or so, who refer to themselves as the First Families, for they were the first to come to Tol Eressëa and built the city.”

“As I said,” Gilvagor added, “they are justifiably proud of that distinction.”

“Which families are they?” Finrod asked. “Are there any whom some of us might know from before?”

“I doubt it,” Gilvagor said, frowning in thought. “My impression is that they are survivors of several kingdoms: Doriath, Nargothrond, Gondolin, even remnants of Fingolfin and Fingon’s kingdom, as well as those among the Fëanárioni.” He paused and gave Finrod a considering look. “Man theleg, gwador nîn?” he asked, switching to Sindarin.

“We have played it somewhat low-key,” Finrod answered, though in Quenya, “acting more like visitors than a delegation of power.”

The others nodded. “We’re not looking to take over the island,” Olwë said.

“All right, now I’m confused, and it doesn’t take much to confuse me, I know,” Glorfindel quipped.

Finrod laughed along with the others. “What I mean is, perhaps we should show ourselves as a delegation of power to these people. Insist on pomp and high ceremony in full Amanian style. I can tell you that in Nargothrond I did away with much of that and kept all ceremonies simple. The Sindar who lived among us were unused to the elaborate ceremonies that we had developed here in Aman before the Darkening and the exigencies of surviving in a hostile environment with Melkor on our doorsteps forced the Noldor to do away with much of the trappings of ceremony. Even Uncle Ñolofinwë did not insist on too much of it the few times I bothered to visit him once I established Nargothrond.”

“Everything was different in Gondolin,” Haldir retorted with a snort. “Turgon was very ceremonial-minded. It got a bit tiring after a while.”

Glorfindel grinned. “You’re not the one who had to dress up in ridiculous state robes half the time,” he said.

“No. I just had to stand around in uncomfortable armor all day trying not to look bored,” Haldir replied with a grin of his own.

“Well, Gondolin aside,” Finrod interjected firmly, “the most of us did away with a lot of ceremony. I doubt that these First Families have ever seen high ceremony as only we of Aman can create.”

“Wouldn’t some of them remember it from when they lived here before?” Amarië asked.

“Only some originally come from Aman,” Gilvagor said, “and not all of them originated from the nobility. They achieved their present social status in Beleriand.” He gave them a self-deprecating grin. “Just as I did.”

“I still don’t see how any of this helps us,” Arafinwë said. Olwë and Ingwion nodded.

“Did you see how awed the people of Tavrobel were when you three entered the town hall in all your finery?” Finrod asked them. “They had never seen anything like it and did not even know enough protocol to rise at your entrance. Do you think the people of Avallónë are any more sophisticated?”

“Perhaps not,” Arafinwë averred, “but we should not make broad assumptions based on little or no fact. The people of Tavrobel may be less pretentious and most, I gathered, are common folk who had little contact with their rulers in Beleriand. That might not be the case here.”

“That may be true,” Finrod said with a nod, accepting the correction with equanimity. “Too bad we don’t know anyone from these First Families to gauge what their reactions to us might be.” He turned to Gilvagor and Haldir, giving them enquiring looks.

“I have met with the leaders of the city,” Gilvagor said, “and most, but not all, are original settlers. Even those who came afterwards tend towards snobbishness because they abide here and not elsewhere. The people of Avallónë see themselves as the cultural hub of the island. Kortirion and Tavrobel are poor country cousins by comparison. Of course, that is only in their own minds. Kortirion is just as culturally rich and diverse as Avallónë and Tavrobel has its own charms. In my opinion, none has precedence over the others or is superior to the others. Each has its own unique flavor, as it were.” Haldir and Mithlas nodded in agreement.

“Still, the idea of... um... showing off, does have its merits,” Amarië said with a wink and the others laughed.

“What exactly is this meeting with the city council meant to accomplish?” Ingwion asked. “In Tavrobel we had the opportunity to meet with most of the residents by way of a town meeting. Avallónë is much larger. I doubt we could hold a similar meeting with everyone.”

“Impractical, to say the least,” Gilvagor averred. “Same with Kortirion. Though, mind you, I never thought of holding a town meeting in Tavrobel either. As for this particular meeting, I am hoping that you can at least convince the council members to agree that we need a centralized government and open trade with Aman. They probably have their own ideas as to what form the government should take and, of course, they want that government to reside here.”

“That is a minor concern,” Olwë said. “Agreeing that there needs to be a central government and willingness to begin trade agreements with us are the two most important issues that need to be addressed.”

“Only the method of getting across our message,” Finrod corrected. “I still think we should show these people the true meaning of snobbery.” He gave them a mischievous grin.

Everyone looked to see Sador and Beleg entering the dining room. It was Sador who had asked the question.

“We’re thinking of showing off all our finery at the meeting with the city council,” Finrod answered with a grin.

“All of us?” Beleg asked in dismay, taking a quick glance at the amused looks on the faces of the others.

“The more, the merrier,” Lindarion said with a laugh. “Cheer up, Cousin,” he added. “It’ll only be for a few hours.”

“Thingol never made me dress up,” Beleg protested. “Though Saeros was always complaining about the state of my clothes.”

“Well, my brother isn’t here,” Olwë pointed out. Then he stood. “Come then. Let us don our finest garb and see how impressed the residents of Avallónë are.”

“Don’t we get to eat first?” Sador asked as everyone else began to leave the table.

“Grab some rolls and some cheese,” Finrod said, tossing a couple of rolls at Sador who caught them. “You can eat while you dress.”

Sador turned a sour look at Beleg. “If you’d just come down from the stupid tree earlier....”

Sador started to retaliate with another barb but Glorfindel grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away. “You can dress in my room,” he said. “I think you and Beleg need some distance from each other for a while.”

“Glorfindel’s correct,” Olwë said, taking Beleg’s arm. “You come with me and Lindarion, Beleg, and we’ll see you properly dressed. Elennen, will you go and fetch my nephew’s best court garb from his room? I know I made him bring it.”

“Edrahil, go with him and get Sador’s clothes and bring them to our room,” Finrod said and the two guards nodded and did as they were bid while Olwë and Lindarion took Beleg down one hall while Glorfindel and Finrod took Sador down another.

Not all would accompany the kings to the meeting. Only Finrod, Lindarion, Ingwion, Glorfindel, Sador, and Beleg came, along with Alassiel and Amarië. The honor guard was composed of Elennen, Calandil, Edrahil, Eregil, Mithlas, and Haldir. As a matter of course, Gilvagor accompanied them and Pelendur acted once again as Arafinwë’s standard bearer. Eäralato acted as Olwë’s standard bearer while Urundil carried Ingwion’s standard. Eärnur remained behind to keep an eye on Lasgalad who was still in healing sleep though the Lóriennildo assured them that he would be bringing the ellon out of it later that evening. Iorlas would not be separated from his friend and elected to stay behind. Laurendil and Manwen, of course, remained in seclusion, never venturing out. The meeting with the city council was set for noon. The council members had decided to host a formal garden party for their distinguished guests to be held at the estate of one of the First Families.

“Lord Morcocáno and Lady Nelluin were one of the first to arrive in Tol Eressëa,” Gilvagor explained to them as they made their way towards the villa that overlooked the harbor from the south. They ignored the stares of the people on the streets as they wended their way through the city. “He is presently the head of the council.”

Gilvagor nodded. “He served under Fingon and, though he was just a common soldier at the time, he took over the command of some of Fingon’s troops when the High King fell at the Nirnaeth and helped with the retreat.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “No. Turgon gathered the remnant of Fingon’s army to him but not all followed us back to Gondolin. A few, I understand, made their way back into Hithlum to rescue their kinfolk. I know that some of the elves residing there escaped thralldom and hid in the mountains.”

“Yes, that is indeed what happened,” Gilvagor said. “In fact, his wife was one of those taken captive and sent to the mines in the north, but Morcocáno rescued her and several others.”

“Didn’t we all?” Gilvagor replied with a laugh. “Though in truth, not all the Noldor bothered to render their names into Sindarin or adopt Sindarin names for themselves. I think Lord Morcocáno is one such, though perhaps he has merely taken back his original name as some have done.”

“How would his name be rendered in Sindarin?” Alassiel asked out of curiosity.

“Most likely ‘Brôgon’,” Finrod answered and the other Sindarin speakers nodded. “I wonder if Brethorn knew him? I’ll have to remember to ask him next time I see him.”

Then they were at the gates of the villa with Gilvagor acting as their herald, announcing them to the guards who bowed them through, trying not to gape at the bejeweled company in all their court finery. Once through the gates they arranged themselves with the two kings in the front with Ingwion between them. Finrod walked behind his atar with Amarië while Lindarion walked behind Olwë escorting Alassiel. Glorfindel, Sador and Beleg were next, followed by the three standard bearers. The six honor guards ranged themselves on either side of the delegation. Gilvagor, still acting as their herald, led them all towards a green sward where a large pavilion had been set up. They could see several people standing before the pavilion waiting to greet them.

Gilvagor stopped several feet from the pavilion, and gave a low bow. “My lords and ladies,” he said loudly, addressing them in Quenya, “their Majesties, Olwë Lindaran and Arafinwë Noldóran. Representing the High King, Prince Ingwion of the Vanyar. Prince Lindarion of Alqualondë and Lady Alassiel of Vanyamar, Prince Findaráto and Lady Amarië of Tirion. Lord Glorfindel of Ondolindë, and Lords Beleg and Sador of Lestanórë.”

For a moment there was complete silence while the two groups eyed one another. Those from Aman stood in regal ease waiting for the Tol Eressëans to acknowledge them. In contrast to the Amanians, the studied indifference and haughty demeanor of the Tol Eressëans began to slip and they stared at one another with uncertainty.

Glorfindel, standing behind Finrod and Arafinwë, could see the bemused expressions on their faces. The Tol Eressëans had dressed appropriately for a formal luncheon, yet none of them could come close to the glittering spectacle of the Amanians. He noticed with amusement one or two of the ellith glancing surreptitiously at their own attire then at what Alassiel and Amarië were wearing, sighing in dismay. He leaned over to whisper into Finrod’s ear. “We must look like a bunch of gaudy overdressed peacocks to them.” He could see Finrod trying hard to keep his expression impassive, biting his lips to keep from laughing out loud.

Then, one of the Tol Eressëan ellyn stepped forward and gave them a bow. “Be welcome to Avallónë, my lords and ladies,” he said. “I am Lord Morcocáno and this is my beloved wife, Lady Nelluin.”

Morcocáno, Glorfindel could see, was a typical Noldo with dark chestnut brown hair and grey eyes that missed nothing. He was taller than average though not quite as tall as Glorfindel. In spite of the fact that he did not wear warrior braids, something in his eyes told Glorfindel that this one had seen plenty of action in the wars of Beleriand. Lady Nelluin, by comparison, was diminutive, her silvery hair nearly white under the sun, her eyes a deep blue. She was lithe and graceful, though Glorfindel sensed something sad about her, an old grief, and there was a haunted look in her eyes that her smile did not quite hide.

Olwë, as the elder monarch and acting as their spokesman, gave them a gracious nod. “We thank you for your warm welcome, Lord Morcocáno, Lady Nelluin,” he said. “We of Aman are delighted to be here and hope that our visit to your fair city will prove fruitful and beneficial to all.”

“That is our wish as well, lord,” Morcocáno said. “Let me make ye known to the rest of the council and the other guests.”

Olwë gave him another nod and one by one the other members of the city council with their wives or husbands stepped forward to be introduced. There were also a few others who were prominent citizens of the city. All the First Families were represented. Glorfindel did not even pretend to try to remember any of their names. When the introductions were over, Olwë addressed them once again. “Pray, let us not stand on too much ceremony lest our luncheon congeals into an unholy mess.” Before the Tol Eressëans could respond to that, Olwë turned to the three standard bearers, giving them a nod. They immediately broke rank and set the standards into the turf along one side of the pavilion while the other Amanians began to mingle. The six acting as guards, as well as Urundil and Eäralato, attached themselves to either the two kings or the princes. Mithlas took it upon himself to stay close to Sador and Beleg while Glorfindel stayed near Finrod.

For about fifteen minutes the Amanians gracefully engaged the Tol Eressëans in conversation, speaking in generalities. The Tol Eressëans were suddenly shy and not as confident in their demeanor as when they were waiting for their company to arrive. Not a few were in awe of the fact that they were in the presence of such heroes as Finrod Felagund, Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower and Beleg of Doriath. The Reborn, for their part, were at ease and appeared unaffected by the attention they were getting. Even Beleg was able to call up memories of those rare times when he attended the court of Elu Thingol and acted accordingly.

Then luncheon was called and they all entered the pavilion, with one of the head servants directing people where to sit. There were three long tables forming a U-shape with seating on the inside as well as the outside so people could converse with greater ease. The Amanians were directed towards the inside, but ignored protocol and sat where they pleased, much to the bemusement of the Tol Eressëans who appeared to have a strict seating precedence. Thus, it was somewhat unnerving for a young ellon who came from one of the least influential of the First Families in Avallónë to find himself seated across from Arafinwë who smiled on him graciously and asked about his family. Lord Morcocáno, seated several places away appeared rather affronted by the fact that he was seated across from Sador, who pretended not to notice the ellon’s glare.

Servants came and ladled out cold cherry soup and placed baskets of bread and cheese on the tables for the first remove. Glorfindel, seated next to Finrod, eyed the two sitting across from them with amusement. Lord Thorongorn and his lady wife, Eirien, were both Sindar, originally from Eglarest. Both appeared somewhat nonplused to be seated across from two of the legends of Beleriand.

“I never saw Eglarest,” Finrod said suddenly, speaking Sindarin, “and I was only in Brithombar once to meet with Lord Círdan. I understand Avallónë was modeled somewhat on those two cities.” He took some bread from a basket and spread some honey butter on it.

Thorongorn nodded. “Yes, it was,” he replied, “which is why we decided to stay here rather than go elsewhere on the island.”

Glorfindel and Finrod both nodded in understanding. Glorfindel was about to say something when there was a disturbance at the pavilion entrance. He turned and saw, to his surprise, the last people he expected to see. There, in various shades of green and grey, were a half dozen Nandor, led by Laeglîr and Dairuin. All but Laeglîr were armed with bows and spears while the elleth carried the staff of her office as Speaker. The elleth gave them a sardonic smile. “Ah, I see we’re just in time for lunch,” she said and the other Nandor all smiled while everyone else just sat there in stunned silence.

Man theleg, gwador nîn?: (Sindarin) ‘What do you intend, my (sworn) brother?”.

Before anyone else could react to the presence of the Nandor, Sador suddenly leapt up. “Go away!” he yelled at them, brandishing his knife as he started towards Laeglîr. “You’re not welcome here.”

Instantly, Glorfindel was up and had his arms wrapped around the ellon before Sador had taken three more steps, calmly wrenching the knife out of his hand.

“No!” Sador screamed in Sindarin. “They were going to kill Beleg! They were going to kill my gwador.” He struggled vainly in Glorfindel’s arms for a few more seconds and then collapsed in tears. “They were going to kill my gwador,” he repeated, sobbing inconsolably.

There was a pained silence all around. Beleg rose and went to Sador, taking him into his arms when Glorfindel released him. “But they didn’t,” he said softly, “and they wouldn’t have. Hush now, all is well, all is well.”

Laeglîr turned to Dairuin and whispered something to him. He nodded and motioned for the other four Nandor and they all divested themselves of their weapons, piling them outside the pavilion. In the meantime, Laeglîr stepped forward and faced Beleg and Sador, who by now had ceased weeping but had not yet removed himself from Beleg’s embrace.

“I regret that we met under such circumstances, Beleg of Doriath,” she said softly. “Even we Nandor have heard of you and your great deeds.”

“I sought no great deeds, Laeglîr of Garth Hallâd,” Beleg replied gravely, sounding more like the Marchwarden of old than one recently reborn, “but great deeds found me, nonetheless.”

Laeglîr nodded. “And I regret that we threatened you and your party with death. I am afraid Lord Araw was correct. We Nandor have become too reclusive, too narrow in our thinking. Please accept my apology for causing you and your friends any grief.”

“Your apology is welcome,” Beleg said formally and with great dignity, then looked down at Sador who had not moved nor made a sound during the exchange. “Do you hear, my brother? Laeglîr has apologized and I have accepted her apology. Will you not do the same for friendship’s sake?”

Sador stirred, giving Laeglîr a scowl. “I am sorry I yelled at you,” he said.

Laeglîr raised an eyebrow and gave Beleg an enquiring look. Beleg grinned. “I’m afraid that’s the best you’re going to get out of him, lady. Sador is still rather young.”

“You’re younger than I am,” the ellon protested, stepping out of Beleg’s embrace. “I was reborn first.”

Now there was gentle laughter among the party and Finrod shook his head in amusement. “Beleg is far older than you in experience, and you know it, Sador. Now come, make a proper apology and let us all be friends.”

Sador sighed and would not look at anyone. “I’m sorry for my actions. I was so afraid and....”

Laeglîr took him by the shoulders, forcing him to look at her. “I quite understand and I am sorry you suffered such anguish for your gwador. I realize now that we were wrong to threaten anyone with death. I fear our own history got the better of us.”

“Well, now that that is settled,” Morcocáno suddenly said, sounding put out, “would you like to explain what you are doing here, Laeglîr? I do not recall inviting any of you to this gathering.”

Laeglîr gave him an amused look. “No doubt an oversight on your part, Morcocáno,” she said. “But as it happens, we are not here for you. We came to speak to the mainlanders.” She turned her attention to the two kings and gave them a respectful bow as between fellow rulers. “We sought you at the estate where you are residing and were told that you were here.”

“And how did you come to know where we are residing?” Olwë asked, his tone mild.

Laeglîr shrugged. “We may prefer to stay hidden in our garth, but I have my sources in the city,” was all she said and both Olwë and Arafinwë nodded, understanding what she meant.

“On the contrary,” Olwë said, “they are very welcome here. Come. Let us make room for the new arrivals. Lady Laeglîr, if you and your people would do the honor of joining us then you may tell us why you have sought us out.”

Arafinwë motioned to Calandil. “Find some more chairs and have the servants bring additional tableware. I think if our people shift about we can squeeze everyone in.”

Finrod made his own suggestion. “Have another table brought in, Atar, and some of us will sit there.”

Arafinwë nodded and Calandil and some of the other guards left the pavilion to see to it. The Tol Eressëan lords and ladies sat there in bemusement as the Amanians bustled about. Morcocáno especially looked affronted, but remained silent. When a small table and six more chairs were brought in, they watched as several of their guests calmly took up their trenchers and chairs and moved over to the other table. Among them were Beleg and a subdued Sador. Finrod and Glorfindel joined them, as did Ingwion, who stated that he’d had enough of being the High King’s representative and wished to simply enjoy himself with his cousin and their friends. Amarië, and Alassiel joined them, as did Lindarion, much to his and everyone else’s surprise. Then, Thorongorn asked Finrod somewhat hesitantly if he and his wife might also sit with them and Finrod welcomed them gladly.

“We were just getting acquainted,” he said, “so I look forward to continuing our conversation.”

Olwë then gestured for Laeglîr to sit beside him while Arafinwë gestured for Dairuin to join him. The other four Nandor were then directed to sit where they would and they shyly introduced themselves to those sitting beside them. The Amanians greeted them warmly though the Tol Eressëans sitting across from them were less enthusiastic. Edrahil, Eregil, Mithlas, Haldir and Gilvagor shifted about so that each of them was seated near one of the Nandor to act as translators for the benefit of those who spoke one language but not the other. Gilvagor took it upon himself to act as translator for the two kings.

At the smaller table, Finrod was introducing Thorongorn and Eirien to the others and there was much laughter when Amarië attempted to greet them in Sindarin using the traditional greeting but, forgetting how to say ‘our meeting’, she ended up substituting it with the Quenya form.

“Gîl híla nan lû... ah... um... omentielvo.” She gave them an apologetic look. “I can’t remember how to say it,” she muttered, looking abashed, but Finrod held her close and gave her a loving kiss.

Thorongorn gave her a friendly smile. “We are honored that you at least made the attempt, lady,” he said speaking in careful Quenya. “My own command of Quenya is less than sterling. My lady wife speaks it better than I.”

Eirien gave them a smile. “I was intrigued enough by the Noldor when they came to Beleriand that I made a point of learning Quenya from any who would teach me.”

“I was not aware that there were any Noldor living in Eglarest,” Glorfindel said.

“My uncle and Círdan exchanged ambassadors,” Finrod explained. “This must have been after Turgon disappeared into Gondolin. I remember that there was much consternation when all of Vinyamar emptied out and no one knew wither you had gone. With Elu Thingol closing Doriath to all the Noldor but myself and my sister, my uncle knew he needed allies among the Sindar who were not of Doriath. Turgon’s disappearance left us vulnerable.”

Eirien nodded. “I went to Lord Círdan and asked to be allowed to learn Quenya in spite of Thingol’s ban. Círdan permitted it, stating that what the King of Doriath ordered within his own realm was his own business but he, as lord of the Falathrim, was not bound to obey him. So, I became attached to the household of the Noldorin delegation and they were kind enough to teach me Quenya while I helped them improve their Sindarin.”

At the main table, meanwhile, Olwë and Arafinwë were speaking to Laeglîr and Dairuin. The Speaker for the Nandorin community was explaining why she had sought them out. “Lord Araw’s appearance shook us,” she said, “and we spent the remainder of the night in council pondering his words.” She paused and gave them a rueful look. “In the back of my mind I knew of the Belain, especially of the Lord of Forests, from the tales told me by my parents who made the Great Migration, following Denethor into Beleriand. Yet, it never occurred to me — to us — that here in the West we might actually encounter him or any of the Powers.”

“It does take getting used to, without a doubt,” Olwë said solicitously. “The Valar do not often interact with us. Most of our own people have never had anything to do with them or their Maiar servants.”

Laeglîr nodded. “At any rate, we came to the conclusion that what Lord Araw said was true. We can no longer live as if we were the sole inhabitants of this island. Our time of seclusion must come to an end and we must join with the rest of the inhabitants, welcoming them to our communities.”

“A wise decision,” Arafinwë said, “and one that I am sure will benefit us all.”

“Yet, it will be hard for us,” Dairuin interjected. “Even in Beleriand we kept to ourselves and followed none but our own leaders.”

“That’s not strictly true,” Sador suddenly said from the other table, for he had overheard Dairuin’s words. All eyes turned to him and he blushed under their regard, but continued on. “Did not Lord Beren call upon the Nandor of Tol Galen to join him in avenging Elu Thingol’s murder by the Dwarves, and he a Mortal?”

“True,” Laeglîr said with a nod. “At the time, though, I thought it foolishness to become involved in such an enterprise and told my brother as much, for he would join in the ambush of the Naugrim. He told me that Lord Beren was worthy of being followed and that we could not always pretend that the world beyond our borders could not affect us.”

“Alas, not wise enough,” Laeglîr said sorrowfully. “Laerlîr died. It is the reason I decided to accept the Belain’s offer and come here. When he is finally released from Lord Bannoth’s care I want to be there to tell him ‘I told you so’.”

There was an uncomfortable silence among the elves and then Sador, surprisingly, spoke up. “I hope you hug him and tell him how much you love him first before you scold him, though. He’s going to be feeling very unsure of his welcome from you.”

Laeglîr gave the ellon a searching look but seeing the absolute sincerity in his eyes, nodded. “I will remember that, youngling. Thank you.”

“We of Aman recognize that there is much disagreement as to whether a centralized government would work here on Tol Eressëa and if so what form it should take,” Arafinwë then said, steering the conversation to the topic of main concern for the Amanians and their Tol Eressëan friends. “We would be interested in hearing what the Nandor think.”

“That might not be possible,” Dairuin said ruefully. “Each of the Nandorin communities is separate unto itself. Each has its own Speaker but none of the Speakers gather in council.”

“Something to which I have always objected,” Laeglîr stated. “I have long advocated for all the Speakers of the various garths to come together on occasion to discuss matters of common interest to our people, but so far, I have not been successful. A few agree with me, but most have yet to be convinced of its necessity.”

Laeglîr shook her head. “Certainly not as many as there were in Ossiriand,” she replied. “Most of the Nandor who survived the cataclysm that destroyed Beleriand still reside in Ennorath. But we are numerous enough that we spread ourselves out among the forests that still cover much of this island. Garth Hallâd is the oldest of our settlements.”

“Just as Avallónë is the oldest of the three cities,” Morcocáno interjected somewhat haughtily. “It is only meet that any government should reside here rather than in Kortirion or, the Valar forbid, Tavrobel.”

“Not everyone will agree,” Olwë said mildly. “Kortirion has the advantage of being in a more central location than Avallónë. It only makes sense to have the seat of government in a place that is easily accessible to all.”

There were mutters from some of the Avallóneans, but Thorongorn spoke up. “I’ve been telling them that for years now,” he said. “Avallónë is not easily reached except either by the one road out of Kortirion or by ship. The outlying communities....”

“Are of no real importance,” Morcocáno interrupted with a scowl. “Farmers and traders will not be sitting in council deciding policy.”

“And how do you know this?” Finrod asked. “There has been no decision as to the type of government that will rule here. It may well be that farmers and traders will indeed be asked to sit in council alongside the nobles.”

“Bah! Such nonsense,” Morcocáno exclaimed in disgust. “Who sits on the councils of you kings of Aman? I doubt you have ever invited any of your farmers or traders to do so.”

“Well, as a matter of fact,” Ingwion said with a malicious smile, “one of my atar’s most trusted councillors is a wine merchant.”

There was much raising of eyebrows at that revelation. Finrod leaned over to whisper into Ingwion’s ear. “He’s also one of the great nobles of the Vanyar.”

Ingwion whispered back. “A minor detail that they don’t need to know.” The cousins exchange conspiratorial smiles.

“At any rate, we are getting side-tracked in our discussion,” Arafinwë said, giving the two ellyn a knowing smile. “The point is, my lord, politically and geographically, it only makes sense that Kortirion be the seat of government. Avallónë will always have pride of place as being the oldest city and the first that those from Endórë come to.”

“Yet, there is a question that remains,” Laeglîr then said. “Who will decide what shape this government will take? The Nandor have never had a king lording over them as is the way among the Sindar and those of Aman. Why should we allow ourselves to be so governed when we have done well enough on our own?”

“These are certainly valid points,” Olwë averred. “I think that perhaps a council should be called wherein each community sends a representative to speak for the interests of the people there. Let the council offer possible solutions on which the populace can vote.”

“Vote!” one of the Avallónean lords exclaimed. “Did you call a vote when you became king of the Teleri?”

Olwë raised an eyebrow. “Actually, that is exactly what happened. When Lord Ulmo returned and summoned us to join the Noldor and Vanyar who were now in Aman, those desiring to leave Beleriand chose me as their king, though I was very reluctant to accept, for I wished still to search for my brother. Yet, it was by popular acclamation that I was chosen.”

“Still, your brother was acknowledged as the leader of the Third Clan,” Thorongorn pointed out. “It would stand to reason for you to succeed him in the leadership.”

Olwë shook his head. “There were others equally capable of leading them,” he replied. “I initially refused and told them to look elsewhere for a king, but it was Lord Ulmo who convinced me to accept the crown, assuring me that my brother was alive and someday he would return to our people and rule them but those who desired to continue the journey needed me to rule them as I had been doing since Elwë disappeared. I was not entirely convinced, but one rarely wins an argument with a Vala, and so I am here.” This last was said with a shrug and a self-deprecating smile and there was gentle laughter all around.

“It would have been so much simpler if one of our kings had survived to rule us,” someone said with a sigh.

“But that is not what happened,” Gilvagor said then, “and Gil-galad would not abandon those who wished to tarry in Endórë. So it is up to us, all of us, who make our home here on Tol Eressëa to come to a solution which all can accept or at least live with. There are bound to be those who will not like whatever solution we come up with, but hopefully they will be in the minority.”

“And when would such a council be called?” Laeglîr asked, “and who should lead it?”

“These are details that can be worked out later,” Olwë said. “At the moment it is enough that people agree that such a council is needed. The whys and wherefores can be sorted out later.”

“His Majesty is correct,” Thorongorn said. “Let each community choose a representative to attend the council, but I think it would be wise to have someone from Aman oversee it as a neutral observer who will have no voting power.”

“Yet, where would such a council take place?” Eirien asked. “I do not think even Avallónë is equipped to house and feed the delegates, let alone provide a large enough meeting place.”

“There may be a place....” Ingwion started to say but his voice trailed off as he frowned in thought. Then he shook his head. “I will need to think on it some more. My atar needs to be consulted first, I think.”

“And why should he be consulted?” one of the Avallónean nobles, a Sinda, asked.

Ingwion gave him a cool stare. “He is High King of All the Elves, after all.”

“High King of the Elves of Aman,” the noble retorted, “not of Tol Eressëa.”

“Yet, Tol Eressëa is considered a part of Eldamar,” Arafinwë pointed out, “At least as far as the Valar are concerned. You need not fear that Ingwë will dictate to you in this matter, but he has a vested interest in seeing that this situation is resolved as quickly and as equably as possible. He, as High King, must answer to the Valar for the rest of us.”

“At any rate,” Olwë added, “no real decision need be made now. We still must consult with the people of Kortirion about this. Those of Tavrobel are amenable to the idea of a council and their leaders have assured us that they will contact the outlying communities that look to Tavrobel for guidance. We hope you will do the same here.”

“I will go to the other Speakers among the Nandor,” Laeglîr said, “and tell them of this, but I cannot guarantee that any will agree to participate.”

“Perhaps if you tell them that those who do not offer a voice on the matter cannot complain of the decisions made by others after the fact,” Finrod said. “They may be more willing to send delegates then.”

Laeglîr nodded. “You speak wisely, Finrod Felagund. I will tell you this: even if no other of the Nandor come to this council we are contemplating, I will be there. We of Garth Hallâd have already agreed that we can no longer afford to remain hidden and excluded from the doings of the rest of the island. Lord Araw has said as much and we will not gainsay that particular Balan.”

Olwë smiled at her. “We are glad that you have decided this, Laeglîr of Garth Hallâd. And please accept my sincerest apology on behalf of myself and the others for our inadvertent intrusion upon your sanctuary. I regret that our actions, innocent though they were, caused you and your people any distress.”

Laeglîr bowed her head to him. “I accept your apology on behalf of the people of Garth Hallâd. But tell me, last night I saw one in your party who is not present here. Where is Lord Glorendil?”

“He lived among us for a time,” Dairuin answered. “Last night there was no opportunity to greet him properly, but I had hoped to do so here.”

“His wife, Lady Manwen, recently conceived,” Arafinwë said, using that particular excuse to explain his absence. It was a plausible explanation and there were knowing nods among the Nandor.

“We rejoice that this is so,” Laeglîr said. “Please give them my congratulations.”

By now they had finished their meal and the rest of the afternoon was given over to singing and dancing and quiet conversations. Thus, it was early evening before the Amanians made their farewells. Plans were made for the kings to meet with the Avallónean city council the next morning to discuss trade agreements while the other members of their party would continue visiting the city. Laeglîr was invited to attend but declined, stating that she would be leaving in the morning to visit the other Nandorin communities to let them know what was being decided.

“It will take me some time to reach them all,” she said, “so it is best that I start now.”

“We will be leaving for Kortirion the day after tomorrow,” Olwë told Morcocáno and the other Avallónean nobles.

Thorongorn spoke then. “As it happens, I have business in Kortirion and had planned to leave in two days’ time myself. Perhaps I might join you?”

With that, the Amanians made their farewells. As they were heading back to Iithildor’s villa, Olwë commented to Arafinwë, “That went better than I expected.” He sounded very pleased.

Arafinwë nodded. “The Nandor’s appearance was a surprise, but a pleasant one. This Progress seems to be shaping up quite nicely in spite of some minor mishaps.” Olwë snorted as Arafinwë gave him a sly grin.

“Let us hope we do not encounter any major problems in Kortirion,” Olwë rejoined.

They returned to the villa to find all in an uproar with people yelling and running about.

“Be silent!” shouted Olwë over the din that the servants were making. “Cease this noise at once!”

Such was the force of his command that everyone stopped and stared at him with various degrees of consternation.

“Where are Eärnur and Iorlas?” Finrod asked almost at the same time, for he had noticed that neither was there in the crowd of elves.

“For that matter, where are Laurendil and Manwen?” Glorfindel then asked, his eyes narrowing as he swept his gaze about. “However they might be feeling at this moment, Laurendil would surely have been out here insisting on calm.”

Finrod, Gilvagor and Haldir nodded in agreement. Olwë spied the villa’s chatelaine and motioned her to step forward. “Mistress Faelivrin, perhaps you would be good enough to explain.”

The elleth gave the king a brief and nervous curtsey, wringing her hands, her face full of distress. “Lord, we tried to stop them, but there were too many and....”

Olwë held up a hand, “Mistress, from the beginning.” He glanced around, seeing the other elves belonging to the villa as well as the servants from the Progress with equally distressed expressions. He now noticed that a few were sporting bruises and several were even bleeding from various wounds. There were even three lying unconscious or — but no, thank the Valar, he could see them breathing.

“Let’s have the wounded tended to,” he ordered. “Mistress, I think we’ll remove ourselves to the dining room where you may tell us what has occurred here.”

Faelivrin nodded and led the way with Olwë and Arafinwë following. Finrod stopped long enough to issue his own orders to Edrahil, Eregil and Mithlas, asking them to stay and help with the injured. Being warriors they were used to treating wounds. Urundil and Eäralato remained behind to help as well. Everyone else who had attended the garden party made their way to the dining room. Calandil and Elennen stationed themselves at the door to prevent any interruptions.

“Now, Mistress,” Olwë said once they were all settled. “Start from the beginning.”

Faelivrin nodded. “It happened only a short time ago,” she explained softly, keeping her eyes on the floor before her. “I don’t know where they came from but suddenly there were two score or more ellyn, brandishing swords and knives, invading the villa, demanding to know where the Amanians were.”

“Most of them were Noldor,” the chatelaine answered, looking up, “though there were a few Sindar in the mix.”

Faelivrin shook her head. “None that I saw, but then, I cannot claim to have seen all of them.”

“Before I had a chance to answer, not that I would have told them anything to their advantage, mind you,” and she said that with a sneer and several of her listeners smiled grimly, “Lord Laurendil came out, apparently having heard the noise of the invaders shouting. At once, several of them leaped upon him, taking him down. Then the one who seemed to be the leader ordered the villa searched. By now, our own people were trying to fight back, but as I said, there were too many. In minutes, they were dragging Lady Manwen out and then Lord Eärnur. They even brought out that poor ellon who is ill and his friend and bound them along with the others. They seemed rather put out by the fact that no one else of importance was here and I refused to tell them where you were, though the leader threatened me with a beating. ‘I was a slave of Morgoth, toiling in the mines,’ I told him, ‘there is nothing you can do to me to make me tell you what you wish to know.’”

There were several raised eyebrows at that revelation and looks of admiration at this particular elleth who had survived so much horror.

“Yes, lord,” she answered, “We were told not to follow or their prisoners would be killed. I do not know if that was an idle threat or not but I dared take no chances, so I ordered our people to stay where they were.”

She shook her head. Before anyone else could speak there was shouting outside the room. Faelivrin gave a startled gasp. “That’s Berethrandir!”

Finrod stood up and went to the door and opened it to see the young ellon arguing with the two guards who were holding him back. “Let him in,” he ordered, reaching out and taking Berethrandir’s arm and pulling him into the room before shutting the door.

“That was very foolish....” the elleth began but Finrod cut her off with an impatient gesture.

“Reprimand him later,” he said harshly. “Berethrandir, what did you learn?”

“They went north through the woods for some ways and then headed northwest,” the youngster answered.

The ellon nodded, grimacing. “There’s only one place they could be heading for and that’s Cirith Amlug.”

“And are there actually dragons hiding there?” Sador asked with a disbelieving look.

Gilvagor shook his head. “No. It’s just the name of it. The cleft is a pass through the hills that run to the sea there. Someone decided that the shape of the hills suggested a sleeping dragon or something.” He gave them a shrug as if to say he had nothing to do with it.

“So what’s so significant about it?” Glorfindel asked. “Where does the pass lead?”

“Only to the sea,” Gilvagor answered. “There is a shallow cove and a shingle beach, nothing more and no boat would go there for there are jagged reefs and dangerous currents all along that part of the coast. But I don’t think that’s where they are heading. Those hills are riddled with caves. They could easily hide in them and it would be difficult for us to find them or flush them out. Also, they would be able to see us coming from far off.”

“Perhaps a couple of miles by now,” the ellon answered. “I only followed long enough to figure out which way they were heading, then came back here. There are no paths through those woods and they are burdened with prisoners who are bound and blindfolded, so they are forced to move slowly. And that poor ellon, Lasgalad, has to be carried, for he was only just coming out of healing sleep and is still too weak to walk on his own. I overheard one of the captors suggesting that they just leave him behind, but Eärnur pleaded with them, saying to do so would surely cause his death and if that happened they would receive no mercy from you, lord.” Finrod raised an eyebrow and Berethrandir nodded. “Eärnur told them Lasgalad was a friend of yours and under your protection. That seemed to give them pause.”

“A couple of miles, and they are burdened with prisoners,” Glorfindel mused, giving Finrod a significant stare. “We could catch up with them.”

“How far is Cirith Amlug?” Finrod asked Gilvagor. “Could they reach it before us?”

“It’s at least three leagues from here as the crebain fly,” Gilvagor answered.

“And longer by foot, no doubt,” Finrod mused. He glanced at his atar, as if seeking his permission though no words passed between them.

“Go,” Arafinwë said. “I will return to Lord Morcocáno and apprise him of what has happened.” He turned to Faelivrin. “Did you recognize any of them? Do you know whence they come?”

“They’re not from Avallónë,” Berethrandir replied before Faelivrin could give an answer. “I heard one of them say something about Tavrobel.”

There were exclamations of surprise and consternation all around. “Well, we’ll worry about that after we’ve rescued our friends,” Finrod said decisively. “Let’s gather our people and head out.” He opened the door and yelled down the hall, calling Mithlas’ name. The ellon came running, giving Finrod an enquiring look. “Mithlas, they’re heading for some place called Cirith Amlug.” The ellon muttered an oath, clearly understanding what that meant. “Berethrandir can show you where they left the estate. Track them for us.”

“As will I,” Glorfindel said. “The Maiar taught me some interesting tricks with regards to tracking.”

Beleg and Glorfindel left with Mithlas while Finrod set about organizing who else would accompany them. “If they number two score or more, we’ll need reinforcements,” he said.

“That will take some time to organize,” Ingwion pointed out. “Can we afford to take that time?”

“Do we have any choice, though?” Sador asked. “We’re too few here to be able to take them and we must remember the prisoners. They will be the first casualties.”

Finrod nodded. “That is my primary concern. We need to overwhelm them with superior numbers before they reach the pass or we will lose all advantage.” He turned to Faelivrin. “How many of Lord Ithildor’s people are former warriors?”

“If we send out a general call for arms throughout the city....” Sador suggested.

“It would still take too long,” Finrod said with a frown, “but it is our only option. We need warriors.”

They all looked up to see half a dozen Maiar standing by the tall windows that overlooked the gardens. Ingil was there along with Manveru, Erunáro and Fionwë. Finrod recognized one of the other two Maiar, Ulcuroitar, who had been at the hunting lodge during the Hunt for him and Glorfindel. The other, wearing the blood-red surcoat and silver sword emblem of Lord Tulkas was unknown to him.

“Lord Irmo takes a dim view of his people being kidnapped,” the Maia explained. “He... um... asked to borrow some of us warrior Maiar to help with the rescue.”

“You could just go and....” Sador started to say but all six Maiar shook their heads in denial.

“We were told to play the game by your rules,” Manveru said with a smile. “Rather like when we went to Beleriand.”

“Then it’s too bad Lord Eönwë isn’t here to act as our captain as he once did,” Arafinwë commented with a wry grin.

Fionwë gave a short amused laugh. “Our esteemed captain is far too busy recording the oaths of Lord Laurendil and young Eärnur to help out.” There were amused chuckles among the other Maiar.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Sador exclaimed. “It’ll only take me a couple of minutes to change into more appropriate garb.”

“Findaráto has trained me to use a sword,” she said angrily, turning on her cousin. “I will not sit idly by when I can be of help.” Then she turned to Finrod in appeal. “Did you not tell me that Lord Oromë called me a warrior-maid?”

“A fierce one at that,” Finrod said with a smile. Then his expression sobered “Very well, Alassiel. You may come... as my squire. That means you stay by me and you do everything I tell you. Is that clear?”

“She can take one of Ithildor’s swords,” Finrod said, but when Ingwion started to protest further, he shook his head. “Enough, Ingwion. We’re wasting time.” He went to the door and flung it open. “Calandil, gather all the warriors we have in the front courtyard. We’re moving out in five minutes.”

The guard saluted and Elennen went with him. The others started filing out of the room. “I will send word to Lord Morcocáno,” Arafinwë said. “He and the others need to know what has happened.”

Finrod nodded and went to change and grab his weapons. It was actually closer to ten minutes before everyone was gathered together. Besides Finrod, the others who would accompany him and the Maiar were Ingwion, Alassiel, Sador, Gilvagor, Haldir, Edrahil, Eregil and Urundil, plus the ten warriors belonging to Lord Ithildor’s household who had not sustained injuries. Lindarion wanted to go with them, but Olwë forbade it, stating that the ellon had no proper training in fighting and would only be a hindrance to the others. The ellon looked decidedly unhappy about it.

Finrod gave him a hug to comfort him. “Stay close to Atto and Anatto,” he whispered into Lindarion’s ear. “Help Calandil and Elennen to keep them safe for me.”

Lindarion gave him a questioning look but, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, nodded, seemingly resigned to staying behind.

By now night had fallen and the sky was brilliant with stars. None of the elves had any trouble seeing their way. Manveru indicated the place along the estate border where the kidnappers had fled with their prisoners and Finrod noticed a notch on a tree that one of the three scouts had left to show them the way. Finrod indicated for the Maiar to lead, but Manveru shook his head.

“We will flank you but you are the leader in this venture, Findaráto, by our masters’ decree.”

“Very well,” Finrod said and then he plunged into the forest with Alassiel right behind him as he had ordered. Sador was striding next to her and the others ranged themselves in no particular order. There was no actual path, so they spread out, making their way through the woods as best they could. Finrod kept his eyes open for more signs from the scouts, but it wasn’t really necessary. The invaders had not been careful in their passing through the forest and there were signs of broken branches and trampled underbrush that clearly pointed the way in which they had gone.

They had traveled thus in relative silence for nearly an hour when Finrod stopped, raising his hand. Everyone else came to a halt. Then they heard the trilling of a bird that did not live on the island, but could be found in the Forests of Oromë and in the Woods of Lórien. Finrod repeated the call and in a few seconds they saw Glorfindel loping towards them. If he was surprised to see six Maiar standing with Finrod, he gave no sign.

“They are about two miles ahead,” he said softly. “Beleg and Mithlas are keeping them in sight. I came back to let you know that they do not intend to go all the way to the pass.”

Glorfindel nodded. “We overheard them speaking. There’s a dell or a ravine further along. They mean to go there, though I’m not sure why. From what I heard it seems this dell is more westerly than the pass.”

Gilvagor shook his head. “No, but I am not entirely familiar with this part of the island. Cirith Amlug is well known to all who live between here and Kortirion, but as for any place else....” he shrugged.

“What about you Maiar?” Glorfindel asked. “Do you know of this dell or are you just here for show?”

“Insolent as ever,” Manveru said with a grin. “In point of fact, we do know about this dell and it’s more of a ravine that runs due west. It was an old river course long before any of you were born, but now it’s dried up.”

“Does it lead anywhere or is it just a good place in which to hole up?” Finrod asked.

“If they follow the ravine far enough, they will reach a place called Angobel,” Manveru told them. “It’s a small village consisting mainly of miners. The hills surrounding the town are rich in iron ore and other minerals.”

“Berethrandir said he heard one of them speak of Tavrobel,” Sador said then. “Do you think he mistook it for this Angobel?”

“Possibly,” Finrod averred, “but it’s not important. What is is that we need to reach them before they enter the ravine....”

“No,” said the Maia in the blood-red surcoat whose name they had learned was Cassantur. “You can travel above them. There was a forest fire on the north side of the ravine some time before anyone came here. The trees are still thin and there is little to obstruct you.”

The elves could clearly see the Maiar all smiling even in the dark. “Not with us to hide you,” Manveru said.

Glorfindel nodded and turned to retrace his steps, the others following. They went silently through the woods, moving as quickly as they dared in the darkness. About a half an hour later they met up with Mithlas who told them that Beleg was still following the kidnappers. “They turned west and dropped into a ravine,” he reported, “using ropes to bring themselves and our friends down to the floor.”

“Find Beleg,” Finrod ordered. “Tell him we’re moving to the north side of the ravine to follow. The two of you meet us there.”

Mithlas nodded and gave them directions before disappearing again into the woods. They followed and soon they came to where an ancient watercourse had plunged over a cliff. Mithlas and Beleg were waiting for them and without a word they crossed the old streambed to the other side of the cliff and then loped along the ravine’s edge. As promised, the way was clear of trees and they moved swiftly and silently under the indifferent watch of Varda’s stars with Cassantur now leading.

“For I know a good place for an ambush if we can reach it before they do,” he told them.

They made good time. Finrod kept hoping they would actually see the party making its way along the old riverbed, but the ravine widened out and they saw no sign of them, though the Maiar all insisted that they were somewhere below. Finally, Cassantur stopped and gestured.

Finrod and the others looked and saw how part of the cliff face on this side had crumbled, so it was lower than the rest of the ridge on which they had been moving. The rocks tumbled down towards the floor of the ravine and Finrod could see large boulders behind which they could hide. Across from them the south cliff was sheer. There would be no way for the kidnappers to make an escape that way.

“No,” Manveru replied, “but that will not be a problem. Erunáro and I will station ourselves unclad to the west and Ulcuroitar and Fionwë will be to the east. Once they pass that spur of rock they will be trapped.”

Finrod nodded. “Let us get into position then,” he ordered and shortly thereafter they were hidden behind boulders. Finrod kept Alassiel and Sador with him, while Glorfindel and Ingwion joined Ingil and Cassantur behind another boulder. Beleg, Mithlas, Haldir and Gilvagor were higher up, all four carrying bows. The rest were scattered about, only dimly seen by their fellows.

“Now comes that hardest part,” Finrod whispered to Alassiel who nodded, knowing exactly what the ellon meant.

They did not have to wait long before they heard the kidnappers coming. Elves they may have been, but they were clumsy with prisoners who were bound and blindfolded and one was perhaps unconscious, for they could see someone being carried.

They could hear a smattering of curses from captors and captives alike as they stumbled along the rock strewn riverbed. Finrod couldn’t help smiling at hearing Laurendil scathingly telling whoever was leading him that he didn’t have the brains Eru had given to moss after nearly falling to his knees when he misstepped on the loose shale. His captor didn’t even bother to apologize, but dragged him along.

Sador leaned close to Finrod to whisper in his ear. “They act more like orcs than elves.”

Finrod nodded but did not answer, concentrating on keeping an eye on the group below. Even in starlight he could see that there were close to fifty elves, not including the five prisoners. He was rather surprised, not that there were so many, but that there were so few, considering they had hoped, no doubt, to take all the Amanians, or at least the leaders. He and Glorfindel alone could have taken on half of them without any problem and he knew that the other warriors among them would have easily handled the rest. It made no sense, but then none of this made sense. This entire scenario was insane. What did these people hope to gain, other than the ire of the three kings of Eldamar?

He shook his head slightly to clear it of thoughts and concentrated on the task at hand. He knew that Ulcuroitar and Fionwë were in position blocking the retreat. Manveru had outlined a plan which Finrod had approved. With any luck not a single arrow would be shot, not a single sword would be lifted in either defense or attack and the prisoners would not suffer any harm. Having Maiar on your side definitely put the odds in your favor.

The kidnappers and their prisoners were now nearly aligned with the boulder behind which Finrod crouched. He stood up and stepped around it, Alassiel and Sador following him. “That’s far enough,” Finrod called out in Sindarin. “Release your prisoners and surrender peacefully for you are surrounded.”

If he had expected the kidnappers to comply immediately, he was sorely disappointed.

“Never!” one of them screamed and there was a note of desperation in his voice. Suddenly swords were being pulled out of scabbards, glinting in the starlight.

Finrod blinked, unsure he had heard correctly. What madness was this? Then, an arrow whistled past him from behind and landed squarely between the legs of the person who had yelled his defiance. There was a pause as the elves below stared at the arrow in disbelief.

Beleg. Finrod smiled as he shook his head. Trust the former Marchwarden not to follow the plan they had devised. Oh well. Taking advantage of the silence, Finrod spoke again. “He means what he says. Drop your weapons and surrender. I give you my word....”

“Your word means nothing to us, Amanian,” the same ellon growled. Even with just starlight to illuminate the scene Finrod could tell he was a Noldo with his dark hair. “And you seem to forget we have hostages. Do you truly wish to see them harmed?”

Finrod frowned, though no one could see. “If so much as a single hair on their heads is out of place, you will learn what it means to earn the wrath of Finrod Felagund.” The absolute coldness of his tone gave even his own people pause, never mind the kidnappers.

“That’s telling them, Finrod,” he heard Laurendil call out, sounding gleeful.

“Silence!” someone ordered and they could all hear the smack of a hand hitting a cheek.

Now Finrod was angry, and that was a dangerous emotion for him to feel at this time. He took a couple of deep centering breaths before he was able to bring himself back to clarity of purpose. Anger had no place in this situation. Only reasoned calm would get them out of it with minimum harm to everyone. He truly did not wish to hurt these fools. Memories of the Kinslaying at Alqualondë rose in his mind and he had to suppress a shudder.

“What do you want?” Finrod finally asked. “Why have you taken our friends?”

“We want no interference from you Amanians,” the answer came from the same ellon who had spoken first. He appeared to be their leader. “Leave Tol Eressëa by the next sunset or you’ll never see your friends again.”

Something in the ellon’s voice convinced Finrod that, whoever these elves were, they were not true warriors, for all that they carried swords. There was something he was missing in all this, some piece of the puzzle he could not see. Why did the Valar send six Maiar to aid him? Not that he objected. Finrod would have followed the kidnappers along the riverbed hoping to catch up to them, but Cassantur bringing them along the north rim of the ravine to this place had saved a lot of time. So he was grateful, but he was also wary. Something about this entire scenario just didn’t add up. What was it Ingil had said about Lord Irmo taking a dim view of his people being kidnapped? That right there seemed odd. Why would the Valar act when Laurendil and the others were taken but not when it had happened to Sador or Glorfindel? What was their agenda in all this?

And then there was that note of desperation that Finrod had detected in the kidnapper’s voice. These people were frightened, it seemed, but of what? Or whom?

“I am sorry,” Finrod said sadly, “but I am afraid that will not be possible.” He drew out his sword and headed down to the floor of the ravine. Alassiel and Sador followed him, their own swords drawn. Finrod could tell that both were surprised, for it had not been a part of the original plan.

As he passed the boulder where Glorfindel was hiding, he gave his gwador a nod, and Glorfindel stepped out with sword drawn as well, followed hastily by Ingwion. The two Maiar stayed where they were. Then all the other elves in Finrod’s party came out of hiding, joining them as they made their way down to the kidnappers, who now were backing away to the other side of the ravine, pushing their prisoners with them.

“What do you mean to do?” the leader snarled. “We out number you nearly two to one and we have your friends. It is you who should surrender and let us go.”

“No,” Finrod said softly. “That will never happen. Will you truly damn yourselves as kinslayers?”

“It matters much,” Finrod retorted. “Come, let us parlay.” He sheathed his sword and took a single step forward, motioning with his hands to the others to stay back.

For a moment there was no movement from the other group and then the leader sheathed his own sword and stepped forward. Finrod advanced a few more steps and the other ellon did the same until the two were facing each other across a space of a couple of feet.

“Are you truly Finrod Felagund?” the ellon asked quietly for his ears alone.

For a moment or two the ellon did not answer, but finally he gave a sigh. “A mulóldhel,” he answered, refusing to look at him.

Finrod felt his blood run cold. The utter bleakness and despair of the ellon’s tone shook him. “You are not!” he said fiercely. “You are free.”

The ellon looked up, his dark eyes glittering in the starlight. “Am I? Are any of us?”

The ellon gestured with his chin to the elves behind him. “Most of us were enslaved by Morgoth,” he said in an emotionless tone, as if what he would impart was too horrific and beyond any sane emotion. “Many of us managed to escape after a time, the rest were freed by the Maiar during the War of Wrath. None of us were welcomed by our fellow elves. We were looked upon with suspicion. It was feared that Morgoth had suborned us and that at the wrong moment we would turn on our fellow elves.” He paused, giving a sigh before resuming his narrative. “It didn’t matter that we wished to fight; no one would accept us into their company, so we ended up banding together. When the war ended and the invitation was made to come here, we took it, thinking that now that Morgoth was gone it would be clear that we were no threat to others, but even here we were shunned. So, we founded our own village.”

“Angobel,” Finrod said and the other ellon gave him a surprised look but nodded.

“Yes. Most of us had been sent to the mines. It was all we really knew so we found an area of the island rich in mineral ore and established a mining town.”

“Why all this, though?” Finrod asked, nodding towards where he could see his friends in the midst of the miners.

“When we learned that you Amanians were here, we feared that once you learned who we were our lives would not be worth much,” the ellon explained, his voice full of bitterness. “We are barely tolerated by the other Tol Eressëans and we have to sell our ores through third parties and at a loss for if they knew where the ores came from....” He shrugged.

Finrod scowled. “Do you think that I, who once ruled Nargothrond, who died in Sauron’s dungeon to save the life of a Mortal, would allow any to persecute you? Does my word mean so little to you?”

The ellon shook his head. “We just want to be left alone,” he said. “Your coming here with your talk of a central government and trading agreements.... do you think anyone would let us join such a government or allow us to negotiate for trade? As long as things remain as they are, we’re safe and no one bothers us... much.”

“It is the name I have chosen for myself,” Marthchall snarled. “It is what my life has been since I was foolish enough to defy the Valar.”

“Under whose banner did you march?” Finrod asked, curious to know as much about this tortured soul as possible.

Marthchall hesitated for a brief second before answering. “I marched under Lord Maedhros’ banner. I was taken captive during the Dagor-nuin-Giliath. I managed to escape during the time of the Dagor Aglareb when Morgoth’s eyes were elsewhere.”

“I am sorry,” Finrod said sorrowfully, knowing that his words were inadequate, but needing to say something.

Finrod glanced around and shook his head. “This is no place for talking. Come. Let us all return to Avallónë. I, who was once King of Nargothrond, give you my word that you and your people will be given a fair hearing.”

“And then what?” Marthchall demanded. “Do you really think once word gets out of what we’ve done that any will show us mercy?”

“That’s a risk you must take,” Finrod said, “but if you continue as you have, mercy is less assured.”

Marthchall closed his eyes, his shoulders sagging. “You are right, of course. We were fools to even attempt this, but we were desperate and fearful that any change would prove detrimental to us. We’re barely getting by as it is.”

“Let us return to my adar and daeradar,” Finrod said quietly. “Let us sit down and discuss this as reasonable people. I promise you, I will do all I can to help you and your people. You have the word of Finrod Felagund, if that means anything to you.”

“It does,” Marthchall said firmly. He took a step back and drew his sword. Finrod motioned with his hands to his people not to move, though he had no doubt that Beleg at least had an arrow trained on the former mólanoldo. Then Marthchall reversed the sword so that its hilt was pointed towards Finrod.

“No, Marthchall!” one of the ellyn from Angobel cried, sounding nearly in tears.

Marthchall gave Finrod a grim look and the ellon reached out and accepted the sword. Marthchall then went back to his group and embraced the ellon who had cried out. “It’s all right, Gurthalion,” he whispered. “It’s going to be all right.”

“But we outnumbered them,” Gurthalion cried. “Please Marthchall. I don’t... I don’t want to be enslaved again.”

Finrod’s expression tightened. “No one will enslave you,” he said harshly. “And I am afraid that in spite of appearances we are the ones who outnumber you.”

Marthchall turned, still holding on to Gurthalion, giving him a puzzled look. “What do you mean? There are fifty of us and only about twenty of you.”

Now Finrod smiled, though it was not a warm smile. “We... um... brought reinforcements. Six Maiar, to be precise.”

And there in their midst stood Eönwë gravely gazing upon them all. The Amanians gave him respectful bows. The elves of Angobel moaned and cowered against the ravine wall. The other Maiar also appeared and they cowered even more. Eönwë’s gaze softened to compassion.

“Fear not, Children,” he said. “No harm will come to you if you will surrender unto Lord Finrod.”

“I have already given him my sword,” Marthchall stated. “I am the leader of these ellyn. I surrender us to thee, my Lord Finrod Felagund, and release unto thee our prisoners.” He nodded and with a sigh his people began unbinding the prisoners, while Finrod’s group went about collecting their weapons.

As soon as the prisoners were released, Eärnur, Laurendil and Manwen all went to the still unconscious Lasgalad, ignoring everyone else, as they determined the state of his health. Edrahil and Iorlas joined Finrod, the former giving his lord a wry grin. “I’d forgotten how exciting life was around you, aran nîn,” he said.

“I’ve put Lasgalad into healing sleep,” Eärnur told Finrod. “He has not suffered too much from this.”

“Good,” Finrod said with a nod. Then he turned to Eönwë and gave him a bow. “Thank you for your assistance, my lord, and for that of your fellow Maiar.”

“We’ll come along,” Eönwë stated with a smile, “just to make sure everyone behaves.”

Finrod raised an eyebrow at the emphasis on ‘everyone’ but refused to comment. “Let us go then,” was all he said, and, since it was an easier route than the riverbed, they all climbed out of the ravine and began making their way back to Avallónë.

Mulóldhel: Sindarin form of the Quenya mólanoldo ‘Noldo slave of Morgoth’. The plural would be mulóhdil.

Dagor-nuin-Giliath: Battle-under-Stars, the second of the great battles of Beleriand. It occurred three Valian years before the First Rising of Ithil, thus Marthchall was a slave for approximately a century before escaping.

Finrod’s company was still a few miles from Avallónë when he called a halt. He stared intently before him. There was a light to the east that had nothing to do with the still distant dawn. “Avallónë is on fire,” he said.

Finrod gave the Maia a hard look but then returned his gaze to the east and realized that the light had advanced enough that he could now see that it was a large group of people carrying torches. In the predawn light he could also see that they were all carrying weapons. He had the feeling this was a ‘rescue party’ organized by Lord Morcocáno. He very much doubted that his atar or anatar would have sanctioned it, but as they had no real authority over these people, they could not have ordered them to disband. There was a shout from someone leading the warriors and it was obvious Finrod’s people had been spotted, for now the Avallóneans were rushing toward them with swords drawn and spears raised.

“Glorfindel,” Finrod said without taking his eyes off the advancing group, “give everyone back their weapons. Anyone who is unarmed I want in the center, now.” His tone brooked no dissent and actually Glorfindel and the others holding the miners’ weapons were returning them even before Finrod spoke.

There was a brief shuffling of bodies as Laurendil, Manwen, Eärnur and Iorlas moved into the center bringing with them the unconscious Lasgalad. Glorfindel quietly asked some of the miners to see to the protection of those who were unarmed if there was need. They looked at him in surprise, but he merely smiled.

Finrod, meanwhile, ordered his own warriors to ring the miners, asking Marthchall to stand beside him on his left. Glorfindel moved to stand between Finrod and Sador, while Alassiel flanked Marthchall’s left. Beleg flanked Sador’s right, his bow up and an arrow at the ready and Ingwion flanked Alassiel. Finrod vaguely realized that none of the Maiar were there any more, but whether they had simply gone invisible or were just gone, he did not know and did not care. He was more than capable of dealing with rabble and that is how he saw the oncoming group of ellyn, perhaps more than twice their own numbers, the miners included.

“That’s far enough!” Finrod suddenly called out, his voice hard. “Come no further.”

Such was the force of his command that the warriors came to a stumbling halt, looks of confusion on most of their faces.

Finrod saw Lord Thorongorn standing beside Morcocáno. “Lord Thorongorn,” he said with a nod of his head in acknowledgement. “You and Lord Morcocáno may approach, but no others.”

The two ellyn sheathed their swords and strode forward until only a few feet separated them from Finrod’s group. Thorongorn gave Finrod a respectful bow but Morcocáno just glared at him. “What does this mean?” he demanded, sweeping his arm out to take in the miners. “Are you their prisoners as well?”

Finrod gave him a mirthless smile. “Hardly,” he answered. “They are in fact my prisoners, or rather, my guests.”

“We came to help rescue Lord Laurendil and Lady Manwen,” Thorongorn said somewhat lamely, giving their group a rueful look.

“Rescue, or to take revenge?” Finrod asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief at the ellon’s words.

Thorongorn looked somewhat abashed, but Morcocáno waved a hand in dismissal. “These... mulódhil....”

There were gasps of dismay from Marthchall and the other miners and Finrod saw Morcocáno smirk. “Oh, yes,” he continued. “We realized who must have taken your friends when I questioned young Berethrandir more closely. Tavrobel is too far away. Angobel is the only town in this direction that’s close enough to Avallónë.”

Morcocáno nodded in agreement. “It appears that our fears were well founded. These slaves of Morgoth should never have been allowed to come here, bringing their master’s evil with them.”

“They are no longer slaves,” Finrod stated categorically. “Nor are they evil, merely desperate.”

“They should be punished!” someone shouted and there were cries of assent among the Avallóneans.

Finrod’s expression darkened and both Morcocáno and Thorongorn took a step back in alarm. “Punished?” Finrod retorted, the mildness of his tone in sharp contrast to the look of wrath he gave them. “Perhaps, but not by you. These ellyn are under my protection and are not to be harmed or molested.”

There were gasps of surprise when Eönwë and the other six Maiar made an appearance, their swords drawn.

Now there were moans of fear as Námo suddenly was there, looking grim. Even the miners cowered at the sight of the Lord of Mandos.

Now two more Valar appeared: Oromë and Tulkas. The silence which followed was absolute.

Glorfindel gave them an amused grin. “Nice of you to drop by,” he said in a conversational tone, glancing eastward at the lightening sky heralding the dawn, “and just in time for breakfast, I see.”

Námo rolled his eyes, muttering something none of the elves could hear. Oromë smiled and Tulkas laughed, his booming voice shaking the ground about them. Miles away in Avallónë the ships in the harbor were swamped by sudden waves before settling down to calm. Residents of the city merely assumed there had been a seaquake somewhere.

“Either Lord Ossë is having an argument with Lady Uinen or with Lord Ulmo,” one of the ship captains said to another as they checked for damage along the wharfs. Luckily there was none.

Meanwhile, the three Valar were staring pointedly at the Avallóneans. Most were suitably cowed, but Morcocáno was made of sterner stuff. Or just plain stupid, Glorfindel thought as he watched the ellon confront the Valar. Morcocáno was pointing directly at Marthchall, though he was speaking to Lord Námo.

“Once a slave, always a slave,” he said sneeringly and Glorfindel flinched at the words. He felt Finrod and Sador both grab him by the arms, but whether to keep him from attacking Morcocáno or to offer him comfort, he did not know.

Lord Námo gave Morcocáno a grim smile. “Does your statement include your wife?” he asked mildly.

Morcocáno went absolutely white and Thorongorn had to grab his elbow to steady him. Námo nodded, apparently satisfied that he’d gotten his point across. “Regardless,” he continued, “these ellyn and the people of Angobel are under the protection of the Valar by Lord Manwë’s decree. I think you should all return to Avallónë now. Thorongorn, you may lead everyone back.”

Thorongorn gave the Vala a bow and then without another word, turned away, bringing an unprotesting Morcocáno with him. The other Avallóneans parted to make way for them and then closed up behind them. In short order they were heading back to the city.

Námo turned his attention to Finrod’s group, gazing benignly on the miners who stood there looking bemused. His gaze settled on Marthchall. “Ancalimon,” he said, “you and your people are welcome here.” And then he and the other two Valar were gone, along with the Maiar.

Finrod gave Marthchall an enquiring look. “Is that your name? Ancalimon?” he asked.

“Perhaps it does,” Finrod rejoined, then shrugged. “Let us go. As Glorfindel pointed out, it’s almost time for breakfast.”

There were chuckles all around and the tension that they had all felt began to melt away. They met up with the Avallóneans, though Finrod kept his group some distance from them and both groups marched in silence, eventually making their way back onto Lord Ithildor’s estate where a relieved Arafinwë and Olwë greeted them.

“We tried to stop them,” Arafinwë said to Finrod, nodding to where Thorongorn had brought the Avallóneans to a halt.

“That’s all right, Atto,” Finrod said with a smile. “As you can see, no harm has come to anyone.” He then motioned Marthchall forward. “This is Marthchall, once known as Ancalimon, who is the leader of the mining village of Angobel. He and his people surrendered to us peacefully and they are under my protection.” He decided not to mention the Valar just then; best to wait until later.

Both Arafinwë and Olwë nodded. “They still retain their weapons,” Olwë noted, frowning slightly.

“They have given me their parole and so I have allowed them to keep their weapons,” Finrod stated. “When Lord Morcocáno’s people found us, I did not wish the miners to be without protection in case we were attacked.”

Arafinwë stole a glance at Thorongorn softly speaking to a very subdued Morcocáno. He gave his son a wry look. “What did you say to him to make him so... quiet?”

Finrod shook his head, giving his atar a smile. “Nothing. That was Lord Námo’s doing.”

Both kings raised their eyebrows at that revelation. “I ordered a hot breakfast for when you returned. I think we should dismiss the Avallóneans and then you can tell us what happened while we break our fast.”

Finrod nodded. “Morcocáno and Thorongorn should stay, though, as this concerns them.”

Arafinwë nodded, then strode over to the two ellyn, speaking softly to them. Finrod saw Thorongorn nod and give quiet orders for the warriors to disband. They did so, though very reluctantly, and several glared balefully at the miners as they moved away to return to their own homes.

Meanwhile, Olwë was issuing his own orders. “There are too many of us to fit in the dining room,” he said to Finrod, “so we will set up out here.”

Finrod nodded and turned to thank the ten ellyn who were from Lord Ithildor’s household for their assistance and told them they were free to return to their regular duties. Then he had Marthchall and the other miners shown to a place where they could freshen up before eating while he and the others went to their rooms to change their clothes. Eärnur, Laurendil and Manwen had already taken Lasgalad and Iorlas with them, Eärnur ordering some broth brought to him so he could feed Lasgalad. Olwë insisted that the three healers and Iorlas come and join the others for breakfast. “For you are a part of this and we would hear your side of the story.”

Thus, half an hour later, everyone was sitting down to breakfast at trestles set up on the terrace overlooking the herb garden. By mutual consent, nothing was said about the kidnapping or the subsequent events until after everyone had eaten. The miners were subdued and others were thoughtful, replaying the events of the last few hours in their minds as they ate. Finally, though, Arafinwë turned to Finrod.

Finrod nodded, pouring more tea into his cup and taking a sip before beginning his tale. It took some time, for Arafinwë and Olwë often stopped the narrative to ask some pointed questions or to have something clarified. The discussion in the ravine between Finrod and Marthchall was of particular interest to them, especially Arafinwë. He gave Marthchall and the other miners searching looks.

“I recall that there were bands of warriors of whom no one would speak except in whispers when I was in Beleriand. ‘In Awarthar’, they were called.”

Marthchall nodded, grimacing, his tone, when he spoke, full of bitterness. “So they called us when they were not calling us worse things, claiming we were spies for Morgoth and would turn on them as surely as the Easterlings turned on them at the Nirnaeth.”

“Tell me again why you sought to kidnap us,” Arafinwë insisted. It was the one thing that made no real sense to the Amanians. The motive seemed too vague.

Marthchall sighed. “We came here in the hope of starting over. Morgoth was cast into the Void, his lieutenant vanished. There was no need for others to shun us because they feared betrayal from us, but that did happen. Even here, we are looked upon with suspicion. Slaves we were, slaves we would always be in their eyes. So, we banded together, we who came here, and founded Angobel. Most of us toiled for years, even centuries, in Morgoth’s iron mines. It is back-breaking work, but it is something we know and so we have eked out a life for ourselves and our families. Yet, we must go through third parties in order to sell our ores to the rest of the island and always at a loss.” He paused for a moment to take a drink, casting them all a rueful look before continuing. “When we learned of your group coming to Tol Eressëa to discuss establishing a central government and trade agreements, we... well, we panicked.”

“Why?” Olwë asked, clearly confused. “What threat are we to you? Until today we did not even know you existed.”

“That’s the point, though, isn’t it, Anatar?” Finrod asked. “We didn’t know they existed, yet we should have known, or at the least, we should have been told of them.” He turned to Marthchall. “Is Angobel the only village founded by former slaves?”

“As far as we know,” Marthchall replied with a shrug. “We have not bothered to go too far afield, preferring to remain in isolation.”

“Hmm.... two distinct groups of elves living in isolation among the rest of the islanders,” Lindarion said, casting a glance at his atar. “And we are introduced to both of them by having them kidnap some of our people. That cannot be pure chance.”

Olwë shook his head. “No. I do not think so, either, but let us return to the reason for why these ellyn felt they needed to kidnap us. What did you hope to gain?”

“Peace,” Marthchall answered. “For all that we are shunned, we have carved a niche in this society, providing the smiths with much needed iron ore and other minerals. We are generally left alone. If a central government is established, there will be taxation and we will come to the attention of whoever is ruling. Yet, do you think any of the fine citizens of Tavrobel, Avallónë and Kortirion would hear of us having representatives to the government or to have any sort of voice in the affairs of the island with regards to the mainlanders?” He gave them a jaundiced sneer. “Unlikely, and I guarantee that we would suffer triple the taxation of everyone else simply for committing the crime of being former slaves.”

“So, in kidnapping us,” Laurendil said, “you were hoping that their Majesties would capitulate to your demands to be allowed to participate in the government?”

“No,” Marthchall retorted, “to ensure that there would be no central government. We want things to remain as they are. Any changes that are made will be to our detriment, though none will care.”

“The Valar care,” Finrod pointed out quietly. “They will not allow your fears to materialize. More importantly, we will not.” He indicated himself as well as the kings, both of whom nodded in agreement.

“There is still the matter of the kidnapping,” Arafinwë said. “That cannot be entirely excused. So, the question remains, whatever are we to do with you?”

Before anyone could answer, Gurthalion gave a cry, cowering beside Marthchall who put a comforting arm around him. “No, Marthchall. You pr-promised they wouldn’t hu-hurt us. Pl-please don’t let them hurt me,” he whimpered. “Marthchall, don’t let them hurt me. Please, Marthchall. I... I don’t want to be a slave again. I can’t... I can’t....” he was openly crying now and his despair was palpable to all.

Instinctively, Laurendil, Manwen and Eärnur went to him. Laurendil knelt beside the ellon, gently stroking his hair, speaking to him softly in Sindarin. “No one will hurt you, I promise. Hush now, hush.” Gurthalion, however, continued weeping, clinging to Marthchall who gave them all a sorrowful look.

“He was tortured by our orc overseers,” he explained. “They found him... good sport. He’s more a child now than an adult. They broke him, forcing him to... perform for them.” He paused, giving them a grimace. The shock on the faces of his listeners told him that they understood what he wasn’t saying. “When I made my escape, I brought him with me. I’ve been taking care of him ever since, but I think he needs better care than I can give him.”

“In Lórien he could get the care he needs, he and anyone else so damaged,” Eärnur said.

Marthchall snorted. “I doubt we would find anyone willing to take us to the mainland and even more doubtful that we would be welcomed there. No one trusts us.”

“We can take him,” Manwen said, giving her husband a significant look. “We were returning there anyway.”

“He won’t go without me, though,” Marthchall said. “I’m his only family. He trusts me to take care of him, but I cannot leave. I’m the leader of these people.”

“Ah.... but as the leader, you hold ultimate responsibility for the actions of your people, do you not?” Olwë asked rhetorically, giving him a thin smile.

“Of course,” Marthchall replied, “and any punishment that we incur I would ask that it fall on me alone.”

“Then what of your people?” Finrod asked. “Who then leads them if you are not there? For surely you do not think that we would just let you go free, do you?” He gave Marthchall a sardonic grin and the ellon stared at him in bemusement.

“Well, you see,” Arafinwë replied with a smile, “if you accept that you alone should bear the brunt of our royal displeasure, we would have to take you with us back to Aman. So, who then will lead your people while you are away?”

Marthchall stared about, catching the eyes of his fellow miners, all of whom had sat through the interrogation in stoic silence, allowing Marthchall to explain to these Amanians why they had done what they did. Marthchall shook his head and gave the kings a rueful look.

“It was a foolish thing for us to do,” he said. “Foolish and ultimately self-defeating. Yet, as I said, we panicked and panicked people do not necessarily think straight, do they?”

“No, they do not,” Arafinwë averred. “Frankly, I’m inclined to let the incident pass and for us to pretend it never happened, but I’m not the one who was kidnapped. I think those who were should have a say in all this.” He turned to the three healers who were still hovering around a now quiescent Gurthalion.

Eärnur gave his fellow Lóriennildi an enquiring look and the other two shrugged. Then he turned to Arafinwë. “As Finrod is fond of saying, no blood, no blame. Our primary concern is to see that Lasgalad reaches Lórien, for he is not out of danger yet, and this incident has not helped his condition. And, of course, I would like to see... Gurthalion, is it?” Marthchall nodded. “I would like to see Gurthalion come with us, if he’s willing to, that is.” He looked at Gurthalion, but the ellon, still huddled in the crook of Marthchall’s arm, was asleep. “Well, I guess we’ll have to wait until he wakes up to ask him,” he said wryly.

“And you, Laurendil?” Arafinwë asked. “What do you and Manwen have to say about all this?”

Laurendil sighed. “Eärnur is correct. No real harm came to us and now that we understand why these people did what they did, it is easily forgiven.” Manwen nodded in agreement.

Iorlas shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “I think I should have stayed in Lindon,” he said. “This place is too exciting by half.”

There was a moment of silence and then someone snickered and then there were chuckles. “And this is a slow week,” Glorfindel quipped and then they were all laughing.

Then one of the miners spoke up. “Gurthalion needs you more than we do, Marthchall, you know this. We’ll be fine, I promise.” Then he paused and gave Marthchall a wicked grin. “We’ll let the fair Meluiwen lead us.”

The other miners started laughing, giving each other knowing smiles and winks. Marthchall shook his head, looking decidedly embarrassed. “Now, Morfinnel....”

“An elleth....” Marthchall started to explain, turning even more red, but Morfinnel interrupted.

“Oho, not just any elleth, my lord Finrod,” he exclaimed, “but the elleth. Meluiwen has had her sights on our fearless leader for quite some time and she will look upon no other.”

“She’s been trying to get Marthchall to propose to her for decades now,” one of the other miners stated with a grin. “There’s a bet going on as to just how long it’ll take this one to cave in and accept the inevitable.” The other miners laughed again, many of them nodding.

The Amanians looked on with amusement. Eärnur gave Marthchall a sympathetic smile. “Gurthalion does need special care. You know this. He can receive it in Lórien.”

Marthchall sighed, looking down at the still sleeping ellon, smiling fondly. “I suppose....”

Laurendil spoke then. “My wife and I are due back in Lórien soon,” he said. “You and Gurthalion can accompany us if you will.”

“So you decided to obey Lord Irmo’s summons?” Finrod asked his former liegeman.

“You always have a choice, son,” Arafinwë interjected. “Some choices, however, are wiser than others. I am glad you decided wisely in this instance.”

“Ingil told us that Lord Irmo has given you two weeks from the time the message was delivered to return,” Finrod said. “If you take ship tomorrow, you should just be in time.”

“Do not concern yourself with that,” Marthchall said. “He will come because I ask him to. He trusts me as he trusts no other. If I explain to him that we are not prisoners and no one will punish him, he will come willingly enough.”

“And Lasgalad?” Finrod asked Eärnur. “What of him? Do you still mean to have him travel with us?”

Eärnur shook his head. “No. I think it best that he go with Laurendil and Manwen. They can take care of him well enough.”

All this while Morcocáno and Thorongorn had remained silent, listening to the conversation, but now, Morcocáno spoke up, addressing the kings. “You mean to let these... these ellyn go, then, unpunished for what they did?”

“Their offense was not against you, Lord Morcocáno,” Laurendil replied coldly before either king could respond. “If we who were the victims can forgive them, then you should do no less. I regret that I was unaware of the situation concerning Angobel, though I have only been here a short time compared to others. I thought I understood the situation here on Tol Eressëa even so, which is why I formed the embassy to Tirion, but apparently I did not know it well enough.”

“You could not be expected to know everything, Laurendil,” Gilvagor said, “and some information was never given us when we first formed the idea of the embassy. I think, if anything, this Progress has made it clear that more is going on than we originally thought. If nothing else, I deem this Progress a success if it uncovers these dark secrets of which we who have not been here long were unaware. It can only help.”

Laurendil nodded, then turned to Morcocáno. “At any rate, my lord, we have no desire to see these good people punished any more than they already have been.”

“And now that we know about you,” Arafinwë said to Marthchall, “I think a side trip to Angobel is in order. After all, we need to see that our... um... guests arrive home safely, do we not?”

Morcocáno glowered at them all, but did not voice any objection. Thorongorn looked at Laurendil. “The Aearíen leaves port tomorrow for Tavrobel,” he said. “I know the captain. I will make arrangements for you, if you wish.”

“How long will it take us to reach Angobel?” Glorfindel asked. “We’re not going to have to travel along that ravine will we?”

Marthchall smiled. “No. That was merely a convenient short-cut,” he said. “The road to Kortirion branches off about a mile outside Avallónë and makes its way around to the north.” He glanced up, calculating the position of the sun which was halfway up the eastern sky. “If we leave in the next hour, we will be there just past noon. Our town is not large so it will not take you long to see it. You can be back here for dinner easily enough.”

Arafinwë and Olwë exchanged glances and some kind of silent communication passed between them before Olwë nodded. He turned to Marthchall. “Then why don’t we wake your friend and be on our way?”

“But we had plans....” Morcocáno started to protest, but Olwë cut him off with an imperious gesture.

“Plans change, my lord.” Then he rose and everyone followed. “We do not have enough horses for you all....”

“That is not a problem, my lord,” Marthchall said. “We are used to walking anyway. But bring your own steeds, for then the return trip will be all the more swift for you.”

Olwë asked Morcocáno to accompany them to Angobel. The Avallónean lord was not sanguine about it, but saw no way to refuse. “I will need to retrieve my horse and let others know of the change in plans,” he said. “I can meet you on the road to Kortirion.”

Olwë accepted the ellon’s suggestion and soon he and Thorongorn took their leave, the latter promising to speak to the captain of the Aearíen and arrange for passage for Laurendil and the others. As they were leaving, Brethorn appeared at the estate, asking for Finrod.

“I had to make a delivery to a farm to the south yesterday,” he stated to his friend when he found him checking his horse’s shoes, “and ended up staying the night as the farmer and his family are good friends of mine. I come back to find the whole city in an uproar. What has happened?”

Finrod quickly explained the events of the day before and Brethorn’s eyes widened with the telling. “So the rumors are true,” he said at the end.

The Sinda waved his hand dismissively. ‘Whispers in the dark, shadow words with no real substance... until now.”

Finrod gave him an enquiring look and the ellon sighed. “I never could verify them, you understand, so I ignored them, but there were rumors that after the war, several mólanoldor stole aboard one of the ships bringing refugees to the island.”

“So the rumors went,” Brethorn replied. “As I said, shadow words with no substance, for how could they have stolen aboard and not been detected? Were not the Maiar there?”

Brethorn shrugged. “Only that these mólanoldor would someday turn against the rest of us, obeying the last command of their true master.....”

“Rumors without substance,” Brethorn reiterated with a disdainful sniff. “Morgoth’s hold on the hearts of our people is more subtle than most care to acknowledge, I deem. We who held the Leaguer were as much enslaved to him as those unfortunates who toiled in his mines and factories. At least they knew they were thralls, while the rest of us....” He shrugged.

Finrod gave his friend a considering look. “An interesting point of view,” he commented, “and I doubt too many will agree with it, but certainly, the people of Angobel are as much victims as the rest. Compassion seems to be in short supply in Aman lately.” He said this with a rueful sigh, shaking his head.

“You are going to Angobel,” Brethorn said, making it more a statement than a question.

Finrod nodded. “My atar and anatar are curious to see for themselves what these people are like.”

Finrod smiled and clasped his shoulder. “I would like that. We’re leaving soon though and taking horses as we mean to ride back tonight.”

“Then come join us,” Finrod said. “I’ll introduce you to Marthchall who once was called Ancalimon.”

They found Marthchall with Gurthalion, who had been wakened by Laurendil. Marthchall was quietly explaining to the younger ellon that they were returning to Angobel. Gurthalion gave Finrod, Laurendil and Brethorn a wary look.

“Gurthalion,” Marthchall said, drawing the ellon’s attention back to him. “Lord Laurendil is a healer, as is his lady wife. They have invited us to visit them in Lórien. Would you like to go?”

Gurthalion frowned, trying to understand what wasn’t being said. Broken in spirit he might be and he knew he often acted in inappropriate elflingish ways, but he was not stupid. “Why?”

Laurendil gave him a warm smile. “You’re afraid all the time, aren’t you? You jump at shadows and you are afraid to go to sleep, afraid of the orcs who tormented you and who still haunt your dreams.”

Laurendil shrugged. “I am a healer, Gurthalion. It’s my business to know these things. Would you like not to be afraid all the time? Would you like to be able to sleep without fear?”

The ellon nodded. “But I don’t think that will ever happen,” he said forlornly. “It’s been so long but I still have nightmares.”

“In Lórien we can help you,” Laurendil explained. “Perhaps the nightmares will never go completely away, but we can teach you how to face them so that they no longer have control over you. Would you like that?”

Gurthalion stared at the healer for the longest time, and then at Marthchall, his expression still doubtful. “I... I don’t want to go alone,” he whispered.

Gurthalion’s eyes widened at that. “Then, who will lead everyone else if you’re not there?”

Marthchall turned an interesting shade of red. “Morfinnel has suggested that Meluiwen take over while you and I are away.”

Now Gurthalion’s expression turned crafty and they could see his eyes brightening with humor. For a second or two Finrod saw the ellon he once had been before the orcs destroyed him... or nearly destroyed him, he amended to himself. With Laurendil and Manwen’s help perhaps they could retrieve the ellon’s true self once again. “You know if you do that she’ll never give up the power,” the young miner said with a laugh. “You’ll have to marry her just to get it back.”

“We must be leaving soon,” Finrod reminded them. “You can continue this discussion on the way.”

“When will we have to leave for Lórien?” Gurthalion asked as they all headed for the main gate where everyone was congregating.

“We will return here tonight,” Marthchall said, “and leave on the morrow’s tide.”

“So soon?” Gurthalion enquired, looking somewhat nonplused at the speed at which decisions were being made.

Laurendil nodded. “Manwen and I are expected back in Lórien by a certain date. If we do not leave by tomorrow we will be late and our lord will not look kindly on us.”

Gurthalion nodded in understanding and then there was no more time to talk as the Amanians made ready to leave. Arafinwë and Olwë were already ahorse and soon the rest were as well. Marthchall was invited to walk beside the kings. Gurthalion and Morfinnel joined him. The other miners ranged themselves among the Amanians, shyly introducing themselves when asked for their names. The cavalcade made its way through the city, a city that watched with veiled hostility as citizens lined the streets leading towards the Kortirion road to watch them go by. The miners kept their eyes to the front, their expressions set, ignoring the onlookers; the Amanians did the same. A few even started singing, acting for all the world as if they were on their way to a picnic. The image was further enhanced by the fact that they were indeed loaded down with provender, for they meant to share their bounty with the people of Angobel, knowing the villagers would have little means to provide them all with food while they were visiting.

They had passed the harbor and were making their way across the main square when Ingwion, riding alongside Finrod, happened to look down at his hands and noticed that the ruby on the ring which Lord Námo had given him seemed darker in color than usual. At first, he thought it was because they were in the shadow of a building but when they passed out into sunlight, he saw that it was still dark and remembered what Lord Námo had told him. He looked about frantically, wondering where the danger lay.

Ingwion turned to him. “My ring,” he said, lifting his hand slightly, pretending to brush nonexistent dust from the cuff of his sleeve. “It’s turned dark, see? Lord Námo told me it will do that whenever danger is near.”

Finrod stared at the ring with interest, and then glanced about him. They were coming to the other side of the square, heading towards a narrow lane that would lead them out to the Kortirion road. He narrowed his eyes as he glanced at the shadows. Ingwion was still glancing about, looking frantically for the danger, not knowing what form it would take.

“Do not draw attention to yourself,” Finrod hissed at him and Ingwion blushed slightly at the reprimand, stilling himself as best he could. “Atto,” Finrod then called out, meaning to ask for a halt, pretending that his horse might have lost a shoe and he wanted to check it. Arafinwë turned to look at his son. It probably saved his life, for almost at the same instant, an arrow struck him in the back of his right shoulder.

“Atto!” Finrod now screamed as Arafinwë nearly fell off his horse. Only the fact that Marthchall and Gurthalion were walking beside him and were able to grab him in time prevented him from falling. Finrod urged his own horse forward, drawing his sword at the same time.

At once pandemonium reigned. People cried out. The miners formed a tight circle around the Amanians who were attempting to calm their horses while at the same time dismount so as to present less of a target to the attackers. Onlookers scurried away, not wishing to be caught in the middle of the fray. More arrows whizzed by from somewhere above them, though only one found a target.

“Alassiel!” Sador screamed as the elleth stumbled to the ground, nearly being trampled by one of the other horses. The ellon was close by and reached her, shielding her body with his own. Visions of a previous time when he had done the same for his little sister came to the fore of his thoughts, and anger swept through him, cold and deadly. He looked up when he felt someone approach and saw Manwen there, along with Amarië. Manwen was in tight control of her emotions as the healer persona took over; Amarië looked pale and frightened, but she did not flinch even when another arrow went by to land harmlessly on the pavement.

“We’ll take care of her,” Manwen said even as she competently checked the arrow which had struck Alassiel’s side. The wound was bleeding copiously. Manwen was already breaking off the shaft. She looked up to see Sador still there. “Go!” she ordered. “Protect your gwedyr.”

It was the right thing to say, for Sador nodded and looked about to ascertain what was happening. All was confusion as the Amanians attempted to cover themselves while still trying to learn the whereabouts of the attackers. He glanced upward and saw shadows flitting along the rooftops of a nearby building. By now, Beleg and Mithlas, the only ones in their own party with bows were returning fire, trying to provide the rest of them with some protection.

“An ambush,” Sador said to himself, and the anger that had taken him earlier swept through him again and before he could think things through, he gave a yell and leaped up, drawing the sword at his side. “Doriath!” he screamed in defiance and went leaping towards the building where he’d seen the attackers, rushing up the outside stairs that led to the upper floors.

“Sador! You idiot!” Glorfindel yelled as he saw the younger ellon leaping away and ran after him, dodging the arrows coming his way. He reached the Sinda at the first landing and pulled him back in time for an arrow to miss him completely. “Are you trying to get yourself killed, youngling?” he demanded with a snarl.

“Getting yourself killed will not help her,” Glorfindel said more sympathetically. “Come. We are too exposed here.” With that he kicked in the door leading to the second story and they found themselves in a hallway, dimly lit. Glorfindel tried a door on the right and when it opened without protest he motioned Sador to follow him. They found themselves in a storeroom, probably for one of the shops on the ground floor. A window opposite the door looked out onto an alley. Glorfindel opened the window and stuck his head out, surveying the area and nodded. He sheathed his sword and began to climb out. “Follow me,” he whispered.

Sador sheathed his own sword and joined Glorfindel at the window. He looked out and saw the ellon reaching up to the next window sill and pulling himself up. Two more windows would bring them to the roofline. Understanding what Glorfindel intended, Sador ably climbed out of the window and quietly followed his gwador. When Glorfindel reached the final window he moved to one side and gestured for Sador to join him. It was a precarious position but they managed. Glorfindel gave the younger ellon an approving nod and then reached up to grab the lip of the wall that encircled the flat roof. Sador followed suit and together they pulled themselves up, hoping against hope that the ambushers would be too busy looking for targets below them to pay any heed to what was happening behind them.

Their luck held, for when they pulled themselves onto the roof, they found that they were hidden from the attackers by a chimney. Glorfindel silently pulled out his sword, nodding to Sador to go to the left while he went to the right. Sador nodded back as he drew his own sword and then they made their move.

There were three archers. One of them just happened to look back as he checked to see how many arrows he had left in his quiver and saw them. He gave a yell in warning but Glorfindel was already moving, slashing at the archer who never had time to bring his bow to bear. Even before the archer fell back with blood spurting from his chest, Glorfindel was attacking the second archer while Sador simply ran up to the third and pushed the tip of his sword under the ellon’s chin. The archer dropped his bow and stared in horror at the murderous gleam in Sador’s eyes. Glorfindel, meanwhile had disarmed the other archer and was pushing him to the ground, ripping part of the ellon’s tunic into strips with which to bind him and his fellows. The first archer was just standing there watching the blood drip from the gash on his chest, an expression of disbelief plastered on his face. Glorfindel finished tying up the other two archers before attending to the first, competently binding the ellon’s wound before binding his hands behind him. Then he grabbed the second archer and nodded to Sador.

“Let’s go,” he said and the two pushed the three ambushers before them towards the stairs.

Ingwion was silently cursing to himself as he surveyed the situation where he knelt beside Finrod, Laurendil and Olwë who were attending to Arafinwë. If only he had noticed his ring earlier perhaps none of this would be happening. He looked up when he heard Sador scream and then saw Glorfindel running after him. Glancing upward he realized that there was perhaps something he could do besides feeling helpless.

“Gilvagor, Haldir,” he called to the two ellyn who were closest to him. “Follow me.”

Such was the force of his words that the two did just that, the three of them crouching low as Ingwion led them to another building, crashing open the door of an herbalist’s shop without bothering to see if it was even locked. Someone screamed and he saw an ellon, probably the shopkeeper, huddled behind the counter with two ellith, all three of them with expressions of shock and fear on their faces.

“iBennas, i-bennas,” Ingwion repeated in frustration. “Man râd i-bennas?”

“He means ‘i-bendrath’,” Gilvagor exclaimed, trying not to laugh, for the situation was far too serious for laughter. Haldir just grinned, shaking his head.

The shopkeeper silently pointed towards the back of the shop and, with a “le hannon” from Ingwion, the three ellyn rushed on

“What did I say?” Ingwion asked Gilvagor as they took the stairs three at a time.

“Later,” Gilvagor said. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the wrong building.”

He had watched Glorfindel shove Sador into the building and had no doubt that the former Balrog-slayer would find a way to the roof to deal with the shooters there, but they were not the only ones. He glanced at his ring and saw that it was still dark. He wasn’t sure if that meant that he himself was still in danger or that danger in general still existed. In the end, he decided, it didn’t really matter which.

They reached the top of the stairs and paused to listen for a second before Ingwion quietly opened the door and they stepped through to find themselves facing away from the front. Ingwion took them to the back corner of the roof where it faced the common alley connecting all the buildings on that side of the square, then slipped silently over the common wall separating their roof from the one where another set of ambushers were, with Gilvagor and Haldir following. Now they were directly behind the ambushers as they headed back towards the square. There were four shooters on this roof. Stopping behind a chimney Gilvagor silently signaled to Ingwion to take the one on the far left while Haldir would take the one on the far right. He would take the two in the middle. Ingwion was going to protest, but realized that Gilvagor was probably the better swordsman and simply nodded. He did put a finger to his lips and mimed tip-toeing, giving the other two a wicked smile. They both nodded, smiling as well.

Ingwion then moved to the left with Gilvagor while Haldir went to the right and as silent as cats they walked up to the shooters, too intent on their prey to notice the danger they were in until it was too late. Just as the three reached them, one of the turned and gave a yell, but Gilvagor was on him and in seconds all four were lying on the ground with Haldir tying them up while Gilvagor watched.

Ingwion, meanwhile, was leaning over the roof to see what was going on. Someone had managed to get all the horses belonging to the Amanians in a circle facing out, forming an outer perimeter of protection for those huddled in the center. During the attack he had noticed that, except for Arafinwë and Alassiel, none of the arrows were actually hitting anyone and suspected that the two that found actual targets might have been inadvertent. He could not believe that from this distance any of the shooters could have missed hitting someone if they so desired, for none of them had actual protection against the arrows. Looking down, he could see everyone huddled together and realized that the shooters must have been charged with simply pinning everyone down. Yet, why?

He glanced at his ring again and saw that it was still dark, the stone a menacing deep red, the color of dried blood, the sight of which sent shivers down his spine. He had to force himself to look away. He glanced back down to the square.

“Findaráto!” he shouted and saw his cousin look up. He held up the hand with his ring, pointing at it. “It’s still dark,” he called down and he saw Finrod nodding, his expression grim. Then movement further up the square caught Ingwion’s attention and looking up he gasped and heard Gilvagor and Haldir gasp as well. He looked down at Finrod and pointed back up the square. “We have company,” he called out. “We’re coming down.”

He turned to see Gilvagor and Haldir hauling up the shooters and pushing them towards the stairs that would bring them back to the square. Ingwion followed and in a short while they were back with the others. Ingwion saw Glorfindel and Sador herd their own prisoners, the former giving him an approving grin, which warmed him.

By now it was evident to everyone that the shooters had only meant to keep them where they were while reinforcements came. Down the square, from three of the roads that came into it, rode several scores of ellyn, all armed, their expressions grim.

“Morcocáno,” Finrod muttered in disgust, for they could see that at the head of the cavalcade rode the Noldorin lord.

“They’re after the miners,” Ingwion said. “We need to get them somewhere safe.”

“Too late for that, Cousin,” Finrod said with grim finality as he went to his horse and mounted it, drawing his sword. Ingwion, Glorfindel, Sador, Beleg, Mithlas, Gilvagor, and Haldir also mounted their horses while everyone else stayed where they were on Finrod’s orders. Then the eight faced the oncoming army.

Morcocáno raised a hand and his men came to a halt. He had a rather superior look on his face and obviously felt he had the upper hand. “We have no quarrel with you, Prince Findaráto,” he said. “We want the slaves.”

“The only slaves I see, Morcocáno, are the ones facing me,” Finrod said coldly and Morcocáno’s expression darkened towards rage while the ellyn with him muttered angrily.

“Are you not?” Finrod retorted, speaking loudly so all in the square could hear. “Slaves to fear, slaves to insubstantial rumors that these people will someday betray you.” He shook his head. “The people of Angobel are under my protection,” he continued, “and under the protection of the High King.”

Finrod nodded towards Ingwion who was on his left. “You met his heir yesterday,” he said. “Ingwion speaks for his atar in all things.”

Ingwion nodded. “The High King would never countenance what you are doing, Morcocáno,” he said as coldly and as imperiously as he knew how. “You and your followers are treading on treacherous ground.”

“And what will you do?” Glorfindel enquired coldly. “Will you drown this square in our blood when we refuse you?”

“We have no intention of killing anyone,” Morcocáno stated angrily. “We plan to round up all the slaves and put them on a ship and send them back to Ennorath where they will do us no harm.”

“All the slaves?” Finrod repeated. “Does that statement include your wife, Morcocáno?”

The ellon snarled, his eyes glittering dangerously. “She was never a slave!” he shouted in denial, his expression wrathful. He drew out his sword and his followers did the same. “One last time, prince. Give us the slaves and you and your people are free to go.”

All of a sudden there was a swirl of blinding lights and the smell of roses and lavender and orange and a myriad other sweet scents filled the air and then the square became too small as a contingent of warrior Maiar, their swords drawn, suddenly appeared, ringing the entire square. Eönwë stood just in front of Finrod’s horse, staring dispassionately at the elves facing him. The Avallóneans paled at the sight but stood their ground, for indeed, they had no choice as every exit was now blocked by a grim-faced Maia.

“Didst thou not understand my Lords Námo, Oromë and Tulkas when they told thee that the people of Angobel were under the protection of the Valar by the Elder King’s decree, Morcocáno?” the Herald of Manwë asked coldly. “What part of their message confused thee, child? I will gladly repeat it in words that even an elfling would understand, if thou dost need further instruction.”

Morcocáno gritted his teeth, his expression livid, but he did not speak. Eönwë nodded. “Leave your swords here,” he ordered softly. It took a minute or two for the import of his words to take hold and then, first one and then another of the Avallóneans let go of their swords until all but Morcocáno were unarmed. The ellon sat as still as stone, his expression still livid as he stared at the Maia before him. They could see the knuckles of his hand that gripped his sword turning white with the rage and frustration that was in him.

“Morcocáno,” Eönwë said softly, stepping forward with a hand out, “give me your sword.”

The ellon shook his head as if in denial, glaring at Finrod. “She was never a slave,” he hissed and now tears began to run down his face as he released the sword; Eönwë deftly caught it before it clattered to the pavement. “She was never a slave,” he repeated, openly crying now, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Never.”

The Maia’s expression was now more compassionate. “Yes, child, she was, if only for a brief time. There is no shame in that. Many were enslaved. Few ever had their wills suborned by Morgoth and those few, I assure you, are safely in Mandos, where they have been cleansed of his taint. The people of Angobel are not your enemies, Morcocáno. They are simply unfortunates who wish only to live their lives in peace, putting the past behind them as best they can, even as all of you must do.” He then ordered the Avallóneans to retreat to the center of the square while several Maiar gathered their swords, piling them in a heap between the two groups of elves. Then Eönwë pointed his own sword at the pile and there was a sudden burst of incandescent light that left the elves temporarily blinded. When their vision cleared, there were gasps from both groups as they stared at the slag heap that had once been bright swords.

Eönwë gave the Avallóneans a dispassionate look. “Go now, all of you,” he said quietly, though all could hear his words. “Reflect on this day and how close you came to incurring the wrath of the Valar who, I assure you, would have shown you no pity.”

It took a little time for them to disperse. On the Maia's orders the archers were let go as well and they slunk away with the others. Eventually the square emptied out under the watchful eyes of the Maiar. Meanwhile, Eönwë motioned for Finrod and the others to dismount as he made his way to where Arafinwë and Alassiel were lying. Arafinwë was conscious and gave the Maia a nod in greeting, though he did not speak. Alassiel, however, lay still and pale, her breathing barely perceptible and irregular. The Maia knelt and pressed his hands to the wounds of the two elves. At first nothing seemed to be happening, but then Arafinwë gave a gasp and had to be held down by Laurendil. Alassiel stirred slightly but did not waken. When the Maia removed his hands, though, all could see that the wounds were completely closed, the scars fading even as they looked.

Eönwë nodded in satisfaction as he stood up. Laurendil helped Arafinwë to stand, though Alassiel was still unconscious, her skin less pale, her breathing more normal. “She should be well by tomorrow,” the Maia said, nodding towards the elleth. “I think you should return to the estate,” he said, speaking to Olwë.

“We were escorting these ellyn back to their homes,” the Telerin king said. “We still wish to see them safely to Angobel.”

But Finrod shook his head. “With all due respect, my lord, we would like to continue as we have. If you will see that Alassiel is sent back to the estate, Eärnur is there watching over Lasgalad. He will care for her, but the rest of us will go on.”

Eönwë glanced at the determined faces of the elves and nodded. “Very well. I will have some of my people join you as an escort and I will see to Lady Alassiel myself.”

“I will return to the estate with you, my lord,” Manwen said. “I do not think all this excitement has been good for me or the child I am bearing. I am feeling somewhat fatigued.”

Laurendil gave his wife a concerned look. “Should I stay with you, beloved, and give you my strength?”

Manwen smiled. “No, my love. Go with the others. I will be fine once I have rested for a while. I promise.” She gave him a loving kiss.

Amarië turned to Finrod. “If you do not mind, my love, I think I will go with Manwen as well.”

Finrod nodded, giving her a loving kiss on the cheek. “I do not mind at all, melda. It would be rather awkward for you to be the only elleth in our party. Go and keep Manwen company.”

Olwë turned to Arafinwë. “Are you up to traveling, yonya?” he asked. “Should you not go with Manwen and the other ellith?”

“No. I am fine,” Arafinwë assured him. “Come. The day is wasting and we have yet to leave the city.”

“Then, do as you have planned,” Eönwë said. “I will make sure that none disturb the people at the estate while you are gone.” With that, he gently lifted Alassiel into his arms while Laurendil and Finrod helped the other two ellith to their horses. They followed the Herald from the square, Manwen blowing a kiss to Laurendil, who made a grabbing motion, pretending to catch it in midair. Most of the Maiar disappeared, but three remained: Manveru, Erunáro and Fionwë.

Olwë nodded even as he went to his horse and mounted it. “Then let us hence.”

Soon the square was empty, the slag of burnt metal the only reminder that anything had happened there.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay here and rest?” Olwë asked Arafinwë as they rode down the street leading to the road that would take them to Angobel. He gave his son-in-law a worried look.

Arafinwë gave him a slight smile. “Do not worry for me, Atar,” he said. “I am fine.” He looked down at his torn and bloodstained tunic and shirt. “I don’t think I’m going to make a very good first impression though,” he said ruefully.

Arafinwë nodded and they all stopped to see what the Maia would do. “I have not the skill that Lady Vairë or her handmaids have in the art of weaving, but I think I can handle a small tear or two,” Manveru said with a smile as he held his hand above the torn fabric.

Those closest watched with great interest as slowly, almost imperceptibly, the threads of the shirt began weaving themselves together. Soon both shirt and tunic were repaired and the elves were hard-pressed to see where the tear in the tunic had been. Even the bloodstains were gone.

“Thank you,” Arafinwë said and Manveru just smiled as they continued on their way.

“What do you suppose will happen to Lord Morcocáno?” Sador asked after a while. “Will he be punished?”

“Not by us,” Olwë said, “even though his offense was against us, or rather the people of Angobel.”

“Nor will the Valar punish him,” Manveru said, “for though he sought to break the Sérë Valaron, he was stopped before he did too much damage.”

“Alassiel could have died,” Sador said angrily. “Does that not count for anything?”

Manveru gave the ellon a sympathetic look. “It counts for much,” he replied. “The arrows that struck Lady Alassiel and the Noldóran were accidents. No one was supposed to be hurt.”

“That was my sense,” Ingwion said. “Even the most incompetent elf should have had no trouble hitting us. The distance was not that great, yet the arrows were generally wide of the mark. We were meant to be kept pinned down until Morcocáno could arrive with his troops.”

“I suspect that Morcocáno will most likely lose his seat on the city’s council,” Arafinwë suggested. “He has lost face, but more than that, he has incurred the anger of the Valar and the people of Avallónë will be treading carefully for some time to come.”

Manveru nodded. “That was the general idea of why we did as we did. The Elder King was very specific as to what was to be accomplished and I am glad that we were able to bring about the desired result.”

“You’ve been rather quiet, Marthchall,” Finrod said then, addressing the ellon who was walking beside him. “What have you to say about all this?”

Marthchall sighed. “We just wanted to be left in peace,” he replied quietly.

Erunáro gave him a sardonic grin. “Well, kidnapping people really is not the way to achieve it, my friend.”

“Marthchall and I are going to Lórien,” Gurthalion chimed in shyly to the Maiar. “Laurendil says they can stop the nightmares.”

All three Maiar gave him warm smiles. “Lórien is a lovely place,” Fionwë said gently. “You will like it there very much, and the healers will be very helpful to you.”

“And if Laurendil says it, it must be true,” Finrod couldn’t help saying, giving his friend and liegeman a smile and a wink.

“Aranya, please!” Laurendil pleaded, rolling his eyes, and everyone laughed.

The attack in the main square had not delayed them too long, but it was still a couple of hours past noon before they came to the mining town. It was situated in a valley between two large hills, the houses nestled against the hills themselves.

“Some of the houses are built into the hills,” Marthchall explained. “We mine on the other side of that ridge to the west.” He pointed to a high ridge that swept north to south in a shallow arc encompassing the village.

As they were making their way downhill into the valley, the Maiar took their leave. “We will set a watch on your village,” Manveru said to Marthchall, “for as long as you are away.”

“Thank you,” the ellon said simply. “Never in all my days did I imagine that the Valar would look kindly on us... on me.”

Manveru smiled. “The Valar are just full of surprises, aren’t they?” He winked at Marthchall while his brother and Fionwë started laughing as all three Maiar faded from view. The elves stared in bemusement at the places where they had been for a moment or two and then Olwë suggested they go on.

Now Marthchall took the lead with Gurthalion and Morfinnnel beside him, walking just before Olwë and Arafinwë. The Amanians looked about them with interest. The village was not large, perhaps a hundred or so houses spread out along the one road and throughout the small valley. Gardens surrounded the houses which were made primarily of grey fieldstone with doors and windows painted a variety of bright colors. The roofs were of slate. The village appeared empty.

“Most of them are probably still at the mines,” Marthchall explained when Arafinwë asked. “Though I am surprised, since it is already past noon and we do not generally work the mines this late in the day.”

Marthchall nodded, looking back to address the prince. “We were forced to toil in Morgoth’s mines night and day with only a minimum of rest. When we founded Angobel we made a conscious decision to only work in the mines between sunrise and noon. We devote the rest of the day to other pursuits. Gardening is a favorite as you can see.” He pointed to all the gardens flourishing around the houses. Further out where the valley was more flat, they could see larger tracts set aside for the growing of vegetables and there was also a small apple orchard.

It was Gurthalion who answered, shaking his head. “I don’t,” he said, giving them a shy, almost embarrassed look. “I help mind the elflings.” He ducked his head and Marthchall put an arm around his shoulder and hugged him.

“Gurthalion is very good with the little ones,” he said. “But to answer your question more fully, most of the adults do, though we have a number of younger people who were born here who pursue other occupations, such as teaching the elflings, carpentry and blacksmithing and the like. They follow the same routine as the miners, not working after the noon meal, but pursuing leisure activities.”

“Composing music or poetry, and gardening are the most popular,” Morfinnel answered. “Many of the ellith will gather together and weave or do embroidery. Marthchall often spends hours carving toys for the elflings.”

“He makes great toys,” Gurthalion chimed in and the others were amused to see the leader of the miners blush.

“It’s just a hobby,” he muttered, casting a glare at Morfinnel who smiled back unrepentant.

By now they had reached the outskirts of the village and Marthchall signaled a halt, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the scene before him. “Where is everyone?” he asked rhetorically, for it was obvious to all that the place was deserted.

Marthchall gave the ellon a considering look and then nodded. “There is one place....” He turned his attention to the kings. “If you will permit me, lords, I will see if they are hiding in the Old Ones’ Mine.”

Olwë and Arafinwë gave him measuring looks. “By the way you say that, Marthchall,” Olwë said, “I take it that is the name of the mine?”

Marthchall nodded. “One reason we chose this place for ourselves is that we found evidence of earlier mining, but by whom, we did not know. We refer to them as the Old Ones. One of the larger of these earlier mines we turned into a defensive stronghold.”

Olwë nodded. “Go then and see,” he commanded. “We will wait here for your return.”

Marthchall gave him a bow and headed away with Gurthalion and Morfinnel going with him. The other miners milled about in uncertainty, concern and even fear for their loved ones evident. “Why would they hide in the Old Ones’ Mine?” one of them said to another. “What threat came to them while we were gone?”

“Perhaps they decided to hide there as a precaution in case your plan failed,” Gilvagor suggested.

“Only from a certain perspective,” Glorfindel replied with a smile. “In other ways it succeeded.”

“Well, you wanted us to be here, and so we are,” Glorfindel pointed out, “just not as your prisoners, but as your allies.”

In the meantime, Olwë dismounted and the others followed suit. “We might as well be comfortable while we’re waiting,” he said. “Why don’t we set up a camp over here?” He pointed to the right where there was an open field. One of the miners assured him that it would be all right to set up their camp there.

“We usually use it for playing games and dancing,” he explained. “In fact, there’s a large firepit just over here that you can use.”

The horses were divested of haversacks filled with food and a fire was started in the firepit. Some of the miners ran to their houses and brought out kettles and such and it was not long before the air was redolent with the smell of a hearty venison stew bubbling away. The field took on a festive air and someone began singing a ballad that had been popular among the elves of Hithlim, which was where most of the miners once lived.

Arafinwë and Olwë sat together in camp chairs nursing some wine, watching the activity around them. Arafinwë gave his atar-in-law an enquiring look. “Old Ones’ Mine, hmm? Did you by any chance have anything to do with it?”

Olwë gave him a knowing smile. “No, not personally, but I believe that during our sojourn on the island, some of the more enterprising of my people did open a mine or two, for we needed the ores for tools and kettles” — he nodded at the large kettle hanging from a tripod over the fire — “as well as for weapons used in hunting and the like. I’d forgotten all about it actually. The land has changed somewhat since I last stood here and I did not see all of the island. Most of us set up our homes to the west so we might see the shores of Valinor.”

Arafinwë nodded but before he could comment there was a shout and everyone stopped to look to where they saw Marthchall coming towards them. Behind him were the people of Angobel. Olwë and Arafinwë rose from their seats and the other Amanians gathered around them with Finrod standing next to his atar and Lindarion next to Olwë with Beleg on his left. Ingwion stood beside Finrod with Glorfindel and Sador. The others were ranged around them.

“That must be the fair Meluiwen,” Glorfindel said, nodding to where an elleth with silvery-grey hair strode purposefully beside Marthchall.

The others chuckled and then schooled their expressions to one of polite disinterest as the villagers approached. They could see a number of elflings in the mix, staying close to the adults, staring at the Amanians with shy curiosity, a sharp contrast to the mixture of expressions from the adults that ranged from trepidation to outright hostility.

The miners who had followed Marthchall on their ill-fated attempt to kidnap the Amanians streamed forward, giving glad cries as they espied their loved ones. Expressions of anxiety mutated to ones of relief when they were all reunited. Marthchall stopped just before the assembly, giving the Amanians a brief bow.

“My lords, this is Meluiwen,” he said in Quenya, introducing the elleth beside him. She gave them a cool, almost haughty, stare and did not bother to curtsey, much to everyone’s amusement. “It is as I thought. She felt it prudent to have everyone gather in the Old Ones’ Mine for safety in case it went ill with us and there was retaliation.”

“The Lady Meluiwen showed great wisdom and I think she will lead your people well while you are gone, Marthchall,” Olwë said.

Meluiwen snorted contemptuously. “I am no lady,” she insisted, her Quenya not quite as fluent as Marthchall’s but understandable. “Never have been and never want to be. And just what do you mean about my leading these people while Marthchall is gone? Where do you mean to take him?”

“Feisty, isn’t she?” Finrod said in Sindarin, smiling. “Is she always this rude to strangers?”

“Actually, she’s rude to everyone,” Gurthalion answered before either Marthchall or Meluiwen could respond, giving them an ingenuous smile. “I bet she would be rude to the Powers if she ever met them.”

The ellon cringed, looking as if he feared he would be hit. Marthchall’s expression turned repentant and he took the ellon in his arms and gave him a hug. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

“And I am not rude to everyone,” Meluiwen exclaimed. “Well, not always,” she amended with a slight blush. Then she gave them a hard look. “Marthchall tells me that his plan failed, yet here you are, where we wanted you to be.”

“The difference is, we are not your prisoners,” Finrod said, acting as their spokesman, for Meluiwen continued speaking in Sindarin. Glorfindel was quietly translating for the Amanians who knew only Quenya.

“Oh?” Meluiwen looked at him skeptically. “But we could easily take you prisoners, seeing as how we outnumber you.”

Gurthalion groaned. “Not again,” he practically wailed and the Amanians and many of the miners started laughing, and then there was more laughter that came from nowhere and everywhere and that caused many to look about in fear, the elflings clinging to their parents.

Marthchall leaned over and whispered something into Meluiwen’s ear and they could see her eyes widening. She looked at him in disbelief. “You’re making that up,” she said accusingly. “Why would the Powers care about us?”

“Yet, they do,” Olwë said, “as do we. We came here in good faith to see for ourselves what is happening on this island and perhaps offer solutions to the myriad problems many face. We are particularly concerned that there is no person who has come forth as a leader to whom all can look for guidance.”

There was a moment or two of silence between them and then Meluiwen looked about. “Perhaps we should speak of this further over the meal I see you have prepared. Marthchall said something about taking Gurthalion to Lórien?”

“Let us eat first and then we will talk,” Finrod suggested. “I never cared for discussing weighty matters over a fine meal. I once had a pompous fool thrown out of Nargothrond for daring to discuss my uncle’s strategy in maintaining the Leaguer against Morgoth during a state dinner.”

“Oh?” Arafinwë asked, casting an amused smile at his son. “Anyone in particular?”

Finrod nodded, giving them a wicked grin. “He’s standing right over there,” he said, pointing at Laurendil who was blushing furiously and refusing to look at anyone.

Glorfindel barked a laugh. “I never took you for a pompous fool, Laurendil.”

That set everyone laughing and the tension between the two groups eased. Many of the villagers scattered to their homes and were soon returning with trenchers, utensils and goblets as well as additional food to supplement the stew. Soon they were seated around the field and for a time there was little talk as everyone ate. When the meal was more or less over, Marthchall told the villagers all that had happened to them. There were many cries of amazement and dismay as he regaled them with the tale, ending with the ambush in the city. The description of the Maiar appearing and what followed left all of them with expressions of amazement and wonder on their faces. Then Finrod spoke about the Progress and all that had been learned.

“We still have to visit Kortirion,” he said at the end, “and then we will return to Aman.”

Finrod shrugged. “I do not know for sure. This Progress was Adar’s idea, not mine.”

“I think a time of reflection will be in order,” Arafinwë said once his son’s words were translated. “We have been talking about calling a council with the leaders of the various communities and factions coming together on neutral ground where we can discuss our findings and offer the Tol Eressëans some ideas as to how to deal with their problems. The ultimate decision of what type of government will work best is yours, not ours. We will not dictate to you, but we will help in any way that we can. It is to everyone’s benefit that there exist a stable government here.”

“And what of us?” Meluiwen demanded. “Will we be allowed to participate in this council? Will any of the others there accept us?”

Ingwion nodded. “I plan to ask Atar if he would be willing to preside over the council.”

“And if he is unable, perhaps you can do so as his heir,” Arafinwë suggested.

“In the meantime, we must be on our way soon,” Olwë said with a sigh, casting a knowing look at the sky. “It will be full dark before we return to Avallónë and some of us will be leaving for the mainland on the morning tide.”

“Will we remain in Avallónë another day as planned?” Finrod asked as people started to clean up from the meal, setting up several washing stations since there were so many people. The villagers gawked at the sight of the once king of Nargothrond calmly washing dishes while Arafinwë and Olwë dried.

“Frankly, I would prefer to move on to Kortirion,” Olwë said as he passed a towel over a trencher. “Avallónë has left a bad taste in my mouth.”

“I agree,” Arafinwë said. “We were supposed to start setting up trade agreements and meet some of the people, but perhaps leaving tomorrow ahead of schedule will signal to the Avallóneans our displeasure at what happened there today.”

Meluiwen turned to Marthchall, the two of them helping to bring additional hot water for the washing up. “Are you sure you want to go with them?” she asked anxiously.

“He deserves to find healing,” she said, nodding. “Go then. I will guard our people and keep them safe until you return.”

“The Valar have set some of their Maiar to watch over you as well,” Finrod said. Meluiwen’s eyes widened at that. “Have no fear for yourselves in that regard.”

“I do not think you will be away for very long,” Laurendil said, having overheard the exchange. “From what I’ve observed, Gurthalion has a very strong will, else he would have died or faded long before, given what happened to him. That is in his favor. Perhaps a few weeks only, certainly not more than a couple of months. Look for their return by the winter solstice.”

Once the washing up was done and all the paraphernalia stowed away into haversacks, the Amanians bade farewell to the people of Angobel, thanking them for the visit.

“It is we who thank you, lord,” Meluiwen said with all sincerity. “You have returned our ellyn to us and have given us hope that we and our children will see a brighter future.”

“Farewell, Meluiwen,” Gurthalion said with a wave from the back of Laurendil’s horse, for neither he nor Marthchall had their own horses. Marthchall, in fact, was riding with Glorfindel. “I told Marthchall he’ll have to marry you for sure if he wants to be our leader again when we get back.”

“Gurthalion!” Marthchall groaned, rolling his eyes. Meluiwen gave him a calculating look as the Amanians and many of the villagers laughed. Gurthalion, unrepentant, gave them an innocent smile that fooled no one.

“Come,” Olwë said once the laughter died down, “We have a long ride ahead of us.”

They returned to Lord Ithildor’s estate to find it ablaze with lights though it was nearly midnight. At first there was some concern but when the gate guards greeted them joyfully with no sense of distress about them, they relaxed a bit. When they reached the front entrance they found several people waiting for them, including Thorongorn, who gave them a sorrowful look.

“I cannot believe what Morcocáno tried to do,” he said to them as they made their way into the house. He shook his head, giving them a grimace. “If I had known....”

“Do not concern yourself unduly,” Olwë told him. “I suspect that even Morcocáno did not know what he meant to do until he was doing it. At any rate, we have decided to leave for Kortirion tomorrow once we’ve seen our companions on the ship.”

Thorongorn nodded. “I made all the arrangements. Your people will need to be aboard soon after sunrise.”

“That will not be a problem,” Olwë assured him. “I know you meant to travel to Kortirion with us, but now that we’ve moved the time up....”

“Good,” Olwë replied with a smile. “Then we will be glad for your company.”

Faelivrin, who had been busy seeing that Marthchall and Gurthalion were being provided for, gave a snort of contempt as she joined them, having overheard their conversation. “Lord Morcocáno has always looked down on those of us who were once slaves,” she said. “Nelluin is not going to be pleased with her husband. She has never denied that she was enslaved or was forced to toil in the mines. When Lord Ithildor learns of this he will be most upset.”

Faelivrin gave them a wry look. “Most of the people of Avallónë wanted nothing to do with us,” she explained. “Lord Ithildor was the only one who took pity on our plight and offered his protection.”

The chatelaine nodded. “Nearly a third of Lord Ithildor’s staff are former slaves.”

There were many raised eyebrows at that. “I was unaware that there were other slaves here on the island,” Marthchall said.

Faelivrin gave him a sympathetic look. “We were rather scattered among the populace, most of us eking out an existence on the charity of others. Lord Ithildor, for reasons he has never explained to us, went about gathering us in and giving us back our self-respect along with worthwhile employment.”

“I would like to meet this Lord Ithildor some day,” Arafinwë said and several others nodded.

Finrod turned to Gilvagor. “You know Lord Ithildor. What can you tell us about him?”

“If you mean, do I know why he has devoted much of his time in searching out and succoring former slaves,” Gilvagor replied with a wry grin, “I am afraid I do not know. Ithildor has ever been one to keep his thoughts to himself. I only know that he and Gil-galad had a falling out around the time that Lindon was being built. He sailed not long after. When I arrived, he somehow knew that I was on the ship and came to meet me, for we had been friends of a sort in Endórë. That surprised me, but I have come to admire him for his generosity and his compassion.”

“Then, when he returns from Númenor, perhaps you can arrange an introduction for us,” Olwë suggested and Gilvagor agreed.

“She’s well, Sador,” Eärnur assured him with a smile. “She woke around mid-afternoon and ate a good meal and now sleeps. She’ll be fine by morning.” Then the healer turned to Finrod, looking more grave.

“Lasgalad is awake,” he told him. “I cautioned Iorlas not to mention that you are here, but I think you need to speak to him. He is most upset to know that he is even here rather than in Lindon and when Manwen explained about taking him to Lórien he became very agitated. I had to give him something to calm him down.”

Fifteen minutes later, Finrod was at the door to Lasgalad’s room which he was sharing with Iorlas. Eärnur was there waiting for him, giving him a nod before going in. Finrod stood at the door where he could see Eärnur but not Lasgalad.

“Lasgalad, there is someone here to see you,” Eärnur said in halting Sindarin.

“Who?” came a querulous voice. “It’s rather late and I’m not in the mood. Tell whoever it is to go away and come back in the morning.”

Finrod couldn’t help smiling, remembering the way the ellon had been so long ago. He stepped into the room, shaking his head. “Now, Lasgalad, I’ve come all this way just to see you and I have no intention of waiting until you’re in a better mood to speak with you.”

Finrod watched as Lasgalad sat up, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide with disbelief. “Yo-you’re dead!” he uttered. “Then, that means I’m dead!” He glanced back and forth between Finrod and Eärnur as if trying to confirm his own statement.

“No, Lasgalad,” Finrod assured him. “You are not dead. Nor am I.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out to hold the ellon’s hand. Lasgalad cringed slightly but did not pull back altogether.

“And I did,” Finrod replied with a nod, “but that was a long time ago and I have been re-embodied once again by the grace of the Valar.”

“How long have you been... er... alive?” Lasgalad asked, still looking somewhat nonplused.

“For a little more than a century,” Finrod said equably. Then he changed the subject before the ellon could ask further questions. “I understand you are not happy about going to Lórien for further healing.”

Lasgalad scowled. “I’m not happy even being here,” he retorted. “I cannot believe that they just threw me on a ship without a by-your-leave and expected me to like it.”

“Would you have rather come here by way of Mandos instead?” Finrod asked softly and the other ellon gave him a startled look. Finrod nodded. “By ship or by grave, mellon nîn. Either way, you would have come here. Eärnur saved your life, but he is only a journeyman healer and you are not entirely out of the woods yet. In Lórien you will find full healing and in time you may return to Tol Eressëa to live.”

Lasgalad sighed, leaning back against the pillows propping him up. “I cannot believe Iorlas sacrificed his happiness for me in this way. How could he do something like that? I’m not worth it.”

“He did it out of love for you,” Finrod said gently. “He did it because he did not want you to be alone in your illness. He did it because he could not have lived with himself otherwise.” He paused and gave the ellon a considering look. “He will need your help to find happiness here. Do not belittle his sacrifice by refusing to go to Lórien or acting in a manner unbefitting one of my rangers.”

Lasgalad paled somewhat from the reprimand, biting his lips, but he nodded. “Yes, aran nîn,” he said softly.

Finrod patted his arm and gave him a warm smile. “You will be leaving in the morning. I will see you off.”

“No,” Finrod said, shaking his head. “I have business in Kortirion, but do not fret. I now make my home in Lórien and will return there in another week or so. I will see you there. Iorlas has indicated that he would like to travel with me and see more of Tol Eressëa so he can tell you all about it when we see you again.”

Lasgalad nodded. “He told me he wasn’t going to accompany me to Lórien for that very reason and I guess it upset me more than I thought it would.”

“And understandably so,” Finrod replied, “but you will not be traveling alone nor with strangers. Lady Manwen, whom you’ve met, is Glorendil’s wife, in case you did not know, and they will be traveling with you.”

Lasgalad’s eyes brightened. “Glorendil!” he exclaimed. “I had heard rumors that he had married but after the war we did not see each other, for they traveled east into Eriador and my road took me north on patrols. It will be good to see Captain Glorendil again.”

“Good,” Finrod said, standing up. “He goes by Laurendil now, but he has not changed overmuch since last you saw him. Get some rest. We’ll be leaving for the port before sunrise.”

Lasgalad nodded and then impulsively grabbed Finrod’s hand, kissing it. “I am glad you are alive, aran nîn,” he said fervently.

Finrod patted the ellon’s hand and gave him a warm smile. “As am I,” he said. Then, nodding to Eärnur, he left.

Brethorn was waiting for him when he left Lasgalad’s room. “I must go,” he said, giving Finrod a warm embrace, “for I have deliveries to make in the morning. I will write and keep you informed as to what is happening in Avallónë,” he added, giving him a wry smile. “It will be an interesting time here for a while, I deem.”

“No doubt,” Finrod replied with his own smile. “It was good to see you again, mellon nîn. I hope it will not be another century before we see one another again.”

“And whose fault is that?” Brethorn rejoined with a sly grin, then he impulsively hugged the prince again. “I will come to Tirion perhaps with the New Year if not sooner, I promise.”

Though they had had little rest in two days, Finrod, Glorfindel, Ingwion and the two kings did not bother to go to bed, but stayed up to talk until it was time to escort those who would be leaving by ship to the harbor. They sat in Lord Ithildor’s library sipping cordials. Glorfindel asked Ingwion if he could see his ring. Ingwion complied by taking it off and giving it to him.

“The first time I put it on,” he said, “it went dark just as it did in the square. Lord Námo was most upset, saying something about it wasn’t supposed to do that.” He went on to describe being surrounded by warrior Maiar while Lord Námo was having it out with the Elder King and Lord Aulë. The way he described it caused the others to laugh.

“It was really quite embarrassing,” Ingwion said with a rueful shake of his head. “The thought of having to make my obeisance to Lord Manwë in my nightshirt did not appeal to me at all.”

“So, the ruby will go dark if there is danger about?” Glorfindel asked as he handed the ring back to Ingwion.

“Yes, though it will not protect me or anyone else from the danger. It only warns,” Ingwion explained. “I only wish I had noticed it going dark sooner than I did. We might have avoided the ambush altogether.”

“That you noticed at all and understood its significance is enough,” Olwë assured him. “We are grateful to the Valar that they sought to provide you with such a means of warning. It will stand you in good stead in the future I have no doubt.”

The three younger ellyn gave Olwë enquiring looks. “What do you mean, Anatar?” Finrod asked. “Do you think Ingwion will find himself in dangerous situations in the future and why him and not us?”

Olwë shrugged. “I have learned the hard way that the Valar do nothing without reason. If they gave Ingwion this particular ring with that particular ability to warn of danger, there must be a reason for it.” He gave Ingwion a measuring look and the ellon nodded.

“Lord Námo says that in time the Valar wish to make me their emissary to Tol Eressëa,” he admitted, though reluctantly.

The others gave him surprised looks. “Do they now?” Finrod said. “Well, well, well. Will wonders never cease.”

Finrod’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair. “Jealous? Not at the least. I’m very glad that they have chosen you for this task. It means that most likely you and I will be working rather closely together, for as you know, I am charged with helping to bring healing to Aman and much of that healing is needed here on Tol Eressëa. I have a feeling that I will be spending a great deal of time here in the years to come.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Ingwion said musingly and then he gave Finrod a warm smile. “It will be good to work with you again. I missed that.”

“Well, let’s move on to other topics,” Arafinwë suggested. “Do you think Ingwë will be amenable to the idea of hosting the council that we’ve been talking about?” he asked Ingwion.

“I think so,” the ellon replied. “Are you sending him a report about what has happened here since we left Tavrobel?”

“Yes,” Arafinwë replied. “I will give it to Laurendil who will see to it that someone will deliver it to your Atar. If you desire to send your own report, just let me know and I’ll include it in the diplomatic pouch along with everything else.”

“Thank you,” Ingwion said. “I will have something ready before we leave for the harbor.”

“Where do you think we can hold such a council that would be considered neutral territory?” Glorfindel asked. “Certainly not here on the island and I don’t think Tirion or Alqualondë would be acceptable to the Tol Eressëans.”

“True,” Arafinwë said, frowning slightly in thought. “Vanyamar might suit if Ingwë agrees, but again, some factions might object, fearing undue influence of the Amanians over the Tol Eressëans.”

“That doesn’t leave us with too many options,” Finrod replied with a grin. “Unless we ask the Valar....” He paused, his eyes darkening in thought. “Do we dare ask them though?” he said in a whisper, and the others had the sense that he was speaking more to himself than to them.

“Assuming that we have a location agreeable to all parties,” Glorfindel said, “when do we hold the council? If we wait too long chances are no one will be interested in pursuing this.”

“You’re right, gwador,” Finrod said. “We should set a time for the council sooner rather than later, perhaps before we leave the island so we can send messengers to all parties. Would the winter solstice be soon enough?”

“I don’t think it should be any later,” Ingwion suggested and the others nodded.

“Then let us say the winter solstice at a place yet to be determined,” Arafinwë announced. “If people are told now that such a council will be held, I think there will be more interest than if we wait until we know for sure where it will be.”

“Well, we will discuss this more later,” Olwë said, glancing towards an embrasure where they could see the sky lightening with false dawn. “We had better get ourselves ready to depart. I do not intend to remain in Avallónë beyond an hour after we see our friends aboard the ship. I want to be on the way to Kortirion before most of the citizens are awake.”

Faelivrin and the other members of Lord Ithildor’s staff were already up and a hot breakfast was prepared for them all.

“I regret that you feel you must depart in this manner, lords,” the chatelaine said as she supervised the servants handing out bowls of porridge and plates of scrambled eggs, “but I understand. I hope that we have given satisfaction in seeing to your needs.”

“You and your people have been excellent hosts, my dear,” Olwë said with a smile. “When Lord Ithildor returns he will hear no complaints from us as to your conduct. We thank you for your concern and attentiveness to our needs and we trust we did not prove too great a burden.”

“Oh no, lord,” Faelivrin exclaimed. “It was our pleasure to be of service.” She gave them a profound curtsey and then left to see to the loading of their baggage.

As soon as everyone was ready to depart, the Amanians bade the people of the estate a fond farewell and headed for the harbor. Sador rode close to Alassiel, who looked pale but otherwise insisted she was fine and able to ride. Finrod and Glorfindel exchanged knowing smiles at the way the younger ellon hovered over the elleth. Eärnur was giving Laurendil and Manwen further instructions concerning Lasgalad’s care while the ellon rode in a horse litter beside them, much to his disgust.

“You’re too weak still to sit up, never mind ride a horse,” Iorlas said to him, sounding somewhat exasperated. “Be grateful we don’t make you crawl all the way to the ship.”

Others, hearing this, started laughing. Lasgalad muttered something unintelligible while Iorlas merely smiled.

They reached the harbor in good time where Thorongorn met them and introduced them to Captain Celebaear of the Aearíen. She was a Sinda who greeted them with the demeanor of one used to command. “I’ll see that your friends arrive safely,” she assured them and soon the ship’s ropes were untied and she sailed smoothly out of the harbor, her blue sails lost in the glare of the rising sun.

When the ship was lost to sight, Olwë turned to the rest of the company. “Let us go,” he said quietly and without another word he urged his steed forward and even as Avallónë woke to a new day, the Amanians and their friends made their way out of the city and headed towards their final destination of the Progress — Kortirion.

The road to Kortirion wended its way through farmland. The land was relatively flat all around but most of the farms were to the south with wide valleys full of ripening grain and well-laid orchards. Small clusters of farmhouses forming villages dotted the countryside. The soil was not as rich as that found in the Southern Fiefdoms on the mainland but it was rich enough to provide the islanders with what they needed. Northward they could see the highlands in the distance, rising and then falling precipitously towards the sea. Westward the road rose gently into the central plateau area on which Kortirion was perched, some twenty-five leagues from Avallónë. The distance was great enough and they were going slow with their supply wagons that they stopped after traveling only about twelve leagues to set up camp, meaning to reach Kortirion the next day.

They saw her gleaming spires long before they reached the city, though Gilvagor took a side road to the south about a mile from the city gate, leading the cavalcade towards Cormë Alalvëa where resided the Lady Meril. Lord Thorongorn left them at the turn off, for he had a townhouse in the city and his people were expecting him. With Arafinwë’s permission, Haldir and Pelendur accompanied him, for Haldir wished to see his wife, Gwilwileth, who was not expecting his return so soon.

“She was going to meet us at Lady Meril’s,” Haldir explain, “but she would not be there now.”

“Go, then, and bring her back with you,” Arafinwë suggested. “I know Amarië is anxious to see her again.”

“Yes,” the lady said. “We became good friends while you were in Tirion.”

So it was decided and Haldir assured them that he and Pelendur would return with Gwilwileth by late afternoon. Finrod bade Thorongorn a warm farewell and there were promises of getting together later and then the three ellyn were making their way towards Kortirion while the rest of the party headed south.

“I hope Lady Meril is not too put out with us arriving a couple of days earlier than originally planned,” Arafinwë said to Gilvagor as they made their way along a country lane lined with stately elms.

The ellon laughed. “If I know Meril, she’s been ready for our arrival since last week. She will not view our early arrival as an imposition, but rather as a virtue.”

Finrod nodded. “Yes, I remember that much about her, and Gildor was just the opposite. If it could be held off until the next day or the next week or even the next century, there was no hurry in getting it done today.”

Then they were at the gates of the estate. The gate guards greeted them courteously and one of them ran to the main house to inform Lady Meril of their arrival. He returned only a few minutes later, bidding them to enter and make their way to the house.

“The lady awaits you,” he said and Gilvagor, as their spokesman, thanked him and they continued down the lane to the house.

It was not a large house, but it was well built and made of white stone with a red tiled roof. It appeared to be four wings with a central courtyard and there was a gate leading from the front court to the inner court. Before the gate stood an elleth, clearly Lady Meril. She was a Noldo, but her light brown hair, tinged with reddish-gold highlights, indicated Vanyarin ancestry as well. Her eyes were grey and the memory of the Light of the Trees shone through them. She was taller than the average elleth and Finrod recalled that she and his sister were of the same height. In spite of the fact that she was the lady of the estate, she wore a simple day dress of plain muslin dyed a deep blue with no ornamentation over which she wore a white sleeveless linen smock. There was a slight smudge of dirt on her brow and Finrod suspected the lady had been tending her garden when their presence was announced. In fact, she was dressed as simply as the servants clustered nearby ready to take their baggage and horses, yet it was clear by her demeanor that she was of the nobility.

“Hara máriessë mi Cormë Alalvëa, heruvi ar herinyar,” Meril said in greeting, giving them a profound curtsey. “ I am Lady Meril.”

Olwë and Arafinwë dismounted, as did everyone else, and the two kings gave her proper bows of respect. “I thank you, my lady, on behalf of us all, for your warm welcome,” Olwë said. “I trust that we have not importuned you in any way by arriving earlier than planned, but I fear that Avallónë did not agree with us.”

Meril arched an eyebrow and there was a hint of a smile on her lips. “Avallónë did not agree with me, either, my lord, which is why I removed myself and my people here as quickly as I could. But come. Let us not stand on ceremony. You have not importuned me in any way. Let my people take your baggage and horses and escort you to where you may refresh yourselves from the road and we will meet again in an hour’s time, if that is amenable to you.”

Meril then issued orders and at once servants were on hand to take the baggage and horses. The supply wagons and support staff were led away to set up camp in a field nearby while the principle members of the Progress were led inside and along one wing of the house where they were shown to well-appointed rooms and provided with all that they needed for their refreshment. An hour later, they found themselves being led into the inner courtyard where Lady Meril had caused several tables to be set up and a light repast was offered.

Gilvagor, still acting as their herald, made formal introductions, though when he started to introduce Finrod, the ellon merely shook his head and smiled.

“No need to introduce us, Gilvagor,” he said. “Meril and I go way back.”

“Indeed, we do, sire,” the lady said with a smile of her own and allowed Finrod to give her a friendly kiss on the cheek. “I am glad to see you again, my lord. It does my heart good to know that you live still.”

Meril waved a hand in dismissal. “My lord husband was always full of wanderlust,” she replied. “It was difficult to keep him in one place long enough to hold a decent conversation with the ellon.” Her tone was one of exasperated amusement and Finrod laughed.

“He will come, my lord,” Meril said softly. “I have every faith in him. Someday he will tire of wandering hither and yon and yearn to put down roots. When that day comes, he will find me here, waiting.”

“So now, my lords and ladies,” Meril said, turning to the rest of the company, “let us take our ease and enjoy this light collation. Please sit where you will.” She gestured towards the tables and everyone began taking seats. Meril took Finrod’s arm and steered him away from the tables. “There is someone who wishes to give you greetings, my lord,” she explained, “if you will deign to see her.”

“As to that, you will have to judge for yourself.” Meril gave him a sly smile as she led him into the house but through a different wing, bringing him to a certain door. “She is inside,” she said. “When you have finished your visit, do join us outside. I will save a seat beside me for you.”

Finrod bowed as Meril left him. He stood before the door for a moment before knocking, his curiosity aroused by the mystery with which Meril had surrounded this meeting, wondering why the elleth in question had not joined them in the courtyard. A voice bade him enter and when he did he found himself grinning broadly.

“Morwen!” he exclaimed, going to the elleth who stood in the middle of the room. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Finrod stopped her, taking her into his embrace and giving her a warm hug. “Now, none of that,” he admonished her. “We’re old friends, remember?”

“We’re both Reborn,” Finrod retorted, “and that counts for more between us than any titles we may or may not have. But why did you not come and greet me earlier?”

“And I was indeed surprised.” He gestured towards a couple of chairs and they sat. “How have you been, Morwen?” he asked, giving her a searching look.

“I’ve been very well, Finrod,” she answered. “I am employed by Lady Meril as her chief seamstress. She prizes my embroidery.”

“I am very glad to hear that,” Finrod said. “I often wondered how my friends from Lórien fared after I left. I regret that I did not come to visit earlier, but I had my own problems to deal with.”

“It’s just as well that you did not,” Morwen said. “None of us have had an easy time of it and we’re only just reaching our full maturity. It’s been a struggle, mostly because not everyone truly understands us and what we’ve experienced.”

“I know,” said Finrod. “It took some time for even my parents to accept certain truths about me and to allow me to be me and not whatever image they had of me.” He paused and gave her a sly grin. “You know, I still have that tunic you made me as a farewell gift.”

Finrod laughed. “Nay. It is still in good condition. I wear it on occasion, though admittedly not all that often anymore. For a long time I considered it my best tunic. I even wore it to a wedding once, much to my ammë’s dismay.”

Morwen shook her head in amusement. “I would like to have been there to see the expressions on people’s faces when you did.”

“Well, I am glad we had this chance to speak,” Morwen said, “but I believe Lady Meril is expecting you to sit with her as you dine and I have my own duties to attend.”

“I am glad things are working out for you, mell nîn,” Finrod said, standing. “Perhaps while I am here we can get together again and reminisce. I would like you to meet my adar and the others of our company.”

“I would like that, thank you,” Morwen said. “Now, best get along. You do not want to make my lady unhappy, do you?”

“Perish the thought,” Finrod exclaimed with a laugh. “The last time Meril was unhappy all of Nargothrond suffered.”

Morwen laughed with him as she saw him to the door. He hugged her one more time. “Later, then,” he said and she nodded as he exited and headed back to the courtyard where he found everyone in lively conversations as they supped on cold cherry soup, cheese and current tarts and a crisp garden salad. Finrod made his way to where Meril was sitting and settled in the chair beside her. Amarië was sitting on his right. Olwë was sitting on Meril’s left with Arafinwë directly across from her. The others were seated in no particular order, though he noticed with amusement that Sador and Alassiel were sitting together with Iorlas and Celepharn. He could hear the three ellon giving her Sindarin lessons, teaching her the names of the objects on the table.

“It went very well. Thank you,” he replied just as quietly. “Thank you for taking her in.”

“I pride myself in recognizing talent when I see it,” she answered. “Poor dear was struggling to make a life for herself. She had no real family here and the Noldo who ran the shop where she was working did not appreciate her skills. I was more than happy to offer her a position here on the estate and she has never disappointed me.”

“I am glad,” Finrod said fervently. “I told her that we will get together later. I wish her to meet Atar and the others.”

“I will see to it that she is available whenever you wish,” Meril said graciously. “And now, let us speak of other matters. Their Majesties have been filling me in on what has happened with the Progress to date. I must confess I am not at all surprised at what happened in Avallónë. Morcocáno is a pompous fool who likes to lord it over everyone else. How Nelluin tolerates him is beyond me.”

“I’m sure he has his good points,” Finrod said. “He seems very devoted to his wife.”

“What plans were made for Kortirion?” Finrod asked, looking at his atar and anatar.

Meril nodded. “I have arranged for a dinner tomorrow night with several leading members of the city’s council. Nothing elaborate, I assure you. It will be very informal.” She turned to Finrod with a wicked grin. “You know how I hate formal dinners.”

Finrod laughed. “I remember you would come up with one excuse after another as for why you could not attend any that were held in Nargothrond. You were quite inventive, though I still maintain that as an elf you could not possibly have contracted lhîw-i-phigryss.”

Meril laughed with delight and those in the party who had once lived in Endórë joined her.

“Lhîw-i-phigryss,” Finrod corrected with a smile. “A disease common among Mortal children. It manifests itself when they are about five or six years old. It is accompanied by a mild fever and itchy inflamed pimples. Parents are hard-pressed to keep their children from scratching their skins off.”

“It is, but it is relatively harmless, at least to children,” Finrod said. “It appears to be something that all Mortal children suffer, along with some other similar diseases. In fact, they are referred to as childhood diseases and it is very rare for an adult to contract them. When they do, it is often fatal.”

“How strange these Mortals seem,” Amarië said. “They appear to be so much weaker than us and yet you speak very highly of them and even admire them. I would think they would repulse you with their weaknesses.”

Finrod shook his head. “No, just the opposite. Weak they may be in comparison to us and beset by many ills that touch us not, yet they have a resilience to them that is quite astounding to see. I have sat at the bedside of one nearly dead from a high fever and all hope has been lost that they will survive, and yet, somehow they do. They fight to live where we might simply give up and allow our fëar to flee to Mandos, knowing that someday we will be re-embodied. They do not have that comfort and so they fight for every breath. Sometimes they win, sometimes they don’t, but they never give up. That is what I admire most about them, that they refuse to surrender even to the inevitable.”

“Perhaps,” Finrod averred, “but if you were to ask any one of them, they would deny the charge. Rather they would say that they will not go meekly to their deaths like lambs to the slaughter. Rather, they prefer to meet their doom on their own terms if possible.”

“They risked their lives for our sake,” Meril interjected, “believing that joining us against Morgoth was the right thing to do. Their loyalty to us was amazing, for they had little to gain and much to lose. In the end, they suffered gravely, yet they never deserted us or our cause. It was for this reason that the Valar awarded them their own land.”

“Númenor,” Finrod said with a nod. “I saw it on the horizon when we entered Avallónë.”

“Will you go there?” Meril asked. “Many of our people sail there and have converse with the descendants of those who fought beside them in the wars.”

“No. My life is here in Aman,” Finrod said. “I will go no further east than Tol Eressëa unless the Valar bid me otherwise.”

“Well, getting back to the subject at hand,” Arafinwë said, smiling. “Just how many people have you invited to this dinner tomorrow night? Who are they and what can we expect from them?”

“There are only six of any consequence who rule Kortirion at the moment,” Meril said. “I have invited them and their spouses, although only two are presently married and three are still unbonded. One, though, awaits her husband’s release from Mandos.”

There was a brief silence at that revelation. Then Finrod spoke. “Anyone we might know?”

Meril shook her head. “Doubtful. They resided in Mithrim, first under your uncle and then under your cousin. Galdor died at the Nirnaeth. Galadhwen managed to escape from Mithrim before Morgoth’s people closed the borders and made her way to Círdan. I think she was one of the first to sail to Tol Eressëa after the war.”

“And perhaps one of those met with hostility by certain Amanians whose identities we have yet to learn,” Arafinwë said with a scowl.

Meril nodded. “Galadhwen heads the city council,” she went on to explain. “She should have been deposed along with the others who were found responsible for the high tariffs and Lord Sador’s kidnapping, but somehow she convinced the good citizens of Kortirion that she should remain on the council.” She gave them a grimace. “She is dangerous. Be wary around her.”

Meril gave him an arch look. “Jealousy? Nay, my lord, if by that you mean, did I wish to head the council myself. I know my limits and I desire to rule naught but my own estate, but I am not without influence among the lords and ladies of Kortirion and I had strongly advocated that Galadhwen step down from her position. We are, you might say, no longer friends.”

“Should we assume her to be an enemy then?” Glorfindel interjected, having listened to the conversation.

“An enemy?” Meril repeated. “Hmmm.... an interesting question, my lord, but no, not an enemy but certainly an adversary. You must tread carefully around Galadhwen. She will appear pleasant and polite and most agreeable but if you turn your backs on her, expect to find a knife firmly planted between your shoulder blades.”

They all raised eyebrows at that, for such a description of the actions of any elf was rare. “She sounds almost... Mortal,” Arafinwë ventured.

Meril gave him a mirthless smile. “Her husband died because the Easterlings betrayed us, my lord. She learned her lessons well in the aftermath of that debacle as she eluded the Men and orcs who would have enslaved her or done worse things to her.”

There were grimaces all around. Arafinwë gave Finrod a considering look. “I know you and Glorfindel and Sador were all reluctant for us to come here at this time, but I think if we had waited any longer, the situation here would only have worsened, perhaps beyond repair.”

Olwë nodded in agreement. “Lord Oromë said that there were lessons for us all. I think this is one of them, that we of Aman have delayed too long in reaching out to the people of Tol Eressëa. We let you fend for yourselves and you have done quite well. Tavrobel, Avallónë and Kortirion are a testament to that. We offered little or no aid to you and our disinterest in your fates has fostered resentment in many.”

Meril shrugged. “Those of us who went into exile learned to rebuild new lives and cities out of nothing. This was no different and, in truth, I wonder how many of us would have welcomed any overtures of friendship with the Amaneldi. The attitude of many of the Noldor and Vanyar who came to our... hmm... rescue, was rather condescending, to say the least.”

Arafinwë nodded. “Yes, I am afraid it was. Even I, to some degree, saw the people of Beleriand as refugees in need of succor rather than as allies in a war that has been going on since the dawn of Time and before. At first, at least. Later, my opinions changed and I had nothing but admiration for you all and what you endured.”

“I am glad, my lord,” Meril said. “At any rate, what I said about Galadhwen, I meant. Watch your backs.”

There was an uneasy silence among them and then Glorfindel turned to Eärnur who was sitting next to him. “Aren’t you glad you’re not in Lórien trying to convince a former lord of the realm that swinging from a tree isn’t a good thing to do?”

Eärnur raised an eyebrow. “Trust me, my lord, after dealing with whining Reborn, such as yourself, this is nothing.”

“I never whine!” Glorfindel practically shouted, hitting his fist on the table to emphasize his point.

“There’s dessert?” Glorfindel asked of Meril, giving her an elflingish expression of anticipation.

Meril started laughing as did the others, understanding what the former Balrog-slayer was trying to do. “But only if you stop whining,” she said.

“I never....” Glorfindel started to shout but then closed his mouth, looking repentant. The others all smiled indulgently as they heard him mutter softly to himself, “I never whine.”

Tensions eased among them and the conversation drifted to less emotional topics as the meal continued. When dessert came — a fruit compote with hot custard sauce — Meril insisted that Glorfindel be served first, much to the ellon’s delight and everyone else’s amusement.

Hara máriessë mi Cormë Alalvëa, heruvi ar herinyar: (Quenya) ‘Welcome to Cormë Alalvëa, my lords and ladies’, literally, ‘Stay in happiness in Cormë Alalvëa’; (hara) máriessë ‘ (stay) in happiness’ is an attested phrase, the first word apparently optional [see Parma Eldalamberon 17: 162]. Heruvi appears to be the regular plural of heru, cf. Númenheruvi ‘Lords of the West’, a title of the Valar.

Lhîw-i-phigryss: (Sindarin) Disease/sickness of the reddish spots. The description is that of chickenpox.

Note: In the Book of Lost Tales 1, Meril-i-Turinqi is said to be ‘of the blood of Inwë (Ingwë)’ and therefore one of the Vanyar. As none of the Vanyar followed the Noldor into exile, I have made her of mixed Noldorin and Vanyarin ancestry instead to explain her presence on Tol Eressëa.

As soon as their meal concluded, Finrod sought out Morwen and introduced her to everyone.

“So you’re the elleth who made Findaráto’s favorite tunic,” Arafinwë said as he greeted her. “It was his best tunic, you know. Wore it to a wedding once even though it really was not appropriate.”

“Perhaps I may borrow Morwen from you, Meril,” Finrod said, “so she can do my wedding garb.”

“Oh! You’re getting married,” Morwen exclaimed with delight. “How wonderful.”

“I would be happy to lend her to you, my lord,” Meril said with an indulgent smile. “When is the wedding? Not too soon, I hope, or Morwen won’t be able to do justice to your garb.”

Finrod laughed, giving Amarië, who giggled, a wink. “Approximately twelve years from now,” he answered.

Both Meril and Morwen looked a bit nonplused. “Oh,” Meril said faintly. “Then I guess we still have time.”

Haldir and Pelendur returned with Gwilwileth not long after. Amarië and Alassiel welcomed the elleth warmly and soon the three of them were sitting in an arbor along with Meril, all of them working on some pieces of embroidery. The others went off to amuse themselves as they pleased, some resting, while others wandered around the estate, speaking to the people working there. The informal, relaxed atmosphere of Cormë Alalvëa did much to raise the spirits of all.

It was decided not to go into Kortirion the next day but rather to wait until after they had met with the city council. Thus, the day was spent in leisurely activities. Meril organized a picnic and they all rode out, heading for a stretch of woods where they settled in a glade, playing games and generally relaxing. No one was in the mood for serious talk, for there would be plenty of that later that evening, they had no doubt. They returned to the estate in plenty of time to ready themselves for what Sador called ‘an evening of interminable table talk about absolutely nothing’. The others just grinned.

“I hope this dinner doesn’t end in disaster,” Glorfindel said to Finrod as they made their way to their rooms. Baths had been ordered and they were looking forward to a warm soak before dressing.

“From your lips to the Valar’s ears, gwador,” Finrod said half jokingly. Glorfindel merely smirked.

By the time they were bathed and dressed, the eight elves from Kortirion had arrived. Meril, as hostess, greeted them, some more warmly than others, but all were greeted politely, as she made the introductions. To save time and not to overwhelm anyone, it was decided that only the two kings, their heirs, Ingwion, Amarië and Alassiel would be formally introduced. The others were free to introduce themselves as the opportunity presented itself during the evening. On the advice of Meril, every warrior wore braids, even Sador with his single braid. However, their dress was less formal than what they had worn to Morcocáno’s luncheon, keeping in mind Meril’s admonishment that she abhorred formal dinners.

Apparently the council members did not get the message about informal dress, for they all came glittering with jewels and fine silks and brocades, whereas even Olwë and Arafinwë were wearing plain linen tunics, though they were richly dyed in shades of purple and embroidered with their personal devices on the front. Only Olwë’s circlet of silver with a single large pearl in the center and Arafinwë’s circlet of gold with a single large sapphire marked them out as the kings that they were. Otherwise they were no more richly dressed than Sador or Beleg.

Glorfindel, standing to the side in a nonchalant pose, watched with interest and amusement as the eight from Kortirion were introduced to the kings and the others. Meril was making the introductions in Quenya and she had assured them that all the council members, as well as their spouses, were fluent in the language, a necessary requirement for anyone who wished to hold such a post. He was particularly interested in Lady Galadhwen, a Sinda, who was the most richly dressed of them all and greeted Meril with studied politeness that bordered on the insulting. She also insisted on speaking Sindarin as the introductions were being made.

“Hmph,” Galadhwen said with an unladylike snort, eyeing the Amaneldi, “I would have thought that a king would dress more appropriately. Surely, my dear Meril, you let them know that they were dining with the city council and not with merchants.”

Glorfindel watched with interest and amusement the reactions of the others. Those who understood Sindarin were fighting to remain impassive, knowing that it was not their place to intervene, though he saw Beleg grab Sador’s arm to keep the younger ellon from doing anything rash. Olwë, Lindarion, Amarië, Alassiel and Pelendur looked puzzled, not understanding what was being said, while both Arafinwë and Ingwion, having more knowledge of Sindarin, were looking somewhat startled at the elleth’s rudeness. Finrod’s eyes brightened with what could only be called unholy glee and Glorfindel knew his gwador was about to go into battle. He moved quietly to stand behind him.

Before Meril could reprimand Galadhwen for her rudeness, Finrod spoke up, speaking Sindarin. “Dining with merchants would be an improvement over dining with overdressed peacocks with pretensions of grandeur, Lady Galadhwen. I also find their conversation to be much more interesting in the long run. Certainly more honest.”

There was an uneasy stir among the councillors. Galadhwen gave a sniff of disdain, but before she could respond, Glorfindel couldn’t help entering the fray, giving Finrod a rap on his head. “Be nice, Finrod,” he admonished in Sindarin. “Remember we are the guests.”

Finrod turned his head to smile at his gwador. “Glorfindel, were you always this familiar with Turgon?”

“Didn’t have to be,” Glorfindel retorted with a grin. “Idril kept him in line for the rest of us. Now, be a good little king and apologize to the lady.”

Finrod raised an eyebrow and there was a gleam of mischief in his eyes as he turned to Galadhwen and with all the innocence of an elfling of twelve he said, “I’m sorry you’re an overdressed peacock with pretensions of grandeur.”

“Now, you see, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Glorfindel asked smugly and Finrod turned and stuck his tongue out at him.

Galadhwen, all this while, had remained chillingly silent, though whether from shock or from anger, it was difficult to say. The others from Kortirion were standing there with their mouths hanging open at the interplay between the two ‘heroes’, whom they initially had not recognized, for Meril had not gotten around to introducing Finrod and none of them had lived in Gondolin.

Meril started laughing. “Oh my, now look what you’ve done, Galadhwen,” she said, speaking Quenya, “you’ve come to the attention of the King of Nargothrond and one of the great lords of Gondolin. Not a smart move, dear. They’ll be watching you very closely from now on.” As mildly as she spoke there was venom in every word. It was obvious to the onlookers that Meril and Galadhwen were not friends, though it was unclear if they were actually enemies.

“If the introductions are over and done with, Lady Meril,” Olwë said with a sardonic look on his face, “perhaps we can all put away our swords and go to dinner.” He might not have understood a word that had been spoken but he was good at guessing and he could read other people’s body-language well enough to know that the exchange had been less than cordial.

“But of course, my lord,” Meril said sweetly and then she clapped her hands as if to get everyone’s attention. “Swords away, my lords and ladies. Let us try to be polite for the rest of the evening, shall we?”

Finrod and Glorfindel both gave her bows and Galadhwen, when Meril gave her a pointed look, nodded, her expression sour. The other councillors still appeared ill at ease, unsure perhaps of what was expected of them. Arafinwë turned to the two who were accompanied by their spouses, giving them a warm smile as they all went to take their seats.

They gave him startled looks but then one of the elleth nodded shyly. “There are two children in our house,” she answered, “both ellyn. The older just celebrated his two hundredth begetting day and the younger is only twenty-six.”

“Three children have been added unto us,” the ellon said with a proud smile. “The oldest was born soon after we came to Tol Eressea after the war, the youngest was born only three years ago.”

The two couples gave him bemused looks. “A hund... but....” the ellon said, casting a furtive glance at Finrod who was sitting several seats away, introducing Amarië and Alassiel to one of the other councillors.

Arafinwë smiled at their confusion. “We decided to celebrate his begetting day based on when he was re-embodied rather than when he was originally begotten,” he explained. “It turns out that Lord Námo times an elf’s release from Mandos to coincide with the anniversary of his or her death day.”

“How strange,” the ellon said. “I am acquainted with several Reborn, but I confess I have never really gotten to know them well. It must have been very... disconcerting for you when he was returned to you.”

“Yes, it was,” Arafinwë said, “but we all adjusted to it soon enough. By the time Glorfindel and Sador were released into our care, my wife and I considered ourselves old hands in the care and feeding of the Reborn.” His droll tone and the wink he gave them set them laughing and they spent some time comparing notes on the ups and downs of raising elflings.

Meanwhile, Meril was conversing with Olwë and Ingwion. Galadhwen was seated across from them along with another councillor whose name was Borhael. “So what have you learned from your visit here, my lords?” Meril asked them.

“Things are far more complicated than we first imagined,” Olwë answered. “I regret that my own reluctance to deal with the people of Tol Eressëa, even those who could claim kinship with me, has led us to this pass.”

Ingwion nodded. “I remember when Lord Manwë summoned Atar to Taniquetil to tell him what had been decided concerning the Exiles and the Sindar,” he said as he took a slice of venison pie from the server and scooped some frumenty onto his trencher. “He was not too happy about it.” He gave them a wry grin.

“Atar saw the Noldor as deserting us for a chimeral and quite frankly specious goal. He felt personally betrayed as High King and I think had the Noldor not left, certain events which followed here in Aman would not have occurred.” He looked suddenly sad and only Olwë understood the reason for it. Then he shook his head, as if to clear it of dark memories. “At any rate, when Lord Manwë announced that the Valar were allowing the Exiles and any others who desired to return to Valinor even if no further than Tol Eressëa, I think Atar’s feelings about it were ambivalent. When the Valar called us to arms, Atar did not forbid any of the Vanyar to join in the Host of the West, but neither did he encourage them. He simply told Arafinwë to take care of his people for him, for neither he nor I went, though I had wanted to.”

“And why did you not go?” Galadhwen asked with a sneer. “Were you an elfling needing your atto’s permission?”

Ingwion stared at the Sinda elleth in disbelief. “Lady, I am older than Arafinwë,” he retorted. “As much as I desired to lead the Vanyar to Beleriand, I was forbidden to go, both by my Atar and by Lord Manwë and I have accepted their reasons for their forbiddance. I am, after all, haryon to the High King. My place was here. If anything had happened to Arafinwë, it would have been my duty to act as regent for the Noldorin crown, along with Queen Eärwen, until such time as Arafinwë was released from Mandos.”

“Were you born here in Aman, Prince Ingwion?” Borhael asked with obvious interest.

Ingwion gave him a smile. “Yes. I was born in the Year of the Trees Eleven-fifty,” he answered.

“The Trees were destroyed in the year Fourteen-ninety-five,” Ingwion explained, “and Isil rose in the year Fifteen-hundred. In those days, before the rising of Anar, each year in Valinor was slightly longer than nine and a half coranari.”

“Ah, thank you,” the councillor said. “That puts things in better perspective.”

“And what have you learned during your visit here, Highness?” Meril asked, steering the conversation back to the original topic.

“Hmm.... I suppose I have learned that, while the people of Tol Eressëa have endured much, they have overcome much and I think you are the stronger for it. You should be proud of your accomplishments.”

“With no help from any of the Amaneldi,” Galadhwen put in. “I do not see why you think we need your help now.”

“Can you deny that the situation here on Tol Eressëa is in a volatile state?” Olwë asked.

Galadhwen glared at him, but Borhael nodded. “It has been building up this past century,” he said. “I think it began when rumors began to circulate that one of the kings of Beleriand had been released from Mandos.” He stole a glance down the table to where Finrod and Glorfindel were sitting. “At first, we did not know who it might be but when certain Reborn came to the island and spoke of Finrod Felagund, there was quite a stir and excitement. Some wondered if he would come and rule and others wondered why he should when we had been doing well enough without any king. Or so we thought.” This last was said somewhat ruefully.

Galadhwen sneered. “Borhael is one of those who think you Amaneldi are the answers to all our problems.”

“No, Galadhwen,” the ellon protested, “I do not, but I do appreciate that they are willing to offer us aid in solving what has become an unsolvable problem.”

“Not unsolvable,” Olwë interjected, “merely, shall we say, thorny. Part of the problem as I see it is that there are several competing interests among the various elves — Sindar, Noldor, Nandor, even the Reborn whose experiences of dying add a whole new level of complexity to the situation. We of Aman are somewhat more fortunate in that the three clans are essentially separate and each looks to their own king for guidance and leadership, though we all look to Ingwë as High King when there is need. You do not have that here and as my inyo has often pointed out whenever he is asked if he will take the crown, for him to do so would probably cause more problems than it will solve, for when the other kings are re-embodied, and eventually they will be, who then has precedence in terms of lordship over your people?”

“None,” Olwë responded. “We will not dictate to you what you should do. We might offer options that you do not see, but the ultimate decision has to be yours. All we will do is offer a time and a place where all may meet in friendship to discuss the situation and hopefully come away with a solution that most, if not all, can live with.”

“We thought the winter solstice would be a good time,” Olwë replied, “but the location has yet to be decided. Ingwion will ask his atar if he would be amenable to hosting the council. Ingwë is our High King and yours as well, even if you refuse to acknowledge it. He has a vested interest as High King to ensure that all the elves in Valinor live in peace.”

“Peace,” Galadhwen muttered. “Many who heeded the Valar’s call came expecting to find peace, but all they have found is conflict.”

“Yet peace is there for any who has the courage to take it,” Ingwion retorted. “The Sérë Valaron is real, but it is for us to accept and work to maintain it... or not. Tol Eressëa is as much a part of Valinor as Eldamar proper and the people of the island need to acknowledge that and accept it or all that you have accomplished will be for naught.”

“He is correct, Galadhwen,” Meril said then, “they both are and you know it. You and I have had our differences in the past, but we both have one thing on which we can agree: the welfare of our people must come first before all else. Our children deserve to know peace, peace which neither you nor I ever had with Morgoth breathing down our necks. I deem that only if we have a stable government will that peace become a reality.”

“Hmmph,” Galadhwen said, seemingly unconvinced by any of their arguments. “Well, we will have to discuss this further in council. In the meantime, what were your plans while you were in Kortirion?” She directed her question to Olwë.

“I believe Lord Gilvagor arranged our schedule,” the Telerin king replied, “but I think we are all interested in at least touring the city, perhaps in small groups, and speaking to the people. It is what we did in Tavrobel and Avallónë. Beyond that, I do not think we had had set plans. I know Arafinwë wishes to return to Tirion soon and I confess I prefer not to linger overlong, for I find myself missing my beloved Lirillë with every passing day.”

Borhael smiled indulgently, but Galadhwen’s expression became suddenly unreadable and Olwë belatedly remembered that her own husband was dead. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said with all sincerity, “I did not mean to cause you any grief.”

“Do not concern yourself,” she said stonily. “It is an old grief and I am well.”

But it was clear that she was not and there was an uneasy silence among them for a time. Even Meril was at a loss to come up with a safe topic of conversation and they were all relieved when the final course was over with. The other diners had apparently noticed the change in mood and their own conversations were muted. The councillors did not remain long once the meal itself was over. Galadhwen was cold and distant to them all and in the end she cut the evening short. The other councillors felt obliged to leave with her, though it was obvious that a few, like Borhael and the two couples whom Arafinwë had befriended, would have preferred to stay longer.

There was talk of meeting again the next day and arranging for tours for any who desired one, but other than that, nothing else was planned. Meril sighed in frustration as she watched Galadhwen and the other councillors ride off in the carriages that had brought them to the estate.

“My fault, I think,” Olwë said ruefully. “I should not have mentioned Lirillë and how much I miss her.”

Meril waved a hand in dismissal as they made their way back into the inner courtyard. “Nay, my lord. Galadhwen was just looking for an excuse not to linger any longer than necessary. I regret that the others were not brave enough collectively to defy her and remain.” She shrugged. “Well, I suppose the matter is moot. Come, my lords and ladies. Let us enjoy the rest of the evening for ourselves.”

Everyone agreed, for in truth the evening was still young. Meril invited her people to join them for singing and storytelling. Finrod went to fetch his harp and others returned to the courtyard with their own instruments. As the night deepened, the estate was filled with song and laughter, the sounds of which floated on the air so that even in Kortirion it could be heard. Galadhwen, sitting alone in the dark of her townhouse, heard the music and wept.

1. The Eldarin verbs (harya- in Quenya; gar- in Sindarin) that we translate as ‘to have, to possess’ in English would not be used of one’s offspring. Tolkien notes that “no Elf would speak of possessing children; he would say ‘three children have been added unto me’, or ‘are with me,’ or ‘are in my house.’” [See ‘Laws and Customs Among the Eldar (Note 3)’, Morgoth’s Ring].

2. Ingwion’s age: According to Tolkien’s Timeline of the Silmarillion, the Vanyar and Noldor arrived in Valinor sometime in the Year of the Trees 1133. Thus, Ingwion was born 17 Valian years later. Remembering that a Valian year is 9.58 solar years long, he is, therefore, somewhere around 4,450 solar years old. Arafinwë was born in 1230. Arafinwë’s birth year is canon, Ingwion’s is not but it is based on the fact that when Finwë petitioned the Valar for the right to remarry, he says, ‘Alone among the Eldar I have no wife, and must hope for no sons save one, and for no daughter. Whereas Ingwë and Olwë beget many children in the bliss of Aman.’.[See ‘Later Versions of the Story of Finwë and Míriel in the Quenta Silmarillion’, Morgoth’s Ring].

The following morning saw only a dozen people going into Kortirion for a tour of the city, for it was decided to keep the number to an absolute minimum. Besides the two kings and their heirs, only Ingwion, Glorfindel, Sador, Beleg, Iorlas, Amarië and Alassiel went with Gilvagor. Sador was anxious to show them where he and Netilmírë had stayed when they were there.

“And I can show you the tree in which I found Haldir sitting,” he said slyly. Haldir and Gwilwileth laughed. They had decided to stay on the estate, wishing to spend more time with Haldir’s atar, for Pelendur asked to be excused from touring the city and Arafinwë gave his consent.

“Just don’t go climbing it yourself, youngster,” Haldir said with a feigned frown. “That’s my tree and no one else’s.” Sador stuck his tongue out at the ellon and everyone laughed at the interplay between them.

Not everyone was happy with the arrangement, though. Edrahil, Celepharn and Mithlas were upset at the thought of the party not having any guards with them. Finrod assured them that they would be fine. “There are nine of us who will be going armed. We can protect ourselves and the three who are unarmed.”

It had been decided that after what happened in Avallónë none of those who were warriors would go unarmed even if that might cause offense. “Better safe than dead... again,” Glorfindel quipped, but the sentiment was sincere and they all took it seriously. Meril was able to supply swords for those without their own, including Iorlas and Alassiel.

They set out soon after breaking their fast, joining a number of others from outlying farms and villages going into the city, for it was a market day and the city was already full of people buying and selling. Gilvagor led them through the eastern gate and headed for the square where the inn was in which Sador and Netilmírë had stayed. “It’s a central location,” he told them, “and a good place to start a tour. Most of what you probably want to see is within walking distance of the inn. We can leave our horses there and plan to return later for lunch.”

The plan was agreeable to everyone. The going, however, was slow, for the streets were crowded with people and horses and carts. The mood of the people was lighthearted, but it changed quickly when they noticed the Amanians making their way along the street. Smiles and laughter were replaced with blank expressions as they eyed the armed cavalcade and the ellyn sporting warrior braids. There was no overt sense of hostility; it was more a guarded watchfulness. Ingwion kept glancing at his ring while Finrod insisted that the two ellith, Arafinwë, Olwë and Lindarion stay in the middle of the group. Glorfindel and Gilvagor took point with Finrod and Ingwion, while Iorlas, Beleg and Sador took the rearguard.

“Apparently,” Finrod averred, as he attempted to gauge the mood of the passers-by, his eyes missing nothing. “Perhaps this was not such a good idea after all.”

“We’re almost at the inn,” Gilvagor put in. “We just have to go down this street to the next square.”

Finrod nodded. “Keep close, everyone,” he said to the others and they closed up ranks as much as possible given the narrowness of the street and the press of the crowds. The street leading into the square was not long and they were shortly dismounting before the inn in obvious relief.

“I think we should all stick together,” Finrod suggested as they gathered in the courtyard fronting the inn, “rather than separate into smaller groups.” No one had any objections to that.

They turned to Gilvagor. “I had originally hoped to arrange for a meeting with several leaders of the community, not just those on the council but merchants and guildmasters as well. However, no one was interested or they made vague promises. It was rather disheartening considering that the people of Tavrobel and Avallónë were at least willing to meet with you.”

“I think because the backlash from Sador’s kidnapping was the most severe here,” the ellon replied. “This is where the decisions were made in the guilds about raising prices and discouraging real trade with the mainland and the people responsible for the kidnapping all resided here in Kortirion. People are very wary and perhaps still fear retribution because of all that happened.”

Arafinwë frowned. “I had hoped that the fact that no retribution has been exacted save upon those directly involved in the kidnapping would prove to these people that we mean them no harm. We did not even insist on the removal of those from the city council and guilds responsible for the price gouging. We left that for the Tol Eressëans to deal with as they saw fit.”

Gilvagor shrugged. “I have no answer for you, lord. Those who participated in the tournament, I think, came away with positive feelings towards the Amaneldi, but they are a minority group compared to the population as a whole and many of them do not hold positions of consequence within the society, so their voices are not heard.”

As they were speaking, Borhael showed up. He had made arrangements before leaving Meril’s estate the previous evening to meet them at the inn. “I am glad I found you still here,” he told them. They readily welcomed him.

“How is Lady Galadhwen?” Olwë asked him. “I feel bad that anything I might have said caused her grief.”

“We’ve all learned to tread carefully around Galadhwen, lord,” Borhael replied. “The fault is not yours but hers. She sometimes acts as if she is the only one who has lost a loved one and waits for their release from Mandos. Frankly, I think half the population of Tol Eressëa has someone in Mandos, which is why they ended up sailing, wanting to be here for their loved ones.”

Borhael shook his head. “No. I am one of the lucky ones. All my family survived, though I do have some cousins who died, but I did not know them well. I sailed because I did not wish to live under Gil-galad’s rule. I have no doubt he is a good king to his people, but he is not my king.” He gave them a shrug and a rueful smile. “I suppose it’s a poor excuse for leaving one’s family behind, but I found I could not remain in Endórë even though my parents and siblings decided to stay.”

“It was at first,” Borhael averred, “but I have made friends and....” Now he looked suddenly shy. “I’ve... um... met someone....” He trailed off in embarrassment.

The others all grinned. “I hope it works out,” Olwë said with all sincerity. “Does the lady’s family approve?”

Now Borhael grinned broadly. “Her atar hates me, but her ammë thinks I can do no wrong.”

Now everyone was laughing. “Having the ammë on your side is a boon,” Arafinwë said with a wink at Olwë, who gave him an arch look which mutated into a fond smile for his son-in-law.

“I am sure the lady’s atar will come around eventually,” Olwë said solicitously to Borhael. “It’s been my experience that they usually do.” He ignored Arafinwë’s snort of amusement. “At any rate,” he continued, “we were just discussing where we should go first.”

“Ah, if I might offer a suggestion,” Borhael said, “we should avoid any of the market squares if at all possible. They are very crowded at this time. Perhaps a visit to the city hall would be in order. It’s only a few squares away and if we go in this direction,” he pointed to his left, “we can avoid most of the crowds.”

They all agreed to that and Borhael and Gilvagor led the way. They went down a narrow cobbled street that was rather long but eventually they came to a large square with colonnades on three sides providing a covered walk for pedestrians. Taking up the entire fourth side opposite from where they entered the square was an imposing building of graceful lines which turned out to be the city hall and primary headquarters for the various city guilds. It was three stories in height with a central dome.

“It looks somewhat like our palace in Tirion,” Finrod opined, “though there are obvious differences.”

Borhael nodded. “Kortirion was founded primarily by the Noldor,” he explained. “I think you will see many similarities between the two cities, at least architecturally speaking, although you will notice that it is not strictly Noldorin in style, but employs Sindarin sensibilities as well.”

They all nodded as they crossed the square to the hall’s entrance. “I liked it here,” Sador said simply, “or at least I did,” he amended, frowning slightly.

They all gave him sympathetic looks. Borhael’s expression was rueful. “I am sorry you had such a terrifying experience,” he said. “I hope in time you will be able to put it aside and see that most of us are not so bad.”

Sador shrugged. “I know that, and actually, I still like it here, but I think it will be a while before I feel... um... comfortable.”

“Perhaps you should have stayed at Cormë Alalvëa,” Beleg suggested, “rather than coming with us.”

Sador shook his head. “No. I wanted to come,” he insisted, and then gave them a sly look. “Besides, I still have to show you where I met Haldir and Gwilwileth.”

The others chuckled at that, though Gilvagor had to explain to Borhael. “Ah, yes,” the councillor said with a smile. “I have heard reports from others of a number of Reborn who are discovered hiding in trees. It seems to be a common... er... pastime with them.”

Arafinwë started laughing. “How well I know this,” he said, giving his son a wink. Finrod reddened somewhat in embarrassment and Glorfindel snickered, causing Finrod to glower at him. Glorfindel evinced an innocent air that fooled no one.

“Well, come and I will show you around,” Borhael said and they entered the building, finding themselves in a large open foyer of green and white marble under the dome which emitted light to the hall. Staircases on either side of them led to the upper floors. Exquisite tapestries hung from the walls and a fountain played merrily in the center. In spite of the massiveness of the stonework, the foyer felt light and airy.

“The guilds have their offices on the second floor,” Borhael told them, pointing to his left, “and there is a large meeting chamber here on the ground floor for their use. The council chambers are also on the second floor but in the opposite wing. Various government offices, such as there are, are scattered about. There is also an archive where all records are kept on the top floor as well as a library where people can come and borrow books. Another large meeting chamber is along here. This is where court cases are held or where we hold monthly town meetings where citizens can come and discuss policy.”

The place was strangely empty and when Arafinwë commented on this, Borhael explained. “Today, if you have forgotten, is Valanya,” he said, “and there is no business transacted.”

“Of course,” Arafinwë replied. “I am surprised, though, that it is also a market day.”

“Ah, well as to that,” Borhael responded, “normally the market days are Menelya and Elenya, with Elenya being the usual day on which court cases are heard and the city council meets. However, on the first Valanya of each month a special market day is held.”

“Shall we go on?” Borhael enquired. “I don’t think there is much else to show you here, but if you would simply like to wander through the city there is a pleasant park not far from here and there are some interesting side streets and squares along the way. Most people are going to be in the market squares so it should not be too crowded.”

The idea was amenable to them and, as it happened, Sador recognized the square where he and Netilmírë first met Haldir and Gwilwileth. “That’s the tree Haldir was hiding in when we came upon a crowd of people standing about amusing themselves at the expense of poor Gwilwileth,” he said as they gazed at the tree. “No one was bothering to help.” He shook his head in dismay. “If I hadn’t come along, I think poor Haldir would still be in the tree.”

There was laughter all around at that bit of hyperbole. Finrod gave Sador a hug. “Then I am glad you were there to help get him out of it, for I value his and Gwilwileth’s friendship.”

Then they continued on, walking down one street lined with culumaldar, and everyone breathed in the spicy fragrance filling the air and smiled. The street opened up into a square that fronted the park and they eagerly went in.

“This park, you will see, contains trees and flowers and other plants the seeds of which were brought from Endórë,” Borhael explained. “Some of these are not native to the island and so are, we believe, unique, though I have been told that behind the mansion of Lord Aulë and Lady Yavanna there are trees of every kind.”

Finrod nodded. “I spent some time in Valmar as a student of Lord Aulë and I can attest to that. It is a marvel to walk under them.”

“At any rate,” Borhael continued, “people will bring seeds and saplings with them when they sail. The ones who created this park are ever on the lookout to add to the collection.”

The others nodded as they wandered through the park, stopping to admire this tree or that. Those who had lived in Beleriand would identify the trees and flowers that were not found in Valinor, sometimes offering a story which they associated with a particular plant.

“I remember going with Lord Eärendil and Lord Círdan to the birchwoods of Nimbrethil along with several others,” Sador said as they stood under a tall birch tree. “Lord Eärendil was searching for the right wood with which to construct his ship, Vingilot.” He gave them a shy smile. “I happened to be sitting in the very tree Lord Eärendil eventually chose for the main mast.”

“And why were you in the tree?” Finrod asked with a fond smile for the younger ellon.

There were knowing smiles all around, though Glorfindel’s expression was more thoughtful as he stored this small bit of information in his memory. He reminded himself to speak with Sador later about Eärendil. He realized that he had made an error in dismissing Sador as a source of information simply because he was so young. It was a mistake he intended to rectify at the earliest opportunity.

In the meantime, they continued to wander through the park admiring the different trees and flowers and the fountains that graced it. As the noon hour approached, they decided to return to the inn and have lunch before leaving the city.

“I will arrange for you to speak to the city council and guilds tomorrow at our regular meeting,” Borhael suggested as they made their way back towards the inn.

Olwë nodded. “That will be fine,” he said. “I appreciate your help in this.”

“Unlike others, I think we need help in solving our most pressing problems,” the councillor replied. “I am glad that those of Aman are finally taking an interest in us and willing to work with us. It can only be to the benefit of us all.”

Borhael left them at the inn, promising to send a messenger to Cormë Alalvëa later that day to let them know when the meeting would take place. They thanked the ellon for the tour and then went to have lunch, which proved pleasant and relaxing, especially as they were given a private parlor and did not have to endure the stares of other patrons. By the time they were finished, the markets were closing down and the crowds had dissipated, so they were able to leave the city more quickly than they had entered it.

“And nothing bad happened,” Glorfindel said quietly to Finrod as they passed through the gates, giving the gate guards a friendly wave.

“Not in the least,” Glorfindel retorted. “It was a pleasant, peaceful day. I just hope it remains pleasant and peaceful during the remainder of our stay here. Frankly, I can’t wait to get back to the mainland.”

Finrod nodded. “Me, too,” he said. “It has been an interesting time, but I look forward to returning to Lórien and resuming my duties there. Will you return to Tirion with Sador and Atar?”

Glorfindel gave him a guarded look. “I do not think so,” he said quietly. “There is something I need to do first, but I will not speak of it now.”

Glorfindel nodded. “I promise I will not run off without at least letting you know where I am running to.”

“Fair enough,” Finrod said. “Ah, good. Here’s the turn off to Lady Meril’s. I am looking forward to a quiet evening. I have a feeling tomorrow’s meeting with the city council and the guilds will be less than peaceful.”

Finrod did not deign to answer, merely rolling his eyes, and Glorfindel rewarded him with a smug smirk.

Word came from Borhael later that evening as they were foregathering in the inner court for music and storytelling, letting them know that the meeting with the council and guilds was scheduled for the second hour after the noon meal.

“Hmm.... I wonder why so late in the day?” Olwë mused aloud after the messenger had come and gone.

“It is actually the usual hour in which the council and guilds meet as one to discuss matters of interest to them,” Meril told them. “Such meetings are always open to the public. The morning is devoted to more private meetings and the conducting of the usual business of running a city or a guild.”

The others nodded. “Then, we will spend the morning at our own meeting,” Olwë said, “to discuss what we will say and who will say it. Until then, though, let us continue with our merriment.”

The meeting the next morning was held as they were breaking their fast. Once everyone was seated and their plates full, Olwë spoke.

“I think, given the hostility that I sensed among the crowds yesterday, that we exercise our royal prerogatives and eschew wearing our most formal court garb. Let them see us as one group of elves no different than any other group desiring to address the city council and guilds on a matter of importance.”

“So does that mean I can wear my oldest and most comfortable tunic?” Beleg asked with a glint of humor.

Olwë smiled fondly at the ellon. “No, Beleg. It means you will have to wear your second best court garb for the occasion.”

The others chuckled in amusement. “Cheer up, hanno,” Finrod said. “We won’t be here much longer.”

“Actually, I will be glad to leave,” Beleg said soberly. “I find the... atmosphere to be not to my liking.”

“Perhaps when things settle down, it will be better,” Arafinwë opined and Beleg shrugged, not willing to say either yea or nay to that.

“At any rate,” Olwë continued, “we will continue to be circumspect in our conduct among the people of Kortirion. It is important that we get them to agree to the council to determine the form of government that should be established here. If we cannot, then it is unlikely that Tavrobel or Avallónë will bother with it.”

“What about the Nandor and Marthchall’s people?” Finrod asked. “Will we leave them to fend for themselves if no council is called?”

Both Olwë and Arafinwë shook their heads. “We will continue to work with Laeglîr and any of the other Nandor who are willing to deal with us,” Olwë replied.

“And we will see that Marthchall and the people of Angobel are dealt with fairly by the rest of the Tol Eressëans.” Arafinwë added. “That injustice I will not tolerate. If need be, and with Lord Manwë’s permission, I will remove them to Aman where they may live in peace, either in Tirion or in a community of their own devising. The Miners’ Guild would welcome them, I think, especially if Lord Aulë gives his support.”

“Perhaps you should speak to Lord Manwë about it when we return to Aman regardless,” Finrod suggested. “Even if everything goes as planned with respect to the council, the people of Angobel might still not feel welcomed by the other islanders. The Valar said that Marthchall’s people are under their protection. It is possible that they would be amenable to the idea of letting them resettle in Aman.”

Arafinwë nodded. “That is something to think about,” he averred. “I will consider it. At any rate, I suspect that when we return to Tirion, I, at least, will also go to Vanyamar to consult with Ingwë and I can easily go to Ilmarin from there to speak with Lord Manwë.”

“In the meantime, let us discuss what topics we must cover at today’s meeting,” Olwë said. “I have no doubt, given the reactions of the people yesterday to our presence, that news of what happened in Avallónë has spread to Kortirion and beyond. I am sure that we will be questioned most carefully about this.”

Everyone nodded and Olwë continued. “Therefore, it only makes sense that those most directly involved be the ones to answer whatever questions may arise.”

“Since Laurendil and Manwen are not here, that means Eärnur and Iorlas,” Glorfindel pointed out.

“As well as me,” Finrod said with a grim smile, “for I led the rescue and accepted Marthchall’s parole.”

“Actually, if you think about it,” Alassiel said with a slight frown, “we were all directly involved when we were ambushed.” She unconsciously put a hand on her side where she had been wounded. Sador, sitting next to her, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a brief but loving hug, kissing her gently on the forehead. The smile she gave him was shy but warm and there were many knowing grins among the other elves.

“What you say is true, child,” Arafinwë said gently, “but I think we should keep it to one or two people to answer whatever questions might arise.”

“I will be glad to answer any questions of a medical nature,” Eärnur said, “but beyond that, I prefer not to speak.”

“Nor I,” Iorlas interjected. “I am too new to the island to want to be the center of attention.”

Finrod gave him a disbelieving look. “And end up having to fight our way out of the council chamber in the end? I think not.”

That set everyone laughing and then Olwë steered the conversation to other things concerning the day’s upcoming meeting and what they hoped to accomplish and they spent the next hour or so hammering out their agenda.

This time, Meril elected to join them when they left for the city. “I am not a member of the council,” she told them, “but I like to keep an eye on things.”

Returning to the city they found it less crowded, for whenever there was a market on Valanya, the markets on Menelya and Elenya were not held.

“Which makes things easier,” Arafinwë said and they all nodded in agreement.

However, upon reaching the square where the city hall stood, they were somewhat surprised to find it full of spectators. The crowd was silent as they entered the square, though there was no overt hostility, only a guarded watchfulness and curiosity. The Amanians ignored the people as they made their way to the front doors of the city hall where the council members stood waiting to greet them. Finrod was surprised to see Thorongorn there, standing among a group to their left who were identified by Borhael as heads of the guilds and certain loremasters from the city’s Academy. Thorongorn, it turned out, was there in his capacity as a loremaster. He gave Finrod a faint smile when their eyes met and Finrod returned it with a raised eyebrow, but there was no opportunity for them to speak to one another as Galadhwen led everyone into the building and towards the hall where public meetings were held.

The Amanians were shown to a place where they could see and be seen by all. Olwë and Arafinwë sat in the first row with Ingwion between them. Finrod and Lindarion flanked their atari and the rest sat where and as they pleased. The hall filled up rapidly with spectators and latecomers stood against the walls when all the seats were filled. Galadhwen, Borhael and the other council members took seats behind a long table that sat on a raised platform before the audience while the guildmasters and loremasters sat behind them.

“We want to welcome their Majesties and Prince Ingwion to our fair city,” Galadhwen said formally and somewhat stiffly by way of introduction. “This gathering has been called so we may hear what they have to say concerning the reason for their visit.”

Olwë stood and gave Galadhwen a respectful bow. “On behalf of myself and my companions I would like to thank you for giving us this opportunity to meet with you and speak of concerns that are of interest to both our peoples.” He then sat.

There was a slight stir among the spectators but it was stilled when Borhael raised a hand and addressed the Amanians. “Before we get to that, we would ask for an explanation of what happened in Avallónë. We have heard several rumors but no concrete facts.”

“Yet, can we trust that we will be given the unvarnished truth from any of them?” one of the other councillor’s asked.

Finrod, looking at his atar and anatar and receiving nods from them both, rose. “I have been elected to speak of this as I was directly involved in the situation, but there is one among you who can corroborate what I say.”

“Indeed?” Galadhwen asked, looking unconvinced. “And who might that be?”

Finrod gave her a mirthless grin. “I see Lord Thorongorn sits among you,” he replied, glancing to where the guildmasters and loremasters were sitting. “He was as much involved with the affair as the rest of us.”

The council members turned almost as one to see Lord Thorongorn standing, giving them a bow. “I was indeed present for most of it and can perhaps add to whatever Prince Findaráto has to say so you may have the whole picture.”

“Fine,” Galadhwen said stiffly as she looked to Finrod. “Pray tell us what you will, your Highness.”

Finrod gave a slight bow of his head in acknowledgment and proceeded to relate all that had happened to them in Avallónë, beginning with their arrival, continuing with the incident involving the Nandor and ending with the ambush. He kept to a straight narrative without any embellishments, giving just the bald facts. His listeners were silent for the most part, though when he spoke of the Maiar and Valar appearing there was a great stir among them and Finrod had to wait for it to calm before continuing. As he concluded his narrative and sat, Thorongorn stood to speak.

“All that Prince Findaráto has said is true,” he told them. “I was present when the Valar appeared, though I was not there when Lord Morcocáno was attempting his ambush. I did, however, see the slag of metal that had once been the swords of those who participated in the ambush. I have a feeling it will not be carted away anytime soon. It will be left where it is as a reminder of the fact that we are no longer living in the Outer Lands where the Valar do not go. We live here on their doorstep, so to speak, and they have a vested interest in seeing that their Peace is not disturbed by anyone for any reason.”

Then he sat down and the questioning began, for there were many points about the incident that needed clarification and expansion beyond the bare facts Finrod had given them. Finrod answered as well as he could, emphasizing, for instance, the role which the Valar played in all that had happened.

“Lord Thorongorn is correct,” he said at one point. “The people of Tol Eressëa need to remember that they are no longer living in Endórë but in Valinor, the home of the Valar before it was ever ours. They know well the price that was paid the last time their Peace was destroyed by the actions of the Eldar. They will not tolerate another such breach. Therefore, it behooves the people of Tol Eressëa to work together to ensure that that Peace remains inviolate.”

“Which is the purpose of our visit here,” Olwë added. “The unrest that is evident among you needs to be addressed and rectified. The Valar have been patient, waiting for us to recognize and address the situation, but that is not to say that their patience is infinite. It is time to stop pointing fingers at one another, time to stop blaming each other for doing or not doing what should have been done or not done. It is time to put aside our differences and work together towards an equitable solution for all.”

“Not so!” Olwë exclaimed, rising from his seat. “We are here on a fact-finding mission, to determine for ourselves what others have told us, particularly Lord Laurendil and Lord Gilvagor. Our hope is to offer a place where the different factions and interests on the island can meet in peace and discuss among themselves what should be done. If, during the discussions, our opinions are asked for, we will give you them, but that is all they will be, our opinions. What you do or not do with them is up to you.”

“I can tell you,” Gilvagor interjected as he rose, “that when Lord Laurendil and I came to Tol Eressëa we were appalled at the lack of clear leadership among you. We could not understand why after five hundred years there was no central government.” He shrugged. “I suppose we were expecting something similar to Gil-galad’s court.”

“There are historical reasons for why there is not,” Thorongorn answered as Gilvagor resumed his seat, his tone one that everyone recognized as that of a loremaster speaking on the subject of most interest to him. “Kortirion and Tavrobel were founded not long after Avallónë but none of these communities was really large enough that we felt it necessary to form a central government. Part of the problem, of course, was deciding where it would be located and who would be our leader. In the meantime, each city council and the local guilds took it upon themselves to govern their particular city and the small farms and villages surrounding them. Of course, now all the guilds look to those of Kortirion as the master guilds, but the city councils still remain autonomous and no one has been willing to relinquish that autonomy.”

“The problem is,” Thorongorn continued, giving them a slightly sardonic smile, “that autonomy is proving troublesome. The guilds have been united under a single guild council for the last two hundred and fifty-seven years. The council consists of masters elected by every member of their guild who is at least of journeyman status. The masters sit on the council for ten years and then step down for others to take their place. It has been working more or less smoothly all this time. It has been suggested that a similar approach be used by the city councils, having an overarching council with representatives from each of the main communities who are elected for a certain period of time and who would promulgate laws and such for the entire island, but so far, no one has shown any interest.”

“Yet, it cannot be denied that there is a need for some form of centralized government to meet the needs of all the peoples of Tol Eressëa,” Gilvagor said. “It was the reason Lord Laurendil and I formed the embassy to Tirion. We thought with the support of the mainlanders, the islanders would be more amenable to at least talk about it. No one will talk about it. All you do is hide behind platitudes and vague promises and nothing gets done.”

There was an uneasy silence among the council members and whispers among the spectators. Galadhwen looked particularly affronted. “Much of the blame can be laid at the feet of our predecessors,” she retorted. “They are the ones who refused to talk.”

“Yet, you were one of them, Galadhwen,” Borhael pointed out mildly. “Have you changed your tune since then?”

There were gasps from the other councillors as well as from some of the audience. Galadhwen gave Borhael a cold look. “I have not changed my tune about anything, Borhael. I was but one voice among many and I was not necessarily in a position of strength.”

“It matters not who is to blame, lady,” Arafinwë stated. “We are not interested in laying blame on anyone. What was done was done and there is nothing we can do to change it. What we can do is move on, to recognize that mistakes were made by all and now is the time to rectify those mistakes as best we can. We of Aman are willing to host the council at the winter solstice. The place has yet to be determined, but it will not be in Tirion or Alqualondë.”

“And where exactly should we hold it?” Borhael retorted with a grim smile. “Tavrobel does not have the facilities and the people of Avallónë will want it there just as we will want it here. No, I think it best that it be held on the mainland, assuming that we agree to it, of course.”

“The people of Tavrobel are in favor of such a council,” Olwë said. “Unfortunately, circumstances in Avallónë prevented us from soliciting an opinion about it from Lord Morcocáno and others.”

Thorongorn stood. “I am in favor of it and I know others on our council will be,” he said. “If Tavrobel and Kortirion agree to attend the council, Avallónë will also attend.”

“That is well,” Olwë said with a nod. “The Nandor have also indicated their acceptance and the people of Angobel....”

“What!?” Galadhwen nearly shouted. “Allow those... those thralls of Morgoth to attend?”

The Amanians were incensed by her words and Olwë was ready to reprimand the elleth, but then Glorfindel suddenly stood and walked directly to the table where the councillors were sitting to stand before Galadhwen, his expression unreadable.

“You speak of thralls, Galadhwen, as if they deserved their slavery.” His voice was soft, almost conversational in tone, but everyone heard him. “You little realize what thralldom does to a person. There is an ellon who is now little more than a child in his mind because of what was done to him by his orc masters. He endured torments you cannot imagine and now he is looked upon by the rest of you with suspicion and distrust and even hatred when what he needs is compassion, love and understanding.” He paused for a second or two before continuing. “I’ve been a thrall myself. I know of what I speak.” And then he turned around and went back to his seat, his expression blank of any emotion. He stared straight ahead, looking at nothing in particular, ignoring the looks of concern on the faces of his gwedyr and the whispers from the spectators.

“Lord Glorfindel is correct,” Arafinwë said after a moment or two. “The people of Angobel deserve our compassion and understanding. They wish only to live in peace. If they cannot find it here on Tol Eressëa, I intend to petition the Valar to allow them to remove to Aman where they will be welcomed.”

“Better they leave then,” someone from the audience shouted and there were murmurs of assent to that from many.

“Then there is nothing more to discuss,” Olwë said coldly. “If this is your attitude towards the very least of your brethren whose only crime is having the misfortune of being taken captive by Melkor and enslaved, then it is obvious that there is no hope for any of you and it is better that we leave you to your own devices.” He stood and gave the councillors a brief bow. “Thank you for your time, my lords and ladies.”

Arafinwë stood and the other Amanians hastily followed suit as Olwë started to leave. The expression on the faces of the people of Kortirion was one of stunned disbelief at the abruptness of the Amanians’ departure.

Olwë stopped and swept his gaze around the hall, giving them all a cold look. “It’s been cancelled effective immediately,” he stated baldly. “I will not sully Aman with your presence. You people are a disgrace to all Elvenkind with your contempt and hatred for your own kin.”

Ignoring the shouting behind them, Olwë and the others exited from a side door into a corridor that led to the main foyer. They were heading out into the square to retrieve their horses when Borhael and Thorongorn caught up with them, both ellyn begging them not to leave.

“Please do not judge us by the few who are too ingrained in their hatreds to ever change,” Thorongorn pleaded. “I assure you, most of us....”

“It matters not,” Olwë interrupted, his fury barely contained. “First Avallónë and now Kortirion. The only people with any real decency have been those of Tavrobel and the Nandor of Garth Hallâd. You of Avallónë and Kortirion pride yourselves on your sophistication but you have no compassion for those who are less fortunate in their lives. We will be leaving for Aman in the morning and there will be no council. The people of Tol Eressëa are on their own.”

He then continued down the steps, calling for his horse. The others did the same. Finrod held back and gave Thorongorn and Borhael a sympathetic look. “I am sorry, but Anatar is correct. Compassion is in short supply on this island. I hope you find some before it’s too late.” Then he joined the others and in minutes they were leaving the square, never looking back.

No one spoke the entire time they spent leaving the city, though there were many significant looks passed among them. Olwë and Arafinwë kept their expressions set and their eyes straight ahead, ignoring everyone and everything around them. It was only after they had passed through the eastern gate and were halfway to the estate before anyone ventured to speak.

“Do you truly mean not to hold the council, then?” Finrod asked softly as he rode beside his atar.

“I do not know, yonya,” Arafinwë replied, casting a surreptitious look at Olwë who refused to respond.

“I was never sanguine about this Progress,” Finrod said and Arafinwë nodded, “but when we left Tavrobel I had more hope for its success. We made many friends in Tavrobel as well as among the Nandor of Garth Hallâd and the miners of Angobel. I would hate to have their hopes dashed by the intransigence of others. They should not have to suffer because of it.”

“Nor will they,” Olwë said suddenly. “If our ruse works we’ll be holding the council as planned.”

Finrod and the others gave him startled and confused looks. “What do you mean, Atto?” Lindarion asked. “What ruse?”

“My son-in-law here has a very devious mind,” Olwë replied, giving Arafinwë a conspiratorial grin.

“Oh?” Finrod exclaimed, glaring at his atar suspiciously. “Just how devious?”

Now Arafinwë laughed. “Before breakfast, Olwë and I met privately. Given the hostility that we all sensed yesterday I suggested that if the situation arose in which certain people showed any intransigence, that we should walk out of the meeting and announce that the council was cancelled.”

“But why?” Ingwion asked, his expression still one of confusion. His was not the only one.

Meril suddenly gave them a light laugh. “Oh, my lords, devious does not begin to describe your ruse. Well played, your Majesties, well played.”

“I still don’t understand,” Ingwion stated, still looking confused, and there were nods among the others.

“You’re forcing their hand, aren’t you, Anatar?” Finrod asked, suddenly gleaning what was going on. “You’re forcing them to face their own prejudices and hatreds and deal with them.”

“Or not,” Glorfindel added. “Your ruse could have just the opposite effect.”

“That was a risk we were willing to take,” Arafinwë said. “Olwë and I were not happy with what happened in Avallónë....”

Arafinwë nodded, “But I am not speaking solely about the incident with the miners or even with the Nandor,” he explained. “It was the general attitude of certain people.”

“Yes,” Olwë replied. “He is very powerful and influential. I do not agree with Lord Thorongorn that he will be asked to resign from the city council. He has too many friends who agree with him. I do not know if the appearance of the Maiar or the Valar will change the minds of certain individuals. Certainly Morcocáno’s attitude did not change.”

“And so you decided to test the people of Kortirion?” Lindarion enquired. “To see if they held similar views?”

“What about the people of Tavrobel, though?” Finrod asked. “Will you test them as well?”

“In a way, they have already been tested,” Olwë said. “In spite of some hostile reactions when we first came there, there was still an openness among the populace as a whole, something that I did not sense in either Avallónë or Kortirion. We left Tavrobel with the good will of its people.”

“If this does not work though,” Glorfindel interjected, “those people are going to be very disappointed.”

“If this does not work, hinya,” Olwë said, “they will not suffer for it, I promise you. We already have trade agreements set up with them and they will continue to hold no matter what the rest of the island does. It may be that the peoples of Kortirion and Avallónë need to see the benefits of our, shall we say, benevolence which we bestow on those of Tavrobel and Angobel as well as the Nandor before they are willing to put aside their prejudices and hatreds and work for the common good. We will have to see.”

“Do you still mean to leave as you said, lords?” Meril asked, now looking upset.

Olwë nodded, giving her a sympathetic smile. “It is all part of the ruse, my dear, and it is necessary that you play your part in it, if you will.”

“Full willingly will I play, my lord,” Meril replied with a mischievous smile. “In fact, I might go so far as to voice my disapproval to the extent that I place my estate up for sale, announcing that I will petition the Valar to permit me to join the good people of Angobel on the mainland.”

Eyebrows went up at that statement. “And what of your people?” Finrod asked. “What of Morwen and the others?”

“Oh, do not concern yourself, Highness,” Meril hastened to assure him. “This is all part of the ruse. I have no intention of leaving Cormë Alalvëa. I will, however, speak to my people and explain what we would do. You know them and have spoken to them, so you know that they are trustworthy. They will play along and we will see what comes of it.”

“Just don’t overdo it,” Arafinwë cautioned, “or you may find yourself having to do as you threaten whether you wish to or not.”

“I promise,” Meril replied. “As I said, I have no intention of leaving my home which I have created for my lord husband when he comes. I have invested too much of myself in building the estate to want to start all over again elsewhere.”

When they reached the estate, Meril gave orders to the gate guards. “Their Majesties are not receiving visitors, nor am I.” The guards bowed in acknowledgment as the cavalcade passed through.

“How long do you think it will be before someone comes knocking asking for an audience?” Ingwion asked no one in particular, his expression one of amusement.

There were chuckles all around and people began voicing their opinions and making friendly bets between them. It turned out that Glorfindel’s guess came the closest, for they were only just finished freshening up from the trip and were foregathering in the inner court where Meril had ordered a light collation to be served when one of the guards approached, telling them that a small group of people from Kortirion were at the gates.

“There are about a dozen or so, my lord,” the ellon answered. “They appear to be ordinary citizens, tradesmen and the like. Indeed, they came afoot and none are richly dressed.”

The kings exchanged glances and some silent communication passed between them. Olwë turned to the guard. “Let them come,” he ordered. “We would hear what they have to say.”

The guard bowed and left. Everyone else waited silently for the visitors to arrive. When they were escorted into the presence of the kings, it could be seen that they were indeed ordinary citizens, a mixture of Noldor and Sindar. There were even some elflings among them and Meril tsked at the sight, calling for fruit juice and ginger biscuits, insisting that the children sit at the table, to which the kings agreed. Olwë, in fact, ordered chairs to be brought for the visitors and goblets of wine given them before he allowed anyone to speak. When all were settled — the visitors somewhat abashed and ill at ease — Olwë nodded to them.

One of the ellyn, a Noldo, nodded. “Yes, lord,” he said quietly. “I am Ailinwë and I have been chosen to speak for the others.”

Ailinwë glanced uncertainly at his companions before answering. “We... we beg you to reconsider your refusal to host this council about which you were speaking. My friends and I welcome the idea even though it is unlikely any of us would be asked to attend. We’re not important enough, you see.” He gave them a self-deprecating smile.

“It is true that it would be the council members and guildmasters and other leaders of the various communities who most likely would end up attending such a council,” Olwë averred, “but that is not to say that you are not important, Ailinwë.” He paused for a moment, as if considering something. “How many of Kortirion feel as you do?” he finally asked.

Ailinwë shrugged. “As to that, I cannot say. We here are close friends and family. We were at the meeting and were appalled at the attitudes of some. My brother and I followed Lord Macalaurë’s banner. Soronwë was lost to me during the Dagor Bragollach. I thought him dead. Then, news came that Tol Sirion had been destroyed and many who had languished in its dungeons escaped to Nargothrond and elsewhere. I thought nothing of it at the time, until one day an ellon appeared at my door. It was my brother, though I barely recognized him.”

Ailinwë shook his head, his expression one of deep sorrow. “No, lord. I am afraid he died shortly after our reunion. His torment was too great and he would not remain. He told me he had held on for as long as he had in the hope of finding me and bidding me farewell before he sought the Halls of Mandos.”

“It is why I sailed,” Ailinwë said simply, and then he turned to Finrod. “I want to thank you, lord.”

“Before he died, Soronwë spoke somewhat of what happened to him,” Ailinwë answered. “He spoke of the despair he and the other prisoners felt, lying in the darkness of their prisons or toiling as thralls for Sauron’s pleasure. Then one day something happened, something wondrous. A Song of Power was heard within the walls of Tol Sirion and the power of its magic was felt even in the lowest dungeons. Soronwë told me that the Song spoke of prisons opening and chains snapping and in that hour many of the worst tormented among the prisoners found release and went to Mandos, not in despair but in estel. Those who yet remained found strength to endure, again with hope.” He paused for a moment, swallowing a lump in his throat and the others remained respectfully silent as he brought his emotions under control.

“Soronwë did not know who was Singing or why and it ended abruptly so that it seemed that he and the other prisoners lay in even deeper darkness than before, but still the power of that Song remained within their fëar. Some time later, another Song of Power was heard and this time the walls of Tol Sirion fell and the prisoners and thralls were freed. It was only then that Soronwë learned about you, my lord, and Beren and all that had happened. My brother held onto estel long enough to reach me before he gave himself over to the Lord of Mandos for the healing of his fëa. That hope you gave him and others, though you were perhaps unaware of this. That hope my brother passed on to me even though at the time we thought that our separation would be forever. Yet, I held onto the hope that someday we would be reunited and so when the opportunity arose, I and my family sailed so we might be here when he is finally released. For what you gave Soronwë and to me, lord, I wish to thank you.”

“No, Ailinwë. It is I who thank you,” Finrod said with great emotion. “Lord Námo told me that my Song gave those who followed me the strength to remain loyal to me and keep secret our identities. And now, you speak of what else my Song did that day, the day of my greatest defeat. I did not truly believe Lord Námo’s words, but now....” He stood and went to the ellon, raising him and embracing him, giving him a kiss of friendship upon his brow before releasing him. The two shared a brief smile before Finrod resumed his seat.

“I wonder if any of the miners from Angobel were among those held captive on Tol Sirion,” Glorfindel said.

“It would not surprise me,” Ailinwë replied. “My brother toiled as a thrall for Sauron for about a dozen years and others did so for even longer. It never occurred to me to shun him when he showed up on my doorstep near death. I welcomed him joyfully and had he lived he would have held an honored place in my house.” Then he turned to Olwë. “That is why I... we hope you will reconsider your decision, lord. We are simple tradesmen and craftsmen, not nobles or rich merchants, yet are we not of the Eldar? Do our words count for nothing among the great and the powerful? Why should their prejudices dictate policy for the rest of us?”

“Yet, that is the way of things, Ailinwë,” Olwë said not unkindly. “Still, do not despair. We of Aman desire this council as much as you, but we cannot force it upon you. The people of Tol Eressëa must want it. And so, I say to you, Ailinwë, return with your kin to Kortirion and speak with your friends and neighbors. Let them know that you do not approve of the attitude of your leaders and that you desire this council as a good thing for all of Tol Eressëa. Let your voices be heard throughout the city. Perhaps your leaders will listen and amend their ways. We have done what we can, but the rest is up to you.”

Ailinwë and the others of Kortirion sighed. Finrod spoke then, giving them a gentle smile. “Do not give up hope, my friends. And here is a thought: go to Angobel and speak to one Meluiwen who leads the people there while Marthchall is in Lórien. Show them friendship and let it be known to others that you welcome them as kith and kin. Perhaps others will follow your example and shame your leaders into doing the right thing.”

Their visitors eyed one another and there were nods between them. Ailinwë turned to Finrod. “It will be as you suggest, lord. Thank you. Estel was what kept my brother alive long enough to find me when he wished only to die. We will not abandon estel now or ever.” He rose then and so did the others, all of them giving the Amanians their obeisance.

Then Olwë invited them to remain and join them for dinner. They were ready to refuse, but Meril insisted and would not take ‘no’ for an answer. “In fact,” she said with a sly smile, “if you agree to stay and sup with us, I will lend you ponies for the little ones so that they need not walk all the way back to the city.”

“Oh yes, Daerada, I would like to ride a nícarocco,” one elleth crowed with delight where she was sitting with the other elflings, speaking in a mixture of Sindarin and Quenya. The other children all nodded enthusiastically and the adults laughed.

“I guess we are staying for dinner then,” Ailinwë said to Olwë and Meril, casting an indulgent smile upon the elleth, who, it turned out, was his granddaughter.

Olwë smiled and Meril began issuing orders as Ailinwë and the others resumed their seats with the elflings brought over and introduced to the kings and the other Amanians.

Nícarocco: (Quenya) Pony, literally ‘small horse’. The English word ‘pony’ is probably from the French poulenet ‘small foal’. Níca is one of several words in Quenya for ‘small’, this form is said to have ‘good senses’.

93: Return to Aman

It surprised no one to learn that others had come to Cormë Alalvëa seeking to speak to Olwë and Arafinwë while they were holding their audience with Ailinwë and his family.

“Lords Borhael and Thorongorn were both here with a few others,” one of the gate guards told them when they were seeing Ailinwë and the others from Kortirion off, the elflings riding the promised ponies with delight, waving enthusiastically at the Amanians, who waved back.

“How did they react when you told them we would not see them?” Olwë asked.

The guard gave them a rueful look. “They were not very happy, to say the least. Lord Borhael was furious, but Lord Thorongorn appeared... sadder.” He shrugged.

Olwë nodded. “My indyo befriended Lord Thorongorn while we were in Avallónë,” he explained.

“I will send him a note of apology before we leave,” Finrod said, sighing. “I was looking forward to speaking with him again while we were here.”

“I know,” Olwë said, giving the ellon a sympathetic hug. “Hopefully, he will be able to persuade certain people to mend their attitudes. Only time will tell.”

Finrod nodded and Olwë thanked the guard before they all headed back to the house.

****

Olwë called a meeting to discuss their next move and they spent some time contemplating their options. Gilvagor suggested that they use one of the smaller roads that connected outlying villages and farms to the main road to the south, thereby avoiding Kortirion altogether.

“We can pick up the road to Tavrobel about a mile or so on the other side of the city,” he said as he and the others poured over some maps of Kortirion and its environs and the island in general which Meril had given them.

“That seems somewhat cowardly,” Finrod opined, “as if we needed to sneak away.”

“But it does have the benefit of avoiding the city and possibly trouble,” Gilvagor pointed out. “We all sensed the hostility that was in the air and now add to that any resentment people might be feeling because of our... um... snub and you have a very unhealthy and potentially dangerous situation. We are too few, no matter how many of us are warriors, to protect ourselves and those without weapons and we cannot hope for rescue by the Valar if things go ill for us.”

“Gilvagor is correct,” Arafinwë stated. “We cannot rely on the possibility that if things go ill that the Valar will intervene again. Little though I like it myself, Gilvagor’s suggestion has merit. I do not want to risk Alassiel and Amarië or our servants. If we go to Kortirion we could well find ourselves trapped there. The city is large enough that even if all remained calm, it would still take us some time to cross it.”

“Do you think any will be on the lookout for us?” Sador asked. They all gave him an enquiring look, not sure what he meant. “I mean, do you think they will be expecting us to travel through Kortirion and therefore have people watching for us? Would they be able to see us on this other road from the city walls, for instance?”

“Hmm... that is a good point,” Ingwion said, giving Sador a brief smile. He glanced over the map and pointed to a particular spot. “If they have a lookout here, they would see us leaving the estate and know that we are not heading for the city. If they divine our intent, then they could warn those in the city who would then be able to intercept us when we reach the main road. We might well have the very situation we hope to avoid.”

“Perhaps we should go in an unexpected direction then,” Glorfindel suggested, casting them a sly grin.

Finrod raised an eyebrow and gave his gwador a considering look. “What are you thinking?”

“We return to Avallónë and take ship from there,” Glorfindel replied, “or if not, we can take the road that leads to Angobel. Didn’t Marthchall say that they had dealings with Tavrobel? I recall him pointing out another road that crossed the ridge to the west.”

They all took a look at the maps again, finding Angobel and seeing where the road to Tavrobel went. Ingwion shook his head. “That’s a good thought, Glorfindel, but it wouldn’t work. Lord Námo instructed me in the geography of the island and that road is too narrow for our use and passes through highlands that would be difficult for us to travel through with our supply wagons. I recall Morfinnel telling me that they usually find it easier to transport their ores to Tavrobel by bringing them here to Kortirion and taking the main road.”

“But returning to Avallónë does have a twisted sort of appeal,” Lindarion retorted with a wry smile. “The only problem I see with it is that we might not be able to find a ship or ships to take us. We came here on two of our larger ships and the conditions were crowded enough. The Tol Eressëan ships are smaller.”

“Still, the idea does have its charm,” Olwë said, “and it would not be a direction any would think us to go. The problem, of course, is logistics, finding a ship or ships for us all. As it is, whichever direction we take, it will take us a couple of days to reach the other ports.”

There was silence for a time as they contemplated their options and then Alassiel suddenly snickered and her eyes glowed with merriment. The others gave her enquiring looks. Her smile was almost conspiratorial. “Why don’t we split our forces? Send the supply wagons and most of our people to Tavrobel, taking the southern road while the rest of us ride swiftly to Avallónë. Unencumbered with the wagons we can make better time and if we ride straight through, taking only minimum rest periods, we could be in Avallónë sometime tomorrow night. It would be easier for us to find a ship if there are only the few of us and our horses.”

The others glanced at each other and there were chuckles and grins all around. “Good thinking, Cousin,” Finrod said, “I believe that just might work. Atar, Anatar, what do you think?”

Both kings nodded. “It is an elegant solution,” Olwë averred.

“And I am thinking, why wait until dawn to leave?” Glorfindel said. “Why not leave while it is still dark? I doubt there will be anyone on the lookout before sunrise. They would not think we would leave in the night. That will give them a pretty puzzle to contemplate.”

Everyone nodded at that, but then Olwë spoke, frowning slightly as he stared at the map. “My main concern, though, is that when we reach Avallónë we might have to wait for a ship and I do not like the thought of our departure being delayed any more than necessary. Once people figure out our ruse they will look for us in Avallónë. I prefer not to be there when they arrive.”

“I can have one of my people leave for Avallónë now,” Meril suggested. “If he takes two horses, he can switch off and ride the swifter. He would be there by noon tomorrow and can set about making the arrangements.”

“And if when we get there,” Finrod added, “we send only a couple of people in to ascertain the situation, there will be less notice. Even if we do have to wait a day for a ship, if we enter the city in small groups and take lodgings in different guesthouses in the harbor area, we are not likely to be noticed as much.”

Both kings nodded. “Then, let us set out to do just that,” Olwë ordered. “It is nearly midnight. If we start packing now we can be away in a few hours.”

They all agreed to that and Meril went to find someone to go to Avallónë, instructing the ellon as to what was required and where to wait for the kings’ arrival. Olwë and Arafinwë called their people together and explained the situation. When they understood what the kings meant to do there was much enthusiasm for the plan and they set out with a good will to implement it, many of them singing gaily as they went to work. Eäralato and Urundil were put in charge of guarding the supply wagons, for Elennen and Calandil would go with the kings. They were given instructions to wait in the same field outside Tavrobel where they had camped before.

“Seek out Dúlinn and tell him what has happened,” Olwë ordered the two ellyn. “I will wish to speak with him and the other two councillors before we leave the island.”

Meril, meantime, ordered the cooks to prepare a hot breakfast for everyone. “No sense leaving on an empty stomach,” she insisted when Olwë told her it wasn’t necessary. So they all enjoyed scrambled eggs and porridge and sticky buns, eating standing up as they went about the task of packing. Two hours before dawn they were on their way, the support staff heading out first, for they would be slower than the others. Olwë and Arafinwë thanked Meril for her hospitality and help and the elleth assured them that she had enjoyed their visit however brief.

“Perhaps I will see you at the winter solstice,” she suggested.

“Even if our ruse does not work, please consider joining us for the solstice celebration,” Arafinwë said. “I think I will invite others whom we befriended here to come as well.”

“Then I will see you regardless,” she said with a smile. “Alámenë!”

And then they were away.

****

They reached the outskirts of Avallónë sometime the next afternoon, stopping at the Iaun Araw where they intended to wait for news. Mithlas and Gilvagor offered to enter the city and find Baragallon, Lady Meril’s servant. “He was instructed to take a room at the Sennas Half Luin,” Olwë told them. They nodded and dismounted from their horses, deciding they would attract less notice if they entered on foot. The others set about making themselves as comfortable as possible while they waited.

They did not have to wait long, perhaps only an hour, before Gilvagor and Mithlas returned with Baragallon leading his two horses.

“The Valar are smiling on us,” Gilvagor said without preamble. “We found Baragallon readily enough and he has good news.”

They turned their attention to the Sinda, who nodded. “I have a cousin who works at the harbor. I went to him and explained what I needed and he took me to a tavern frequented by ship’s captains.”

“And you’ll never guess who he found there,” Gilvagor said with a sly grin.

There were several raised eyebrows. “Let me guess,” Arafinwë said. “Captain Baradir.”

The three ellyn nodded as one. “When the captain learned of my purpose he insisted that he would transport you. I was told to let you know that you are to go immediately to his ship upon your arrival. He will be leaving on the evening tide about five hours from now.”

Olwë nodded, a pleased smile on his lips. “You did well, Baragallon. Will you return to your lady now?”

“Yes, lord,” the ellon replied. “I and my horses are well rested and I would return posthaste.”

“Then go with our good will and the blessing of the Valar,” the Telerin king said and Baragallon was soon away. Olwë turned to the others. “We will do as Findaráto suggested and enter the city in groups of no more than three spaced out over the next hour. Go directly to the harbor. Which berth, Gilvagor?”

“Berth twelve,” Gilvagor answered. “When you enter the harbor from this side, it will be the fourth one as you head north.”

They all nodded in understanding and set about to implement their plan. Thus, over the next hour they made their way into the city with Gilvagor, Mithlas and Iorlas bringing up the rear. By the time the three ellyn reached the harbor, everyone else was aboard the Nimalphwen and getting settled. The two kings were closeted with Baradir in the captain’s cabin and remained there until the captain had to oversee the ship’s departure. The kings joined the others on the deck, staying well away from the flurry of activity as the moorings were slipped and the sails raised.

“Hey!” Sador exclaimed, pointing towards the wharf. “Looks as if we left just in time.”

They all looked to see a group of people headed by Thorongorn and Borhael making their way to the quay where the Nimalphwen had been berthed only moments before. Even in the falling twilight they could see the looks of frustration and disgust on Borhael’s face while Thorongorn simply looked sad. Glorfindel gave them a cheery wave. The others just shook their heads and rolled their eyes at the ellon’s antics and drifted away from the rails, no longer interested in seeing anything of Avallónë.

“I feel sorriest for Thorongorn,” Finrod said quietly as he and the others sat under an awning on the poop deck which had been erected for their use. “I do not like abusing our friendship in this manner.”

“I know, yonya,” Arafinwë said sympathetically. “Hopefully, he will understand in time.”

Finrod nodded but he did not look all that convinced.

****

They sailed around the southern coast as before and reached Tavrobel the following evening where they found Urundil waiting for them. “We arrived early this morning,” the guard told him, “and we encountered no trouble along the way. Eäralato and I have been taking turns waiting for you. Councillor Dúlinn has been informed of what has happened and left instructions that you are to come to the town hall as soon as you arrive.”

Olwë, however, shook his head. “I prefer to stay here. Go to Dúlinn and tell him to come to us. Tell him Captain Baradir is with us and he should bring Lady Sîdhwen if he can. Then go to the camp and bring everyone here. I see our ships are waiting for us. Get everyone aboard. I want to be away before midnight. There’s a good breeze and we will make the journey swiftly enough.”

Urundil bowed and set off while everyone else made their way off the ship and headed towards the swan ships where they began loading the horses. It did not take too long and in the meantime Dúlinn and Sîdhwen appeared. They and the kings went with Baradir to his cabin and it was some time before they emerged, the expressions on the councillors’ faces somewhat grim. In the meantime, the rest of their people arrived and the loading went apace. An hour before midnight everything was stowed away and the ships were ready to sail.

Word had gotten out that the Amanians were in port and were making ready to return to the mainland and several people came to wish them farewell, thus their leavetaking was warm and friendly. The kings promised the people of Tavrobel that whatever happened they would always have their friendship and so they departed with high spirits. The journey across the Bay of Eldamar took only a couple of hours and then they were coming off the ships, pavilions being quickly set up, for they would remain there until late morning before going on.

“It’s good to be home,” Glorfindel said with a satisfied sigh when he stepped upon the shore. Everyone else nodded, feeling the same.

****

Indyo: (Telerin and Vanyarin Quenya) Grandchild (by context, grandson). The Noldorin form would be inyo.

Alámenë!: (Quenya) Farewell!, literally ‘go with a blessing, with a good omen!’, an attested phrase [see Parma Eldalamberon 17:162].

Sennas Half Luin: (Sindarin) Blue Seashell Guesthouse.

The next morning they took their time packing up for the final leg of their journey, sitting in the largest of the pavilions, taking their ease and discussing their next move. Arafinwë assured Ingwion that he would be going to Vanyamar with him and Alassiel, once he had seen to his own kingdom. Finrod and Eärnur would be returning to Lórien, bringing Iorlas and Mithlas with them. Beleg agreed to return to Alqualondë with Olwë and Lindarion. Sador and Amarië would remain in Tirion and Gilvagor accepted Arafinwë’s invitation to reside in Tirion for a time. Haldir and Gwilwileth, who had chosen not to stay in Kortirion, accepted Pelendur’s invitation to stay with him and Lossellë.

"Your emmë will be overjoyed to have you and Gwilwileth with us," Pelendur said.

"And me," his atar replied, leaning over to give Gwilwileth a kiss on her brow. The elleth blushed, looking both shy and happy at the same time.

And so it was settled. That left Glorfindel and when Finrod asked him where he would go, his answer surprised everyone.

There was complete silence for about ten seconds and then several people started speaking all at once. Glorfindel raised a hand and silence resumed. He gave them a sardonic look. "A simple ‘have a nice trip, Glorfindel’ would have done," he said and several people looked abashed.

"There is something I need to do," Glorfindel replied, his expression more serious. "I have questions that need answers, and I have decided that Alqualondë is the best place to start in finding them."

Glorfindel nodded. "Yes. You said there were those in Alqualondë who helped build Elwing’s Tower. I mean to speak with them about it."

"You are, of course, welcome to come with us, Glorfindel," Olwë said. "I will see that you are supplied with all the information you need."

Finrod sighed. "All those years I waited for your release from Mandos, believing that once we were together again nothing would separate us, but it seems fate is against us, for you are leaving me again."

"But not forever," Glorfindel said quietly. He tilted his head to the side, giving Finrod a considering look and then smiled. "I promise that, no matter what, I will be there for your wedding."

Finrod snorted. "That’s twelve years away. Surely you don’t expect to be gone that long."

"As to that, I cannot say," Glorfindel replied and then he switched to Sindarin. "I need to do this, gwador. I need answers."

"What about the council at the winter solstice?" Sador asked, looking almost as upset as Finrod.

Finrod nodded, giving him a small smile. "I will hold you to your promise that you will be there for the wedding."

"If they are the guests I think you mean," Finrod replied, "they will be most welcome."

"Then it is settled," Arafinwë said, giving Glorfindel a fond smile. "I will miss you, hinya, but I know you need to do this. When you have found your answers, return to us, for you are part of the family and we would fain have you close."

"Well, I suppose we had best be on our way," Olwë said, rising from his chair. "I want to be in Alqualondë before the tide turns."

"And I wish to be in Tirion sooner rather than later myself," Arafinwë said, rising as well.

Thus, in a short time, the two parties made their farewells. Glorfindel followed Olwë and Lindarion onto one of the swan ships with Beleg beside him. Arafinwë and those heading for Tirion stood on the quay and watched as the ships sailed off, waving farewell. Only when the ships rounded a spur of land and were out of sight did they mount their horses and begin the journey up the Calacirya towards Tirion. Finrod was the last to leave the quay.

Glorfindel stood at the rail and waved at those on shore until they were out of sight and then he remained still, not willing to move. Beleg stood beside him on his right with Lindarion on his left. Lindarion gave the ellon a sympathetic smile.

"You’ll see them again, perhaps sooner than you think," he said, placing a comforting hand on the ellon’s shoulder.

"So, what did young Sador tell you?" the older ellon asked, hoping to distract the golden-haired ellon.

Glorfindel gave him a startled look and Lindarion smiled. "I saw you dragging him away at one point during our voyage and figured you would be asking him questions about Eärendil and Elwing."

Glorfindel nodded. "I wanted to hear what he had to say about them," he replied, turning to lean against the rail and the other two ellyn followed suit.

"He didn’t really have much to say," Glorfindel answered. "He was rather young at the time when the refugees fled Doriath, later to be joined by those of Gondolin. He remembers Tuor and Idril better."

"Well, they became the leaders of the refugees. Elwing was still a child and apparently, once Tuor and Idril arrived, Celeborn and Galadriel removed to Balar where Círdan was living."

Beleg nodded, but Lindarion wrinkled his nose. "Sorry, but who are these people of whom you speak?"

Glorfindel gave him a wry smile. "Your education is woefully lacking," he retorted and Lindarion merely snorted in good humor. "But to answer your question," Glorfindel continued, "Celeborn is your first cousin by your Uncle Elmo and Galadriel, otherwise known as Artanis...." he gave the ellon a significant look.

Glorfindel nodded. "At any rate, Sador mostly remembers Tuor and Idril, though they did not remain there for very long and Eärendil, once he reached a man’s estate, was rarely there, always sailing. What Sador remembers most is taking his little sister down to the beach to play in the surf with the other elflings and Elwing would bring her two children down to join them." He paused for a moment in reflection. "I am glad that Tuor and Idril survived Gondolin though it grieves me that none know their fates."

"We, of course, know nothing of them," Lindarion said. "I recall when Eärendil came to us to find Elwing that they discussed it between themselves. I gathered that Eärendil had hoped to find them here and was sorely disappointed when he did not."

"And the Valar, I assume, were ever their helpful selves and refused to say either way," Glorfindel said sardonically.

Lindarion gave him a startled look. "You sound almost bitter," he said accusingly.

Glorfindel shrugged, his expression darkening somewhat. "The Valar and I have a... history." Seeing Lindarion’s troubled mien, he gave him a brief smile. "Do not concern yourself, my friend. It is of no real importance." Then he turned to Beleg who had remained silent all this time. "So, Beleg, what mischief is there to be had in Alqualondë?"

Beleg raised an eyebrow, giving him a supercilious look. "Mischief? I know not of what you speak, my lord."

Lindarion rolled his eyes and muttered something about elflings and mayhem. Beleg scowled and Glorfindel smirked.

The journey up the Calacirya was a silent one for the most part. Many in the party were mulling over the events of the last two weeks, especially what happened in Avallónë and Kortirion. Finrod, riding beside his atar kept looking back the way they had come. Arafinwë gave him a sympathetic smile.

"He’s growing up," Arafinwë said. "He’s no longer acting like a younger brother to you, is he?"

Finrod gave his atar a startled look. "Do you think that’s what it is?" He shook his head. "I have ever thought of Glorfindel as my otorno, as my... sword-brother, as the Atani would put it."

"Yet, you cannot deny that at times you have treated him much as you treated your own brothers when they were younger," Arafinwë insisted. "I am not saying this disparagingly, yonya. Glorfindel, I deem, needed an older brother for a time, but that time has passed and he is finally becoming, as you say, your otorno in truth. He’s no longer your playmate from Mandos, and I think that disturbs you somewhat." He gave Finrod a shrewd look and the ellon grimaced, looking abashed.

"I suppose," he averred with a sigh. "All those years I yearned for him to be with me. I missed him and I wanted him to share in my adventures. Then he is finally released and I realized that somewhere along the way, I grew up, but Glorfindel was still acting as an elfling half the time."

Finrod chuckled. "At any rate, I found myself being the older brother and I guess I just got used to the role."

"And now, Glorfindel is no longer quite as young as he used to be," Arafinwë said with a nod, "though he still has a long way to go before he reaches full maturity."

"I think his time with the Maiar has shortened that time somewhat," Finrod suggested.

"No doubt," his atar averred. "I was pleasantly surprised at how he conducted himself throughout the Progress and I noticed that both Sador and Beleg seemed to follow his lead, which made things easier for us all, I think."

Finrod nodded. "I noticed that as well." He paused for a moment or two before continuing. "I hope he doesn’t get into too much trouble, though. I really don’t like the idea of him wandering around unattended. There’s no telling what mischief he will land himself in and I’m not there to help him get out of it."

Arafinwë chuckled. "We’ll just have to trust that he won’t get into too much trouble, then," he said. "I’m sure the Valar will keep an eye on our Balrog-slayer. They seem to have a particular fondness for him."

"So, he’s finally on his way," Manwë said to the other Valar once Manveru finished his report and was dismissed. They were gathered together in Ilmarin.

"It will be interesting to see what transpires," Námo replied. "I know Glorfindel has been feeling frustrated at not being able to see Eärendil’s Star."

"Yes," Manwë said musingly. "That troubles me somewhat. He should be able to see it now that the barriers have been removed. I do not understand why he cannot."

"It is indeed troubling," Irmo interjected. "Oft times his dreams appear troubled and they always center around Eärendil."

"Oh?" Námo gave his younger brother in the Thought of Atar a startled look. "And when were you going to tell me?"

Irmo gave him a snort. "Dreams are not your concern, brother, and these dreams are not all that unusual as dreams go."

Irmo shrugged. "Mostly they involve him looking for Eärendil and not finding him. As I said, troubling and frustrating, but not all that interesting."

"It depends on how you define ‘interesting’," Vairë said with a slight smile. "It seems Glorfindel has decided to take these dreams with some literalness and means to seek out Eärendil in truth."

Námo nodded in agreement. "Most likely these dreams are what is spurring him on. The question remains, do we allow him to find Eärendil at this time?"

"I see no reason why he should not," Manwë said with a slight shrug. "He is looking for answers. He will not find them with Eärendil, or at least not all of them. Yet, perhaps, in finding some of the answers to his questions, he will become more content. He is not ready for what we would ask of him. He still has some growing up to do and he needs more training."

"Will you have the Maiar watch over him and make sure he stays out of trouble?" Varda asked. There were chuckles all around.

Manwë shook his head, a slight smile on his face. "I have something else in mind for our Balrog-slayer." But what that was, he refused to say just then and the others had to be content.

"Well, putting Glorfindel aside for the moment," Aulë then said, "what are your thoughts about this Progress? Do you deem it a failure in its objectives?"

"It is too early to tell," Manwë replied. "Certainly Olwë and Arafinwë walking out on the people of Kortirion as they did was an unexpected move."

"The Children are unpredictable at the best of times," Námo averred with a nod. "It will be interesting to see what develops, but I believe the council they had hoped to host will be held as planned."

There was agreement all around. "Where do you think they will hold it, though?" Nienna asked. "It is unlikely they will hold it on Tol Eressëa."

"That leaves Aman," Vána said, "but I think Tirion and Alqualondë will be deemed unacceptable to the Tol Eressëans because of Arafinwë and Olwë having already been to the island."

"True," Manwë said, "which means that Vanyamar would be the logical site for such a council."

"Well, not the only site," Námo said with an amused smile. The others looked at him with various degrees of bemusement.

For an answer Námo gave them an arch look as if to say that he could not believe they were that dim. Varda caught on first.

"No, absolutely not," she said vehemently. "The last thing I need is a bunch of Children running around Ilmarin...."

"Or anywhere where we reside," Varda retorted. "Absolutely out of the question."

There was an uneasy silence for a moment or two before Manwë spoke. "We will wait to see what they decide among themselves," he said equably, giving Varda an understanding smile. "It is still unclear if they will even hold this council now."

"They’re still not holding their precious council here," Varda muttered darkly, "whatever they decide."

Manwë leaned over and gave her a loving kiss and a hug while everyone else looked on with indulgent smiles.

"And what of Angobel?" Yavanna asked. "What are we to do for those poor benighted Children?"

"We have done what we could," Manwë answered. "Inspiring Ancalimon to kidnap Laurendil and the others is all we could do in that regard. The rest is up to the Children themselves. Arafinwë and Olwë are aware of their existence and soon Ingwë will be as well."

"It was something of a gamble asking Olórin to walk among them unseen and inspire them towards mayhem," Námo said with a faint smile. "He has ever been one to foster fair visions, wisdom and hope."

Manwë nodded. "I know, and I plan to reward him for his efforts. Yet, he accepted the assignment willingly, so I do not fear that he will suffer for it unduly."

"And it was for a good cause," Varda added. "The kings of Aman are about three hundred years late in finally addressing the problems on Tol Eressëa. Ancalimon and his people have suffered long enough."

"I still think we should have addressed the situation earlier ourselves," Ulmo put in, frowning slightly. "Why we needed to wait until Findaráto and Glorfindel were reunited is beyond me."

"They are the catalyst," Námo answered. "Together they will bring about changes in Aman and beyond, changes long overdue. I do not think our plans would have worked quite as well without them."

"Perhaps," Ulmo averred, stroking his sea-green beard and nodding. "At any rate, I think it behooves us to take a more active role in this where Angobel is concerned. The Children need to see that we Valar accept these people and welcome them."

"What are you suggesting?" Oromë asked, giving the Lord of Waters a curious look.

Ulmo gave them a mischievous smile. "I was thinking of sending them an invitation to visit us at the winter solstice."

"The idea has merits," Námo said. "Perhaps we should invite them whether a council is held or not."

"It is something to think about, surely," Manwë replied, casting a fond look at Varda who sat there glowering, muttering about the Children tracking mud all over Ilmarin and generally making a mess.

"I’m sure it won’t be as bad as that, sister," Vairë said with a faint smile.

Varda continued to glower, not convinced. Manwë steered the conversation to other, safer topics of interest to the Valar and the rest of their council was spent discussing the erratic orbits of some of the asteroids and the need to change them to prevent the possibility of future collisions with the planet.

The ship continued sailing up the coast and Glorfindel stood along the port side watching the land slip past them, his expression seemingly confused and troubled. Lindarion came to him, bearing a couple of goblets of wine, one of which he handed to Glorfindel. The ellon accepted it somewhat distractedly.

“It looks different,” Glorfindel responded, not taking his eyes off the shore.

Glorfindel pointed with his goblet. “The shore. It looks different from when I last saw it. Then, it was under starlight. Now....” He shook his head. “It... it doesn’t look the same.”

Lindarion stared landward, pursing his lips. “It was a dark time for us all,” he said eventually. “I still have nightmares of our ships burning and friends lying dead in the surf.”

Glorfindel glanced at him, looking guilty. “I had nothing to do with that,” he said. “Turucáno would not....”

Lindarion raised his hand to still the ellon’s protests. “I do not say these things to blame you, Glorfindel. What happened, happened. We have all been forced to live with the consequences of the Kinslaying to one degree or another. And most of our people have been returned to us from Mandos. It is well, I assure you.”

Glorfindel nodded, not entirely convinced. He decided to change the subject, taking a sip of wine before speaking. “Do you miss the Trees?”

Lindarion gave him a startled look. “Hmm... an interesting question,” he finally said. “I did have occasion to visit Tirion and once I went to Valmar and saw the Trees for myself, but for the most part I lived under starlight in Alqualondë. Certainly when the Light went out and the Calacirya darkened it was a frightening experience for us all, for none of us went to Ilmarin at Lord Manwë’s behest, so we were unaware until well after the fact of what occurred.”

Glorfindel sighed. “Sometimes I dream of them,” he admitted, “and always when I awake, there is a grief within me that is almost too deep for words to describe, too deep even for tears. It troubles me as to why I would have such dreams.”

“I imagine it was harder for the Noldor and Vanyar than it was for us Lindar,” Lindarion said. “I doubt you are the only person to have such dreams.”

“No. I doubt it as well,” Glorfindel answered, narrowing his eyes. “At any rate, when Anar rose for the first time, it was so glorious, more so than when Isil rose. I named my House after her, did you know? The House of the Golden Flower. I was chosen to the lordship when the original lord died in an orc attack shortly after we arrived in Beleriand. Before that, we did not have any names for the twelve Houses. That came later after we removed to Gondolin.”

“Interesting,” Lindarion said. “I did not know that, but then, I know very little about what happened in Beleriand, save snatches of history which people like Beleg or Findaráto have mentioned while we were traveling through Tol Eressëa. What was Gondolin like? How did it feel to live in hiding from all the other Exiles for so long?”

“It was not an easy decision to make,” Glorfindel acknowledged. “Some of our people even refused to follow Turucáno to Gondolin, and he was forced to dismiss them. I suppose they took allegiance with Ñolofinwë or Findecáno. Since only Turucáno and the lords of the other Houses knew where Gondolin was, no one could tell the others where it lay, so we were safe enough.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “Turucáno had my allegiance. I would give it to no other. I would have followed him to the very depths of Angband if he had so ordered it.”

“Yes,” Glorfindel replied. “Some thought that was a mistake, that we would look to a past that was closed to us instead of looking to a future that was open, but it cannot be denied that Gondolin was as fair a city as ever was built by the Eldar and we were justifiably proud of her.” He sighed, looking sad.

Lindarion clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, the last time you saw Alqualondë neither we nor you were at our best.” Glorfindel couldn’t help chuckling at that. “Hopefully, this time, we will leave you with a better impression.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Glorfindel said and then raised his goblet in salute and the two drank deeply, then turned and joined Olwë and Beleg for a light repast which had been set up on the poop deck under a blue-and-white striped awning.

Glorfindel stared in amazement at the arch of living searock that marked the entrance of the Swan Haven as they sailed into the harbor with the sun beginning to set behind the Pelóri. He almost cringed when they sailed under it, thinking that the tall mast would not make it, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that there were almost two feet of space and the ship sailed serenely into port. Beleg was standing next to him and smiled knowingly.

“A beautiful sight, isn’t it?” he commented. “I was so stunned by it the first time I saw the arch that Uncle Olwë had to shake me out of my immobility.”

“It does take getting used to,” Glorfindel admitted, then turned his attention to the city, which, he could see, was a city of canals that were linked to the harbor. Bridges spanned the canals at key junctures and there were wide walkways for pedestrians. The two swan ships made their way to their berths and soon they were all disembarking to find Lirillë waiting for them, along with Olwen, who was Olwë and Lirillë’s other daughter. Everyone greeted each other gladly and when Lirillë saw Glorfindel with them he was warmly welcomed.

“Come,” she said as she linked arms with her husband and son, “let us away to the palace and you can tell us all about it. I have ordered that dinner will only be the family tonight. We will bother with a formal welcoming feast tomorrow.”

That met with everyone’s approval and soon they were happily sitting down to the meal and it took some time for them to tell the entire tale, but no one minded. When Olwë described their flight from Kortirion, Lirillë gave her husband a shrewd look.

“Forcing their hand that way was very risky,” she said. “It will be interesting to see how it all falls out.”

Olwë nodded. “It was a risk Arafinwë and I were willing to take, but I think in the end the Tol Eressëans will come around and beg us to hold the council at the winter solstice. We will have to see.”

Lirillë nodded then turned to Glorfindel with a smile. “I am glad that you have decided to visit us, Glorfindel. I hope your stay with us will prove fruitful.”

“It is my hope as well, my lady,” he replied. “Lindarion has told me something of when Eärendil and Elwing were here. I wish to find them and I understand that there are those who helped to build Elwing’s Tower residing here in Alqualondë.”

“Yes,” Olwë said, “and tomorrow I will introduce you to them. I ordered the tower to be built at Elwing’s request, though I would have preferred that they reside here instead. I have never visited the place so I cannot tell you where it lies, only that it is far north of here.”

“I do not know,” Glorfindel admitted. “I have not thought that far ahead. I have my horse and I would be loath to leave him behind.”

“We will speak of it later when you know where you are going,” Olwë suggested. “It may be easier to reach the Tower by the sea route rather than by land.”

“And faster, too,” Lindarion chimed in. “You did promise Findaráto that you would be back in time for his wedding, after all.”

Glorfindel gave him a scowl. “I do not think it will take me that long to find this Tower even if I do take the land route. Besides, what I know about boats and sailing wouldn’t fill a thimble.”

“Let me first speak with those who know where the Tower is located before we decide on my route,” Glorfindel said and the matter was dropped.

As promised, Olwë summoned Master Telemnambo of the stonemasons’ guild, who had overseen the construction of Elwing’s Tower, and Captain Falastur who owned the ship that had transported the workers and their equipment to and fro. They spread maps out on a table in Olwë’s library. Along with Olwë and Glorfindel, Lindarion was also with them.

“Here’s Alqualondë,” the captain said, pointing to a spot on the map which showed the coastline of Valinor from just south of the Calacirya to far north of Alqualondë, though there was a blank space on the very edge of the map with the legend ‘To the Helcaraxë’ written neatly with an arrow pointing north. “As you can see the coastline is very rugged and there are many coves and inlets all along the way.”

“Yes, well, on the instructions of Lady Elwing,” Master Telemnambo said, giving Glorfindel a measuring look, “we built her tower on the borders of the Sundering Seas. Lord Eärendil actually found the site for us when he sailed on Vingilot and could see down from the heights.”

“Where is it, exactly?” Glorfindel asked, peering at the map a little closer.

“There’s a problem with that,” Falastur admitted, giving them an apologetic look.

“We don’t know exactly where the tower is located,” came the surprising answer.

“Yes, but we never saw where the cove was,” the ellon answered. “What I mean is, we were blindfolded before we were brought to the cove and when we left we were blindfolded again.”

“I never knew that,” Olwë said in surprise. “Then who steered the ships that took the workers and materiel there?”

“Maiar,” the stonemason answered. “We all agreed to the conditions, you understand, and while we were there we did not venture to leave the cove.”

“So you don’t know where it is,” Glorfindel said with a disheartened sigh, feeling frustrated that at every turn it seemed he was being stymied in his quest for answers.

“Not exactly,” Falastur said. “But we know where it isn’t.” He grabbed the map. “We were never blindfolded until we reached this point, which is about the furthest north any of our ships have ever sailed save when we ferried the Host of the West to Endórë during the War.” He stabbed a finger at a spit of land that stretched out into the ocean. It looked a fair distance from Alqualondë. “It always took us at least five days of constant sailing to reach this point, at which time, Maiar, wearing the emblem of Lord Ulmo, would appear. We would all go below deck and suffer ourselves to be blindfolded. One of the Maiar stayed with us to keep us honest.” He flashed them a wry grin and the others returned it with grins of their own. “Then we sailed for about twelve hours. I know this, for we always reached the peninsula at sunset and when we were allowed to remove our blindfolds, it was dawn. Most of us simply slept the night away; the blindfolds were just a precaution.”

“Nearly so,” the ellon answered. “We would sail with the tide. Sometimes it was night, sometimes day, but generally twelve hours would elapse from the time we left the cove until we reached the peninsula and could remove our blindfolds.”

“Ah... regardless of the weather, it was always the same, about four knots.” There were raised eyebrows from Olwë and Lindarion.

“Is that significant?” Glorfindel asked, not sure what they were talking about.

“A constant speed of four knots is impossible to maintain,” Olwë explained.

“If you are not Maiar,” Glorfindel pointed out with a grin, perhaps more knowledgeable of the powers of the Maiar than any of the others in the room.

There were snorts from both the captain and Olwë. “Regardless, that means that you sailed about another fifty miles, give or take, north of the peninsula.”

“Assuming the Maiar didn’t just sail in a huge circle to fool you,” Glorfindel couldn’t help saying.

Lindarion groaned and Falastur gave Glorfindel a considering look. “A possibility, but I doubt it. Even blindfolded I would have felt the ship shifting from the straight course it was on. No, we sailed north, of that I am sure.”

They glanced at the map again. North of the peninsula only a small portion of the coastline was well marked and then the rest of the map was blank.

“Sometimes six,” the captain said, “depending on the winds but never more than that.”

Olwë nodded as he looked at Glorfindel. “At least a week by ship. We can sail you that far, hinya, and then the rest of the way would be by land.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Can you describe the cove and the surrounding area?” he asked the stonemason and captain.

“Then, why don’t we see you on your way,” Olwë said. “I will order the necessary supplies for you and you can leave tomorrow, if the captain is amenable to the idea of ferrying you and your horse that far.”

“I am at your Majesty’s command,” the captain said with a bow, “though there are signs of a storm approaching. We may have to delay the journey a day or three until it blows over.”

“If that is so, then that is so,” Olwë said equably. “That just gives us more time to visit with you, Glorfindel. I know Beleg will miss you when you leave.”

“Is there any reason why he could not accompany you?” Lindarion asked. “Two will make the journey less lonely and if there is any danger....”

“Normally, I would say yes,” Glorfindel told them, “but my heart tells me that this is a journey I must make alone.”

“Then we will see that you are properly kitted for the journey,” Olwë said, then he turned to the captain and the stonemason and thanked them for their time. Both ellyn gave the king their obeisance and Telenambo promised to have a full description of the cove where Elwing’s Tower stood written out for Glorfindel to take with him.

“That way you won’t have to memorize it. I will also draw some pictures as well that should help.”

When Glorfindel woke the next morning, the storm that had been predicted was upon them and did not let up for nearly a week. The waiting was interminable for the ellon and he spent a great deal of time in a training salle working on his forms, wishing one of the Maiar who had trained him were there to spar with. Beleg usually accompanied him to the salle but, not being a swordsman, he usually just sat and watched.

“I wish so too,” Glorfindel replied without breaking his form, “but this is something I need to do alone and besides, you promised Olwë that you would start training some of his people in archery.”

“Yes,” Beleg acknowledged with a sigh, “but I still wish I could go with you.”

Glorfindel gave him a knowing smile. “Perhaps next time,” he said and Beleg had to be content with that.

About a week after arriving in Alqualondë the storm let up enough that Glorfindel was hopeful that the journey north would begin soon. He had read and re-read the stonemason’s description of the cove and pored over the drawings, very accurate and quite detailed, committing it all to memory in case they were lost along the way. In spite of the delay, he could not help but appreciate the time to relax and recover from the trip to Tol Eressëa. He had not realized how tense he had been the whole time they were there, especially given what happened along the way. Now, he was relaxed and well rested as was Alagos and the two were ready to depart in high spirits.

Olwë and Lirillë feasted Glorfindel the night before his departure and they made a merry procession to the docks to see him off. Soon the ship, the Ára Liltarë, was passing through the mighty arch and turning to port, heading for the open sea as it made its way north. Glorfindel stood on the poop deck and watched as the city of Alqualondë faded into the blue and when he could no longer see it, he turned his eyes to the north... north to find two people who apparently did not wish to be found... north to find some answers to his questions... north where he never thought he would ever go again....

96: The Quest Begins

Glorfindel spent the better part of the time aboard ship staring relentlessly at the shore, trying to recognize landmarks. At one point when Captain Falastur happened to be standing next to him, he pointed to a particular high rock that looked down upon the shore. They had reached the northern confines of the Guarded Realm, upon the borders of Araman.

“There,” he said, “I am pretty sure that is where the Lord of Mandos met us as we trudged northward and spoke his Doom.”

Falastur gave the ellon a strange look. “You are sure it was he and not some lesser Ainu?”

Glorfindel nodded, his eyes narrowing against the sun glare dancing on the waves. “Yes. When I asked him he admitted it.” He turned to the captain with a wry grin. “Do you think any other could have uttered a Doom against us but the Doomsman of Arda? Though we could not see him clearly, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind who stood there on that rock.”

Falastur shook his head in wonder and disbelief. “I was not born until long after,” he commented. “I simply cannot imagine what it was like for any of you. I have heard the tales of the Kinslaying from those who survived it and even from one or two who did not and have since been reborn.”

“How do the Reborn feel about it?” Glorfindel asked in curiosity.

“Oddly enough, they have no hatred for their slayers,” the captain replied. “They claim that in Mandos they were cleansed of any such need for vengeance as others who survived have felt at times and their deaths were but a... a temporary interruption of their lives.”

Glorfindel nodded. “That is very true,” he said, looking thoughtful. “Yes, a brief interruption and then nothing is the same afterwards.”

The captain, seeing the pensive mood that had fallen upon his passenger, wisely stepped away to see to his ship, leaving Glorfindel alone at the rails, staring out upon the shore, his memories elsewhere and elsewhen.

The Rock of the Doom was now far behind them, already out of sight.

****

Early on the third day, they ran into bad weather and Glorfindel spent the time being thoroughly sick. The storm would not let up and Captain Falastur and his crew had a time securing the ship. The waves towered over the ship and everything got wet. Finally, Falastur ordered his first mate to make for shelter. They had reached a part of the land where there were many coves, both shallow and deep, and they made for one that was close by. Glorfindel didn’t care. He was too sick and too weary from being sick, lying in his bunk and wishing he were dead.

“I think I’m almost glad I ended up walking to Beleriand,” he said to himself when he was more or less conscious again. The ship’s rolling had calmed somewhat and he did not feel so queasy anymore. He struggled out of his cabin and to the deck to see what was happening.

Looking about he saw that the ship was anchored in a deep harbor. Rain still lashed them, but the waves were not as high, being broken by reef and rocks that spanned the entrance into the cove. He stumbled across the deck to where Captain Falastur was standing by the wheel with the first mate. Both sailors gave him grins that were not quite sympathetic to Glorfindel’s mind. The captain reached into a pouch and pulled out a ginger biscuit, handing it to the ellon.

“This may help settle your stomach somewhat, my lord,” he said and Glorfindel took the biscuit gratefully, nibbling on it as he glanced about.

“How long will we stay here?” he asked.

“It depends on the storm,” Falastur answered. “Normally we would simply have ridden it out, but we are close enough to where we planned to let you off that I feared we would overshoot the landing site and most likely we would have had to make for open sea and Lord Ulmo alone knows where we would have ended up.”

“How far do you think we are from the peninsula?” Glorfindel asked. The ginger biscuit seemed to be doing its work for he was feeling more alive and was now sure that he would not be dying any time soon.

“Perhaps a day’s sailing,” the captain replied.

“If I were to travel from here on land, would I recognize it?”

Falastur nodded. “It’s the only sizeable peninsula in the area. There is no way you could mistake it for another.” He gave Glorfindel a considering look. “You mean to leave the ship here?”

Glorfindel nodded. “I think I need to feel firm earth under me and this close will not make the journey that much longer. Do you think I could make the peninsula in a couple of days?”

“Hard to tell,” Falastur admitted. “I have never traveled this way by land, so I cannot say, but certainly it should not take you more than two or three days to reach it.”

“Then, I think I will disembark here,” Glorfindel said, “though I am not sure how we will get my horse off the ship.”

“Do not concern yourself with that, lord,” the captain assured him. “We will manage. If you are determined to leave the ship now then we should wait until the morning. The storm will still be raging but we will have more light to see by.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Thank you, Captain. I appreciate it. And now, if you don’t mind, I think I will go to the galley and see if I can find more ginger biscuits and some tea.”

The captain and first mate gave him wide grins. Falastur called to one of the sailors. “Go to the galley and ask Cook for some ginger biscuits and some tea for our guest,” he ordered and the sailor went off with a salute. Falastur then took Glorfindel’s arm. “Come, friend. Let me see you back to your cabin.”

Glorfindel did not protest and, in fact, he was grateful for the ellon’s assistance. Soon he was ensconced in his bunk, a bag of ginger biscuits by his side and a steaming pot of tea on the little table next to the bunk. Not long afterwards he was fast asleep and did not waken again until the next morning.

****

As predicted, the storm still continued though it seemed to be abating somewhat for the waves inside the harbor were not as tall as they had been earlier. Rain still fell but more gently and the daylight helped with seeing what had to be done. Getting a horse off a ship where there is no place to dock proved an interesting exercise in logistics. Captain Falastur explained to Glorfindel what they planned. “Since I knew there would be no place along the peninsula where we could come directly to shore, I had my crew construct this raft.”

He pointed to where several of the crew were lashing some planks together to form a raft. There were rails on three sides but the fourth was open. Glorfindel could see that the raft was large enough for a horse and at least two or three people. Captain Falastur ordered the ship as close to the shore as possible, then had the raft lowered. Alagos was brought on deck and Glorfindel thought he didn’t look much better than he himself felt and he suspected the horse was more than ready to be back on land. He watched with interest as the crew brought out a harness and slipped it around the horse (Glorfindel had to speak softly to his steed, assuring him that all was well), then they attached the harness to ropes and a winch and began hauling the horse up and over the side of the ship and lowering him to the raft. Glorfindel was already on the raft to greet Alagos and keep him calm. Then all his supplies were lowered. Two sailors manned poles and the raft was released from its moorings. Glorfindel gave the ship a cheery wave and a shout of thanks and there were many calls from the crew wishing him luck.

The trip to the shore did not take long, though the waves washing over the deck of the raft made things rather wet for all of them and the water was cold, but in a space of about ten minutes the sailors grounded the raft on the beach, moving the raft so the open side was facing the shore. It took only a couple of minutes to get the horse off and all Glorfindel’s supplies and then the raft was back in the water, heading for the ship. Glorfindel watched until he saw the sailors back on board, then gave them another wave and headed north along the shoreline, walking rather than riding with Alagos following him. It was now nearly noon.

“I do not think we will go too far today, Alagos,” Glorfindel said. “I just want to go far enough to get my land legs back.” Alagos snorted in agreement.

They rounded the headland, leaving the cove and the ship behind. Before them Glorfindel saw a long stretch of beach which was more open to the sea and the storm still raging. Waves pounded the shore and they had to make their way along a narrow strip of gravel before they could reach sand. Glorfindel looked about, hoping to find some sort of shelter but the land was mostly dunes and there were few trees, though there were plenty of shrubs and stiff looking grasses.

“I really do not remember any of this,” he said out loud. “I cannot remember if we traveled inland for a time or if we kept to the shoreline. I guess it hardly matters now.” He huddled deeper into his cloak, pulling the hood further forward. “Come, Alagos. Let’s keep moving and perhaps we will find some rocks or something in which to shelter. I hope this storm dies down soon or it’s going to be a very wet journey.”

Alagos deigned not to answer.

The going was slow as they trudged over wet sand but after about three hours they eventually came to a small copse of scraggly looking fir trees that huddled against the wind about a hundred yards or so from the shore. Glorfindel made for them and soon they were in their midst. By now, much to the relief of both the ellon and the horse, the rain had let up and there were actual breaks in the clouds with the sun peeping through, though it was still none too warm. Rummaging in his bags for something to eat, Glorfindel found a small bundle of sticks wrapped in oiled cloth and realized that they must have come from the galley’s stores. He silently thanked Captain Falastur for the gift and set about making a fire, hoping to dry out a bit before moving on. He let Alagos fend for himself while he hunched over the small fire and chewed on some waybread and an apple, washing it all down with a cup of tea.

In spite of the slow going and the rain, Glorfindel felt he had made the right decision to leave the ship when he did. He felt better with solid earth beneath him and until he had left the ship he did not feel as if he were truly on his quest in search of Eärendil. He hoped that when he did find him that some of his nagging questions would be answered. He wondered if he should continue on or remain where he was for the rest of the day and rest. His seasickness had left him feeling weak and he was tired. Alagos was happily munching on the stiff grass and now that he was warmer and drier, the thought of moving on did not appeal to him. He decided to spend the night where he was, for he could not depend on finding shelter if he continued. So, he collected some semi-dry branches that had fallen from the trees and placed them near the fire before stretching out, watching the waves hit the beach and thinking of his road and what he hoped to find at the end of it. The shursh-shush sound of the surf was mesmerizing and somewhere along the way, he fell asleep.

****

Water dripping off the ends of the pine needles above him and onto his face woke Glorfindel and he cursed the rain that was falling again. It was still light out, but the light was dim behind storm-grey clouds. And while he could not see the sun, Glorfindel’s time sense told him that there was perhaps another hour, no more, before the sun set. He scrambled to protect the fire which was sputtering and threatening to go out and as he worked to keep it going, he glanced around to see where his horse was. He was relieved to see that Alagos was standing a few feet away under one of the other trees, his back to the wind. Looking out towards the ocean he saw that the water was closer than it had been earlier and realized that the tide had been coming in while he slept.

The rain, at least, was not heavy, more of a drizzle, but it was still annoying. What concerned Glorfindel was that the storm that must be raging further out to sea would come inland and drive the surf past the high water mark. He was not sure just how safe he and Alagos were among the trees. His knowledge of the sea was negligible and he really had no idea. He cast around to see where he might relocate his camp if the need arose and saw something that in his tiredness earlier he had not noticed: further up the coast, perhaps about a half mile away, the land which had remained relatively flat now rose into a series of low hills that stretched to the northwest, forming a barrier. The sea at high tide came almost to the foot of the nearer hills where they came down towards the coast, and he knew that he would have to wait for low tide before continuing around them.

He had a sudden memory of climbing over such hills and remembered that at the time the sea had come up further onto the shore, lapping against the nearer hills so that it was impossible for them to stay along the coast. They had to make their way through the hills, sometimes losing sight of Fëanor’s ships, which had not pleased Ñolofinwë or his sons. He recalled being sent as one of the scouts to climb to the top of the hills to keep an eye on the ships while the rest of the host made its way through the narrow valleys until they had gotten to the other side of the barrier and could again march along the shore.

If he remembered aright, it was no great distance to pass through them, but it was tedious for the valleys between the hills were narrow and steep, more like ravines than true valleys and some dead-ended so one was forced to backtrack. In the darkness with only starlight to guide them, even the scouts could not always see if a valley continued or not until it was too late. It had taken some time to get everyone through them and Ñolofinwë had chafed at the delay, fearing that his brother would not stay near them but sail on while they were still looking for a way through the hills. That fear was unfounded, at least, Glorfindel thought to himself grimly, at that time. Later, though....

He shook his head to clear it of dark thoughts and wondered if he should make for the hills while there was still enough light to see by. The hills themselves were treeless though there were plenty of shrubs that he could use to form a rough shelter. He did not intend to climb through the hills, but hoped that with low tide he would be able to continue around them, keeping to the shore road.

Even as he was just making up his mind to douse the fire and make for the hills, Alagos lifted his head and whinnied, alerting Glorfindel. “What is it?” he asked but the answer came almost immediately for he heard an indistinct shout coming from somewhere. He moved out from under the trees to get a better look. Another shout came and he looked seaward and saw a small boat with a single mast, its sail nearly in shreds, bobbing on the ocean waves which crashed over it, and Glorfindel knew that it would not be long before the boat was swamped completely. Movement on the boat caught his attention and he saw someone waving and then there was the sound of barking and he could see a dog leaning over the side of the boat as if ready to jump. It was obvious that whoever was on the boat was in danger of being drowned.

Without thinking about it he pulled off his boots even as he started running into the surf, struggling to reach the boat. It was a foolish thing to do, for he was not a good swimmer (the Maiar had taught him the rudiments of swimming while he was training with them in Oromë’s Forest) and he was as much in danger of drowning as those on the beleaguered boat. When he reached them and was clinging to the side he could see that the single passenger was an ellon with the silver hair of the Teleri and the dog was a wolfhound.

“Are you daft?” the ellon shouted at him. “Whatever possessed you to risk your fool neck by coming out here?”

“I thought I was rescuing you!” Glorfindel shouted back.

“Rescuing me?” the ellon exclaimed with disgust. “If anything, I’ll be rescuing you by the looks of it. Here, climb in.” With that the ellon reached over and with surprising strength pulled Glorfindel into the boat, leaving him sprawled a bit. The hound greeted him with a lick or two on his face as he tried to sit up.

“Stay where you are,” the Teler commanded as he sat at the tiller. “You’re rocking the boat.”

“I’m rocking the boat?” Glorfindel protested. “This whole thing is about to go under the waves permanently and you’re complaining that I’m rocking the boat?”

The other ellon flashed him a smile but did not say anything more. Now that he was sitting in the boat Glorfindel felt himself getting seasick as the little craft rocked back and forth and up and down through the breakers, the waves crashing over them, making it almost impossible to see the shore. He groaned and hunched himself up, hoping he would not be sick, thus embarrassing himself even further.

“We’re almost there,” the Teler shouted. “Just hang on a little longer. You can be sick all you want when we land, but not before.”

Glorfindel tried to come up with a retort, but a wave washed over him and he closed his eyes and hoped that Lord Námo wouldn't be too angry with him for drowning. Then, the boat gave a lurch and there was the crunch of the keel hitting the sand. At once the Teler jumped out and grabbed hold of the boat and pulled it up to the beach and Glorfindel sighed with relief that there was no more movement. The wolfhound licked his face again, as if to assure him that all was well now and then he felt himself being lifted out of the boat like a baby. Before he could protest, he was planted on his feet, though his knees felt so wobbly that he fell to the ground and was thoroughly sick.

His misery knew no bounds but at last the spasms ended and he actually felt much better. He scooped wet sand over the mess and then stumbled to his feet to see where the other ellon and his hound had gotten themselves. The Teler was fishing some supplies out of the boat and bringing them above the waterline. He flashed Glorfindel a smile.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

Glorfindel nodded. “Sorry,” he said, feeling he should apologize but not entirely sure why.

The ellon shrugged the apology away. “So do you have a camp?” he enquired. “Somewhere nice and dry, I hope.”

Glorfindel pointed to the right where the trees were. “Just there,” he replied. “I am afraid it’s not all that dry but it’s probably drier.”

“Well, we’ll just have to make do then, won’t we?” the Teler said as he slung a haversack over his shoulders and grabbed a fishing rod. “My name is Mánatamir, by the way, and that oversized puppy is Cundu.”

“Glorfindel,” the Noldo said. “An appropriate name for such a handsome creature.”

The creature in question did not look too handsome at the moment, looking more like a dirty wet rag, but Mánatamir just smiled. “That he is, or he will be once he’s dried out. So, do we stand here all night or....”

“Sorry,” Glorfindel said in chagrin. “Here, let me give you a hand.” He took hold of the fishing rod and another small haversack and led the way back into the trees. The fire had gone out in the meantime and he had trouble getting it relit, cursing under his breath. Alagos eyed the stranger placidly enough but snorted in contempt when he spied the hound. Mánatamir had to speak sharply to Cundu, ordering him to keep away from the horse. The hound, surprisingly, obeyed at once, much to Glorfindel’s and Alagos’ relief.

“Here, I think I can do a better job of getting this fire going,” Mánatamir said as he crouched down beside Glorfindel. “I’m an old hand at getting fires started in inclement weather. Why don’t you see to dinner? I don’t know about you but I’m starved.”

Glorfindel nodded and began rummaging in his own packs wondering if he had enough to feed two people. He had not brought too much provender for he meant to hunt knowing that there would be some game along the way. As if the Teler could read his mind, Mánatamir looked up and gestured with his chin at the haversack that Glorfindel had carried. “There should be some victuals in that if it didn’t get all wet. Let’s see what can be eaten and what’s not fit for anyone but the fishes.”

As it turned out, the stranger’s food was well wrapped in oiled cloths and quite dry. In a matter of minutes, Mánatamir had a fine fire blazing (Glorfindel had not seen how he had done it) and soon they were both munching on a couple of meat pies (Mánatamir shared his with Cundu) and drinking hot tea. By now the rain had stopped again and the clouds were breaking up to reveal Isil riding the heavens, casting a silvery light upon them.

Mánatamir glanced up through the tree branches at the sight and smiled. “Ah, Tilion, my old friend. It is good to see you again.”

“You know him?” Glorfindel couldn’t help asking.

“In a sense,” the Teler answered, “or rather, I should say, I like to think I know him. He has often been my sole companion, save for Cundu here, on lonely sea voyages.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Where were you headed?” he asked.

“Home,” Mánatamir answered and Glorfindel assumed he meant Alqualondë. “I was doing quite well and figured I would make it before the worst of the winter storms began, but I miscalculated or Ossë decided to make my life miserable. Either way, I decided I needed to get to shore before I drowned.”

“I thought you needed help when I heard you shouting and saw you waving,” Glorfindel said with a rueful sigh.

“And I appreciate the gesture, but I had shouted to let you know I was coming in, not because I was in need of assistance. I thought you would just wait on the shore for me and help me get the boat up the beach. I didn’t expect you to swim out. That was foolish and very dangerous. The undertow could have swept you away and not even Lord Ulmo would have been able to save you.”

There was little that Glorfindel could say to that so he kept silent, quietly sipping his tea and enjoying the warmth of the fire. Mánatamir gave him an enquiring look. “Not to be rude, but what are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“I’m on a quest,” Glorfindel answered.

“A quest, is it?” Mánatamir retorted with a raised eyebrow. “And what sort of quest are you on?”

“I am looking for someone,” Glorfindel replied, not willing to explain everything to this stranger just yet.

“Hmmm.... that narrows it down considerably,” was the Teler’s response.

“What do you mean?” Glorfindel asked in surprise. It had been the last thing he had expected to hear from the other ellon.

“Oh, well, I only meant that there are so many reasons why people go on quests,” Mánatamir explained. “Looking for someone is just one reason. So was this something that was enjoined upon you or are you taking up this quest on your own initiative?”

“To tell you the truth, I really don’t know,” Glorfindel answered. “There is a mystery I must solve for my own satisfaction, if no one else’s. No one has said, ‘Go on this quest’, yet there is something within me that says that I will find no peace until I have found some answers.”

“Then it is the prompting of your heart that brings you to this desolate place,” Mánatamir said with a nod.

“I suppose it is,” Glorfindel averred. He gave the ellon a mischievous grin. “Not to be rude, but just what are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

Mánatamir laughed. “Fair enough. I suppose you can say that I am a wanderer. I do not like staying in one place for very long, and I enjoy exploring new lands. I have been sailing through the Shadowy Sea, exploring the islands. But with winter coming on I decided I preferred to be elsewhere and was heading back home.”

“So you will be heading on in the morning,” Glorfindel said.

“You mean with the boat?” Mánatamir asked and at Glorfindel’s nod he shook his head. “That boat’s not going anywhere. You were too sick to notice and with all the water washing over us you didn’t see the nice little hole where I ran into some underwater rocks just as I was making my way here. Even without the hole, that sail is beyond repair and I have nothing with which to make repairs anyway. So, it looks as if it’s going to be a very long walk back.”

“Unless you come with me,” Glorfindel said impulsively.

Mánatamir raised an eyebrow. “And just where is that exactly?”

“I am looking for Lady Elwing’s Tower,” Glorfindel answered. “I was told it was somewhere in this area.”

“Hmmm.... I remember seeing it once but I was far out to sea at the time and I never came to it. Still, if you don’t mind the company....” Glorfindel shook his head. “Then Cundu and I accept your offer.”

“Where did you get him?” Glorfindel asked, gesturing with his chin at the hound who lay at Mánatamir’s feet. Now that he was dried out a bit, Glorfindel admired the hound’s glossy white fur and intelligent-looking eyes.

“A gift from Lord Oromë,” the Teler answered. “He said that one should always have a faithful companion when one is on a long and lonely journey. I suppose your horse serves the same purpose as Cundu here.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Yes. Alagos is quite faithful.”

“A strange name,” Mánatamir said, “as is yours though I do not mean to insult you or your horse.”

“No insult,” Glorfindel said. “Alagos means ‘windstorm’. Both our names are Sindarin, the language spoken among the elves of Endórë. I used to live there.”

“Ah.... well that would explain it.”

For a long moment neither spoke, merely enjoying the warmth of the fire and even the warmth of companionship. Finally, Glorfindel stirred. “Why don’t you sleep?” he suggested. “I will take first watch.”

“Do you really think we need to keep watches?” the Teler enquired in surprise.

“We are alone in the wilderness and I do not know what dangers there might be,” Glorfindel said. “I will wake you in about five hours.”

Mánatamir nodded and settled down with his head leaning against Cundu’s side and soon master and hound were both fast asleep. Glorfindel added another branch to the fire and poured himself some more tea, all the while contemplating many things, not the least of which was his new companion and wondering what his real story was.

****

Words are Quenya.

Mánatamir: ‘Blessed heirloom’.

Cundu: ‘Prince’. According to Tolkien, this is a poetic or archaic form.

On Mánatamir’s advice, they did not set off immediately the next morning but remained where they were for a couple of days. The storm had moved on to the south and the sky was now a brilliant blue and the sun was warm. Exploring the area a bit more they found a small spring running out of the hills and they spent the time rinsing the salt out of their clothes and drying everything that had gotten wet. Mánatamir examined the boat and decided that it was not good for anything but kindling.

“We’re not likely to find too many trees further north,” he said, “so if I may borrow your axe I’ll chop up some of this wood and we’ll dry it out before we set off.”

Glorfindel lent him the axe while he grabbed his bow and quiver and set out to do some hunting. He was in luck, for he came across the spoor of a large deer-like creature that he remembered hunting during the march North and following the trail he came across a herd of the red-furred creatures and was able to bring one down. When he returned to the camp he found that Mánatamir had also been busy. The tide had gone out and he had scoured the tidal pools for crabs and fish that had become trapped. He also found clams and between the two of them they had a fine meal, smoking the rest of the meat and fish for the journey.

At Glorfindel’s suggestion they waited for the tide to start going out so they could go around the hills rather than through them, for Glorfindel had warned Mánatamir that it would probably take longer to find a way through the hills rather than to go around them. So, it was mid-afternoon two days later when they set off.

“We’ll go on until just before sunset, unless we find a suitable place to shelter beforehand,” Glorfindel suggested as they made their way along the beach, “and then set off early tomorrow morning.”

Mánatamir nodded as he threw a piece of driftwood for Cundu to catch, the hound racing down the beach for all he was worth, yapping happily. They came to the headland where the hills met the sea and found they had to go further out than they were expecting before they found smooth sand, for closer to the shore their way was hindered by great slabs of rock all in a jumble and Alagos could not climb over them, though Cundu found it great sport to jump up on one slab and then jump back down into a tidal pool, splashing everyone. Mánatamir had to scold him quite fiercely before he stopped his game and came to walk beside his master, looking sad with his tail drooping. Glorfindel almost felt sorry for the hound but he appreciated not getting any wetter than he had to be.

On the other side of the barrier of hills they found themselves in a small cove and in fact, they discovered a series of small coves one after the other. Some were rather shallow, barely justifying calling them coves at all, while others were quite deep and would have provided good harborage. When Mánatamir pressed Glorfindel for details about how he meant to find Elwing’s Tower, the ellon told him about the peninsula where he had meant to disembark from the ship that had brought him this far and he showed him the description of the cove where the tower was located which Telemnambo had written out for him.

“I know the peninsula of which you speak,” Mánatamir said. “Your Captain Falastur is correct. There is no mistaking it for anything else. If I am not out of all reckoning as to where we are, we should reach the peninsula in two or three days.”

“That is what Captain Falastur told me,” Glorfindel said. “Elwing’s Tower is about fifty miles or so further north from there as best as Falastur could guess.”

“It is a good thing you have such a detailed description of the cove from a landsman’s point of view,” the Teler said, “for I have only seen that particular cove once and I was well out to sea. But really, I don’t think we’ll have too much difficulty finding it. After all, how many white towers can there be?”

The ellon laughed and Glorfindel joined him. He had felt the same way, but was taking no chances. It could well be that the cove was hidden in some manner by the power of the Valar, if Eärendil and Elwing had requested such aid from them to preserve their privacy from curiosity seekers. Why else would the ship’s crew and the stonemasons be blindfolded and brought to the cove by Maiar?

“Well, let us reach the peninsula first,” Glorfindel said, “and then we’ll see. I think if the weather holds we might camp there for a couple of days and do some hunting and fishing before moving on.”

So they continued on. They traversed three coves before they decided to stop for the night. When they reached the fourth cove, they found that it was deeper than the others with high cliffs on three sides, although the north side was much lower than the west or south sides. What attracted them to the place was the fact that there were trees, firs mostly, and a jumble of rocks along the west face of the cliffs where a rockslide had occurred sometime in the distant past and where they decided to set up camp. Best of all, they discovered a fresh-water spring in the midst of the rockfall.

“We won’t be able to leave here until the tide turns again,” Mánatamir said. “Which means we will waste most of the daylight again tomorrow.”

“Unless we leave the shore altogether and move inland,” Glorfindel suggested. “I recall that after we passed through the hill barrier we stayed further inland, walking the perimeter of the coves rather than along the shore itself.”

“That is a possibility,” Mánatamir averred, “but we will have to wait until we find a place where we can climb up, especially Alagos, and that may not be any time soon. Perhaps we should have gone through the hills instead.”

Glorfindel shrugged. “It matters not. After all, I have twelve years in which to find Elwing’s Tower, so I do not care if it takes me a day or two longer to reach it by going along the shore.”

“Surely you do not expect to take that long to find it?” Mánatamir demanded, giving him a disbelieving look.

Glorfindel laughed. “No. Not at all. It’s just that I promised my otorno that I would be at his wedding twelve years hence on Midsummer’s Day.”

“Twelve years!” the Teler exclaimed, giving a low whistle. “That’s a very long betrothal.”

Glorfindel shrugged. “I remember when betrothals were nearly as long during the time of the Trees when we counted the years as the Valar did.”

“Long before my time, I’m afraid,” Mánatamir said, then called out to Cundu to come back, for the hound was racing down the beach and the ellon did not want his four-footed companion to wander too far.

They spent the rest of the evening relaxing. Mánatamir put together a fine fresh fish stew with mussels and oysters. Glorfindel contributed some small potatoes and a carrot from his own supplies. “We’ll save the smoked meat and fish for when we really need it,” Mánatamir said.

Glorfindel agreed and set about refilling their waterskins while Mánatamir fussed with the stew.

The next day they spent much of the morning wandering around the cove, exploring it. It was larger than most of those they had already traveled through and Glorfindel happened upon a cutting along the northwest side of the cliffs which rose up to the top of the cliff almost like a path. He showed it to Mánatamir.

“Alagos could climb this if care is taken,” he said to the Teler who looked at him skeptically.

“A stiff climb even for us,” Mánatamir opined. “I’m not sure I would want to risk taking a horse up it.”

“Yet, the alternative is to sit here until the tide goes out before we leave,” Glorfindel pointed out. “This way, we move on that much sooner.”

“I thought you were not in any hurry,” Mánatamir said, giving Glorfindel a shrewd look.

“I’m not!” Glorfindel protested. “At least, not that much,” he amended, “but we both agree that traveling away from the shore might be quicker, don’t we?”

“The operative word being ‘might’, of course,” the Teler retorted. “Well, it’s your horse. I’m game if you are. Let’s break camp and give it a try. If it doesn’t work, we’ll just wait for the tide to go out and hope that on the other side of the headland we can find a way inland.”

They quickly went back to the camp and calling Alagos and Cundu, the two ellyn were soon returning to the cleft. It was decided that Glorfindel would go first with the horse, for if it proved too difficult for Alagos, Mánatamir would not waste his energy climbing for nothing. At first, Alagos was not too pleased with the route they were taking and balked somewhat but Glorfindel was able to soothe him and convince him to follow, being careful to keep an eye on the ground, kicking away stones and loose scree that might prove troublesome to his steed.

It was a slow climb and once or twice Alagos simply stopped and refused to go further. Mánatamir had to climb up behind the horse and give him an encouraging push while Glorfindel urged him forward. Yet, at last, they came to the top of the cliff and both ellyn breathed sighs of relief.

“Well, I guess that just shows how much I know about horses,” Mánatamir admitted and Glorfindel grinned as the two looked around. Below them they saw their cove and the ones on either side and were glad that they had risked the cleft, for the cove they would have come to next had no beach to speak of. Instead, the cliffs came directly down to the water and there was no telling how deep the harbor was.

“I doubt if all the water leaves with the tide,” Mánatamir opined. “See where the water in these two other coves is already pulling back?”

It was true, the cove they had just left was now half empty of water and the beach now extended some feet further east. This was not the case with the other cove and Glorfindel wondered just how far the water normally would come up the cliffs at high tide.

Then, they turned their attention to the west and north. The land here was desolate and treeless. The ground was covered with stiff grass and low shrubs and little else. A wind blew from the northwest, cold and smelling of snow, though Glorfindel thought it was too early yet for snow to fall even this far north beyond Aman.

“Come on,” he said, wrapping his cloak tight around him, “the sooner we move the warmer we’ll be.”

Mánatamir nodded, giving a whistle for Cundu who had been nosing around a clump of low bushes.

They made camp early, finding a small dip in the land that afforded them some shelter from the wind that seemed constant. They had debated about going down to a cove but decided that it was too much bother. So, they made the best of it, burning a bright fire that cheered them, using up some of the deer meat for their supper. Afterwards they sipped some tea while Cundu gnawed on a bone and Alagos contented himself with the grass.

“I think we might reach the peninsula sometime tomorrow,” Glorfindel ventured, sounding perhaps more confident than he had any right to be, but Mánatamir merely nodded.

“If the weather holds perhaps we will reach the Tower inside a week,” Glorfindel said.

“If the weather holds and naught else delays us,” Mánatamir replied with a nod, fondly patting Cundu on the head and giving him a smile. The hound snuffled a bit and went back to his bone.

The two elves sat up for a time as the evening deepened, watching the stars wheel across the sky in their stately pavane. Then, Mánatamir took the first watch while Glorfindel stretched out beside the fire and fell asleep almost immediately.

“There it is,” Glorfindel said, pointing to his right. “That must be the peninsula.”

They had been traveling for most of the day and it was now late afternoon. The sun was still high in the sky, for it was only the twenty-eighth of Cermië and the days were still long though growing shorter with Yávië a week and a half away. They saw a long spit of land going out into the sea, perhaps a good half mile. At its widest, though, it was probably less than a quarter of a mile. There was no beach; the peninsula was a high headland with cliffs that met the sea. Only where its southern coast joined with the mainland was there a decent harborage and Glorfindel suspected that this is where the Maiar waited for Captain Falastur’s ship. Like the rest of the land around them, the peninsula was bare of trees, but some stunted pines were clinging to the slope of the cove and it turned out that there was an actual path leading to the beach below them.

“I wonder why this path is here?” Glorfindel said as they made their way down the path. “I cannot imagine anyone needing it. Certainly not the Maiar and from what Captain Falastur told me, no one on the ship ever came ashore here.”

Mánatamir shrugged. “Maybe they knew we were coming and decided to make things easy for us.”

Glorfindel snorted in good humor. “Well, I won’t turn my nose up at the gift, but all the same, I would feel less uneasy about it if there hadn’t been an actual path.”

“So, do we remain here for a day or three as we had planned?” Mánatamir asked as they reached the beach.

“If we can find a fresh water source, I think it would be a good idea,” Glorfindel said. “I would like to do some hunting anyway. I have seen spoors of an animal I do not recognize but from the tracks they appear to be a goodly size. One or two will give us plenty of meat.”

“And I can do the fishing,” Mánatamir said. “In fact, I think I will do some now. Why don’t you look to see if there are any springs in the area? Those low hills over to the west look promising.”

Glorfindel nodded and taking all their water skins, he and Alagos headed back up the path and made their way westward towards a series of low hills. He was in luck, for the land around him began to get boggy and soon he found a spring bubbling up from the ground, forming a pool that seeped away in all directions. The water was sweet and he allowed Alagos to drink first before filling the skins.

While waiting for the horse to finish drinking, he cast his eyes about. The landscape had not changed much since he had last come this way. They were still well south of the true tundra but this area was rather bleak and the wind was nearly constant. He frowned, for it seemed that a shadow of a threat passed over his eyes and the sun seemed suddenly dim. He shook his head and blinked several times before the feeling went away. He wasn’t sure what it meant and was about to draw his bow just in case when Alagos snorted and stepped away from the pool to munch on some grass, so he applied himself to the task of filling the skins. By the time he finished, he had forgotten his earlier misgivings and happily made his way back to the beach where he found that Mánatamir had already gotten a nice fire going and was busy gutting half a dozen fish for the pot that was boiling over the fire.

“Tomorrow, I will see what I can find for the pot,” Glorfindel said as he scooped up some of the fish stew into his bowl when it was finally ready. “And I think I will scout northward a bit and see what the land is like. I have only the vaguest memories of coming this way before and it was under constant starlight. It looks different under the light of the sun and I do not trust my memory overmuch.”

“I know that there are coves and also some islands further north,” Mánatamir said, “but I have never fully explored them so I cannot tell you much. Your Captain Falastur was sure that Elwing’s Tower lay within fifty miles of this peninsula?”

“So he said,” Glorfindel averred. “He based the calculation on the fact that it always took them twelve hours going at a constant speed of four knots, more or less, to reach the cove where they were building the tower.”

“That sounds about right, then,” Mánatamir said with a nod. “In which case, we should reach it in three or four days.”

“That is my calculation as well,” Glorfindel replied, “though I have to wonder just how easy it will be to find it even so.”

“Do you not think it strange that those working on the Tower were brought blindfolded to the site, that Maiar had to guide them in? Something tells me that there is more to it than a simple wish for privacy on Eärendil and Elwing’s part.”

Mánatamir shrugged. “I suppose we will find out one way or the other soon enough,” he opined and Glorfindel nodded in full agreement.

Once they were done with supper they went about cleaning up in companionable silence, with Glorfindel washing and Mánatamir drying. Then they put the kettle over the fire and waited for the water to boil to make tea. It had become a part of their routine whenever they made camp, ending the day with a pot of tea, talking of inconsequential things, sharing something of their lives with one another. Glorfindel eventually told Mánatamir about his dream or vision concerning Vingilot and what followed from that. It intrigued the Teler though he could offer no reasons why Glorfindel was unable to see Eärendil’s Star. It had now become the morning star and every day Glorfindel would stare eastward straining to see it, half disbelieving that it was even there though Mánatamir assured him that it was. It was Glorfindel’s fervent hope that once he had met Eärendil face-to-face that he would then be able to see the Star.

At any rate, they ended the evening as they always did, drinking tea and talking. That night it was Mánatamir’s turn to take the first watch so Glorfindel settled down soon after finishing his tea, staring up into the night sky. As he did every night, he wondered what Finrod and his other friends were doing and if they missed him as much as he was beginning to miss them. He was glad for Mánatamir’s company, for he realized that had the ellon not shown up when he did, his journey would have been much lonelier. He glanced over to where Mánatamir was sitting beside Cundu, gently stroking the hound’s head, softly humming a sea chanty to himself. The Teler, perhaps feeling Glorfindel’s gaze on him, looked up and smiled at him without ceasing his song. Glorfindel smiled back and then allowed his eyes to unfocus as he slipped onto the Path of Dreams.

28 Cermië: 2 August of the Gregorian calendar. The Royal Progress took fifteen days, arriving in Tavrobel on 24 Nárië (3 July) and leaving from the same port on the night of 12 Cermië (17 July). Glorfindel, therefore, arrived in Alqualondë on 13 Cermië and left the city on 20 Cermië (25 July). He met Mánatamir on 23 Cermië.

An hour before dawn, Glorfindel was ready to leave for his hunt. He stoked up the fire and put the kettle on. Mánatamir was stirring and promised to have breakfast ready for when he returned. Glorfindel grabbed his bow and quiver and moved up the path to the top of the cliff and headed back towards the spring, thinking that it would be the logical place for any animals in the area to congregate for their dawn drink. He wished there was better cover around the pool but had to content himself with keeping downwind, which meant staying southeast of the pool. He hoped that if the animals could not smell him and having no experience of being hunted they would not flee before he could get near them.

He found a hummock of turf and low bushes that was near enough to the pool that he might be able to shoot without fear of missing. He crept up the side and positioned himself behind the bushes, his view partially obscured but not so much that he could not see the pool in the pearly grey of the predawn light.

And then he waited, praying that wherever the animals were that none would be coming up from behind him.

The sky lightened to true dawn and there was no sign of any animals, neither small rodents nor deer or even birds. It suddenly occurred to him that he had seen no birds, not even gulls, since he and Mánatamir had begun the trek north. He had not thought of it before, but now their absence, especially with such a clear water source, was telling. The spoors of the unknown animal he had found the day before were evidence that something lived here, yet where remained the question. He supposed he could look for fresh spoors and track them down, but he was reluctant to hunt an unknown and potentially dangerous creature without knowing something about it.

He sighed and waited until Anar was well above the eastern horizon before he gave up and returned to the camp empty-handed. Mánatamir took his failure with good grace.

Glorfindel just shrugged, feeling deflated. He had wanted to contribute to their food supply and now it seemed that Mánatamir’s fishing skills would have to see them through.

The absence of the expected animals seemed to be the beginning of their troubles. They had meant to remain in the area for a couple of days and do some serious hunting, but now.... Glorfindel suggested they stay at least one day. “Perhaps these creatures only come to the pool in the evening. We didn’t go and check last night and the pool is far enough away that Alagos and Cundu might not have sensed them.”

Mánatamir nodded. “Perhaps,” he said, but Glorfindel could tell he was not convinced, and in truth, neither was he.

When the tide went out, he helped to find crabs and mussels and clams while Mánatamir fished. Then they set about smoking their catch, putting aside some for the evening meal. “I think I am going to be heartily sick of seafood before long,” Glorfindel opined as he threw some seaweed into the pot. The first time Mánatamir had added seaweed to a stew, Glorfindel had balked, but he had to admit that once he tried it he found that he liked it, for it added flavor to the stew that it otherwise would not have.

Mánatamir just grinned. “I am sure that we won’t be eating nothing but fish until we reach the Tower, but even so, I think we will be grateful that we have anything to eat. I would think that food sources would be even scarcer to find the further north we go.”

“At least we know we are only within a few days of reaching the Tower,” Glorfindel stated. “So I guess I can live with fish for breakfast, lunch and dinner for that length of time.”

“It’s a good thing then that I came along,” the Teler said, “else you would likely have starved before this.”

Glorfindel deigned not to answer, but secretly he could not help but agree. He still was not sure about his companion, but he was glad for him nonetheless. During the day he and Mánatamir took turns climbing the cliff to check the land and explore the peninsula, but there was no sign of any animals. Glorfindel remarked to Mánatamir about the absence of birds and the Teler nodded, saying that it was odd, for they were not so far north that seabirds especially would not find this land to their liking.

“I have no answers for you, my friend,” Mánatamir said. “Yet, is it not said that the Lady Elwing is able to change into a beautiful white bird? Perhaps all the birds in the area abide with her.”

As to that Glorfindel could not say but it was worth thinking about. Near sunset, he again set out for the pool with his bow, hoping that the animals would be there. He went to the same hummock and waited. Anar was setting behind the western hills where he noticed some clouds gathering on the horizon. There was the scent of snow in the air but he did not think much about it. It was, after all, the height of summer. He decided he was simply smelling the wind which blew down from the northwest off the ice fields further on. The first stars were peeping out before he gave up and went back to the camp in disgust.

“There is no reason to remain here,” he said with a snarl as he plopped down beside the fire. “We might as well move on and hope we come across the animals further north.”

“So be it,” Mánatamir said, and his tone was one that made his words seem ominous to Glorfindel and he found himself shivering for no particular reason. Then the Teler’s mood shifted and he gave the Noldo a bright smile. “But come, let us enjoy this wonderful stew and forget about our road for the nonce. Look!” he pointed up and Glorfindel raised his eyes just in time to see several shooting stars arc across the sky. He gasped in surprise and delight and his own mood lightened as he gazed upon Varda’s handiwork while eating the stew, which was indeed very good.

“I don’t believe this!” Glorfindel shouted as he felt the first flakes on his face. It had been his turn to take first watch and he had noticed the stars to the west disappearing behind cloud cover and hoped that it would not rain. Snow was the last thing he was expecting.

His shout brought Mánatamir out of a sound sleep, the Teler nearly leaping up, his eyes wide as he glanced around, perhaps expecting something to be attacking them. It was only when he felt the flakes on his own face that he realized why Glorfindel had shouted.

“Snow!” he said unnecessarily. “It’s too early and surely we’re not that far north.”

Glorfindel shrugged and snarled an oath that the other could not quite make out as he scrambled to pull out a blanket from their pile of bags and throw it over Alagos. “It matters not. It’s snowing and if it continues it will slow us down.”

“I better build up the fire,” Mánatamir said and set about bringing the fire to a bright blaze. They were camped close to the cliff-face where the fir trees grew so they were somewhat under shelter. “We can only hope that this will prove to be a light dusting and by noon tomorrow it will have disappeared.”

Glorfindel did not bother to answer, grabbing his cloak to put around him and pulling up the hood and throwing Mánatamir’s cloak to him. Cundu, in typical dog fashion, decided that it would be good sport to run about trying to catch the snowflakes coming down, barking with delight at the game. Mánatamir had a time trying to get him to stop and come back to the fire.

In spite of the situation Glorfindel couldn’t help smiling at his friend’s grousing, knowing that Mánatamir loved the wolfhound dearly and that the hound returned his love.

Unfortunately, their hope that the snow would stop soon proved vain. If anything, the snowfall only increased as the night wore on and they had a time keeping the fire going, gathering as much deadfall as they could find and covering it with a blanket to keep it dry. By the time dawn came, a pewter-grey dawn that saw no sun, they were both thoroughly miserable. Even Cundu had ceased his play and now lay near his master while Mánatamir periodically brushed the snow off the hound’s back.

When it was light enough that it was apparent that somewhere behind the snow clouds Anar had climbed above the horizon, Glorfindel stood and, brushing the snow off his cloak, began shoving their supplies into haversacks.

“What are you doing?” Mánatamir asked. “You do not mean to travel in this, do you?”

“Yes,” Glorfindel said shortly, not stopping nor did he bother to give his companion a glance.

“Wait?” Glorfindel snarled, turning to Mánatamir. “Wait for what? Wait for the snow to stop? How long? No. I’m going on. You may do as you please.”

“NO!” Glorfindel shouted, suddenly furious, furious at the snow, at the lack of game, at himself for even being there, at everything. “You think this is anything?” he sneered, gesturing at the snow falling. By now there was at least a foot of the white stuff blanketing everything around them. “I crossed the Helcaraxë,” he continued. “I will not let this deter me. Stay here or go back to Alqualondë. It matters not to me, but Alagos and I go on.”

For a tense moment the two ellyn stared at one another, ignoring the snow on their eyelashes. Cundu whimpered slightly as he stood beside Mánatamir, obviously upset at the quarrel between the two companions. Then Mánatamir sighed and began putting out the fire. For a moment or two Glorfindel was not sure what he was doing and he gave him an uncertain look.

“We can divide the supplies,” he suggested softly. “I don’t think you had as much as I and....”

Mánatamir gave him a strange look. “What are you babbling about?” he demanded. “I’m going with you. Do you think I am so faithless as to desert you now? We’ve gone this far together, we’ll go the rest of the way.”

Glorfindel just nodded, relief washing over him. In truth, the idea of setting out alone had not appealed to him, but he would not remain where they were. There was no point. He finished gathering the supplies, putting them on Alagos’ back, and then started leading the horse up the cliff. It was a slippery climb for both elves and the animals but eventually they made it and without a word spoken between them, they headed north, crossing the base of the peninsula and keeping well away from the cliffs.

The ground was white and trackless and the light was dim with the snow flying. Up here on the headland the wind whipped about them mercilessly and even the elves felt the cold seeping into their bones as they trudged on. No one spoke, for indeed there was nothing to say. Even Cundu, who was usually bounding ahead of them and then racing back to urge them on, stayed by Mánatamir’s side, his head down against the wind. It was a miserable trek, for the storm did not let up all morning and the snow drifts were getting deeper and deeper. The snow was falling so heavily that it was difficult to see their hands in front of their faces. Then disaster of a sort struck when Glorfindel stumbled over something he could not see and fell to the ground. He was struggling to rise when he felt someone practically crawling over him.

Calamandil! What was that fool doing now? He snarled as he pushed the ellon off him. “Art thou trying to kill me?”

“Nay, I figure this storm can do my work for me,” he heard the ellon snarl back. “Dost thou wish for me to rescue thee or should I go back to the shelter without thee?”

“I do not need rescuing, Calamandil!” Glorfindel protested, “but this meat doth. Help me load it back on the pelt.”

“Forget the meat!” Calamandil screamed back. “It is not worth our lives.”

Calamandil was shaking him and he could not fathom why the ellon was calling him by such a ridiculous sounding name. His name was Laurefindil... wasn’t it? He tried to pull away from the other’s grip. “We need the meat!” he screamed. “We need....”

Then came a surprising slap in the face and Glorfindel went silent, trying to understand what was happening. Calamandil had snarled and groused but he never laid a hand on him. Why now? What was happening? He felt himself being shaken again and he heard Calamandil shouting that strange sounding name again. He tried to pull away and then there was another stinging slap and he found himself blinking rapidly. Peering through the blinding snow he could see the ellon before him, his expression one of deep concern and even fear.

“Yes, it is I,” the Teler said with obvious relief. “Where were you, my friend, and who is Calamandil?”

Glorfindel closed his eyes and groaned, suddenly realizing what must have happened. If he’d been alone when the memory overwhelmed him.... He shivered with the thought.

Mánatamir, meanwhile, had risen and gone to where Alagos was standing with his head down in stoical patience. A minute later he was back with a length of rope and began tying one end around an unprotesting Glorfindel.

“I think we should stay linked,” Mánatamir exclaimed as he tied the other end of the rope around his waist. “I had trouble finding you when you stumbled. I only knew something had happened when I nearly ran into Alagos.”

Glorfindel just nodded, too bemused and heart-sore to give a proper answer. He watched with growing disinterest as Mánatamir called to Cundu, fishing out a piece of cloth which he tied around the hound’s neck in an improvised collar, slipping one end of another length of rope under that and then tying the two ends together around his waist. Glorfindel felt a pang of guilt at the sight of the Teler’s face, which was pinched with cold and worry. He realized that perhaps he had been foolish in insisting they move on. The storm would blow itself out eventually and in the meantime they would have been snug enough until it did.

Mánatamir helped Glorfindel to his feet and insisted on taking the lead this time. Glorfindel just nodded, feeling detached from everything. He noticed the concern in the Teler’s eyes, but could not seem to make himself care or assure the ellon that all was well with him. He was lost in the feeling of defeat which the memory had left in him. Of all the times for something like that to happen! Feeling a slight tug of the rope he forced himself to move, no longer caring where they went.

It seemed as if they had been trudging through the snow forever, but suddenly, as if passing through a wall, they came into a sunlit land and they could tell that it was only mid-morning. They had been traveling for perhaps three or four hours at the most. Blinking away the melting snow on their eyelids, they gazed about in surprise. Glorfindel turned around and saw the snow still falling not twenty feet away. It appeared from this side as if it were a band of white stretching from northwest to southeast. All around them was snow but it was less deep than what they had been trudging through. The sky was a brilliant blue and they could see the sunlight sparkling on the sea to their right.

“We must have walked right out of the storm,” Mánatamir said faintly, untying the rope holding Cundu, who, as soon as he was free, leapt away to play in the snow, scattering it about with a joyful yelp.

Glorfindel nodded, still feeling bemused. “Let us move on,” he said and they did.

Now the going was better and they made good time. Glorfindel wondered how far up the coast they had gone, but there was no real way of telling. They could have traveled several leagues or only one as far as they knew.

“I do not think we got very far,” Mánatamir opined. “Perhaps only a couple of leagues, maybe even less than that.”

“Most likely,” Glorfindel averred. “We were walking nearly blind and not very fast. Well, let us see how far we can get now that we are no longer battling the storm.”

So they went on, stopping briefly around noon for a cold bite. Glorfindel was grateful that Mánatamir did not press him to explain what had happened in the storm. He was not sure he was ready to talk about it just then. They kept a wary eye to the west and south, in case the storm shifted northward and their worst fears were realized when the sky began to darken again about two hours past noon.

“Damn!” Glorfindel exclaimed in disgust. “It’s too early for such storms.”

“Never mind that,” Mánatamir said with a scowl. “We need to find or make a shelter. I refuse to go on in the middle of a storm again. Let’s see if we can get down into one of these coves and hole up.”

Glorfindel muttered a curse under his breath but did not otherwise argue. They made their way cautiously towards the sea cliffs and began hunting for a suitable place to make camp. Luck was with them to that extent, for about a half an hour later they came to a place where the land became lower and they found a small inlet that was easily reached. Best of all they came upon a small cave set into the cliff to their right.

“And it’s well above the high water mark,” Mánatamir said approvingly, pointing to the evidence of how far the water tended to come, for now it was still at low tide, though the Teler assured Glorfindel that it was already turning back. “We should set up camp as quickly as possible. I will see what seafood I can find before either the tide comes in or the storm hits us.”

“We’re quite sheltered here,” Glorfindel said as he began to unload their packs from Alagos’ back. “Better than we were in the other cove.”

“So does that mean you’re willing to stay here if the storm does not let up immediately?” Mánatamir asked as he found his fishing spear and a net.

Glorfindel refused to commit himself either way. “We’ll see,” was all he said and the Teler had to be content with that, giving a grunt as he moved away with Cundu beside him, making towards rocks where he would most likely find tidal pools. Glorfindel, meanwhile, cleared an area in front of the cave for their fire where there was a slight overhang. There were no trees here, but there were tall bushes and he began constructing a rude screen on either side of the cave’s entrance in the hope that it would give them and their fire further protection from the coming storm, using some of the wood from the bushes to supplement their meager supply of firewood. The cave was not all that large and Alagos would never fit, so he also constructed a lean-to for the horse, gathering up such grass as he could find and piling it inside it.

“It’s the best I can do, Alagos,” he said to the horse as he led him to his temporary stable. Alagos nickered softly, snuffling his velvety nose in Glorfindel’s ear as if to say that he was quite content and then bent to eat the grass.

By this time Mánatamir and Cundu had returned with a small catch of clams and a sea turtle. “Best I could find,” he said as he began the task of making turtle soup.

“It’s better than nothing,” Glorfindel said, “and right now very welcome.”

The sky had turned a leaden grey and the sun was veiled from their sight as snow started falling again. But now, they were sitting inside the cave, which was large enough that the two ellyn could stretch out to sleep with Cundu lying between them adding to the warmth. They huddled before their fire and silently sipped on the soup, dunking some waybread that Glorfindel fished out of his pack, watching the snow drift lazily down. The storm was only just beginning but they knew it would get worse in a short bit.

“I don’t think we need worry about keeping watch tonight,” Mánatamir said at one point. “This storm will keep us safe.”

“Perhaps,” Glorfindel replied, “but I think I will be staying up most of the night anyway. I need to think.”

“A memory,” Glorfindel said after a moment or two while he fiddled with the kettle to start boiling the water for their usual cup of tea. “It was just a memory.”

“Someone I once knew, a long time ago,” was the reply. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can talk about it just now.”

“It’s all right, Glorfindel,” Mánatamir assured him. “I do not mean to pry. I was just concerned.”

“I know,” Glorfindel answered with a rueful sigh. “I am grateful that you were there, though. I dread to think what would have happened to me if I’d been alone when the memory struck. While I was lost in the memory I could not divorce it from reality. I could well have frozen to death while arguing with phantoms from the past.”

“Put it out of your mind, my friend,” the Teler suggested kindly. “You are safe now and that is all that matters.”

Glorfindel nodded as he took a sip of his tea and then, much to his surprise and chagrin, he found himself yawning. Mánatamir gave him a knowing smile. “Sleep is the best cure for what happened,” he said. “Let us bank the fire and put aside our worries and find solace in sleep. The storm isn’t going anywhere and neither are we. Tomorrow perhaps things will be different.”

“I will just make sure Alagos is snug and has plenty of grass and such for the night,” Glorfindel said and stood, moving away from the cave. He was back in about five minutes satisfied that his steed was set for the night. While he was gone, Mánatamir had pulled their blankets out and placed them on the ground inside the cave, piling up their haversacks into makeshift pillows. Glorfindel stretched out with his feet towards the fire, throwing his cloak around him even as Mánatamir did the same. Cundu lay between them with his nose towards the fire, already fast asleep. Soon, the two ellyn joined him.

Note: Glorfindel’s memory is recorded in greater detail in ‘MARCHES: Crossing the Ice’, which can be found in my Tapestry series.

There was no dawn the next day, though the snow had stopped. Glorfindel made his way up the cliff to check the land. The sky was thick with black snow clouds that threatened to unload their burden at any moment. All around him was white and even the wind had died down to a bare whisper so that there was nothing but the sound of the surf sullenly hitting the beach below him. The near silence was eerie and Glorfindel couldn’t help but shiver though he was not cold.

He returned to the camp, shaking his head as he settled before the fire, accepting the cup of tea that Mánatamir handed him. “It looks as if it will snow again any minute now,” he said with a deep sigh. “I think we should stay here until we know for sure that the storm is over.”

“A wise decision,” Mánatamir said as he took a sip from his own cup. “I do not know what your hurry is all of a sudden. After all, you said you had twelve years before you had to return for your friend’s wedding.”

Glorfindel gave him an arch look but the guileless expression that the other ellon gave him was too much and he found himself grinning. “You’re right, of course,” he said. “Yet, for some reason I have this feeling deep inside me that I am late. I do not know why. Late for what? I keep asking myself, but I find no answers, just this need in me to keep moving north, ever north.” He shook his head and sighed again. “I never thought I would return this way again.”

Silence stretched between them and then without preamble Glorfindel began speaking about his trek across the Helcaraxë and the nearly fatal hunt with Calamandil that had sealed their friendship. He never looked at Mánatamir as he spoke, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the fire before them, his voice almost devoid of all emotion, as if reporting something that had happened to someone else. Mánatamir, for his part, remained still, hardly breathing as he listened with amazement and horror to Glorfindel’s tale. Neither one of them seemed to notice when the snow began falling again.

While the storm appeared to have weakened, they decided to wait until they were sure, so the day, the ninth since the two ellyn had met, was spent idly. At low tide they both went out to look for whatever could be had for their dinner. It had stopped snowing some time before and there were actual breaks in the clouds so that they could see patches of blue here and there.

“Perhaps by tomorrow the clouds will have moved on and so can we,” Glorfindel opined as they returned to their camp loaded down with clams and mussels.

“Perhaps,” Mánatamir said, his tone noncommittal. “Let’s wait and see.”

Glorfindel smiled faintly at his friend, not at all put out by the ellon’s attitude. Mánatamir had a streak of pessimism that was foreign to Glorfindel’s outlook on life, no doubt born of lonely voyages where things like storms tended to occur with wearying frequency. Glorfindel, however, could never stay pessimistic for long. He was not sure why but he suspected that dying had altered his point of view dramatically, so that it was difficult to maintain a hopeless outlook for very long.

Dawn was still an hour or so away when Glorfindel woke to find that Mánatamir was already up, busily stoking up their fire and speaking softly to Cundu. The ellon turned at the sound of Glorfindel stirring and gave him a bright smile.

“A fair morning to you, my friend,” he said cheerfully. “Come and have some tea while I warm up the remains of last night’s stew and then I think we should be on our way.”

Glorfindel gave him a surprised look and Mánatamir’s smile grew broader. “Look,” he said, pointing up. “The sky is clear of clouds. I went to the top of the cliff just a while ago and the entire sky is clear. Only stars and Isil low to the west.”

Glorfindel stepped away from the cave and the fire and glanced up and saw that Mánatamir had spoken truly. The sky, still dark, was ablaze with the light of the stars. He could not see Isil from where he stood, for the cliff behind them blocked the western view. Automatically, he looked to the east but nothing had changed there. Mánatamir glanced his way.

“It’s there, I promise you,” he said as he had said every morning since their journey, at least when the stars were visible in the pre-dawn sky.

Glorfindel nodded and returned to the fire to break his fast. Afterwards, they began breaking camp and by the time Anar was fully up, they were back on the cliff top and making their way through the snow field. As the sun continued to climb the sky the air turned warmer and they could see the snow melting, for here and there were patches of bare earth. Their spirits rose with the sun and Glorfindel even started whistling a tune that had been popular in Gondolin.

By noon the snow was almost gone and their progress was easier. They noticed that the landscape was beginning to change. There were fewer coves and these were much larger and deeper than the ones to the south. The sea cliffs were not so high and surprisingly, there were trees, not very tall and all of them firs of one type or another. They also came across a couple of streams rushing toward the sea. They were shallow enough that they could easily be forded. The land was still devoid of animal life and that disturbed Glorfindel, though he kept his misgivings to himself, keeping his senses — all of them — alert.

When they finally stopped for the night Mánatamir opined that they had probably gone a good twenty or so miles that day. “We should be fairly close to the cove,” he said as the two ellyn went about the business of putting a camp together. “We may even find it tomorrow or certainly the next day.”

“I think so as well,” Glorfindel said. “Have you noticed that the land seems less of a desert? Perhaps the Valar arranged it thus to discourage the casual traveler coming this way. But now, if we are truly close to Elwing’s Tower, the land is becoming more hospitable. I would imagine they would have to have some land for farming, else how would they live if there is no commerce with Aman?”

“That is a point I had not considered,” Mánatamir said, “and it certainly makes sense that they would need arable land. The cove must be fairly protected from the northwest winds which seem always to blow.”

Glorfindel took the first watch that night but nothing untoward happened and he was glad to rouse Mánatamir and take to his bed. His dreams, however, were disturbing and he felt a darkness hovering over them. He woke suddenly in the dead hours before dawn to find himself in a cold sweat. Mánatamir, sitting beside the fire, whittling on a piece of driftwood he had picked up in the cove where they had waited out the storm, looked up in surprise.

Glorfindel shook his head to clear it of the cobwebs of his dream. “I am not sure. My dreams were disturbed and I felt something threatening us.”

“And now?” Mánatamir asked, putting down his knife and the piece of wood to stand and gaze around them.

“I will add more sticks to the fire just to be on the safe side,” the Teler said, bending down to do just that. “Cundu sleeps still and I think if there were anything threatening us he would sense it and would waken immediately.”

Glorfindel nodded. “It was just a dream,” he said, but he did not sound convinced even to himself.

“Dreams sometimes have a way of coming true,” Mánatamir said. “Will you sit up for what is left of the night or try to get more sleep?”

“Nay,” Glorfindel replied, standing to stretch. “I am no longer sleepy. Why don’t we make some tea and watch together, or you can reclaim your own bed and I will remain on watch.”

“Tea sounds like a good idea,” Mánatamir said with a smile, reaching for the kettle, and soon the two were sitting side-by-side before the fire in companionable silence, sipping on the hot brew and watching the sky lighten with the dawn. They decided to breakfast early and get on their way so that Anar was barely peeping over the horizon when they set off once again.

In spite of the brightness of the day, there was a cloud of worry over Glorfindel’s mind and he could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. His dreams had been very troubling, though he could recall no actual details and so could not say just why. He only knew that his unease was growing, not diminishing. Finally, after they had been traveling for about two hours, Glorfindel called a halt.

Mánatamir gave him a puzzled look. “What’s the matter? You look a bit pale. Are you well?”

Glorfindel just shook his head. “I... I need to scout. Something is not right but I do not know what. Wait you here with Alagos and I will do a circuit of the area. It may not be anything, but it would ease my mind somewhat.”

“Just stay in sight,” Mánatamir said. “I do not think I would feel very comfortable out here alone with just Alagos and Cundu.”

Glorfindel took his bow and quiver of arrows and handed them to Mánatamir. “Here, just in case.” And then he was off before the other ellon could utter another word.

He headed west, for that seemed to be where the darkness lay, though he could not say why he thought that. He meant to make a wide circuit of the area, going only about a mile from where Mánatamir stood waiting. The land was flat enough, save for the occasional small hillock, that the other elf could easily keep him in sight. He had not gone far, though, when he came upon animal tracks, the first he had seen for some time. He bent down to examine them more closely and noticed that they were the same as he had found around the pool. So, something lived here, yet why hadn’t there been any other signs? He eyed the direction from which the tracks had come. South. The tracks were perhaps two days old. Two days. He and Mánatamir had been holed up waiting out the storm two days ago when these tracks were made. Obviously, the storm never made it this far north or the tracks would not be there for him to find. He followed the direction in which the tracks were headed and it appeared that these animals were heading straight north.

Completing his circuit and finding no other evidence of animal life, he returned to the waiting Mánatamir and told him what he had found.

“No,” Glorfindel said. “But come, let us go on. There’s no point standing here any longer.”

They had gone another hour or so when the land around them began to rise into a series of hills which were covered with fir trees. These hills ran northeast to southwest, coming almost to the coast so there was just the narrowest strip of land between them and the water. The sea cliffs had disappeared some time before so that there was now only a gentle slope leading to the beach.

“Another barrier?” Mánatamir ventured. “Do you think that means we are closer to Elwing’s Tower than we thought?”

Glorfindel shrugged and was about to answer when a shadow passed over his heart and he tensed, going completely still. He had felt this twice before and both times....

“Wh-what!?” Mánatamir sputtered, glancing around as if he was expecting an attack.

“Something evil abides here,” Glorfindel replied, his eyes narrowing in concentration. “There, somewhere in those hills.” He pointed unnecessarily ahead of them.

“Yes,” Glorfindel responded with a definite air about him that brooked no doubt. “We should try to avoid it if we can.”

“I think we will have to risk the sea,” Glorfindel replied, “and I do not think we should wait for the tide to go out.”

“There is only a narrow beach and it is very rocky. Alagos may have difficulty treading it, though you and I and Cundu would have no trouble.”

“I know, but I do not think we have a choice,” Glorfindel averred. “I do not think we should go by way of the hills.”

They angled their way to the right and made a careful climb down to the beach which was a mixture of sand, gravel and stone with broken bits of seashells mixed in. Glorfindel stayed close to Alagos while Mánatamir and Cundu ranged ahead to scout the best path through the jumble of stone. The hills loomed to their left, dark and brooding. The nearest sloped down towards the sea in a series of falls of land and it was evident to them that in some distant past there had been a landslide, forming a sizeable barrier. The beach narrowed to just a couple of feet as they reached the bottom of the landslide and the water was lapping against them. Mánatamir came back after taking a quick scramble over the rise and assured Glorfindel that on the other side the beach widened and it was mostly sand.

Glorfindel nodded and with Mánatamir on the other side of the horse, the two elves guided the steed around the landslide. Cundu simply scrambled to the top of the slide, barking encouragement. Mánatamir had to scold him into silence, for Glorfindel did not want their presence to be noticed by whatever lurked in the hills. They were forced to walk further into the surf to get around the barrier so that the waves washed over their boots. Alagos rolled his eyes and snorted but otherwise allowed Glorfindel and Mánatamir to guide him. Ten minutes later they were on the other side, pulling off their boots and dumping the water out of them.

“I would like to stay and get a fire going and dry out,” Glorfindel said, “but I would prefer to get as far from these hills as possible.”

“That may be difficult,” Mánatamir said, “for look you how the hills parallel the coast at this point.”

“Still, whatever evil I sensed may remain where it is and not attempt to follow us,” Glorfindel responded.

“And perhaps tomorrow morning you will finally see Eärendil’s Star,” Mánatamir retorted with a shake of his head.

Glorfindel just smiled. “Stranger things have happened. Come, let us not tarry here.”

With that, they set off again, keeping to the beach. Yet, as they made their way Glorfindel felt the threat of evil increase rather than decrease, though he said nothing to his companion, not wanting to worry him unnecessarily.

“We are being followed,” Mánatamir suddenly whispered, looking towards the hills.

“Yes,” Glorfindel said, keeping his eyes before him, slowly undoing the ties on his sword hilt. “Keep the bow at the ready,” he ordered the other ellon and Mánatamir nodded, stringing the bow and pulling out an arrow. “Keep walking,” Glorfindel added, “but let us quicken our pace just a little and make for those rocks over there.” He jerked his chin towards the left where the beach curved seaward and there was a jumble of black volcanic rock towering over them. Some were like shapeless pillars standing alone or leaning against one another with the sea washing their bases.

“Here,” he said, pointing to where three of the huge pillars met, forming an alcove into which they could just fit. “Whatever is following us will have to come at us from the south.”

“We’ll find out soon enough. The threat has been growing in my mind all morning.” He began unburdening Alagos of their supplies. “Alagos will fight better without these,” he said, dropping their haversacks to one side out of the way.

“Cundu will fight as well,” Mánatamir said, patting the hound’s head. Cundu, in fact, had been growling steadily for some time now, only his tail moving as he stared intently in the direction from which they had come.

Then, without warning, several large shapes came out of the hills to their right a few hundred feet away, slinking through the trees and running along the beach, snarling.

“Alatyauli,” Glorfindel answered grimly, now understanding why the sense of evil had felt familiar. “I have met them before, but I have never fought them. Be wary, for they have an intelligence to them that is beyond what one would expect of beasts.”

As if to prove the ellon’s words true, there was a coughing snarl nearer to them and looking to their left they saw two of the creatures moving around the rocks, apparently having come from the other side, their eyes glowing with a preternatural light and with evil intelligence. Before anyone could act, Cundu gave an ear-shattering howl and leapt at the two creatures. All at once, those that had been coming from the south increased their speed and were upon them in a matter of seconds. Mánatamir had only enough time to release two arrows before he had to stop and pull out a short knife from his belt. It was actually a skinning knife and the only weapon he had. Glorfindel stepped forward to take the brunt of the attack to protect his friend, his sword swinging. Alagos snorted and screamed and rushed out to meet the cats, rearing up on his hind legs and crushing the skull of one of the creatures who had gotten too close.

There were a dozen or so of them, though Glorfindel suspected that there were more hiding in the hills. He spared a glance at Mánatamir, who, in spite of only having the knife, had managed to kill one of the creatures that had come to them from the left; Cundu had killed the other and was already attacking another threatening his beloved master.

One of the cats bounded up onto one of the shorter stone pillars and was leaping down on Glorfindel who managed to duck in time and thrust his sword into the creature’s belly as it went past. His sword was jerked out of his hand, forcing him to his knees.

“’Ware!” Mánatamir screamed and Glorfindel glanced up in time to see another of the creatures leaping at him. Before he could move, though, a white blur leapt before him, intercepting the great cat and bringing it down. Cundu and the cat rolled back and forth, both of them snarling and kicking one another, but finally Cundu was able to get on top just long enough to reach down with his powerful teeth and rip the cat’s throat out.

Glorfindel, meanwhile, had scrambled over to the other cat and pulled out his sword. Seven of the creatures lay dead while the remainder fell back, snarling, obviously not expecting such resistance from their prey. To his dismay, though, he saw several dark shapes come down from the hills and join their fellows on the beach. He gripped his sword tightly and wondered how many he would be able to kill before he was overwhelmed. He did not fear for himself, for he had been down this particular road before and it held no terror for him, but he regretted that Mánatamir would meet his end here and he grieved that Alagos and Cundu would also die, and for them there would be no return from death. He spared a glance at his faithful steed who was standing over the corpse of one of the creatures breathing hard, dripping with blood where the cat had managed to claw him before being killed. Cundu was limping back towards his beloved master but seemed otherwise unharmed. Glorfindel did not look behind him to see how Mánatamir fared, but kept his eyes on the creatures ranged before them, forming up to attack.

“Farewell, Mánatamir,” he said, shifting his stance slightly to better meet the onslaught that was sure to come at any moment. “In Mandos we may meet but we will not know one another. I regret that in choosing to accompany me on my quest you will meet your death today. And now I will be unable to keep my promise to Findaráto to be at his wedding. I hope he will be able to forgive me someday.”

“Do not abandon hope just yet, Glorfindel.” And the voice was like yet unlike Mánatamir’s, but Glorfindel had no time to ponder what that meant or even to give his friend one last glance, for now the cats were attacking with four of them coming right at him. He raised his sword but the cats were now leaping and there was little time to counter. He managed to slash at the one directly before him, bringing it down, but the other three were on him almost at the same time and he went under their combined weight. At that precise moment there was a searing flash of light and he heard unearthly screams and then there was nothing.

Alatyauli: Plural of alatyaulë: Great cat, a species of prehistoric saber-tooth cat.

Darkness enveloped him, warm and comforting, and he felt no fear or pain and had to assume that he was once again dead. Yet, Glorfindel thought perhaps that he might be mistaken, for surely if he were dead he would be standing before the dread Lord of Mandos, but he was not. In fact, now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure if he was even standing. It felt more like he was floating, floating in darkness and feeling safe. He had a sudden irreverent thought that perhaps Lord Námo was so busy dealing with other recently dead folk that he had stuck Glorfindel in this nice warm darkness until he could get around to dealing with him.

He felt himself grinning. “Probably he’s putting off dealing with me as long as possible,” he thought smugly to himself and wondered if this time around he would have to endure another trial before the whole assembly of the Valar. He hoped not. He didn’t think he had had enough time to get into that much trouble since being re-embodied. Well, he would just have to wait and see. For now, he was content to float in the darkness.

But that contentment did not remain for long. The darkness did not lighten but there was a change nonetheless. Sound. He realized he was hearing something, a low buzzing that only slowly began to increase in volume until he realized he was hearing words but he only caught a few at a time so that the sense of what was being said eluded him somewhat. He only knew that there were two people speaking, but he did not recognize their voices. The longer he listened though, the clearer the words became.

“Though I...ages of Arda... never understand... Maiar,” the first voice retorted.

Hmm.... so one of them was a Maia, Glorfindel thought. Well, he had been half expecting one of Lord Námo’s Maiar to show up at some point and say something like, “The Lord of Mandos is ready to see you now”, so he wasn’t too surprised at the revelation.

“As I still have difficulty understanding you Mirroanwi,” the second voice which had to belong to the Maia said and Glorfindel detected a smile in the voice, which now sounded familiar but he could put no name to it. He found himself mentally running through a list of all the Maiar he knew and trying to match a name to the voice but nothing clicked and then his attention was diverted by the words of the first voice.

“Well, it’s a good thing I came when I did, else I think you would have had a lot of explaining to do to Lord Manwë and Lord Námo.”

The Maia laughed and it was warm and comforting like the darkness in which Glorfindel floated. “I had everything under control, my friend.”

“So you say,” the first voice retorted with a snort but there was no sense of condemnation in the words, rather a hint of amusement and Glorfindel had the feeling that these two were old friends.

It took a moment for him to realize that he was being addressed and the words, eerily echoing the words Lord Námo had spoken to him when he had wakened in Mandos and overheard the conversation between the Lord of Mandos and the Lady Estë sent an unexpected shiver of dread through him and he wanted to retreat back into the darkness.

“No, child,” the Maia said. “It is well. Open your eyes now and see who has come.”

His curiosity piqued by this, Glorfindel struggled to remember how to open his eyes, for he realized he had no sensation of anything physical about him. Finally, though, he managed to remember and cracked his eyelids open, closing them almost immediately against the glaring light.

Glorfindel was grateful for that, at least. He opened his eyes to slits again and waited for the light to become more bearable before opening them further and found himself lying in someone’s arms staring up into two concerned faces.

“What is?” And Glorfindel recognized the voice as that of the first speaker.

“Being mauled half to death by some evil creature,” he replied. “How bad is it this time and how long will I spend recovering?”

The person holding him — it had to be the Maia, Glorfindel surmised, for he was surrounded by bright light and it was hard to make out his features — laughed. “You are barely injured, my friend.”

“I had three huge alatyauli land on me,” Glorfindel protested, “and if I am barely injured, as you say, why can’t I feel anything?”

“But why?” the first person, an elf by all appearances though there was something else there and Glorfindel was sure he should recognize the ellon but he was finding it difficult to concentrate fully on what was going on around him.

“Because then I would know that I was truly alive,” he replied and closed his eyes, sure that he was forgetting something... or someone. He opened his eyes again. “Mánatamir! Alagos! What....?”

“Peace, child,” the Maia said soothingly. “Alagos is well and as for Mánatamir... do you not recognize your traveling companion?”

Glorfindel stared up in confusion at the Maia’s face and then it suddenly dawned on him why it seemed so familiar and yet was not. “Ma-mánatamir?” he ventured, not quite believing what he was seeing.

“Yes, my friend. I am Mánatamir of the People of Manwë,” the Maia said with a warm smile.

Mánatamir laughed. “Oh, Cundu is a wolfhound in truth and he actually was a gift from Lord Oromë. As for not being a Teler, well that is not strictly true. I have been a Teler, a Noldo, even a Vanya when my lord has required it of me.”

At that particular moment, the wolfhound made his appearance, bending down to give Glorfindel a lick on his face before Mánatamir shooed him away.

“But come. We should be on our way,” he said as he gently helped Glorfindel to a sitting position. Looking down at himself, he could see that his right arm was in a sling and his chest wrapped in bandages. There was also a little dried blood and not a few scratches, though none of them appeared to be deep.

“On our way where?” Glorfindel asked, still feeling muddled in his mind. He was trying to grasp the idea that the ellon who had traveled with him, argued with him, and fought beside him had been a Maia in disguise all along.

“Why, to my home, of course, Lord Glorfindel,” the first speaker replied with a huge smile.

“Your home?” Glorfindel shook his head, trying to focus, but he was suddenly having trouble and he felt unaccountably weary.

At the sound of the childish nickname Glorfindel felt his attention snap into focus again, if only for a brief time, and he stared hard at the ellon with his golden locks and eyes that were bluer than the sapphires in Lord Manwë’s robes and there was that strong chin jutting out that reminded him so much of Turgon....

“Eärendil?” he whispered, feeling a mix of shock and joy at the revelation and then to his utter horror he burst into tears and could not stop.

Eärendil took him into his embrace and rocked him. “Shush, yes, it is I and I have waited these many years for thee to return to us. Hush now, mellon nîn, hush. All is well.”

It took some time, however, before Glorfindel could get himself under control and then he felt himself being lifted into Mánatamir’s arms. “It is well, child,” the Maia said soothingly. “You will see. And look! We will be traveling in style.”

Glorfindel turned his head and gasped in amazement, for there floating only a foot or two above the beach, ropes tied casually around a couple of the black stone pillars, was a ship, a ship without sails or oars, its sides made of mithril and elven-glass and there was a wavering flame, pure and bright, all around it. High up on the mast hung a lantern within which was suspended a bright jewel.

Glorfindel blushed. “Sorry. I only meant this is the ship in my dream or vision or whatever.”

“Ah, yes. I remember that it was... um... borrowed one night,” Eärendil said with a twinkle in his eyes.

Eärendil laughed. “Oh, I know. Do not concern thyself, my lord. I am merely jesting.”

“Thou didst use to call me Glorfi,” Glorfindel said. “Why all this formality now?”

“But that was when I was a child,” Eärendil replied, “and I did not think thou wouldst want me to call thee that before others now that I am no longer a child.”

“Then call me Glorfindel, I beg thee, for I was thy parents’ friend and would be thine as well.”

“Then, Glorfindel it is,” the Mariner said, “and now, let us board thy ship” — he gave Glorfindel a smirk and a wink — “and be on our way. Aerandir, Falathar,” he called out, “let us have the ropes.”

Glorfindel glanced up to see two ellyn throwing what looked to be a mass of ropes over the side of the ship. Eärendil neatly caught them and expertly unraveled them to reveal a litter. Mánatamir placed him on it and before he could protest, he felt himself being pulled up and was presently being lowered onto the deck of the ship. Looking about, he could see Alagos standing placidly to starboard, apparently no worse for wear, for it seemed that he had been healed of his own wounds. Mánatamir was beside him in an instant, lifting him gently and placing him on a cot, making sure he was comfortable. Eärendil was already climbing aboard, giving orders.

“Let us away, friends,” he said, gesturing towards the other side of the ship and Glorfindel saw the two sailors go over and begin releasing the ship from its moorings. Eärendil then turned to where another ellon manned the wheel. “Erellont, set the course.”

It was a strange sensation, yet oddly familiar to Glorfindel as he began to recall in greater detail his own voyage aboard Vingilot. He still could not decide if the voyage had been for real or only imagined, but in the end it hardly mattered; it was the results of that voyage that counted.

The Maia stared down at him for a moment before answering. “A dislocated shoulder that has been put to rights and a couple of cracked ribs. Truly, nothing to be overly concerned about. I know you have suffered worse. I have deadened the pain until you are strong enough to bear it.”

“And for that, I thank you,” Glorfindel said, “but truly, as you say, I have suffered worse injuries and pain is a familiar friend. You need not protect me overmuch.”

“I know,” Mánatamir said, looking suddenly guilty, “but it was my fault that you were injured at all. I fear I left it rather late to... to reveal myself.”

“At least you didn’t leave it too late,” Glorfindel replied with a wry grin. Both Mánatamir and Eärendil, who had overheard the conversation, laughed.

“I have already scolded him for his tardiness,” Eärendil said to Glorfindel. “He’s been suitably chastised. And now, rest, my friend. Our voyage will be swift for you were not too distant from the cove where Elwing and I and our friends make our home.”

“You’ll see,” was Eärendil’s reply and Glorfindel had to be content with that.

The voyage was indeed not very long and soon Glorfindel beheld a wondrous sight. He insisted on rising from the bed so he could see better and with Mánatamir’s help he made his way to the railing. Before him was a large cove, a bay actually, perhaps half a mile at its widest. There were no cliffs, but gentle swells of bluffs rising to more solid land behind in the midst of which was a white tower with several low buildings surrounding it on three sides. Behind this were fields of grain and a rather large vegetable garden and further back, an orchard. Northward he saw a group of houses forming a small village around a central well where elflings played. They looked up at the sight of the ship and waved excitedly. Glorfindel waved back. Further to the west he saw tree-shrouded hills encircling the entire area so that they were actually in a valley. From the tallest of the hills flowed a waterfall and a stream ran merrily through the farmland and continued towards the sea.

“It is as Telemnambo described it,” Glorfindel said, “though, of course, there was no farmland when he was here or the village.”

Eärendil nodded. “This was pretty much all wilderness back then, but over the centuries we have made it quite habitable. Ah... we are coming into port.”

Glorfindel watched with interest as Erellont steered the ship to a quay that stretched out into the bay, expertly bringing the ship beside it while Aerandir and Falathar threw ropes to some people waiting for them. In short order the ship was moored and a gangplank produced. Eärendil and Mánatamir guided Glorfindel off while Falathar led Alagos. Cundu ignored the gangplank and simply jumped over the side, joyfully greeting those on the quay, among whom was an elleth, her hair so dark as to be almost black with silvery highlights, her eyes a startling deep blue. She wore a simple gown of white, her hair bound with a thin circlet of silver with a single emerald in the center. Glorfindel recognized her from Lindarion’s description.

Eärendil led him directly to the elleth, smiling. “Here he is, my love,” he said, giving her a loving kiss which she returned. Then he turned to Glorfindel. “Glorfindel, this is my beloved wife, Elwing.”

The elleth gave him a warm smile and a deep reverence. Glorfindel attempted to give her his own bow, but Mánatamir stayed him, shaking his head in silent reminder of his injuries which he still could not feel, so he contented himself with a nod of his head. “My lady,” he said.

“Welcome to our home, Lord Glorfindel,” Elwing replied, her voice a rich alto. “We have waited a long time for thy coming.” She stole a glance at her husband who stood there grinning. “A very long time.”

Glorfindel was not sure how to respond to that, but was saved the trouble by Elwing gently taking his arm. “But thou art injured,” she said. “The way is not long but perhaps thou wouldst prefer to be carried or to ride.”

“Nay, lady,” Glorfindel said. “I prefer to walk, if thou wouldst aid me.” He gave her his most winning smile and she laughed, a deep lovely sound that warmed Glorfindel’s soul.

“Then that is what we shall do, my lord,” she responded, “but thou must call me Elwing.”

Elwing nodded, then turned to the Maia. “Be welcome, my Lord Mánatamir. Glad I am to see thee again, and thou, too, Cundu. I hope to hear all about thy latest adventures.”

The Maia bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Thank you, child. Your welcome is most gratifying. Let us not stand on ceremony, however, for I see that Glorfindel is beginning to tire.”

“I’m fine,” Glorfindel protested, though in truth he was beginning to feel fatigued and hoped he would not collapse before they reached the tower.

“Then let us hence,” Eärendil said. “There will be time enough later for telling tales.”

With that, they made their way off the quay and headed for the tower, taking it slowly for Glorfindel’s sake, but shortly they were there and Elwing was leading him into one of the low buildings that he saw adjoined the tower. He found himself in a well-appointed sitting room and was soon ensconced on a plush sofa, with Elwing wrapping a brightly woven blanket around him and plumping a pillow for his head. He gave a sigh of relief, only just realizing how tired he felt even though he still could not feel any pain from his injuries. He watched with detachment as the others bustled about. Cundu came and laid his head on Glorfindel’s chest and the ellon gently stroked the hound.

When Eärendil came to him a few minutes later to offer him some wine, he found the ellon fast asleep, one hand on Cundu’s head, the hound perfectly still and obviously content to be where he was. Eärendil put the goblet of wine down on a nearby table and then sat quietly beside the sleeping ellon, gazing on him fondly. Elwing joined him, as did Mánatamir, the three waiting patiently for Glorfindel to waken.

1. Eärendil’s description is based on the following: ‘Now this babe was of greatest beauty; his skin of a shining white and his eyes of a blue surpassing that of the sky in the southern lands—bluer than the sapphires in the raiment of Manwë....’ [Book of Lost Tales II, ‘The Fall of Gondolin’]. Also, Tuor is of the House of Hador and the scions of that particular House of the Edain are noted for their golden hair. We also have this description of Idril: ‘Yet to none were his eyes more often drawn than to Idril the King’s daughter, who sat beside him; for she was golden as the Vanyar, her mother’s kindred, for she seemed to him as the sun from which all the King’s hall drew its light.’ [Silmarillion, ‘Of Maeglin]

2. Aearandir, Erellont, and Falathar were the three sailors who accompanied Eärendil and Elwing on their journey to Valinor. There is nothing in the Silmarillion to indicate their race, so for the sake of this story, I am assuming they were Elves. They were sent back to Middle-earth, but there is nothing to say that they did not return with the other Elves after the War of Wrath.

Glorfindel woke a few hours later to find Eärendil and Mánatamir sitting in chairs beside him, apparently watching him breathe in and out, much to his annoyance. There was no sign of Elwing or Cundu. He struggled to sit up and Mánatamir was instantly there to aid him, plumping some pillows for him.

"My whole body aches," he answered. "I thought you were keeping the pain at bay."

"I was," Mánatamir said as he settled back in his seat, giving him a slight smile, "but I cannot keep it at bay forever, not even for you, my friend. I promise you, though, that the worst of the pain is gone. While you slept I helped your body heal a bit more."

"You couldn’t have just healed me completely?" Glorfindel groused, not in the mood to be polite. He felt weak and while the pain was not as bad as he had feared, it was bad enough, especially his shoulder.

"I could," the Maia admitted, "but I am not allowed to." He gave Glorfindel an amused look. "There are rules even for us."

Eärendil, meanwhile, had risen and gone to a sideboard, coming back with a goblet of watered wine. "Healer’s orders," he said with a wide grin when Glorfindel took a swallow and grimaced. "Nothing stronger than what one would give an elfling for another day or three until you are well on the way to being healed."

"You should be healed inside a week," the Maia replied, "though you will need to do some exercises to strengthen the muscles. But then, you know this."

The golden-haired ellon nodded. "Yes, I do, but it does not mean I have to like it." He took another swallow of the wine and leaned back against the pillows, giving Mánatamir a considering look. "So, you’re a Maia. I should have known the Valar wouldn’t let me go off on my own without them tagging along even by proxy."

Mánatamir’s expression was unreadable and Eärendil gave Glorfindel a surprised look. "I do not recall you ever sounding so bitter, mellon nîn."

Glorfindel shrugged. "My dealings with the Valar have been less than cordial of late," he replied. "So, what were your orders, Mánatamir? Were you there to see me safely here or to make sure I never arrived?"

Eärendil gasped but Mánatamir held up a hand to keep the peredhel from speaking, never taking his eyes off Glorfindel. "The fact that you are here, child, answers your question."

Glorfindel, however, just shook his head. "The fact that I am here proves nothing," he countered. "You could have stopped those alatyauli at any time but you did not. I could well have been killed. One swipe of those claws was all that it would have taken."

"I had my orders, Glorfindel," Mánatamir said. "I was not to interfere until and unless your life was directly threatened. As soon as those creatures leapt at you, I would have incinerated them, but you were already attacking them and so I had to wait or you would have been caught in the backlash of my powers and I assure you that you would not have been the only one facing the Lord of Mandos at that moment."

"So you were sent to keep me from finding Eärendil?" Glorfindel asked, deciding to ignore the implications of what the Maia had just said for the moment.

"Before I answer that," Mánatamir said, "there are some people you should meet first. Then I think your questions will be answered."

Glorfindel sighed. "Do I get to wash up first?" he asked, looking at Eärendil and ignoring the Maia for the moment.

Eärendil smiled. "These people will not care what you look like, Glorfindel," he said. "In fact, they have been waiting rather impatiently for you to awaken so they can greet you."

Glorfindel could not imagine who else would be here whom he knew, but he remembered the well-tended farmland and orchards surrounding the tower so he knew that there had to be others living there.

"Then that is what you will do," Eärendil said. "Mánatamir will assist you while I go tell the others that they must wait just a little longer before they see you."

With that he gave the Maia a nod and strode out of the room, closing the door behind him. For a moment there was silence between ellon and Maia and then Mánatamir smiled. "Let me help you up," he said and Glorfindel nodded.

Fifteen minutes later, feeling marginally better now that he had visited the privy and had had a quick wash, Glorfindel was back in the sitting room and back on the same couch with Mánatamir standing nearby. The door opened and Eärendil peeked around it, giving him a mischievous smile. "Ready for visitors?" he asked and when Glorfindel nodded he opened the door wider and Glorfindel could see some others behind him. However, it was only when they were fully in the room that he saw who they were and he started at the sight of them, causing him to hiss in pain at the sudden movement. Mánatamir was there in an instant, easing the pain somewhat so that the blackness at the edge of Glorfindel’s vision dissipated.

"Ah, so you remember your old friends, do you, mellon nîn?" Galdor, once Lord of the House of the Tree asked, giving Glorfindel a bright smile as he bent down to give him a warrior’s embrace, though carefully so as not to bring him any more pain. Beside him stood one of his ablest captains, Legolas, who was also beaming at him. The third was Hendor, who had been Eärendil’s devoted servant when he was a child.

"Of course I remember you, you sorry excuse for an orcmeal," Glorfindel exclaimed. "I remember you owe me three bottles of Turgon’s best wines."

They all laughed at that as they took chairs. "Trust you to remember that if nothing else," Galdor retorted, but his smile belied his words and it was obvious that these two were good friends. "Never expected to see us again, did you?" the Gondolin lord asked, somewhat more soberly.

Glorfindel shook his head. "Nay, I knew someday we might meet, but so much has happened to me...." He trailed off and the others nodded as if they understood. "Why are you here, though?" he asked after a slight pause. "Why do you not dwell on Tol Eressëa?"

"We all started out living there," Galdor explained, "but one by one we felt this need to leave and seek for Eärendil and Elwing."

"Not just us, either," Legolas said, "but others as well, both from Gondolin and Doriath."

"A restlessness fell upon us and we knew not what it meant, but ever we looked to see Gil-Estel in the skies and it seemed as if it beckoned to us," Galdor went on to say. "Eventually, we decided to go in search of the prince. We learned that both Eärendil and Elwing had come to Alqualondë when they first came to Valinor and that was our first stop."

"By land," Hendor said with a guffaw. "I hate boats of any kind or size and I refused to travel on one. Doing so once was enough."

Galdor chuckled. "We tried to convince him it would be quicker by sea but he was adamant so we came by land, much as you did."

"And somewhere along the way, we met up with Mánatamir," Legolas said, giving the Maia a nod.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow as he glanced at Mánatamir, who was looking a bit embarrassed for some reason.

"Oh, we didn’t know he was a Maia, of course," Galdor said. "Pretended to be a Noldo who was suffering from wanderlust with only his hound as a companion. He also said he knew where Elwing’s Tower was and offered to guide us there."

"Yes, I did," Mánatamir answered, "as I have guided everyone who has come looking for this place out of a deep need to find it, just as you did."

Mánatamir smiled. "I have been charged by Lord Manwë to see that any who come seeking find what they are looking for. This cove is... hm... shielded in a way. It cannot be easily found. Early on there were a few who came looking out of curiosity rather than out of a genuine need to be here. Those people I made sure returned to their homes disappointed. But there have been others whom the Valar have inspired to come seeking Eärendil and Elwing and those I have guided here."

"And here we are happy to stay," Galdor said. "It is a fair place and we have done well by it. None of us have any real desire to return to Tol Eressëa."

"You, too, have felt a need to seek answers to your questions, have you not?" Mánatamir asked and Glorfindel nodded. "Lord Manwë was aware of this and to ensure that you came here safely...." — Glorfindel snorted and everyone else chuckled — "... safely, the Elder King sent me, as he has always done. You might say I am the guardian of this place."

For a moment Glorfindel did not speak, mulling over in his mind all that he had been told. "So the alatyauli...."

"They were following you," Mánatamir said. "They sensed your power and were attracted to it."

"Is that typical?" Galdor asked. "I do not recall even seeing any such creatures as you described when we came this way."

Mánatamir shook his head. "They actually range further north and west but, as I said, they sensed Glorfindel’s light and were attracted to it." He turned to Glorfindel. "That is why there was no game. It had been frightened away by the cats."

"Yes," the Maia answered. "I knew even before you found the tracks but could not identify them."

Glorfindel nodded. "I understand, truly I do, but now the question still remains: why am I here?"

"Oh yes," Glorfindel replied with great feeling, reaching out with his good hand to clasp Hendor’s hand. "More than words can describe. And if it was just that, I would rejoice, but more is going on than the meeting of old friends." He gave Eärendil a grave look. "Did you know that when I was being re-embodied the Valar placed barriers on my mind to prevent me from remembering you, to forget even hearing your name being mentioned by others? And I could not see your star, still cannot."

Eärendil and the other elves looked surprised and not a little concerned. "No, I did not know that," the Mariner said softly, glancing at Mánatamir.

"There were reasons why it was done at the time," the Maia said. "In truth, Glorfindel was not meant to come here for some years yet, but circumstances have changed."

"Obviously," Eärendil said with a quirk of his lips. "I find it rather disturbing that so great a hero as Glorfindel would be treated so by the Valar."

"I’m not that great," Glorfindel muttered. "Just because I killed a balrog...."

"But I am not the only one," Glorfindel protested. "Ecthelion killed Gothmog. No one ever seems to remember that or praise him for it."

"When he is finally released from Mandos, we will praise him, never fear," Legolas replied, his expression solemn. "But for now, it is you we wish to praise, for your sacrifice made it possible for the rest of us to survive and for that I thank you." He stood and gave Glorfindel a profound bow. Galdor and Hendor did the same, much to Glorfindel’s embarrassment.

"Well, putting that aside," he said after a moment, "what am I doing here? Why have I been drawn here? You say you have no desire to return to Tol Eressëa, but I have people relying on me. I cannot abandon them and remain here for all the ages of Arda."

"No one is asking you to, Glorfindel," Mánatamir said, "but there is no reason why you cannot stay for a while. You yourself said you need not be back for twelve years. Surely you can spend some little time here."

"And do what?" Glorfindel insisted. "I have no desire to take up farming or fishing. I was training with your fellow Maiar before I went with Finrod and Arafinwë and Olwë to Tol Eressëa to see for ourselves what is happening there."

"And you can continue training with them," Mánatamir said, "once you are sufficiently healed. Also, you have these ellyn and several others who will join you in your training, for you are correct. You are not here to take up farming or fishing. None of you are, although I know Galdor and Legolas have been tending the orchards."

"We needed something to do while waiting for Glorfindel to arrive," Galdor said, sounding apologetic.

"I don’t understand," Glorfindel said, giving them a confused look. "Why were you all waiting for me to arrive?"

"Have you wondered why the Maiar have been training you as they have?" Mánatamir asked.

Glorfindel gave them a wry look. "I imagine it was a way of keeping me out of trouble and out of certain people’s hair for a while."

"Sounds familiar," Galdor said with a wink to Legolas and Hendor and the three started laughing.

"Hey! I wasn’t that bad," Glorfindel protested, "and you’re forgetting Ecthelion. He was worse than I." He frowned and then sighed. "I wish he were here as well." And there were sober nods all around.

"He will be, someday," the Maia said solicitously. "But in answer to the question, one reason for your training has been the reason many ellyn are keeping up their training even though the War of Wrath is long over and peace reigns here in Valinor."

"Yes," Mánatamir said. "Many of those who have found their way here are proven warriors of Gondolin and Doriath. They have been brought here for a specific purpose, to hone their warrior skills to the fullest in preparation for the Dagor Dagorath."

"So why did you have to wait for me?" Glorfindel persisted. "Have you not been training all along?"

"Oh, yes," Galdor said. "To a certain degree, but we were told that our training would not begin in earnest until you came, you or Ecthelion, actually."

"Glorfindel," Eärendil said with a sly smile. "Think about it. How many people do you know who have slain a balrog?"

Glorfindel gave Eärendil a look of disbelief while everyone else chuckled. He was about to comment when a gong sounded and Eärendil stood up. "Ah, the dinner bell. Galdor, will you help Glorfindel?"

Galdor nodded and before Glorfindel could utter a protest, he was being gently prodded to rise and then they were all heading out the door. Glorfindel glanced back to see Mánatamir standing there with an amused smile on his face before fading from his sight, leaving behind the scent of lemongrass mixed with rosemary.

Glorfindel stood on the beach looking out upon the cove and the Sea beyond. He unconsciously flexed the fingers of his right hand and rotated his shoulder in a series of exercises as he stared upon the constantly moving water in deep contemplation. As the Maia had promised, he was completely healed after a week, a week of reacquainting himself with old friends from Gondolin and making new ones from those of Doriath. Nearly half the population of the cove, which was called Aewellond for the many birds there, were former warriors of the two kingdoms. The rest of the people were farmers and shepherds and artisans who provided the community with the necessaries of life. There were perhaps a hundred people living there, including a handful of elflings. Eärendil assured Glorfindel that the cove and the land surrounding it could easily support thrice that many.

"More will come eventually," Eärendil had told him with much confidence, "but for the moment we are doing well with what we have."

Glorfindel sensed someone behind him, stopping several feet away as if afraid to intrude on his privacy. He was tempted to just ignore whoever it was, but in the end, without taking his eyes off the water, he simply said, "It’s all right. You may approach."

He was somewhat surprised when Lady Elwing came to stand beside him. He turned to her and gave her a graceful bow, which she acknowledged with a smile before turning her attention to the Sea.

Elwing’s laugh was light and gay and Glorfindel found himself grinning more broadly. When she was calmer, her mien became more sober. "How are you faring, Glorfindel?" she asked solicitously.

"I am faring well, lady. My shoulder is healed as are my ribs. With the exercises I am doing, I will have full range of motion in my right arm in another week."

"I am glad to hear that," she said with a nod, "but in truth, your physical state does not concern me at the moment. How do you fare here?" She placed a finger delicately on his chest. "How does your heart fare?"

Glorfindel stared into Elwing’s eyes and there was something in them that seemed familiar and disturbing at the same time. It took him a moment to realize he had seen that same light in the eyes of his Maiarin friends and belatedly remembered who this elleth’s great-grandmother was. He had to force himself to look away before he could speak. He turned back to the ever restless Sea, a restlessness that seemed to mirror his own soul.

"I feel restless," he said without thinking and then blushed, giving Elwing a chagrined look. "Sorry, that’s not what I meant to say."

He shrugged. "Please do not mistake me," he replied. "This past week has been wonderful. Meeting with old friends I thought I had lost and finding new ones." He paused and gave her a meaningful smile and Elwing blushed a bit.

Glorfindel nodded. "There’s always a ‘but’, isn’t there?" he said with a rueful look. "There is something missing, something I am not seeing or understanding, something that says this is not all there is, at least for me." He gave a sweep of his hand to include the cove and the valley behind it.

For a moment Elwing said nothing, merely gazing across Aewellond, her home for more than five hundred years. Then she gestured to the wharf where Vingilot was moored. The Silmaril was not in its lantern, but safely stored away until Eärendil would sail again. "Let’s sit, shall we?" she said and made her way to the wharf, climbing the gangplank and boarding the ship. Glorfindel reluctantly followed her. Elwing primly lifted her skirts to sit on a barrel, which made Glorfindel raise an eyebrow in amusement even as he sat on his own barrel. Elwing just smiled.

"I used to sit on this very barrel and sing while Eärendil, Aerandir, Falathir and Erellont scurried about doing whatever it is sailors do." She had a sudden wistful look on her face.

"Oh, lullabies mostly," she answered with a shy smile. "I would sit and wonder about my babies, wonder what their fate was. Singing the lullabies...." she gave him a shrug. "It was the closest I could ever be to them."

"I am sorry," Glorfindel said solicitously. "It must have been a difficult thing for you, choosing between your sons and the Silmaril."

Elwing shook her head. "There was no choice, Glorfindel." She gave him a fierce glare and he could sense not only the anger but the hatred she held for the sons of Fëanor. "The Fëanorians murdered my entire family," she hissed and the pain in her voice was clearly evident. "I had no reason to believe that they would spare me or my children even if I had willingly given them the Silmaril. My family, my adar’s entire kingdom, was destroyed because of them. To have given them the Silmaril would have dishonored their memory, and more. When I leapt, I leapt to my death and gladly, though I mourned for my sweet innocent babes. Yet, in that instant, I held to the comfort that if we all died we would at least be together afterwards. My one true regret was that my husband and the adar of my children would return to find us gone."

She paused and took a deep breath. Glorfindel remained silent, not wishing to end the spell her words were weaving. Elwing gazed up at the main mast where the Silmaril’s lantern hung. It was a beautiful lattice framework of mithril with diamond panels. Inside, there was a three-pronged stand, also of mithril, on which the Silmaril would be placed.

"I never expected to be turned into a bird," she said, almost as if speaking to herself. She looked at Glorfindel and there was an impish smile on her face. "When I found Vingilot and landed on the deck, Eärendil succored me, not knowing who I was. Then we both slept and when we woke I was in my true form...." She suddenly laughed. "You should have seen the expression on Eärendil’s face. It was priceless."

Glorfindel smiled back, glad that the dark mood of her words had lifted somewhat. When she calmed down, she continued. "Well, after that, there was no point in going back to Beleriand, so we set our course to the West. Eärendil was sure that the Silmaril would be our guide to Valinor, and of course, he was correct."

"Lindarion told me something of your arrival," Glorfindel said, giving her a sly smile. "He said your Quenya was barely intelligible."

For a moment Elwing did not answer, as if giving his question serious thought. "For Eärendil’s sake," she finally said. At Glorfindel’s bemused expression, she went on. "You probably don’t realize how very shy he is. He has never really felt comfortable around people, even those whom he knows well, given his status."

"You mean as the Mariner of Vingilot and bearer of the Silmaril," Glorfindel said and Elwing nodded.

"What people?" Glorfindel asked, clearly confused. "Certainly not Galdor or...."

"Oh, no!" Elwing assured him. "When we were still residing in Alqualondë and then later in Valmar while Vingilot was being readied. To tell you the truth, we both felt uncomfortable and I think it is because even though we were now counted among the Eldar, still our Mortal heritage was plain for all to see."

"And none of the elves here had ever seen a Mortal," Glorfindel said, nodding in understanding.

Elwing nodded as well. "Yes. We were an oddity to them. Oh, they were unfailingly polite...."

The two elves looked up at the sudden appearance of Mánatamir smiling at them both.

Elwing laughed. "Care to join us, my lord? I believe there’s another barrel around here somewhere."

"Oh, nonsense," the Maia said with mild exasperation. "I’m perfectly fine where I am."

"Eavesdropping, my lord?" Glorfindel couldn’t help asking as he resumed his seat.

Mánatamir raised an eyebrow. "A Maia never eavesdrops," he protested with a supercilious sniff, "but it’s not our fault if you Children are loud in your thoughts and voices."

"Hah! A likely story," Glorfindel remarked in feigned disbelief and Elwing held a hand to her mouth as she giggled.

Mánatamir smiled. "Seriously, I came to tell you that I must leave today," he said, "and I couldn’t help overhearing the last bit of your conversation."

Elwing gave a cry of dismay. "So soon! And you have only been here for a week. I had hoped you would be staying longer this time."

"So had I," the Maia replied, "but unfortunately, Glorfindel has caused some problems... as usual." His tone was more amused than exasperated.

"What do you mean?" Glorfindel cried, rising and facing the Maia, his eyes blazing with anger, unconsciously going for a sword that was not hanging on his belt. "I haven’t done anything...."

"What did you mean, lord?" Elwing asked in a reasonable tone, perhaps hoping to divert Glorfindel’s ire, though the ellon remained standing, glaring at Mánatamir, his expression now one of hurt and confusion at the accusation.

The Maia sighed and gave them a rueful look. "Forgive me. That came out wrong. Please, Glorfindel, sit and I will explain." It took a few seconds for Glorfindel to comply and then Mánatamir spoke again. "Your going to Alqualondë set off a chain of unforeseen events."

"No, of course you don’t," Mánatamir said gently. "Do you know that you are the first of the Exiles to ever return to Alqualondë? Not even Finrod has been there yet for all that he has been re-embodied for over a century now."

"Is that significant?" Elwing asked, looking as confused as Glorfindel at the Maia’s words.

Mánatamir nodded. "The Noldor who returned with Arafinwë passed by Alqualondë and some few helped with salvaging what could be salvaged after the Kinslaying, but they did not stay long and they were not entirely welcomed. When the Valar called for the Host of the West to be formed, Olwë volunteered his ships to transport everyone, but he brought the ships down the coast to the Calacirya. He refused to allow any of the Noldor near his city. Oh, Arafinwë had been there a time or two with Eärwen but that was as family, nothing more. That Olwë permitted you to enter his city was... well, a rather momentous moment in the history of Aman, though I doubt anyone was really aware of it except the Valar and possibly Arafinwë and Ingwion."

"I suppose," Glorfindel said, still bemused. "Yet, why did you say I had caused problems? I didn’t even get Beleg in trouble. In fact, I never saw any of the city because of the wretched storm that kept us inside for nearly a week."

"You do not have to cause trouble to be trouble, Glorfindel," Mánatamir said with a grin. "You just have to be."

"That’s unfair!" Glorfindel shouted, leaping up from the barrel. "I’m not...."

"Child," Mánatamir said gently, taking Glorfindel by the shoulders and giving him a little shake. "I was speaking in generalities. Anyone can be the source of trouble even if they are not actively causing it. They just have to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, or the right place at the right time, depending on your point of view." He paused and gave the ellon a significant stare and Glorfindel wilted a bit under his implacable regard. "When you left on your quest, many of the Teleri recalled when Eärendil and Elwing dwelt with them for a time. They were reminded of certain things and some of the younger elves who were born after the War of Wrath have decided that they would like to find the Mariner and see Vingilot and the Silmaril for themselves."

Mánatamir smiled. "Most of them are elflings about Vorondil’s age or just past their majority but there are a few Reborn who are involved as well."

"Beleg," Glorfindel muttered. "He promised me he would be good and not cause trouble."

Now Mánatamir chuckled. "Oh, Beleg is not to blame and he is being as good as he can be. You have no need to be angry at him. There are other Reborn living in Alqualondë who were recently released. At any rate, a small group of these children have managed to commandeer a ship and have set sail for the North in search of Aewellond, though they have no idea how far they must go or what dangers lie ahead."

"And you must make sure they do not find us," Elwing said with a knowing smile and the Maia nodded.

"Why aren’t their parents going after them?" Glorfindel asked. "And just how do elflings manage to commandeer a ship without anyone being the wiser?"

"Ah... well, as to that, let us just say that they had a little help," Mánatamir said with a sly grin.

Now both elves looked nonplused at that admission. "The Maiar are helping them?" Glorfindel asked in disbelief. "But why?"

"It was decided to make these children an example to any others who might entertain similar thoughts about coming here when they are not invited," the Maia said and his expression was more solemn. "Oh, fear not! No real harm will come to them, but they will be lessoned and so will others. It has been some years since any but those called here have tried to find Aewellond. As I said, your presence in Alqualondë and the purpose of your being there sparked some heated conversations among the citizens and I am afraid the youngsters decided they, too, wanted to have an adventure."

Glorfindel shook his head in disbelief. "Even when I’m not doing anything bad I seem to cause trouble. When will it end so I can just get on with my life?"

Both Mánatamir and Elwing gave him sympathetic looks. The Maia hugged the ellon warmly, trying to comfort him. "Do not blame yourself, child," he said. "What others do or do not do is their affair and none of yours. You just continue being yourself. To be otherwise is to dishonor the person you are and the person Eru made you to be. These youngsters have heard about your quest and have decided to go on one of their own, not realizing that a quest is not the same thing as an adventure."

Mánatamir gave him a searching look and Glorfindel found it difficult to maintain eye contact. "I have sensed the restlessness within you, Glorfindel," the Maia finally said after a moment or two.

"We were speaking of the very thing earlier," Elwing interjected. "Glorfindel said he felt something was missing or he was not seeing or understanding something. He never got a chance to explain what he meant as we became sidetracked with me reminiscing." She gave them a bashful look.

"It’s true," Glorfindel responded with a nod, giving her an understanding smile. "I was wondering if Aewellond was all there was for me."

Mánatamir nodded. "And there lies the difference between a quest and an adventure." When the two elves still looked confused he smiled. "Look at it this way. An adventure is a there-and-back-again journey. Your visit to Tol Eressëa, for instance, would be labeled thus. You went to the island, encountered some adventures and then returned to Aman. People will ask you about it and you will tell them all that you did and saw and they will ooh and ahh over your story, but neither they nor you will be radically transformed by your adventure on Tol Eressëa."

"On the other hand, a quest is not an adventure, though there may be adventures along the way," Mánatamir continued. "A quest is more a way of life, a calling, if you will, and usually one does not choose one’s calling, it chooses you. It is, in fact, an errand in the oldest sense of the word, a mission, if you will."

"And what is my mission?" Glorfindel asked, not entirely convinced by the Maia’s words.

"I do not know," Mánatamir answered. "That is something that you must learn on your own or others may tell you in due time."

Mánatamir nodded. "Perhaps, or it may be someone else entirely. One thing is certain: unlike a normal journey where one is usually confident as to one’s goal, there are no such guarantees with a quest. Few indeed can foresee whither their road will lead them, till they come to its end. Thus, the destination is not quite as important as how one travels along the way."

Glorfindel pondered these words for a time before speaking. "So what do I do in the meantime?"

"Coming here, I deem, was just the first step along the road. You came here seeking answers. Did you find them?"

"Some, but not all and certainly not the most important ones," Glorfindel averred. "For instance, I thought that when I finally met Eärendil I would be able to see the Star, but I still cannot and I do not understand why."

"But child, why do you even need to see the Star when you stand on the very deck of Vingilot itself and have seen the Silmaril shining from its mast?" Mánatamir enquired. "You have traveled on this ship further than any mirroanwi, even Eärendil, for you traveled to the very gates of the Timeless Halls themselves from what I have been told. ‘Gil-Estel’ the Children name Eärendil’s Star, but you have spoken to the very One who is the true Star of High Hope for us all."

"Then you’re saying I will never see Eärendil’s Star?" Glorfindel implored.

"I did not say that," Mánatamir replied. "I am saying that you do not need to see the Star, for it’s light lies within you. It always has."

Glorfindel sighed. "I cannot stay here," he said. "I do not know where I am to go next though for my answers."

"Abide here for a time," Elwing suggested. "You have only just come and we have awaited your coming for many years, especially Eärendil and all your friends from Gondolin. Surely you do not need to leave now, not with winter coming?"

"Elwing is correct, Glorfindel," the Maia said. "Abide here for a time. Continue your training with my brothers who are very eager to pound you into the ground once you are fully healed, and I will tell you that Manveru especially was very wroth with me for letting you get injured."

"Oh?" Glorfindel said, grinning in spite of himself. "And what did my sword-brother do to you?"

"You really do not want to know the answer to that question, trust me," Mánatamir replied, looking suddenly embarrassed.

Glorfindel laughed. "Well, in that case, I will do just that, and I did promise Eärendil and Galdor and the others that I would help them in their own training."

"Good," Elwing said, clapping her hands in delight, "that’s settled. I know my lord husband would be very despondent at the thought that you wished to leave so soon after arriving."

"Still, when I do finally leave, where will I go?" Glorfindel asked, his light mood dissipating. "Where will I find the answers to my questions?"

"Perhaps they will find you when you are ready for them," Mánatamir suggested. "As for where you will go, why to Tirion, of course. You do have a wedding to attend, don’t you? And did you not tell Finrod you would be bringing guests?" He gave the ellon a significant look.

"And won’t he be surprised who shows up?" Glorfindel couldn’t help saying with a grin and Elwing giggled.

"Exactly!" the Maia exclaimed with his own smile. "Well, I must go hunt up Ossë and see what we can come up with to show one shipload of not-too-bright youngsters the error of their ways."

"You won’t really hurt them, though, will you?" Elwing asked, giving the Maia a concerned look.

"Nay, child, we will not, but we will give them a good scare," Mánatamir replied. "It will be a long time before any of them will wish to venture beyond the Haven again once Ossë and I are through with them. Look after Cundu for me while I am gone?"

"But of course," Elwing said. "You know we love having him with us and I promise we won’t spoil him too much while you are away."

"Hah! As if he’s not spoiled already," Mánatamir retorted, giving them both a fond smile as he faded from their sight.

For a long moment only the sound of the surf and the screeching of gulls could be heard and then Elwing gave Glorfindel a grin. "Well, I do not know about you, but all that talking has given me an appetite. Why don’t we go in quest of lunch?"

Glorfindel laughed at her play on words and offered her his hand as they made their way down the gangplank and headed back to the Tower.

Author’s Note: The discussion on the meaning of a quest was inspired by the following quote:

‘A quest is thus a vocation — an errand in the medieval sense, and its outcome entails something immensely larger and more important than one’s own happiness.... Legolas the elf declares the truth which serves almost as the motto of Tolkien’s epic: "Few can foresee whither their road will lead them, till they come to its end." The question — and thus the quest — concerns how we shall travel the one Road, how we shall complete our quest.’ — Ralph C. Wood, ‘Frodo’s Faith’, The Christian Century, September 6, 2003, pp. 21-23.

The return to Tirion was a joyous one. The people of the city were there to greet their king, for Arafinwë had sent Calandil ahead to warn the queen of their arrival since they were arriving earlier than originally planned. Those of the Progress smiled warmly as the citizens cheered and welcomed them back. Eärwen was there at the front portico of the palace to greet them and Arafinwë wasted no time going to her and kissing her soundly, much to everyone else’s amusement. Then they were ushered into the royal apartments, the guards, servants and support staff that had accompanied them on their Progress dismissed with the king’s thanks and a promise of rewarding them for their faithful service.

“We will hold a special welcoming feast in a few days just for you,” he told them and they went away with glad expressions on their faces.

When everyone had washed the dust of travel from them and were settled in the family dining room where a late lunch was being served, Eärwen insisted on hearing everything.

“You were not due back for at least another three days by my count,” she said to her husband. “What happened?”

Finrod, however, spoke first. “Where are the elflings, Ammë?” he asked. “And Vorondil and Aldundil? Why were they not here to greet us?”

Eärwen smiled. “Fear not, yonya,” she answered. “They are well. Herendil and Vandacalimë invited them to visit their estate with Aldundil and Vorondil. I’m sure Lótemalda appreciated the respite.”

His ammë laughed. “Oh, they were quite good, I assure you. Lótemalda was actually quite impressed with how well behaved they were and how much they already knew about being pages. You taught them well.”

“I had very good tutors,” Finrod said with a smile. “But why would the Mistress of Pages need a respite from the children? She should be used to dealing with them considering all the practice she had with me and my siblings.”

“Indeed,” Eärwen replied. “However, I am afraid that along with learning proper decorum from you, your little ones learned other lessons from their Reborn friends and put those lessons to good use.”

“Oh for the love of the Valar,” Finrod exclaimed, rolling his eyes, while everyone else chuckled.

Eärwen gave his arm a motherly pat. “I assure you no harm was done and we were actually quite entertained by their... inventiveness. It certainly kept us busy and gave us little time for worry, but I do admit these last few days of quiet have been quite blissful.”

“I am sorry, Ammë,” Finrod started to say, his expression rueful, but Eärwen just waved her hand in dismissal.

“Do not fret, my dear,” she insisted. “As I said, no harm was done and I am sure that Herendil and Vandacalimë are being just as entertained as we were.”

Now everyone was laughing and even Finrod’s expression became more amused at the thought of his good friends dealing with the children.

“The elflings or Herendil and Vandacalimë?” Ingwion quipped and there was more laughter.

“By the way, speaking of rescue,” Eärwen said, turning to her husband, “you missed Laurendil and Manwen by only two days.”

“Ah, how were they, and more importantly, how were their charges?” Arafinwë asked.

“They were fine,” the queen answered. “Vardamir took one look at Lasgalad and pretty much took over his treatment, even going so far as to insist on traveling to Lórien with them. They didn’t say anything, but I suspect that Laurendil and Manwen were rather relieved to have a Master Healer with them.”

Arafinwë nodded. “I am sure they were. Manwen, of course, has had more training in the healing arts than Laurendil, but they are still apprentices and very recent apprentices at that. Vardamir is one of the best Master Healers in all of Aman, and having been my battle surgeon during the War, he is quite familiar with orc poisons and such.”

Finrod nodded. “Yes. I am glad that Vardamir decided to go with them. How were Marthchall and Gurthalion?”

“They were also well,” his ammë replied, “though Gurthalion had an... episode while he was here. It did not last long and with Laurendil’s and Vardamir’s help, Marthchall was able to calm him almost immediately.”

There was much shaking of heads. “I do hope they will be able to help him in Lórien,” Amarië said softly.

Finrod patted her hand gently and gave her a loving smile. “I have every confidence that they will,” he said.

“As did Vardamir,” Eärwen added. “I think he went as much for Gurthalion’s and Marthchall’s sake as for Lasgalad’s. Marthchall puts on a brave face but he has his own demons to contend with. In Lórien he may find the peace of mind that he so sorely needs. But, now, tell me all about your adventures.”

And they did. It took some time but no one was in a hurry and they lingered over their lunch, calling for wine and tea and taking turns telling of the things that happened to them. Arafinwë ended their tales by telling about the aborted council meeting in Kortirion and their flight from the city.

“Olwë and I are confident that our ruse will work and the council at the winter solstice will be held as originally planned,” he told her. “I will be traveling to Vanyamar later to speak with Ingwë and perhaps with Lord Manwë. Even if the council is not held there are certain decisions that need to be made concerning the people of Tol Eressëa. We’ve neglected our duty to them for too long.”

Eärwen nodded. “Well, I am sure it will turn out well in the end. But for now, let us put the problem that is Tol Eressëa aside and concentrate on other matters.”

“And what other matters would that be?” Arafinwë asked, giving his wife an amused smile.

Eärwen smiled back, giving him a wink. “Why, the matter of Findaráto’s upcoming begetting day celebration, of course. It’s not every day an ellon reaches the grand old age of a hundred and two.”

Finrod rolled his eyes and groaned, sinking into his chair, apparently trying to hide, while everyone else just laughed.

The next morning, Finrod rode out to the estate of Lord Herendil and was greeted joyfully by that lord and his son.

“Herendil,” Finrod said with a smile, giving his friend a warm embrace. “I hope the children were not too much for you and Vandacalimë.”

Herendil laughed. “It depends on how you define the word ‘children’, Findaráto,” he said, giving his son, standing next to him, a wink. Aldundil looked somewhat embarrassed.

“Oh?” Finrod asked with an amused glint in his eyes as he glanced at his vassal. “And what mischief have you been up to, Aldundil?”

“Not as much as I would like,” the ellon muttered and both Finrod and Herendil laughed as the latter led them into the house.

“The other children are presently riding,” Herendil explained. “Vandacalimë promised them a picnic, so she is with them. They won’t be back for hours.”

Finrod shrugged. “My time is my own. Why don’t we find somewhere to relax and I will tell you all about Tol Eressëa and Aldundil, you can show me how your illuminations are progressing.”

“Sounds like an excellent idea,” Herendil said. “As it happens, Aldundil has been using my study for his work so we might as well go there, if that is amenable to you.”

Finrod nodded. Herendil continued speaking as they made their way down a short hall and up a flight of stairs. “I am quite impressed with Aldundil’s work. I had no idea he was an artist.”

“Neither did I,” Aldundil confessed as they entered the study. “When Lady Nienna suggested I learn the art of illumination, I thought she was just giving me something to keep me occupied while I was there with Vorondil. I never imagined that I would actually enjoy it and find a great sense of contentment in doing so.”

“Lady Nienna is very perceptive,” Finrod said with a nod as he accepted a goblet of wine from Herendil. “I suspect she suggested learning the art of illumination because it is the very opposite of what you were doing before, working in the Exchequer. It’s possible that if you showed no real talent or interest in illumination, she would have found some other work for you to do until you found that which gave you joy.”

“I suspect you are right,” Aldundil said. “At any rate, I have nearly finished with the first section, if you would like to see it.”

“Yes, I would, but perhaps later,” Finrod said. “I think it best to fill you in on all that happened on Tol Eressëa first while we are not in danger of being interrupted, for the telling will be long. After dinner, you can show me.”

“You’re staying for dinner?” Herendil asked, his expression one of feigned dismay. “I had better go warn the cooks then.”

Finrod laughed. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. At any rate, I don’t mean to take the elflings back with me to the city. They can stay here if you have no objections until I send for them. Atar has to go to Vanyamar soon to consult with Ingwë and he may wish for me to stay in Tirion and deal with whatever comes up while he is away."

“The children are welcomed to stay here for as long as necessary,” Herendil said. “They are quite delightful and my wife and I are very happy to have them. They and Vorondil are inseparable. I am so glad he has found friends at last, even if they are so much younger than he.”

“But emotionally, he is on par with them,” Finrod said. “A consequence of his Judgment by the Valar.”

Herendil shook his head. “When Aldundil told me about that.... Will he always be as he is?”

“Oh no,” Finrod hastened to assure him. “It is very much like the Reborn. You remember how I was when I first returned. It will be much like that for Vorondil, though the process of maturation will not take as long. I suspect that within the next ten years he will reach the level of maturity that is expected of someone just past his majority, but for now, let him be the elfling Calalindalë never allowed him to be.”

Aldundil sighed, looking sad, but Herendil just nodded, giving his son a loving pat on his arm. Then, he turned to Finrod. “So, just what did happen on your trip? If I remember correctly, you weren’t due back for another couple of days.”

Finrod grinned. “Well, our plans changed, and rather dramatically, too. When we reached Tavrobel, Gilvagor and Haldir were waiting for us and....”

Finrod was just finishing up his summary of the events in Kortirion when there was the sound of young voices and much laughter. Herendil and Aldundil both smiled. “Ah, the elflings are back and not a moment too soon. Thank you for filling us in on what happened, Findaráto. You have given us much to think about.”

Finrod nodded. “I imagine that Atar will call a general council meeting tomorrow or the next day to discuss what our options are. He and Anatar apparently have worked things out between them, so at the moment it’s just a waiting game until we hear from the Tol Eressëans.”

And then there was no more time for talk, for suddenly, the door burst open and Vorondil rushed in with the five elflings in tow, all of them shouting glad greetings when they saw Finrod. Herendil, however, held up a hand. “Na quildë!” he shouted and immediately all six children tumbled to a halt. Herendil’s expression was stern, as were those of Aldundil and Finrod. “Have you forgotten all your lessons?” Herendil demanded. “Bursting in here without even bothering to knock. His Highness will think you’ve learned nothing these last two weeks. For shame, all of you.”

The children were looking suitably chagrined. “S-sorry, Anatto,” Vorondil stuttered. “One of the grooms told Anammë that Master was here and… I guess we were so excited… we forgot.”

“Apparently,” Aldundil said. “I think you should all leave now and await his Highness’ pleasure in the orangery.”

The children all looked at Finrod who nodded. “I will come down in a few minutes,” he said.

They gave him clumsy bows, their expressions downcast as they exited the room more quietly than they had entered it. When the door closed, Finrod sighed. “I hate to punish them for their exuberance. Two weeks is a long time for them and I know they missed me.”

Finrod grinned somewhat sheepishly. “Actually, I did. There were odd moments when I thought to myself: I bet the children would love this or wouldn’t Vorondil like to see that.” He shrugged. “You would think I was their atto or something.”

“In many ways you are,” Herendil replied. “When you took their oaths, you took on the role of a parent or guardian to them and Vorondil is much the same though the circumstances with him are different.” He smiled as he gestured towards Aldundil. “Welcome to our world.”

Aldundil smirked and Finrod snorted. “Well, I best go down and speak to the children. Are you all right with my leaving them with you for another couple of days? Atar is planning to hold a welcoming feast the day after tomorrow for the servants and guards who accompanied us on the Progress. I had thought to have the elflings act as pages.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Herendil said. “Vandacalimë and I will make sure they have had some practice in the meanwhile.”

“Good,” Finrod said. “And perhaps Vorondil will like to help out as well.”

“No, but I was thinking of another role for him,” Finrod answered as he stood up, but what that role was he would not say at that time. “I’ll take a look at your work after dinner, Aldundil,” he continued.

With that, Finrod left and made his way out to the gardens, walking along a path that led to the orangery. He spied the six children huddled together beside a fountain, all of them looking miserable. When they looked up and saw him approach, even Veryandur looked frightened. They all stood and gave him their obeisance, none of them looking at him. He glanced around to make sure that they were alone and then he smiled warmly and opened his arms wide.

“How I’ve missed all of you,” he said and the children looked up in surprise. For a second or so none of them moved and then they were all trying to hug him at the same time, even Vorondil, which made Finrod laugh as he hugged them back.

“Oh, yes, very angry,” Finrod replied, speaking more solemnly. “Lord Herendil was correct to admonish you, but I am willing to forget and forgive this one time.”

They all nodded and Eruanna sighed. “We were sure you would send us away,” she said.

“Well, beside the fact that I hold your oaths still,” Finrod replied with a slight smile as he sat down beside the fountain, “I would not send you away for being yourselves. Now, let us forget about it and you can tell me what you have been doing these last two weeks.”

They proceeded to do just that, enthusiastically interrupting one another in order to add a detail here or correct someone’s narrative there. It took some time for them to get it all out, and Finrod was patience personified, hiding a smile at their exuberance.

“Well, it sounds as if you had as interesting a time as we did,” he said when they had at last become silent. “His Majesty is holding a welcoming feast for those who were part of the Progress,” he continued. “I would like you to act as pages. Lord Herendil has assured me that he and Lady Vandacalimë will see that you get lots of practice beforehand.”

“In two days time,” Finrod answered, “and Vorondil, I would like you to be there as well.”

“Me?” the ellon exclaimed in surprise. “I haven’t had any training as a page, Master.”

Vorondil was not the only one with a puzzled look on his face. All the others were equally bemused. “What are you going to have him do, lord?” Eruanna asked.

Finrod looked at the concerned faces and laughed. “I assure you, nothing bad,” he said. “I am sure Mistress Lótemalda told you that during a formal feast, it is traditional for a squire to stand attendance to his lord.” The younger children all nodded. “Well, I think Vorondil will fit that bill rather nicely, don’t you?”

They all looked surprised. “But what of Alassiel?” Vorondil asked. “Isn’t she your squire?”

Finrod nodded. “Technically, yes, but at the feast she will be a member of the Vanyarin royal family.” Then he gave them a wicked smile, gesturing them to come closer and putting a finger to his lips. “Besides,” he whispered conspiratorially, “she and Sador are too busy falling in love for her to be bothered with being my squire.”

For a second or two there was absolute silence and then Lindorillë snickered and that was followed by giggles from the others.

Note: Vardamir, Arafinwë’s chief healer, first appeared in the Findaráto Diaries, chapter 25.

The welcoming feast went without any major upsets, much to everyone’s relief. It was obvious to all, seeing Vorondil attending to Finrod with solicitude, quietly seeing that his goblet was never empty and removing any unwanted dishes from his Master’s sight, that the ellon was beside himself with joy at being able to serve. Many, remembering the sullen uncooperative youth of the previous year, commented on the change for the better. They knew of his status, but seeing the genuine love between the ellon and their prince, they wondered if Vorondil was less a thrall in Findaráto’s eyes and more a loved younger brother.

The other elflings did their duties well and the only mishap was when Eruanna and Oromendil crashed into each other as one was heading back to the kitchens and the other was returning from there. Luckily, Oromendil was carrying empty platters and Eruanna was merely carrying hot towels to be given to the feasters at the high table between removes. The towels were quickly retrieved and sent back and Oromendil tried to comfort the little elleth who was feeling embarrassed. Finrod went to them both and spoke softly to them and soon they were both smiling and when the towels were ready again, both were seen carrying them to the tables.

During the feast the conversation centered around the events on Tol Eressëa and what they planned to do next.

"I must return to Vanyamar soon," Ingwion said, "and apprise Atar of all that has happened."

"And I will come to Vanyamar once I have seen to the affairs of my own kingdom," Arafinwë replied. "I need to speak with Ingwë and also Lord Manwë."

"How soon do you think it will be before anyone seeks us out, asking us to hold the council at mid-winter?" Finrod asked.

Arafinwë gave a shrug. "Hard to say, but I would think it will be soon or else there will be no time for setting it up and travel at that time will be chancy."

"Perhaps you could ask Lord Ulmo to keep the waters calm," Sador suggested with a smile.

There were chuckles all around. "And perhaps we can ask Lord Manwë to hold off with the snows until next winter as well," Ingwion retorted and they all laughed at that, knowing that winter might be delayed but not for that length of time.

"Perhaps holding a council at mid-winter was not a good idea after all," Finrod opined. "The weather could well be against us."

"Perhaps," Arafinwë agreed, "but to delay the council until the Spring might make things worse." Then he gave them a conspiratorial grin. "Besides, if the weather turns against us after all have assembled, they’ll have nowhere to go, so they might as well sit in comfort and talk, right?"

"Ah... I never thought of that," Finrod said with a grin. "Of course, they just may end up trying to kill one another if they are cooped up too long."

"That’s all well and good, but we still do not know if there will even be a council, do we?" Amarië asked.

There were several nods, but Arafinwë smiled. "Oh, there will be a council all right. It may not be the council we originally envisioned but there will be one." When Finrod and the others pressed him to explain further, though, he merely shook his head, refusing to say more and the matter was dropped as other topics of interest were introduced.

"It depends," he answered. "Atar may need me here for a time. We'll have to see, and yes, I will be taking the elflings and Vorondil with me."

"They’ve enjoyed their stay here," Eärwen interjected. "It was a delight to have younglings running around underfoot again. I will miss them."

"And I am sure they will miss you, Ammë," Finrod replied with a knowing grin, "and all the treats you gave them."

Everyone laughed and Finrod glanced behind him where Vorondil was standing and gave the ellon a wink. Vorondil grinned back, rubbing his stomach.

Ingwion decided to leave two days later along with Alassiel. Arafinwë announced that he would accompany them rather than coming later. "What administrative business that needs my attention can wait a while. I do not mean to be away long. At any rate, Sador and Amarië will be staying behind to help Eärwen so Findaráto, you are free to return to Lórien if you wish."

Finrod gathered the elflings and Vorondil along with Aldundil. He was very pleased with the progress Aldundil had made with the illuminations and felt it important that the ellon have access to the Reborn with whom he could consult about life in Beleriand as they remembered it to help give his illustrations more depth of realism. Thus, it was a larger party that left Tirion than originally expected, but it just made everything merrier. The children continued acting as pages, not just for Finrod, but for the others as well while Vorondil was asked to continue acting as Finrod’s squire.

"Though technically you are still too young," Finrod told the ellon. "However, I don’t think it really matters. If you’re not sure what your duties are, just ask Alassiel to help you."

Finrod grinned. "A squire’s work is never done," was all he said and Vorondil, catching the humor in his Master’s eyes, grinned back and nodded.

Finrod took a final leave from his betrothed as they wandered through the palace gardens alone. "I will miss you," he said.

"And I, you," Amarië answered. "Will you be attending the council if it is held?" He nodded. "Then I will see you there, for I have no doubt that your atar will want those of us who accompanied him and King Olwë on the Progress to attend."

Finrod nodded in agreement and then gave her a wistful look. "Do you think we made a mistake in delaying our wedding for so long?"

She smiled and shook her head. "No. I think it’s just right. So much has happened of late that trying to plan a wedding at this time would be difficult if not impossible. Best we wait until things are easier for us both." Finrod nodded and then stealing a glance around to see if they were truly alone, he bent down and gave his beloved a warm kiss which she returned with much enthusiasm. It was some time before they returned to the palace.

The trip was taken in easy stages, for no one was in a hurry. During that time discussions continued concerning Tol Eressëa but no firm conclusions were forthcoming. "It all hangs on what the Tol Eressëans do," Arafinwë finally said. "Until they act, our hands are bound."

When they reached Valmar three days later they rested one night before going on. Farewells were made as the two parties split. Finrod and his entourage continued on their way, arriving in Lórien late on the third day, the children nearly reeling with fatigue. They were met by Lord Irmo and Lady Estë, the Valië briskly taking the elflings and Vorondil in hand, leading them away to their beds while Irmo spoke with Finrod, Aldundil, Eärnur, Mithlas and Iorlas, as well as the three Reborn who had acted as guards during the Progress.

"Before you ask, Lasgalad is recovering quite nicely," the Vala said. "Marthchall and Gurthalion are settled in and already we are seeing improvement in Gurthalion’s mental state. I think he will be fully recovered, or as recovered as he is ever likely to be, before the winter solstice."

Finrod grinned. "I am glad to hear that," he said. "I will look in on them in the morning after I have broken my fast."

Irmo nodded, then turned to Iorlas with a smile, speaking in flawless Sindarin. "Iorlas, welcome to Lórien. Mithlas, with your permission, I will have Iorlas stay with you while he is here."

"I would like that, lord," Mithlas said with a bow and Iorlas looked relieved, knowing that he would not be alone in this strange and wondrous place.

Irmo then turned to Eärnur. "Well done, Eärnur. You handled things very well. I think you may be closer to achieving your mastership than we both expected."

Eärnur gave the Vala a surprised look. "But it’s too soon, isn’t it? I’ve been a journeyman for only about forty years or so."

The Vala gave a small shrug. "Normally, I would say yes, but the circumstances of the last year have proven, to me at least, that you have advanced in your abilities far more than is the norm. But, when I say soon I do not mean immediately. I suspect it will still be some years before you are fully ready, but if you continue to apply yourself as diligently as you have, I think that time will be sooner rather than later."

Finrod gave Eärnur a smile and a hug. "I think so as well," he said and Eärnur returned the smile with a shy one of his own.

Irmo then turned to Edrahil, Eregil and Celepharn, giving them a beatific smile. "You also did well, my children. I am well pleased with your progress. If I’m not mistaken, however, I think you are all glad to be back here in Lórien."

The three ellyn nodded. "Indeed, lord," Edrahil said. "I found the outside world to be just a bit too disturbing at times." He shook his head, giving the Vala a rueful look. "I never thought I would be glad to return here when all I wanted was to leave it."

Irmo nodded, chuckling. "You are welcome to remain as long as you need to," he said. "Would you like to return to your own pavilions or would you like to lodge together?"

The three ellyn gave each other quick glances and nodded between them. "I think we would like to lodge together, lord," Edrahil answered.

"Then that is what you will do," Irmo said. "I’ve already set aside a grove for you and your things have already been moved. Ingil will show you where. It’s not too far from Findaráto’s grove actually. Tomorrow, seek out Gwindor and tell him all that happened. He was most distraught that he could not accompany you and will welcome your tale."

The three ellyn thanked the Vala and Finrod told them to go on and he would see them in the morning. When they were gone he turned to Irmo. "Thank you," he said sincerely and the Lord of Lórien simply nodded, well aware of what the prince meant. "Well, it is late," Finrod continued, "and I think we would all like to have some supper and then retire."

Irmo nodded. "I will have something sent to your pavilion, Findaráto. The elflings and Vorondil have already eaten and are abed. I bid you all a good night."

They gave the Vala their obeisance and departed for Finrod’s grove where they found the elflings fast asleep in their own pavilion next to Finrod’s. Aldundil and Vorondil had a separate pavilion as well and, after checking on his son, Aldundil joined Finrod and the other three ellyn in the main pavilion to sup. They spoke little and only of inconsequential matters. As soon as they were done eating, the other four ellyn departed for their own beds, leaving Finrod to himself. He stayed up just long enough to finish his goblet of wine and then fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next morning after breakfast, Finrod visited Lasgalad, meeting Eärnur and Iorlas at the ellon’s grove. Mithlas had gone to check on his naneth and sister. The elflings were busy with their own duties and Vorondil was attending classes with the other apprentices. Aldundil was happily working on his illuminations, grateful for the peace and quiet now that his son and the other children were away for the day.

"How fare you, mellon nîn?" Finrod asked Lasgalad, who was looking much better than when they had last seen him.

The ellon smiled. "Much better, thank you," he said, then turned to Iorlas, sighing. "I regret that I was the cause of you leaving Ennorath. That you gave up so much for me...."

"I would do it again without hesitation," Iorlas assured him. "You are my friend, Lasgalad, but more than that we are gwedyr and I would not desert you. Ivorwen understood that. I would have had her sail with us, but she was not ready, yet I have hope that someday she will come."

"In the meantime, it behooves you both to find what happiness you may now that you are here," Finrod said. "We will help you in any way we can, if you will but let us." The two ellyn nodded. Finrod turned to Eärnur. "I am surprised that Laurendil and Manwen are not about. Have you seen aught of them?"

"Laurendil I saw earlier as he was on his way to attend a lecture," Eärnur said. "He said we should plan to sup with him and Manwen tonight at their grove so we may catch each other up on our news."

"That is well, then," Finrod said. "In the meantime, I want to look in on Marthchall and Gurthalion and then I must needs speak with Lord Irmo. Iorlas, why don’t you stay here and tell Lasgalad all that has happened. If you need anything, just call out. There’s always a Maia about who will come."

Iorlas nodded, though he did not look too happy. "I am not sure I will ever get used to having the Powers so close at hand. They were always... out there somewhere." He waved his hand in a random direction. "It’s going to take some time getting used to the idea that I can converse with them and the Maiar whenever I want."

Finrod gave the ellon a sympathetic smile. "I’m sure you will adjust. Just remember, they are eager to serve; we just have to ask. Now, I must go. I will stop by later to see how you are doing. Are you able to leave your bed yet, Lasgalad?" At the ellon’s nod, Finrod smiled. "Good. I would suggest then that you dress and the two of you wander about. Go where you please. The only place that is off limits to any is Lady Estë’s island. None go there save by her invitation."

The two ellyn nodded and Finrod and Eärnur departed. "I need to get back to my own duties as well," Eärnur said to Finrod as they walked down the sward leading towards the lake. "I was told that Marthchall and Gurthalion are in a session with Master Meneldil at the moment but they will be free by noon."

"Good," Finrod said. "I will go speak with Lord Irmo in the meantime. There is much we need to discuss. I will see you later, then?"

Eärnur nodded and with a cheery wave headed away to attend to his own duties while Finrod continued on toward the lake where he was unsurprised to find Lord Irmo waiting for him sitting under his gaudily painted pavilion. Finrod shook his head at the sight. Irmo grinned at his expression.

"It’s your pavilion, lord," Finrod said with a sly smile and a shrug and Irmo laughed, gesturing for the ellon to sit while he poured him some wine.

When Finrod was settled, the Lord of Lórien gave him a shrewd look. "Tell me," he said quietly.

For a long moment, Finrod did not speak and when he did he kept his eyes on his lap. "There was so much emotional pain on that island, I could barely stand it," he finally said in a soft pained voice. "I had a difficult time maintaining a cheerful mien most of the time. It was as if the entire island was screaming in pain." He shook his head and looked up, his expression troubled. "Is that how it feels to you?"

"I don’t think so," Finrod answered, "but there was a time or two when Glorfindel gave me an odd look."

Irmo smiled. "A most perceptive ellon, that one." His smile melted away and he became more solemn. "The Tol Eressëans have been in emotional pain for a very long time, so long, in fact, that many do not even recognize that they are even in pain."

"I still don’t understand why the Valar let it go on for so long," Finrod said, frowning.

"It was not an easy decision to make, I assure you," Irmo replied. "Some of us thought we should have acted sooner, but in truth we were waiting for you and Glorfindel to be released from my brother’s care."

"For many reasons, not the least of which is that you two tend to bring out the worst in people in a good way."

Irmo chuckled at the disbelieving look the ellon gave him. "You and Glorfindel together and separately are catalysts. You cause things to happen even when you are not consciously doing anything yourself."

"I still do not understand how that has anything to do with Tol Eressëa," Finrod protested. "Do not forget that it was Laurendil and Gilvagor who approached us, not the other way around."

"I do not forget, child," Irmo said kindly. "They were the means by which we got you and Glorfindel on the island. The rest followed from that. Admittedly we had hoped you would go sooner than you did, but other events unforeseen intervened."

Finrod mulled the Vala’s words over in his mind as he took a sip of his wine. "So, our presence was necessary to force the Tol Eressëans to face their own pain?"

"You are both legendary," Irmo said. "Many of the Tol Eressëans never knew either of you in your previous lives, but they knew all about you. You are heroes from an earlier age and you are one of them. Arafinwë and Olwë are not and never will be. Your words will hold more weight among the Tol Eressëans than even those of Ingwë, for all that he is High King."

Finrod nodded in understanding. "So what are we to do?" he asked. "How do we even begin to heal these people? I have a number of Reborn friends there and I hate the idea that they are suffering emotional hurt because everyone else is."

"Your friends are doing well enough," Irmo told him. "Have no fear for them. In fact, they are the least affected by what has been going on simply because they are Reborn."

"They, like you, have passed through the fire of Judgment, whether before Námo alone or before the entire assembly of the Valar, and have been cleansed of self-deceit and self-delusions. You noticed the prejudices that plague many of the Tol Eressëans?" Finrod nodded. "Did you also notice that none of the Reborn held any of those same prejudices?"

"That is because in their time in Mandos they learned to trust once again and that is what is lacking among many on the island, a sense of trust. It is that lack of trust which we must address and remedy if possible. Until we do, there is little that we can accomplish among them."

"Trust is a very fragile thing," Finrod said, "and I saw that compassion was lacking as well."

"Compassion is born of trust. Without trust, there can be no compassion. The people who shun the miners of Angobel, for instance, have no compassion for those poor souls because they cannot trust that we Valar would know if any of the former slaves were dangerous to the peace of our realm. They cannot trust that with Melkor gone these people cannot be a threat to them, indeed they never were. Those few elves who were suborned by Melkor died and are either safely in Mandos or they are among the Houseless who have no sway here."

Irmo shook his head. "They would not believe us, or rather, they would choose not to believe us because to do so would force them to re-examine their own prejudices and that is something they do not want to do."

"Then it’s hopeless," Finrod exclaimed with a shake of his head. "If they will not believe even the Valar they are not going to believe me or anyone else."

"That is true," Irmo averred, "but we must at least try, or you must. Those who are in positions of leadership among the Tol Eressëans need to be convinced. Once that happens, the rest will follow."

"And not all those in leadership roles are distrustful," Finrod acknowledged with a thoughtful look. "People like Dúlinn and Thorongorn and Lady Meril, for instance."

"And others as well," Irmo said. "These are the ones you must work with. These are the ones who will be instrumental in effecting change in the attitudes of others. And there are the common people themselves, people like Ailinwë and your Reborn friends. They must be examples for others to see and you have the unenviable task of seeing that these people are the ones who bring about change. There will always be those who are resistant to change even for the better. They must be isolated and made ineffective so that change can come."

"You mean other Fëanturnildi?" Finrod nodded, but Irmo just shook his head. "No, at least, not yet. Someday there may be but for the moment you are it."

"You start by keeping in contact with your friends on Tol Eressëa, both the Reborn and those whom you met along the way, such as Thorongorn, Meril, Dúlinn and Ailinwë, as well as the miners of Angobel and the Nandor. The Reborn, the miners and the Nandor are the key. They are the outcasts of Tol Eressëan society, the miners for obvious reasons, the Nandor for their isolationist stance and the Reborn for having the temerity of dying."

Placing his empty goblet on the table, Finrod sighed. "It seems impossible and Anatar publicly walking out on the council of Kortirion did not help matters."

"Perhaps not," Irmo said sympathetically, "but it is as it is and we must all deal with the consequences."

"Especially the Valar, child," Irmo replied solemnly. "More is at stake than any of you realize or wish to admit. But enough," he added briskly. "No decisions or actions need be made this day. Go and reacquaint yourself with your friends here. Meneldil is about finished with Gurthalion and Marthchall. You will find them in their grove which is situated next to Laurendil’s."

Finrod rose and gave the Vala his obeisance. "I will wait until I hear from Atar after he has consulted with Uncle Ingwë and Lord Manwë. Perhaps in that time the Tol Eressëans, or at least some of them, may have made their own decisions about things."

"You may be correct, so it is better to wait and see for now," Irmo averred, nodding in dismissal.

Finrod strode away and it was only after he disappeared around a bend of trees that Estë and Námo joined Irmo in the pavilion. Irmo gave his brother a wry look. "He’s not happy with what is going on," he said.

"None of us are," Námo said with equanimity. "And with Glorfindel effectively out of the picture for now his influence on others will be halved."

"Perhaps we should have... um... convinced Glorfindel to stay," Estë suggested, though the glint of humor in her eyes alerted the other two that she was not entirely serious.

"There will be a time when Glorfindel will not be here for real," Námo said. "Finrod needs to learn to deal with that now. I know he pined for Glorfindel all those years and he thinks that now that they are both reborn, nothing will truly separate them again, but we all know that is not true. Best that he starts getting used to the idea."

"Indeed," Námo retorted with a sour grin. "They are a menace to Amanian civilization as we know it and the bane of my existence."

Irmo and Estë started laughing, knowing full well that Námo was only jesting. Soon the Lord of Mandos was joining them.

Arafinwë and Ingwion reached Vanyamar in the early afternoon on the day they left Valmar. Ingwion smiled at the sight of the city rising along a crest of Taniquetil with the royal residence perched on a high promontory overlooking the plains below. Banners and pennants flapped in the breeze and somewhere the silver note of a trumpet was rung announcing their arrival.

They were met at the gates by an honor guard who escorted them to the palace where Ingwë, Elindis, Indil, Lirulin, Findis and Valandur were waiting for them in the forecourt. There were glad cries and warm hugs all around and once the travelers were divested of the dust of the road they all gathered together in the family sitting room, sipping a yellow wine.

"It’s always best to start at the beginning, yonya," Ingwë said with a smile.

Arafinwë gave him a wicked grin. "Well, let’s see… I was born in the year of the Trees…."

Arafinwë stuck his tongue out at the High King and then nodded, his expression more sober. "It’s a mess, Ingwë," he said with a shake of his head. "We have been very negligent in our duty towards these people who are our kin."

"Perhaps not," Arafinwë retorted with no little anger. "But they are elves, whatever their clan or history. We’ve been negligent and I fear that we will pay for it, all of us."

An uneasy silence hung over them for several long minutes before Ingwë turned to Ingwion. "Do you agree with Arafinwë?"

Ingwion nodded. "Yes, I do. I can see why the Valar want me to act as their emissary to Tol Eressëa."

"I am not sure why they need you, though," Indil said. "Can they not speak directly to the islanders?"

"Lord Námo told me that they prefer to work through me," Ingwion explained. "Even when three of the Valar visibly intervened in an incident that occurred in Avallónë, some people still did not accept what they said and we were ambushed…."

"Whoa!" Ingwë protested, raising a hand in surprise. "Ambushed? I think you had better tell us everything, from the beginning."

Both Arafinwë and Ingwion sighed. Then Arafinwë started speaking. "We arrived in Tavrobel where we were greeted by Gilvagor and Haldir who took us…."

It took a long time to tell the entire story. Ingwion interjected with the occasional comment but otherwise left it for Arafinwë to tell the tale. At one point, Elindis excused herself long enough to summon servants and order a light repast to be brought to them. Arafinwë was just getting to the part about the kidnapping by the miners of Angobel when Elindis insisted that they call a halt and take some refreshment. Arafinwë looked grateful, for the telling was tiring. By mutual consent, nothing was discussed while they ate, but soon the plates were pushed aside and goblets were refilled and with a nod from Ingwë, the narrative was resumed. When he began describing the ambush and how he and Alassiel were wounded, there were gasps of shock from everyone and Lirulin held her daughter close.

"Morcocáno was always a hot-head," Arafinwë said. "Do you not remember that he was exiled to Formenos when he drew steel on Lord Herencáno when my brother ruled in Tirion?"

Ingwion gave Arafinwë a strange look. "You knew who he was all along," he said almost accusingly. "I remembered him but was surprised when you acted as if you did not, nor did Findaráto, so I kept silent."

"Of course, I remembered him, Ingwion," Arafinwë said with a grim smile, "but I decided to pretend that I did not just to see what would happen, and you recall that Morcocáno pretended that he did not know me from before as well. He was a member of a minor noble family who disowned him when he attacked Herencáno. As for Findaráto," here he shrugged, "I do not know if he remembers Morcocáno or not and I did not bother to ask. I suspect he does not, for he had little to do with the ellon save in that one instance."

Ingwion nodded and Ingwë spoke. "Pray continue. I trust that this was the worst that happened to any of you?"

Arafinwë nodded. "What followed was almost anticlimactic, though it was exciting in its own way. We visited Angobel and…."

"… Then Olwë and I walked out on the council meeting and we made plans to return to Aman as quickly as we could." Arafinwë finished his narrative and took a long sip of his wine, waiting to see what Ingwë and the others would say.

"A very troubling report," Ingwë finally said, frowning. "I see what you mean about our being negligent. You are correct, yonya, and I apologize if I sounded callous earlier. These people, whatever their kinship and history, are indeed elves and deserving of our aid, if they are willing to accept it."

"That’s the key," Valandur said, speaking for the first time. "They must want our aid else any overtures on our part are worse than useless." Everyone nodded.

"It was my idea, Atar," Ingwion replied. "Tirion and Alqualondë won’t be suitable because Arafinwë and Olwë will be seen as biased. It is hoped that the Tol Eressëans will see you as neutral, especially if you appear to them as High King."

"Most do not, being Sindar," Arafinwë stated, "but one thing we stressed throughout our progress was the fact that Tol Eressëa is as much a part of Aman as Eldamar proper and we all look to you as High King."

Ingwë nodded, furrowing his brow in thought. "The question is where to hold it. We don’t know how many will attend, assuming any will attend at all."

"I know," Arafinwë averred, "but if we can find a large enough hall where they can meet, accommodations can be found in the inns and taverns and estates of the nobles."

"If it weren’t winter we could have set up a tent city as we did for the tournament," Elindis said. "Well, obviously that will not work here, so we will see what we can come up with. Everything seems to depend on whether the council is held at all. It’s early yet. Mid-winter is still four months away."

"I am sure we will know definitely before long," Arafinwë said. "There are factions on the island who want the council to be held and they will pressure the others."

"I want to consult with Lord Manwë about all this," Arafinwë answered. "I need to get a different perspective on what is going on. I know Findaráto is planning to speak with Lord Irmo."

"Let’s see… today is Elenya," Ingwë said. "I will be making my weekly visit to the Valar in four days. You should plan to accompany me and speak with Lord Manwë then."

Arafinwë nodded. "That sounds good. Perhaps before we go you, Ingwion, Valandur and I can sit down and hash all this out, come to some firm decisions to present to the Valar."

"That’s what we will do, then," Ingwë said and then they decided to go their separate ways to ready themselves for the evening meal.

Four days later, on Valanya, Arafinwë accompanied Ingwë and Ingwion up the mountain to meet with the Valar. When they were admitted into the audience chamber, it was to find only Lord Manwë there to greet them. He was standing on the balcony overlooking the mountains, apparently communing with one of his Eagles. He turned as Eönwë announced them, giving them a warm smile.

"Ah, the travelers return," he said, stepping into the room and gesturing towards a group of chairs around a low table. "Come. Let us sit and we will speak."

"Will not the other Valar be joining us, lord?" Ingwë asked, clearly puzzled, for it was rare not to have at least most of the Valar there when he came each Valanya to offer his respect.

"Some may join us later," Manwë said as he poured some wine into goblets and handed them out, "but for now, I thought it best that it just be us. I know you have much to speak to me about, Arafinwë and you, Ingwion, also."

"I’m sure you know as much if not more than any of us do about what has been happening of late, my lord," Arafinwë said with a slightly sardonic twist of his lips.

"Undoubtedly," Manwë replied with a small smile, his eyes brightening with humor, "but that is not to say we know everything, nor do we know your own thoughts on the subject, though we have made some shrewd guesses of our own based on what we do know. So, tell me what you wish. I know you are troubled by what you found and experienced on Tol Eressëa."

Both Arafinwë and Ingwion nodded. "Except in Tavrobel," Ingwion said, "the leadership on the island is noticeably anti-Aman, perhaps even anti-Valar."

Manwë nodded. "There are some few who have reason not to trust us," he said with equanimity. "Yet, I think the majority of the people there are less concerned about us and more concerned about themselves. They want to be left alone to live their lives, but at the same time, many, I suspect, feel that there is a true lack of leadership."

"It is a pity that none of the Noldorin royal family in Beleriand survived to lead these people," Ingwë said.

"Oh, there are survivors," Arafinwë retorted, "my daughter, for one, and my great-great grandson, for another. Unfortunately, my daughter was not permitted to return and Ereinion had no wish to, having been born in Beleriand, so he now rules over those who have chosen to remain in the Outer Lands."

"Your daughter would not have come even if we did not forbid her," Manwë said gently.

"And I do not understand why she should be so punished," Arafinwë retorted, "but that is a subject for another time. She is not here, nor is my great-great grandson. My son will not rule either, and none of the others who were kings in Beleriand are yet released from Mandos. We certainly cannot wait for one of them to be released, for there is no telling how long that might be. We need to find a solution now, or rather, we need to help the Tol Eressëans find a solution. Sador was correct when he said that Tol Eressëa is an explosion waiting to happen. It’s a miracle that it hasn’t exploded already."

"I thought the kidnapping and then Morcocáno’s ambush was the start of it, myself," Ingwion interjected, "but luckily the situation was defused in time. It still left some bad feelings all around, though."

"Kortirion did not help, either," Arafinwë admitted with a rueful look. "I wonder if Olwë and I were correct in doing what we did?"

"Second guessing yourself is a futile exercise, Pityahuan," Manwë said with a shake of his head. "I thought I taught you that lesson a long time ago."

Arafinwë nodded, looking a little sheepish. "You did, but it’s not a lesson I have ever been comfortable with."

"None of us are," Manwë averred. "We are all tempted to fall into that particular trap."

"Even you?" Ingwion asked without thinking and then started muttering an apology, looking suitably chagrined while Ingwë and Arafinwë exchanged amused glances.

Manwë just laughed, not at all insulted. "Even I, young Ingwion, even your atar, even you, if I remember correctly." The Elder King gave him a shrewd look and Ingwion nodded. "It goes with the territory," Manwë continued. "But as I said, it is an exercise in futility for it gets you nowhere. What is done is done and wondering what should have been done or not done does nothing to correct the situation, if it needs correcting. Deal with the consequences as they are, not as you would wish them to be."

"And the consequences may be that the council is not held and nothing changes on Tol Eressëa," Ingwion said morosely.

"No," Arafinwë retorted. "We will not let that happen. There will be a council, I assure you."

"Do you mean to force one on them?" Manwë asked in a neutral tone, thus giving nothing away as to how he felt.

"No, but there are those who want this council to be held and it will be for them that we will hold it."

"But if they have no authority…." Ingwion started to say but Arafinwë shook his head.

Arafinwë nodded. "I am asking you to grant authority to those who are willing to work on a solution."

"What about those who presently hold authority but do not attend?" Ingwë demanded. "How do you think they will feel about it?"

Ingwë and Ingwion both snorted at that. "An understatement if I ever heard one," Ingwë muttered. "I think you’re playing a dangerous game, yonya," he said with a shake of his head. "It seems to me that you want to force…."

"No, Ingwë, we do not want to force anything on anyone, but we need to make it very clear to those who are resistant to all this that if they are not willing to be a part of the solution then they will simply be considered a part of the problem and will lose out."

"Still, it’s a risky ploy," Manwë said, "yet, it does have its merits. My brethren and I have been having similar discussions along those same lines, though we have come to no firm conclusions, preferring to wait and see how you Children are handling it." He paused for a moment and the three elves had the distinct feeling that the Elder King was bespeaking to others, for he nodded as if in agreement to something unheard by them and smiled. "Very well, Arafinwë, you will have our support and our endorsement. We will grant authority to any who come to the council to speak for the rest of the island."

"And since we Valar will necessarily be a part of this, I think it will be a good idea to hold the council either in Valmar or here in Ilmarin," Manwë added.

"Or Ilmarin," Manwë said with a faint smile. "Which place do you think will impress them the most?"

For a moment the three elves just stared at one another, not really sure if the Elder King was being serious. Then, Ingwion shrugged. "If they come to Valmar and see the different clans working and living side-by-side as they serve the Valar, it might help them to see how they can live in harmony with one another and with us, but Ilmarin is definitely more impressive to my mind."

Both Ingwë and Arafinwë nodded. "Both sites are equally impressive, though for different reasons," Ingwë said. "I like the idea of the Tol Eressëans seeing the elves living in Eldamas working together along side the Maiar. I think that will impress them even more than any building will however grand it might be."

"Then we will consider that," Manwë said. "In the meantime, continue as you have. Wait until the month’s end. If no one from Tol Eressëa approaches you, then seek out those whom you think are willing to work towards change and invite them here for the council. I think we Valar might send some personal invitations of our own." He gave them a brilliant smile and all three ellyn smiled back, the image the Elder King’s words evoked amusing them. "Good. Then, I will bid you a good day, my children. You have done well, all of you. We Valar have high hopes for your success and will endeavor to aid you in whatever way we can."

It was clearly a dismissal and the three elves rose and gave Manwë their obeisance before exiting the chamber with Eönwë escorting them out. When they were gone, the other Valar appeared. Námo gave the Elder King a sardonic look. "Which do you think will impress them the most?" he asked and Manwë shrugged, gracing them with a slight smile.

"You can see the advantage of our doing so, can you not, meldanya," Manwë said, giving his spouse a kiss. "If we are hosting the council, it gives us a legitimate reason to be involved and perhaps to influence events to the benefit of us all. This situation in Tol Eressëa needs to be resolved now before any true healing can begin. You know this."

Varda nodded, though her expression was still unhappy. "I do, but it does not mean I like it."

"Actually, none of us do," Irmo said. "Yet, it makes sense that we have a hand in all this. If the council is held elsewhere, unless the Children specifically invite us, we would not be able to participate. This way, we can insist on having the right to observe the proceedings if nothing else."

"I would think that we would want to do more than observe," Ulmo opined. "After all, we could do that easily enough without them even knowing it."

"True, but this way we show them that we are willing to abide by their rules and customs of conduct," Manwë replied. "That will be important to the islanders. Most have had no real experience in dealing with us face-to-face."

"Well, that is true for most of the Children of Eldamar," Námo said with an amused snort.

"But they do have the experience of encountering the odd Maia or two," Nienna pointed out and the others all nodded.

Then Manwë turned to Irmo. "You spoke with Arafinwion," he stated and the Lord of Lórien nodded.

"He was in a great deal of psychic pain," Irmo said, "but I think he will recover quickly enough now that he is back where he belongs. He has agreed to wait until he hears from his atar about the council before he makes any plans of his own. I have encouraged him to continue cultivating the friends he made among the islanders and to strengthen his ties to the Reborn living there. I am hoping that it will be enough to encourage some of them to insist on a council."

"So, if we are agreed to host the council at the winter solstice here in Valmar, the next question is: which of us is willing to give over their mansion for the event?" Námo said with a sly smile.

"I doubt if the Children will appreciate having to walk your maze every time they wish to enter the council chamber, Námo, especially if they know that when they have done so they will either faint or throw up each time," Varda said and everyone laughed, including Námo.

"Still, the idea has its appeal," Tulkas retorted once they calmed down. "I bet it would be an incentive not to linger too long in Valmar and get the council over with as soon as possible. Then Varda can get on with sweeping the place out." He gave her a wink and she rewarded him with a scowl, though none of the others were fooled. Varda loved the Children as fiercely as any of them, but she did have this thing about clean floors.

"Perhaps we should consider taking turns hosting the council at a different mansion each day that the council lasts," suggested Nessa and the others all liked that idea and agreed to it.

"Then Varda and I will host them on the first day," Manwë said. "We will decide later the order in which the rest of you will host them."

The Elder King shrugged. "It will take as long as it will take and no longer," he replied.

There was a sigh that came from everywhere and nowhere at that and silence fell on Ilmarin as the Valar contemplated many things.

Arafinwë left Vanyamar the next day, setting a faster pace than usual, wishing to be in Tirion as soon as possible. He apologized to his escort for it, but the captain assured him that they were his to command. He made a mental note to speak to his secretary about giving them a bonus in their next pay. In spite of his haste, though, when they reached Valmar, Arafinwë stopped at the mansion of Lord Ulmo and spoke briefly with his Chief Maia, Salmar, before continuing on. He and his escort eschewed stopping at one of the inns lining the eastern road and made camp some leagues further on. They came to the outskirts of Tirion early on the third day after leaving Vanyamar. However, Arafinwë did not lead them directly to the city but made a quick detour to Lord Herendil’s estate where he allowed them an hour’s rest while he spoke with Herendil. When they finally departed for the last leg of their journey, their numbers were augmented by one. Thus, it was nearly noon when the city came into sight, shining white upon the green hill of Túna. Once at the palace Arafinwë dismissed the escort with his thanks, then hurried inside with Herendil at his heels where they were met by Eärwen, Sador and Amarië who were only just reaching the entrance, having been alerted to the king’s arrival by a runner from the gate.

"My love," Eärwen said as she was swept into Arafinwë’s arms. "What is amiss?"

"Nothing and everything," Arafinwë replied with a laugh. "I missed you," he whispered for her ears only and it was the tone of his utterance rather than the words that allowed Eärwen to gauge her husband’s mood.

"And I missed you," she said softly, giving him a wicked grin. "Perhaps we should dismiss the children...."

"Nay," Arafinwë said with a laugh. "There is much that must be discussed and I need to send a message to Olwë immediately. Later, though...." and he left the rest unspoken but Eärwen simply nodded, twining her arm into his, turning her attention to Herendil, who had stood by with a knowing smile, waiting to be acknowledged by the Noldotári.

"Welcome, Herendil." she said, extending a hand. "If you are here with my lord, then it must be important."

"As to that, my lady," Herendil said, bowing over her hand, "I cannot say. The king appeared on my doorstep quite unannounced and before I knew it I was following him back here. I have yet to be apprised as to why." He cast a sly glance at Arafinwë who smiled smugly.

"Then, why don’t we retire to the sitting room," Eärwen suggested. "You managed to arrive in time for luncheon. You can tell us all about it then."

But Arafinwë shook his head. "We’ll eat in the family dining room and have the cooks delay luncheon for one hour." Then he turned to Sador. "Find Gilvagor and Haldir and ask them to join us. Pelendur should come as well and Gwilwileth if she wishes. In the meantime, I need a fast courier. Have someone come to my study in fifteen minutes."

"I’ll see to that, Atto," Amarië said and she and Sador ran off to carry out the king’s commands.

"Herendil," Arafinwë then said, "would you escort Eärwen while I get this message written?"

"Of course, my lord," Herendil said with a short bow, "but, if I may be so bold, sire, why do you need this message sent so quickly? It will take even the fastest courier nearly a week to reach Alqualondë. Surely a delay of an hour will make no difference."

"That would be true," Arafinwë admitted, "if the courier were to travel by horse, but I’ve made arrangements for a fast ship which will reach Alqualondë tomorrow."

Both Herendil and Eärwen raised eyebrows at that. "With whom did you make such arrangements, my love?" his wife asked.

Arafinwë smiled. "With Lord Ulmo, of course. I spoke with his chief Maia before I left Valmar and made the arrangements. Salmar assured me that a ship would be waiting whenever I needed it."

"Then, go and do what you need to do," Eärwen said. "Herendil may walk with me in the rose garden until you are ready to join us."

"I would be honored, my queen," Herendil said with a bow to them both and Arafinwë nodded, handing his wife over to the noble before making his way to his study, calling for someone to ready a bath for him in the meantime.

An hour later everyone was foregathered in the family dining room where servants busily put out hot and cold dishes on the sideboard and saw that they had all that was needed before retiring. Arafinwë instructed everyone to fill their plates — he and Eärwen waited until last before filling their own plates — and in spite of the naked curiosity of the diners, he refused to discuss anything about his meeting with Ingwë and the Elder King until after they had eaten, limiting the conversation to minor matters concerning the city. Only when the last plate had been cleared and tea had been served did he speak of his trip.

"The Valar have offered to host the council in Valmar," he said baldly and without preamble.

There was a second or two of disbelieving silence and then it seemed everyone was talking at once. Arafinwë allowed them a moment before raising his hand for silence, which came almost immediately.

"Ingwë was willing enough to host the council himself, but we still had the question of logistics," he told them. "We do not know how many will come and there is the problem of where to house them and how to feed them. If the Valar are willing to act as hosts to the council, it will be their responsibility to see to the welfare of all who attend it."

"But if they are the hosts, they will want to participate in the council," Herendil said with a frown.

"Oh, they would have sent an observer to the council regardless of where it was being held or who was hosting it," Arafinwë assured him. "However, it is unlikely that the observer would have been noticed. I don’t think any of the Valar would have attended but certainly they would have sent at least one of the Maiar guised as an elf to mingle with those attending the council or simply remain unclad."

"So why bother with being the hosts if they would have already planned to... er... infiltrate the council with one of their own?" Haldir asked, his confusion mirrored in the faces of the others.

There were amused chuckles at that but Arafinwë took the question seriously. "It is as Herendil said. If they are the hosts they will demand the right to participate in the council itself."

All but Eärwen and Gwilwileth gave him concerned looks, remembering his outburst in Avallónë. Gwilwileth’s expression was troubled by the ellon’s tone while Eärwen merely clucked in matronly disapproval. "Now, yonya, you mustn’t take that attitude. The Valar are not our Masters and we are not their thralls. They have a vested interest in seeing that their Peace holds for all of us. You yourself told us that Tol Eressëa is an explosion waiting to happen and others have said the same. I have no doubt that Lord Manwë is as deeply concerned as we that that explosion never happens. It would only bring great pain and sorrow upon us all."

Sador gave them a sheepish look. "Sorry, Ammë," he muttered, keeping his eyes on the table.

"Still, Sador has a point," Pelendur said then. "The Tol Eressëans might see it in that light, the Valar dictating to us, or rather, to them. That’s not going to go down well with any of them, even the most enlightened."

"True," Arafinwë averred. "Yet, it is an elegant solution and as it was pointed out to me, having the council in Valmar will enable us to show the Tol Eressëans how we of Aman are able to live and work in harmony along with the Valar and the Maiar."

"Teach by example," Gilvagor said with a nod. "Of course, I remember what it was like before, as I am sure Haldir does, when we both lived here, but that cannot be said for the Sindar and Nandor and any of our clan who were born in Endórë. This is something they need to see for themselves as an example of how it can be on Tol Eressëa."

"Rather, how it must be if they are to be a part of Eldamar," Arafinwë corrected him. "We kings have decided that the situation there cannot continue. We were at fault in our isolationist policy and we are partly to blame for the present situation, so it is imperative that we convince the Tol Eressëans that they are Amanyar and not Alamanyar."

There were nods all around. "So, did you agree to Lord Manwë’s offer?" Sador asked.

"Yes," Arafinwë answered. "Both Ingwë and I think it is the best solution. Lord Manwë told me to wait a month and if no one from the island comes asking for the council to be held Olwë and I were to seek out those whom we feel would be willing to come." He paused and gave them a humorous grin. "Lord Manwë intimated that the Valar might even send their own invitations to a select few."

"Will you send a message to Findaráto about this?" Amarië asked. "He should be told what has been decided."

Arafinwë gave his future daughter-in-law a knowing smile. "You may have the pleasure of so informing him, my dear. I’m sure my son would enjoy a missive from you."

Amarië snorted in a rather unladylike manner. "Perhaps, but he’s a terrible letter writer. I hardly ever get anything back from him."

"I will send my own missive to him, dear," Eärwen said with a smile. "After he reads my letter, he will become a model letter writer, never fear."

Several people sniggered and Sador laughed outright, addressing Eärwen. "He may be the former king of Nargothrond and a prince among the Eldar but he will always be your ‘Little Finda’, won’t he? I wish I could be there to see his face when he reads your letter, Ammë."

Olwë read the letter Arafinwë had sent him three times before summoning Lirillë, Lindarion and Beleg. When they came he silently handed the missive to his wife who read it before handing it to Lindarion who then handed it to Beleg who could be seen mouthing the words as he struggled to read the still unfamiliar Quenya script. The others waited patiently for him to finish. Once he turned to Lindarion, who was his primary tutor in Quenya, showing him the letter and pointing to a particular word.

"Ocombë," Lindarion supplied. When Beleg gave him a puzzled look he added. "It means something similar to yomenië."

Beleg’s eyes brightened with understanding. "Oh, hûd", he said and continued reading. When he was finished he handed the missive back to Olwë. "The Valar want a say in what happens," he summarized and the others nodded. "I don’t think the Tol Eressëans will like that."

"Probably not," Olwë allowed, "but it seems that Ingwë and Arafinwë have already agreed to Lord Manwë’s suggestion."

"Do you think we will see anyone from the island actually come asking for the council to be held?" Lindarion asked. "You made it very clear in Kortirion that the council would not be held."

"Yes, I did," Olwë answered, "but Findaráto wrote a letter to Lord Thorongorn which he left with Lady Meril explaining why we did as we did and encouraging him and Borhael to seek out Ailinwë and Meluiwen of Angobel as well as Laeglîr of Garth Hallâd and the leaders of Tavrobel. If these people present a united front to the council members of Kortirion and Avallónë, it may well tip the balance in our favor."

Olwë gave him a sympathetic look. "Our hands our tied, hinya," he said. "Until the people of Tol Eressëa approach us there is little we can do except hope for a good outcome. But don’t worry. Arafinwë said we would wait a month to see what happens and then, if necessary, we will take action ourselves. I hope though that we do not have to."

"Then it will mean forcing a council on those who do not want it and that will leave a bad taste in a lot of people’s mouths," Olwë answered.

"Do you think the Tol Eressëans will object strenuously to the location when they find out where the council will be held, even to the point of refusing to attend?" Lirillë asked.

"Hopefully not," Olwë replied with a sigh. "We will have to point out to them that the Valar are as interested in having this situation resolved as we are, if not more so."

"Maybe they should hold the council in Mandos," Beleg said with a wicked grin. "Then all their relatives can participate. After all, most of them will end up living on Tol Eressëa once they’re released, so they should have a say as to what goes on there."

The others laughed. "I’m afraid you and the other Reborn will just have to speak for them, hinya," Olwë said.

"Don’t worry, Uncle," Beleg said solemnly, all levity aside, "I intend to." His expression hardened and the others could see beneath the Reborn façade the Marchwarden of Doriath that he once was and Olwë silently applauded. He knew his nephew had a long way to go before reaching full emotional maturity, but he also knew that Beleg was working hard at reclaiming a measure of his previous self and his memories. He thought the Progress had done a world of good in helping him towards that goal and looked forward to seeing the ellon mature into the Elf-lord he had once been even if he had eschewed such a title while acting as one of Elwë’s Marchwardens.

"Then we will wait," Olwë said. "It will be interesting to see what transpires in the meantime."

The others nodded and then they spent some time discussing other matters concerning Alqualondë and opening up more trade with the people of Tavrobel and Angobel.

Finrod was surprised to receive two letters from Tirion and one of them from his amillë. He hesitated for a moment before deciding which letter to open first. Curiosity as to why his amillë was writing to him won out and he opened it first. Scanning the words he found himself blushing and was heartily glad that he was presently alone in his pavilion. If Lindorillë, who was still acting as his secretary, had seen him reddening he would have had had to lie to her as to why. In no way would he ever tell anyone the real reason for his embarrassment. Putting the letter aside with a sigh he hesitated to open the one from Amarië, then shook his head in disgust at his own cowardice and opened it. As he read her words he felt his jaw dropping in surprise and before he realized what he was doing he was rushing out of his pavilion, shouting.

Instantly three Maiar appeared, and Finrod saw that they were Ingil, Melian and Olóremmárië, all of them looking at him askance.

"Whatever is the matter, Nephew?" Melian demanded. "You sound as if the place is about to be attacked by a horde of orcs."

"Sorry," Finrod said with a smile. "I didn’t mean to shout, but I really do need you. I’ve just received word that the Valar have agreed to host the mid-winter council and I need to speak with Laurendil, Manwen and Mithlas and anyone else that will be interested in the news."

"Could it not have waited until the dinner hour?" Ingil asked in amusement. "Both Laurendil and Manwen are attending to their duties as Lóriennildi and as for Mithlas...." He paused and Finrod saw the Maia’s expression take that far away look that indicated that he was bespeaking to someone through ósanwë. Then his expression became more present and he spoke again. "Mithlas is with Lasgalad and Iorlas as well as Mithlas’ amillë and sister. They left earlier this morning to go riding and are picnicking in the woods where you went camping with Vorondil."

"Drat!" Finrod muttered, then sighed. "I guess I’ll have to wait until they’re back and Laurendil and Manwen are free."

The three Maiar smiled sympathetically. "A few hours will make no difference," Olóremmárië said. "In the meantime, why don’t you come with me."

"I have been temporarily assigned to help Gurthalion deal with his nightmares," the Maia explained. "He had a particularly difficult night last night and Marthchall is beside himself with worry for his friend. They could both use some comforting."

Finrod nodded, stowing Amarië’s letter inside his tunic. "I’ll go get my harp," he said and turned to re-enter his pavilion, returning with the harp a moment later. Together, he and Olóremmárië left the grove, leaving Melian and Ingil behind. Melian gave Ingil a knowing smile.

"All in a good cause," Ingil said to thin air, smiling smugly, before he, too, faded away.

And far to the north in a secluded cove, Glorfindel paused briefly from the workout he was getting from Manveru and Mánatamir to catch his breath and wondered what his gwedyr were up to and if the people of Tol Eressëa had come to their senses yet and asked for the council to be held as originally planned. Then there was no time for thinking as the two Maiar attacked him at the same time and he went on the defensive, hoping that he managed to survive this particular practice session without having one or the other of the Maiar having to heal him of broken ribs again.

Alamanyar: Those not of Aman, i.e. those who started on the march from Cuiviénen but did not reach Aman.

Ocombë: Assembly, gathering; also combë. Derived from the verb comya- ‘gather, assemble (transitive)’. The Sindarin equivalent is hûd ‘assembly’.

Yomenië: Meeting, gathering (of three or more coming from different directions).

The weeks went by with no sign of anyone from Tol Eressëa. The month called Úrimë was nearly at an end and then there would be Yavannië, which meant Yávië was nearly half over and soon Quellë would be upon them. Arafinwë quietly began planning how he would contact those on the island whom he knew were interested in holding the council. He was thinking of sending Gilvagor back to act as his messenger. It would be the most natural thing for the ellon to return there without rousing any real suspicions. He was discreet and would be able to contact others quietly and without fuss.

He called a meeting with Gilvagor, Haldir and Sador a few days before Yavannië to hammer out Gilvagor’s itinerary.

"You have until Loëndë to contact everyone and report back," Arafinwë told him.

"Hmm... About forty days," Gilvagor said musingly, pursing his lips. "That should be time enough. If I am only contacting these people, how many do you anticipate coming?"

"It is hoped that these few whom you will contact will convince others to come," Arafinwë said. "We would like to see at least one representative from all the communities attend, not just the council members from the three major cities. Everyone should have a voice."

Gilvagor nodded. "The only trouble I see is deciding what constitutes a separate community. Most of the outlying settlements are farming villages that look to one or the other city for leadership and don’t have a separate governing body."

"I am aware of that," Arafinwë said, "but there are separate communities such as Angobel and I doubt that everyone looks to the cities. Certainly the Nandorin communities do not."

"The winter solstice is still months away, though," Sador said. "Why are we doing this so early?"

"It will take time to figure out the logistics, youngling," Gilvagor said with a smile. "The Valar need to be informed as to how many to expect so they can prepare the meeting place and accommodations and such."

"Also, the weather is always chancy that time of year and people will most likely set out early to ensure that they arrive for the council," Arafinwë pointed out.

Sador frowned. "I don’t recall this past Mid-winter being too bad weather-wise," he said.

"It was an unusually mild winter," Arafinwë told him. "While the Valar are more than willing to alter the weather patterns to suit themselves or us, Lord Manwë once told me that they do not like to do so too often. They prefer to allow nature to follow its own path. Apparently, when they manipulate the weather for our benefit it means that other parts of the world may suffer for it."

"I always thought they were the Masters of Arda," Sador said. "I just assumed that all that happens was under their control."

"It is a reasonable assumption," Arafinwë replied with a smile. "It is probably truer to say that they are the Lords of Arda who set all in motion but do not necessarily dictate it unless absolutely necessary. When the Trees were alive the Valar set the times of ripening and growth, for we lived in an eternal spring, but with the creation of Anar and Isil they decided to let the seasons follow one after another. I can tell you the first time it snowed in Tirion it was quite a surprise for everyone." He chuckled at the memory and Gilvagor and Haldir joined him.

"I know," Haldir said with a nod. "When that first winter came in Beleriand none of us had a clue."

"At any rate," Arafinwë continued, speaking to Sador, "we cannot depend on a mild winter again. It is always better to prepare for the worst and hope for the best. We want to give everyone plenty of time to make their preparations."

"Are you sure you should go alone?" Haldir asked. "Would it not make more sense for both of us to go? We can split up and cover more ground that way."

"And normally, I would agree," Gilvagor said, "but I think this time it would be best if I went alone and, besides, I don’t think Gwilwileth would appreciate being left behind again." He gave him a meaningful look and Haldir blushed slightly, refusing to look at anyone.

Arafinwë was about to comment when there was the sound of voices raised and shouting coming from outside. Sador rose and went to the embrasure to see what was happening and the others joined him. "Well, well, well," Arafinwë said in surprise. "It looks as if you won’t be going to Tol Eressëa after all."

The king’s study overlooked the main courtyard fronting the palace and the street that ran before it. Below them they could see a number of people dismounting from their horses, two of whom they recognized: Lord Thorongorn and Councillor Dúlinn.

"Why don’t we go greet our guests?" Arafinwë said, turning away and making for the door. The others followed as the Noldóran began issuing orders, sending servants and guards scurrying in various directions.

A page came swiftly towards them, obviously sent by one of the gate guards to find the king, and stopped to bow to Arafinwë. "Sire...."

"I know, child," Arafinwë said with a kind smile for the ellon. "Back to your duties." The ellon gave him another bow and ran off in a different direction, nearly crashing into Eärwen and Amarië as the two ladies came around a corner. The page uttered a mortified apology and Eärwen gave him a short lecture about running through the halls and let him go, smiling at her husband as he and the others joined them.

"It appears we have unannounced guests," she said as she linked arms with the king.

"Unannounced and uninvited but not unexpected and fully welcome," Arafinwë said with a smile of his own. "Shall we?"

They made their way to the front portico where they found Thorongorn, Dúlinn, and about a score of others loudly trying to convince the guards that they needed to see the Noldóran as soon as possible.

"Would now be soon enough?" Arafinwë couldn’t help asking as he passed the threshold. The Tol Eressëans all stepped back, their expressions more uncertain, and then Thorongorn and Dúlinn both gave the king their obeisance and the other Tol Eressëans followed suit, though some were a little reluctant to do so. "Welcome," Arafinwë said. "I am glad to see you here. You’ve saved me the bother of sending Lord Gilvagor back to fetch you." Before anyone could respond to that, he turned to Sador. "Would you like to escort our visitors to the north wing, yonya? I believe that will be the best place to lodge them."

"Of course, Atya," Sador replied, ignoring the looks of surprise on several of the Tol Eressëans’ faces at the familiar address. "I would be happy to."

"We will gather later this evening," Arafinwë said to them. "I will have my people escort you to the dining hall at the proper time. Until then, please feel free to visit the royal gardens or the city."

With that, Arafinwë and Eärwen returned to the palace, making their way to the royal apartments with Amarië, Gilvagor and Haldir in tow while Sador gestured for the Tol Eressëans to follow him in a different direction. "If you would come with me, my lords and ladies, I will show you your quarters."

"So the Noldóran has you acting as a servant," one of the party said with a sneer, a Sinda whom Sador did not recognize.

Sador gave him a surprised look. "It is customary for someone who is a member of the royal family to escort guests to their apartments," he replied. "It is considered only polite that the task not be given over to a servant. Were Prince Findaráto here I have no doubt the king would have asked him to escort you but he is not in residence, and as I am a royal ward, the task has been given to me."

There were considering looks on more than one face as Sador brought them to the north wing and up a flight of stairs to the second floor. "These rooms are set aside for visiting dignitaries," he told them. "I understand that when the High King visits, he is always placed in this wing." The implication of his words was not lost on the visitors as servants, who had been alerted by the king, appeared and introduced themselves to the Tol Eressëans, showing them their rooms and informing them as to the routine of the palace. Sador excused himself once he saw that the visitors were well in hand and made his way back to the royal apartments to report to Arafinwë.

"Did you recognize anyone else besides Thorongorn and Dúlinn?" Arafinwë asked Gilvagor and Haldir as they returned to the king’s study.

Both ellyn shook their heads. "Though I think at least one might be Nandorin by her dress," Haldir opined. "The others are unknown to me."

"Strange," Arafinwë said with a frown. "I had hoped that there would be those we knew personally." The other two shrugged, not sure how to answer. "Well, introductions will be made soon enough," the Noldóran continued with a sigh. "I can only hope that their being here is a good sign."

Sador joined them shortly after and the four spent some time hashing out possible replies to whatever requests the Tol Eressëans might make. "For I have no doubt that they will be asking for the council to be held," Arafinwë said, "but it remains to be seen what conditions they will demand before they agree to it."

"Perhaps, perhaps not," Arafinwë replied. "I am more interested in knowing who these others are with Thorongorn and Dúlinn. I am sorry that Lord Borhael is not with them."

"Thorongorn was part of the council in Kortirion," Gilvagor pointed out. "He obviously has ties with both cities. Borhael may have felt it prudent that he remain behind while Thorongorn acts as his representative."

The others all nodded. "We’ll find out soon enough," Arafinwë said and then they finished up their meeting to ready themselves for the evening meal.

The Tol Eressëans were assured by the king’s chamberlain who introduced himself to them that tonight’s dinner was strictly informal and that they need not dress too elaborately. "There will be time enough for that later," he said with a wry grin. "Tonight, you may dispense with protocol."

Thorongorn, remembering the luncheon in Avallónë, nodded and reinforced the chamberlain’s words with his own. "Do not think to impress the Noldóran or his court," he told the other delegates. "It is an exercise in futility and they will not appreciate our efforts."

Thus, the Tol Eressëans arrived at the dining hall to find that only the immediate royal family, Gilvagor, Haldir and Gwilwileth, along with just a handful of courtiers, including Pelendur and Herendil and their wives, were present. Arafinwë welcomed them and introductions were made all around. It turned out that Haldir was correct and that one of the ellith was indeed a Nando from Garth Hâllad named Celebriel.

"I was sent by Speaker Laeglîr to represent the interests of the Nandor," she explained.

The others turned out to be a mix group from the three cities comprised of guildmasters and merchants. None, however, came from Angobel. Two ellyn were Reborn though not known to Sador.

"Brethorn asked us to come and represent the interests of the Reborn," said one of them, a Noldo who introduced himself as Glóremmir. The other, Faramir, was of mixed Noldorin and Sindarin blood. When Sador asked, both admitted having died in the Nirnaeth.

"I held my allegiance to King Fingon," Glóremmir told them. "I died trying to protect him, but I failed, we all failed." He looked immeasurably sad and Arafinwë gave him a comforting hug, which surprised everyone.

"Then that is all that matters," the king replied and that seemed to help, for the ellon looked less despondent.

Faramir told them that he had served under Lord Maglor and had died at the hands of the treacherous Easterlings who had turned on them without warning. "I lived long enough to see my Lord Maglor kill the traitorous Uldor and took a blow that was meant for him, though I do not think he realized it, for he himself was sorely wounded and those around him were fighting to bring him away from the battle."

Some of the other Tol Eressëans who had once been warriors admitted to having survived that particular battle and of course, except for Glóremmir and Faramir, all had survived the War of Wrath. Arafinwë questioned them about their experiences and much of the dinner conversation was taken up with describing one battle or another. It was, perhaps, not the best topic to speak on, but Eärwen, who normally would have steered the conversation to something more pleasant, kept quiet, knowing that her husband was learning much about the Tol Eressëans from their responses to his questions concerning their involvement in the war and its aftermath. Sador and Haldir were sitting with the two other Reborn, quietly comparing notes on their own experiences in Mandos and Lórien and the difficulties they were still having in adjusting to their new lives, while Haldir’s wife and parents listened to their tales with great interest.

It was only as the last remove was being served that Arafinwë steered the conversation to the matter at hand, turning to Thorongorn, who claimed to be the leader of the delegation, along with Councillor Dúlinn. "Between the two of us, we represent the three major cities and much of the rest of the island," he told them.

"I am disappointed that no one from Angobel was asked to join you," Arafinwë said.

Dúlinn shook his head, giving Thorongorn a disgusted look. "I would have welcomed Meluiwen or Morfinnel, for I know them both, but Lord Thorongorn felt it prudent not to invite them, given the anomosity that many Tol Eressëans feel towards them."

"Nor do I apologize for my decision," Thorongorn replied, though he did look somewhat embarrassed. "I do not agree with the sentiments that were voiced in Kortirion concerning them, but we are treading a thin line here and it was difficult enough just convincing these others to join me in coming here."

"Not too difficult," Glóremmir said with a wry twist of his lips. "In fact, it was Brethorn and Laeglîr who went to Lord Thorongorn and insisted we form this delegation. Councillor Dúlinn also was quite enthusiastic about it."

"At any rate, this animosity towards the miners needs to be addressed before we can go forward," Arafinwë said sternly. "The people of Angobel are Tol Eressëans no less than any of you. They should not be left out of any decision concerning their welfare and the welfare of the island. However, for the present, I will represent their interests. Pray tell me what brings you here."

"Can you not guess, sire?" Dúlinn asked with a snort. "We want the council you proposed to be held."

"Oh, I knew that much," Arafinwë said with a slight smile. "The question is, do you truly represent the interests of the rest of Tol Eressëa or just your own?"

"The people of Tavrobel are firmly behind the idea," Dúlinn said firmly, "as are the people of Angobel, for I spoke with Meluiwen before we left and she assured me that they were in favor of the council so long as the miners were given a voice."

"All the communities on the island are to send representatives," Arafinwë announced, "not just the three cities. I know that many of the farming communities look to one city or the other for leadership, but I know that not all such communities do so. Even if they do, it would be prudent for them to elect someone to speak for them, for I imagine that their interests do not always coincide with those of the cities."

"True," Thorongorn said. "To answer your question, though, we do not represent all of Tol Eressëa, but we do beg you to reconsider and hold the council as planned. We need this council. We need to agree on a form of government."

"Yet, if you do not represent the majority of your people, how can you expect any sort of resolution?" Eärwen asked. "Any decision made at the council would not be a majority decision if only you few are there."

"We think that if you announce that the council will be held after all, then that will give us the leverage we need to convince others of its necessity," Dúlinn said. "Certainly, if I announce that Tavrobel will attend regardless then that will force Avallónë and Kortirion to send delegates, if only to make sure that Tavrobel does not lord it over them." He gave them a sardonic grin and there were nods all around.

"What of Morcocáno and Galadhwen?" Arafinwë asked. "How do they feel about it?"

Thorongorn shook his head. "Morcocáno has his own concerns," he replied. "That nonsense he pulled did not endear him to the rest of Avallónë. Many now fear that the wrath of the Valar will fall upon them and they are incensed by what was done. That slag of metal in the plaza has now become a rallying point for many who are rethinking certain truths."

"As for Galadhwen," Dúlinn said with a grin, "I understand that Borhael took her to task and publicly declared that he would no longer support her isolationism."

Thorongorn nodded. "I have tried unsuccessfully to convince him to disengage himself from Galadhwen’s policies for some time now, but it took your dismissing us out of hand to wake him up to what was going on. For that, I thank you, your Majesty. Borhael is now firmly behind the idea of the council and remained behind to convince the others to his cause."

"I am glad to hear it," Arafinwë said. "He struck me as being more open-minded than some of the others on the council." He paused and gave the delegates a searching look. He noticed with grim satisfaction that only Dúlinn, Celebriel and the two Reborn could face him with any equanimity; the others, even Thorongorn, could not meet his gaze for any length of time. "I have spoken with the High King," he continued after a moment, "and with Lord Manwë. The Valar have offered to host the council in Valmar."

"Then what is the point of a council?" one of the guildmasters complained. "The Valar will just tell us what we are to do and...."

"Not so!" Arafinwë exclaimed with some heat. "You forget that Aman was the Valar’s home long before it ever became ours. We are here by invitation, and that is especially true of you of Tol Eressëa. They are as concerned about this situation as we elves are. More so, I deem. They will not dictate but they will have a voice in the council, no less than any of you. Those were their terms, their only terms, that they be allowed to participate."

There was a great deal of murmuring among the guildmasters and merchants. Faramir turned to Glóremmir, Sador and Haldir with a smile. "It will be good to see Lord Námo again. I wonder if he’ll remember me?"

The very casual way in which the ellon spoke of the Lord of Mandos caused the others to cease their muttering and stare in surprise and consternation at the Reborn who were ignoring everyone else while Sador assured Faramir and Glóremmir that Lord Námo would not have forgotten them and would be happy to see them again. "He will be glad to know that you are both faring well in your new lives," he said and Haldir voiced his agreement.

Arafinwë noticed Thorongorn and Dúlinn giving the Reborn considering looks and then they turned their attention to him. "It will not go down well with most," Thorongorn said softly, "but we will endeavor to convince them that it’s the best solution."

"If Tavrobel is firmly behind the idea," Arafinwë said to Dúlinn, "I am sure the others will follow."

Dúlinn nodded. "Baradir and Sîdhwen will follow my lead in this," he assured the king. "Between us we will bring Tavrobel to the council. I will also go to Angobel and speak with Meluiwen and Morfinnel. Will Marthchall be there?"

"It depends on how Gurthalion is doing," Arafinwë said, "but I have a feeling that he will be."

"Then I suppose we should plan to return to Tol Eressëa posthaste and begin the task of convincing everyone else," Thorongorn said with a sigh.

"You need not leave immediately," Arafinwë said. "In fact, I think a trip to Valmar is in order. You should speak with Lord Manwë himself and see what arrangements will be made so you can go back to your people with detailed information." He hid his amusement at the sight of several of the Tol Eressëans with panicky expressions on their faces and was about to assure them that they had nothing to fear when Sador clapped his hands with delight, speaking to Glóremmir and Faramir.

"Oh, if we go, I can show you Lord Námo’s mansion. He has a lovely rose garden." The two Reborn smiled in delight.

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow at his ward but Sador merely gave him an ingenuous smile. Thorongorn and Dúlinn exchanged glances with one another and the other delegates and then turned back to the king. "I guess we will go to Valmar," Thorongorn said with a weak smile.

"I’ll make the arrangements," Arafinwë said. "We will leave the day after tomorrow."

No one but the two Reborn seemed particularly happy about it. Eärwen decided the time was ripe to intervene and artlessly steered the conversation away from the topic of the council and asked the delegates about their families. Everyone seemed genuinely relieved at the change of topic and the rest of the evening was spent in a more relaxed atmosphere, so when they bid the royal family good-night, the Tol Eressëan were in a better frame of mind.

Quellë: Fading, which begins on our 7 October. Also called Lassë-lanta ‘Leaf-fall’.

Loëndë: Year-middle Day, the second of the three enderi or middle-days inserted between Yavannië and Narquelië (7 October - 5 November), the 183rd day of the calendar, corresponding to our 5 October, since the Elvish calendar begins on 6 April.

Atya: Reduced form of Atarinya: My father, which, according to Tolkien, is the form a child would use when addressing his or her father.

As the time approached for the Tol Eressëans to leave Tirion for Valmar, several of them balked at going at all. In fact, some even suggested that only Thorongorn and Dúlinn needed to go, while the rest would just wait for them in Tirion, but the two ellyn and Arafinwë refused to accept that suggestion.

"You are all members of the delegation," Arafinwë told them. "You should all be present." Then he smiled somewhat mirthlessly at their discomfort. "I promise the Valar do not bite... much."

That did not appease them but they realized they had no choice. Only Glóremmir and Faramir were genuinely excited about going and pestered Sador and Haldir about details. Celebriel also seemed less anxious than the other delegates and when Arafinwë asked, she just shrugged. "I was there when Lord Araw appeared to us. I think I’ve lost my ability to be shocked since then."

Arafinwë gave her a genuine smile. "Trust me, my dear, the Valar are quite capable of shocking even those of us who have lived all our lives in their presence. It’s one of their more endearing traits."

Sador, Haldir, and Gilvagor, having overheard the conversation, sniggered. "Násië!" Gilvagor muttered fervently.

They did not rush but took their time on the road, allowing the delegates to see the countryside and admire the landscape. There were others on the road from all three clans and they greeted Arafinwë, whom they recognized, with delight and respect. This seemed to greatly impress the Tol Eressëans, and there were many considering looks between them.

"Where will we be staying?" Thorongorn asked at one point. "I think there are too many of us to find rooms in an inn."

Arafinwë nodded. Along with the twenty members of the delegation, the group consisted of Arafinwë, Sador, Gilvagor, Haldir and Gwilwileth as well as an honor guard, bringing the total to thirty-five. "You are correct," the king answered. "So I sent word ahead to have the royal townhouse opened for us. I usually don’t care to stay there myself, but I think this time it would be more prudent to do so and more comfortable, as I have no idea how long we will be staying."

"Usually at one of the inns along the way, either on this road or in Eldamas, which is the town inhabited by those elves who serve the Valar in Valmar." Arafinwë gave them a smile. "The ‘Laughing Vala’ is a particular favorite."

There were several raised eyebrows at that. "Odd name for an inn," one of the Tol Eressëans said.

"And the story of how it got its name is even stranger," Arafinwë replied with a laugh. He then began telling them about it and in minutes there was much laughter as the tale was spun.

They came upon the eastern gate of Valmar three days after leaving Tirion. Arafinwë allowed the Tol Eressëans to stop and admire the gate that had not been built by any elvish wight nor was it built with the Eldar in mind. It was constructed of mithril and pearls and was a purely Valarin structure. Its majestic proportions awed the visitors into silence. After a moment, Arafinwë gestured for them to continue. The Tol Eressëans, he noticed, kept their eyes before them, not willing to look upon the city of the Powers. He could see that even Thorongorn and the one or two Noldor who had once lived in Aman had become white and he wondered idly if any of them would actually faint, but they did not. He had first thought to show them something of the city before heading for the townhouse, but decided against it. He gave them all a sympathetic look.

"There is nothing to fear here," he said quietly. "Come. The townhouse is not far. There you can rest from your travels. Time enough tomorrow for anything else."

There were grateful looks from most of them, though he noticed with some amusement that Sador was pointing down the Landamallë towards the mansion of Lord Námo and Lady Vairë while Glóremmir and Faramir craned their necks trying to see. He was sure that the Reborn would be heading out later to visit with the Lord of Mandos and he had no doubt that Lord Námo would be waiting for them. Then they passed through the northern gate made of meteoric iron and diamonds and into Eldamas proper.

"Ah... here we are," he said as he led them to the townhouse. Servants came bustling out the doors ready to see to everyone’s needs and in moments horses were being led away to the stables, guards were being dismissed to the barracks and the rest were being led to their rooms where they found ewers of hot water and clean cloths waiting for them. Those who desired to bathe were led to bathing chambers. Arafinwë told them that dinner would be in three hours and completely informal. "Or, if any of you desire it, you may have dinner in your rooms. Just let Mistress Luhtanna know," he told them, naming the Chief Housekeeper who oversaw the upkeep of the townhouse, which was shared by the royal families of all three clans, not just the Noldor.

Sador, Glóremmir and Faramir dropped their haversacks, quickly washed off the dust of travel and headed out while Haldir stayed with Gwilwileth, for she expressed an interest in wandering through Eldamas. Arafinwë gave the three ellyn an indulgent smile. "Don’t be late for dinner and try to stay out of trouble," was all he said and all three Reborn rolled their eyes and sighed as one as they left the townhouse.

"It never fails, does it?" Glóremmir asked as the three made their way towards the northern gate of Valmar. "I was released from Mandos seventy-three years ago and everyone still treats me as if I were an elfling of twenty-five."

Faramir snorted. "I was released even longer ago than that and it’s the same with me."

"I know what you mean," Sador said with a grin. "It must be very hard for those of you who died when you were already so old."

"Well, I was only sixty-eight when I died," Sador said. "I do not think it’s taking me as long to reach the same level of maturity as I had when I died compared to everyone else. And being as young as I was at the time, people make allowances for me that they don’t for someone they know was much older."

"Hmm.... you might be right," Glóremmir allowed. "I’d already seen several yéni when I died. Same with Faramir. Still, you would think that after a while everyone would stop treating us the way they do."

"It’s hard for them, I think," Faramir suggested, "because they know we’re Reborn and they remember how we were when we were first released from Lord Irmo’s care."

"Yet, they don’t treat their own children that way once they’ve reached their majority," Glóremmir protested.

Sador shrugged, giving them both a wry look. "Well, you know what they say: once a Reborn...."

"Hmph!" was Glóremmir’s answer to that and the other two smiled but they did not pursue the subject further as by now they were passing the northern gate into Valmar proper and the two Tol Eressëans stopped to take in the sight of the Landamallë and the mansions of the Valar. As they continued down the avenue Sador pointed out various features to them. They all stopped at the Mindon Nyellion to listen in wonder to the bells softly chiming before continuing on. Their steps slowed as they reached the carnelian gates fronting Lord Námo’s estate with identical expressions of yearning on each of their fair faces.

They 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. A flagstone path lined with elder trees made its way from the gates to the front portico of two steps leading to intricately shaped mithril doors.

Glóremmir nodded. "Sometimes. When things get particularly rough. Not as much now as before, though." He gave them a wry grin. "Guess I’m growing up."

The other two sniggered. "One thing I don’t miss are those stupid classes," Faramir said, rolling his eyes, "especially painting class."

"I liked the painting class," Sador exclaimed, "but I could have done without the history lecture."

Both ellyn nodded at that. "Especially since no one was willing to tell us what had happened in Beleriand," Glóremmir said with a scowl. "I had to find out by asking other Reborn who’d died after me."

"It’s as if even the Maiar wanted us to forget about our life there," Faramir added. "Nobody wanted to talk about it."

"I suppose they were hoping that now that we were here in Aman that we would look to the future rather than the past," Sador suggested a bit uncertainly.

Glóremmir shrugged. "If you don’t know where you’ve been you can’t begin to figure out where you are or where you are going. The past is what defines us. All our experiences, good and bad, make up the sum of who we are. I suppose those who’ve never had to struggle to remember even a single detail of one’s previous life can’t understand how important such knowledge is to us."

"I didn’t care what had happened in Aman," Faramir said with a scowl. "After all, I was born in Beleriand. All I wanted to know was what had happened to my family and friends after I died but the Lóriennildi all said that it was no longer important, that I lived in Aman now. It was so frustrating."

Sador and Glóremmir both nodded. "I think things are going to change though," Sador said. "Finrod now resides in Lórien and I know he has taken an interest in how other Reborn are being treated and is helping to... hmmm... re-educate some of the Lóriennildi." He gave them a wicked smile.

"About time, too," Faramir said with a mirthless grin. "There were a couple of Lóriennildi I would have cheerfully fed to the orcs given half the chance."

The other two laughed in agreement, and then turned their attention back to Lord Námo’s estate. There were no Maiar about and they could only see a small portion of the grounds. "The gardens are quite lovely," Sador said. "And you should see the inside of the mansion. You have to traverse this spiral maze in order to reach the rest of the mansion. It’s a very strange experience. Most people either end up fainting or throwing up."

"Do you think it will be all right to go inside?" Faramir asked once they had calmed down. "Do you think Lord Námo will even be here?"

Sador shrugged. "I really don’t know," he said, sounding suddenly uncertain and looking a bit embarrassed. "To tell you the truth, this is the first time I’ve ever been here on my own. I only know what Finrod and Glorfindel have told me about the place."

Faramir was gazing about, a frown on his face. "Doesn’t it seem oddly quiet all of a sudden?" he asked.

Sador and Glóremmir stared about them and they suddenly realized that the Landamallë was now empty of people. There had been a fair number of elves moving up and down the avenue on their own business and one or two Maiar had been visible as well, but now, looking back up towards Lord Manwë’s mansion they could see no one. It was as if the entire city was empty of people save them.

"Where did everyone go?" Sador asked and then gave a startled gasp which was echoed by the other two ellyn when the carnelian gates started to open, though there was no one there. No one visible, that is.

The three looked at each other, their expressions ones of mingled fear and hope. "Do... do we go in?" Sador whispered, feeling very young and uncertain, wishing his gwedyr were there.

Glóremmir and Faramir both shrugged. "It’s why we are here, isn’t it?" Faramir said softly, giving the younger ellon an encouraging smile.

"Come. It’s clearly an invitation," Glóremmir said and he and Faramir moved to put Sador between them to give him some support as the three went through the gate. They stopped only a few feet inside, not sure what to do next, unaware that the gate had closed silently behind them.

Then, before any of them could utter a word, the doors of the mansion opened. Glóremmir gave the other two a weak smile. "I think we’ve been invited inside."

Faramir nodded, giving them a wry chuckle. "I guess we’re about to find out if we are the fainting type or the throwing up type," he said.

Sador suddenly gave a weak moan and he turned white. He tried to retreat but the other two ellyn held on to him. "Come on, Sador," Glóremmir said sympathetically. "We’re here. Let’s not keep Lord Námo waiting." He nodded to Faramir and together they chivvied the younger ellon along and then they were standing before the doors peering in.

"Any sign of them?" Arafinwë asked perhaps for the twentieth time. He was standing in the foyer of the townhouse with the housekeeper.

"None, Sire," Mistress Luhtanna answered. "Should I send someone into Valmar to enquire? Surely the Maiar will know."

Arafinwë sighed, wondering what could have happened to Sador and the other two Reborn. It was now just past the dinner hour. "I told them to stay out of trouble," he muttered in frustration, speaking more to himself than to the housekeeper.

"I am sure no harm has come to them, my lord," Mistress Luhtanna said solicitously. "After all, this is Valmar. What mischief could they possibly find here in the city of the Powers?"

Arafinwë gave her a mirthless grin. "You’ve never dealt with Reborn, have you, Luhtanna?"

The elleth shook her head, her expression quizzical. "No, Sire, I haven’t. But, if I may ask, what does their being Reborn have to do with anything?"

"Everything, my dear," Arafinwë said with a genuine smile. "And Sador is only recently Reborn. He may appear adult, but his emotional responses to things is that of a twenty-year-old."

Luhtanna blinked in sudden realization of what the Noldóran meant. "Oh dear," she said faintly and Arafinwë nodded.

"They were going to visit Lord Námo," Haldir said as he and Gwilwileth entered the foyer along with Gilvagor, Thorongorn and Dúlinn. "Why don’t we just go there ourselves?"

"They may have been there and then left," Arafinwë answered. "It’s likely they wandered about and simply lost track of the time as elflings tend to do."

"Neither Glóremmir nor Faramir struck me as being particularly elflingish in their manner," Gwilwileth said. "Faramir has been a Reborn almost as long as Prince Findaráto and Glóremmir isn’t too far behind. They both struck me as being quite mature, which, I suspect, is why Brethorn asked for them to be a part of the delegation."

Arafinwë nodded. "That’s true, but I know in my own experiences with my son that even after a century the Reborn still have... relapses. Anything could have happened to them. Remember the tournament?" Both Gilvagor and Haldir nodded grimly. "We have to start somewhere, though," the king continued. "I’m going into Valmar."

"You shouldn’t have to handle it at all, my lord," Gilvagor retorted with a scowl. "We can look for them for you." The others all nodded.

"I appreciate the offer, Gilvagor," Arafinwë replied, "but unlike the rest of you, I’ve had intimate dealings with the Valar and Maiar and I know where to go for answers, but you all might as well come along. It’s as good a time to introduce you to Valmar as any."

"Not all of us need accompany you," Thorongorn said. "I think Dúlinn and I can go and perhaps Celebriel, if she’s willing. Between the three of us we pretty much represent the bulk of the citizens of Tol Eressëa."

Arafinwë nodded. "Then let us ask her and be on our way. I am hoping that we will encounter our missing ellyn as they are returning here, all full of apologies for losing track of the time."

In the end, besides the three Tol Eressëans, Haldir and Gilvagor decided to accompany Arafinwë who had no objections. There was no sign of the three missing ellyn as they passed through the northern gate and entered Valmar. Much to the surprise of his companions, Arafinwë did not head down the avenue but turned left and soon they were in front of the mansion of the Elder King. The Tol Eressëans cast surreptitious looks between them, but none ventured to question the Noldóran as to his purpose. Only Arafinwë showed no surprise when they found themselves facing a Maia standing at the gate as if waiting for them.

"Ah... Pityahuan," the Maia replied with a smile. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"You can stop playing games," came Arafinwë’s reply. Everyone else sucked in their breaths in shock at the seeming disrespect.

Olórin simply smiled and gave them a brief bow. "My Master is waiting for you," he said. "Please follow me." He led them into the mansion and down the main hallway to a particular door, opening it and ushering them into the chamber, which turned out to be a small receiving room, closing the door behind them.

Everyone but Arafinwë stopped and stared in consternation at the sight of the Valar congregated there, obviously waiting for them. The king, however, never paused, but continued across the floor to stand before Lord Manwë, giving him a perfunctory bow. "Where are they?" he asked softly, glancing at Lord Námo. His manner was not confrontational but the other elves could tell that the king was just barely holding his anger in check. Gilvagor and Haldir glanced at each other knowingly, remembering how Arafinwë had reacted to the disappearance of his son and Glorfindel.

"They’re quite safe, child," Námo replied, "and they are my guests for a time."

"Why?" Arafinwë’s expression was one of confusion as he glanced between the Lord of Mandos and the Elder King.

"For reasons of my own," Námo answered, his tone mild, though no one there was fooled. "I promise you no harm will come to them and they are quite happy where they are. You’ll see them again soon enough."

"We understand your concern, Arafinwë," Manwë interjected before the king could speak, "but there is no need to get upset. Sador, Glóremmir and Faramir are quite well. I don’t think they even remember that they are late for dinner." He smiled warmly at the startled look Arafinwë gave him. "I give you my word that they will return to you tomorrow. Do you believe me?"

Now Arafinwë looked somewhat abashed and he gave Manwë a more sincere bow. "You know that I do, lord," he said, sounding both contrite and affronted.

Manwë clapped him on the shoulder. "Then put aside your fears for Sador and introduce us to your companions. Haldir and Gilvagor are known to us but the other three...."

Arafinwë motioned for the others to approach and made the introductions. "Lord Thorongorn of Avallónë and Kortirion, Councillor Dúlinn of Tavrobel and Lady Celebriel of Garth Hallâd, representing the Nandor. They came with seventeen others to ask that the council that we had proposed be held. They are certain that they can convince their fellows to agree to it."

Manwë nodded, smiling at them all. "Mae govannen, hîn nîn. We are delighted that you have come," he said in flawless Sindarin, much to the Tol Eressëan’s surprise.

"L...le hannon, hîr nîn," Thorongorn stuttered, giving the Elder King his obeisance, which the others echoed.

"I assume that Arafinwë has told you of our proposal," Manwë said and the elves nodded. "It is, I think, the best solution all around," he continued. "We will open Valmar to the Tol Eressëans and any interested observers. How you conduct the council is your affair, but it is important to understand, and this is something you must convey to your people, that we Valar will not permit you to go away without having come to a resolution to your problems."

"You mean we would be prisoners?" Celebriel demanded, looking as shocked as Thorongorn and Dúlinn.

"Prisoners?" Manwë repeated. "No. That you will not be, but we will not allow you to squander this opportunity with internal bickering and prejudices. I see that no one from Angobel is a part of your delegation."

"Some of us thought it would be prudent not to include them at this time," Dúlinn replied, casting a sour glance at Thorongorn, and it was obvious to the Valar that the councillor had not approved of the plan.

Thorongorn looked apologetic. "It’s just too soon," he said almost pleadingly. "It was difficult enough to get permission to form this delegation in the first place. Including the miners would have caused too much turmoil at this time. Meluiwen agreed with me." He gave Dúlinn a sharp look.

"Only because she realized that forcing the issue would do no good," Dúlinn countered. "I still think we should have accepted one of them as part of the delegation and if others dropped out because of it, so much the better. I will not tolerate hypocrites. None of us have a squeaky-clean past. Certainly none of you Noldor," he added with a sneer.

"And this is precisely what I was talking about," Manwë said, giving them all a mild look of reproof. "Your wish to include the miners is commendable, Dúlinn, but not at the expense of insulting your fellow delegates."

Dúlinn muttered an apology, not looking at anyone. Manwë continued to address them all. "You must realize that we Valar are more aware of what has been happening on Tol Eressëa than you suspect... or hope. If we have not acted before this it is because we had our reasons not to. We were, in fact, waiting to see what the elves of Aman would do. Unfortunately, we were forced to wait a bit longer than we anticipated." He glanced briefly at Arafinwë who had the grace to blush. "But that is not the point. The point is that the situation has been recognized as needing to be addressed and we Valar are willing to provide you with a place where you can come together to discuss your problems. Recriminations are useless at this point. Whoever is at fault does not matter. In the final analysis you are all at fault. Time to move on."

"The delegates will be housed here in Valmar," Varda answered. "We will open our mansions to you so there is no need to limit the number of people attending."

"We are thinking of taking turns hosting the council at a different mansion each day the council lasts," Manwë told them. "Varda and I will host the first day. We’ll decide later the order in which our brethren will host you."

"Thank you," Arafinwë said. "I think that will work." The three from Tol Eressëa nodded.

"Good," Manwë said with a smile. "Now it is well past the dinner hour, so I suggest you return to the townhouse and sup. Tomorrow, return here at the fourth hour after dawn with the rest of the delegation so we may meet with them and discuss things in more detail."

"He, Glóremmir and Faramir will be here as well," Námo answered. "You have my word."

Arafinwë nodded and gave the Valar his obeisance, which the others echoed. "Tomorrow then." Turning towards the door they found Olórin waiting to escort them out.

When the Valar were once again alone, Manwë turned to Námo. "Where are they?" he asked.

"Maranwë and Vanimeldë are keeping them amused," Námo answered with a slight smile.

Manwë nodded. "Let us go then. We will need to move quickly if we are to keep our promise to have Sador and the other two ellyn here tomorrow."

1. According to the Language of Flowers, the elder tree is a symbol of compassion.

2. Carnelian is an orange-red gemstone and symbolic of the power to ease fears about death (for Mortals) and rebirth (for Elves).

3. Obsidian is associated with Hades, the Greek god of the dead, and is a symbol of transmutation of negative energy to positive energy and the transition from one state of being to another. Rainbow obsidian helps dissolve shock, fear or barriers.

4. Amber is symbolic of courage, protection on a journey (physical or spiritual) and the presence of Eru Ilúvatar. It is also a healing stone.

5. Moonstone is a symbol of truth in self-reflection and showing what ‘is’.

"Are you sure we should go in?" Sador whispered nervously as the three ellyn peered through the doorway, at the last minute hesitating to enter.

"I don’t think we have a choice now," Faramir said, swallowing around a lump in his throat and looking a bit pale.

"Come on," Glóremmir said, straightening his spine a bit more. "We can’t stand out here all day and I did want to see Lord Námo again, didn’t you?"

The other two nodded, though Sador’s nod was more hesitant than Faramir’s. The two older ellyn gave him sympathetic smiles. "It will be well, I’m sure," Glóremmir said and then he was crossing the threshold and the other two followed him perforce.

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 as their eyes adjusted to the dim light. 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.

"Glorfindel told me that you have to walk the spiral in order to enter the rest of the mansion," Sador said in a whisper as if afraid to disturb the silence surrounding them.

Even as he was speaking the doors closed behind them, causing them to jump, their hearts racing. In their panic they tried to open the doors but there were no knobs or handles and pounding on them did no good. Finally they stopped and Faramir gave the other two a wry look that did not quite disguise his unease. "I guess this means the only way out is in. We’re going to have to walk the spiral whether we want to or not. So... uh... who’s going first?"

They stood there indecisively, staring at the spiral, none wanting to be the first to step forward. Then all three of them gasped in shock as they heard a voice in their heads.

*I can wait forever, but you will starve to death before that.* The voice sounded amused more than anything. *Sador, you will go first, followed by Faramir and then Glóremmir. Do not be alarmed when you can no longer see one another as you travel the maze. Everyone walks the spiral alone though there be a hundred people with him.*

All three ellyn sighed as one. Glóremmir gave Sador a squeeze on the shoulder in comfort and the younger elf stepped forward. Almost as soon as he stepped upon the spiral his spirit became calmer and he felt more hopeful, smiling at nothing. He came to the first curve of the spiral and saw Faramir stepping forward and then he was totally alone. He felt a momentary sense of panic welling up and he stifled a scream as he remembered the voice’s warning. It took him a moment to bring his breathing under control and for his heart to slow.

*You’re doing fine, Sador,* the voice said encouragingly. It sounded like yet unlike Lord Námo and Sador wasn’t sure what that meant. *Keep walking.*

Sador did as he was bid. As he continued walking the spiral, he felt himself grow more and more calm, almost as if he were walking in a trance, his mind stilling until it was silent of all thought as he reached the very center. Then there was a moment of disorientation and dizziness that passed almost before Sador’s mind even registered it. He suddenly found himself elsewhere, the light somewhat brighter than before. Blinking, he looked about and saw he was in a room similar in size and shape to the one he’d just been in but there was no spiral mosaic on the floor.

"Welcome, Sador," a voice said from behind him. He turned to see a Maia in the black surcoat with the Sun-in-Eclipse emblem of the Lord of Mandos smiling at him. He looked vaguely familiar but he couldn’t quite place him. "Why don’t you come over here, child, so you aren’t in Faramir’s way when he comes through," the Maia said, gesturing to him.

Sador took a step forward, feeling confused and not really understanding what the Maia was talking about, but even as he did so, he felt a sickening wave of dizziness sweep over him and everything went black.

Sador slowly came to, trying to make sense of what he was hearing, but he felt too weak and disoriented to make any real effort at understanding.

That was a second voice, feminine in its tone. Sador opened his eyes, blinking at the light, to find himself lying on a couch, staring up at the faces of two Maiar smiling down at him.

"Welcome back," the Maia who had first greeted him said as he helped the ellon to a sitting position. "How are you feeling?"

"Thirsty," Sador said without thinking and suddenly the other Maia was offering him a goblet. Taking it he found himself drinking cool water that refreshed him more than he expected. When he was finished he gazed about him. He was no longer in the bare room but in a small chamber. "Where am I? What’s happened to Glóremmir and Faramir?"

"They are both well," the first Maia assured him. "Like you, Glóremmir fainted and is still unconscious. Faramir was merely sick to his stomach and is now resting nearby. As soon as Glóremmir awakens we will take you to Lord Námo."

Both Maiar smiled. "I am Maranwë," the first Maia answered, "and this is Vanimeldë."

"Oh yes," Sador said, his eyes brightening in recognition. "Now I remember you."

Sador nodded and carefully swung his legs to the floor and stood up, allowing the Maiar to help him. He still felt a bit weak in the knees but the feeling was passing and after taking a deep breath or two he decided he was steady enough.

"Faramir is in the next chamber," Maranwë said, pointing to a door. "Why don’t you go keep him company while we check on Glóremmir. He should be coming to just about now."

With a nod, Sador made his way to the door and opened it, finding himself in another small chamber. Faramir was lying on a couch similar to his own and when he saw Sador he leaped up, smiling joyfully as he gave the younger ellon a hug.

"I’ve been better," Faramir answered with a bark of laughter. "Throwing up is no fun."

"Neither is fainting," Sador retorted. "Maranwë says Glóremmir should be waking soon."

"That’s good," Faramir said. "I was really worried but the Maiar assured me you were both well."

"I wonder why everyone reacts to walking the spiral either by fainting or throwing up?" Sador asked as he and Faramir sat side-by-side on the couch.

The other ellon shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, but I think that I would be very hesitant to visit this place a second time unless I could find another way in."

Just then, the door opened and Glóremmir entered, looking a bit pale. He gave them a wan smile as he saw them. Maranwë and Vanimeldë followed.

"I know you have a lot of questions," Maranwë said to them, "but you must be patient. Lord Námo will explain everything. If you are ready, I will take you to him." He crossed the room to another door that the elves had not noticed before and opened it.

Sador and Faramir stood and the three ellyn followed Maranwë out while Vanimeldë brought up the rear. They traversed a long hallway, turning a corner and coming to a door that was halfway down the hall on their left. Maranwë opened it and ushered the three elves inside. He and Vanimeldë came behind them, closing the door. The elves found themselves in what appeared to be a library. Shelves of books lined the walls on either side of them while the wall facing them comprised of three arches that opened to an inner garden where a fountain sang merrily. They could see many butterflies flitting about, moving from one colorful flower to the next. The flowers’ fragrances mingled and filled the air. A colorful square rug covered the center of the wood floor where comfortable chairs were arranged around a low glass table on which sat a decanter and goblets and plates of cheese, fruit and pastries. Tapestries hung on either side of the door. It was a bright and cheerful room and the three ellyn felt themselves relaxing almost at once.

Even as they were taking in the room, there was a shimmer of light in the garden and then Lord Námo was there, smiling at them as he entered the chamber. The three ellyn gave him their obeisance and he gestured for them to sit, taking one of the chairs himself and pouring some fruit juice into the goblets. "Please help yourselves," he said to them. "Your hröar suffered somewhat from your ordeal and I imagine you are all feeling a bit faint. The juice and food should help steady you."

Sador took a tentative sip of the juice to discover it was hawthorn and sighed with contentment after taking a longer sip of the refreshing drink. Without asking, Námo refilled his goblet and Sador picked up a small strawberry-filled pastry. The other two elves were also eating and after a few minutes they all looked less pale. Námo nodded in satisfaction.

"I am glad you came to visit," he said. "Tell me your impressions of the mood on Tol Eressëa concerning the recent visit by Olwë of Alqualondë and Arafinwë of Tirion and the proposed council."

Glóremmir and Faramir exchanged glances and then Glóremmir swallowed a bit nervously before answering. "Overall, I think the visit was welcomed by most," he said, taking a bite of cheese and washing it down with the juice. "I... I was in the square when the ambush occurred."

Sador gave him a surprised look but Námo merely nodded encouragingly. Glóremmir turned to Sador with a grin. "No, I wasn’t part of the ambush, if that’s what you’re thinking. I happened to be in the square on personal business and got caught in the crossfire." He paused and gave Lord Námo a wry look. "In fact, I suddenly found myself not in Avallónë but somewhere on the plains of Ard-Galen fighting orcs that had ambushed our patrol."

"I was in the square by myself, doing some shopping," Glóremmir explained. "In fact, I was fairly close to where the attack occurred. I think that’s why I had the flashback. I was as much in danger of being hit by arrows as anyone."

"Those arrows were not being aimed at anyone in particular," Sador said. "In fact, their sole aim was simply to pin us down until Morcocáno arrived with his troops."

Glóremmir nodded. "So I gathered later. At the time, of course, all I knew was that I was part of a patrol that had been ambushed by orcs." He grimaced at the memory. "I remember that I was looking for my weapons. I couldn’t understand why I didn’t have them and I started to panic even more because I could see my fellows in the patrol being killed and I couldn’t help them because I had no weapons."

Glóremmir shook his head. "Of course not. In reality we routed the orcs and only suffered minor injuries. None of the patrol died."

"It seems that whenever any Reborn has such a memory there is always one element that doesn’t ring true," Námo mused. "It’s how you are able to pull out of the memory; you realize that something is not quite right but you don’t know what or why. That seed of doubt is the chink that allows the present to invade the past and bring you back."

Glóremmir shrugged. "I suppose. I only know that I was panicking more and more and then suddenly I felt someone holding me and calling my name and then I found myself back in the square and a Maia I did not know was there comforting me." He gave them a lopsided grin. "I was so confused by the... um... memory attack, I guess you can call it, for I hadn’t had one in such a long time, that I almost missed the drama between Morcocáno and Lord Eönwë. That was fun."

Sador rolled his eyes in disbelief, while Faramir snickered and Námo graced them with a slight smile. "Fun doesn’t begin to describe it," Sador said.

"Anyway," Glóremmir continued. "I think that was why Brethorn asked me to be a part of the delegation, because I had been a witness to that event."

Faramir shrugged. "I live in a small farming community outside Tavrobel but I happened to be in Kortirion visiting friends when the Amaneldi came to the city, so I went to the town meeting, more out of curiosity than anything. I found the attitude of many there to be rather disturbing. It was as if they felt themselves to be better than the rest of us."

Faramir nodded. "Yes, though to tell you the truth, I can’t say I’ve ever really thought about them. My village lies to the south of Tavrobel and we’ve not had any contact with the miners, though I have no doubt our blacksmith has purchased metal from them."

"You know, it just occurred to me," Sador said, giving the two Tol Eressëans a considering look. "Glóremmir lives in Avallónë so I can see how he might know Brethorn, but how is it that you do?"

Both ellyn smiled somewhat sheepishly. "Tol Eressëa isn’t all that large and our population is small compared to the mainland and the number of Reborn is even smaller," Glóremmir said. "Everyone sort of knows everyone else."

"Actually, what Glóremmir means is that we Reborn have been keeping an eye out for one another," Faramir added. "Brethorn and a few others created a Council of the Reborn, you might say."

"Just what it sounds like," Glóremmir replied. "Just as the three cities have their councils, so, too, do the Reborn. Of course, no one who isn’t a Reborn is aware of it. We’ve kept it to ourselves."

"How long has it existed and what is its purpose?" Sador asked, now looking intrigued.

"I think it came into existence about fifty years ago," Faramir answered and Glóremmir nodded in agreement.

"Brethorn and a few others decided we needed to band together," Glóremmir went on to explain, "and give one another the support that we were not finding with our family and friends who had not died and so could not really understand what we were experiencing."

"They formed a council of twelve members who meet periodically to discuss our plight and seek ways to help recent arrivals to integrate into our society," Faramir said. "Brethorn actually traveled through the island and visited every community to find all the Reborn. He made a record of each of us, our names and families and our histories. Now, whenever any Reborn joins us on the island, one of us will meet with them and tell them about the Council and the support system that has been put in place so if they have any problems they know where to look for help."

Sador pursed his lips in thought for a moment and then turned to Námo, who had been quietly listening. "Did you know about this... this Council of the Reborn, my lord?"

Námo nodded, giving them a smile that fell just short of being smug. "Who do you think inspired Brethorn to come up with the idea?"

All three ellyn raised eyebrows at that revelation. Then Sador turned to his friends. "So, are you both on this Council?"

"I am," Faramir said, "but not Glóremmir. It is as he said: Brethorn chose him because he was there in the square when Morcocáno was being stupid. As I was present in Kortirion and had heard from the Reborn in Tavrobel what had happened there, Brethorn felt that one member of our Council should accompany the delegation."

"And no one else knows that you are a member of this Council," Sador said, making it more a statement than a question.

Faramir shook his head. "No, none of them know who I really am. Oh, Dúlinn knows me, for I am often in Tavrobel on business, but he is as unaware of the existence of the Council as any of the... how did Lord Glorfindel put it... the Once-born?"

For a long moment no one spoke. Námo watched the interplay of emotions on Sador’s face as the young ellon came to terms with the new knowledge, knowledge that even his gwedyr did not have, knowledge that could be put to use.

"Or we include the Reborn living here in Aman into our web of contacts," Faramir said. "In fact, there’s been much discussion about whether we should contact you Reborn in Aman and bring you into our little conspiracy."

Both Faramir and Glóremmir smiled. "Anything that the Once-born don’t know about but eventually learn is a conspiracy as far as they are concerned."

Glóremmir nodded. "I can just imagine the reaction of someone like Galadhwen when she finds out that the Reborn in her midst have their own Council which is island-wide in its influence."

"In some ways," Faramir said. "Mostly we simply provide a place for other Reborn to come and air their complaints. We on the Council have encouraged our fellows to meet on occasion and talk things out. We hold a meeting every six months in a different location and invite those interested to attend. They then return to their communities and pass on whatever suggestions have been put forth to help make our lot better. I think since instituting the Council the Reborn have found that they are not as alone as each one thought themselves to be, that together we are strong and with every Reborn who comes to the island we become that much stronger. Soon, I think, we will be strong enough even to reveal our existence and demand a true voice in the councils now headed by the Once-born who pretty much ignore us."

"That time may come sooner than you think," Námo said and the three ellyn gave him quizzical looks. "The Reborn have a vital role to play in the politics of the Eldar," he went on to say. "You have a unique perspective on things that the Once-born lack. Your council, in fact, could well be the model on which the rest of the Tol Eressëans will base their government. It is imperative that when the midwinter council is held that there be a strong showing of the Reborn there. When you return to Tol Eressëa you should impress upon Brethorn and the rest of the Council that the time for secrecy is past. They should plan to attend as a group."

"Is that why we’re here, lord?" Glóremmir asked. "Is that what this is all about?"

"Partly," Námo answered. "There is something else, though." He paused as if hesitant to continue but seeing the expectant looks on the ellyn’s faces, he went on. "Last year, Glorfindel was here visiting."

Sador nodded. "That’s when he was kidnapped," he said to the other two ellyn, "and Lord Oromë called a Hunt." He stopped and his eyes went bright with wonder at the memory and he suddenly had a difficult time breathing. Námo was beside him in an instant, rubbing his back.

Sador slowly came back to himself, looking sheepish. Námo merely smiled as he addressed them all. "What Sador said is correct, but before all that happened, Lord Manwë and I asked Glorfindel if he would permit us to examine him."

"Glorfindel had been experiencing what we term psychic breaks," Námo explained as he resumed his seat. "His fëa was somehow slipping out of his hröa and we were at a loss to understand why. We examined Glorfindel and also Ingwion for comparison’s sake to see if we could determine what was causing this slippage. Our findings are a bit inconclusive and so we think we need to look at some other Reborn to see if Glorfindel’s make-up is unique to him or common to all Reborn."

"So you want to... er... examine us?" Sador asked, his expression one of uncertainty.

Námo shrugged. "Then you are free to leave anytime. I will not force you. You must decide of your own free will."

Námo’s smile was warm and genuine. "Not at all. In fact, as I told Glorfindel at the time, it will be quite boring for you and you might even fall asleep."

"How long will it take?" Glóremmir asked, glancing at the garden and gauging the light. "We promised King Arafinwë that we would be back for dinner and I think it’s nearly that now."

"You would need to stay overnight," Námo said. "I will let Arafinwë know that you are well so he does not worry."

The three ellyn glanced at one another and then Sador shrugged, turning to Námo. "I will allow it, lord, even if Faramir and Glóremmir decide otherwise."

"Well, we’re not letting you have all the glory, youngling," Glóremmir said with a laugh, "so you can count me in, lord."

"Thank you," Námo said with a grave sincerity that surprised the three Reborn. "Maranwë and Vanimeldë will keep you company while I make the necessary arrangements. As it truly is near the dinner hour I will have them bring you something. We will do the examination after you’ve supped. Until then...." He stood and was already fading from view before the three elves could even climb out of their chairs to give him their obeisance.

Before any of them could utter a word, the door to the library opened and Maranwë and Vanimeldë entered, bearing trays loaded with food. Námo’s chief Maia smiled benignly on them. "Would you like to have your dinner out in the garden?" he asked. "I think you will find it very pleasant there."

"Thank you, we would," Sador said, speaking for them all and in a few short minutes they were seated near the fountain digging into their meal with great appetite while Maranwë waited on them and Vanimeldë entertained them, producing a lute and singing ballads from Beleriand as she played.

1. Amethyst: A purple gemstone. A symbol of protection and the power to overcome difficulty.

4. 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.

Sador, Glóremmir and Faramir were just finishing dinner when Maranwë announced that Lord Námo was ready for them. The three ellyn, who had been enjoying the repast and quietly speaking on various subjects of interest to them suddenly went still, their expressions wary.

Maranwë smiled at them. "There is naught to fear, children," he said kindly. "Come. We will show you where you may freshen up and then we will take you to Lord Námo."

Fifteen minutes later they were making their way up a flight of stairs to the next level and then they were being ushered into a room that was 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, for Anar was only now slipping westward and it would be a couple of hours before she set.

The three elves stopped in consternation as soon as they entered, for they saw that not only was Lord Námo there but all the other Valar as well. Faramir gasped in dismay and Sador grimaced, but Glóremmir went absolutely white.

"No!" he shouted and turned to leave, but Vanimeldë blocked his path. He started beating on her in his terror and his screams reverberated across the room. Námo was there in an instant, taking the ellon into his embrace.

"Hush now," he whispered as Glóremmir struggled against him, sobbing. "It’s all right, Glóremmir. No one will harm you. Hush, best beloved."

"No... no... not again... please not again," they heard the ellon say over and over again.

Sador and Faramir exchanged worried looks and moved toward one another as if to close ranks against an enemy. Námo noticed them and gave them a knowing smile. "It’s not what you think," he said. "Glóremmir is merely remembering his Judgment before all the Valar."

Manwë came over and placed his hand on Glóremmir’s head. Nothing seemed to happen at first, but Sador and Faramir noticed a slight glow around the Elder King’s hand and Glóremmir’s sobs slowly quieted and his shaking stilled until he was utterly calm.

"That’s it, child," Manwë said softly. "There is naught to fear here. We are not here to judge but to learn, for you and your companions have much to teach us."

After another moment or two, Glóremmir raised his head, blinking as if waking from a dream. Námo smiled down at him. "Feeling better?" he asked and the ellon nodded, looking embarrassed. He turned to face Lord Manwë who gazed upon him with warm benevolence.

"That’s right, Glóremmir," the Elder King said as he gestured for the ellon to come to him. "All is well now. Come. Why don’t we make ourselves comfortable and we will explain what we wish to do."

He led the ellon towards the center of the room where some chairs were set in a circle. Manwë directed Glóremmir to one of the chairs while Sador and Faramir joined him. Manwë and Námo sat as well while the other Valar remained where they were. There was no sign of any Maiar. When all were settled, Manwë turned to Námo.

Námo nodded. "We found some genetic anomalies when we scanned Glorfindel’s genome," the Lord of Mandos said.

Námo shrugged. "That we’re not sure about," he answered. "My people and I have been comparing Glorfindel’s genetic make-up with Ingwion’s. Naturally, there are vast differences in their genetics since they are unrelated to one another, but on the other hand, where there should be similarities because they are both elves, we’ve found some unexpected irregularities. Here. Take a look."

To the utter astonishment of the three elves, Námo raised a hand and made some gestures and suddenly before them, floating in mid-air, were two ladder-like structures twisting along a central core like a spiral staircase. The ‘rungs’ were half one color and half another in no particular pattern that they could comprehend — blue and green, yellow and red. The three glanced at each other and shrugged while Námo pointed to the one on his left.

"This is Glorfindel’s DNA pattern," he said. "The other is Ingwion’s. Look! Here is where the anomaly appears." He pointed to a set of ‘rungs’ and Manwë leaned forward to take a closer look. Ulmo and Irmo also moved forward, with Ulmo standing between Sador’s chair and Glóremmir’s while Irmo stood on Glóremmir’s other side between him and Faramir. The Valar ignored the three ellyn as they studied the structures floating before them.

"Hmmm...." Ulmo said, stroking his sea-green beard. "Most interesting. I can see why you want to continue examining other Reborn. It would be interesting to see if someone like Findaráto has this same anomaly."

Námo shook his head. "These three should do well enough," he said and Sador, at least, was beginning to wish he could just quietly disappear. As if the Vala could read his mind, Lord Ulmo placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. Sador was surprised but also comforted, though he could not have said why.

"You think this anomaly explains why he keeps slipping his leash as you like to say?" Manwë asked.

Námo shrugged. "I really don’t know, which is why I want to examine these three ellyn to see if they exhibit the same anomaly."

At that point Glóremmir turned to Sador and whispered, "Do you know what they’re talking about?"

Sador shook his head and whispered back, "Not a clue, except the fact that Glorfindel is odd, but we knew that anyway."

"But... don’t you know?" Sador asked, clearly confused as he glanced from one Vala to another. "I thought you would know."

Námo’s expression became unreadable and Sador wondered if he should have said anything at all. Ulmo patted him on the shoulder, as if to get his attention, and he looked up at the Lord of Waters. "Why don’t you tell us about it?"

"He... he slipped his leash," Sador answered. "At least, that’s what we think happened."

"It was when we were in Tavrobel," Sador said. He then proceeded to tell them of Edrahil’s blood trance and the subsequent drama of Finrod searching for his fëa and bringing him back. "I thought you would know," he ended, looking directly at Námo who’s expression remained impassive.

"I did," Námo said, "but I hesitate to subject Edrahil to any more stress at this time, which is why I did not have him come here."

"And I wouldn’t have allowed it anyway," Irmo said. "Sending him off with Findaráto and the Royal Progress was risky enough. He needs to be stronger in fëa before I will let him leave again."

"So I figured," Námo said to his brother. "Yet, Sador’s suggestion does have merit. So far, except for those few older elves who did as Ingwë did, Edrahil and Glorfindel are the only two Reborn to have suffered such a slippage of their fëar. I hope that when you deem Edrahil able, that you will allow me to examine him as well."

Irmo nodded. "I will have Findaráto bring him when I deem the time is right and you can examine them both. You might want to see if you can also get Ingwë and those others who went into the past in fëa to agree to be examined so we can do a better comparison. We really need to understand what is happening with the Children. In the meantime, let’s concentrate on these three and see what we can learn from them." He smiled down at the three ellyn and the trust that they had for him was evident in their relaxed manner.

Námo and Manwë nodded and stood, so the three elves rose as well. Almost at once the chairs disappeared and in their places were three raised beds and before they had time to protest, Námo, Irmo and Ulmo were encouraging each of them to remove their boots and belts and then lie on one of the beds. Námo smiled down at them.

"As I told you earlier, this will be rather boring for you, so feel free to fall asleep if you wish. We’ll wake you when we’re done."

With that, he stepped away from them, as did Manwë, Irmo and Ulmo. Námo raised his hands and the three elves gasped as one as a globe of golden light rose to surround them. Then to their amazement a ladder-like structure similar to the ones they had seen earlier was floating over each of them. The other Valar moved to stand in a circle around them, paying no attention to the ellyn but staring intently at the three images floating in mid-air. Sador noticed that the Valar were careful to stay outside the globe of light.

"We’ll do a complete mapping of their genomes and then make the comparison," Námo said.

"Can you call up Glorfindel’s and Ingwion’s genomes again?" Ulmo asked as he stared intently at the projection in front of him.

Námo nodded and immediately two other ladder-like structures appeared, floating in space within the globe of light. Sador turned his head to see what the reactions of his two friends were to all this and noticed that Faramir was pointing up at the structure above him and asking Lady Nessa, who happened to be standing near him, what it was all about. Nessa was attempting to explain but it made no sense to Sador, yet Faramir actually seemed to understand. At least, his eyes weren’t glazing over as Sador’s was and his expression was one of deep interest. Sador had to grin at the sight of Lady Nessa having to ask Lady Yavanna to help her answer one of Faramir’s questions. Apparently, the Valar were not all equal in knowledge. Somehow that thought made them seem more accessible to him, less all-knowing and powerful. Glóremmir on the other hand was obviously not as interested. Sador could tell that the ellon had already begun to slip onto the Path of Dreams. Perhaps the fright he had received earlier had drained him emotionally. Sador hoped the ellon would recover.

He turned his attention back to the discussion Námo and Ulmo were having, hoping he would get a glimmer of what they were talking about but it was hopeless. Half the words made no sense to him. What on Arda was ‘mitochondrial DNA’ anyway!? It didn’t even sound like Quenya. In fact, now that he thought about it, he wondered if they weren’t speaking partly in Valarin. The very idea sent shivers through him.

"....and notice at this locus how the sequence of bases is the same for the Reborn but not for Ingwion." Ulmo was saying, pointing at the display.

"There shouldn’t be the same sequence for any of them," Námo replied, frowning. "The sequencing should be completely different for all of them at this locus. Only identical twins have the exact same sequence of bases."

"Apparently," Ulmo said. "And notice, too, that in Ingwion’s case the length polymorphism is a microsatellite of three repeats while the others are minisatellites with a repeat of... hmmm... thirty."

"It makes no sense," Námo protested, "although I have been saying all along that the fëar of the Reborn resonate on a slightly different frequency than the Once-born." He shook his head, obviously frustrated. "I need additional samples. I need to check Ingwë and those few others who went into the past. I wonder if they exhibit something similar in their genetic sequencing."

"I will broach the subject to him when he comes to Ilmarin on Valanya," Manwë stated. "I do not think he will refuse our request."

Námo nodded. "We need to get to the bottom of this. If these anomalies are showing up in all the Reborn, we need to know why and what they signify."

"When you recreate the hröa of a Reborn, you follow the imprint in the memory of the fëa, do you not?" Nienna asked.

"As Atar showed me," Manwë replied. "Each fëa of the Children retains in itself the full imprint and memory of its former house; and in its nakedness it is open to us, so that we may clearly perceive all that is in it. It is from this imprint that we may make for it again such a house in all particulars as it had ere evil befell it."

"So that means that we have a blueprint of the hröa right down to the cellular and chromosomal level," Námo added.

Námo shrugged. "Essentially, that is correct, though in truth that is not what we do since we do not create the hröa from any cellular material but from the fëa’s inviolate memory."

"Then how do you explain these anomalies?" Námo’s sister insisted. "Whence do they arise? Are they mutations which occur after their re-embodiment, or something that is already present when you create their hröar?"

"They are not really mutations," Námo said, "but rather it is as if latent genetic sequences are being activated for some reason. Something tells me that this is important for us to understand for the future. Ultimately, I foresee that the number of Reborn will outnumber the Once-born, especially once we begin to release those Children who died during the Great Migration and all those who still reside in Endórë and are bound to die because of the wars that we have seen will arise there. If that is the case, and if the Reborn are the next evolutionary step in their development we need to know what that will mean for us all."

"It would probably help to have you examine those besides Ingwë who originally came from Cuiviénen, then," Ulmo said. "I will speak with Olwë and convince him to submit to an examination. If the oldest of the Children are exhibiting something similar in their genetic make-up as the Reborn are, it may show us the way."

"It will be interesting to see if the same genetic sequences are being activated," Námo averred. "If so, then it means that those who do not die will eventually evolve naturally. We know that in the third stage of their lives they begin to exhibit characteristics that are absent earlier, such as the growth of facial hair among the ellyn. There may be more subtle changes of which we are as yet unaware. We know that they are subject to fading, though the effects of that are mitigated here in Aman. Still, what else may be happening to them of which we know nothing?"

"Then perhaps we should use this upcoming council to... er... solicit volunteers for our examination," Oromë suggested with a grin. "We should try to get a sampling of the population as a whole along an age spectrum from the oldest to the youngest, although I think we can dispense with examining elflings. Anyone who has reached their majority would do."

They all nodded. "It sounds like a good idea," Námo said. "I will start setting up the parameters with my people and perhaps Irmo and Ulmo can help me with the particulars so we’re not wasting our time looking at everything." Both Valar nodded acceptance.

"Yes," Ulmo said, stroking his beard, his brow furrowed in thought. "I have some ideas along those lines. We can discuss them later."

"Are we finished here then?" the Elder King asked, pointedly glancing at the three elves. Glóremmir was definitely asleep, they saw. Faramir was wide awake and obviously hanging on every word of their discussion though they doubted he understood one word in twenty. Sador was idly humming to himself, apparently having lost interest in what they’d been saying, his eyes gazing at nothing in particular. He tried to stifle a yawn but not very successfully. The Valar hid smiles and most of them faded away, leaving just Námo and Manwë behind.

Námo glanced at the display and nodded in satisfaction. The mapping of the elves’ genomes was nearly done. He caused the maps of Glorfindel’s and Ingwion’s genomes to fade away and then shortly thereafter, the rest of the display dissipated and the light faded. Sador blinked a few times, as if coming back to himself from wherever his thoughts had taken him. Faramir sighed, looking glum, and Námo silently bespoke to Ulmo and Aulë about apprenticing the ellon with them in the field of genetics.

*He obviously is interested in the field,* he told them. *It might be well to begin teaching the Children the deeper fields of genetics beyond what they have discovered on their own concerning heredity.*

Both Valar agreed. *I can have Amillo begin tutoring him,* Ulmo said, naming one of his Maiar who was as well versed in the biological sciences as Ulmo.

"Are we done, lord?" Sador asked, rising on his elbows. Faramir was also sitting up, but Glóremmir never stirred.

"Yes, we are done, and I thank you for your patience," Námo said, giving the two ellyn a warm smile. "You seemed quite interested in what was going on, Faramir."

The ellon nodded. "Though even with Lady Nessa and Lady Yavanna explaining things I still didn’t quite understand it all."

"Ulmo has agreed to send one of his people to tutor you if you are willing," Námo said.

Both Manwë and Námo nodded. "When you return to Tol Eressëa Amillo of the People of Ulmo will come to you," the Elder King told him.

"Thank you, lord," Faramir said fervently. "I was always curious about how children seem to inherit certain characteristics of their parents but not all of them, and I’ve studied something of how traits are passed from one generation of plants to another, but that’s as far as I’ve been able to go." He gave them a self-deprecating chuckle. "There was little call for such knowledge when we were battling orcs."

"Then we will see that you are able to indulge your curiosity to your heart’s content," Manwë said with a smile. "In the meantime, it grows late and Glóremmir is already asleep. Why don’t we show you to your rooms? Tomorrow you will rejoin your companions."

"I hope Atar wasn’t too upset when we didn’t return as we promised," Sador said, looking uneasy.

"When we explained to him that you were my guests for the evening, he accepted it gracefully enough," Námo answered with a slight smile as he leaned over Glóremmir and placed his hand gently on the ellon’s forehead, calling him to awaken.

Glóremmir blinked, focusing his eyes and looked up at the Lord of Mandos. "Is it over? Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep."

"Yes, it is," Námo said with a chuckle. "And there’s no need to apologize. Sador and Faramir are ready to retire for the night, though."

"Oh, then I guess I should as well," the ellon said as he struggled to a sitting position, giving his companions a wry smile. The other two ellyn chuckled and soon the three were gathering their boots and belts and following the two Valar out of the room and down the hall to another room where three beds awaited them.

"Sleep well, children," Manwë said in benediction and then he and Námo left them to their own devices.

Faramir and Sador spent a few moments as they were preparing for bed filling Glóremmir in on what he’d missed but the ellon just shook his head as he climbed into bed and pulled the covers over him. "I think I was smart to fall asleep. You two will be awake half the night trying to figure out what the Valar were saying and getting nowhere in your ruminations. I, on the other hand, will not be plagued by such thoughts and will sleep the sleep of the innocent."

In reply to that rather pompous statement, Glóremmir found himself being pelted by two pillows at once. He retaliated in kind and for a while there was a lively pillow fight and much laughter before they finally settled down and went to sleep.

Vanimeldë, unclad and keeping watch over them at her lord’s command, smiled fondly at their play, remembering when each of them had been in Mandos. In some things, she thought to herself, highly amused, they never grow up and she, for one, was glad for that.

Isilsardi: Plural of isilsar: Moonstone. A symbol of truth in self-reflection and showing what ‘is’ [isil ‘moon’ + sar ‘stone’].

Note: Manwë’s explanation of how the Valar recreate a Reborn’s hröa is taken from Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth, Appendix: ‘The Converse of Manwë and Eru’ and later conceptions of Elvish reincarnation, Morgoth’s Ring, HoME X.

When Sador, Glóremmir and Faramir woke the next day they were relieved to find out that they would not have to leave Lord Námo’s mansion by way of another spiral maze.

"I don’t think I want to be sick again," Faramir said, "especially after having eaten such a fine breakfast."

Vanimeldë had greeted them when they awoke and showed them where they could freshen up and then brought them back to the library where breakfast was waiting for them in the garden. There was no sign of Lord Námo and the elves were too shy to ask about him.

"King Arafinwë and the delegation from Tol Eressëa are meeting with Lord Manwë in an hour," Vanimeldë told them as they dug into their eggs and porridge. "I will lead you there myself when you are finished. No need to rush. There’s plenty of time."

So they took their time with eating with Faramir asking the Maia some questions about what had happened the night before, questions that he seemed to have thought out with some care during the night. Vanimeldë answered them as simply as possible, though it was obvious to Sador and Glóremmir that Faramir was not understanding even half of what the Maia was saying. He gave a dispirited sigh as he idly slathered some blackberry jam onto his toast. Vanimeldë gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Do not be disheartened," she said. "The study of genetics is very deep and there must be much groundwork covered before you can truly delve into it. That you are already asking such questions is a good sign that this is something that you are meant to study. I deem that soon enough you will become a loremaster in your own right."

Faramir looked embarrassed. "Me, a loremaster?" He shook his head. "If my naneth were here she would be laughing her head off at the thought. I was not very interested in my studies as an elfling and then, of course, I spent my life in the service of my lord, too busy slaying orcs to worry about my letters."

"Well, now here’s your chance to show your naneth that you’re not the complete orc-brained ninny she thought you were," Glóremmir said with a sly smile and Faramir stuck his tongue out at him and then all three ellyn were laughing.

When they were finished eating, Vanimeldë led them down a corridor to a door that opened out onto a garden on the south side of the mansion. It was an herb garden as far as they could tell, the air redolent with the smells of lemon thyme and rosemary and peppermint, as well as other herbs they could not identify. They wended their way toward the front and out the gates, making their way up the Landamallë to the mansion of the Elder King, where they were greeted by one of Manwë’s Maiar.

Vanimeldë gave the three ellyn a bow and a smile. "Here is where we part company," she said. "Sáyandilmë will escort you the rest of the way." With that, she simply faded away.

Sáyandilmë smiled at their bemused expressions and wordlessly gestured for them to follow her into the mansion. Soon they were being ushered into a small audience chamber where they found Arafinwë and the others. Of the Lord Manwë or the other Valar there was no sign.

Arafinwë’s eyes brightened at the sight of the three Reborn. "Are you three all right?" he asked.

"Yes, Atar," Sador answered for them all. "We’re fine. We had a very pleasant visit with Lord Námo. I’m sorry we did not return when promised, but...."

Arafinwë waved a hand in dismissal. "Do not concern yourselves. I understand that you are not to blame." He gave them a measuring look. "No harm came to you?"

The three Reborn had identical looks of surprise on their faces and they shook their heads. "No, Atar," Sador answered. "We were not harmed in any way. Why would you think so? Lord Námo wanted to examine us. Something to do with comparing us with Glorfindel. I’m not really sure why. Faramir seemed to understand better."

"But not by much," Faramir replied with a snort. "I think it has to do with why we Reborn seem different from the Once-born in some respects. I got the feeling that the Valar are somewhat puzzled by us, as if they were not expecting us to be the way we are, or something like that." He gave them a half-apologetic shrug. "At any rate, Lord Manwë has said that if I wish to learn more about it Lord Ulmo will send one of his Maiar to teach me."

Arafinwë nodded. "I hope you take them up on the offer," he said. "The Valar have been more chary of teaching us what they know ever since we Noldor abused their trust, creating weapons of war here in Aman when there was no need for them. That Lord Ulmo is willing to apprentice you to one of his Maiar is a hopeful sign."

"I am looking forward to it," Faramir said with a nod. "I have some little knowledge about the passing on of traits from one generation to another but I want to learn more."

The elves turned at the sound of the Elder King’s voice as he and the other Valar entered the chamber through a different door. Manwë smiled benignly on them all as they gave him their obeisance.

"Let us be comfortable," he said and gestured to where there were many chairs set before a dais where the Elder King and Varda sat on thrones while the other Valar stood in a semi-circle on either side of the dais facing the elves. "Thank you for coming," Manwë continued. "Perhaps some introductions should be made, for I know that most of you are unfamiliar with us." He then proceeded to introduce the other Valar. Arafinwë watched with amusement at the expressions on the faces of the Tol Eressëans as they were given faces to names they had only heard about. When Lord Námo was introduced, many of the elves went pale though the Vala did and said nothing threatening or even frightening. Námo, in fact, merely gave them a slight knowing smile. Then, Thorongorn was asked to introduce the rest of the delegation. Once all the introductions were made Manwë came down to business.

"I will reiterate for the rest of you what I told your companions last night," he stated solemnly. "This council is to be open to all, whether they are from Tol Eressëa or from Aman, whether they are Noldor, Sindar, Nandor, or Teleri, whether they are Reborn, or former slaves. In short, no one is to be excluded from this council... including us."

There were several uneasy looks among some in the delegation. Thorongorn spoke then. "And Councillor Dúlinn and I and Lady Celebriel have agreed to those terms."

"There was nothing to consult, Gil-galen," Dúlinn answered. "The Valar are hosting the council and they have the right to lay down terms."

"You know it would not work," Celebriel retorted with a huff. "That’s why we’re here. I don’t know why you are even a part of this delegation when you seem so set against it."

"I never said I was against it," Gil-galen replied with some heat, "but it seems to me that by agreeing to these terms we lose control over our own council."

"A council suggested by the Amaneldi," Thorongorn pointed out in a reasonable tone. "They came up with the idea, not us. And Lord Manwë is correct. We cannot exclude anyone from the council or it’s pointless to hold it, but hold it we must or I fear we only doom ourselves."

"There is one question I have," said another of the delegates, an elleth from Kortirion named Gelloneth. She represented the weavers’ guild. "How do we assure that certain interest groups do not dominate the council? I mean, should we limit the number of delegates so no one group has more votes than others?"

"There are a number of ways to approach the problem," Varda said. "Putting aside the question of whether individual farming communities should be counted separately or not, we see the following distinct groups: the three cities on Tol Eressëa, the Nandorin communities, the miners of Angobel, the guilds, and of course each guild needs to be counted separately, the Reborn, and the three kingdoms of Eldamar, as well as the Valar. Did I miss anyone?" This last was directed at Manwë, who shook his head.

Varda nodded, turning back to the delegation. "We Valar will attend as a group, and will voice our opinions as individuals, but only the Elder King will vote on any issue that arises. Therefore, it matters not how many people attend, only how many people will be permitted to cast a vote. The people of Angobel, for instance, are unlikely to have more than one or two people attend, but they will represent the will of all the miners, or at least the vast majority. We think that each recognized group should have only one vote, but any number of people may attend and offer their opinions, recognizing that in the end their representative will cast the final vote."

"It seems odd that you number the Reborn as a distinct and separate group, though," Dúlinn said. "They’re scattered all through the island and here in Aman. I hardly think they could constitute a voting interest."

"You would be surprised," Manwë answered with a glint of humor in his eyes and Arafinwë was not the only one who wondered why Sador, Glóremmir and Faramir were grinning. "The Reborn on Tol Eressëa are more organized than you realize. At any rate, does that answer your question, my dear?" The Elder King looked at Gelloneth, who nodded.

"Then, when you return to Tol Eressëa you may inform them that any can attend but you must choose who will act as your representatives. Tavrobel, Kortirion and Avallónë will be permitted only one vote and that goes for everyone else, so you must choose wisely and well."

"It seems impossible, though, that we could ever arrive at a consensus," Thorongorn said with a shake of his head. "There are too many conflicting interests even among the members of the city council in Kortirion, never mind among the populace as a whole."

"That is certainly something that needs to be addressed." It was Námo who spoke. Everyone gave the Vala their attention. Arafinwë noted with amusement that most of the Tol Eressëans were having difficulty looking at him directly. Only the Reborn had no trouble doing so. If Lord Námo was upset, he did not show it. "Perhaps what you need to do is return home and speak to the people there. Let them know what has been decided. You have a few months before the council begins. In that time, talk among yourselves about what you hope to achieve in this council and decide who will represent the various groups Varda mentioned."

There was much nodding of heads as the delegates listened to Námo’s suggestions.

"You must understand that this council is but the first step," Manwë then said. "Whatever consensus is arrived at by those attending, you must then present the proposal to the island as a whole and it must be ratified by all, or certainly by a majority of the populace."

"I don’t understand though why the Amaneldi or the Valar should be allowed to vote," Faramir ventured. "This council is for the benefit of the Tol Eressëans, is it not?"

"Yes, it is," the Elder King answered, "but what is decided at the council will affect the relations between all of us. The people of Tol Eressëa need to understand that they are now citizens of Aman no less than their kin in Eldamar. Indeed, Tol Eressëa is and always has been considered by us as part of Eldamar, though it remained uninhabited for millennia after Olwë led his people to Alqualondë."

There was a brief silence among the elves as they digested the Vala’s words. Then Celebriel spoke. "One thing I am confused about is who will preside over the council."

"I think Ingwë will be willing to do so, for it is his right," Manwë answered her. "Whatever form of government you choose for yourselves, you are still of Eldamar and Ingwë is High King of you all and you of Tol Eressëa need to acknowledge that fact."

Some of the delegates did not look too pleased by this but they did not voice any complaints. Arafinwë decided to speak. "You must understand how very unique your situation is," he said, addressing the Tol Eressëans. "Here, in Aman, it has been very easy to keep the three clans separate to a large extent. Oh, there are intermarriages and in Eldamas you will find a good mixture of people from the different clans, but by and large the Vanyar, Noldor and Teleri have kept pretty much to themselves. That is not the case with you. Your shared history has forced you together. In some ways you cannot really claim to be separate clans anymore. The Exiled Noldor are closer in spirit and thought to the Sindar than they are to their kin on Aman. And the Sindar and Nando are completely different from the Teleri in too many ways to count. For all that the Teleri, the Sindar and the Nandor began as a single clan, your separation has made you almost different clans altogether. Beyond that, I think there has been a greater blending of the various tribes among you, more so than what has happened in Aman, so that it is difficult to say to which clan a person might belong. Ultimately, I believe that you are the future of our race and it behooves us all to see an end to the conflicts that have arisen among you over how you will govern yourselves."

"Well said, my son," Manwë exclaimed with a broad smile and Arafinwë blushed at the praise. "This is what we Valar have also seen, that what happens on Tol Eressëa will ultimately affect us all, either for good or for ill. You are indeed the future of Elvenkind. It has long been our hope that the three kindreds would someday become so intertwined by blood that it can no longer be said that there are three separate clans but only one. You will lead the way to that ultimate dream."

"Then all that really remains is for us to return to Tol Eressëa and sell the idea of the council to the rest of the island," Dúlinn said with a wry look, "though I doubt I’ll have any trouble there with the people of Tavrobel. From the very first they have welcomed the idea and are looking forward to it."

"I am sure the rest of your delegation will be convincing enough," Varda replied with a warm smile. "That you are here is a good sign."

"Then we are settled," Manwë said. "The council will be held here in Valmar with the opening session beginning on the day after the winter solstice. It has been customary among the three kings to hold Mid-winter balls at their respective courts. Perhaps this year, we Valar will host one of our own."

"I would certainly come," Arafinwë said with a mischievous grin. "It’ll get me out of having to put up with Axantur and his penchant for making the most joyous event an occasion for tedium."

The Valar all smiled and there were knowing grins among the elves. Manwë stood and the elves followed.

"Then there is nothing more to discuss," the Elder King announced. "Go with our peace. We look forward to seeing you again in a few months’ time."

The elves gave him their obeisance and filed out of the room with Arafinwë remarking that he would need to let both Ingwë and Olwë know what had been decided. Dúlinn and Thorongorn offered to take any message Arafinwë might have for Olwë with them when they left for Tol Eressëa and see that it was delivered. Arafinwë thanked them but said that he would use the royal courier service instead, for he had other kingdom matters to relay to his fellow rulers.

Once the elves were gone, Manwë resumed his seat, becoming remote and contemplative. The others remained respectfully silent, waiting for him to speak first. Finally, his expression cleared and became more present. He smiled slightly, not looking at anyone in particular. "It should prove very interesting, indeed," he said. The others had the distinct feeling that their king was not necessarily speaking to them and more than one of them suppressed a shiver of awe at the thought.

Warning: The intensity of certain scenes may prove disturbing to some readers but there is nothing specifically graphic.

Finrod was sitting in on a class with other apprentices that was being conducted by two of the Master Healers, a Vanyarin elleth named Calamírë, and his atar’s own Healer, Vardamir, who had agreed to remain in Lórien for a time and teach a class or two. They were lecturing on one of the basic mental healing arts that every apprentice had to master. For all that he himself was considered by many to be a master already, Finrod knew that was not true. He was puzzled by the way he had been able to call Edrahil back to himself. And then there was that healing incident with Aldundil during the tournament. Even though he knew he had had a little help from the Valar, much of what he had done was through his own powers, yet, he still did not understand how he knew what to do. Thus, these particular classes were of help to him.

He smiled slightly as he listened to Calamírë lecturing, remembering a time when he had resisted sitting in on any classes, especially the painting class required of all Reborn. He blushed slightly at the memory of his truculence, though he knew that his own emotional immaturity and insecurity at the time covered a multitude of sins.

Now, a century later, he was back in Lórien learning the ways of the Lóriennildi and ever so subtly influencing the manner in which his fellow healers related to the Reborn in their midst. Even as he was attending classes, he was teaching his own, a rare event for an apprentice. The classes he taught were Sindarin and the history of Beleriand, at least up to the War of Wrath. Admittedly, he had no personal knowledge of anything that occurred after his own death, but he had recruited others who did to help teach that particular class. He also was teaching a third class on the various cultures of the elves living in Beleriand. All this to help the Lóriennildi to understand why their charges acted as they did, said the things they said, and asked the questions that they asked. He hoped that in time, others would take over the teaching of these classes, freeing him to pursue his own studies.

He glanced around the grove, examining the class. Most of those attending were not particularly well known to him. He could only give names to a few. All, he knew, had been apprentices for many years, though none were yet ready to advance to journyeman status. Only he and Laurendil, who was sitting next to him, drinking in every word Calamírë said, were newcomers. Finrod was sure that eventually Laurendil would be asked by Lord Irmo to become his journeyman. His friend had an almost instinctual ability to see the sickness in a person’s fëa and heal it. That had certainly been true with Gurthalion. The ellon had responded to Laurendil from the beginning, trusting him where he trusted no one else. When the master healers had attempted to treat him alone, Gurthalion had become unresponsive. Not even Marthchall could reach him. Only when, out of desperation, they had reluctantly summoned Laurendil did the ellon respond positively. The masters had no choice but to acknowledge that this apprentice had a depth of compassion that was rare and more than one had commented to Finrod that they had no doubt Laurendil would someday make a great Master Healer. That pleased Finrod very much, for he had always seen that there was more to his friend than simply being a very good ranger.

And Manwen. Finrod felt himself smiling even more. She was definitely destined to become Lady Estë’s disciple. Indeed, he half suspected that she would be receiving her journeyman stripes sooner rather than later. Unlike many of the apprentices, Manwen already had extensive first-hand knowledge and experience in the healing arts which she had learned in Beleriand under the tutelage of Lord Elrond, Finrod’s own first cousin thrice removed if he had the genealogy correct. She was years ahead of the other beginning apprentices, though she humbly kept most of her knowledge hidden from them, pretending that she was as ignorant as they. Not that Lady Estë and Lord Irmo were fooled by it, but they understood her reluctance to ‘show off’, as she once put it to Finrod when he asked her. Yet, it was obvious to even the most casual observer that the elleth was a gifted healer of the hröa. Finrod suspected that the Valar were holding off promoting her to journeyman status for now to prevent feelings of jealousy among some of those who were close to becoming journeymen themselves and might resent someone who had only just come to Lórien joining their ranks.

A tricky situation all around. Finrod could sympathize. His own status as an apprentice was questionable given all that had happened in the last year. Some of the apprentices had actually looked at him askance when he came into the grove and sat with them for the lecture, no doubt wondering why he was even bothering to be there. He chuckled to himself, his mind calling up a memory of when he’d sat in this very grove listening to the same master trying to give some very reluctant Reborn students a history lesson. It had not gone well for any of them. At the time he had almost hated Calamírë, but now they were, if not friends, then respected colleagues and she treated him no differently than she treated any of the other apprentice Lóriennildi.

"Findaráto, would you care to share with the rest of us what you find so amusing?" Master Calamírë asked suddenly, interrupting her own lecture.

Finrod looked up with a start, acutely aware of all eyes on him and blushed, only just realizing he hadn’t been paying as close attention to the lecture as he should have. Both Calamírë and Vardamir were waiting for his answer, the latter looking amused more than anything. He could see Laurendil giving him an unsympathetic grin and cleared his throat. "I was remembering a certain Reborn sitting in this same grove resenting a certain Master for her insensitivity to his pain."

Calamírë, to her credit, reddened slightly, though her eyes glittered with amusement. "And you found that amusing?" she asked.

"Just barely," Finrod replied with a laugh and Calamírë grinned. The other apprentices had bemused expressions, trying to understand what wasn’t being said, but before anyone could comment, there was the confused sounds of someone yelling in the distance which drew their attention.

"What on Arda...!?" Vardamir started to exclaim but stopped when someone came stumbling into the grove.

"Master!" Vorondil screeched when he saw Finrod, his eyes wide with terror, tears running down his cheeks. His right hand was clutched ineffectively at his left shoulder as blood poured out. Close on his heels came another. It was Gurthalion, waving a long knife, its silver blade crimson with blood.

"I’ll kill you, you damn orc! I’ll kill you!" the ellon screamed, his face contorted with rage.

"Laurendil!" Finrod yelled but the former ranger was already moving to intercept Gurthalion. He was too late. Gurthalion leapt and tackled Vorondil and the two rolled on the ground. All the while Gurthalion was screaming threats while the poor elfling was simply screaming in abject terror.

Finrod and Laurendil were on them almost immediately with Laurendil pinning Gurthalion’s arm so he could no longer wield the knife while Finrod forced him off Vorondil. Gurthalion never stopped struggling and screaming.

Calamírë and Vardamir were right behind them, going to Vorondil, who was still screaming in terror and at first tried to fight them off when they attempted to succor him. "We need to stop the bleeding," Vardamir yelled even as he and Calamírë managed to subdue Vorondil enough to examine him.

Meanwhile, others were rushing into the grove. Marthchall was the first, followed by Eärnur and several other Lóriennildi. There was no sign of any Maiar about. Marthchall went to where Finrod and Laurendil were attempting to hold a still screaming and writhing Gurthalion down.

"It’s not the blood trance," Marthchall called to them as he skittered to a halt, falling to his knees to take Gurthalion in his arms, his expression one of deep pain and remorse. "It’s not the blood trance."

"What is it then?" Laurendil demanded, handing the long knife to one of the other apprentices who took it with great reluctance. Everyone else from the class was simply standing about with expressions of fright and dismay on their faces, not sure what they should be doing.

"I don’t know, I don’t know," Marthchall replied, nearly weeping. "He was fine one minute and then all of a sudden he...."

Gurthalion suddenly stiffened in their grasp, gave a strangled cry and collapsed, his expression completely blank, his breathing slowing to nothing. Marthchall screamed as he held his friend close to him, rocking the body. "No! Gurthalion! Don’t die, please don’t die!"

"He’s not going to die," Finrod said decisively. "Not if I can help it." Without thinking about it, he grasped Gurthalion’s head between his hands and stared deeply into the ellon’s eyes. He blocked out all thought and all sound, steeling himself against the pitiful moans of his thrall lying only a foot away where the two Master Healers were busy tending to him. He could not think about that now, or what he would tell Aldundil if Vorondil did not survive. In the brief second that he had before he went after Gurthalion he had seen Vorondil’s wound gushing blood and suspected that the knife had perhaps sliced an artery. It would be a miracle if the ellon did not die from blood loss.

But he could not think about that right now. Gurthalion needed him. Calamírë and Vardamir were Master Healers. Calamírë was one of Lord Irmo’s best healers and Vardamir had extensive experience as a battle surgeon. Between the two, Finrod had every confidence that Vorondil would pull through. Finrod blinked and took a deep centering breath and then somehow plunged into a different world: the world inhabited by the fëa, specifically, Gurthalion’s fëa. He still did not understand how he was able to do this, travel only with his fëa in this manner, but he did not stop to question it.

He found himself in a strange landscape. There were mountains ringing a vast plain, a plain devoid of any life. Bones of trees stood desiccated here or there, their trunks a dead white, blending into the greyness of the ground and sky. There was a sound, faint and indeterminate, a pulsing vibration that seemed to come from somewhere before him. He followed the sound, an almost subliminal noise, and found himself climbing into the mountains. Now the sound was louder and he thought he recognized it: the sound of a hammer or pickaxe. But there was yet another sound, softer yet more evil in its tone and Finrod could feel his fëa turning cold with rage as he recognized that sound as well.

He hurried through a jumble of rocks, climbing a defile that led into a cave. It should have been dark and yet somehow he could see every detail. The sound of a pickaxe grew louder as did the other sounds, sounds of whips and screams and curses in a foul tongue. He rounded a spur of rock and beheld a horrific sight.

Gurthalion was there, wielding a pickaxe, striking the rock wall all the while screaming in agony as an orc stood over him, whipping his flesh to shreds. The whip, seven strips of leather with shards of glass wrapped around their tips, never stopped, and neither did Gurthalion.

"Work, you maggot!" the orc yelled. "The Master won’t be happy at yer shirking. Work, snaga. Work and die!" The orc laughed obscenely even as he continued plying his whip on the ellon’s back, shredded and bloody beyond recognition. Gurthalion screamed with every bite of the cruel instrument and he faltered in his task but never stopped, never dared to stop, for to stop was to die.

Finrod took it all in in a second and suddenly he found himself armed with a sword and giving a yell of rage he leapt upon the orc, beheading him before the monster even had a chance to turn to face him. The head rolled across the floor of the cave into the darkness and the body slithered to the ground. Oddly enough there was no blood, but Finrod did not stop to examine it. He flung his sword away and went to Gurthalion who never stopped working, though his screams had muted to whimpers of pain.

"Gurthalion! Gurthalion!" Finrod cried, grabbing the ellon and turning him around. "Stop. It’s all right. You don’t have to do this any more."

Gurthalion just stared at him, his gaze uncomprehending. He shook his head. "No," he whispered. "I have to work... I have to work or I die... I want to die... please I want to die... but I have to work... I have to work...."

He was weeping even as he lifted the pickaxe to resume his work but Finrod grabbed the implement from his hands and threw it away.

"Look at me, Gurthalion!" he demanded. "Look at me! Oh, mellon nîn. Why are you here? Come back with me. I promise, no one will hurt you."

But Gurthalion just stood there weeping abjectly. "Please let me die... let me die...." he pleaded over and over again. "I can’t do this anymore... I can’t... I can’t...."

"Oh, Valar!" Finrod whispered as he took the ellon into his embrace and held him, careful not to touch his back. He wasn’t sure just how their fëar could feel so solid to one another but he remembered how it was in Mandos. He started to say something when he felt Gurthalion stiffen in his arms.

"Look out!" the ellon cried, pushing himself away, a look of absolute terror mingled with despair on his face.

Finrod had just enough time to turn to see the orc, its head back on its shoulders, as it raised its whip to strike him. He ducked, though the tip managed to score across his back and fire lanced through him. He moaned in pain and stumbled, trying to reach the sword he had thrown away. "Gurthalion! Fight him. It’s your only chance," he called out.

Gurthalion however only stood there shaking his head. The orc laughed as it wielded the whip again, striking Finrod more fully, the sharp glass biting into his flesh. He screamed in agony and tried desperately to get away, but the orc was too much in control.

"Interfere will ya, snaga?" it demanded as it continued whipping him. "Garn! I’ll learn ya to not interfere with yer betters, ya maggoty slug." It laughed evilly. "And when I finish with ya, I’ll do the same to the other sniveling snaga."

"Gurthalion!" Finrod cried even as he continued to writhe, trying to avoid the whip-thongs. At first he couldn’t understand how the orc had returned to life, but then realized that everything he was experiencing was within Gurthalion’s mind. Only Gurthalion could defeat his own demons. "Fight it! It’s your only chance of being free. Fight!"

"Oh no!" the orc laughed as he continued plying his whip. "That sniveling snaga won’t fight. He’s too much my pet. He’ll stand there and watch ya die and then he’ll go back to his work like a good little snaga and if he don’t give me no more trouble I might even let him... entertain me." His leer was obscene and salacious.

Gurthalion moaned and started backing away but the orc saw and turned on him, whipping him. "Garn! Try to run, will ya, snaga? Oh no, my pet. Stay and watch the fun. What I do to yer friend ain’t nothin’ like what I’m gonna do to ya." The orc laughed again as Gurthalion huddled in a ball, a mass of torn flesh. Then it turned back to Finrod, who in the meantime had reached his sword. Even as the orc turned toward him, Finrod slashed up, ignoring the fire that was spreading across his hröa, even though he really didn’t have one. He was too far away to actually stab the monster, but he managed to knock the whip from its hand as he staggered to his feet.

"Gurthalion, you must fight," he cried out. "It’s your only chance of ever being free."

"And what if the little snaga don’t wanna be free, heh?" the orc sneered, turning away from Finrod to grab Gurthalion, holding him in his arms while the ellon whimpered in pain and shame. "What if he enjoys being my pet, my darling?" The creature gave Finrod another leer and ran his hand over Gurthalion’s body in an obscene manner. Gurthalion shuddered and moaned again. "Oh no. My little snaga won’t give up being that. He enjoys it too much, don’t ya, my precious?"

The orc bent down and licked the blood from the ellon’s face before throwing him casually into the wall as he advanced on Finrod. "Go ahead. Try to kill me," it snarled. "I can’t die. Ya can’t get rid of me that easily." The creature lunged at Finrod, ignoring the sword that pierced its belly, grabbing the elf into a bone-crushing hug. "I can’t die, but maybe ya can, huh, snaga?" It crushed him harder and Finrod could feel everything go black. He wondered idly as his eyesight dimmed if he could indeed die in this state and what would Lord Námo say about it. Then, all of a sudden, he felt the orc’s hold on him lessen and, gasping for breath, he pushed himself out of its embrace in time to see Gurthalion raise his pickaxe from the orc’s back and swing it a second time and then a third. The orc never uttered a sound but simply stood there as Gurthalion continued to assault him and then between one swing of the pickaxe and the next the monster was gone as if it had never been.

Gurthalion staggered as his pickaxe met only air and then he was dropping it to run to Finrod, falling into the prince’s arms, weeping.

"Shhh.... it’s all right, Gurthalion," Finrod crooned. "You’re going to be all right. I’m very proud of you."

"P-please let me die... I just want to for-forget... the pain...it’s too much... please...I’m just not st-strong enough anymore...."

"Oh, child. Death isn’t the answer," Finrod said quietly. "You’ve come so far, and you’ve begun to face your demons and conquer them. You’re stronger than you think, Gurthalion. As painful as this has all been, you’re stronger for it."

"B-but at least in Mandos I can forget," Gurthalion whispered. "I want to forget."

"I know, I know," Finrod answered, rocking the ellon gently. "But if you go to Mandos now you’ll miss Marthchall’s wedding. You wouldn’t want to do that now, would you?"

Gurthalion pushed himself away to look at Finrod, his expression quizzical. "How do you know Marthchall will get married?"

Finrod chuckled. "I saw the look on Meluiwen’s face. That ellon hasn’t a chance of escaping her. Oh no, my friend. Marthchall will be wedded soon enough and I know he and Meluiwen would be heartbroken if you weren’t there to witness it."

"Then let us away," Finrod said. "Let us return to the land of the living. You belong here no more than I, Gurthalion."

But the ellon hesitated. "I... I think I did something terrible," he said, frowning as he struggled with his memories. "I... there was an elfling and I...."

"It’s all right," Finrod assured him. "You were lost in your memories and didn’t realize what you were doing. Vorondil was injured but two Master Healers are working on him. No one will blame you. Do not fret."

"How do I leave?" Gurthalion asked plaintively. "I don’t remember the way back."

"I do," Finrod answered as he held out his hand. "Take my hand and I will lead you back to the light."

For a second longer Gurthalion hesitated and then he grasped Finrod’s hand tightly. Finrod mentally thought himself and Gurthalion away from the cave and then there was a sensation of swimming up or perhaps down. There was a queasy, lurching feeling and then he was back in his hröa staring intently into Gurthalion’s eyes. Even as he blinked and started to move away, the other ellon gave a shuddering gasp, his body arching slightly and then he was breathing again. His eyes closed and he fell into a deep sleep. Marthchall was still cradling him, now weeping tears of joy. Laurendil grabbed Finrod to steady him.

"Vo-vorondil," Finrod managed to gasp as the universe began doing a slow spin. He struggled to rise, to go to the elfling, but Laurendil held him down.

Finrod nodded, then gave a brief sigh before allowing the darkness to drown him and he knew nothing more.

Finrod woke to find himself back in his own pavilion. He blinked a few times, trying to remember why he was there. His last clear memory was....

Finrod sighed with relief as he sank back into his pillow, closing his eyes for a moment or two. "Gurthalion. Is he...."

Finrod opened his eyes and gave his friend and liegeman a searching look. Laurendil’s eyes were dark hollows and his face looked gaunt. It was obvious to him that the ellon had not slept himself. He frowned, trying to put the pieces together. "How long has it been?" he asked.

"Four days," Laurendil answered with a slight quirk to his lips as he saw Finrod’s eyes widen in disbelief.

Finrod threw the coverlet off him and struggled out of bed. This time, Laurendil did not stop him but held out a robe which Finrod wrapped around himself in an absent-minded manner, more intent on getting additional information out of his friend.

"What happened? After I passed out, that is?" he demanded as he stepped over to the washstand where he poured some water into a bowl and splashed his face.

Laurendil sighed, sitting down in a chair next to the cot. "What didn’t happen? Calamírë and Vardamir were still working on Vorondil. He lost a lot of blood, Finrod, and even though they stopped the bleeding and all, his life still hangs in the balance."

Finrod grabbed a towel and dried himself off, turning to Laurendil, his expression stricken. "He’s dying?" he whispered.

Laurendil shook his head. "No, he is not," he replied firmly, almost, Finrod suspected, as if he needed assurance of the fact as well. "But... the blood loss was...." He gave Finrod a helpless shrug. "He will be a long time healing. Aldundil never leaves his side and Herendil and...."

Laurendil nodded. "And Vandacalimë. They arrived early this morning. Lord Irmo sent one of his Maiar to them even while the healers were still working on Vorondil and no one knew if he would live or die."

Finrod sighed, shaking his head, as he hunted around for his clothes. "Do we even know why Gurthalion attacked Vorondil? I remember Marthchall saying it wasn’t the blood trance, but I did not learn why he thought that. It certainly looked like the blood trance to me."

"No one has explained anything yet," Laurendil said as he stood and found a tunic for Finrod while the prince was putting on his trews. "We were all waiting for you to wake up. Now that you have, I’ll let Lord Irmo know."

Finrod nodded absently as he tightened a belt around his waist. "I had better go see Vorondil and speak with Aldundil and his parents."

"On Lord Irmo’s orders, Vorondil was moved to another grove," Laurendil told him. "No one knows where, though. I spoke to Vardamir and he said that the ellon is holding his own. At the moment, other than the healers, only Aldundil and his parents are being allowed to be with him."

Finrod raised an eyebrow but otherwise did not protest. He suspected Lord Irmo had his reasons for his orders and would not dispute them... yet. "Where are the elflings?" he asked instead.

"With Lady Melian," Laurendil answered. "They were very upset to learn that Vorondil was injured. We’ve not told them how badly, only that he needs a lot of rest and they would not be able to see him immediately." He gave Finrod a mischievous grin. "They seemed less upset about you than about Vorondil."

"Well, naturally," Finrod said with a sniff. "Vorondil is their friend, whereas I am only their lord and master."

Laurendil chuckled. "I’ll go find Lord Irmo. Why don’t you check on Gurthalion? Marthchall and Eärnur should be with him. It is my understanding that there will be an enquiry as to just what happened. Something about it all doesn’t make too much sense. Both Marthchall and Eärnur are looking very guilty, as if they had something to do with the attack."

Finrod sighed, running fingers through his silver-gold hair. "An enquiry sounds ominous, but I am as curious as any to know what really happened."

"We’ll sort it all out, Finrod," Laurendil said firmly. "Oh, before you head off, I was instructed to tell you that you should eat something first." He pointed to where a covered tray sat on Finrod’s writing desk. "You depleted a lot of energy yourself, according to Lord Irmo, and this time you did not have the help of any of the Valar. Last thing I need right now is for you to keel over from hunger, so please eat."

Finrod smiled, going over to the desk and lifting the cover from the tray to find a plate of fresh bread, fruit and cheese. There was also a small decanter of wine. Only when he saw the food did he suddenly realize how famished he was and promptly sat down, tearing a hunk of the bread and stuffing it into his mouth. "I promise I’ll eat every bite," he said between mouthfuls.

Once he finished with his repast, and feeling more himself, Finrod strode out of his grove and headed down the sward to where Gurthalion and Marthchall were staying. He was unsurprised to find a Maia standing guard at the grove’s entrance.

The Maia smiled at Finrod. "I am glad to see you have finally awakened. How are you feeling?" Ingil asked solicitously.

"I am well, thank you," Finrod replied. "Laurendil’s gone to find Lord Irmo and I thought to check on Gurthalion and see how he’s faring. Has he woken yet?"

Ingil shook his head. "No. The healers, however, are unconcerned. They believe he will wake in his own good time."

"He is still among the living, Findaráto," the Maia said gently. "Beyond that, I know no more about it than you."

"You will need to discuss that with Lord Irmo," Ingil replied. "I am sure he will allow it, all things considered. In the meantime, I assume you wish to enter?"

Finrod laughed lightly. "You assumed correctly. While I’m visiting here, could you ask my aunt when it would be convenient for me to see the elflings so I may assure them of my continuing good health?"

Ingil smiled and his eyes unfocused for a brief moment before becoming more present. "Melian says that lunchtime would be as good a time as any. She will have everything prepared. You need only come to her grove at noon."

"Thank you, and please relay my thanks to Lady Melian. I’ll go see Gurthalion now."

Ingil bowed and stepped aside to let him pass. Inside the grove he saw a two-person pavilion and when he entered it he could see Gurthalion lying motionless on one of the two cots. Marthchall was sitting in a chair next to him, his eyes opened but unfocused and Finrod suspected the ellon was sleeping. He didn’t see Eärnur. Stepping softly beside the cot, he leaned down to gently brush a hand through Gurthalion’s hair.

"Gurthalion," he whispered. "Time to wake up." As softly as he spoke there was yet a tone of command to it. Finrod vaguely noticed Marthchall blinking, apparently waking, but his entire focus was on Gurthalion. "Wake up, Gurthalion. It’s time to leave your dark dreams and turn to the light."

For a moment or two, nothing happened as Finrod continued stroking the ellon’s hair, silently calling to Gurthalion’s fëa. Marthchall leaned forward as if to get a better view and inhaled sharply when Gurthalion’s eyes blinked open.

"That’s it," Finrod said encouragingly. "Time to wake up. All is well and you are safe. No more darkness. No more nightmares."

Gurthalion blinked some more and then focused his eyes on Finrod. "You... you were there... in my... you saved me...."

"You saved yourself," Finrod said with a smile. "I just gave you a reason to do so."

"What did I do?" Gurthalion whispered, his expression one of confusion mixed with fear. "Did... did I hurt someone?" He looked back and forth between Marthchall and Finrod.

"Yes, Gurthalion," Finrod said, sighing heavily. "You attacked one of the apprentices. He was seriously wounded but he still lives." He forbore telling the ellon that the apprentice was an elfling. Gurthalion was feeling bad enough as it was. Still, he needed to face what happened — all of it.

Gurthalion sighed and closed his eyes. "I’m sorry. I... I think it would have been better if I had never survived slavery."

"No, mellon nîn," Marthchall exclaimed. "Don’t ever say that. I don’t know what I would have done without you."

Gurthalion opened his eyes and gave Marthchall a puzzled look. "Without me? I think you would have done well enough."

But Marthchall only shook his head, taking Gurthalion’s hand in his and pressing it to his forehead. "You are the reason I attempted our escape," he said softly. "If not for you, I would not have bothered."

Gurthalion just stared at his friend and mentor, and Finrod was not sure if the ellon was shocked or pleased by Marthchall’s words.

Marthchall lowered Gurthalion’s hand and gave Finrod a frown. "He was here. I guess he needed to leave for some reason."

There was a stir and Ingil was suddenly there. He gave them all a brief bow. "Lord Irmo is convening a board of enquiry. I’ve been instructed to escort you to him when you are ready."

Gurthalion cowered under the coverlet. "Please. Do I have to go? They’ll hurt me."

"No one is going to hurt you, Gurthalion," Finrod assured him. "I will make sure of that. Come. Let’s get you dressed and I think you should have something to eat as well. You’ve been sleeping for four days and you must be famished."

"Lord Irmo said as much," Ingil told them. "I sent Eärnur to get some food for Gurthalion. Ah. Here he is. When Gurthalion is ready, I will escort you." He bowed again and left.

Eärnur, carrying a tray of food, walked into the pavilion and seeing Finrod smiled. "I am glad you are finally awake," he said as he put the tray down and gave Finrod a hug.

It was a half an hour before they were ready. Gurthalion was most reluctant, understandably, but Finrod was able to convince him that no one was angry at him and no one would punish him. "We just want to find out what happened so we can prevent it from happening again."

Ingil escorted them down the sward and around the lake to a more remote part of Lórien, one rarely visited by any of the elves. They were led into a grove where a pavilion was set up, three sides rolled up. There was a table behind which sat Lord Irmo and Lady Estë as well as two Master Healers. Several chairs were arranged before the table and when they came inside the pavilion, Lord Irmo gestured for them to take seats after they gave him and Lady Estë their obeisance. Laurendil was already there and he smiled warmly at them as they sat but no one spoke. Almost at the same time, another group of people came into the grove. Finrod saw that they were Aldundil and his parents, along with Calamírë and Vardamir. He smiled at the sight of his friend, Herendil, and started to speak, but there was something forbidding about the expressions on everyone’s faces and Herendil refused to look at Finrod, which hurt him.

When everyone was seated, Lord Irmo spoke, his tone and mien formal and solemn. "This is an informal enquiry into events of four days ago in which one of our charges attacked one of our apprentices, sorely wounding him. With me and Lady Estë to help ascertain what happened are Masters Meneldil and Telperiën."

Telperiën was a Noldo and Finrod recalled meeting her once when he had been in Lórien as a newly released Reborn. She sat on Lady Estë’s right while Meneldil sat on Lord Irmo’s left. The Vala continued. "Before we begin our questions, I want to assure all of you that Vorondil will recover, though it will be a slow recovery. I wish to commend Masters Calamírë and Vardamir for their quick responses to the crisis. I also wish to commend Prince Findaráto for again extending himself beyond what would reasonably be expected of any of the Children at this stage in their development."

Finrod blushed slightly and refused to look at anyone. He wasn’t sure he deserved any praise. He was still puzzled by how he was able to do what he did and resisted a sigh. He couldn’t help noticing, though, the dark look from Herendil that was cast his way. He hoped this incident had not damaged their friendship beyond repair, a friendship Finrod valued very highly. He put such thoughts away as Lady Estë began speaking.

"Because Gurthalion is more comfortable with Sindarin than with Quenya, Ingil will act as his translator. This will necessarily slow the proceedings somewhat, but we want to make sure that there is no misunderstanding as to what is being said. Journeyman Eärnur, we will begin with you. Tell us what you know about the events of four days ago."

Eärnur gulped and went pale, but he stood and, after giving the Valar and the two Masters a respectful bow, he spoke. "I have been charged with helping Gurthalion overcome his nightmares," he said. "In consultation with the Masters who are overseeing his treatment I tried an experiment. I put Gurthalion in a light trance to relax him and guided him through a memory of when he was a slave."

"Why?" Finrod asked, his expression one of bafflement. He knew he was out of order, but Lord Irmo did not reprimand him.

"We were hoping that by facing his memories in a nonthreatening environment he would be able to deal with them better," Eärnur explained, turning to Finrod.

"So what happened?" Finrod asked. "Why did Marthchall say he wasn’t in a blood trance? He certainly was acting as if he were."

"We ended the session after only a few minutes," Eärnur replied. "The memory turned out to be too powerful for him to face all at once, so I eased him out of it and told him to rest, to sleep and then awaken refreshed." Eärnur shook his head. "I don’t know what happened exactly or what set him off. Marthchall and I were talking in another part of the grove so as not to disturb him. All of a sudden we heard a scream and when we looked, Gurthalion was gone. We rushed outside the grove in time to see him running after Vorondil with the knife. I don’t even know where he got the knife."

"Describe for us the steps you took in placing Gurthalion in the trance and then the steps you took to bring him out of it," Telperiën said, her tone neutral and her expression unreadable.

Eärnur nodded and began to explain what he had done. Both Masters stopped him a few times, asking pointed questions and once making him go over part of his procedure in minute detail. When they were through with the interrogation, the two Masters quietly consulted with Lord Irmo and Lady Estë. Eärnur sat, looking pale, licking dry lips. Finrod reached over and squeezed his hand, giving him an encouraging smile. He was no expert, but he did not think Eärnur had done anything that could be construed as negligence on his part. He knew his friend to be very careful about his work.

Finally, finished with their consultation, Meneldil spoke. "Journeyman Eärnur appears to have followed the procedure for putting someone into a trance and bringing them out of it faithfully."

"But it does not explain why Gurthalion did what he did," Aldundil protested angrily. "Why did he attack my son? There was no provocation."

"I think he was still in the trance that Eärnur put him under," Marthchall said suddenly and all eyes turned to him and he swallowed noisily, paling under everyone’s regard.

"Yet, we just said that Eärnur correctly brought him out of it," Telperiën replied. "What evidence do you have to the contrary?"

"None, really," Marthchall answered with a shrug. "All I can say is that my heart tells me that Gurthalion was still in that trance, that he did not see us or Lórien, but that he was trapped in the memory Eärnur and I were helping him to recall. He didn’t attack the apprentice, he attacked an orc."

"So how does this differ from the blood trance that we’ve seen?" Meneldil asked, unconsciously rubbing his shoulder where Laurendil had cut him.

Lord Irmo answered. "Technically, there is no difference. In both cases the person affected is lost in a memory. However, the blood trance appears to be something that only warriors suffer. Gurthalion, as far as I know, was never a warrior."

Gurthalion shook his head, but did not otherwise speak. Irmo nodded, giving him a smile. "In the blood trance the only way to release the victim from it is to offer him the blood of the person he is attacking. In Gurthalion’s case, however, it seems that was unnecessary." He turned his attention to Finrod.

"Perhaps we should hear what you have to say, Prince Findaráto, before we question Gurthalion as to what he remembers."

Finrod gave Gurthalion a friendly pat on his thigh before standing. "I still do not understand how I do what I do," he began, "but this is what I experienced." He then went on to describe following Gurthalion’s fëa to the cave and what transpired there. Everyone stared at Gurthalion as Finrod spoke, their expressions ranging from pity to disbelief. Gurthalion squirmed slightly in his seat and refused to look at anyone, his face flooded with shame. Finrod finished his narrative and sat down.

There was silence for several minutes as everyone attempted to digest the prince’s words. Irmo had a thoughtful expression on his face as he glanced at Gurthalion, still sitting there with his eyes downcast. "What do you remember, Gurthalion?" he asked, speaking Sindarin. Ingil automatically translated the question into Quenya.

Gurthalion just sat there, not looking up, refusing to speak. Marthchall leaned over and put his arm around the ellon’s shoulders and whispered something in his ear. Gurthalion nodded and when Marthchall released him he slowly stood up, still refusing to look at anyone.

"I was afraid," he whispered. "I... I did not want to remember my nightmares, but Marthchall said it would help and he would not let anything bad happen to me. Eärnur promised that if it became too intense he would bring me out of it immediately. So, I allowed him to put me in the trance."

Gurthalion shook his head. "I... I’m not sure. I remember only vague images, dark and threatening, and feeling upset. I could hear Eärnur speaking to me though I don’t recall what he said. I just know that I stopped feeling upset and began feeling calm and peaceful. I think I fell asleep."

"That sounds consonant with what others have experienced under similar circumstances," Telperiën said. "Yet, something apparently went wrong. Do you remember what happened next?"

"No," Gurthalion replied, shaking his head, and then hesitated, a frown marring his features. "Except...."

For the first time, Gurthalion raised his head and looked directly at the Valië, his expression now bleak. "I remember wanting to kill."

There were sharp intakes of breath but no one ventured to say anything at first.

Gurthalion took a deep shuddering breath and let it out slowly. "I... failed... so I... I was punished."

"Whom were you wanting to kill?" Meneldil asked, leaning slightly forward, clearly intrigued.

Gurthalion frowned. "The orc. I wanted to kill the orc, but I couldn’t so I was punished." Then he gave them a bemused look. "But I did kill him in the end, didn’t I? And... and Prince Finrod helped me." He gave Finrod a shy smile and the prince smiled back.

"Thank you, Gurthalion," Irmo said. "You may sit." As the ellon complied, Irmo quietly consulted with the others at the table. Everyone else remained silent. Finally, after several minutes, the consultation broke up and Irmo addressed them again. "I think it is clear that somehow Gurthalion’s subconscious was at play here. Even though Eärnur successfully brought him out of the trance, some trace of the original suggestion remained lodged in Gurthalion’s mind. When he fell asleep that part of him that is usually inaccessible to the waking mind took over and decided to kill the orc that had been tormenting him. Thus the attack."

"It could well have been anyone, Aldundil," Estë replied. "Your son was going about his duties of supplying fresh linen to various pavilions. He was coming into Gurthalion and Marthchall’s grove when he was attacked. It was just unfortunate...."

"Unfortunate?" Herendil cried, leaping up, his face suffused with anger. "Unfortunate! My grandson was almost murdered and you call it unfortunate?"

"Vorondil would never have been wounded at all if it hadn’t been for him." He turned and pointed directly at Finrod, nearly screaming. "He’s the one to blame for all this and I will never forgive him. Never!"

Finrod could only stare at his long-time friend in silent shock while pandemonium broke out all around him.

"How dare you accuse Findaráto," Laurendil shouted as he, Eärnur, and even Aldundil leapt up to confront the fuming Herendil. Vandacalimë was weeping. The other elves sat in stunned silence. What the Lord and Lady of Lórien thought was anyone’s guess, for their expressions were unreadable.

"Worse?" Herendil snarled. "How can I possibly make things worse? And why are you defending him? What did that damned oath do to you, Aldundil? Why did you even take it? If Vorondil hadn’t been here in Lórien, none of this would have happened. He would be safe in Tirion where he belongs."

"No, Herendil," Finrod countered, his voice flatly cold. "Vorondil would not be safe; he would be dead."

Herendil glared at Finrod, who stood and faced him. "What do you mean by that?" the Noldorin lord demanded. "You mean because of the trial? That’s absurd! Ingwë would never have executed...."

The silence that followed that bald statement was complete. Even Vandacalimë ceased crying, staring at her husband’s friend in horror. The other elves were also profoundly shocked at Finrod’s words, though not Laurendil; he was still fuming at Herendil. Aldundil’s expression was one of shame. Only the two Valar appeared calm and unconcerned by the revelation.

"Murdered?" Finrod repeated, raising an eyebrow. "No one is speaking here of murder, Herendil. I said executed. There is a difference."

"Try to understand, Herendil," Finrod said, not unkindly. "When Aldundil offered the Life Oath, he did not offer it for himself but for the sake of another. He wanted me to kill him in expiation for Vorondil’s crime."

"For wearing warrior braids!?" Herendil exclaimed in disbelief. "You would have killed my son over these?" He reached over and flicked one of Aldundil’s front braids in contempt. "What kind of barbarians were you in Beleriand?"

"The kind that crossed the Helcaraxë and then kept Melkor besieged for three hundred and eighty years of the sun," Finrod replied quietly, almost without emotion. "The kind that had to rebuild their civilization from scratch. The kind that died in ways you can never imagine, all to ensure that you here in Aman would remain safe and unaware. These braids are a symbol of all that and more."

"I experienced enough of what Prince Findaráto has described, Atar, that I earned these braids no less than he or Lord Laurendil," Aldundil interjected. "I admit that when I first saw the Sindar and the... Etyangoldi wearing them I thought them ridiculous and said as much. We Amaneldi were so arrogant and sure of ourselves, looking down on our poor benighted kin who needed us to save them." He gave them a rueful chuckle, shaking his head in disgust. "We were not so arrogant after our first battle. Many of us didn’t even survive it and I was thoroughly sick after killing my first orc. One of those barbarians, as you call them, Atar, stood over me and protected me from harm until I could get myself under control and rejoin the battle."

Herendil’s expression had become blank as Aldundil told his tale. "You never spoke of this before," he finally said.

"I couldn’t," Aldundil said. "How can you possibly understand the horrors we encountered every day for over forty years of the sun? And beyond that, I felt guilty for surviving when my brother, whom I swore to protect, did not."

"I remember when you returned, wearing those front braids," Herendil mused. "I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. You no longer were the son I knew. You were moody and withdrawn for the longest time. And then, one day you stopped wearing the braids and I silently rejoiced, for I thought it was a sign that you were your old self again."

"Only I wasn’t," Aldundil replied. "Like many other warriors, I undid the braids out of shame. No one wanted to listen to our stories. No one wanted to acknowledge our pain and the cost to our fëar." He lifted one of his warrior braids. "These braids came at too high a price, and no one could be bothered to honor them, so we undid them, hoping, I suppose, that in doing so we would be able to forget and return to our previous lives. Only it didn’t quite work out that way."

Herendil breathed a deep sigh. "It still doesn’t explain this oath of yours. Why did you do it? Did you truly wish Findaráto to kill you?"

"No, Atar, I had no wish to die, but it was the only way to regain our family’s honor," Aldundil answered. "Vorondil unknowingly committed blasphemy in the eyes of those from Beleriand. He did not earn those braids he gave himself. To him, they were an affectation. He wanted to be a warrior without understanding what that really meant. He only knew the sanitized tales I told him, tales of glory and honor and shining victory. He had no idea what the cost of such braids really was."

"Herendil," Finrod interjected, giving his friend a sympathetic look, "Ingwë would not have ordered Vorondil’s execution nor would I have demanded it. He’s a child, and no one would countenance such a thing, but when Aldundil gave me his oath, he forced my hand, though I do not think he realized it at the time."

"The Life Oath demands certain obligations on the parties involved," Laurendil answered before Finrod could respond. "For the giver of the oath, it means that you are willing to accept that your lord may do with you as he will, even to ordering your death if it is deemed necessary for the good of all. For the one accepting the oath, it means not abusing the power he has over those who give him their oaths. Naturally, this involves a very delicate balance of trust between oathgiver and oathkeeper."

"But what does all that have to do with Vorondil?" Herendil asked, clearly confused.

"Aldundil did not offer his oath to me for his own sake," Finrod explained. "He did it for his son’s. He thought I would kill him right then and there in expiation for Vorondil’s crime." He cast a sardonic look at his vassal. "I think the last thing he expected was that I would actually accept his oath. In that, though, I had no real choice. If I did not take his oath, I either had to kill him or Vorondil to satisfy the conditions under which he offered himself and I was not prepared to do either. So, instead, I accepted his oath and saved them both."

Everyone startled, looking up at the sound of Lord Námo’s voice. Involved as they were in the drama before them, none of the elves had noticed the arrival of the Lord of Mandos. He stood beside his brother, his expression sympathetic.

There were gasps of dismay from most of the elves. Vandacalimë started weeping again and Telperiën rose and went to her, wrapping her arm around the elleth’s shoulders and offering her comfort.

"No!" Aldundil protested, turning white. Both Herendil and Finrod reached out and grabbed his elbows to keep him from collapsing.

"There were several ways that trial could have gone," Námo continued implacably. "In every case, the end result was Vorondil dying. He should have come to me that day, to undergo Judgment and be cleansed of the taint on his fëa. Only, Aldundil intervened and I never saw it coming. None of us did." He cast an amused smile at his brother and Estë, which they returned with smiles of their own. "You Children are an enigma to us," he continued after a brief pause, "for we had no part in your creation, and we are never sure which way you will go. Aldundil offering himself to Findaráto in exchange for Vorondil’s life was the last thing any of us expected."

"You’re saying you want my grandson to die?" Herendil demanded. "Is that why you allowed this... this ellon to attack him, hoping he would do your dirty work for you?" He pointed to Gurthalion, who went white and cowered against Marthchall.

"How else to explain why our grandson was where he was at the time," he retorted hotly. "Why else was he walking by that particular grove when this Sinda had his... his episode if not to die?"

"As my beloved told you, Herendil, he was performing his duties as an apprentice," Irmo answered calmly. "He was delivering fresh linen to the various pavilions and just happened to be coming to the grove when Gurthalion ran out and attacked him, thinking he was an orc. It was an unfortunate accident, nothing more."

"Highly coincidental, if you ask me," Herendil retorted with a disbelieving sneer, "and rather convenient. You want him dead and...."

"Not so!" Námo exclaimed, his expression darkening. "Death is an unnatural state for the Firstborn, but the Marring of Arda means that death is a concomitant consequence which may befall them. As it is, Vorondil does not need to die now. He has been Judged...."

"And what was that all about?" Herendil asked, with less heat and more puzzlement. "Aldundil gave me some garbled account but I’m not sure even he understands what you did to Vorondil."

"Not surprising, since Aldundil was not present when we Valar called for Judgment," Námo said with a sympathetic smile for Aldundil who was looking embarrassed. "Vorondil violated our Peace, Herendil," the Vala continued. "And yes, so did Tulcaner and the others involved in Glorfindel’s kidnapping, but he was the instigator."

"Oh, he and Tinwetariel are equally guilty," Námo replied, "but Herendil, Ingoldo merely provided your grandson with the means to carry out his own desires. He hated Glorfindel with a passion that bordered on the obsessive and simply because he was a Reborn."

"Well, so am I," Finrod interjected. "Why did he not go after me or even Sador, for that matter?"

"First, because neither of you were there at the time," Námo replied with a hint of amusement in his eyes. "But more importantly, as a prince of Eldamar, you were off-limits. I am sure that Vorondil had very ambivalent feelings towards you, Findaráto, for you were his anatar’s friend as well as being a Reborn and he could not quite reconcile the two. Calalindalë twisted his fëa, pouring her own hatred into him, but he was not completely lost. He loved Herendil and he did not want to disappoint him so he was willing to be civil to you for his anatar’s sake."

Finrod shook his head ruefully. "I remember when Vorondil was born. I rarely saw him as he was growing up and really paid little attention to him. And now I’m responsible for him for the next thirty years."

"At any rate, Herendil, to answer your question," Námo said, steering the conversation back to the original subject, "after the trial, we Valar debated long and hard about what should be done for Vorondil."

"You mean, what should be done to him, don’t you?" Herendil asked, though his tone was not as belligerent as before.

Námo shook his head. "No, Herendil. We gave Vorondil into Findaráto’s custody and care, knowing that he would receive the love and attention he had not received from his amillë. Yet, we were concerned that his fëa was too twisted by hate to be ever completely free of Calalindalë’s influence. Had he come to me I would have purged him of that and when he was finally released from my care, you would have had back the person he should have been. Well, that was not going to happen, but we decided to Judge him anyway. You have seen the result of that."

"I admit that he seems genuinely happy and carefree as any elfling should be," Herendil said, "more so than before, but I cannot shake the feeling that Fate is determined to see him dead. First he attacks Findaráto and that alone is cause for the death sentence and now this incident with Gurthalion."

"Say, rather, that Vorondil is an instrument of Fate, not its victim," Irmo said gently. "The incident at the tournament allowed what has been hidden to be revealed. If Vorondil had not attacked Findaráto, no trial would have been held and Calalindalë’s duplicity would not have been exposed. As for what happened here, you have to admit that it has forced you to confront your own feelings about the upheavals in your son’s family, and that has necessarily affected how you and Vandacalimë must now relate to Aldundil as well as to Calalindalë’s family. As you and Selmacas are part of Arafinwë’s government you deal with him on a regular basis, do you not? That cannot be easy for either of you."

"It is downright impossible," Herendil retorted with a sour grin. "It is why I seldom go to Tirion anymore unless Arafinwë truly needs me there."

"We regret that Vorondil was as sorely injured as he was," Estë then said, "but he lives and he will recover and you must all take comfort in that. And Gurthalion, you, too, must not castigate yourself too much. Your inner demons are terrible, we know, but we are confident that you will eventually exorcize them."

"Sometimes I wish I had died in those mines," Gurthalion said softly, not looking at anyone.

No one seemed to know what to say to that. Finally, though, Herendil moved toward the ellon, his expression gentle as Gurthalion cringed slightly at his approach. Herendil laid a hand on his shoulder and gave him a smile. "Death is an easy out for us," he said and paused long enough for Ingil to translate before continuing. "You have chosen the harder way, and in the end, that may be the saving of others who will look to you as an example of how one can overcome adversity and be the stronger for it. Do not give up, hinya, and do not lose hope."

"And Gurthalion," Aldundil interjected, speaking Sindarin, "I forgive you for what happened. I know it was not your fault."

Herendil turned to Finrod, his expression rueful. "And I ask for your forgiveness, meldonya. My anger and my fear for Vorondil...."

"There is naught to forgive, Herendil," Finrod said, giving his friend a warm hug. "I understand, more than you know."

The three Valar nodded in satisfaction. "I think we may adjourn," Irmo then said. "The incident was unfortunate but we do not find any negligence on the part of Journeyman Eärnur. I would, however, recommend that any further treatment of Gurthalion be conducted under the direct supervision of a Master Healer and I will also assign one of my Maiar to be there during any therapy sessions, just in case."

"That can be arranged," Irmo said. "I understand that you will be having lunch with the elflings. I will have Ingil come afterwards to escort you to Vorondil. In the meantime, everyone else should return to their duties. Herendil, Vandacalimë, it will be our honor if you would grace us with your presence for lunch."

Herendil and Vandacalimë gave the Vala their obeisance. "Thank you, lord," Herendil said. "The honor is ours."

Irmo smiled. "No sessions for the rest of the week. Do whatever you please, go wherever you want. If you wish to leave Lórien for a time that too can be arranged. There is a camping area not far from here that is popular with many or you may wish to spend time by the sea. Just let Ingil or any other Maia know."

Finrod turned to Aldundil. "Do you wish to join me for lunch or would you rather stay with your son?"

"Vorondil is being well watched over," Irmo told Aldundil when the ellon hesitated. "Go, and spend some time with Findaráto and the elflings. Their exuberance will be as a balm unto your fëa and you can relieve them of their worry for their friend."

Aldundil gave Irmo a bow in acquiescence and shortly thereafter, everyone departed, going their separate ways. Only Námo remained where he was, his expression thoughtful. Then, after a time, he strolled out of the grove and made his way to where Vorondil was and quietly dismissed the Maiar watching over the ellon, taking a seat beside the bed. He leaned over to adjust the blanket covering Vorondil, gently brushing a hand through the child’s hair before leaning back in his seat.

For a while the only sound in the grove was that of Vorondil’s shallow breathing. Then there was a rustle of wind and without turning Námo felt the presence of another hesitantly entering the grove. He kept his eyes steadily on the sleeping ellon and waited for the other to approach. Only when the elf, an ellon, was standing beside him, gazing in wonder at Vorondil, did Námo acknowledge him.

The elf gave him a grimace. "I... I decided to go exploring," he said defiantly, seemingly unafraid of the Lord of Mandos. "I don’t need minders."

Námo was about to respond to that but the ellon cut him off. "What happened to him?" He pointed at Vorondil.

"He looks vaguely familiar," the ellon said, frowning, as if trying to recall an elusive memory, "but he’s much too young for me to have known him before, isn’t he?"

"My brother," the ellon replied without hesitation. Then he turned to Námo, his expression more doubtful and confused. "Do I have a brother?"

Námo smiled gently. "Go and play, Vorondil," he said to the ellon. "Whether you have a brother or not is not important at the moment. Just concentrate on yourself for now." His eyes became unfocused for a second or two before clearing. "And if I’m not mistaken, I believe your minders are hunting for you even now."

Vorondil Herendilion grimaced, muttering a swear word in Sindarin. Námo forced himself not to laugh. Instead, he pointed with his left hand. "If you head in that direction once you leave this grove, go about a quarter of a mile until you come to a maze. You can play hide-and-find with your minders in there. I’m sure they’ll enjoy the game as much as you."

Vorondil grinned and impulsively leaned over and gave the Vala a hug. "Thank you," he said and bounded out of the pavilion, all thought of the elfling who reminded him of a brother he could barely remember forgotten in the excitement of eluding the Lóriennildi who were tracking him.

Námo sat in contemplation, his thoughts interrupted briefly by three Lóriennildi in pursuit of their charge, who respectfully asked if the Lord of Mandos had seen the ellon. Námo directed them to the maze, warning them to let Vorondil play his game.

"He’ll be more willing to return with you if you let him," he said and the Lóriennildi agreed, thanking him before departing. Námo resumed his contemplation, wondering at the coincidence of that particular Reborn finding his way randomly to this particular grove.

*If you believe in coincidences,* came the whisper of a thought from beyond the Circles of Arda and Námo, Lord of Mandos, could not quite suppress a shiver at its implication.

Etyangoldi: (Quenya) Plural of Etyangol: Exiled Noldo. The word has become pejorative in certain contexts.

"I wish to apologize for my atar," Aldundil said to Finrod as the two made their way towards Lady Melian’s grove where the elflings were waiting for them.

"Your atar was very upset," Finrod said. "Not that I blame him, but I have to admit I was taken by surprise by his accusation. I feared our friendship might be coming to an end and that grieved me more than anything."

"I know," Aldundil said, sighing. "I know how much his friendship has meant to you. I couldn’t believe... well, it ended well, I suppose, though I do not think he truly understands."

"Your atar is a very wise ellon," Finrod assured him. "It’ll just take him a little time to accept what he has heard today. Give him time."

Aldundil stopped, now looking upset. "Do you think... fate is trying to... to kill my son?"

Finrod gave the ellon a fierce hug. "No, I do not. Lord Irmo is correct. It could have been anyone. Vorondil is not the only apprentice who was passing out fresh linen that day. If it had been anyone else, the end result could well have been catastrophic."

Aldundil stepped out of Finrod’s embrace, giving him a puzzled look. "What do you mean? Was not the attack catastrophic enough?"

Finrod shook his head. "Vorondil is alive because he ran, but more importantly, he ran to me. Anyone else in that situation might not have thought to run anywhere. Gurthalion could very easily have killed them in his frenzy. Ignoring the Reborn, most of the elves here in Lórien have no experience of being attacked and the initial shock would most likely have frozen them into immobility which would have proven fatal. Vorondil instinctively sought for my aid and that’s what saved him, as much as anything."

Aldundil had a thoughtful look on his face, the expression turning rueful. "He ran to you... not to me."

Ah! Now Finrod understood. "What would you have been able to do if he had?" he asked gently.

"Beyond subduing Gurthalion, nothing," he admitted. "All I would have been able to do is watch my son die in my arms. It would have been my brother all over again."

"Vorondil did the right thing," Finrod pointed out, giving Aldundil a smile. "He sought help where he knew he would find it. After all, that grove was full of healers and would-be healers."

Aldundil rewarded him with a sardonic grin. "I understand half those apprentices sicked up at the sight of all that blood."

Finrod laughed. "I heard that neither Calamírë nor Meneldil were pleased about that and castigated them for being useless. But come. That’s the noon bell. Let’s not keep the elflings waiting."

Aldundil nodded and they continued on their way, soon arriving at Melian’s grove where the elflings greeted them with great enthusiasm, all of them asking after Vorondil.

"Whoa!" Finrod called out, raising his hands. "Let’s all sit and enjoy our lunch first and then we’ll talk. Vorondil is well, I promise you."

The elflings were reluctant to comply but Aldundil firmly steered them to the table laden with dishes, giving Finrod the chance to greet Lady Melian.

"How are you holding up, dear?" the Maia asked solicitously as she and Finrod exchanged kisses.

"I’ve been better," he admitted. "I’m still not sure what it is I’m doing or even how. I only know it takes a lot out of me."

Melian shrugged as she and Finrod took their seats. "As good a name for it as any, I suppose. The fëa flees and unless it is found and returned to its hröa, the person becomes houseless."

"This time, though, it didn’t seem as if Gurthalion fled anywhere, except deeper into his own mind and memories."

"Yet, you still had to go after him, did you not?" Melian asked. "You still had to convince him to return to Life rather than seek Death, which is what he was trying to do, from what I’ve been told."

Finrod nodded, looking thoughtful. He was about to ask another question, but Melian shook her head. "Eat," she commanded, handing him a platter of roasted chicken. "Time for questioning later."

Melian graced him with a smug look and he laughed, turning to the elflings and enquiring what they had been up to during the last few days.

"Veryandur got stung by a bee," Eruanna said, "so I pulled out the stinger and put some mud on it and now it’s all better."

The ellon thrust out his arm to show Finrod. "That’s where it stung me, stupid bee," he said, pointing to a spot on the back of his hand. "It hurt but I didn’t cry... much." He now looked slightly embarrassed.

"It kept buzzing around me," Veryandur replied with a scowl. "I was trying to work in the herb garden and it just wouldn’t leave me alone."

Veryandur scrunched his face, trying to remember. "I was transplanting some lavender and I had to also replant some goldenrod. Stupid bee kept getting in my way."

Finrod hid a smile. "Bees are especially attracted to purple and yellow flowers. He was probably hungry and got mad when you wouldn’t let him eat."

Veryandur sighed. "I guess I should’ve let him eat. I could’ve done something else instead."

"Next time, you’ll remember. And Eruanna, that was quick thinking on your part, but I think if it happens again, you should go to one of the healers. They have balms that are more effective against bee stings than mud."

Both children nodded. Then Finrod turned to the other three. "And what about you? Did anything interesting happen?"

Both Oromendil and Sorondil nodded. "I think I would like to be a Lóriennildo when I grow up and help them for real," the older ellon said.

"But I’m not a real Lóriennildo, not like Laurendil or my lord," Sorondil protested, giving Finrod a shy look.

Finrod laughed. "I’m not really a Lóriennildo either," he said, "but Lady Melian is correct. You don’t have to be a Lóriennildo to help another person. You just have to have compassion."

"It is a feeling of deep sympathy and sorrow for another who is hurting in some way, and you have a strong desire to ease that hurt," Finrod answered. "When you play with the Reborn, listen to their tales and simply be a friend to them, you are helping them immensely, making them feel less awkward and insecure, letting them know that you don’t judge them or look down on them for having died."

"Besides, the only time we look down on them is when we’re hiding in a tree and they’re trying to find us," Sorondil added and both ellyn laughed.

"What about you, Oromendil?" Aldundil asked. "Do you want to be a Lóriennildo, too?"

The ellon shook his head. "Not really. I would rather be a trader like my atto."

"What does he trade?" Finrod asked. He realized he knew very little about the elflings' parents and resolved to rectify that lapse in his knowledge soon.

"He trades wines," Oromendil said, looking very proud. "He works for Lord Nolondur who...."

"I am acquainted with Lord Nolondur," Finrod said, his expression wistful, his eyes darkening with memory. He shook his head, as if to clear it of the sadness that suddenly enveloped him and gave Oromendil a smile. "So, your atto works for Lord Nolondur, helping him sell his wines, and you want to help your atto in turn?"

Oromendil nodded, looking a little embarrassed. "I know it’s not as important or as exciting as being a Lóriennildo but...."

"Child, your goal is a worthy one," Finrod said gently. "I have no doubt that you will be a great asset to your atto, and to Lord Nolondur. And learning patience in dealing with unruly Reborn will help you to deal with clients who might give you a hard time."

The ellon snickered and the other elflings grinned. Then Finrod turned to Lindorillë, who had remained quiet during the discussion. Finrod gave her a sympathetic smile. "And what about you, Lindorillë? What has happened of interest with you?"

But instead of answering, the elleth asked her own question, looking distraught. "Is... is Vorondil truly well, or... are you just saying that... lord?"

Finrod glanced at the other elflings and saw that they were looking troubled as well. He turned to Lindorillë. "I have never, nor will I ever lie to you, Lindorillë, to any of you. Vorondil was gravely injured and, yes, he almost died, but Masters Calamírë and Vardamir were there and they saved him. He will be a long time recovering, but Lord Irmo assured me that recover he will."

"I don’t know, child," Finrod said gently. "It’s not up to me. Even I had to ask Lord Irmo’s permission to visit, which I will do after lunch."

"Can we come, too?" Veryandur pleaded and the other elflings all nodded in expectation.

Finrod gave Melian a helpless look. Her smile was sympathetic. "Vorondil is still sleeping," she told the elflings. "Lord Findaráto will only stay a moment or two, just to check on him. Vorondil won’t even know he’s there."

"You know," Aldundil interjected, "I’m sure Vorondil would appreciate seeing some pretty flowers when he awakens. It will brighten his mood, for I fear he will be in some pain for a while. After lunch, why don’t you all pick your favorite flowers and I’ll find a pretty vase for them and take them to him."

"Do you think we can?" Lindorillë asked, looking dubious. "I didn’t think we were allowed."

"Normally you would not be," Melian said, "but in this instance, I am sure Lord Irmo will grant his permission."

Everyone at the table hastily rose to give Lord Irmo their obeisance as he entered the pavilion where they were lunching. Irmo gave them a gracious smile. "In fact, I think it is a very good idea. Vorondil will need all the color and joy he can get, for his pain will darken his fëa and he will heal the slower because of it. So, by all means, gather your flowers and any other little gifts you might think of to brighten Vorondil’s days. Aldundil will see that he gets them."

"But when can we see Vorondil?" Veryandur exclaimed. "When can we see our friend?"

Irmo gave them a sympathetic look. "Let us wait for him to wake up and recover some of his strength. I promise you, as soon as I think he’s ready for visitors, I will send for you."

The children appeared mollified by that. Irmo motioned for Melian, Finrod and Aldundil to follow him out of the pavilion, leaving the elflings happily discussing what kinds of flowers and gifts they would give to Vorondil.

Irmo’s expression became more solemn as he led the other three from the pavilion, stopping when they were some distance away.

"Your son is fine, Aldundil," Irmo answered promptly. "Have no fear on that account. My brother is presently guarding him. No, there is another matter about which you need to be aware."

Irmo hesitated, but only for a second, before answering. "When Calalindalë was sent to reside with Lady Vairë for a time, your brother was released from Mandos."

"He has been re-embodied and is now numbered among the Reborn," Irmo supplied. "Easy now."

The Vala put a hand out even as Melian and Finrod were grabbing Aldundil to prevent him from collapsing, for the ellon turned stark white, the blood draining from his face as he stared at Irmo in shock.

"He came to Lórien only recently," Irmo said, "and already he’s giving his minders grief."

"Yes. I told them during lunch," Irmo replied, "and now I’m telling you, but none of you will be able to see him just yet. He doesn’t even remember you."

"Then, why have you told us, lord?" Aldundil demanded. "Would it not have been better if we remained ignorant of this until it was time for him to leave Lórien?"

"Normally, that would be the case, but you and your parents are here and there is the odd chance that you might encounter Vorondil as he’s doing his level best to escape from those charged with watching over him."

"Do you think that’s likely?" Finrod asked skeptically. "Surely the Maiar will be able to keep him from wandering where he should not."

Irmo gave them an amused smile. "We are trying something a little different, allowing the Reborn free rein of Lórien. You may recall how some parts of these Gardens were off-limits to you when you were here."

"I have decided that need not be the case now," Irmo continued. "Oh, there are a few places where none of you Children are permitted without permission, but otherwise, Lórien is open to you and to the Reborn. I have no intention of curtailing Vorondil’s wanderings. He’s too amusing, though his minders don’t think so."

"Then... what should I do if... Oh, Eru... How can I pretend not to know my own brother?" Aldundil’s expression was one of pain and confusion.

"It will be hard, I know," Irmo said solicitously, "but on the off-chance that such an encounter takes place, I did not want you or your parents to be unprepared. You may never meet, for Lórien is larger than you might think and the groves are many, but I wanted to prepare you for that eventuality."

"And now, I must leave you," Irmo said, giving them a nod, "for it appears the Elder King has summoned us in council."

With no more ado, the Vala vanished in a flash of multi-hued lights, leaving the two ellyn blinking. Melian gazed upon them with an air of serenity, neither impatient nor hurried, giving the two ellyn time to adjust.

"My brother is alive again," Aldundil whispered in awe. "Oh Eru... what am I going to tell him about Calalindalë?"

Finrod gave the ellon a hug. "Let us worry about that when the time comes. In the mean time, I think it best that you concentrate on your son. He needs you more now than your brother does."

"Findaráto is correct," Melian chimed in when it looked as if Aldundil might protest. "Let us gather the children and help them pick flowers. That has to be your focus for the moment, child. Your brother is in good hands and is being well taken care of. Concentrate on your son. He is the one who needs you."

Aldundil nodded, though somewhat reluctantly. Finrod clasped him on the shoulder and gave him a squeeze. "Good. Children," he called out, "finish eating and then we’ll go look for flowers for Vorondil."

The elflings cheered and five minutes later they were eagerly following Finrod and Aldundil out of the grove, talking excitedly about the kinds of flowers they were hoping to find while Melian remained behind to take care of the dishes, smiling wistfully as she reminisced about her life with Elu, wondering about the day when he, too, would be re-embodied and what she might say to him when he came to Lórien.

Vorondil Herendilion could not concentrate on the task at hand. Not an unusual trait among those Reborn recently arrived from Mandos, but the Lóriennildi overseeing the painting projects of their charges would have been surprised at the thoughts plaguing this particular Reborn as he indifferently applied paint to the canvas, not even bothering to paint anything that could reasonably be considered a fair approximation of the still life before him.

For some reason, he could not banish the image of the poor ellon lying like death in the grove where he had found Lord Námo. Something about the child, for he knew that this was indeed a child, haunted him and he could not get him out of his mind. It bothered him that the ellon seemed familiar to him, yet how could that be? Clearly he was an elfling, though one who was very near to his majority. That meant that the ellon had been born while he, Vorondil, was still in Mandos, totally oblivious to the outside world.

Vorondil blinked a couple of times, realizing with chagrin that his mind had wandered when he should have been working on the still life. He glanced at the canvas and cringed. No. That definitely did not look like a vase of sunflowers to him.

"Sorry, Míriel," he muttered to the Lóriennildë who had spoken. "I guess my mind was on other things."

"Apparently," the elleth said with a smile. She motioned him to put his brush and palette down and follow her out of the painting pavilion. He joined her as she began to walk the perimeter of the grove. "You’re not the first person who hates the painting class...."

Vorondil looked at her in surprise. "But I don’t!" he protested. "It’s just that..." he stopped, his expression distant, his eyes seeing something no one else could. Míriel stood waiting patiently for him to continue. Finally he looked at her, his expression troubled. "Is it possible to remember someone who wasn’t alive when you were, I mean, someone who was born after you’d already died?"

Míriel did not answer immediately, her expression pensive, as if she were taking his obviously absurd question seriously. "I don’t think that’s possible, Vorondil," she said at last. "Have you met someone like that?"

Vorondil nodded. "The other day when I... when I was playing hide-and-find. I came upon a grove and there was Lord Námo watching over this poor ellon, an elfling really, who looked as if he’d been hurt real bad. I thought he looked familiar, but that’s not possible, is it?"

Vorondil tilted his head to his left as if contemplating something. "Odd. Lord Námo asked me the same question. I told him he reminded me of my brother, but I don’t have a brother... do I?"

"We rarely are given any personal information about the Reborn unless absolutely necessary," she explained. "Lord Irmo feels such might interfere with how we relate to our charges. I have no idea if you have a brother, Vorondil. Perhaps you do and perhaps even though you have not yet consciously remembered having one, seeing this ellon struck a chord with you."

Vorondil sighed. "I can’t seem to get the image of him lying there all pale and barely breathing out of my mind. I feel so sorry for the poor elfling. Why would he be so hurt? And why would Lord Námo be watching over him?"

"I have no idea, Vorondil," Míriel said sympathetically. "Lord Námo is a Vala and he comes and goes as he pleases."

Míriel laughed again. "But I think it speaks well of you that you feel pity for a complete stranger," she said after she calmed down. "Compassion is a rare gift, not to be despised. Perhaps you have the makings of a Lóriennildo."

Vorondil shrugged, not willing to commit himself to such a fate quite yet. Míriel smiled and patted him on the arm. "It’s all right, Vorondil. It was just a suggestion. In the meantime, try to concentrate more on yourself. That’s what’s important right now."

"And Lord Námo is always right, isn’t he?" Míriel said and Vorondil nodded. "Good. Then why don’t we go back and you can work a bit more on your painting."

"It doesn’t look much like a vase of sunflowers, though," Vorondil said ruefully.

"That’s all right," Míriel replied. "The purpose of these painting classes is to allow you to express yourself in a nonverbal manner whatever emotions you might be feeling as well as help you with hand-eye coordination. Paint what you see, however you are seeing it. There is no judgment here, no wrong or right way of doing things."

Míriel smiled. "You are most welcome, Vorondil. And thank you. Now, back to class."

Try as he might, though, Vorondil could not forget the poor elfling. Some days later, he was wandering aimlessly through Lórien, hoping to elude the Lóriennildi who no doubt were looking for him, for he should have been attending the jewelry-making class they had decided he needed to improve his fine motor control. But it was too lovely a day, and there were so many exciting things to see and explore to bother sitting in a pavilion half the morning. He had not intentionally thought to look for the hurt ellon but somehow his feet led him to the grove which he recognized. He hesitated before its entrance, thinking perhaps he should just continue on. He remembered the maze further along and was eager to play in it, but then he found himself entering the grove, hoping no one would be there. How would he explain his presence?

He saw no one, much to his relief. Moving towards the pavilion, he decided he would peek in just long enough to see if the child was better and then leave before he was found out. It would be nice to see Lord Námo again, but he was not there. The ellon was still lying as he had last seen him, fast asleep, his coloring slightly better; at least he wasn’t so deathly pale. There was a pretty vase of flowers on the table next to the cot and Vorondil saw a stuffed toy nestled beside the sleeping child. He found himself smiling at the sight. Obviously someone had brought him his favorite toy from when he had been much younger. Or maybe not. He found himself blushing as he remembered a certain stuffed toy of his own that he had brought with him from Mandos. It had comforted him as he adjusted to his new surroundings. Perhaps Lord Námo had left the toy here. It would be something he would do.

He shook his head, clearing it of such thoughts as he reminded himself that he had tarried too long and it was time to leave. Just as he resolved to do so, though, the ellon in the cot moaned and fluttered open his eyes, which were clouded with pain and Vorondil doubted the child saw anything of his surroundings.

"A-atto?" the ellon’s voice rasped in a hoarse whisper. "Atto? Wh-why d-does it h-hurt?"

The ellon was weeping now. Vorondil looked around, feeling somewhat helpless, hoping someone would come. Why was there no one here to watch over the child? He hesitated, thinking he should just leave, but the sight of the child in tears tugged at him and without conscious thought he found himself going to him, gently brushing a hand through his hair.

"Hush now, child," he said softly. "There’s no need for tears. Your atto isn’t here right now."

The ellon looked up at him, obviously feeling confused. "Wh-who are you? Where’s Atto? Wh-where’s M-master?"

"I’m a friend," Vorondil said, not sure why he did not give his name. "I don’t know where your atto is but I’m sure he’s not far. But who is this Master you speak of?"

The ellon, however, was too busy struggling to sit up to answer, a pained expression on his face. "I... I think I need to...."

It took Vorondil a second or two to understand and then he was frantically looking about for the chamber pot, which he finally found under the cot. He stooped down and brought it forth. "Is this what you’re looking for?"

He had to smile at the grimace on the other’s face. No doubt he’d hoped to be able to make it to the privy that was situated away from the pavilion, but Vorondil seriously doubted the child could even stand much less walk.

"It’s so embarrassing." the ellon sighed as he allowed Vorondil to help disentangle him from his blanket.

"I know," Vorondil replied in sympathy. "It took me a while to get used to having someone clean up after me until I was able to do it myself."

Vorondil nodded. "All done? Here, I’ll take care of that. You get back under the covers. Here’s your friend." He helped the child settle back and handed him the stuffed toy.

"He was here when I came in," Vorondil said. "I guess someone thought you might need him."

"A friend," was the reply. "This is his toy. He let me have him once before when... well when I needed him."

Vorondil studied the ellon, noticing the look of embarrassment and decided not to pursue the matter. He lifted up the chamber pot. "I’ll just deal with this and be right back."

A few moments later, having emptied the chamber pot and cleaned it, he entered the pavilion to find the ellon clutching at the stuffed toy and weeping.

"Here now," he said as he shoved the chamber pot under the cot and then shifted his position so he could take the ellon in his arms to comfort him. "Why the tears, child?"

"Shh.... please don’t cry," Vorondil begged, feeling helpless again. He wondered if he should leave and try to find someone, a Maia perhaps, who would be able to help, but the child was clinging to him so fiercely that he dismissed the idea. "Hush, child, it’s all right. I’m sure your atto will be here soon. Would you like me to sing you a song?"

When he didn’t get any response other than more sniffles, he decided that meant ‘yes’. He wracked his brain for a suitable song. He remembered a few in Sindarin but they were camp songs he’d learned when he was fighting in Beleriand and he didn’t think they would be suitable. Finally, he started singing a lullaby, one that every Reborn knew and as he sang he felt the ellon relaxing in his arms, the tears abating. He continued singing softly until he felt the child breathing deeply and gently laid him back down, fussing a bit with the blanket and tucking the stuffed toy beside the now sleeping elfling.

Vorondil turned around to see three people — two ellyn and an elleth — standing at the pavilion’s entrance. Their expressions were one of shock and he felt suddenly afraid. "I’m sorry," he said, trying to keep from panicking and not quite succeeding. "I didn’t mean to intrude, but he was crying and.... Please, I’ll go now... I...."

One of the ellyn came forward, his hands up in a calming manner. "It’s all right," he said soothingly. "I am glad someone was here to comfort my son."

"Oh, you’re his atto," Vorondil said, mentally cursing himself for stating the obvious. "He... he was calling for you."

Something like pain flashed across the ellon’s face, and Vorondil wasn’t sure he even saw it, but the look passed and the ellon smiled. "That was an interesting song you sang," he said.

Vorondil blushed. "It’s a lullaby," he answered. "Lord Námo likes to sing it." He did not notice the looks of surprise on the others’ faces, for he had turned his attention back to the child, now fast asleep. "Why is he so hurt?" he asked and then, "I was hurt. I died, but I’m better now."

He wasn’t sure why he said that to these people who were complete strangers and started feeling awkward again, wishing he could just leave. The other ellon — and now Vorondil guessed he and the elleth were the first ellon’s parents, for they were much older and there was a certain family resemblance between them all — stepped forward and took Vorondil by the shoulders and gazed at him. Vorondil kept his own gaze steady, though he was puzzled by the ellon’s actions. There was something familiar about him, something in his eyes, eyes that were so sad looking, and he thought he knew who this person was, but when the ellon spoke, the almost memory slipped away and he forgot about it.

"I am sorry to hear that, child," the older ellon said, "but I am glad that you are better now."

The elleth looked as if she wanted to protest, but she stopped herself and remained silent. Vorondil wondered though why she had tears running down her cheeks. He suddenly felt uncomfortable being around these people and perhaps they sensed it for the older ellon released him, nodding. "Best you go then," he said. "I have the feeling you’re not where you’re supposed to be, are you?"

This last was said with a knowing smile and Vorondil blushed again. "I’m supposed to be making jewelry." He raised his hands and waggled his fingers. "It’s supposed to help with my fine motor control, but I would much rather be exploring. It’s too fine a day to be cooped up inside."

Vorondil nodded, giving them a sigh. "Thank you for not yelling at me," he said.

The younger ellon put a hand on his shoulder. "You did nothing to deserve being yelled at," he said.

Vorondil took one more look at the child, his expression becoming more pensive. "Would... would you mind if I... I mean... if it’s all right...."

"I would be very happy if you would visit my son when you can," the younger ellon said. "I’m sure he would enjoy seeing you again. I will so inform Lord Irmo, so no one will hinder you."

Vorondil nodded, looking relieved. He still did not understand the attraction he had for this poor elfling, but at least now he had the family’s permission to visit. He gave them a bow and started to leave, only at the last minute realizing that he’d not introduced himself. How would they know to tell Lord Irmo about him otherwise?

He stopped and turned to face them. "My name’s Vorondil, by the way," and then he continued on his way. He thought he heard the older ellon say "We know" but figured he’d just imagined it. How could they know who he was when they’d only just met? Putting the troubling question from his mind, he decided that he still would much rather play in the maze than go back to class, so instead of turning left he turned right. He was anticipating all the fun he would have inside the maze and was unpleasantly surprised to find two smug-looking Lóriennildi and one very amused-looking Maia waiting for him at the maze’s entrance.

Herendil, Vandacalimë and Aldundil watched helplessly as their son and brother walked away. Vandacalimë ached to wrap her arms around her first-born and never let him go. She collapsed into Herendil’s arms and openly wept. Herendil clung to her, his own tears falling. Aldundil just stood there staring out of the pavilion.

"He didn’t even recognize us," Vandacalimë uttered through her tears. "Our baby didn’t even recognize his own atto and ammë."

"He will, love," Herendil said, trying to give his wife comfort though he had little left for himself. "Someday he will remember us. Until then, let us just be grateful that he is alive again."

Aldundil shook himself and turned to sit beside his son, stroking the ellon’s hair. "I am glad my Vorondil had someone in the family here when he woke. I would hate to think he woke to find himself all alone or with some stranger."

"It is enough that we know, is it not?" Aldundil said without taking his eyes off his son.

To that neither of his parents could disagree and they took comfort in that thought as they continued watching over their beloved grandson and their son’s namesake.

The days passed. Young Vorondil soon recovered and was reunited with the other elflings, much to his and their delight. He had no recollection of how he’d been injured but Lord Irmo assured Aldundil that in such situations it was not unusual for there to be memory loss.

"Amnesia around the trauma is very common," the Vala told him and his parents as they met in Irmo’s pavilion by the lake to consult with him. "He may remember eventually or not at all. What’s important right now is to continually reassure him that he is not to blame for what happened. He should also continue with his normal routine. That will help give him a sense of security."

"What about Gurthalion?" Aldundil asked. "I know he feels bad about what happened. He told me he wished to apologize to my son once he recovered."

"For the present, I think it best that they not meet," Finrod, who was in on the discussion, opined. "Let Vorondil recover his strength first. He’s going to feel weak for some time yet. Once he is stronger, physically and mentally, then we’ll arrange a meeting between them."

"It disturbs you that he does not remember any of you, doesn’t it?" Irmo replied, giving Aldundil, Herendil and Vandacalimë a shrewd look that nonetheless was full of compassion for their pain.

"When we saw him with our grandson that first time, it gave us quite a start," Herendil answered. "I wanted to take him into my arms and welcome him home, but he looked upon us as strangers. My heart near broke at that. It was so hard to pretend we did not know him."

"While it was not hard at all for him," Irmo retorted with a wry grin, "for he wasn’t pretending; he truly did not know you."

The three elves nodded sorrowfully and Irmo sighed. "The situation is indeed unique, for it has never happened before," he said. "To force yourself on him at this time could well prove detrimental to his development. The memories will come, I promise you, but just not in the time and the way that you want. Ask Findaráto. He did not truly remember his parents until after he’d left Lórien and went to live with them."

"And I didn’t remember Amarië at all," Finrod told them with a rueful smile. "You remember that, don’t you, Herendil?"

"So, we should continue to let him visit Vorondil?" Aldundil asked. "So far he’s failed to ask for our names and we’ve been careful not to give them, but if he continues to interact with us and especially with my son...."

"And your son?" Irmo asked. "What is his reaction to having his uncle visiting him?"

"So far, he’s only met him the one time," Vandacalimë replied. "He told us about the nice Reborn who sang to him, but otherwise asked no further questions. My son has visited young Vorondil twice since, but both times the child was sleeping, so he did not stay."

"Should we not tell him that the nice Reborn is actually his uncle?" Herendil asked.

"I think it best not to warn him," Irmo said. "It might prove too awkward for the youngster, trying to pretend he doesn’t know. Vorondil is bound to meet his uncle in the course of his duties as an apprentice. It would be best if any relationship that develops between them comes about naturally." He paused and gave Aldundil a sympathetic smile, for the ellon’s expression was one of doubt mingled with shame.

"I know this whole situation is awkward, especially for you, Aldundil, but eventually your brother will need to learn the truth of what has happened while he was in Mandos. If he already has a good rapport with his nephew, that may go a long way towards diffusing any hurt feelings of betrayal on his part. And that’s assuming he will feel that he’s been betrayed. Those who pass through my brother’s demesne are subtly changed in ways that we Valar are still unclear about. Your brother may only be grateful to know that you lived your life and will rejoice in the happiness your son gives you."

Aldundil nodded, as did his parents, though none of them seemed particularly happy about it. Finrod gave his liegeman a sympathetic smile. "It will be well," he said, clasping Aldundil’s shoulder. "Let Vorondil get to know all of you as his friends first. I think that will help when he begins to remember that you are also family."

Herendil cast them a wry look. "When Aldundil wanted to name his son after his brother, I never stopped to think how confusing it would be later when my son was released from Mandos."

Irmo chuckled and Finrod grinned. "Perhaps you can refer to your grandson as ‘the Elfling'," the Vala suggested.

Irmo nodded and wished them a pleasant day, clearly dismissing them, and they departed. Finrod lingered behind, giving the Vala a considering look. "You’re hoping that the two Vorondil’s will learn of each other’s identity without any interference from their family."

Finrod raised an eyebrow. "How long has this plan been in the works, if I may be so bold as to ask, my lord?"

Irmo’s smile was wry. "Since the day my beloved brother announced that he had re-embodied the uncle, though we decided not to push the issue. If they met, they met and if not...." He shrugged. "I should tell you, and this is just between us, that Námo is convinced that the elder Vorondil finding his way to that particular grove where the elfling was recovering was not happenstance. It was... hmm... shall we say, orchestrated."

Finrod felt a frisson of awe at the implication of the Vala’s words and Irmo nodded. "Something to think about," was all he said and Finrod, recognizing a dismissal when he heard one, gave the Vala a bow and left, his expression thoughtful.

Young Vorondil was eager to return to his duties as soon as possible and after consulting with Calamírë and Vardamir, who were acting as his chief healers, Finrod and Aldundil agreed that he could do so.

"But we will limit your activities for a while, shall we?" Calamírë said. "Attend the lectures and follow whoever you’ve been assigned to follow on rounds, but we’ll excuse you from the more menial tasks until you’re strong enough. You are to take a nap every afternoon for two hours." She grinned at the face the elfling made. "You do not have to actually sleep, though I suspect you will for the most part, but you are to remain still and resting. Read if you wish, but nothing more active than that."

"At the discretion of your atar or Prince Findaráto," she answered. "The idea is to rest. If your visitors are capable of sitting quietly and not getting you all excited then that will be fine."

"Well, that leaves my elflings out," Finrod said with a smile. "They’re more likely to plot with Vorondil on ways of sneaking out of the grove and raiding the kitchens for goodies."

"And we wouldn’t want that now, would we?" Aldundil replied with a chuckle giving Finrod a wink. Calamírë and Vardamir grinned knowingly.

Vorondil just sighed. "Being injured is no fun," he muttered as he lay back on his pillow, unconsciously rubbing at the scar, now nearly invisible.

The adults gave him sympathetic looks. "It will only be for a little while, until you regain your strength," Vardamir assured him. "If you follow these simple rules you’ll be back to your regular routine sooner rather than later."

"Thank you, Master Calamírë, and you, Master Vardamir, for all your help," Aldundil said. "I’ll see to it that Vorondil does not overdo it and ruin all your good work."

Satisfied, the two healers left. Finrod gave his bondsman a smile. "If I arrange for someone to be here during your nap time to help supervise, I’ll allow the other elflings to visit, but not all at once. Just one or two at a time and not every day. Will that be acceptable to you?"

"Good. Master Calamírë was correct when she said that, at least at first, you’re going to do more sleeping than you suspect. But on those days when you’re not, we’ll see about having visitors to entertain you. I know how boring it is just to lie in bed all the time with little to occupy one’s mind."

Both Vorondil and Aldundil seemed satisfied with those arrangements. Finrod decided not to tell Aldundil that the person he was thinking to act as a chaperone was his own brother. He would have to be careful to make it seem as if the elder Vorondil just happened to be there at the same time as whichever of the elflings were visiting their friend. The other elflings, of course, would not think it odd for a Reborn to be there and would welcome him. He, himself, intended to be on hand, just in case.

Vorondil Herendilion was surprised when a Maia appeared to him while he was sitting in a flet that he had found during his wanderings and told him to expect a visitor.

"Who?" he asked, but the Maia merely smiled knowingly and faded from his sight, leaving behind the faintest hint of roses and, he thought, honeysuckle. He did not have too long to wait.

"Halloo the flet," he heard a voice shout up from below and then he felt someone making his way lightly up the ladder and was surprised to see an ellon with silvery-golden hair and blue eyes smiling at him as he climbed all the way up.

Vorondil scrambled to his feet, for there was something about this ellon that demanded that he do so. The ellon had a presence about him that Vorondil associated with Lord Irmo or one of the Maiar, though he was clearly neither.

"Relax, Vorondil," the ellon said. "I’m not here to hurt you. Come. Let us sit." With that the ellon followed words with action and sat with his back to the tree trunk. After a moment’s hesitation, Vorondil joined him, but did not speak, feeling suddenly shy.

Vorondil gave him a startled look. He didn’t know who this Glorfindel was, but now he was feeling very uncomfortable. "I’m sorry. I didn’t know it belonged to anyone," he said. "I... I just found it and no one else seemed to...."

The ellon held up a hand to still his protests. "Be at peace, child. I assure you that all are welcome to visit this flet. My friend built it as a little hideaway but he’s not here any longer, and so has no need of it. I know he would be happy to learn that others are enjoying the view from up here."

"Forgive me, but who are you and what do you want with me?" Vorondil asked with no little annoyance. He had the Reborn’s healthy distrust of others who were always interfering with his fun.

The ellon smiled knowingly, apparently not at all upset at his abrupt manner. "My name is Findaráto," he said simply.

"Oh," Vorondil replied, not quite sure how to respond, feeling a little foolish for his outburst. He recognized the name... sort of.

Finrod laughed, the sound of it light and merry. "Be at peace, meldonya. I came here to ask a favor of you."

"You befriended an elfling who was hurt," Finrod stated. "He’s my... hmm... well, let’s just say that he is under my protection."

"You’re the Master he was asking after, aren’t you?" Vorondil demanded, putting a few things together.

"How is he? I went to visit him but he was no longer in the grove and no one would tell me where he was or what had happened to him."

"I assure you he is well and itching to get back to his duties," Finrod replied.

Vorondil raised an eyebrow at that. "He’s a bit young yet, isn’t he? All the other apprentices I’ve seen are much older."

"He’s a special case," Finrod said without bothering to explain further. "At any rate, I was wondering if you would like to visit him during the afternoons? His healers require him to rest for two hours every day and I know that he’s not going to sleep every time and they have said he may have visitors as long as they don’t over-excite him."

"I would be glad to visit," Vorondil stated, eyeing Finrod cooly, "but why do I get the feeling there is more to this request than meets the eye?"

"For a Reborn?" Vorondil retorted with a snort. "I may be a Reborn but I’m not stupid...."

"And I never said you were," Finrod replied with equanimity. "I’m a Reborn, too. I know all about it. But enough. I came to ask if you would care to visit my bondsman when he must rest and yes, there is more to the request than that. I have five other elflings under my care and they will want to visit their friend, but these are rather young elflings, the oldest not even thirty, so you can imagine how rambunctious they can be."

"I think I’ve seen some of them," Vorondil interjected. "Two ellyn especially."

Finrod nodded. "That would be Sorondil and Oromendil. The other three are Sorondil’s sister, Lindorillë, Oromendil’s cousin, Eruanna, and their friend Veryandur."

Finrod blinked and then laughed. "Yes, Veryandur’s companion. He never goes anywhere without him unless he gives him to... someone whom he thinks needs him more."

"So, you would like me to be there when these other elflings are visiting... odd, I don’t even know the elfling’s name."

"I’ll let him introduce himself," Finrod said smoothly as he stood to leave. "In the meantime, please feel free to visit during the two hours after lunch. I know you have your own schedule and I do not want you to skip your classes, so come when you are free."

"Ah... just ask any of the Maiar for directions to the Ampano arano," Finrod responded and before Vorondil could say another word, he was climbing down the ladder and was away, leaving the ellon standing there feeling bemused.

Two days later, Vorondil found himself standing before the King’s Grove. He was suddenly unsure about entering. During the two days since Findaráto’s visit he had learned more about his visitor and now was feeling very shy. The Maia, Cucuandur, stood beside him, giving him a sympathetic smile.

"You do not have to go in, you know," he said. "Do not feel you need to do this if you are not ready for it."

Vorondil looked up at the Maia. "It’s not as if I hadn’t visited the elfling before," he retorted, "but now that I know who Findaráto is...."

"He is a Reborn, just like you," Cucuandor replied. "You have more in common than you think."

"But he’s a prince and I’m... well, I’m not exactly sure who or what I am at this point."

"I think you will find that Findaráto is less concerned about a person’s title and more concerned about a person’s character."

Vorondil nodded and squaring his shoulders, he entered the grove. Looking about, he saw three pavilions, the largest one in the middle. He suspected that it might belong to the prince, though in that he was mistaken, as he would later learn. He did not notice anyone about and wondered if he’d gotten the time wrong or the grove, but Cucuandor would not have led him astray. He was about to call out when someone stepped out of the left-hand pavilion. It was Findaráto.

"Oh, good," the prince said with a smile in greeting. "You’re just in time. I promised Eruanna and Veryandur could visit and I’ve been called away to a meeting and there’s no one else...."

"I’m sure I can keep everyone calm, Highness," Vorondil assured him with a short bow.

"Just Findaráto," Finrod replied with a shake of his head. "I leave my titles at the gate. So, if you don’t mind keeping an eye on the elflings while I’m gone...."

Vorondil raised a hand. "It’s why I’m here, is it not?" he replied with a smile. "Go. I promise I will not let them talk me into doing anything... er... elflingish."

Finrod laughed. "I won’t be long. There is a plate of fruit and cheese and some juice for them if they get restless."

Vorondil nodded and, after giving Finrod another bow, he stepped inside the pavilion to be greeted by three sets of curious eyes.

"Oh, you’re the one who sang to me," said the oldest elfling who was half reclining on the cot. The other two were seated on either side of him.

"Yes," Vorondil nodded with a smile. "I am glad to hear you are getting better. Prince Findaráto said I could come visit for a while."

"Here, Veryandur, let him have your chair and you can sit on the bed with me," the ellon said, moving over to make room for the younger elfling.

Vorondil sat in the chair and smiled at the three elflings. "Well, I know you are Veryandur," he said to the younger ellon, then looked at the elleth, "and you must be Eruanna. Lord Findaráto told me you would be visiting your friend. My name is Vorondil."

"Hey! What a coincidence!" Veryandur exclaimed in excitement. "You both have the same name. Why do you have the same name?"

Vorondil stared in confusion at the three elflings. Veryandur and Eruanna gazed at him with unabashed interest but the older one... Vorondil? The elfling was staring at him with something close to horror, his face white.

"Your name is... Vorondil, too?" he asked in a near whisper, his emotions all jumbled. He was beginning to feel panicky, though he wasn’t sure why.

The elfling nodded and swallowed noisily. "I... I was named after my uncle," he said in a low emotionless voice. "He died. He... he’s supposed to be in Mandos."

And Vorondil Herendilion stared at his brother’s son, knowing for a fact that he did indeed have a brother, and shook his head. "No. Not any more. Not any more." And then, to his sudden horror and to the surprise of the elflings, he burst into tears.

"Uncle Vorondil, Uncle Vorondil! Please, please don’t cry. Please, Uncle. Veryandur, move! Eruanna where’s a... oh, thank you."

Vorondil Herendilion felt a hand pushing something into his face and it took him a second or two to realize it was a handkerchief. He looked up to see the concerned face of his nephew and the wide-eyed looks of the other two elflings. Taking the proffered piece of linen, he wiped his eyes.

Young Vorondil did not answer immediately and the Reborn wondered at the guarded expression on his nephew’s face, but then it was replaced with open compassion, and the elfling wrapped his arms around him and gave him a fierce hug.

"Yes, Uncle, you have a brother, and an atto and an ammë and... and me." The last was said somewhat shyly and the elder Vorondil gave him a hug in return.

The two separated and the Reborn gazed in amazement at his nephew. "The moment I saw you," he said as he gently ran a hand through the elfling’s hair, "you seemed so familiar, but I knew I could not have known you, for you were too young. Now I know that you reminded me of my brother, whom I did not remember."

"Vaguely," the older ellon replied. "I know I have a brother, but that’s all. I can’t even recall what his name is."

Three sets of eyebrows rose in disbelief at that and the son of Herendil could not help but laugh. "It’s true. Of course, I know what he looks like, for I’ve met him and...." He paused, his expression one of wonder at the realization of his own words. "I met him and my atto and ammë and I didn’t even know them." He started weeping again and Veryandur pushed up against him.

"Don’t cry, Uncle Vorondil," the youngster said. "Here, you can have Narmollë." He thrust the stuffed toy at the Reborn who automatically held it close to him, rocking ever so slightly, still weeping. Young Vorondil gave his two friends a helpless look and then all three tried to hug the Reborn at the same time.

"It’s all right, Uncle Vorondil," Eruanna crooned as she patted his locks. "You go ahead and cry. It’ll be good for you."

"Reborn cry a lot," he heard Veryandur say in a knowing tone. "Sorondil and Oromendil are always coming back with wet tunics."

"I know," his nephew replied. "Master says they’re very much like little ones who have no emotional control yet. I guess because everything is sort of new again for them and they wear their hearts on their sleeves."

He felt Veryandur and Eruanna nodding. The absurdity of these three elflings comforting him and the matter-of-fact manner of their discussion was too much and Vorondil started laughing in spite of his tears.

"All right, all right, enough," he said, simultaneously giving them all a hug. "No more tears, I promise."

The three elflings smiled broadly and Eruanna fished about for another handkerchief, presenting it with a flourish and Vorondil smiled his thanks. The three elflings settled on the edge of the cot and stared at him, making him feel self-conscious. He held Veryandur’s stuffed toy a little closer to him.

"I... I know I met your atar, my brother," he said to his nephew, "but I don’t think I met your ammë. Is she not here with you?"

He saw the same guarded look cross the youngster’s face and wondered but before he could comment, someone entered the pavilion and spoke.

The elder Vorondil turned to see Prince Findaráto enter, the prince’s expression unreadable. "I see introductions have been made," he added and Vorondil detected a glint of mischief in the ellon’s eyes.

"Master, this is my Uncle Vorondil," his nephew said. "He doesn’t really remember Atto yet."

"I see," Finrod said as he went to where the plate of food and drinks were and poured a cup of juice into one of the goblets and handed it to the Reborn who looked at him in surprise. Finrod smiled. "I think you could use this. Sorry it’s nothing stronger, but this should help steady your nerves. You’ve had a bit of a shock."

Vorondil nodded and took a sip of the juice. Hawthorn. Not one of his favorites, but acceptable. Finrod, meanwhile, was pouring more juice into goblets and handing them to the elflings while he contented himself with a couple of grapes as he gave them considering looks. Vorondil felt awkward sitting while the prince stood and tried to offer his chair but Finrod just waved him back down.

"I cannot stay anyway," Finrod explained. "I only stopped by to see how you were getting on. Vorondil," and here he addressed the elfling, "you’re supposed to be lying down and resting."

"Yes, Master," the ellon said with a long-suffering sigh, dutifully climbing back into bed while Eruanna and Veryandur scooted off to give him room. Eruanna resumed her seat and Veryandur grabbed the pillow from the other cot and plopped down beside the elder Vorondil.

Finrod gave him a sardonic smile. "We’re going to have to figure out how to tell you two apart."

"That’s easy, aranya," Eruanna said primly. "Vorondil will be Vorondil but his uncle will be Uncle Vorondil."

"My brother used to call me Vondo when he was an elfling," the Reborn said in a surprised voice. "How odd that I would remember that but I still can’t remember his name."

"Where is Atto?" young Vorondil asked. "Shouldn’t he and anatto and anammë be here?"

"Aldundil is attending to some business on my behalf," Finrod answered, "and I think your grandparents are being entertained by Lady Estë. There will be time enough later for... um... proper introductions." He flashed them a knowing smile then turned his attention to the other two elflings. "In the meantime, Eruanna, Veryandur, you have your own duties to attend to, do you not?"

The two elflings stood and gave him their obeisance. "Yes, my lord," they said in unison.

"Not a word to anyone about this, my children," Finrod said and the two nodded. Vorondil handed the stuffed toy back to Veryandur who received it gravely and then the two elflings were gone. Finrod took the chair vacated by Eruanna, giving uncle and nephew a piercing look. "I know this is a lot to take in all at once," he said, "but this meeting has been inevitable since the day you were re-embodied, Vorondil."

"Perhaps you should call me Uncle Vorondil as Eruanna suggested to avoid confusion," the Reborn said with a wry look.

"But you’re not my Uncle Vorondil," Finrod quipped with a smile and the younger Vorondil snickered.

"Vondo it is," Finrod agreed with a nod. "As I was saying, I know this has to be quite a shock for you both, but Vorondil," and here he addressed the younger ellon, "you knew someday your uncle would be Reborn, did you not?"

Vorondil nodded. "I just never thought... I mean, I didn’t think we would meet like this."

"But you’re not a Master Healer," Vondo retorted. "At least, you don’t dress or act the part."

"I am a Loremaster, though," Finrod returned, then held up a hand to forestall the ellon’s next comment. "Vondo, my relationship with your nephew and indeed with your brother and your parents is somewhat complex. You only need to know that I hold your family in the highest regard. Your atar is one of my oldest friends since my own re-embodiment and Aldundil has become one of my liegemen. The whys and the wherefores of all this are not important at the moment. What is important is that you renew your own relationship with your family, starting with your nephew."

Vondo stared at the prince for a long moment, then glanced at his nephew, whom he suddenly noticed had gone stark white for some reason. "Nephew, are you well?" he asked in distress, leaning over to take one of the ellon’s hands, surprised at how cold it felt.

Vorondil nodded but Vondo had the feeling he was not being truthful. Finrod seemed to think so as well, for he rose and stood over the elfling, placed a hand gently on his forehead, and began to softly sing. Vondo was not sure what the song was about, but he felt his own fëa become more calm as he listened to the singing. His nephew’s eyes fluttered and it was obvious that the elfling was fighting to stay awake, a fight that he inevitably lost. Vondo even found himself yawning and had to shake himself to keep awake. Finrod finished singing and gave him a smile.

"He’ll sleep for now," he said quietly. "Let us leave him." He gestured for Vondo to join him as he left the pavilion, which he did with some reluctance. Finrod clasped his shoulder in a friendly manner. "Do not be dismayed," he said as he led him to the other small pavilion. "Vorondil is still recovering from his injury and tires easily. I fear this revelation was too much for him. He’ll be fine by tomorrow."

Vondo followed the prince into the pavilion and realized with a start that this must be Findaráto’s pavilion, for there was only the one cot and the rest of the place was taken up by a large desk strewn with papers. He began to see this ellon in a whole different light.

Finrod motioned for him to take a seat while he went to a sideboard and poured them some wine which he eagerly accepted. He felt he needed something a little stronger than hawthorn juice right about now.

Vondo gulped the wine in his mouth at the unexpected question and coughed a couple of times before he was able to answer. "It’s going to take some getting used to," he finally answered. "I still have no memory of my family even though I know who they are now."

Finrod nodded. "That’s not unusual. It was months after I returned to Tirion before I actually had clear memories of my parents and knew them to be my parents rather than two half-remembered strangers whom I called Atto and Ammë. My advice to you is not to try to force the memories to come. Let them come on their own. The harder you try the harder it will be to recall them."

Vondo nodded. "I know," he replied. "I learned not to force them even before I came to Lórien."

"Good," Finrod said with a smile. "I want you to know that if at any time you start to feel overwhelmed, you may come to me. I’ve been where you are now."

Vondo gave him a considering look. "Is that why you are here in Lórien, to help other Reborn?"

"Partly," Finrod answered. "It is certainly true that Lord Irmo took me on as an apprentice of a sort for that very purpose. When I was re-embodied, I fear that the Lóriennildi were not very sympathetic to the plight of the Reborn in their midst." He gave him a rueful chuckle. "Not that any of us made it easy for them to feel sympathetic, you understand."

"At any rate," Finrod continued, "over the last hundred years there have been some changes, but more needs to be done and that is one reason why I am here, to help implement those needed changes so that future Reborn will not suffer the way we have at the hands of those who should have had compassion for us, given their unique calling as healers."

"They’re not too bad," Vondo ventured. "At least, when they’re not chasing after me."

Finrod laughed. "I’ve heard of some of your exploits. You seem intent on exploring every inch of Lórien."

Vondo shrugged. "I do not know why I have this itch to explore but I would much rather do that than sit around. I guess everything is so new to me still I can’t get away from the wonder of it all."

Vondo gave him a quizzical look and Finrod smiled. "The Valar will be opening up the southern reaches of the continent to the Eldar someday, recognizing our need to expand our frontiers during the long ages before us. We’ll need those willing to be the vanguard in mapping out the new territories before settlers move in. I suspect you might be one such explorer."

Vondo felt his pulse quickening at the thought and nodded vigorously. "I would like that."

"Then it behooves you to learn all you must know about tracking and survival in the wilderness, as well as familiarizing yourself with the kelvar and olvar of this continent," Finrod said. "I will speak to Lord Irmo about this and see about designing a training regimen. Laurendil will be ideal in helping and Mithlas if he is willing. Lasgalad and his friend Iorlas might want to help as well, for they were Rangers in Endórë."

Vondo gave him a puzzled look, clearly not recognizing the names. Finrod just smiled. "Friends of mine who are very good at surviving in the wilderness. They can teach you much, if you are willing."

"Good. Then, why don’t you finish your wine. Do you have any classes scheduled for now?"

Vondo shook his head. "Master Meneldil said I was excused from classes this afternoon."

"Then why don’t you and I go exploring? You can show me what you know of woodcraft so I have a better idea what more you need to learn."

"What about Vorondil?" the younger Reborn asked. "I don’t like the idea of leaving him alone and I thought you said you couldn't stay."

"I've changed my mind," Finrod replied as he stepped outside his pavilion. "And don't worry about Vorondil. Ingil," he called out and in seconds the Maia stood before them, giving them a look of polite interest.

"Yes, please. Vondo and I are going to go exploring," the prince answered, ignoring the Maia’s raised eyebrow. "Could one of your fellows watch over Vorondil for us? Neither Aldundil nor his parents are here, you see, and I don’t want to leave him alone."

"Do not concern yourselves, children," the Maia said with a faint smile. "Vorondil is never alone. The Maiar will watch over him for you."

"Thank you," Finrod said with a bow, which Vondo echoed, his expression one of bemusement. "Also, would you please find Eärnur and tender my apologies? Tell him that something's come up and I'll see him later this evening after dinner."

"Good," Finrod said with a satisfied nod, then turned to the younger Reborn. "Come along, Vondo. We’ll do a bit of exploring and when we get back we’ll find your parents and Aldundil."

Vondo dutifully followed the prince from the grove but they did not go far. Finrod stopped after a few feet and gave the other ellon a swift smile. "Show me what you can do."

Vondo stared at Finrod for a moment or two in puzzlement and then realizing what the ellon wanted, nodded, giving him his own smile. "Follow me," he said and the two were soon away.

Hours later, as he and Finrod were making their way back to the prince’s pavilion, Vondo’s thoughts were in a jumble. He thought he was pretty good at woodcraft, though he was at a loss to understand how he knew it so well, but Prince Findaráto’s knowledge was... well it was nothing short of incredible! That a prince of the realm could melt away so quietly into the woods as if he were a... a Nando! It defied description and Vondo, who had been rather proud of his abilities, felt humbled.

As if he could read Vondo’s thoughts, Finrod gave him a smile and a pat on his shoulder. "You did very well," he said. "I know much of what you did was instinctual rather than from true knowledge, but that will come in time. Your brother never told me that you were a scout during the War."

"Well, if you weren’t, your talents were wasted," Finrod retorted with a laugh. "At any rate, once Laurendil gets his hands on you...."

Finrod nodded. "Indeed, as is his wife, Manwen, but long before either of them came here, Laurendil was one of my captains who patrolled the region of Dorthonion when it was part of my demesne before Melkor overran it. Lasgalad was a member of his company."

They entered the grove and Vondo stopped in consternation. He could see a great deal of activity around the place. He saw Veryandur and Eruanna and three other elflings rushing about apparently preparing food under the supervision of an ellon and an elleth who were both wearing apprentices’ tabards. In his nephew’s pavilion he could hear several voices and assumed that his brother and his parents were there visiting the elfling. And surprisingly, or on reflection perhaps not, there were even a couple of Maiar hanging about, holding a conversation with the ellon and elleth supervising the elflings.

Vondo gave Finrod a nervous look. "Is... is it always this... er... busy around here?"

Finrod smiled. "You’ll get used to it," was his only reply which, frankly, did not comfort the younger Reborn. Finrod’s expression became more sympathetic. "You have to meet them sooner or later, you know."

Vondo was about to comment on this when there was a stir from the pavilion where his nephew resided and an ellon whom Vondo now knew was his brother stepped out, probably in search of something or someone, but when he spied Finrod and Vondo he stopped and stared. Vondo could only stand there, not sure what he should do. Then the ellon — Aldundil, Vondo reminded himself. My brother’s name is Aldundil — turned to say something to those within the pavilion and in seconds Herendil and Vandacalimë, with their grandson between them, came out and stared across the grove at the two ellyn.

By now, the others there were aware of the drama that was unfolding. The elflings noticed Finrod and Vondo and were about to go to them, but Laurendil and Manwen shooed them back, speaking quietly to them and they stood still, their expressions ranging from troubled to expectant. The two Maiar simply watched with detached amusement.

No one moved or spoke for the longest time, and then young Vorondil stepped away from his grandparents and came towards them. He smiled at his uncle and held out his hand. Vondo glanced at Finrod, as if looking for permission or assurance, and the prince nodded encouragingly. Vondo took the elfling’s hand, feeling suddenly shy, but allowed Vorondil to lead him back to their family. He could not interpret the expressions on their faces and wondered if he would be accepted as their son and brother after all. He’d heard how some Reborn were rejected by their families for having died. He swallowed nervously, his innards all aflutter and he had the urge to simply flee but before he could do so, his nephew was making introductions.

"Atto, Anatto, Anammë, this is Uncle Vondo," Vorondil said. "He doesn’t really remember you, but he knows you’re his family."

For a long pregnant moment, no one moved and then Herendil opened his arms and before Vondo knew it, he was being warmly embraced. "Welcome home, child," he heard his atar say. "Your ammë and your brother and I have been waiting a long time for this moment."

And then he found himself being embraced by the rest of his family all at the same time and it didn’t seem to matter to anyone that they were all crying. How long they remained that way, no one was ever sure but when they finally broke apart with Vondo in the middle, they stared at one another with shy smiles, not quite sure what to do next. Finrod saved them the trouble by coming up and clasping Vondo’s shoulder in a friendly manner, giving them all a fond smile, his eyes twinkling with merriment and mischief.

Just at that moment Vorondil’s stomach made a rumbling noise. The ellon gave them a mortified look that set them all laughing. Soon everyone was gathered around the dining table in the middle pavilion, which Vondo learned was where the five elflings slept, enjoying the meal, which the two Maiar insisted on serving. Vondo found himself seated between his brother and nephew with his parents across from them and as the meal progressed and tales were exchanged, along with laughter and tears, the ellon felt something open up inside him, something warm and familiar, and he had the sudden realization that he was indeed finally home.

Summer became Autumn and the Middle Days were celebrated with feasts of thanksgiving for the harvest throughout Eldamar. Word came from Councillor Dúlinn to Arafinwë as Narquelië became Hísimë that a total of eighteen separate delegations had been decided upon.

"There will only be twelve guilds at the council," he read to Eärwen, Sador, Gilvagor and Haldir as they sat in his study. "It appears that some of the minor guilds have decided to join with the larger guilds with whom they are most associated."

"Ah... most interesting," Arafinwë exclaimed as he read further into the missive. "It seems that some of the farming communities have decided they do not want any of the three cities representing them, but instead of sending their own delegates as a group, they’ve joined with the miners of Angobel to form a single block."

Several eyebrows went up. "That is most interesting indeed," Gilvagor said, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "I wonder which farming communities went to Meluiwen with the proposal and did they go separately or as a group?"

"I’m surprised that the miners agreed to it," Sador said, "considering the way everyone seems to treat them."

"Yet, the fact that certain farming communities felt the need to do so suggests that these people felt that they, like the miners, were not being fairly treated by the cities and did not trust the cities to represent their interests fairly," Haldir interjected.

Arafinwë shook his head. "No. He merely reports which groups are coming and the estimated number of delegates attending. Tavrobel, Kortirion and Avallónë have agreed to send fourteen delegates each, and the other groups have agreed to that as well."

"That means two hundred and fifty-two delegates altogether from Tol Eressëa," Sador said, quickly doing the calculation in his head, then giving them a puzzled look. "But why fourteen? I would think twelve would be a more appropriate number."

Sador shook his head, looking confused. Eärwen gave her husband a slight reproving frown. "Don’t tease, Arafinwë," she admonished him, then patted their ward on his arm, giving him an encouraging smile. "Sador, how many Valar are attending the council?"

"So if each of the kingdoms also sends fourteen delegates, with the Valar, that will bring the number to three hundred and eight."

"That is assuming that we bother with bringing fourteen delegates to the table," Arafinwë said. "I will have to consult with Olwë and Ingwë about it. We had already decided that, since Ingwë will be presiding over the council, he feels he has no right to represent the interests of the Vanyar, so it would be unfair for Olwë and me to represent our respective clans as well."

"Does Findaráto know what you plan for him?" Sador asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Arafinwë laughed. "He will eventually. We still haven’t come to any firm conclusions on the matter. This is just one possibility. If we decide that the three clans should form a single voting block, then more than likely Lindarion will head the delegation, as he is the oldest of the three haryoni."

Eärwen shook her head. "My brother is older than Ingwion by about half a Valian year."

"At any rate, I had best write to Ingwë and Olwë and let them know what has been decided by the Tol Eressëans and then we can decide how we will form our own delegations."

"Just don’t forget to let Findaráto know what you have planned for him," Sador said with a grin. "You know he hates being surprised."

"I wish he were here," Sador replied, looking a bit sad. "I miss him. Are you sure he is well, Atya?" he asked Arafinwë.

The king smiled gently. "The last report from the Maiar said he was settling in. Have no fear for your otorno, Sador. I’m sure he misses you as well. We’ll see him again soon enough, I promise."

With that, the meeting broke up as Arafinwë called for a page to summon his chief scribe. "I’ll have him make copies of Dúlinn’s letter and send them to Ingwë and Olwë along with my own observations and suggestions," he said to Eärwen as everyone else was filing out of the chamber.

"Don’t forget to send a copy to Findaráto," she reminded him, bending down to give him a light kiss. "Ingwë and Olwë will share their letters with their family. We don’t want Findaráto to feel left out."

Arafinwë nodded as he returned his wife’s kiss with one of his own and then she left him to his task.

Finrod looked up as Lindorillë entered his pavilion and smiled at the elleth as she solemnly handed him the messenger pouch. It had become her duty to go once every other week to the gates of Lórien and meet the courier from Tirion to exchange pouches, collecting the missives that Finrod’s atar sent him and handing over the responses that would go back. Letters to the elflings’ parents and their letters to the children were handled differently with one of the Maiar who was charged with guarding them taking the letters back and forth from Vanyamar.

"Are there any messages that need immediate replies?" he asked her, for the courier would not be returning until the next morning.

Finrod nodded as he accepted the pouch. "Thank you. Why don’t you go find Vorondil and his uncle while I go through these letters? It’s nearly noon and Vorondil is in charge of the noon meal today, as I recall. I’m sure they would welcome your help."

Finrod smiled as the child exited the pavilion. The children had all gotten into the habit of referring to Vorondil Herendilion as ‘Uncle Vondo’ and the adults had gotten into the habit of calling him simply ‘Vondo’. It made it easier to differentiate between uncle and nephew. He pondered that relationship as he opened the pouch and withdrew the various documents, idly noting that none of them had the red seal which would indicate that an immediate reply was required. They all had the blue seal of non-urgent missives.

In the weeks that followed the reunion of Vondo with his family, there had been some rough times. Vondo was still unsure of his memory and apparently still did not remember Calalindalë, much to everyone’s relief, but the ellon had been asking some uncomfortable questions about Aldundil and Vorondil’s relationship with Finrod and not receiving any satisfying answers from anyone. Aldundil was at a loss to explain and Finrod refused to explain. He knew Vondo was frustrated by it all, but Finrod would not speak of the matter, for he did not think the ellon was emotionally ready for what he would hear. Luckily, Herendil agreed with him and said as much in Vondo’s presence. That seemed to be enough and Vondo had dropped the matter, at least for the time being.

In spite of his frustrations though, Vondo seemed to be forming a genuine bond of love with his nephew. Finrod reflected that it was interesting that the elder Vorondil did not seek to importune the younger with his questions. Apparently the Reborn sensed that this was just something between the adults and Vorondil was still an elfling. Finrod sighed, wondering how the Reborn ellon would take hearing just how his nephew had become the Noldorin prince’s bondsman. And when would he remember Calalindalë?

Shaking his head, he broke the seal on the first missive, quickly scanning its contents. Nothing vitally important, just an update on the Southern Fiefdoms. The harvest had been exceptionally good this year and the silos were filled. If the winter proved harsher than usual, there was no fear of anyone going without. Not that the Valar would permit that, but Finrod remembered the leaner years in Beleriand and had a healthy wish never to experience those again. Two other documents detailed some changes that were being contemplated in certain laws which, if approved, would be enacted at the New Year. Finrod put them aside for later perusal, for his atar would desire his opinion on these and he would need to read through the legal jargon carefully. His experience as a king usually helped him when examining such changes.

The last letter was thicker than the others. He opened it to find that it was in fact two letters, one from Councillor Dúlinn and the other from his atar. He read his atar’s letter first, for it was shorter, and then read Dúlinn’s letter. Interesting. He grabbed a scrap of parchment and his quill and began making some notes, but was interrupted when Lindorillë entered the pavilion.

"My lord, everyone has come and the noon meal is ready," she said with studied formality, giving him a curtsey that had improved in grace over the last months. "Would you join us?"

He smiled and put the quill down, capping the ink. "Thank you," he said. "I will join you momentarily."

She curtsied again and left. He gathered up his atar’s and Dúlinn’s letters to bring with him, knowing that Herendil, Aldundil, Laurendil and Manwen would be at lunch. They would be interested in hearing what progress had been made concerning the upcoming council. Leaving his own pavilion, he made his way to the largest of the three pavilions which housed the sleeping quarters of the five elflings. The front portion of the pavilion was the common room and dining hall for the grove’s residents. Behind the pavilion was an open-air kitchen. Only during the rare times when the weather turned inclement would meals be brought from the communal kitchens.

Inside the pavilion Finrod found Herendil and Vandacalimë speaking with Laurendil and Manwen while Aldundil and Vondo supervised the elflings who were busy setting out dishes. Vorondil was opening a bottle of wine and setting it at Finrod’s place. He smiled shyly as Finrod entered. Everyone else stopped and gave the prince respectful bows.

"My! We are so formal today," Finrod said with a smile. "Which must mean that you all want something from me."

Herendil laughed. "And here we thought we were just being good examples for the children."

"Hah!" Finrod replied as he took his seat, thus implicitly permitting the others to do the same. "Here." He handed the letters to the Noldorin lord. "What do you make of these?" He poured the wine into his glass and then poured it for Vandacalimë sitting on his left. Manwen, who was sitting on Finrod's right, forwent the wine for fruit juice because of her pregnancy. Finrod therefore passed the wine to Laurendil who filled his glass before giving the bottle to Aldundil who filled his brother’s glass and then Herendil’s before filling his own, thus finishing up the bottle. All the while Herendil was perusing the letters, his expression neutral.

He glanced up at Finrod as he gave the letters to Laurendil. "It should prove interesting," he said.

"And is that all you have to say, my lord?" Finrod asked as he accepted the salad bowl from Manwen and began dishing out some greens.

"What do you want me to say, Findaráto?" Herendil retorted with a slight frown. "I find it interesting that some of the farming communities are banding together with those miners from Angobel rather than with one of the three cities, but beyond that...." He shrugged, reaching for his wine glass and taking an appreciative sip.

"The king says here that he may turn over the Noldorin delegation to you," Laurendil said as he and Manwen looked over the missives.

Finrod nodded. "It makes sense. Ingwë will be presiding over the proceedings and it would not be politic for him to also head the Vanyarin delegation. If Ingwë abstains from that, I think Atar and Anatar will feel they should as well, so the only logical choice is to have their heirs lead their respective delegations."

"Then what role will the Noldóran and King Olwë play?" Manwen asked. "This council was, after all, their idea. I would think they would want to be involved in some manner other than as interested observers."

Finrod shrugged, giving them a wry look. "I cannot speak for either one of them, but if I know Atar, he would much rather sit back and watch the show."

There were chuckles all around. Then Aldundil spoke up as Laurendil handed him the letters to read. "I think it would be a good idea for his Majesty and King Olwë to join the High King in presiding over the council, allow the Tol Eressëans to see the three kings working together. The High King would have the final say on things, of course, but still...."

Finrod gave his vassal an appreciative look. "That’s really not a bad idea, Aldundil. I’m surprised no one’s thought of it before, including me. When I write to his Majesty, I will suggest it to him and give you credit for the idea."

Aldundil looked both pleased and embarrassed at the same time. All this time Vondo and the elflings had remained quiet, the elflings because they knew better than to interrupt the adults when they were conversing, and Vondo because he was still grappling with what was being said, trying to understand. He had leaned over Aldundil’s shoulder to read the letters, puzzling out their contents.

"What’s this about the Reborn?" he suddenly asked, pointing to a particular sentence in Councillor Dúlinn’s letter. "Why are they considered a separate delegation?

"Ah... it appears that my friend Brethorn — you remember him Laurendil, Manwen," Finrod said and they both nodded. Finrod continued, speaking to Vondo. "Well, Brethorn, who is a Reborn, took the initiative to form a Council of the Reborn. Its purpose is to help the Reborn on Tol Eressëa and oversee their reintegration into society. Many of the Reborn, even those with loving families, are sometimes misunderstood and do not find ready acceptance among the Once-born as my otorno Glorfindel calls them."

"And every time I hear that word I can’t help but feel as if it’s meant to be an insult," Herendil said with a sniff and Finrod laughed.

"A better word than I was wont to use, trust me. At any rate, Vondo, it was suggested that the Reborn send their own delegation to the council to represent their interests."

"I thought the Reborn were more accepted by the Tol Eressëans than here in Aman," Laurendil said.

Finrod nodded. "But that is not to say that there aren’t still misunderstandings and conflicts. Don’t you remember how Sador met Haldir and Gwilwileth?"

Laurendil nodded, his expression thoughtful. Vondo turned to Herendil. "Will you be attending this council... Atar? You and Aldundil?"

"That remains to be seen, yonya," Herendil answered. "His Majesty has the final say as to who will comprise the Noldorin delegation and Aldundil is Findaráto’s vassal, not Arafinwë’s. The prince will make his own decisions as to who will accompany him."

"Yes, I will," Finrod replied. "I think, with Atar’s permission, I will have Sador act as my diplomatic aide, since that is what he has been trained to be. Aldundil, your drawing abilities are improving. I would like you to come and act as a recorder of the event. There will be scribes and such recording the words and actions of the council, but a pictorial record would also be of interest to future historians. This is a landmark event and we should ensure a faithful record of all that occurs."

"I would be honored, lord," Aldundil said, looking both pleased and alarmed at the prospect, "though I fear I am not as talented as you would hope. My strength lies more in stylized illuminations than in true-to-life renderings, especially of people."

"Well, you have several weeks to improve your technique," was all Finrod said as he took a sip of wine.

Vandacalimë leaned past her husband and gave her son’s arm a gentle squeeze. "We have every faith in you, yonya," she said with a smile. "We know you will do your best and that is all that is required of any of us."

"Your ammë is correct, Aldundil," Finrod said with a nod. "I do not expect perfection, but I do expect you to do as best as you can. I will ask Lord Irmo if any of the Maiar could be spared to give you lessons to improve your technique."

"Thank you, lord," Aldundil said with some relief. "I would appreciate it. Should I also continue with the illuminations for your book?"

Finrod shook his head. "No. You may put that aside for now and concentrate on this. The council is only about a month away now so there’s little time."

"Will you speak to Marthchall about this?" Laurendil asked. "I would think he and Gurthalion would want to be present to help represent the miners."

Finrod nodded. "I will seek him out after lunch and apprise him of what is happening. I would imagine he will want to send his own missive to Meluiwen about it."

"So now we just have to wait for Mid-winter," Manwen said. "I would like to attend if possible but I have the feeling Lord Irmo won’t allow it."

"It is unusual for new apprentices to leave Lórien during the first three years of their training," Finrod said. "Lord Irmo has given you a great deal of latitude in that regard, but I fear your studies have suffered for it."

"So he told us when we returned," Laurendil said drily. "I asked him then why did he let us accompany you on the Progress in the first place if he never meant for us to complete the journey."

"And what did he say?" Finrod asked. "In truth, I did not bring the matter up before this, for I felt it was none of my business."

"He gave me that inscrutable look the Valar have and said, and I quote, ‘But you did complete the journey, my son. After all, you’re back in Lórien, are you not?’" Laurendil rolled his eyes. "I really wanted to kill him right then and there."

Finrod chuckled. "I know what you mean. There are times when I think the Valar deliberately provoke us just to see how close we get to trying to slit their throats."

All six elflings gasped at that, their eyes wide with horror and Finrod realized he should have chosen his words more carefully. He gave the children a cool look. "What you hear here is not to be repeated," he said and waited for them to nod in acquiescence. "The Valar are to be held in respect at all times, even as you respect the adults around you," he continued his lecture, "but you must understand that adults sometimes express themselves in ways that sound discourteous but are not. This is one such occasion." He paused and relented somewhat, giving them a conspiratorial grin. "I’m sure you do the same among yourselves when we adults are not around to hear." He gave them a knowing look and Lindorillë blushed while Veryandur snickered and then tried to hide it by burying his face in Narmollë’s belly. The others simply nodded.

Vondo gave them all a smug look. "Doesn’t apply to us Reborn, though," he said. "We’re always disrespectful and we always mean it."

"And you wonder why even the Maiar run the other way when they see you coming," Aldundil retorted with a snort. Vondo stuck his tongue out at his brother and there was quiet laughter all around as they continued their meal.

And so Hísimë came and went and Autumn became Winter. The month of Ringarë was a third done when ships from Tol Eressëa began to make their way across the Bay of Eldamar in spite of the high seas as winter storms began to form somewhere out in the middle of the ocean, docking at the small harbor that looked opposite of Tavrobel. Escorts were provided by Arafinwë to lead the various groups up the Calacirya to Tirion where they would be fêted before continuing on to Valmar. The first to arrive was the delegation from Tavrobel itself, together with those from Angobel who would represent the miners and those farming communities that had joined with them. Over the next couple of days, the other delegates from the cities and guilds reached the shores of Aman and disembarked. The last ship was out of Avallónë, but it did not carry the Avallónean delegation, which had come earlier, but the Nandorin delegation and a group of people who kept mostly to themselves. The Nandor gave them uneasy glances, for it appeared that most of the conversations overheard among this strange group seemed to be less about the upcoming council and more about how much they were looking forward to seeing the Lord of Mandos again. None of the Nandor were brave enough to ask them why.

Note: Narquelië (7 October-6 November); Hísimë (7 November-5 December); Ringarë (6 December-5 January). The delegations from Tol Eressëa began arriving on 10 Ringarë (15 December).

"Quite a crowd," Sador remarked quietly as he and his friends — Rúmilion and his cousins, Serindë and Mardillë — stood along one side of the main ballroom of the palace watching the Tol Eressëans mingling somewhat uneasily with the Noldorin court. The Noldóran was holding an informal reception for the delegates before they would leave for Valmar. Rúmilion gave the younger ellon a wicked grin.

Sador blushed a bit. "I’m just saying, I don’t think I’ve seen so many people gathered in this room before, not even for any court function or celebration."

"Certainly, not so many overdressed peacocks," Mardillë replied with a slight sneer. "These Tol Eressëans think they can outshine us? Heh!" She smoothed the rich velvet fabric of her gown.

"Now, Marda," her sister, ever the diplomat, chided, "these people are doing their best to fit in. It’s a very awkward situation for them. The Nandor are unused to wearing such finery I imagine and most of these people are not aristocrats. They’re merchants and smiths and ordinary people suddenly finding themselves in positions of power. You should show a bit more compassion for them."

Mardillë did not contradict her sister but it was obvious to Sador that the elleth was not convinced by Serindë’s words. He sighed. "I could have been one of them," he said, nodding towards a small group of people huddled in one corner looking lost and uncertain. They were mostly Sindar, though one or two were obviously of mixed blood. Their gowns and tunics were dull in comparison to those of the Noldor or even the Tol Eressëan nobles and they looked very uncomfortable. Without a word to his friends, Sador made his way over to them. There were two ellyn and three ellith in the group and they gave him suspicious looks as he approached.

He bowed to them gracefully and smiled. "Mae govannen," he said. "Welcome to Tirion. I am Sador Bronwegion." He felt his three friends behind him and gestured for them to step forward. "These are my friends, Rúmilion, Mardillë and Serindë."

The Tol Eressëans gave him a surprised look and one of the ellyn began speaking rapidly in Sindarin. Rúmilion’s expression became pained and he raised his hand. "I’m sorry," he said apologetically, speaking Quenya, "but I’m afraid that’s all the Sindarin I know."

Sador quickly translated and the Tol Eressëans nodded. The ellon who had spoken switched to Quenya. "We all speak Quenya," he said, "but not very well. If you speak slowly, we will understand."

"You’re Reborn, aren’t you?" Sador asked and the five Tol Eressëans nodded in surprise.

Sador shook his head. "Only to another Reborn," he said. He turned to his three friends. "Did you guess that these good people were Reborn?"

All three shook their heads. "No," Serindë answered. "I just thought they were ordinary people... oh, dear! That didn’t come out right did it?" She held a hand in front of her mouth and reddened in dismay.

"And you’re supposed to be in the diplomatic corps?" Rúmilion retorted, shaking his head in feigned disgust.

The five Reborn and Sador started laughing. "Do not worry," the first ellon said with a smile. "We knew what you meant and in truth we are just ordinary people. My name is Saelmir, by the way. I think we met in Tavrobel." He turned to Sador who nodded.

Saelmir turned to the Noldor. "I was in Lórien with Finrod. We shared a pavilion together with another ellon named Brethorn." He then proceeded to introduce the other Reborn. Afterwards he gave Sador a quizzical look. "I had hoped to see Finrod but he does not seem to be here."

Sador shook his head. "He is still in Lórien but will join us in Valmar in time for the solstice ball. You’ll see him then."

"He resides there now," Sador replied. "He has apprenticed himself to Lords Irmo and Námo, learning something of the healers’ craft and helping to minister to the Reborn."

The five Reborn appeared impressed by Sador’s news. "I always knew there was something extraordinarily special about Finrod and not because he was once a king," Saelmir said.

"He is very special, indeed," Rúmilion said and when the Tol Eressëans gave him enquiring looks he smiled. "My cousins and I became friends of the prince shortly after he returned to Tirion. We’ve seen him... er... grow up."

"So you are part of the Reborn delegation," Serindë said and the five nodded. "I was surprised to learn that there was a separate delegation of the Reborn attending the Council. Do you not all belong to various guilds and such? Would not your voices be heard through your guildmasters?"

"The Reborn have their own agenda," Saelmir stated, "that does not coincide with those of the guilds or the city councils. It was the Valar who suggested that the Reborn come as a separate delegation."

Serindë raised an eyebrow at that, giving Sador an enquiring look. The ellon nodded. "Lord Manwë suggested it to Glóremmir and Faramir when they were here with Lord Thorongorn and Councillor Dúlinn."

One of the Reborn ellith whom Saelmir had introduced as Alphedis sighed just then, looking enviously at the finery of the two Noldorin ellith. "I wish now I had not agreed to come here," she said. "This is my best gown, but it’s nothing compared to yours." The other two Reborn ellith nodded in agreement.

Mardillë started to comment but Serindë cut her off, giving the three Reborn ellith a bright smile. "I think your gowns are quite lovely, and I’m not being politic but truthful. I’ve not seen that particular style of embroidery before. Is it your own design?"

"Actually, it’s the design of another Reborn," Alphedis answered. "Her name is Morwen and she is Lady Meril’s chief embroideress."

"Oh! I know her," Sador said enthusiastically. "I met her when we were in Kortirion. She really is quite talented." He turned to his friends with a wicked smile. "Findaráto has hired Morwen to do his wedding clothes."

Rúmilion and his cousins gave him surprised looks and even Mardillë took the time to re-examine the embroidery, giving it a more admiring look than she had before.

"Actually, Morwen did all our clothes for this event," Saelmir told them. "She even designed special tabards for us to wear when we are in Council, similar to the guild tabards that the guildmasters will wear to identify themselves."

Sador nodded and the others looked impressed. "I’ll be wearing my own tabard," he said, "as I’ll be acting as Findaráto’s diplomatic aide during the proceedings." He gave the Reborn a shy smile at their surprised expressions. "It’s what I’ve been trained for, after all."

"Then we will see you there," Saelmir said. "That is good. I am interested in speaking with any Reborn who reside here in Aman to see what their thoughts are on all of this."

"I would be happy to speak with you at a time of your convenience," Sador replied. "We won’t be leaving for Valmar until the day after tomorrow, so perhaps tomorrow when my duties are over we can meet and talk."

"That would be fine," Saelmir said, "and if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask Brethorn to join us and a few others."

"Then I would be honored to speak with him and anyone else," Sador said. "I know one or two Reborn here in the city. Would you like to speak with them as well?"

"If you can arrange it, and only if they are willing to speak with us," Saelmir said.

"I’ll see what I can arrange." Sador gave them a bow. "If you will excuse me, I need to speak with Atar Arafinwë."

"You address the Noldóran as ‘Atar’?" the other Reborn ellon asked in disbelief.

Sador shrugged. "I am his ward after all and he and Amm’ Eärwen treat me as their son more than as another junior courtier. At any rate, I will send a message to you when I am free to meet with you. It will most likely be sometime in the afternoon."

"That will be fine. Thank you," Saelmir said and with another bow, Sador left them. Rúmilion and his cousins made to follow him but a slight shake of his head and a frown told them that he preferred that they did not.

The three Noldor stood about looking a bit uncomfortable, almost as uncomfortable as the five Reborn, Serindë reflected wryly to herself. Well, she was the one who was in the diplomatic corps. Time to put all her training to work. She gave the five Reborn a brilliant smile. "So how does life on Tol Eressëa compare with your lives in Beleriand?"

For a moment the Reborn did not respond, giving each other glances as if to determine who would answer the elleth’s question. Finally, Saelmir, who appeared to be their spokesman, cleared his throat. "Well, for one thing, there aren’t any orcs around making your life miserable."

The other Reborn nodded vigorously and then one of the ellith giggled and soon they were all laughing and the tension between them broke. After that, the conversation between them went more smoothly and by the time the evening ended, Rúmilion had danced with all three Reborn ellith and his cousins had taken turns with the ellyn and they left the ballroom fast friends.

Sador made his way across the ballroom floor, smiling politely as he was greeted by the Noldorin courtiers whom he knew, ignoring the quizzical looks of the Tol Eressëans that were cast his way. He knew they were puzzled by his single warrior’s braid. He had long ceased to think about it, or the reason for it. Not that he didn’t have the occasional nightmare even now, so many months after his kidnapping, but he was able to put that sorry incident behind him for the most part and had stopped feeling self-conscious about his looks.

He spied Arafinwë, who towered over many of the other elves, standing in a mixed crowd of Noldorin courtiers and some of the Tol Eressëan delegates and made his way to him. The king saw him and gave him a warm smile, gesturing for him to come forward as he put an arm around the ellon’s shoulders.

"No, Atya," Sador replied. "I just finished having a nice conversation with some Reborn. I’ve left Rúmilion and his cousins with them. I came to see if you needed me for anything."

Arafinwë pursed his lips, giving his ward a considering look. Something in the ellon’s eyes told him that more was going on than Sador was letting on. Making a decision, he glanced at the others in their group. "My lords and ladies, if you will excuse me," he said, giving them a brief bow which they all returned, and then he was steering a half-protesting Sador away. He led his ward out of the ballroom altogether, stepping outside and into one of the palace gardens, an herbal garden with a single entrance. Calandil, acting as Arafinwë’s guard, stood before the entrance to prevent others from entering, thus ensuring their privacy.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Arafinwë finally asked quietly when he was sure they were alone and unlikely to be overheard.

Sador shrugged. "I was standing with Rúmilion, Mardillë and Serindë, commenting on the number of people there were. Marda made some disparaging remarks about the Tol Eressëans trying to outshine us in their finery. Her sister reprimanded her."

"And Mardillë’s remarks upset you?" Arafinwë asked, attempting to fathom what his ward was really trying to say.

Sador shrugged. "Not really, but then I spied a group of people who were not as richly dressed as many of the others and I knew that they were Reborn." He gave Arafinwë a slight smile at the king’s look of surprise. "I guess it takes one to know one."

"It suddenly occurred to me that I could have been one of them. I mean, I could have ended up on Tol Eressëa, and that would have been fine, but what if I’d been sent there all alone with no family to welcome me? What would have happened to me?"

"But what if you hadn’t accepted me?" Sador insisted. "What... what if no one wanted me?" He started sniffling and Arafinwë could see he was trying hard not to cry. He took the ellon into his embrace and held him, suddenly realizing that this child was indeed a child in many ways still. So much had happened to him and he had shown such resilience and maturity, but for all that, he was still very, very young and the young were always insecure and in constant need of assurance.

"Do you think that Lord Irmo or any of the Valar would be so callous as to leave you to fend for yourself?" he asked gently.

"I don’t know," Sador replied. "I know some of the Reborn had no family to take them in."

"But they had friends," Arafinwë pointed out, "people who knew them and cared for them. You just happened to be the rare exception. And you know that the Valar were simply waiting for your anammë to come to know you and love you for yourself before you and she learned of your true relationship. If you had been sent to Tol Eressëa you would never have met Netilmírë would you?"

"I know this past year has been fraught with much adventure, some of it quite frightening for you," Arafinwë said, looking down at his ward with a gentle smile, "but I want you to know how very proud I am of you. I could not be any prouder if you were the child of my own loins. You are more than just my ward, Sador. You are my heart-son, just as Glorfindel is. You will always have a home with us no matter what."

Arafinwë bent down and planted a light kiss on the ellon’s brow, recognizing that the child had simply needed some reassurance. He gave him a quick hug and was about to suggest that they return to the ballroom before someone missed them when Calandil called from where he was standing guard.

Arafinwë and Sador looked at one another in dismay. "I hope it’s not a Reborn having a flashback," Sador said as they made their way out of the garden.

"If it is, we’ll deal with it," Arafinwë replied with a smile. "I’m getting to be quite good at it."

Sador chuckled but his smile, and Arafinwë’s, fled when they reached the ballroom and took in the scene. In a tight knot were a group of people looking wary, even frightened, while surrounding them stood several ellyn who appeared to be threatening them, not physically but verbally. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that they were more than a little drunk. Arafinwë noticed Eärwen making her way across the ballroom from where she had been holding court, her expression imperious. Arafinwë felt himself growing angry and made to join his wife. Calandil and Sador had to force a path through the spectators for him.

As he drew closer he could see that the group being threatened were the delegates from Angobel and he was not too surprised to see Morcocáno leading those haranguing them. Would the ellon never learn? Why he had been allowed to head the delegation from Avallónë was beyond him.

"Ye are not welcome here, shlaves," the ellon was snarling at Meluiwen and Morfinnel, his words slurred, his eyes just a little too bright. Against all protocol he was speaking in Sindarin. It had been a stipulation that anyone who was to be a delegate to the Council had to be able to speak Quenya, and that language only would be spoken in all public venues. "Why don’ ye go back to your mines where ye belong?"

"Not all of us are slaves," Morfinnel retorted, speaking Sindarin as well. "We have as much right to be here as any, especially when the Belain themselves invited us."

"So I say," Arafinwë interjected, speaking Quenya. He had learned enough Sindarin over the last year to understand much of what was being said. There were gasps of dismay from many throats as people saw the Noldóran among them looking stern. "So says the Elder King. I could ask him to verify Morfinnel’s words. All I have to do is call for any one of the Maiar whom I know are here watching us to send word to Lord Manwë."

Now everyone, even Morcocáno, was looking about furtively, as if they could detect the presence of the Maiar Arafinwë insisted were present. There were many uncomfortable expressions on the faces of the bystanders.

"Where is your wife, Morcocáno?" Eärwen asked in the lull. "I cannot imagine the Lady Nelluin countenancing your obstinacy and truculence in this matter."

"She’s not here," Morcocáno said sourly. "I left her back in Avallónë. I would not allow her to be polluted by their presence." He cast a sneering look at Meluiwen and the other delegates from Angobel, half of whom were actually farmers, not miners.

All eyes turned to see a Sindarin elleth approaching. She was very beautiful, even by Elvish standards, but Arafinwë could see the haunted look in her eyes. She glared at her husband who was staring at her in mute shock. "Did you seriously think I would allow you to dictate to me my comings and goings?" she sniffed in disdain. "I waited until you were well away and then came on my own, sailing with the ship that brought the Nandor." She glanced at the people of Angobel, her expression rueful. "Please forgive my husband. He has never been able to accept that I was once a slave, if only for a short time."

"Well, they are fools if they do not," Nelluin retorted with a huff. "It’s not as if any of us deserved slavery after all."

"It is in the past," Nelluin insisted, glaring again at her husband. "There is no shame in having been a slave. You have no right to harangue these good people, Morcocáno. They are not the enemy. Nor am I."

"Morcocáno," Arafinwë said before the ellon could respond, having decided it was time to intervene. "All here are under my protection, even you. But do not mistake me. I will not tolerate your vituperation or your slander of people who have done you no personal harm. The people of Angobel are here because the Valar desire them to be here and that is all you need to know. Now, Lady... Nelluin, is it?" He gave the elleth a respectful bow, his features softening, as she nodded. "Perhaps you should take your husband away and let him cool off."

"Of course, your Majesty," Nelluin said demurely, giving him a proper curtsey. Straightening, she crooked a finger at the still speechless Morcocáno. "Come along, my husband. There are things that need to be said between us that should be said in private."

She turned and strode away, never looking back, yet such was her power over the hapless ellon that Morcocáno followed meekly enough, never bothering to give his obeisance to Arafinwë. Silence covered the room like a thick blanket as the couple left and there were uncomfortable glances all around. Arafinwë swept his gaze about, his expression stern once again.

"Let there be peace among you all," he said solemnly. "Your petty quarrels and imagined fears have no place here. You are here, all of you, to work for the greater good of Tol Eressëa. Let that be your goal. I assure you, the Valar will be even less tolerant of your pettiness than I. Now, if you will excuse us, the queen and I will retire, but feel free to continue with your own merriment."

He glanced at Eärwen, who nodded slightly in approval, and offered her his arm, which she took. Signaling for Sador to join them, the three, along with Calandil, made their way out of the ballroom. They were nearly at their apartments when Sador spoke.

"Morcocáno is trouble," he commented gravely. "I would have him carefully watched if I were you, Atya."

Arafinwë gave his ward a considering look. "I intend to, yonya, but I think Nelluin will keep him in line from now on."

Sador snickered, his expression gleefully elflingish. "He’s afraid of her. I can tell."

"Let us hope he fears her enough," Eärwen muttered so that only Arafinwë heard her.

Násië! he thought fervently and wondered what other surprises were in store for them all when they finally came to Valmar and the Council began in earnest.

Gil híla am lû e-govaded vîn: (Sindarin) ‘A star shines on the hour of our meeting’.

Olwë and the Telerin delegation arrived early the next morning as planned. Along with the delegates and guards, the entire royal family came. Lindarion would head the delegation, of course, but his sister, Olwen, had agreed to act as his assistant, along with Beleg. His younger brother, Salmar, and Salmar’s wife, Faniel, Arafinwë’s sister, had agreed to act as joint hosts for the Telerin and Noldorin delegations while Olwë and Arafinwë and their respective wives tended to Council business. The three monarchs, along with Sador, Amarië, Beleg, Lindarion and Olwen, spent much of the day closeted in Arafinwë’s study reviewing protocol and procedures.

"I have received word from Lord Manwë that all is in readiness at Valmar," Arafinwë said once they were all settled. "The first session of the Council will be held in the Elder King’s mansion but the Winter Solstice Ball will be held in Lord Ulmo’s mansion. As agreed among us, the three royal families will stay at the royal townhouse for the duration along with our respective delegates. The Tol Eressëans will be housed in Valmar though I am unsure what arrangements the Valar have made for accommodations."

The others laughed. "Old it may be, but where did you get the idea that it was drafty?" Arafinwë asked. "That sounds like something a Mortal would complain about. Eru knows I heard it often enough when I was in Beleriand."

Lindarion grinned sheepishly and stole a glance at Beleg who was blushing. "Túrin used to complain about it all the time, too, when he was growing up in Menegroth," he said with an impish look in his eyes and everyone laughed again, now understanding where Lindarion had gotten the expression.

"At any rate, yonya," Olwë said, "we kings decided it would be best to keep our delegates separate from the Tol Eressëans when the Council is not in session. There will be much after-hours discussion among them and we do not want them to feel inhibited by our presence. If they need to speak with us they can come to us."

"Oh, I know, Atar," Lindarion said. "I just wish we didn’t have to stay in that old townhouse. For some reason it always gives me an unsettled feeling. I much prefer staying at one of the inns instead."

"No. Mistake me not, Sire," Lindarion said somewhat formally. "I will abide by thy decision in this, but when all this is over, could we not have the place torn down? None of the royal families ever really use it."

"That does not mean that it is never used," Eärwen countered, giving her brother a puzzled look. "Why this reluctance to stay there, hanno?"

Lindarion shrugged and looked uncomfortable. "I just don’t like the place," he muttered, not looking at anyone.

"Well, we’re getting sidetracked here," Lirillë said, giving her son a sympathetic look. "Let’s concentrate on the Council and worry about the townhouse later. So Lord Ulmo is hosting the Winter Solstice Ball, is he? That should prove interesting."

There were nods all around. "And the first session of the Council will begin when?" Amarië asked. "Certainly not the next day. Most, if not all, of the delegates will probably not be sober."

"Probably not," Arafinwë replied with a chuckle. "My understanding of the schedule is that the opening session will begin later in the afternoon. There are only two items on the agenda for that first session: introducing the head of each delegation and laying down some procedural ground rules. The actual Council will commence on Valanya. That will give everyone another whole day to recover from the Ball and to acquaint themselves with Valmar and Eldamas."

"As to that, there is no way to say," her atar said with a rueful look. "Let us just hope that any surprises are few and far between and easily dealt with."

They left the next day for the city of the Powers. It was planned that they would arrive in Valmar on the day of the winter solstice. There would be several hours before the Ball began, which would give everyone a chance to rest and freshen up. As the cavalcade reached the eastern gate of Valmar they were met by a host of Maiar wearing surcoats with the emblems of Lord Manwë and Lady Varda. The Amanians greeted the Maiar with grave familiarity, but the Tol Eressëans hung back, awed by the sight of these beings who were only rumors to most of them. Many were unable to accept the looks of genuine love and compassion that they saw in the Maiar’s eyes and had to look away. The lead Maia introduced himself as Fionwë of the People of Manwë.

"Lord Manwë and Lady Varda send their compliments," Fionwë said with a bow to the elves, "and bid you all welcome to Valmar. My fellow Maiar and I have been directed to escort you to where ye will stay for the duration of the Council." He turned to the Amanians. "I assume you know your own way around, my children?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with humor.

"Oh, I imagine we won’t be getting ourselves lost and needing thy help, my lord," Olwë replied nonchalantly and the Maiar all laughed.

"In that case, we will leave you to find your own way while we attend to the comfort of our other guests. There will be a brief ceremony on the Landamallë an hour after sunset and then the Ball will begin after that. One of us will come and escort you."

Olwë and Arafinwë bowed, as did the others in their party. "Thank you, my lord," Olwë said. "We look forward to tonight’s festivities."

Fionwë nodded. "He and his party arrived last night and are at the townhouse, Arafinwë. Ingwë and the Vanyar are also here."

With that the Amanians bid the Tol Eressëans farewell, a prospect that did not set too well with most of them, and made their way across the Landamallë to the northern gate. The Maiar gave the Tol Eressëans another bow and Fionwë spoke.

There was an uneasy hesitation among the elves and then one group of people stirred, making their way forward from where they’d been riding in the middle of the procession. One of the ellyn in the group bowed to Fionwë. "I am Brethorn, head of the Council of the Reborn. My friends and I are honored to meet thee, my lord, thee and thy brethren."

"Welcome to Valmar, Brethorn," Fionwë said with an approving smile. "I see the Reborn have no fear of us, as is right, for there is naught to fear. The Valar’s Peace be with you."

That seemed to break the tension among the other elves and they allowed themselves to be led into Valmar, the Maiar escorting the various delegations to one mansion or another, for all the Valar were playing hosts to them. Fionwë assured them that they would be welcome to visit one another if they so desired.

"Ye are free to wander as ye will," he told them before escorting those delegates belonging to the Guild of Bards and the Guild of Hostelers to Lord Manwë and Lady Varda’s mansion while the rest went with the other Maiar.

Everyone’s eyes were wide with wonder at the beauty and majesty of the edifices, awed into silence by their hugeness and grandeur on a scale none had ever conceived of before. It did not take long, though, before all were settled in comfortable suites and they began preparing for the evening’s festivities.

The Noldor and Teleri reached the royal townhouse to find Ingwë and his family waiting for them, along with Findaráto. Herendil and Vandacalimë were also on hand to greet them, having come from Lórien with Findaráto. There were glad greetings all around. Arafinwë gave his son a fierce hug.

"Yes, Atto, all is well. The little ones are actually here, as are Vorondil and Aldundil."

Arafinwë gave him a look of surprise and Finrod smiled. "Oh, they won’t be attending the Council sessions or anything. Vandacalimë has agreed to act as Mistress of Pages. They will be attending us here as well as continuing their lessons while we are in council." He gave Arafinwë a shy look. "I was going to leave them behind, but I just didn’t have the heart."

Arafinwë smiled knowingly at his son and gave him another hug. "I would have been rather disappointed if you had, yonya. Now come. I see your ammë is impatient to greet you and we need to get settled and prepare for tonight’s festivities." With that he released Finrod from his embrace and turned to greet Ingwë while the others began unloading baggage and making their way inside where Mistress Luhtana and her staff greeted the new arrivals.

The royal parties reached the Landamallë to find it ablaze with candlelight. Even as they were passing through the northern gate, Maiar were there handing out small white candles already lit to each of them while others directed them to stand before the Elder King’s mansion. It was a magnificent sight: the elves holding their candles while all around them the mansions of the Valar were lit up in a blaze of glorious illumination as if in defiance of the dark. Then the Valar appeared in a cascade of multi-hued lights too bright for any of the elves to look upon and there were gasps of surprise and even pain as they were forced to look away. When the glow had dimmed to more acceptable levels they all looked to see the Valar standing before the gate leading into Lord Ulmo’s estate, their finery far outshining even that of the High King and Queen, perhaps the most beautifully and opulently dressed of all the elves present, making them appear dull and ordinary in comparison.

Manwë and Varda stepped forward. "Well met, my children," the Elder King said with a smile. "On this, the longest night of the year, we are reminded that the dark has its rightful place in creation but it can never fully conquer the light. The candles you are holding are a dim reminder of this. A single candle is weak and fitful in its illumination and cannot fully drive away the dark, but a multitude of candles may. Remember, alone you have little chance of conquering the darkness which lies within all of us: the darkness of jealousy, hatred and suspicion which is the legacy of our Fallen Brother who taught you to fear the Dark. Yet when you each contribute your one little light to the whole, welcoming the light of others, then you are strong and the Dark cannot conquer you. Remember this as you go about the business of the Council in the days to come. Do not dismiss the light of your fellow elves, whoever they are. It may be that the one light that you disdain is the one most needed to keep the Dark at bay."

He stopped and Varda then spoke. "So, my children, lift up your candles and your voices and join us in song."

From nowhere and everywhere musical instruments began playing and then the Valar and Maiar began singing. The Tol Eressëans gasped in shock as they recognized the hymn Tôl i dhû though it was being sung in Quenya. Then, as the end of the first verse was reached, Sador suddenly began singing the next verse, but in Sindarin. Soon a multitude of voices joined him and the hymn was sung in both languages, alternating from verse to verse with the final verse in Sindarin. Even those among the Amanians who were unfamiliar with the hymn quickly caught on and at least sang the chorus, which was always in Quenya. As the last note of the hymn died away, many of the elves among the Tol Eressëans were seen to be weeping quietly. Manwë nodded to one of the Maiar standing near Ingwë and she bent down and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and spoke quietly to those around him and in chorus they blew out their candles. Others, recognizing that the ceremony was over, blew their candles out until only the lights from the mansions and the stars overhead provided them with illumination.

"Come, my children," Manwë then said. "Be welcome to the Winter Solstice Ball." As one, the Valar turned and made their way across the lake that surrounded Ulmo’s mansion with the Lord of Waters leading the way. It escaped no one’s notice that as Lord Ulmo crossed the stepping stones they began to glow with an inner light of their own, thus making it easier for the elves to find them. Ingwë and Elindis, as High King and Queen, led the way, followed by the other royals. It took a little time but eventually all were across and stepping into the mansion, gazing in wonder as they were led to a ballroom with crystal pillars that softly glowed in a multitude of alternating colors — emerald, sapphire, citrine and a pale rose — in no discernable pattern. The pillars held up a roof that was crystalline, allowing the light of the stars to shine through. The floor was a semi-translucent green quartz and people saw with some surprise that gold and scarlet and bright orange fish swam beneath them. It was somewhat disconcerting at first but eventually they ceased to notice as they danced away the night.

The ballroom was longer than it was wide, with one of the short ends reserved for the Valar who sat on a dais in chairs that were not ornate enough to be called thrones but could not be mistaken for anything else. Manwë and Varda sat in the middle with Aulë and Yavanna on either side of them. The others were ranged in a semicircle behind these four. Eönwë and his sister, Ilmarë, attended to the Valar while other Maiar stood about to see to the needs of the elves. Somewhere, musicians played, but they were never seen. At the other end of the ballroom were tables laden with food and drink, food and drink that never seemed to diminish no matter how much was eaten or drunk. And though there were well over three hundred elves present there was no sense of crowding, in spite of the fact that the chamber appeared to be only large enough to accommodate half the number comfortably.

At first the elves, even the Amanians, milled uneasily about, not entirely sure what they should do and feeling intimidated by the presence of the Valar. With a nod from Ingwë, the three royal couples approached the dais, giving the Valar their obeisance. Then Ingwë stepped up and spoke quietly to the Elder King.

"My lord, no one will dance until you and Lady Varda lead the first pavane," Ingwë whispered, looking pained, obviously uncomfortable at having to reprimand the Elder King, however mildly.

Manwë’s expression was unreadable. "You are the High King, Ingwë," he said quietly. "Should you and Elindis not be leading the pavane?"

"But we are not the hosts, lord," Ingwë pointed out, his expression now more puzzled, as if surprised that the Elder King was unaware of proper protocol.

Before Manwë could respond, Námo, who was seated directly behind the Elder King, stood up and leaned over Manwë’s shoulder. "If you don’t know how to dance, Manwë, Vairë and I can lead the first pavane while Ingwë gives you a quick lesson." He glanced up at the High King and gave him a wink. Ingwë’s jaw dropped in shock.

Some of the Valier, including Varda, actually snickered, much to the bemusement of the elves looking on but unable to hear what was being said. The other Valar were grinning in amusement. Tulkas laughed out loud, his voice booming through the ballroom, causing the crystal goblets to chime though thankfully none shattered. Manwë gave Námo an amused look.

Námo patted him on the shoulder. "That’s the spirit," he said facetiously and resumed his seat. Vairë rolled her eyes when he gave her a smug smirk.

Ingwë and the other royals were hard-pressed to keep their composure. Ingwë had to swallow several times before he thought he could speak without breaking into laughter. "Perhaps all the Valar could lead the first pavane," he suggested, "since you are all acting as our hosts."

"An excellent idea," Manwë said and he rose with Varda beside him. Ingwë stepped down to join Elindis and the other royals while all the rest of the Valar joined Manwë and Varda on the floor. Tulkas and Nessa were the last. Ingwë made a hasty consultation with the other royals and there were nods of agreement. Instead of joining the Valar, they remained where they were, thus effectively preventing any of the other elves from joining in the dance. It was apparent to the onlookers that this first dance was strictly for the Valar. The music shifted into a well-known pavane and the Valar reverenced their partners. The elves standing around the perimeter of the ballroom watched in awe and wonder as the Valar stepped out in stately procession. As simple as the steps were, the Valar seemed to imbue them with a grace and majesty that could not be rivaled by even the best dancers among the elves. Indeed, some, like Finrod, who knew himself to be a very good dancer, and even those less astute, had an inchoate sense that they were seeing not so much a dance but Dance made manifest in the physical forms of the Valar.

"Do you think they danced liked this through Eä as Lady Varda brought forth the stars?" Amarië whispered to Finrod in awe, never taking her eyes off the spectacle. Finrod could only nod, too engrossed in what he was witnessing to articulate his thoughts.

As the pavane came to the end the Valar reverenced their partners a final time before making their way back to the dais, with Manwë and Varda leading. As the Elder King passed by Ingwë, he gave the High King a wicked grin. "I guess I won’t be needing those lessons after all," he said just loud enough for the elves standing close by to hear, causing many of them to raise their eyebrows in shock, staring in disbelief at Ingwë and coming to wrong conclusions as to just what the High King had been saying to Lord Manwë. Ingwë, well aware of what Manwë was doing, threw his head back in laughter, knowing he’d been bested.

When he calmed down, he silently offered his hand to Elindis who took it and together they stepped out onto the dance floor with the other royal couples behind them. Then, other elves joined them and soon the dancing began in earnest.

Everyone remained on their best behavior, even Morcocáno, for Nelluin rarely left his side and it was clear to all who was truly in charge there. The Nandor did not seem too terribly ill at ease, though none of them bothered to dance. At some point some of the Valar left the dais and began mingling with the elves. Oromë and Vána were seen conversing with Laeglîr, Dairuin, Celebriel and the rest of the Nandorin delegation while Ulmo held court with Olwë and Lindarion and what turned out to be some of the masters of the maritime guilds. Beleg and Sador invited Brethorn, Glóremmir, Faramir, Alphedis and the other Reborn delegates to pay their respects to Lord Námo and Lady Vairë. Those elves who noticed them standing around the dread Lord of Mandos could only wonder at the laughter that came from that quarter.

Finrod and Arafinwë spent some time speaking with Lord Irmo while Amarië and Eärwen conversed with Lady Estë. Ingwë and his family, including Lirulin and her daughter Alassiel, were seen in the company of Lord Manwë and Lady Varda, which only made sense as far as the other elves were concerned, since even the Sindar and Nandor had heard how devoted the High King was to the Elder King and the Queen of Stars. The other Valar were also seen engaged in conversations with one group of delegates or another and the atmosphere was relaxed and cordial throughout.

But these islands of conversation amidst the dancers were not exclusive nor did they remain intact, for people drifted in and out of the various groups as the whim took them. At one point Sador and Alassiel, who had danced every dance together, refusing to take other partners, left the ballroom together to stroll through one of the gardens out of sight of their elders, though they were not unchaperoned; one of the Maiar followed them at a discreet distance. Neither elf actually noticed this, however, for they were too enamored of one another to pay much attention to anything or anyone else. And the Maia was there not so much to make sure they didn’t do anything precipitous as to keep others away and give them some privacy. Only when Finrod came looking for them did she leave, giving the prince a knowing smile, which he returned.

"All right you two, let’s see some daylight between you," he said in feigned disapproval when he found them sitting in an arbor holding hands and staring into one another’s eyes. They startled and gave him guilty looks.

"It’s still dark out," Sador protested. "There can be no daylight between us even if we wished it."

"Nevertheless, it’s time to come back inside and join the festivities," Finrod said. "It’s a good thing you had a chaperone or there might be trouble for you both."

They gave him surprised looks. "Chaperone? What chaperone?" Alassiel demanded. "We’ve been alone all this time... I mean... we didn’t notice...." It was obvious that she was blushing even in the dark as she stumbled to a halt.

Finrod laughed. "Believe me, you were not as alone as you thought or hoped. One of Lady Varda’s Maiar kept an eye on you at her request."

"She apparently saw you sneaking away and realized what you were about and sent Ilmarë to keep an eye on you," Finrod answered. "But come. People were asking after you both so let us not give them more grist for their mills. Alassiel, at the next dance you will partner with me and Sador will find some other elleth with whom he will dance. I suggest you each partner with others for a time. That will dispel some of the rumors."

"Patently," Finrod retorted, "but Sador, you are too young to be thinking seriously of a relationship."

"I’m older than Alassiel," Sador exclaimed, looking affronted. Then he became less confrontational. "Or I would be if I hadn’t died," he amended ruefully.

"And that’s the point," Finrod said sympathetically. "Biologically, you are barely out of elflinghood, and that especially holds true for your emotional state. I have no objections to you two falling in love. Indeed, I rejoice for you both, but others are going to look askance at this. There will come a time when you may declare your love for one another openly, but that time is not yet."

Both Sador and Alassiel sighed. "It’s unfair," Alassiel protested, clinging to Sador’s arm. "Why should Sador be penalized just because he died?"

"Unfortunately, that’s just the way it is," Finrod said, spreading his hands out and giving them a shrug. "But my children, do not despair. You have all the ages of Arda before you. If your love is true, it will not matter how long the wait before you may consummate it. Take it from one who knows." He gave them a conspiratorial wink and Alassiel giggled; Sador looked less rebellious.

Alassiel giggled again. "That would be a neat trick for me, being both bride and bride’s witness at the same time."

"I’m sure we can work something out," Finrod said with a smile. "Shall we go in?" He gestured for Alassiel to take his arm, leaving Sador to fend for himself.

Inside, the festivities were in full swing. One dance had just ended and another was beginning. Finrod led Alassiel out onto the floor while Sador made his way along the perimeter to where he saw Beleg speaking with Ingwion. The two ellyn greeted him with smiles.

"There you are!" Ingwion said. "We wondered if you and Alassiel had run off together."

"We were just sitting in one of the gardens," Sador protested. "We weren’t doing anything bad. Honest!"

"Pity," Beleg said with a feigned sniff of disgust and Ingwion laughed, clasping Sador's shoulder and giving it a friendly squeeze. The three continued to trade insults with one another while they watched Finrod and Alassiel dance. Eventually, Sador took Finrod’s advice and partnered with several other ellith for a number of dances. Finrod, meanwhile, and with Amarië’s connivance, took it upon himself to see to it that Sador and Alassiel never had the chance to dance together or to sneak away again. More than one of their elders nodded in approval when they saw what he was doing.

Then the longest night of the year began to cede its sovereignty to the dawn and most of the elves gladly sought their beds. Only Ingwë, Olwë and Arafinwë, along with their wives, remained awake with the Valar. They were seated on the dais at the Valar’s feet, quietly reminiscing about the past and the hopes of the future as they sipped on yellow wine and watched the sunrise.

Tôl i dhû: (Sindarin) ‘Comes the night’. The Quenya version (or at least the first verse), Utúlië i lómë, can be found with a translation in chapter 89 of Elf, Interrupted: Book One.

The opening session of the Winter Solstice Council was scheduled for the third hour after the noon meal. It was planned to last only an hour or so. Each of the delegations would be formally introduced and their leaders recognized. Then the procedures and agenda for the rest of the council would be explained. The first working session would not begin until Valanya, two days later.

A half an hour before the delegates were due to arrive, Ingwë, Arafinwë and Olwë made their way to Lord Manwë’s mansion where they were met by Eönwë who acted as their guide.

"Lord Manwë has instructed me to show you the council chamber," the Maia said after greetings were made. "He understands that you have decided to act in concert in presiding over the council."

Ingwë nodded. "As High King, I will of course have the final say in all matters of procedure and in keeping the council to the agreed-upon agenda, but Olwë and Arafinwë have a better grasp of how the Tol Eressëans may act and so I prefer to have them as my co-presiders rather than heading their own delegations. Our sons are quite capable of seeing to the interests of our respective clans."

Eönwë smiled in acknowledgment as he led them up a marble staircase and down a hall to where two Maiar warriors stood on guard before a set of copper doors on which scenes from Elven history were etched. They opened the doors and the three elves stepped in, pausing to admire the room. It was circular and they were standing at the top of a series of tiers looking down upon a central dais. The walls were paneled in nessamalda wood. High clerestory windows provided illumination. The dais was taken up by a large table in the shape of a ring. Inside the ring, set within the floor was a water garden where yellow, white and pale red water-lilies floated and golden carp swam. Twenty-five chairs were set around the table and the kings noted with approval that they were plainly carved and would not have looked out of place in the average elf’s dining room. They were covered with comfortable cushions of midnight blue velvet. Both the table and the chairs were made of the same nessamalda wood as the walls. The seats for the other members of the delegations were low-backed benches also of nessamalda wood with thick midnight blue velvet cushions. The light-grained wood and the clerestory windows gave the chamber a light and airy feel. The walls were unadorned. "So as not to provide any distractions," Eönwë pointed out to the kings’ approval.

"It has not been decided as yet," Eönwë replied. "You will notice that these three chairs here have taller backs than the others. This is where you three will sit. Lord Manwë is of the opinion that the delegates should choose their own chairs."

Ingwë shook his head. "No. I think it best that we decide here and now how the seating will go, otherwise there will be a waste of time as people are jockeying to sit with friends or to avoid sitting with enemies."

"Draw lots," Arafinwë suggested. "Number the chairs randomly from one to twenty-two, then as each delegation enters, have whoever is the head of the delegation draw a number. That is where they will sit. We can have drawings at each session so no one sits beside the same people all the time."

"The only ones who will sit in the same places all the time will be the three of us," Ingwë stated. "Even Lord Manwë would be subject to the random drawing."

Eönwë raised an eyebrow but nodded in acquiescence. "My Master agrees to your suggestion," he said. "However, he suggests that each chair be assigned a different gemstone." He gestured and all three elves gasped in surprise when they saw that on the backs of the chairs were now inset different gems: sapphire, emerald, ruby, citrine, diamond, opal, and others that they could not see from where they were standing. Only the three presiders’ chairs were naked of any decoration. Eönwë gestured a second time towards the doors and they saw a large copper bowl on a crystal pillar where none had been before. It was elf-high, thus it would be impossible for anyone to see inside the bowl. They went back up the steps and Eönwë took the bowl down and showed them the faceted gems that matched those on the backs of the chairs.

"Rather like how they did the archery contest," Arafinwë said in approval and the others nodded.

"I think that will work," Ingwë said as Eönwë replaced the bowl on the pillar.

"And Lord Manwë has told me that out of fairness, he will take the last gem so none can accuse him of... er... cheating." The Maia cast them an amused look.

Eönwë shrugged and that seemed to say it all. The kings all shook their heads in dismay, for it would never have occurred to them to suspect the Valar of cheating or that anyone would think they would.

"Well, that is neither here nor there at the moment," Eönwë said. "I have been told that the delegates are arriving. Perhaps you would care to stay here and greet them while I attend to my lord."

"Yes, that’s an excellent idea," Ingwë said. "We will explain the seating arrangements."

Eönwë bowed and faded from view just as another Maia wearing the surcoat of Lord Aulë appeared down the hall leading the first set of delegates. It turned out to be the Reborn delegation, headed by Brethorn. The kings looked upon the ellyn and ellith in amazement. Each one wore a sleeveless knee-length surcoat with open sides worn over their own clothes. Each surcoat was a deep and restful shade of green, symbolizing life and healing. Embroidered on the front were two stalks of quiquillar in saltire between which flew an orange and black spotted butterfly. The symbolism was not lost on the kings.

"Are we too early?" Brethorn asked, sounding so much like an elfling at that moment in spite of his attempt to act in a dignified manner that Ingwë’s heart warmed to the ellon immediately. The other Reborn had similar expressions of excitement and enthusiasm on their faces.

"Not at all," Ingwë said with a smile. "You are the first to arrive and that is a good sign. You are the head of your delegation?" he asked Brethorn, who nodded. "Then if you would reach inside the bowl and take out a gemstone you will find its match on the back of one of the chairs below. That is where you will be seated, at least for this session. We will draw lots at each session so no one will be sitting in the same place all the time."

"Ooh, it’s almost like a game," one of the Reborn ellith said, clapping her hands in delight and the others in the delegation laughed in agreement.

Ingwë raised an eyebrow, unsure how to respond, then realized that these Reborn had the correct attitude. He doubted anyone else, except possibly Findaráto, would see the seating arrangement as a ‘game’. He noticed both Arafinwë and Olwë were smiling and realized almost with chagrin that these two had had extensive experience dealing with the mindset of Reborn and understood how they saw the world better than he. Perhaps he had kept himself aloof from things more than he should have. He gave himself a mental shake and forced himself to smile.

"Yes, I suppose it could be called that," he said, then nodded to Brethorn to step forward to choose a gemstone. The other thirteen members of the delegation craned their necks as Brethorn reached in to make his selection, all of them with expectant looks on their faces, like elflings waiting for a special treat.

Brethorn pulled his arm out and opened his hand so all could see what he held. It was a pearl. Immediately the Reborn all rushed down the steps to the dais, eagerly looking for the chair that had a pearl set in its back.

"Oh! Here it is!" one of the ellyn shouted with glee. "And we can all sit over here," he added, pointing to the curved benches behind the chair.

"They’re like elflings," Ingwë muttered in disbelief as the Reborn examined Brethorn’s chair, declaring that it was the best of the lot, never mind that, except for the different gemstones embedded in them, the chairs were all the same.

"Would that others had the same joyful enthusiasm for life," Arafinwë replied softly, "taking delight in even the simple task of looking for a chair that has a pearl in it."

Ingwë stole a glance at Arafinwë and nodded. Before he could say anything, though, the next delegation arrived, escorted by one of the People of Oromë. This turned out to be the delegation from Kortirion, led by Lady Galadhwen. Olwë quickly whispered into Ingwë’s ear, giving the elleth’s name. Ingwë looked upon her with interest, for he recalled Olwë and Arafinwë describing how confrontational she had been at the meeting with the kings. She appeared to be quite formidable in the way she approached them, barely giving them a proper curtsey.

"Lady Galadhwen," Ingwë said, "welcome to Valmar. If you are acting as the head of your delegation, would you please select a gemstone from the bowl? You will see that each delegate’s chair has a different gemstone embedded in its back. Whichever gemstone you pick, that will be where you will sit during this particular session. At subsequent sessions everyone will choose a different gemstone so you are not always sitting at the same place."

Galadhwen glared down at the dais with a disdainful sniff before addressing Ingwë. "And what if I do not care to be seated between certain people? Will I be able to change my seat?"

"Unfortunately no," Arafinwë answered. "I’m afraid you will have to endure sitting beside someone you do not like and hope that at the next session you will be able to sit elsewhere. We felt this was the fairest way to seat everyone. Even Lord Manwë has agreed to this procedure and will abide by it."

Then one of the other ellith in the delegation stepped forward. "Well, Galadhwen, if you won’t choose, I will. You’re holding everything up with your intransigence."

Both Arafinwë and Olwë smiled and bowed to the elleth. "Lady Meril, a pleasure to see you again," Olwë said and Meril gave them a curtsey.

"And I am pleased to be here, your Majesties," she said, giving them an impish smile. "So, Galadhwen, will you choose or shall I?"

"I am the head of this delegation," Galadhwen protested. "I will choose, though I assure you I do not approve of the manner in which we will be seated. And why a round table?"

"Well, that should be obvious, my dear," Meril said with sweet disdain. "To prevent anyone from lording it over the others. Now do stop being difficult."

Galadhwen sighed and reached into the bowl, pulling out a ruby. Ingwë gestured to the dais. "If you will take your seat, my lady, then we can greet the next delegation," Ingwë said, gesturing towards the dais.

Meril took Galadhwen’s arm. "Come along, dear, and let’s see where the ruby chair is located." She gave the three kings a brilliant smile and steered the other elleth along with the rest of the delegation following, most of them looking a bit embarrassed by Galadhwen’s manner.

Ingwë did not have time to comment because the next delegation was already there. This turned out to be the delegation from Angobel, escorted by a Maia wearing Lady Nessa’s emblem. Marthchall led the delegation with Meluiwen at his side. Arafinwë greeted them with a smile.

Marthchall smiled. "He is doing much better, thank you, your Majesty. Lord Irmo thinks that he will be ready to leave with us when we return to Tol Eressëa after the Council."

"I am glad to hear that. You must make a point of coming to Tirion for a visit before you return home. There are some matters I would like to discuss with you."

Marthchall raised an eyebrow and nodded. "We will do that. And now, where do we sit?"

Ingwë explained the procedure and Marthchall nodded, wordlessly reaching into the bowl and bringing out an emerald. He gave the gem to Meluiwen with a smile and, nodding to the kings, led his delegation to the dais. Other delegations arrived and reached into the bowl to discover where they would be sitting. Some took it in good humor when they discovered where they would be seated and between whom while others scowled and tried to convince one of the other delegates to switch places. Whenever that happened, a Maia would suddenly appear and politely remind them of the rules.

The biggest surprise among the Tol Eressëan delegations was the arrival of thirteen ellon in warrior braids led by Gilvagor, who gave the kings a sheepish smile at their nonplused expressions.

"I did not even know such a guild existed," Arafinwë exclaimed. "Why were we never told?"

Gilvagor shrugged. "It never really came up in conversation, and in truth, ours is less a guild and more a... um... benevolence society, one designed to give meaning to those who seem unsuited for other kinds of employment. We provide the guards and such for the cities and continue training in the martial arts in preparation for the Dagor Dagorath, whenever that might come."

"And your guild or society is that powerful to command a seat on this council?" Olwë asked with a frown.

Gilvagor nodded. "We are one of the larger guilds, in fact. Even those warriors who have taken up other trades belong and continue to train."

Gilvagor shook his head, as did most of the rest of his delegation. One of the ellyn, unknown to the kings, spoke up. "We are all aware of Lord Gilvagor’s sympathies and we approve."

"In point of fact, I am the, I guess you can say, guildmaster by default," Gilvagor said. "By rights Laurendil should be standing in my place."

"He was," Gilvagor replied, sighing. "I was his second, you might say, but since his... er... defection," he gave them a sly grin so that they knew he was only jesting, "that position has fallen to me, at least for the time being."

"And I cannot think of anyone who can fulfill that position more ably than yourself, Gilvagor," Arafinwë said warmly. "You have proven yourself a wise and prudent ellon in all things." Gilvagor blushed and gave Arafinwë a bow of thanks while his fellow warriors looked on in approval.

"Why don’t you select a gemstone and see where you will be seated?" Ingwë then said and Gilvagor reached in and selected the diamond. Looking down upon the dais he saw where the diamond chair was situated and sighed ruefully. "I was hoping not to have to sit next to Lady Galadhwen. She doesn’t like me very much."

"It will only be for this session and only for an hour or so," Olwë said with an unsympathetic grin. "I’m sure a warrior of your caliber has endured much worse."

"And if you give me a day or three to think about it, I might even be able to tell you," Gilvagor quipped and they all laughed. Gilvagor and the warriors bowed to the kings and made their way down to the dais. The kings watched as Gilvagor bowed to Galadhwen before sliding into his seat. The elleth gave him a disdainful sniff and turned to speak to Barancheneb who was the head of the Guild of Bards. They saw Gilvagor sigh and turn to speak to the elleth on his left who was the head of the Healers’ guild. They appeared to be well acquainted with one another and spoke in friendly terms.

The three Amanian delegations arrived together. As Ingwë had predicted, Findaráto saw the lottery as a game and laughingly let Sador choose for him. It turned out to be an amethyst. He ended up sitting between the delegates for the Guild of Bards and the Embroiderers’ Guild, much to their shock and discomfort. Findaráto, however, took it all in stride and greeted the two people on either side of him warmly and unselfconsciously, soon putting them at their ease.

The last to arrive were the Valar, though they didn’t so much arrive as simply appear. Manwë took a look at where everyone was seated and nodded, as if to himself. He gave the three kings a winsome smile. "Oh good. I get to sit next to Brethorn and Ingwion," he said with a wink. "I was so dreading the thought of having to sit next to Lady Galadhwen. Is she always so disagreeable? She doesn’t approve of anything, does she?"

Ingwë, Arafinwë and Olwë found themselves grinning. "I’m sure she has her good qualities, my lord," Ingwë said.

"No doubt, no doubt," the Elder King averred. "Perhaps we may even discover one or two of them during the course of the Council. Well, let us be seated and get this over with. I’ve got two star systems ready to collide and we need to get to that sooner rather than later."

"Ah... star systems?" Ingwë asked, looking perplexed, and stealing a glance at Varda standing serenely beside her spouse. "How soon will they be colliding?"

"Hmm? Oh, not for another billion years or so," Manwë said off-handedly as he stepped down towards the dais, "but it still needs to be addressed. Don’t worry about it, my children. You just concern yourselves with the Council, let us handle the rest of Eä. That is, after all, our job."

Even as Manwë was speaking, everyone else in the room rose to their feet. The Elder King stopped and sighed. "We’ll have none of that," he admonished the elves, "else we’ll be at it all day. You are dispensed from giving us your obeisance during Council sessions."

"So does that mean if you start throwing spitballs at the rest of us we can retaliate with impunity, my lord?" Finrod spoke up with a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

"You’d better," Manwë retorted as he took his seat between Ingwion and Brethorn, "or I’ll begin to think you’re all too boring to live."

There were nervous titters among some of the elves, though most just stared in shocked disbelief, but whether at the image of the Elder King throwing spitballs or because Prince Findaráto even dared to ask such a question was beyond anyone’s ability to guess. The three kings took their own seats and the other Valar found seating in the tiers behind Manwë. The Reborn sitting near them gave the Valar shy smiles, while the Vanyar, seated on the other side of them, acknowledged them with simple nods of their heads. When all were seated, Ingwë, sitting with Olwë on his left and Arafinwë on his right, began to speak.

"I wish to welcome all of you to this Council. Today’s session is merely a preliminary one to introduce all the delegates and to explain the agenda. We will then meet again on Valanya, at the third hour after dawn. Between now and then, please feel free to wander through Valmar and Eldamas. So, to begin, let me introduce myself and my associates. I am Ingwë Ingaran and on my left is Olwë Lindaran and on my right is Arafinwë Noldóran. We will monitor the Council sessions and assure that all is being done in accordance with proper procedures. Our word is law for everyone while we are in session."

"And let me assure you," Manwë interjected, "that we Valar will abide by whatever rules are set forth among you. Within these walls, all are equal. However, it must be understood that as we are the Guardians of Arda, indeed of all of Eä, there may be times when one or the other of us must excuse him- or herself from these sessions to oversee any matter that arises which is our concern. If it means that I myself must leave for a time, I will have one of the other Valar take my place at this table."

"What about voting, though?" Ingwion asked. "If a vote is required and you are not here...."

"I realize this concept may be difficult for you to grasp," Manwë answered, "but when any of the Valar speak, he or she speaks for us all. Though I might not be present physically, I will be aware of all that is being said and done and will accept the decisions so made in my absence."

There were murmurs among the spectators as well as among some of the delegates. Then Ingwë spoke. "We will go around and introduce ourselves. Perhaps, we may begin with you, my lady." He looked to his right and addressed the elleth sitting on Arafinwë’s right.

The elleth stood and gave them a bow. "I am Captain Celebaear and I head the Maritime Guild." She sat down and with a nod from Ingwë, the ellon sitting next to the sea captain stood.

"I am Minyon Vardamirion of Avallónë. I head the delegation of Traders. My own profession is bookseller."

One by one the other delegates rose and introduced themselves: Lindarion, Gil-galen of the Guild of Engineers and Masons, Dúlinn of Tavrobel, Elríen of the Guild of Healers, Gilvagor, Galadhwen of Kortirion, Barancheneb of the Guild of Bards, Findaráto, Berethiel of the Guild of Embroiderers, Boromir of the Guild of Woodworkers, Morcocáno of Avallónë (and when he rose to introduce himself there was quite a stir among the Amanians, especially the Teleri), Belegorn of the Guild of Hostelers, Gelloneth of the Guild of Smiths (herself a jewelsmith), Gwîrendur of the Guild of Weavers, Marthchall of Angobel (many of the elves of Tol Eressëa began muttering when the miner introduced himself, though there were no outright signs of hostility), Mereneth of the Guild of Potters, Brethorn of the Reborn, Manwë, Ingwion, and finally Laeglîr of the Nandor.

When all were introduced, Ingwë continued. "The one and only purpose for this Council is to come to a consensus as to the type of government that should be implemented on Tol Eressëa. I am aware that the various delegations come with differing opinions and expectations as to what form that government should take. Some ideas will be more realistic than others, but we wish to provide a forum for all ideas to be put forth, however impractical they may be. It is our hope that when you return to your homes it will be with a firm resolution that you may take to your people."

"Will we then hold a referendum for the entire populace to vote on?" Mereneth the Potter asked.

"That is something you need to decide eventually," Ingwë replied, "but for the nonce, let us concern ourselves with the main task at hand. Over the next few sessions we will allow each delegate to offer his or her views on the subject. We encourage you to talk among yourselves in between sessions. Some of you may appear closer in your thoughts than you may believe. Once everyone has had a chance to voice their opinions, then the real task of the Council begins: deciding among the variously put forth suggestions which will prove the most viable and then from there decide which will be acceptable to the majority of the people if not to all of them."

He looked around the table. "Is this acceptable to you, my lords and ladies?" There were murmurs of assent. "Then let us adjourn," he continued, "and meet again in two days’ time." He rose, giving them all a brief bow, and everyone else followed suit.

"Well, now that that is over with," Manwë said with an exaggerated sigh as the delegates and the spectators began to stir, "we need to be elsewhere." He turned to the other Valar. "Námo, any sign of chaotic disruptions of the higher dimensions?"

Námo shook his head. "No. All is calm in that sector," he answered, "but I’m having my people keep a close eye nevertheless. I don’t want a repeat of that supernova that went off recently."

"It’s not your fault, Námo," Irmo assured him. "No one knew that the dimensional walls had become suddenly unstable in that part of Eä. You and I checked that area just two millennia ago and it was perfectly fine."

"I am as much to blame as you, Námo," Varda said with a sigh. "It was my star, after all, and I should have noticed the fluctuations in the output of radiation earlier."

"Well, we will take care it does not happen again," Manwë said, giving his spouse a gentle smile. Then his tone turned brisk as he addressed the other Valar. "Aulë, Ulmo, you know what to do at your end. Oromë will coordinate with Námo at the other end. Everyone else, with me."

With that, all the Valar disappeared in a flash of multi-colored lights that forced the elves to look away. When they could see again, it was to find Eönwë and Ilmarë standing by the door. The Herald of Manwë gave them a sympathetic smile.

"Our Master and Mistress have left us to see to your comfort, my lords and ladies. If you will follow us we will escort you to where you may take refreshments."

Ingwë nodded and together with Olwë, Arafinwë and their respective heirs, they followed the two Maiar with the other elves trailing behind.

"Why do you think the Valar spoke as they did at the end?" Ingwion asked his atar. "I don’t recall them ever speaking so... so blatantly about their own tasks as Guardians of Eä."

Ingwë smiled at his son. "I admit that I was rather startled at first, but now I can see Lord Manwë’s subtle wisdom in this."

"Only this: in speaking of a matter that has nothing to do with Arda or this Council, which for us is of utmost importance, Lord Manwë is reminding us all, especially, I think, the Tol Eressëans, that the Valar are indeed the Guardians of all of Eä and not just of Arda alone. It may be true that the central drama of Eä as sung in the Ainulindalë is being played out upon our world, but that does not preclude the possibility of other dramas unfolding elsewhere that are as of vital interest to the Valar, and perhaps even to Eru Ilúvatar, as what is happening right here and now. It was, I deem, a subtle reminder of just who the Valar are in truth, something that even those of us well acquainted with the Powers tend to forget in the arrogance of our familiarity with them."

There were many thoughtful expressions on the faces of the elves as they made their way down the hallway to the reception room where refreshments awaited them.

Quiquillar: (Quenya) Plural of quiquilla: Lily-of-the-valley (Convallaria majalis); symbolizes rebirth. This word is originally Qenya and was spelled qiqilla [‘Qenya Lexicon (1915)’, Parma Eldalamberon 12]. I have updated its spelling to reflect later orthographic conventions in Quenya.

The butterfly represents the soul, either of the living, dead or dying, as well as being a symbol of resurrection.

There was little in the way of activity the next day, though various delegates were seen wandering along the Landamallë, admiring the mansions and gardens of the Valar, or exploring Eldamas. The Amanians kept to the townhouse, though Aldundil and his parents took the elflings out to see the sights, partly to keep the youngsters occupied and partly to avoid Selmacas, who was part of the Noldorin entourage.

"I do not know why you had to include him, Atto," Finrod complained to Arafinwë when the two happened to be alone, wandering through the gardens after breaking their fast. "You knew I would be bringing Herendil and Aldundil with me."

"I know, yonya," Arafinwë replied, "but I could hardly refuse. He is high in our councils. Whatever his faults, and they are many, he is still one of my canniest advisors. You know this."

"Yes, I do," Finrod answered with a grimace. "Doesn’t mean I have to like it, or him."

"Let’s hope he doesn’t cause any trouble," Finrod retorted. "There’s going to be trouble enough with the Tol Eressëans without him going at Herendil and Aldundil."

"I told him when we left Tirion that if he could not at least pretend to be civil, I would send him into exile and not to my summer residence as I did Pelendur." He gave his son a significant look and Finrod couldn’t help grinning at the implications.

Later, when the royal families were together to discuss matters, Finrod filled everyone in on what had happened recently in Lórien. The attack on Vorondil and Finrod’s role in that held them spellbound and there was much discussion about his ability to ‘soul-hunt’, as Melian had called it, though no conclusions were forthcoming. The news that Aldundil’s brother had been re-embodied and what happened there surprised them as well.

"Vondo wanted to come with us, of course," Finrod said with a chuckle, "but Lord Irmo wouldn’t have it no matter how much he sulked. Laurendil and Manwen are looking after him."

"It is very rare that apprentices are allowed to leave Lórien during their first three years there," Finrod explained. "The events of the last year however have been extraordinary and Lord Irmo appreciates that, but now he feels it is time that they both take their apprenticeships more seriously." There were nods all around from the listeners. "Plus the fact that Manwen is with child and much of her fëa is being used to support the babe within her necessitates her not doing much traveling. Laurendil rarely leaves her side these days."

"And that is as it should be," Ingwë said with a smile. "So does Lord Irmo count this past year as part of those first three years you mentioned or only since the two returned to Lórien from the Progress?"

"What about Vorondil?" Arafinwë asked. "Is he not also an apprentice and should he not also remain in Lórien?"

"His position is slightly different," Finrod answered. "While he is indeed an apprentice, he is also my thrall, little though I or anyone else likes it. His apprenticeship will therefore last for as long as he remains my thrall and then, if he still wishes to continue being a Lóriennildo, he’ll be promoted to journeyman. He’s actually too young to be an apprentice, you understand. Lord Irmo prefers not to accept anyone as a potential Lóriennildo until they are much older. I could have left him in Lórien. I know he and his uncle are becoming quite close, but it was decided that he might do better being with me and with his atar. The trauma of his attack, which he still does not remember, is deep-seated. He suffers from nightmares and it’s best that he has his atar with him at this time."

"And you," Olwë said, giving his grandson a shrewd look. "You are a surrogate parent for him as well and I think he trusts you, more than he trusts others."

"The other elflings are a great help as well," Finrod said, nodding in acknowledgment of Olwë’s words.

Everyone smiled. "They are quite delightful," Ingwë said. "The last time I saw them they were quaking in their shoes at the sight of you. Now, they practically climb all over you, eager to tell you of their day."

Finrod laughed. "They’re a handful, that’s for sure. I don’t think their parents will recognize them when it’s time to send them back home."

"I imagine that will be a sorrowful day for you all," Eärwen said with a sympathetic smile for her son.

"And that day is not too far away, either," Finrod replied with a sigh. "I’ll miss them, of course, but they really do need to be with their families. It would be too cruel and selfish not to return them to their parents as promised."

"I’m sure it will work out for the best," Arafinwë said with a gentle smile. "But let us speak of this Council. Is there any point in the Amanian delegations voicing their opinions as to the type of government there should be on Tol Eressëa?"

"I don’t see why we should," Lindarion replied. "It is, after all, not our government. It’s my understanding that we are there more to protect our own interests."

"That’s true, Uncle," Finrod said to him, "but at the same time, we’re responsible for this Council even happening so it seems to me we should also let our own views be heard. I agree that this early in the sessions it makes no sense for any of us to speak. Rather, we should be listening as objectively as possible, we and the Valar. I suspect, given the personalities involved, there will be heated discussions and recriminations and downright insults among certain parties. It will be our task then to counsel calm and right reason. That’s when it will be appropriate for us to step in and offer our own views."

"I think you are correct," Ingwion said. "I would prefer listening to what the Tol Eressëans have to say and speak only when my opinion is asked for."

"Then when the Council meets again, I will announce that you three will not speak at that time. I should also speak with Lord Manwë about it and let him know your decision. I wonder if any of them are back from... wherever it is they went."

"I suppose the Maiar would know," Olwë answered with a shrug. "If the Valar are not here we can at least leave a message."

"We’ll find out soon enough," Olwë answered with a short laugh and the others nodded. "In the meantime, let’s see if we can hunt down a Maia and find out if Lord Manwë is receiving visitors."

"Why don’t we just do what Glorfindel did and shout out the window?" Sador asked with a sly grin and everyone laughed when Finrod and Beleg suddenly raced each other to one of the windows and started shouting. It surprised no one when a Maia wearing the emblem of Lady Nessa appeared, looking highly amused.

The Reborn delegation was again the first to arrive at the council chamber, which had been removed to Lord Aulë and Lady Yavanna’s mansion, much to the amazement of the Tol Eressëans. Brethorn gave Ingwë a shy smile as he and his fellow Reborn came to the door where the three kings waited to greet everyone.

"You are not early," Ingwë assured him with a smile. "I admire your enthusiasm."

"Well, it’s the only way to ensure I get the best seat," Brethorn said with a laugh.

"Yet the seating changes with every session," Arafinwë pointed out. "How then can any seat be considered the best?"

"Because it’s the one that random chance permits me to choose," Brethorn replied even as he reached inside the copper bowl and pulled out the emerald. Almost at once the other Reborn were racing to find where it was located, for the chairs themselves had been placed randomly and not as they had been in the previous session.

"Oh look, Brethorn!" one of them called out. "You’re seated directly across from the High King. You’re so lucky!"

Ingwë raised an eyebrow at that announcement but Brethorn merely gave him a knowing smile. "Yes, indeed I am," he said, giving the three kings a bow before joining the others.

Ingwë shook his head in amazement. "Maybe some of that enthusiasm will rub off on the rest of the delegates," he said and the other two kings smiled.

There were fewer complaints about the seating arrangements, but many sighs as certain delegates learned where they were sitting. Again, the Amanians came as a group and this time Lindarion let Beleg choose for him, much to the ellon’s delight. Only when everyone else was seated did the Valar appear. Manwë peered into the council chamber and sighed. "I knew my luck wouldn’t hold out," he muttered as he saw that he would be seated between Galadhwen and Morcocáno.

"Shall we?" Ingwë asked, gesturing towards the council table and with a nod from Manwë they all went inside, the doors closing silently of themselves. "So, any trouble with the stars?" Ingwë asked nonchalantly as they were stepping down towards the dais and was rewarded with several raised eyebrows among the Valar.

Once everyone was seated, Ingwë welcomed all the delegates. "Today we will hear from each of you as to your thoughts about what needs to be addressed. Since this problem is the concern of the Tol Eressëans, the Amanian delegates, as well as Lord Manwë, have decided to abstain from speaking at this time. To make it fair, I ask that all of you who will speak place your gemstone in the bowl that is being passed around. I will then draw from it and by this means we will have the order of speakers. I ask that you limit yourselves to no more than fifteen minutes before letting the next person speak. We will hear from nine delegates this morning and then break for lunch and the other nine will speak in the afternoon. Arafinwë has agreed to keep track of the time and Olwë will record the pertinent ideas that are presented, though we have scribes who will record every word faithfully for our records in the event you wish to review what has been said later. Any questions? No? Then let us begin."

He reached into the copper bowl which he had set at the far edge of the table before him so he could not see inside and withdrew the first gemstone: citrine.

"Oh! That’s me!" Berethiel of the Embroiderers’ Guild said with an embarrassed glance at the rest of the delegates.

Berethiel smiled shyly, keeping her eyes on the table before her as she spoke. "I was born in Beleriand, in Nargothrond, actually, and survived its destruction." She stopped and raised her eyes to look across where Finrod sat between Gilvagor and Lindarion. His own expression was unreadable. "I saw you once, your Majesty," she continued. "I was in the market square on Third Rise with my... with my husband and you were making your way through to somewhere, stopping once or twice to look over some wares. You looked so... magnificent!" She stopped, blushing furiously as she realized what she was saying while those around her chuckled at her discomfort. Finrod’s own expression never changed though his eyes brightened with hidden amusement. The elleth continued, after taking a moment to collect herself. "Yes, well... what I meant was that you were such a great king and while I’ve heard the reasons why you yourself won’t take the crown, I wish that someone like you would."

"Yet, there is no one like me to do so," Finrod said softly. "They have yet to leave Mandos."

"I know," Berethiel said with a nod. "I remember when I came to Tol Eressëa how surprised I was that there was no king ruling over us. It never occurred to me that there wouldn’t be. There’s always been a king or at least a regent and the seeming anarchy of every city or farming hamlet having its own government with no central power there to keep abuses down appalled me. I had a small role in saving Lord Sador when he was kidnapped and that incident alone showed how far we’ve traveled from right rule."

Sador, sitting in the front row of seats directly behind Finrod paled and absently fingered his single warrior’s braid while Aldundil, sitting beside him busily sketching, stopped what he was doing and placed a comforting hand on the ellon’s arm, giving it a squeeze. Others made whispered comments and gave Sador sympathetic glances which he didn’t see, for his eyes were on the back of Finrod’s chair.

"So, you would like to see a king in place," Ingwë said to Berethiel, who nodded. "Is this the consensus of the rest of your guild?"

Berethiel glanced back at the ellyn and ellith who had accompanied her before addressing the High King. "No, my lord. There is some disagreement about that, but all of us want to see greater trade with the mainland. We of the Embroiderers’ Guild and those that are associated with us would like to see a greater exchange of ideas and talents among us. I saw threads and colors and designs among the Amanians during the reception in Tirion and at the Ball that I’d never seen before. Indeed, I’d never imagined them. It made me realize just what poor cousins we of Tol Eressëa truly are in comparison."

"Well, with that, I beg to differ," Finrod said with a smile. "The Sindar have beautiful embroideries. I was quite taken with the white-on-white embroideries that were the fashion in Doriath, something that I had never seen here in Aman. In fact, I don’t think it would have occurred to any Amanian to do something like that. We lived in the Light of the Trees, surrounded by color, but the Sindar had only the stars to illuminate them and so their embroideries and fabrics were more subtle and textured than we of Aman were used to." He gave a slight chuckle. "I remember what a row I had with my tailor who adamantly refused to create a tunic in the Doriathrin style or to have it embroidered with their designs, claiming that it was unworthy of my position as the Noldorin king of Nargothrond." He stressed the word ‘Noldorin’, his voice pitching slightly so everyone realized he was imitating the hapless tailor, then he shook his head and gave a snort. "I finally had to go to Doriath and have Elu Thingol’s chief tailor create my tunics for me. Elencar was so furious when he found out what I’d done, he resigned his post, left Nargothrond altogether and ended up going to my cousin Findecáno in Dor-Lómin, who was more inclined to stick to Noldorin sensibilities in fashion."

"And all of this, as interesting as it is, is beside the point," Ingwë said, taking the sting out of his reprimand by smiling at his great nephew.

"I disagree," Finrod said in all seriousness. "Berethiel has made a valid point. Some of the problems facing the Tol Eressëans might have been avoided or at least mitigated had there been more open trade between us. Certainly the level of resentment that we felt among the islanders when we were there in the summer would not have been so palpable. If there had been a king ruling them from the beginning, someone who could have dealt directly with us, we might not have needed this Council."

"Your point is well taken, Findaráto, but I think we should move on and hear what others have to say," Manwë interjected mildly. He smiled benevolently at Berethiel. "You stated your case quite well, my dear, and do not think that your embroidery comes a poor second to those of the Amaneldi. I have no doubt that Lady Vairë is just itching to speak with you and your fellow crafters once this session concludes."

He cast an amused look at Vairë who was nodding vigorously while the other Valar smiled knowingly. Many of the delegates stirred, speaking in soft whispers. Berethiel murmured something unintelligible and kept her eyes before her as Ingwë spoke. "Did you wish to add anything, Mistress Berethiel?"

The elleth looked up and nodded slightly. "Only that I would like to see, if not a king, then some kind of strong leader, whatever he might call himself, someone we can look to for guidance."

She shook her head. "It’s one reason why I sailed," she whispered, her eyes drifting towards where Lord Námo sat in darkling splendor. "I wanted to be here when...." She shuddered and looked away, obviously fighting back tears, and among the Tol Eressëans there were many sympathetic expressions. Dúlinn, sitting next to her, put an arm around her shoulders and spoke softly to her as she struggled for control. There was an uncomfortable silence that hung heavily in the air but no one felt any desire to break it.

"He will be released in due time, Berethiel," Námo said softly and with such compassion that many of the Tol Eressëans reeled as if from a blow and they turned pale, unable to accept that the dread Lord of Mandos could exhibit such sympathy towards any. Berethiel looked up and nodded, uttering a faintly heard ‘thank you’.

Ingwë decided it was time to take back control of the Council. "I think we should move forward, for there are others from whom we wish to hear," he said and there were murmurs of consent all around. "Thank you, Mistress Berethiel, for your comments. And now we will hear from...." He pulled out the ruby and everyone glanced about to see who would be the next speaker. It turned out to be Gilvagor.

The warrior grimaced. "I was hoping to be last," he said in a small voice and several people chuckled, the tension lifting from the atmosphere.

"Stop whining, Gilvagor," Sador said with a wicked grin. "You’re beginning to sound like Glorfindel."

Now there was outright laughter among the Amanians. Gilvagor shot the younger ellon a baleful glance that was marred by the twinkling humor in his eyes. Then he turned his attention back to the Council and when everyone was calmer he began speaking.

"I sailed with Lord Laurendil and I remember how disturbed he was by the lack of a central government. I remember him telling me that while he understood that none of the kings of Beleriand were yet Reborn, still, he could not believe that the people had not chosen someone to lead them. It took us a while to understand that no one could agree on who should have that role. That’s why we formed the embassy to Tirion. We had heard that Findaráto was Reborn and had thought that perhaps he would take the crown. Now, of course, we know that he will not, but we still have the problem of leadership before us."

"Laurendil seems like a strong leader to me from what I know of him," Lindarion interjected. "I’m surprised he didn’t attempt to take on such a role for himself."

"You don’t know Laurendil well enough then," Finrod answered before Gilvagor could respond. "He knows his own limitations and strengths. He can command armies, indeed, he has done so, but he has no desire to rule others. Besides, he is training to be a healer now, so he’s out of the running, as it were."

Gilvagor nodded. "What really surprised us was that in all these years no one ever took the initiative. Laurendil and I... well, we just couldn’t sit around and do nothing when it was so obvious to us that something had to be done. Of course, we were unaware of just how things really stood between Tol Eressëa and Aman, but at least we were trying to do something!"

"And for that, I thank you," Arafinwë said with a courteous nod. "If it hadn’t been for you and Laurendil coming to me with your concerns we would never have known what was happening on the island or the part that some of our own people had played in causing the unrest."

"Yes, well, at any rate, the Warrior Society as a whole agrees that we need a strong leader who will direct us and keep us all on the straight and narrow," Gilvagor continued. "I know that among the cities there is a reluctance to give up what powers they have accrued for themselves, but we warriors think that the island will be better served if we had someone like Gil-galad ruling us."

The Noldóran nodded. "Quite young, as we measure such things, but very able and well-beloved by all. Ciryatano taught him well and he has had the benefit of also being tutored by my daughter and her husband. He is an excellent warrior and a canny leader."

"And we need someone like that here," Gilvagor said, "or at least so we warriors believe."

"Do you think that whoever takes the crown, if that is the case, must also be a warrior?" Dúlinn asked.

"It would make sense," Gilvagor acknowledged. "All our kings have also been puissant warriors."

"In Beleriand, they had to be," Barancheneb pointed out. "What reason would we need a warrior-king here in Valinor?"

"Have you forgotten the Dagor Dagorath, Barancheneb?" Gilvagor retorted. "You, who are an historian?"

The head of the Guild of Bards blushed slightly from the reprimand and did not offer any further comment.

"Then you believe that one of the warriors should become your leader," Ingwë stated. "You, perhaps?"

Gilvagor gave him a surprised look. "Me? No. Of course not. I know my limitations all too well and while I can deal with the administrative aspects of the Warriors’ Society, I have no desire to be dragged down by the daily grind of running a kingdom, thank you very much. Gil-galad was usually snarling at everyone by the time the evening meal was being served. Very bad for the digestion," he added blandly and there were amused looks among the delegates and the three kings exchanged grins.

Gilvagor shook his head. "No, lord, for it is too early to put forth candidates and I would withhold my judgment until all have been heard."

"Thank you, Lord Gilvagor," Ingwë said. "Let us move on." He reached into the bowl and withdrew the fire opal. This time it was Boromir, heading the delegation of Woodworkers, who would speak....

By the time lunch was ready to be served, besides Boromir, they had heard from Gelloneth of the Smiths’ Guild, Elrían of the Healers’ Guild, Councillor Dúlinn, Barancheneb, Minyon, who represented the Traders and Merchants, and finally, Laeglîr, Speaker for the Nandor. Most echoed the sentiments of Berethiel and Gilvagor, none could state categorically what kind of leader they wanted. Laeglîr, naturally, told them that the Nandor were not as interested in that aspect as the other Tol Eressëans were, but rather, they recognized that they needed to be more open to the other islanders.

"We will abide by whatever decision is made," she ended her speech, "as long as it does not unduly infringe upon our own way of life. We have our own leaders, our Speakers, and we are beginning to come together in council to discuss what needs to be discussed, just as we are doing here. Whoever is chosen to lead the rest of the island must recognize our autonomy and respect our ways."

"That will have to be a consideration, of course," Ingwë said, "but certainly not something that needs to be decided immediately. I see that the noon hour approaches. Let us adjourn for now and reconvene two hours hence and we will hear from the rest."

"Do you think it necessary?" Boromir asked. "We’ve spent the morning hearing the same thing said nine different ways. I do not fancy having to hear it nine more times." His expression was more sardonic than disgusted and there were sympathetic nods all around, though some of those who had yet to speak looked less than pleased.

"That may be true, Master Boromir," Ingwë said smoothly, "but in fairness to those who have yet to voice their thoughts, we should, of our courtesy, give them the same respectful attention as we have given to you and the others who have already spoken."

"Besides," Manwë said with an indulgent smile, "we Valar are most interested in hearing what all you Children have to say. You may think you are all saying the same thing in slightly different ways, but I assure you, you are not. You all have a piece of the puzzle, as it were, but not the whole. Remember what I said the other night: Do not dismiss the light of others. It may be that the light you disdain is the one most needed at this critical moment."

There were thoughtful expressions on the faces of many as Ingwë thanked the Elder King for his words and then dismissed the Council. As the delegates began making their way from the chamber, directed by some of Lord Aulë and Lady Yavanna’s Maiar towards where refreshments were being served, Lord Manwë stopped to chat with the three kings.

"A most interesting morning," the Lord of the Breath of Arda said with a smile, "most interesting indeed."

"If you say so, my lord," Ingwë said, returning Manwë’s smile with one of his own. "Frankly, I was getting bored by the sixth speech."

"Then you held out better than I," Arafinwë said with a laugh. "I gave up listening after Boromir finished speaking."

Manwë shook his head. "You Children have such short attention spans," he said, sounding very much like an atar remonstrating with elflings.

"Oh?" Ulmo enquired with a lift of an eyebrow. "How long did you last before your mind began wandering?"

Manwë gave the Lord of Waters a sniff. "Longer than you," he answered. "I heard you snoring by the time the healer was speaking."

"Huh!" was Ulmo’s only reply as he strode past Manwë, shedding his fana in a flurry of multi-colored lights before fading from view.

"Now look what you’ve done, Manwë," Námo said with a malicious grin. "You’ve gone and upset Ulmo. I bet he doesn’t show up for the afternoon’s session."

"Ah... well, why don’t we discuss that while the Children are enjoying their lunch," Námo countered and before any of the elves could respond, all the Valar shed their fanar and disappeared in flashes of light that were like miniature novas, causing the elves to shield their eyes.

When their vision cleared, Arafinwë gave Ingwë a sardonic look. "So, who thinks Lord Ulmo will return this afternoon?"

Ingwë laughed, as did Olwë and the other elves, mostly the Amanians, who had lingered to listen to the conversation. As they filed out of the room there were many bets being laid on whether the Lord of Waters would make an appearance or not.

When the delegates reconvened in the afternoon, many were disappointed to see Lord Ulmo sitting among the Valar. Lord Námo’s expression could only be called smug while Lady Vairë and Lady Yavanna glared at the Lord of Waters as he sat between them dripping seawater. Lord Ulmo ignored them both. Lord Manwë simply shook his head and smiled knowingly as he took his seat at the table.

Ingwë did not bother with an opening speech. Instead, he briefly welcomed everyone back and reached into the bowl to pull out another gem, this time the moonstone. Gwîrendur then spoke.

"Like Mistress Berethiel, I, too, survived the destruction of Nargothrond. I am a weaver and the son of a weaver. I knew nothing of fighting, but the day I saw my home and my family destroyed, I learned very quickly. The last years of that age were spent hunting down orcs. I and some others who managed to escape the destruction of Nargothrond and Doriath did not bother to go to the Havens at Sirion with the other refugees but haunted the woods of the High Faroth which overlook the Narog, attacking where we might. We had the grim satisfaction of knowing that those at the Havens would have none of Morgoth’s orcs descending upon them." He paused and gave a grimace as everyone sat spellbound by his words.

"We never thought that our people would be more in danger from our own then from any of Morgoth’s get. When we heard the news, some of us wanted to fall upon the Fëanorians in retaliation for what had been done to the refugees, but I and some others, including Captain Glorendil — I think he is better known here as Lord Laurendil — counseled against it, saying we needed to focus on the true enemy, Morgoth, and so we remained in High Faroth and did what we did best: killed orcs. Later, when the Host of the West came and the call went forth, we joined with King Gil-galad’s army. Afterwards, I was too soul-weary to remain in Endórë, so I put up my sword, undid my braids, and took ship to Tol Eressëa where I became a weaver once again."

"I didn’t know that about Laurendil," Finrod said, his expression disturbed. "He’s rarely spoken of what happened to him after I died."

Gwîrendur gave the prince a wry smile. "Little wonder considering those dark days. It’s how he and Lady Manwen met. We rescued her and some others who’d been hiding out in the Forest of Brethil when they escaped out of Mithrim after the Nirnaeth. They’d managed to elude the orc patrols for some time and knew a measure of peace because of Túrin and those with him." Beleg, hearing his friend’s name, stirred slightly but did not seek to interrupt the weaver’s narrative. "But when Doriath fell, they knew they could not stay there so they tried to reach the Havens in the south. They were in the vicinity of High Faroth when they ran into an orc patrol that we’d been hunting for days." He gave a wry chuckle. "Glorendil slew the orc that had captured Lady Manwen and, while I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was love at first sight, certainly from that moment on the two were inseparable. Gil-galad himself witnessed their wedding vows when we met up with him and his army some years later. Apparently the lady knew Ereinion from when he was fostered at Fingon’s court before he was sent to Círdan and they were good friends."

"She never mentioned that," Finrod said, looking slightly upset. "I really must sit them both down and get them to tell me their stories." He then shook his head. "Well, that’s for another time. What thoughts do you have about this present situation?"

"I was in the first wave of refugees from drowned Beleriand to come here," the Master Weaver said. "To tell you the truth, I was too busy carving out a new life for myself to bother with kings and such. I think those of us who were among the first to come to Tol Eressëa can agree." There were nods from a few of the delegates and those sitting in the tiers. "Anyway, by the time things were settling down, it just seemed natural that the separate communities had their own ruling councils. It seemed to work... for a time. Now, however, I think we need to seriously consider disbanding the separate councils and perhaps create a ruling council for the entire island, its members elected for a term before being replaced by new blood, as it were."

Gwîrendur shook his head. "I think a ruling council would be sufficient with one of its members chosen to act as its head. Policy decisions would be by majority vote with the head of the council acting as a tie-breaker if necessary. I’m not saying it’s a perfect solution, but it does eliminate all this useless talk of kings. There will never be any consensus on that. As far as I’m concerned, the only king I will follow is Finrod Felagund." He stared pointedly at Finrod who tried not to squirm.

Ingwë had a thoughtful look on his face as he thanked the weaver for his words and then reached into the bowl, pulling out the amethyst. Mistress Mereneth of the Potters’ Guild spoke up, pretty much voicing the same concerns as everyone else but having no real opinion as to what form the government should take. Like the embroiderers, the potters were more interested in having greater trade with the mainlanders.

After her came Captain Celebaear of the Maritime Guild and then Gil-galan speaking for the Engineers and Masons. Belegorn, heading the Hostelers’ Guild, spoke passionately of the need for more trade, stating that only with a central government under a firm ruler could the islanders hope to prosper. "Town councils are fine up to a point," he said at the end of his speech, "but there are often too many differing personalities and agendas to get anything done and each town council is out only for themselves. We need someone who will be looking out for all of us impartially so none lord it over the others the way some of the guildmasters did until recently."

There was a stir among many of those from the guilds, with expressions ranging from embarrassment to affront. When Belegorn finished, Ingwë pulled out the garnet, giving the floor to Galadhwen, who looked upon them all rather sourly.

"So far I’ve seen a lot of hand-wringing but I’ve heard very little in the way of constructive solutions," she said with a disdainful sniff. "Personally, I do not see what the problem is, though others in Kortirion differ in opinion." She took a moment to glance over her shoulder to glare at Borhael and Meril sitting behind her. Borhael’s face was set, but Meril merely smiled in an amused and haughty manner. Manwë, sitting next to Galadhwen was sure he could hear the elleth grinding her teeth in frustration. She turned back to the council, her expression still sour. "I agree with Master Gwîrendur. Let us have a ruling council for all the island and it only makes sense that it should reside in Kortirion."

"With you at its head," Meril said, smiling sweetly, though no one was fooled by this.

Galadhwen turned around again, practically hissing at the Lady of Cormë Alalvëa. "Someone has to lead and it might as well be me."

"We’re getting ahead of ourselves," Ingwë said sternly. "Ladies, your personal feud has no place here. Let it be."

Galadhwen muttered something unintelligible but did not contradict the High King. Meril stood and gave them a curtsey. "I apologize, your Majesty. It will not happen again."

Ingwë nodded and enquired if Galadhwen had any more to say. When she indicated that she did not, he reached into the bowl and brought out the sunstone. It was now Marthchall’s turn to speak. The miner looked uncomfortable, but Brethorn, sitting next to him, gave him an encouraging smile.

"We of Angobel want only to be left in peace. We wish simply to be allowed to live our lives without fear of retaliation because of what we suffered. We want fair trading, instead of having to pay triple for what others pay even for the most basic commodities. Some of the farming communities have joined with us for this Council because they, too, are not happy with the way their communities have been treated by the cities."

"Tavrobel has always treated the farmers and you with fairness," Dúlinn interjected with a frown.

Marthchall smiled grimly. "And for that we thank you, Councillor, but the fact remains that most of the island hates and distrusts us. We’re aware of the tales that are told of us: how we snuck aboard the ships that brought us here, waiting for the day when we would turn on all of you at our supposed master’s bidding, as faithless as the Easterlings who fell upon our army at the Nirnaeth. Do any of you even know what we suffered as slaves? Most of you turned us away at your gates when we escaped from our servitude, believing that we were but Morgoth’s spies. Most of you still believe that. Yet, what of our children? Are they too considered traitors?"

"What solution do you see here, Marthchall?" Manwë asked quietly. "The Valar know you and your people are innocent. You suffered grievously. Some still do in ways that the rest of you cannot comprehend."

"We would see someone who is impartial to us all, seeing us all equal in his eyes, leading us. It does not have to be a king. Let him choose his own title, so long as his word is law and all are enjoined to obey. We of Angobel would welcome greater trade with Aman, for we sensed that you mainlanders do not have the same prejudices against us as many on the island do."

"I have considered offering you the chance to relocate your people to the mainland with the approval of Lord Manwë," Arafinwë said. "The mountains east and south of Tirion are rich in ore and my own miners would welcome your expertise. This is something I wished to discuss with you after the Council."

"And I and my people would be happy to sit down and discuss it with you, your Majesty," Marthchall said with a grateful look. "While many of us I think would prefer to stay in Angobel, for it is our home and we are proud of what we have achieved there, I know some few who would welcome the chance to come to Aman."

"Then we will discuss this more fully later," Arafinwë said with a pleased look, "but in the meantime, what else would you say to this Council?"

"Only this: the day has come when we must begin to put our histories and our prejudices behind us. We need to put aside our personal agendas and work for the greater good of all. Our children should not have to inherit the hatreds and suspicions of their elders. We all came here to begin anew, to put behind us the horror of what we endured through the long years of war, betrayals and death. It’s time to move on and we of Angobel and those farming communities who joined with us for this Council feel that only someone from outside should lead us. We need someone who has no ties to any of us and cannot be swayed by one group or another but will deal fairly with us all."

"I have no one in mind specifically," Marthchall replied. "I just think that it should be someone whom no one group can claim as their own, someone who is neutral. I do not know if such a person exists, but it is what I and many of us from Angobel wish for. Only someone who cannot be bought by anyone for any price will be able to deal with all the conflicting interests and agendas that plague Tol Eressëa." He sat back in his chair and gave Ingwë a nod.

"An interesting perspective," Ingwë commented, "and I thank you for your input. Well, we have only two speakers left." He smiled at Morcocáno and Brethorn. "Let us see who the lucky person is who gets to speak last." There were some appreciative chuckles throughout the chamber as Ingwë reached into the bowl and brought out the peridot.

Brethorn suddenly laughed, much to everyone’s surprise. "First to arrive, last to speak," he said with a sardonic look. "That’ll teach me."

"But at least you got the best seat, Brethorn," Glóremmir called out from where he was sitting in the tiers, "so don’t complain."

Now there was laughter throughout and it was a few minutes before things calmed down enough for Morcocáno to speak. He never got the chance though, for at that moment, one of the Teleri sitting behind Prince Lindarion stood up.

"Why do you allow this kinslayer to speak, my king?" she demanded, looking at Olwë coldly.

"As was I," Olwë countered just as sharply, becoming angry at the importunity of the elleth’s interruption. "And I was on Tol Eressëa when this one attacked our party. I do not like the ellon and I wish those of Avallónë had chosen someone else to speak for them, but if I am willing to put aside my personal feelings in this matter, the rest of you can do the same and give Lord Morcocáno a courteous hearing."

"How did you convince the town council to let you lead the Avallónean delegation, Morcocáno?" Finrod asked. His tone was more quizzical than accusing.

Morcocáno smiled, though there was no humor in it and his eyes remained cold. "I have my supporters," he replied. Then he looked up at the Telerin elleth who had spoken out. "Do you recognize me as a kinslayer or are you merely assuming this because I am a Noldo and I abide on Tol Eressëa?"

"All of you Noldor are kinslayers, or no better than," the elleth said sneeringly.

"I was not!" Finrod exclaimed, standing suddenly, looking coldly furious, shocking most of the rest of them with his vehemence. "Nor are any who followed my banner." Both Gilvagor and Lindarion grabbed his arms.

"Peace, Findaráto," Olwë said in a conciliatory tone. "I know you are not, nor is your atar or most of those who followed Ñolofinwë, but I know Findecáno cannot claim that, for himself or for his people, and I know that Lord Morcocáno was of his following."

"It is true," Morcocáno said calmly, "and I cannot claim innocence. Findecáno acted hastily and without ascertaining the truth of what was happening, but as soon as he did, he called us back from the fray, though I fear by then it was too late, for Fëanáro had by then seized the ships."

"My cousin ever regretted his impetuousness on that day," Finrod said as he slowly resumed his seat, his anger spent. "He cursed Fëanáro when he learned the truth of the matter. I think he would have stayed to help with the wounded but Uncle Ñolofinwë convinced him that his help would not be welcomed by the Teleri, and in truth, he would not desert his people, so he continued on."

"What I want to know is why did you wait until now to voice your complaint, Mistress?" Beleg demanded. "I thought you chose the delegates for their fair-mindedness, Lindarion."

"I chose as I saw fit, Cousin," Lindarion answered sharply, stung by Beleg’s words. "Mistress Uinendilmë is one of our magistrates. Her duties require her to be fair-minded and impartial."

"But only where it concerns the Teleri, I deem," Beleg rejoined mildly and smiled in such a way that Olwë was suddenly reminded of his brother Elmo and suppressed a shiver. "Apparently she has fewer qualms where others are concerned," the former Marchwarden of Doriath continued, "and judging from the expressions on some of the faces of our other delegates, they feel the same."

"I do not apologize for who I am," Morcocáno spoke out, "and I regret what happened but it was war and...."

"It was war!" Morcocáno shouted back, banging a fist on the table, rising in his anger. "It was also madness and most of us were not thinking clearly. And don’t think we Noldor didn’t pay for our crimes, because I assure you that we did. We paid for them with every treachery, every defeat, every death. I am haunted by nightmares and plagued by guilt, but I refuse to let any of it conquer me. Revile me all you wish, Mistress, but do not expect me to grovel at your feet begging for forgiveness. Beleriand will rise again from the depths before that happens."

With that, he gave the kings a short bow and, gesturing for the other Avallóneans to follow him, he marched up the aisle, flung open the doors and left. All but three joined him. Thorongorn, his wife, Eirien, and another ellon remained seated, their expressions grim.

For a moment there was a stunned silence and then everyone started speaking at once. Olwë frowned slightly as he noticed Uinendilmë resuming her seat, her expression smug. He was very disappointed in her, for he had always thought her to be a fair and impartial judge. He was tempted to tell Lindarion to dismiss her from the Council but realized that he would be out of line. Lindarion would have to deal with the elleth or not as he saw fit; however, once they returned to Alqualondë, Olwë was determined to have her removed from the magistracy. Her actions today had destroyed her standing in the king’s eyes. He made a mental note to have her record of judgments reviewed as well, just in case.

In the meantime, the Council was in an uproar. Verbal assaults and recriminations were shouted from one side of the room to the other and it was several minutes before Ingwë was able to call them all to order. Only the Valar and the Reborn remained silent — the former watching it all with mild interest, the latter more disapproving in their expressions.

"For shame!" Ingwë shouted. "Cease this brawling at once! Return to your seats or I will have you all thrown out." That threat was enough to silence everyone and when they all resumed their seats, looking suitably embarrassed, Ingwë turned to Lord Manwë and gave him a profound bow. "My apologies, my lord, for the unseemly behavior of my people. There is no excuse for their behavior, I know, but I hope you will show them mercy and not declare this Council annulled."

Manwë gave him a surprised look. "Ingwë, I am just another delegate here. I will not supercede your authority. Only you, in consultation with your fellow rulers, can do that. We will abide by your will in this."

Ingwë gave the Elder King another bow, not quite as deep, but still respectful. "For that, I thank you, lord." He gave a rueful look at the three people sitting behind the chair Morcocáno had vacated. "I would ask one of you to sit with us and speak on behalf of your delegation. I promise you will have our complete attention."

Thorongorn glanced at his wife and the other ellon. They both shook their heads slightly. Thorongorn sighed and rose, giving everyone a bow. "If it is all the same with you, your Majesty, we would prefer not to join you. We will abstain from speaking at this time. Lord Morcocáno is our chosen leader, and whatever my own feelings about that may be, I must respect that and him. By your leave, we will remain so that we may report back to our fellows as to what else is said today."

"Very well," Ingwë said. "We respect your decision and we ask that you relay to Lord Morcocáno our sincerest apologies and our deepest hope that he be willing to return to the table tomorrow. We would still hear what he has to say." And it was clear that he spoke for the other two kings who were nodding.

"I will relay your message to him, lord," Thorongorn said with a bow and then resumed his seat.

Ingwë then began addressing those in the tiers. "We will not tolerate interruptions from the tiers for any reason. Only those who sit at this table have the right to speak. Mistress Uinendilmë," he turned to face the Telerin delegate, "We charge you with contempt and ask that you remove yourself from this Council forthwith. We will speak with Prince Lindarion later to ascertain your fitness to rejoin us at the next session."

Uinendilmë went white and started to protest, but Lindarion stood and bowed to Ingwë. "I apologize on behalf of the Telerin delegation, my lord. We will abide by your decision. If there is someone who will escort the lady...."

"Salmar will escort her," Ulmo said with a flick of his wrist and the room was suddenly filled with the smell of fresh peaches as Ulmo’s Chief Maia appeared, bowing to his lord before gesturing to the elleth, his attitude polite, but there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that he expected to be obeyed. She stood, her expression closed, and walked down the aisle to join the Maia, refusing to look at anyone. Together they left the council chamber, the doors, which had remained open after Morcocáno’s departure, closing silently behind them.

In the embarrassed silence which followed, Brethorn spoke, smiling ingenuously. "Is it my turn now?" There were a few open grins from the other Reborn and some of the delegates at the table actually relaxed, the earlier tension loosening. Manwë nodded approvingly and even Ingwë couldn’t help smiling. Then, Brethorn’s face took on a more serious expression. He leaned forward, placing his hands on the table as he spoke, all levity aside.

"We Reborn have had to put up with you Once-born for some time now. We find most of you to be narrow-minded, insensitive, arrogant and self-centered in your views and in your dealings with us and with one another." His eyes raked them all with a scathing glare. Most of the other delegates were taken aback and there was much murmuring amongst those in the tiers. Brethorn ignored it as he continued his rebuke, which seemed all the more damning for the conversational tone of his voice.

"The Reborn Council has watched and waited for you to mature enough to reveal ourselves to you, all the while enduring the slurs and condescending attitudes of those who should have had more compassion." He raised a hand to forestall the angry denials and retorts that were forming on the lips of several delegates. "I am not saying that this has been true of all, but certainly of many, and certainly of those who have taken upon themselves to be our leaders." He glanced about then shrugged. "We Reborn have been rebuffed in our overtures to offer solutions to the varied problems facing our island, dismissed as children or looked upon with suspicion because we counsel forgiveness and reconciliation rather than revenge."

To everyone’s surprise, he looked directly at Olwë as he spoke these last words and the Lindaran’s expression was tight-lipped, his eyes darkening with suppressed anger. Ingwë laid a placating hand on his fellow king’s arm. Brethorn’s expression became more conciliatory. "I do not blame you for your anger, Olwë. I know how difficult it has been for the Teleri to give up their animosity towards the Noldor. I know how hard it has been to listen to the Reborn among you speaking of forgiveness. I know how appalled many Teleri feel when those whom they perceive to be the worst victims of the Kinslaying have no hatred for their slayers."

"How could you, you who are Sinda, know this?" Lindarion demanded harshly, his own expression one of anguish. "How could you possibly know how any of us who suffered the Kinslaying feel?"

Brethorn never took his eyes off Olwë as he answered Lindarion. "Because Falmaron told me."

There were shocked gasps from all the Teleri present. Both Lindarion and Olwë went absolutely white and in the tiers, Olwen uttered a strangled moan. Beleg grabbed her to keep her from reeling. Finrod meanwhile demanded wine and then there was a goblet before him which he picked up and pressed upon Lindarion, encouraging him to drink. Another goblet appeared before Olwë and Ingwë urged him to drink as well. Beleg found a goblet in his own hand and for a startled moment just stared at it before offering it to a trembling Olwen. There was absolute silence as the Lindaran and his children were ministered to. Olwë waved away the goblet once he was recovered and stared across the table at Brethorn whose own expression was unreadable.

"You have spoken with my son," Olwë said at last, his voice harsh with emotion. It was a statement more than a question, but Brethorn nodded anyway.

"I have spoken with him many times," the Reborn replied softly. "He has often told me of his regret for leaving you, and I have tried to convince him to return to Alqualondë and reconcile with you, but so far he has been reluctant to do so, though I think in time he will." He sighed, looking rueful, but when he spoke again it was in a firmer tone. "But Falmaron is not the only Telerin Reborn with whom I have spoken. We of the Reborn Council keep our ears open for all news concerning the Reborn. I know that the Teleri have a great apathy towards the Tol Eressëans, believing that many of us were involved in the Kinslaying without taking into account that the vast majority of the islanders, even those of Noldorin blood, were born in Beleriand, not in Aman. But do not think you Teleri are the only victims of kinslaying. You are not. Nor are all those who left Aman guilty of being kinslayers."

"You may be correct in all you say, Brethorn, but what has any of this to do with the matter at hand?" Lindarion demanded, his eyes dark with conflicting emotions.

"Everything!" Brethorn nearly shouted, banging the table with a fist for emphasis, his expression one of fury. "You Once-born look down on the Reborn because we don’t follow the rules of your petty games. We seek neither vengeance nor restitution. We welcome all, whatever their past histories, be they former slaves of Morgoth or kinslayers because we recognize the fact that there are no innocents here. From what I’ve learned of your history, even the Vanyar can be accused of studied indifference towards what was happening right here in Aman during the time of the Darkening, keeping to themselves. Did any of them come to the aid of the Teleri after the kinslaying?"

"We had our own troubles," Ingwë said softly, glancing at Ingwion with concern, for his son was tight-lipped and his eyes were filled with pain, his hands clenching the arms of his chair so tightly that the knuckles were white. Elríen, sitting next to him, gave him a concerned look and gently rubbed his arm, speaking softly so only he could hear what she was saying. Whatever it was seemed to do the trick for the ellon took a deep shuddering breath and relaxed his death grip.

"Undoubtedly," Brethorn averred, apparently unaware or uncaring of the effect his words were having on the Vanyarin prince. "But when the dust settled, what did you do? What did any of you do?"

"We survived," Arafinwë answered coldly. "And do not think that each clan stood alone. I have striven over the last millennium to heal the breach between us. Or do you think our sitting here together in friendship," — he gestured to Ingwë and Olwë — "to be a sham."

"No, I do not," Brethorn said in a more conciliatory tone, "and I apologize for my words. They were spoken from frustration and not from disrespect for all that you have accomplished. Yet, for all that, you blithely ignored us." Here, he swept his arms out and they knew he meant the Tol Eressëans as a whole and not just the Reborn. "We Reborn could not understand it. We could not figure out what it was that the Once-born of Tol Eressëa had done wrong in your eyes that you barely acknowledged their existence. And no one would give us any answers when we asked our questions."

"Most likely because we were equally at a loss as to why we were being shunned," Elríen said with a mocking smile. She turned her head to look past Lord Manwë, her eyes seeking out Lord Irmo. "When I came to Tol Eressëa, I was told in no uncertain terms that I would not be welcomed by the Valar, or permitted to cross over to the mainland. I was very frustrated by this, for I desired to seek council with you, Lord Irmo, and your lady, on matters concerning the healing arts."

The elleth shrugged and gave them a rueful smile. "No one specifically. It was just something that everyone knew or thought they knew. I was too recent an arrival to question it, frustrated though I was at being denied the right to come to Aman. I wondered why I had bothered to sail just to find myself imprisoned on the island."

"And that is a misconception that we regret," Manwë said. "We Valar have never intended for those who sailed to remain forever on Tol Eressëa unless it were by their choice. However, we felt a period of isolation was in order to allow you time to shed the darkness of war from your fëar and regain a measure of our Peace. And as you well know, our quarantine is not absolute or none of you would have been permitted to come here."

"Well, that’s your excuse," Brethorn said to Manwë with a light smile to show that he was not censuring the Valar, "but what about the Amanians? What excuse do they have for refusing to deal with any of the Tol Eressëans?"

"None," Arafinwë said baldly. "Except, at least in my own case, I was too busy upon my return from the war putting my own house in order to worry about anyone else. I had families now bereft of husbands and sons whom I must comfort and see to their welfare and I had warriors whose fëar were shattered by their experiences who needed help and, quite frankly, I had my own demons to contend with. And I am sure Ingwë had similar problems with those Vanyar who returned... or didn’t."

Ingwë nodded. "Still, I will grant you that our negligence is inexcusable," he said to Brethorn. "I will confess that I little liked the idea of any of you being allowed to sail or be reborn. In my own anger I gladly consigned you all to Melkor’s deepest dungeons. A foolish wish. It has taken me a long time to see the folly of pretending you of Tol Eressëa did not matter and for that I apologize. When the idea of this Council was broached and I was asked to preside over it, I gladly accepted, for I saw in it a means to rectify my error."

"And I acknowledge your willingness now to put aside your apathy and animosity, my lords," Brethorn said, speaking to all three kings. "We Reborn only wish to see all the elves of Eldamar, Amaneldi and Tol Eressëans alike, living in harmony under the benevolence of the Valar. I do not know if what we are attempting to accomplish here will do any good, but it is certainly a more positive step than what has gone on before."

"Do you have any thoughts about the type of government we should have?" Dúlinn asked.

"You Once-born have managed to survive well enough without a king, relying on your separate councils to govern you," Brethorn said, speaking in a measured tone. "Yet, we have seen even in our own Council of the Reborn that personalities can get in the way of getting anything constructive done unless there is a strong leader to guide us. Gwîrendur and Marthchall are correct when they say it matters not what title is given, someone needs to be the ultimate authority and have the final say, someone who is above all the pettiness that often plagues the rest of us."

"Sounds like you want one of the Valar to rule over you," Finrod said with a chuckle and a wink at Lord Manwë whose own expression was one of amusement.

Brethorn shook his head, smiling wickedly. "Oh I wouldn’t go that far, Finrod. I would never wish to subject any innocent Vala upon us. That would be too cruel."

Tulkas suddenly boomed out a laugh, and the atmosphere lightened as elves whose expressions had been tight with anger or shock found themselves relaxing at the joyous sound. "Innocent he calls us. That’s a good one, heh, Námo?" He winked at the Lord of Mandos who was sitting next to him.

Námo gave his fellow Vala a knowing smile and nodded. "Why I haven’t been innocent since... hmm... since I can’t remember when."

"Well you were pretty innocent when you were making a mess of courting me," Vairë retorted with a wicked grin. "You could never put two coherent sentences together whenever we were alone."

To the surprise of the elves, the Valar all started laughing. "She’s got you there, Little Brother," Aulë said with a wink. "I remember how you fumbled about like any love-struck ellon with an elleth."

The elves went into shock when the Smith of Arda stuck out his tongue and made a rude noise. Ingwë exchanged glances with Olwë and Arafinwë and at their nods he rose and everyone sobered. "Yes well, I think we should stop for now before things get... um... messy." He gave the Valar a pointed look and they returned it with smug smiles. "And given the high emotions of the day, I believe we all need some time for reflection. The next session will be held the day after tomorrow. Until then, my lords and ladies, we are adjourned."

With that, everyone rose and began speaking in small groups as they made their way out of the chamber where Maiar were waiting to escort them to where they might freshen up before dinner. Olwë stopped Brethorn as the ellon was leaving, his expression one of pain as he spoke to the Reborn. "He is well?" he asked.

Brethorn smiled. "Yes, Olwë, Falmaron is well and happy. He comes to Avallónë every few months, loads up his ship with supplies and sails away again. I’ve never asked him where he goes," he added hastily, seeing the question in Olwë’s eyes, "and he has never said, but I know that he is content. Someday, I believe, he will return to you, but you must be patient."

"It was my fault, you know," Olwë said with a grimace. "I drove him away. I was so stupid."

"No, Atto," Lindarion exclaimed with some heat as he, Olwen and Beleg joined them. "Falmaron was being unreasonable."

"Lindarion is correct," Olwen said, "but thinking back, I know I could have been more understanding of what he was feeling as well."

Olwë nodded and gave Brethorn a sorrowful look. "When next you see my son, would you tell him that... that I love him... we all love him and... well, just that... we love him."

Olwë nodded again, standing there looking unsure of his next move. Ingwë and Arafinwë rescued him when they came and said that Lord Manwë wished to speak to the three kings alone. Olwë gave Brethorn a short bow. "Thank you," he said simply and then followed the other two kings from the chamber, leaving his children and Brethorn alone.

The Reborn smiled. "I would be honored to, my lady," he replied. "Shall we? I believe dinner will be served soon."

The others nodded and they made their way out of the council chamber with Brethorn telling them of the first time he met Prince Falmaron, the doors closing silently behind them.

1. If you wonder why Olwë’s son, Falmaron, has not been mentioned before, Tolkien tells us that among elves absent family members are usually not mentioned publicly. This is why Aragorn was never aware of the fact that Elrond had a daughter, as she was living in Lothlórien with her grandparents and there would have been no reason to speak of her to a Mortal child.

2. To give you a sense of the timeline in Gwîrendur’s narrative: The Dagor Nirnaeth Arnediad (Battle of Unnumbered Tears) occurred in 471. Nargothrond was sacked probably around the year 495. Túrin died in 499. Elu Thingol died in 502. Beren and Lúthien died the following year. In the Silmarillion it is only said that ‘one came and smote upon the doors of Menegroth.... He was a lord of the Green-elves hastening from Ossiriand....’ bringing the Nauglamír to Dior. In my universe, this unnamed elf is Laurendil, who leaves Nargothrond after Finrod’s death and makes his way to Doriath and is there when Beren and Lúthien die and are returned to life. When Beren and Lúthien retire to Tol Galen, he joins them. After delivering the Nauglamír to Dior he returns to the ruins of Nargothrond where he meets Gwîrendur and his band skulking the High Faroth, wooded highlands overlooking Nargothrond. Doriath falls to the Fëanorians in 507. Laurendil and Manwen meet the following year. The War of Wrath begins in the year 545 and ends in 587.

As it turned out, the council did not reconvene until three days later. Manwë, in consultation with the other Valar, decided a longer cooling off period for the Children was needed. Thus, with Ulmo’s help, he diverted a storm raging across the northern wastelands so that it came barreling down upon Valmar during the night while the elves slept. When they woke the next morning it was to find themselves more or less trapped inside, for the blizzard had dumped several feet of snow and it was still falling.

"If this storm continues we won’t be able to hold the Council tomorrow," Ingwë said with some amusement as he and the others at the townhouse gathered together for the morning meal. "It’ll take us most of the day to dig ourselves out."

"I wonder if that is true in Valmar itself," Beleg enquired. "Do you think the storm was deliberate?"

"Well now, that’s a good question," Olwë replied with a smile for the ellon, "and very perceptive of you, Beleg."

The former Marchwarden of Doriath glowed with the praise as everyone nodded in agreement. "It wouldn’t surprise me at all if it were," Arafinwë said with a chuckle. "I have the feeling the Valar were less than pleased with how things fell out at the afternoon session."

"I certainly wasn’t pleased," Ingwë said with an angry shake of his head. "Civility seemed to be in short supply yesterday."

"Do you think Morcocáno will return or will the Avallóneans remove themselves from the Council completely?" Finrod asked.

"I sincerely hope they do not," Ingwë replied with some passion. "It will ruin everything and the Council might as well be disbanded. However much Morcocáno may be disliked, his presence is necessary for this Council to succeed."

"Perhaps he will step aside as the head of the delegation and appoint someone else," Alassiel suggested.

"That would be acceptable," Ingwë said. "We’ll have to wait and see. When we reconvene I still want to hear what Morcocáno has to say, if only so we have a complete record of opinions."

"I apologize for Uinendilmë," Lindarion said then, looking chagrined. "When I put together the delegation I asked each one if they would be able to put aside whatever feelings they might have against the Tol Eressëans and specifically against any of the Noldor, whether from the island or from Tirion. Uinendilmë assured me that she would have no problems. They all did." He shook his head. "Maybe I should have been more careful in my selection."

"You did as you thought best, yonya," Olwë said, "and it is difficult to tell when others are dissembling for their own purposes. I was very proud of the way you conducted yourself during the Progress. I know how difficult it was for you at times, though perhaps others were not aware of your struggle."

"Actually, I was rather hoping to hear news of Falmaron while we were in Avallónë," Lindarion said, looking a bit sheepish. "I’d heard rumors that he’d been seen there. Unfortunately, we didn’t stay in Avallónë long enough for me to ascertain the truth of the rumors. Other matters kept getting in the way, like being kidnapped by the Nandor."

"Well, Brethorn was willing enough to share what he knew about our brother," Olwen said. "It has eased my heart to know that he is well and reasonably happy. I hope someday he will forgive us enough to return to us."

"That is our hope as well," Lirillë said quietly, taking Olwë’s hand in hers. The look that the two shared was too private for the others sitting there and people began making other conversation with their neighbors as they continued eating.

The rest of the day passed quietly. The elflings and Vorondil spent part of the morning with their faces glued to the windows watching the snow fall. It was a rarity to see so much of it and the children were fascinated, though eventually they became bored. Finrod and Aldundil, with the help of Sador, Beleg, Alassiel, and Amarië, devised a scavenger hunt for the afternoon and the townhouse rang with the laughter of the children as they followed the clues.

By late afternoon the storm had blown itself out and all of Valmar and Eldamas lay under a blanket of snow that nearly reached the upper windows of many of the houses, including the royal townhouse. Anar was setting, the sky and the snow turning crimson and deep purple shading to mauve as she sank into the west. That, however, did not deter the good people of Eldamas who, almost as soon as the last snowflake came floating down from the clearing skies, were climbing out of second story windows with brooms and shovels in hand and cheerfully beginning the arduous task of clearing the streets of snow. The lamps that lined the streets were lit and Isil rose above the Pelóri to offer his own silvery illumination to the scene below. Even before those at the townhouse had organized themselves, several elves congregated before the building and began clearing the front courtyard.

Ingwë told those inside the house to leave the clearing to the elves outside. "Let them have the honor of ‘rescuing’ us," he said with a sly grin and there was much laughter among them. Then he began issuing other orders. "When they’ve cleared the front door, then we will join them in clearing the snow. I want to see how the Tol Eressëans are making out. Mistress Luhtana, please have the cooks ready some mulled wine and cider and some hot food for when our brave rescuers free us from our prison. I’m sure they will appreciate it."

There was more laughter as everyone gathered snow removal implements while waiting for their ‘rescue’. As the clearing continued they could hear those outside singing songs in praise of snow and hymns to Lords Manwë and Ulmo. After a time there was a polite knock on the door and Sador, who happened to be the closest, opened it with a broad smile.

There were happy cries from the ‘rescuers’ and much laughter from everyone. Soon the townhouse was filled with cheerful elves drinking mulled wine and munching on hot meat pies while the royal families and the other delegates mingled with them and visited. Ingwë was speaking with the woodcarver, Vánandur, along with Olwë and Arafinwë, while Beleg stood beside his former mentor who had a fatherly arm around the Reborn’s shoulders.

"We haven’t gotten as far as the gate into Valmar," Vánandur was telling them. "This place was our first priority."

"And we thank you," Ingwë said with a smile, "though truly we were quite capable of freeing ourselves, you know."

"Oh, we know," Vánandur replied with a laugh, "but it was a lot of fun and it was our way of showing our love for you. Besides, who’s going to pass up free food and drink?" He gave them a wink as he lifted his goblet of wine in salute and the others laughed.

"Well, let’s see how it stands in Valmar," Arafinwë said. "I’m sure everyone is busy clearing the Landamallë and can probably use our help."

To that, no one objected and soon a small party was making its way towards the northern gate of Valmar, walking over the snow that still clogged the Formenya Tëa. Along the way they encountered various parties clearing squares and singing, shouting glad greetings as they recognized the kings. But when they came to the northern gate, the diamonds encrusting the black meteoric iron glittering in the moonlight, they found themselves blocked. The snow was piled up against the gate twice as high as the tallest elf and beyond all was dark and silent.

"There is no way we can clear this tonight," Olwë commented. "I have the feeling the Valar do not want the delegates going anywhere anytime soon."

There were snorts of amusement at that droll statement. "We’ll return in the morning and see what the situation is," Ingwë stated. "In the meantime, let us see where we can best help with the clearing. Eldamas does not seem to have been hit as hard as Valmar, which I find odd, but there is still plenty of snow to shift."

The others all nodded and with good cheer retraced their steps until they came to one of the larger squares still deep in snow and only a few souls about trying to clear it. With a good will they joined the half dozen elves already there with the three kings of Eldamar dividing their group into thirds and each taking a corner, while the fourth corner was given over to the elves of Eldamas who had accompanied them. There was an impromptu race to see who would reach the fountain in the center of the square first, with much laughter and song at the friendly competition. When the elves of Eldamas won the race, the royal party took the friendly ribbing gracefully enough and Ingwë invited everyone back to the townhouse for more food and drink, which invitation was gratefully accepted by all.

In fact, the cooks had outdone themselves while everyone was out shoveling and when they reached the townhouse they found the rarely used feasthall opened and everyone was invited to sit while the elflings in their pages’ tabards proudly served the tables under Vorondil’s careful supervision. Close to a hundred people were there and the feasting went on for some time. Afterwards, trestles were pushed to one side and an area was cleared for dancing and singing which went on until well after midnight. There were pockets of merriment throughout Eldamas as innkeepers and hostelers threw open their doors to those clearing the streets, offering them food and drink free of charge.

The next morning dawned bright and clear and as soon as all had broken their fast, Ingwë led a party back to the northern gate to discover that the city of the Powers was still snow-shrouded and the Tol Eressëans were nowhere in sight. Nor, for that matter, were there any Maiar.

Finrod, Beleg, Ingwion and Sador, with a few others, volunteered to check out the city. They climbed the gate and landed lightly on the other side, making their way easily across the drifts while Ingwë organized the rest into work details, assigning them to different parts of Valmar once the area around the gate was cleared.

"Each team will clear the area around a mansion and half the avenue before it," he told them. "That should lighten the workload for us all, though I suspect, given the amount of snow that’s fallen, we’re going to be at it for most of the day."

"I wonder why the Tol Eressëans aren’t out?" Alassiel asked no one in particular as she helped to clear the snow immediately before the gate.

"Maybe they’re trapped inside," Calandil, Arafinwë’s chief guard, suggested as he shifted some of the snow.

"Or maybe they’re just too lazy to come out," Lord Lassezel, who was part of Ingwion’s delegation, offered, smiling a little maliciously even as he leaned on his shovel briefly to take a sip of water from a flask that was being handed around.

"Nay, I cannot think that the warriors under Lord Gilvagor or the Reborn would be so lax," Lindarion countered as he accepted the flask from the Vanyarin lord. "I think you have the right of it, Calandil, and they simply cannot get out. More snow seems to have fallen here than in Eldamas, which, now that I think on it, seems rather odd."

They all nodded at that. "Perhaps the Valar felt it necessary to... um... confine the Tol Eressëans," Lassezel said with a straight face and there was a lot of good-natured groaning at the intended pun.

"Odd that there are no Maiar about, though," someone mentioned and many agreed but no one had an answer to the why of it.

The scouts re-appeared while they were still attempting to clear the gate and announced that the doors of the mansions were completely blocked with snow. "Just the doors, mind you," Finrod said with a grin. "The gardens surrounding the mansions have only a foot or so of snow covering them."

There were knowing looks all around. "How deep is the snow in the Landamallë?" Ingwë asked.

"Pretty deep, actually," Finrod replied. "We’re going to be shoveling for most of the day just to free the delegates."

"Oh yes, but as I said, all the doors are blocked." Finrod smiled, giving them a significant look as he stressed the adjective.

"Hmph.... well, we’ll just concentrate on the front doors and the Landamallë," Ingwë said. "You all have your assignments."

"Let’s free the delegates first before we try to clear the avenue," Finrod suggested. "Then we can get the Tol Eressëans to help with the rest."

Everyone laughingly agreed to that idea. It had been decided that the snow blocking the doors would simply be dumped into the surrounding gardens while the snow covering the Landamallë would be piled up between the malinorni which lined the avenue. The snow did not seem to be as deep there as in the center of the street. Ingwë ordered other crews to clear the areas around the other three gates and there were still other people — innkeepers and bakers for the most part — who set up a pavilion in a square near the northern gate where workers could come and have a bite to eat and a hot drink. The atmosphere was merry and everyone tackled the onerous job of shoveling the snow with a good will.

"I wonder which delegations were housed where," Sador said as he and Beleg joined Finrod and Ingwion and several others in front of Lord Námo and Lady Vairë’s mansion.

"I know Lord Námo and Lady Vairë are hosting the Reborn delegation and I think those from the Weavers’ Guild, but I have no idea about the others," Finrod replied with a shrug as he began shoveling the snow in front of the carnelian gates leading into Lord Námo’s demesne.

Finrod shook his head, chuckling. "It is my understanding that they only had to do it the one time when they first arrived. One of the Maiar lets them in a side door now."

"Why can’t people enter the mansion that way all the time instead of having to endure the spiral?" one of the other elves in their group asked.

"Because the side doors have no handles on the outside," Finrod answered. "Here, let’s see if we can’t get this open." He and the others stopped shoveling and pushed against one of the gates, managing to shift it about a foot.

"I think a few more shovelfuls and we can open the gate wide enough to slip through," Finrod said. "Then we’ll spread out along the path and start clearing it. Honestly, if the Valar wanted us not to meet today why didn’t they just lock all the doors from the outside?"

Throughout the city there was the ringing of laughter and song as the rescuers went about the business of clearing the snow away. The first mansion to get cleared turned out to be that of Lord Oromë and Lady Vána. This was because of the way in which the mansion was constructed, the halls low and each room supported by a tree. The snow was not as deep under the trees as in other places, but the front portico was elf-high with the stuff and it still took time for them to clear it. When the wooden doors were finally cleared, one of the elves knocked loudly. A few seconds went by and then they could hear people rushing to them from the other side and the rescuers grinned at one another. The doors were flung open to reveal Councillor Dúlinn and the other delegates from Tavrobel as well as those from the Guild of Bards all looking relieved.

"We didn’t think we would ever get free," Dúlinn exclaimed, gesturing for their rescuers to enter. "We woke this morning to find no way out. Some of the ellith were beginning to panic."

"Where are the Maiar?" someone asked. "We’ve seen neither hide nor hair of them ourselves."

Dúlinn shrugged. "Nor have we, not since last night. When we woke this morning, breakfast was waiting for us but there was no sign of any Maiar and we thought it rather odd. When we tried to leave we found that none of the doors would open and there was this note on the door here with just one word: ‘Wait’. Only, we did not know for what."

"Apparently for us to rescue you," a Noldo said with a laugh. "But I see you have shovels and brooms here." He gestured to a pile next to the doors. "These doors open inward. You could have simply shoveled the snow yourself."

Dúlinn shook his head. "You are not listening," he said with some exasperation. "We could not open the doors. Until you knocked these doors refused to open and these shovels and brooms were not here an hour ago, I assure you."

The rescuers exclaimed softly amongst themselves. The leader of the group, a Vanya, frowned. "We tried to reach Valmar last night once a way was cleared along the Formenya Tëa," he said, "but the snow was heavier here than in the town and King Ingwë decided to wait until the morning to see how you were doing. It’s taken us nearly two hours just to clear the snow from the street to here."

"All blocked with snow," the leader replied. "But come, now that you are free, you can help with the rest of the clearing. We still need to do the Landamallë. King Ingwë wishes Valmar cleared before noon. With all of us helping, that goal should be reachable."

"Odd that the Maiar aren’t about," Dúlinn commented even as he grabbed one of the shovels.

The rescuers shrugged. "More fun for us," someone quipped and there were amused chuckles all around.

The next group of delegates to be released were the Reborn. Finrod decided that it was pointless to try to clear the front portico. "That is simply an entrance, but not an exit," he pointed out. "Let’s try one of the side doors instead."

The others agreed and once they had gotten the main path cleared at least to the front steps they angled off to the left where another path wended through the gardens. Sador and Beleg remembered it from their previous visit. The snow, while not as deep as it was elsewhere, was still heavy and there was a great deal of it to shift, but finally they came to a door that was protected by an arch. Finrod knocked and they waited. When no one came, he knocked again, only louder.

"They won’t know to come to this particular door, assuming they could find it," Beleg offered. "Perhaps we should have cleared the main doors after all."

"Well, third time’s the charm," Finrod said with a grin. He practically pounded on the door this time and when it suddenly opened, he nearly fell across the threshold. Brethorn was there to catch him.

"Easy now, Finrod," the Reborn said with a smile. "We came as soon as we could."

"Do you know how many doors there are?" Brethorn retorted. "I’ve got people at every one of them."

"Because we were told that only I could open any of the doors, but we had to wait until we heard someone knocking on the other side."

"By one of Lord Námo’s Maiar, of course," Brethorn explained even as other members of the Reborn delegation and those of the Weavers’ Guild joined them. "Yesterday we were told that a blizzard had effectively snowed everyone in but we were not to panic. Then she told us what we were to do concerning the doors."

Gwîrendur smiled at them grimly. "Thank the Valar you came!" he exclaimed. "Do you know how many games we’ve been playing since yesterday? If I have to play hide-and-find one more time...."

Several of the Reborn stuck their tongues out at the ellon and made rude noises while the rescuers all laughed. "Well, I’m glad we were able to rescue you from such a dire fate, Gwîrendur," Finrod said. "Come. We still need to clear out the Landamallë. Perhaps you can take over while we have a breather."

"Hey, look!" someone shouted, pointing to a nearby alcove. "Where did these shovels and brooms come from? They weren’t here five minutes ago."

"And enough for us all," Brethorn noticed with a nod. "Well, come along then. Playtime’s over."

"Oh good," one of the weavers said under her breath to her neighbor who giggled as they grabbed a couple of brooms and followed the others outside.

One by one the delegates were freed. Most took it in good humor and eagerly joined in to help clear the rest of the city of snow. The Warriors’ Guild with Gilvagor were housed in Lord Tulkas and Lady Nessa’s mansion. "We could see you from the windows overlooking the courtyard but none of the doors would open," Gilvagor said as he and the other warriors stepped outside. He gestured to the many doors still blocked with snow that opened onto the arcade enclosing three sides of the courtyard. "It was very frustrating," he added with a grin.

"Well, you’re free now, my lord," one of the rescuers said with a laugh. "Perhaps you and your fellows would care to join with the rest of us to clear the avenue of snow?"

"With a good will, my friend," Gilvagor said heartily and the others shouted in gladness and grabbed the shovels that they happened to find hanging on hooks on the inner side of the arcade.

The most difficult mansion to get to was Lord Ulmo’s as there was only the one way across the lake surrounding it. The lake itself was free of snow and in spite of the cold, there was not a hint of ice forming on its surface. The stepping stones, however, were another matter and care had to be taken to cross over. Two of the elves, perhaps showing off or simply not being careful enough, slipped and fell into the lake, much to the amusement of their fellows. They came up sputtering and cursing, climbing out and stomping off to get dried off while the rest continued across. Then they had to take turns shoveling because there was only enough space for two at a time until they got to the front doors themselves.

Once the portico was cleared, they knocked and when the doors opened they found a most irate Lord Morcocáno standing there.

"About time!" he snarled, stepping out and glaring about. "I suppose we’re the last to be set free?"

"As to that, lord," one of the rescuers said, piqued at this arrogant Tol Eressëan’s ungratefulness, "we do not know. It took us longer than we anticipated to reach you. And now, we must go help with clearing the rest of the city." He gave the still fuming lord a short bow and motioned for his people to head back across the lake. "Take care crossing," he admonished the Tol Eressëans as he walked away. "The stepping stones are icy. Two of us already slipped and fell into the lake as we came across."

By now, all the delegates were freed. Morcocáno was not the only one who was put out. The Amanians were amazed how many of the Tol Eressëans considered their being snowed in as a personal insult to them.

"As if we had anything to do with it," Ingwion muttered to Finrod who merely grunted as he continued shoveling snow.

The Reborn, on the other hand, made it into a game and they were more likely to throw snowballs at people than to actually shovel, though they did that too. When a small group, led by Morcocáno, protested having to shovel, an argument broke out between them and the elves of Eldamas and there was a great deal of shouting and angry words. Suddenly, a flurry of snowballs indiscriminately bombarded the arguers. When they cleared the snow from their eyes they found themselves surrounded by all the Reborn, along with Finrod, Sador, Beleg, Haldir, Gilvagor, and Ingwion, all with snowballs in their hands.

"If you can’t play nice," Brethorn said sternly, "we’ll just do this." Everyone with snowballs pelted the ones who’d been arguing.

"Hey!" one of them protested and reached down to make her own snowball. Soon, there was a general free-for-all as snowballs flew hither and yon. Even Morcocáno, forgetting his dignity, was seen organizing some of the Tol Eressëans into an army, his eyes aglow with the light of battle as other elves joined one side or the other in the snowball fight. Someone suggested building forts and soon there were many hands constructing snow forts and then the battle continued with much laughter.

Ingwë, Arafinwë and Olwë stood to one side, along with a number of other older elves, watching the antics with amusement but did not join in. "We’ll just let the children play," Ingwë said and motioned for the others to join him as he made his way through the northern gate to the dining pavilion for a much needed lunch break.

And high on Taniquetil, safely ensconced in Ilmarin, the Valar and their Maiar attendants looked down upon the battle scene and smiled.

Formenya Tëa: The North Road which wends its way through Eldamas and eventually will take you to Vanyamar.

The impromptu snowball fight released much of the tensions which were straining emotions among the various groups of elves attending the Council. Morcocáno proved a canny general for his ‘team’ and earned even Finrod’s respect by the ingenuity of his battle plans. The day ended in high spirits as Ingwë invited everyone back to the townhouse for the evening feast. The feasthall was not large enough to accommodate everyone, so Ingwë had the ballroom opened and tables were set up there instead. Some of the Tol Eressëans were not sanguine about returning to their accommodations in the mansions of the Valar, wondering if they would be locked in again, but Ingwë assured them that he doubted that would be the case.

"I think the Valar gave us this time to... um... cool off," he told them blandly and there was much laughter among them, though it was somewhat rueful as the import of the High King’s words sank in. Still, there was a noticeable reluctance on the part of many of the Tol Eressëans to depart for Valmar until Eönwë himself appeared, announcing that the Council would resume on the morrow at Lord Tulkas and Lady Nessa’s mansion.

"Hey, maybe that means we’ll get to the council chamber first for a change before the Reborn delegation," Gilvagor exclaimed, winking at Brethorn, who muttered something in Sindarin that had the entire hall breaking up in laughter, though most of the Amanians had no idea what had been said and even when Brethorn’s words were translated, still didn’t get the joke. Eönwë was seen to smile even as he faded from their view and the Tol Eressëans departed for Valmar with easier minds.

Thus, when Isilya dawned, the Council resumed. The Warriors under Gilvagor and the Reborn under Brethorn arrived at the same time, both groups practically running to reach the doors first, much to the amusement of the three kings. The two ellyn laughingly agreed to reach into the copper bowl at the same time and were pleasantly surprised to find that they would be seated next to one another. Morcocáno and the Avallóneans returned with that lord apologizing to everyone else for storming out as he had. Uinendilmë also made a formal apology for her part in the debacle and it was accepted in good grace. Ingwë then asked Morcocáno if he had any thoughts about the direction towards which the Tol Eressëans should lean. "For we would hear what Avallónë thinks about this so that a complete record is had," he ended.

Morcocáno nodded. "It has always been the opinion of we of Avallónë that the seat of government should be in that city, for it is the island’s first and oldest inhabitation." He raised a hand to forestall any protests from Galadhwen and some others. "That has been our contention, though we know that not everyone agrees with this. Regardless, it is the desire of the citizens of Avallónë that we should have a two-tier structure with each community retaining its own council but with another, shall we say, island-wide council consisting of members chosen from all the communities to address only those problems which affect us all, while the councils of the individual communities would deal with local situations. We of Avallónë do not wish to cede all our autonomy to a king or governor or whatever. We wish to retain some control over local matters."

"A two-tier government consisting of local councils to deal with local concerns but another council that would deal only with those situations that might have island-wide repercussions, is that what you are saying?" Ingwë enquired.

Morcocáno nodded. "Essentially. There is a concern among many in Avallónë that if the present system of autonomous councils is disbanded in favor of a more centralized government under the rule of a single person, however he might style himself, it would be detrimental to us and we will lose all power to decide our futures."

"It is a concern for others, as well," Dúlinn spoke up, "though perhaps not in the same degree as you intimate for Avallónë, Lord Morcocáno. I don’t think that even if we agree on a king to rule us that the city councils will become redundant. I think it will be necessary for them to continue to exist, if not in the same manner as they do now, simply because we need local governance. It would be foolish to run to the king or whoever with every little problem that crops up." He turned his attention to the three High Kings. "Or is that how it works with you? Are all problems resolved at the highest level?"

Ingwë shook his head as did Olwë and Arafinwë. "While there are no city councils as you have developed them on Tol Eressëa, we have divided our cities into districts where magistrates are assigned to hear whatever problems need to be addressed. If a person is unhappy with the decision made at the local level, they have the right to petition to the king for his ruling, which is final. More often than not, the original ruling by the magistrate is upheld. I can think of only a few cases where it was not." Olwë and Arafinwë both nodded.

"What about grievances that affect all the people, though?" Mereneth asked. "How are they handled?"

"By our Privy Councils," Ingwë replied. "Once a year at the New Year petitions are collected by way of our magistrates. These are sorted out by subject matter, with similar petitions grouped together even if they do not deal exactly with the same situation. If there appears to be a consensus among the populace that a particular situation needs to be addressed, based on these petitions, then I and my Privy Council look into the merits of the complaints and promulgate laws if we feel it necessary. These laws are voted on by the people and if there is at least a two-thirds majority in favor of the law, it goes into effect on the following New Year’s Day. Other matters that we feel are not as important are referred back to the magistrates who handle the cases at their level. No petition goes unheard, though it may not be addressed by me and my own council. That pretty much is how it is handled in Tirion and Alqualondë."

There were thoughtful looks on many faces. Ingwë gave them a moment or two to digest what he had said before continuing. "So we have heard from each of the delegates as to their views and the views of those whom they represent. It is now time to decide in what manner we will tackle the problem of deciding which course is the best for your people to take."

"Perhaps this is a good time for you Children to break up into small groups and discuss what you have heard," Lord Manwë suggested. "Have two members from each delegation meet to talk things over. That will give you seven groups of forty-two people each. We Valar will abstain from joining you at this time. Discuss among yourselves the merits of each delegation’s suggestions and come to a consensus among you as to what you think will work best. Then bring the seven groups together and have each group give a summary of what they’ve decided. It may turn out that most of the groups will decide along similar lines. Then you need only concentrate on that particular aspect and begin working out details from there."

"That sounds like an excellent suggestion, lord, and we thank you," Ingwë said with a short bow. "If we are all agreed, then let us do as the Elder King has suggested. Perhaps to make it fair, we can have everyone draw lots to determine the groups."

"There are a sufficient number of gemstones of seven types in the bowl you use to determine seating," Manwë said benignly as he nodded towards the copper bowl that stood before the chamber doors. "Let everyone chose a gemstone. Conference rooms will be made available for each of the groups. The doors will have embedded in them one of the gemstones that are drawn so you know to which room your group should adjourn."

There were nods all around. Ingwë decided the easiest way was to have the delegations leave one at a time. He collected the gemstones that each had taken to determine where they would sit for this session and placed them in the small copper bowl before him. One by one, as Ingwë selected a gemstone, the delegations departed, each person stopping long enough to select a gemstone from the larger bowl on the way out. Maiar then directed people to the appropriate conference room. Finally, only the three kings and the Valar remained.

"So, how long should we allow these small group discussions to meet, do you think?" Arafinwë asked.

"As long as necessary, I suppose," Ingwë replied with an uncertain shrug, glancing at Manwë still seated at the table.

"I think you can give them the rest of today and perhaps tomorrow to allow everyone to have a chance to speak," Manwë said. "Reconvene the council again on Menelya."

"How do you think it will go?" Olwë asked. "What sort of consensus will they arrive at, do you suppose?"

The Elder King shrugged as he stood. "That is hard to say at this point, but I think Morcocáno’s suggestion might win the day."

"You did not see how people’s eyes lit up as they listened to him?" Varda asked as she joined her spouse. "Of all the options offered by the various delegates, that one seemed to catch the imaginations of most."

"Indeed we will," Manwë said as he and the other Valar made their way out of the chamber with the three kings. "In the meantime, why don’t you three join us? We have other matters concerning Eldamar that should be addressed as long as you are free."

"Yes," Ingwë said. "It’s rare enough that the three of us are together to so discuss such matters." Olwë and Arafinwë nodded in agreement.

"I hope these small discussion groups prove fruitful," Arafinwë said as they made their way across the central courtyard of Tulkas and Nessa’s mansion and headed up the Landamallë towards Manwë and Varda’s mansion.

"Násië," Ingwë responded fervently. "Otherwise, we may end up with another snowstorm on our front doorsteps." He gave Manwë a wink and the other two kings chuckled. Manwë rewarded them with an innocent look that fooled no one and there were amused chuckles among the other Valar.

That evening, Finrod and the other Amanian delegates reported to the three kings on what progress had been made.

"I can’t speak for the other groups," Lindarion said, "but in mine one of the scribes was called in to give us a summary of all that had been said before. There was a great deal of discussion about the merits of each delegate’s suggestion and I was pleasantly surprised that no one made any disparaging remarks about what this or that person said. All suggestions and concerns were treated seriously. I was quite impressed."

Others acknowledged that their groups also consulted with the scribes and took all that had been said quite seriously.

"I didn’t say much myself," Beleg told them, "but I listened very carefully. The people in my group seemed genuinely to want to make this Council a success and were very careful to take each suggestion seriously, though that is not to say there weren’t some lively... um... discussions among them." He flashed them a bright smile and the others all chuckled.

"I suspect that Brethorn’s little speech rattled them a bit and made them think," Sador offered. "That and what happened with Lord Morcocáno, not to mention the blizzard. We all know that was not natural."

Finrod then spoke. "In my group, those of us not from Tol Eressëa also did more listening than speaking. In fact, only when someone specifically asked me for my opinion did I say anything."

"Most of the Tol Eressëans seemed to like the idea of a two-tier government," Finrod replied, carefully choosing his words and he did not miss the significant looks that passed between his atar and the other kings. "I pointed out that even with such a structure, it still would be better if there was someone leading the, what did that Master Potter call it? Oh yes, ‘the Island Privy Council’. Someone not drawn from the council itself but chosen separately."

"More like a governor rather than a king," Ingwion said with a nod. "Most of those in my group had similar thoughts. They seemed to like the idea of having local councils and then someone above them with his own council dealing with island-wide issues. They agreed that trying to find someone to be their king was hopeless, but if someone acted simply as a governor, perhaps for a term of years before stepping down for someone else, that might work."

"One person even suggested that the governor or whatever you want to call him should act more as a regent until such time as the kings of Beleriand were released from Mandos and one of them agreed to rule on Tol Eressëa," Alassiel added, for she had been in the same discussion group as Ingwion.

"Hmm.... that has possibilities," Olwë said musingly. "So you think the other groups are leaning towards the idea of the two-tier structure Lord Morcocáno suggested?"

Most of the delegates nodded, though a few shrugged, not willing to commit themselves that far.

"Do you think they will want to continue their discussions tomorrow?" Ingwë asked. "Or have they all come to a consensus already?"

"My group wishes to meet again, at least during the morning, to hash out details before presenting them to the rest of the Council," Finrod stated and there were nods from the others as well.

"Then we will give them the morning to continue their discussions," Ingwë said. "They may have the entire day, if they wish, and we will reconvene on Menelya."

"I will tell those in my group," Finrod said, "though, really, I think they will be ready to share their decision with the rest by the afternoon."

"If that is true with the other groups then we will reconvene the Council in the afternoon," Ingwë said. "I’ll inform Lord Manwë so he has plenty of time to... er... reconstruct the council chamber wherever he wishes."

There were amused chuckles all around. Then Olwë asked if there had been any upsets among the groups.

"Well, there was a great deal of shouting and banging on the table, but nothing acrimonious, if that’s what you mean," Finrod said with a smile.

"What about those farming communities who joined with the miners from Angobel?" Sador asked. "Did we ever find out why they did so?"

"I spoke to one of them," Finrod said. "It turns out that the three farming communities who went to Angobel were all from the northeastern part of the island and nominally looked to Avallónë for governance. When they learned of what happened between Angobel and Avallónë, they were disturbed that Lord Morcocáno would blatantly ignore the pronouncements of three Valar, particularly when one of them was Lord Námo. The ellon told me, and I quote, ‘The thought of defying the dread Lord of Mandos did not sit well with us, and we were afraid that the Doom of the Noldor would fall upon us again if we continued to associate with those of Avallónë’."

He gave them a sour grin and there were uneasy glances among them all, especially among the Noldor, for, save Finrod, none of them had gone into exile.

"Interesting," Ingwë said musingly after a moment or two. "Yes, most interesting." Then the matter was dropped and other topics of conversation arose.

The morning was indeed devoted to small group discussions but representatives from each group let Ingwë know that extending these discussions into the afternoon would not be necessary, so the High King informed Manwë, who stated that the Council would still meet at Tulkas and Nessa’s mansion.

"We haven’t the time to move the chamber to Nienna’s today," he said with a twinkle in his eyes. "We’ll do that tomorrow."

Ingwë forbore to comment on that but simply nodded and excused himself. He, Arafinwë and Olwë had decided to spend the morning drilling the elflings and Vorondil on proper etiquette and the duties of pages and, in Vorondil’s case, squires. That did not take up the entire morning, so once the kings were satisfied that the children’s education was progressing well, they and Aldundil, who had no other duties until the Council reconvened, took them to one of the markets where they wandered about buying small trinkets for themselves — "And something for Uncle Vondo, because he was feeling left out" — and then treating them to lunch at the Laughing Vala before returning for the afternoon Council session.

As the delegates arrived, Ingwë told them to take the same seats as before and soon everyone was settled. Ingwë then took the seven gemstones that had been used to determine the discussion groups, placing them in the small copper bowl before him.

"I am assuming each group has chosen someone to speak for them," he said. "Please limit yourself to stating what your final conclusions were. Once everyone has been heard then we will decide on our next step." He then reached into the bowl and pulled out a ruby.

Brethorn stood up, smiling shyly. "I don’t know why everyone insisted I be the speaker for the group, but there’s no accounting for taste." That won a few chuckles. "At any rate, after careful deliberation, it was decided that Lord Morcocáno’s suggestion of a two-tier structure was the most viable and the one that would most likely win the approval of the rest of the island. We did have some concern about the... uh... island-wide council — we couldn’t seem to come up with an appropriate name for it."

"We were somewhat undecided about the ultimate leadership, should the head of the — let’s call it the Privy Council for lack of a better term in relation to the local councils — should the head of the Privy Council be one of the council members chosen by the other members or should he be a separate entity altogether, chosen by some other means? Also, if that is the case, would he then choose his Privy Council the way you kings choose yours or would the people choose and he would have to live with that choice?"

He then sat down and Ingwë thanked him even as he pulled out an emerald. The Healer Elríen then stood and said pretty much the same thing, though she admitted that her group had not addressed the problem of who would ultimately lead. "We felt that was something that should be discussed in full council," she ended before sitting.

One gemstone after another was withdrawn from the bowl and a speaker for that particular group rose and told them what had been decided. When all seven groups had been heard, Ingwë opened the floor to additional comments and suggestions. For a long moment, no one ventured to say anything, then Manwë rose, his smile beatific.

"You have all done well," he said. "You have put aside your differences and prejudices to listen carefully to one another. It appears from what we have heard today that the majority consensus is that a two-tier government will work best for you. I agree. I noticed there was a great deal of fumbling for the proper words to describe the councils so they could be differentiated. May I suggest that we refer to any community’s council as a local council but we will refer to what some of you were calling the island-wide Privy Council as simply the Assembly."

Everyone nodded and Manwë continued. "Good. Then some of you voiced concern about how the Assembly would be structured. How would its members be chosen? Should the person with the final say be chosen from out of the Assembly or come from elsewhere? Should that person be allowed to rule as a king or a regent or a governor and for how long? These are all important questions and I think they are the ones that need to be addressed now. The local councils I think can remain as they are, though I would like to see every community with their own council, or failing that, then some means of addressing local problems even if there is no council."

One of the farmers sitting with the miners raised his hand and Manwë acknowledged him. "Some of the farming communities are quite small, with fewer than fifty adults. In such cases we’ve followed the example of the Mortals with whom we interacted in Beleriand where a headman was chosen to oversee the community and perhaps once a month everyone would meet to discuss whatever needed to be discussed."

There were nods among many of the delegates and Manwë smiled at the ellon, who sat down, looking slightly embarrassed at having spoken. "Yes, that is precisely what I meant," Manwë said. "At any rate I would suggest then that you address the problems I enumerated concerning the Assembly and how it should relate to the individual local councils."

"Perhaps we can adjourn until tomorrow, then," Ingwë suggested, "to give everyone time to mull over Lord Manwë’s words." He paused for a second and then gave them a sly smile. "And if we’re lucky, we will resolve all of this to everyone’s satisfaction before the council chamber is moved to Lord Námo’s mansion, unless of course you let us in by a side door, my lord," he added, turning to the Lord of Mandos.

Námo raised an eyebrow. "What would be the fun of that?" he asked, giving them a miffed look.

Not everyone was sure how to react to that, though some noticed the amused smile on Finrod’s face. Brethorn then made a gesturing motion, as if inviting everyone in on a secret. "Don’t worry," he said in a loud whisper which everyone could hear, "my people and I will sneak you all in by the side door."

"Spoil-sport," Námo said with a sniff and now there was actual laughter as Ingwë dismissed the Council for the day.

"They do seem to have decided to act with more maturity," Ingwë averred. "If they continue to do so, we may see this Council ending sooner rather than later."

"It would be a relief to know that nothing will go wrong with the rest of the Council," Finrod said as he joined his atar and the other two kings. "I find I’m actually enjoying myself now that people aren’t shouting invectives at one another."

"Huh! From your lips to the Valar’s ears," Sador said flippantly as they made their way out of the chamber, quite forgetting that the same Valar were sitting there listening to the banter.

When the chamber was empty of all but the Valar, Námo rose, his amaranthine eyes glowing with grim amusement. "Oh yes," he said softly. "Yes, indeed." The rest of them smiled knowingly as one by one they shed their fanar and went their separate ways.

Vondo found himself feeling deserted and unwanted. He couldn’t understand why all of his new-found family had left him behind to go to this Council. If only his nephew could have stayed behind, it would have been fine, but Prince Findaráto’s grove was empty. Vondo went there the day after everyone had left, hoping that someone would be there, but of course there was no one there and the grove had a desolate feel to it. One of the Maiar appeared and steered him gently back towards his own part of Lórien, reminding the Reborn that he should be attending his classes.

"You don’t want to disappoint Prince Findaráto, do you?" Lisselindë said with a smile. "Especially not after he went to the trouble of arranging those scouting trips for you while he was away."

Vondo had to concede that the Maia was correct about that. He’d been quite surprised when the prince had told him about the scouting expeditions just before he left. "Laurendil has agreed to supervise them," Findaráto had told him, "but only if you are good and attend all your other classes," and he had promised that he would.

That promise he kept for an entire week or so, attending every class and generally obeying the Lóriennildi and the Maiar. His friends among the Reborn were surprised and dismayed that he refused to join them in getting into trouble. As tempting as some of their escapades sounded, Vondo declined to participate. "Prince Findaráto would not like it," was his usual explanation, which oddly enough would dampen the enthusiasm of the other Reborn, for they were in awe of the erstwhile King of Nargothrond and did not want to incur his displeasure, though none of them could actually recall ever seeing their hero acting displeased with any of them. Still, invoking his name was usually a good way to curb their exuberance to some extent.

That, however, worried the Lóriennildi. Master Meneldil even commented on it to Masters Calamírë and Vardamir a few days after Finrod and his entourage had left. "Lórien seems oddly quiet lately," he said as the three Masters sat together in his grove after breakfast, discussing assignments for those apprentices and journeymen who were in Lórien during the solstice holiday, as well as the state of affairs among the Reborn in general.

"You noticed that too," Vardamir said with a smile as he sipped on some herbal tea.

"Almost too quiet, if you ask me," Calamírë retorted with a shake of her head, "though I suppose we should be thankful for small favors."

"It strikes me that the quiet is too unnatural," Meneldil opined. "It’s almost like the quiet before a storm."

"Or a battle," Vardamir added, his eyes darkening with memory and the other two healers looked at him with some surprise and even trepidation.

"Do you think that’s what it is?" Calamírë asked worriedly. "We’re in for a storm or battle?"

The other two shrugged. "Something has to give," Vardamir answered. "The Reborn simply cannot remain good for too long. It’s against their nature."

The other two chuckled in agreement. "They have been exceptionally good this past week," Calamírë admitted. "None of the journeymen have come to me with complaints and the Maiar have been conspicuous by their absence. You’re right, Vardamir. The Reborn are up to something."

"What signs should they be looking for?" Vardamir asked respectfully. As the newest member of the staff, he was still feeling his way and knew himself to be very much the junior Master with little hands-on experience with the Reborn.

"They’ll start acting restless, unable to concentrate," Meneldil replied, "and irritable, snapping at each other and everyone else. They’re bottling up all those emotions, trying to be good, and it just doesn’t work, at least not in the long run. I suspect that the first Reborn who has a sudden emotional connection to a memory will set them all off."

The other two Masters nodded. "In the meantime, I, for one, will enjoy the peace and quiet," Calamírë said with a knowing smile.

Meneldil and Vardamir echoed her sentiment as they continued discussing assignments.

The day after the solstice, which was celebrated quietly by the Lóriennildi, for the Reborn neither knew nor cared about such things yet, Laurendil announced to Vondo that they would take a scouting trip that afternoon. "Nothing taxing and we won’t go far," the ellon told him, "I really just want to see what your skill level is before I plan more advanced tests."

Vondo perked up at that and was more animated than he’d been previously. Manwen had commented earlier to her husband on the Reborn’s lackluster attitude and reminded him of his promise to Finrod to take the poor ellon scouting. So, the two set off after lunch. Laurendil had enlisted the aid of Ingil and a couple of other Maiar to leave a trail for Vondo to follow.

"Don’t make it too obvious and lay a few false trails along the way," he told the Maiar and they nodded in understanding, smiling with anticipation.

Vondo proved quite adept at following the trail which Laurendil told him would lead to a surprise, so the Reborn was quite eager to do well. He did fall for one of the false trails which Laurendil privately admitted that he himself might have been fooled into following, but the Reborn quickly realized his mistake and returned them to the correct trail. Laurendil imagined the Maiar were having a grand time with them, and most likely laying bets on Vondo’s abilities.

In fact, the Maiar had done an exceptional job of laying the trail, for it took far longer than Laurendil had anticipated for them to reach their goal, but that was fine as far as he was concerned. Vondo was having the time of his life and when they came to the end he shouted with delight at the sight of Ingil waiting for them in a small clearing that few, if any, of the elves ever visited. The Maia smiled and gestured for them to join him at a small table where wine and food — some of Vondo’s favorite sweets, which was the surprise Laurendil had mentioned — awaited them.

"That took less time than I thought," Ingil said to Vondo as he poured some wine for them. "I was sure you wouldn’t find this place as quickly as you did."

"You did an excellent job today, Vondo," Laurendil agreed. "I’m going to be hard-pressed to come up with interesting challenges for you."

Vondo smirked. "I’m good," he said without any false modesty and Laurendil vowed to himself to see that smirk off the ellon’s face before the week was out.

He had his chance two days later. This time he told Vondo that the object was to find him. "You will give me two hours to lose myself," he said to the Reborn, "and you will have two hours to find me."

Laurendil shrugged. "Then you don’t find me. Now, go with Ingil. He will let you know when you may start and take you to where the trail begins. He’ll stay with you and let you know when the two hours are up if you haven’t found me by then but he will not aid you in any way so do not think to ask for his help."

"And you never cheat," Laurendil said approvingly, clasping the ellon’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze, then he was away and Ingil led Vondo to the painting grove where he spent the next couple hours working on another still life until the Maia told him to put his brushes away and clean up. He then led him to a spot on the east side of the lake and pointed to a small red flag flapping in the breeze.

"There’s your starting point," Ingil said. "Determine in which direction Laurendil was headed and go from there."

It took Vondo only a minute to find the faint trace of Laurendil’s passing and soon he was following the trail, delighting in the thrill of the chase and confident that he would find his quarry soon enough. That confidence began to ebb after he’d been tracking Laurendil for an hour with no sign that he was any nearer to his goal than before.

"Are you sure Laurendil isn’t still moving?" he asked Ingil at one point when he stopped to take a break, drinking from a briskly running stream.

The Maia shook his head. "He has not moved since he reached where he means for you to find him... if you can."

Vondo sighed, looking discouraged. The trail was plainly there, and yet... he shook his head and grimaced, determined not to let Laurendil outsmart him. He set off again, more determined than ever to find the apprentice healer within the allotted time. He was feeling put upon, not realizing that Laurendil had had centuries of practice eluding orcs or hunting them whereas Vondo had been a scout during the War of Wrath for only a few years and even that memory was incomplete. Laurendil was a master in the game of hide-and-find and Vondo, who prided himself on his abilities, was a rank amateur in comparison and that did not sit well with him.

His anger at himself for not succeeding as quickly as he thought he should and anger at Laurendil for seemingly making a fool out of him made him careless and he soon realized he’d missed seeing any clues for some time. In fact, looking about him, he realized he’d gotten himself lost. He stared at Ingil in consternation but the Maia simply stood there, his expression unreadable, and Vondo realized he would have to unlose himself.

"How much time?" he asked, knowing that, unless he was very lucky and regained the trail, he probably would not find Laurendil in the allotted time.

Vondo cursed under his breath, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His own passage through the woods was obvious, for in his growing anger he’d not cared where he was going, plowing through the underbrush like some clod-footed Mortal. He managed to retrace his steps back to the stream, then wasted a little time hunting around for clues of Laurendil’s passage. He found the trail and was about to take it up again when Ingil called for him to halt, saying his time was up.

"Drat!" Vondo snarled and then suddenly sat in the dirt and began weeping. Ingil let him cry himself out, standing there in sympathetic silence. When the spate of tears came to an end he helped the ellon to his feet, brushing the dirt and twigs from his clothes.

"It’s not the end of the world, child," Ingil said soothingly. "You were very close to finding Laurendil, but you let your emotions rule you at a critical time and you became careless. With a bit more practice, you should do very well. Come, come. No more tears. Let’s return to your pavilion and we’ll wait for Laurendil to show."

So they trudged back, or at least Vondo did, feeling sick at heart for failing in what should have been an easy task. Ingil wisely said nothing but kept the ellon at a good pace, taking a more direct route back to Vondo’s pavilion where they had agreed to wait for Laurendil if Vondo failed to find him. In fact, when they arrived, it was to find Laurendil sitting at the table sipping some fruit juice and looking smug. Vondo saw that look and instantly hated the former ranger and without a word turned on his heels and ran from the grove, ignoring both Laurendil and Ingil shouting his name. He ran blindly until he could run no more, instinctively heading for the blue-painted flet he’d found deep in the woods, hiding himself there. He was sure that if they wanted to find him the Maiar would have no trouble but he was grateful that no one bothered him. He stayed there all night, wrapped in his misery and did not leave the flet all the next day save to relieve himself. He was hungry but that was not enough to bring him down from the flet and return to his grove.

"I wish I could have gone to Valmar with everyone else," he said to himself at one point and then a wild idea struck him. At first he was too stunned by it to breathe and he had to force himself to take a breath. Go to Valmar. Well, why not? Why should he stay here in Lórien where people like Laurendil could make a fool of him and laugh at him. It was a measure of his own immaturity and insecurity and lack of memory of how things were that convinced Vondo that Laurendil and even Ingil were doing just that. In his anger and sense of injustice it never occurred to him that, if anything, Laurendil was feeling very remorseful and it was only because Ingil and Manwen advised him otherwise that Laurendil hadn’t gone looking for Vondo to apologize.

"Let him have this time to pout," Manwen said with a smile. "He’ll be back soon enough once hunger takes hold."

Only he didn’t return and when it was discovered that one of the horses was also missing an alarm went up and the hunt was on, but Vondo had had a good two days’ head start and when Ingil silently informed his Master of what had happened, he and the other Maiar were firmly ordered not to intervene or to render aid. That did not sit well with the elves who joined Laurendil to go after the missing Reborn, but Laurendil merely nodded. This was a problem which the elves needed to solve without the help of the Powers. Some time was wasted in determining just where Vondo was headed, for the ellon had been very clever in hiding his tracks.

"Not clever enough," Laurendil said with no little satisfaction as he found the trail and gestured for the others to follow him. He was anticipating giving Vondo a good talking to when he finally caught up with the silly ellon, unaware that his desire would be thwarted.

Vondo congratulated himself on a job well done. As soon as he had made his mind up to go to Valmar and find his atto he laid plans, waiting until it was past midnight before he left the flet, carefully sneaking back into his grove to retrieve a cloak and a satchel. He managed to do this without waking the two friends who shared the pavilion. Next he made his way stealthily to the kitchen pavilion to snatch some trail food and then to the stables where he had his pick of horses, finally settling on a dun-colored gelding with a black mane and tail who whickered softly as if, in Vondo’s mind, the horse was as eager for a midnight run as he.

All the while he half-expected a host of Maiar to suddenly appear and drag him back to his grove, but the night was quiet and no Maia showed up. He quickly mounted the horse which he decided to name Nullon because of his dark coloring and urged the gelding towards the gates leading out of Lórien. He wasn’t sure if the gates were manned or would even open, but his fears were put to rest when he discovered that there were no guards and the gate was unbarred and easily opened. Then why bother with gates at all? he asked himself as he took the time to close the gates again before setting off on the road, heading east.

From the discussions he had heard he knew that Valmar lay about three days to the east but he was sure that if he stayed on the road he would eventually be caught, assuming that his absence was discovered in time. He decided to leave the road as soon as it was light out and strike southeast for a time before making his way north again. It was likely he would be met at the gates of Valmar by an irrate Laurendil or a couple of amused looking Maiar but perhaps he could elude them anyway.

Dawn seemed to take forever to arrive but as soon as the sky began to turn grey Vondo began looking for a likely place to turn off, not wanting to leave any trace if he could help it. About a mile further on he came to another road on his right that led southwest through dimly seen hills. He had no idea where that road went and it didn’t look as if it was traveled on all that much, but he swung down it and went far enough down until it bent around a copse of beeches, the east road disappearing from view. Here he left that road and made his way carefully through the copse until he was clear of it and riding across open fields. The east road was now a silver-grey ribbon to his left and he hoped he would be able to stay hidden from anyone traveling it. There were certainly plenty of small woods dotting the landscape. His spirits rose and he began singing a spritely tune, confident that he would reach Valmar in good time, a confidence that was not misplaced, for he was halfway to Valmar before anyone even realized that he was missing.

Vondo saw the city of the Powers two days later, coming up the road that he discovered which ran north and south. Like the other road that went southwest, this one did not see much traffic and that suited Vondo just fine. He gazed in awe as he reached the red gold gate encrusted with rubies shining brilliantly in the early afternoon sun, for it was clear to him that no elf had had a hand in its crafting. The gate stood open and inviting. He patted the horse’s neck.

"We’re here, Nullon," he said triumphantly, "and no Laurendil in sight, unless he’s standing at the other gate waiting for me." That thought brought a laugh from him and Nullon nickered as if sharing the joke.

But then, as Vondo entered Valmar, he suddenly realized something: he had no idea how to find his atto or anyone else for that matter. He urged Nullon further along as the southern road passed between two mansions, connecting with a wide avenue that ran the length of the city. He gazed about him with uncertainty, beginning to doubt the wisdom of coming here. He slipped off his horse and stood there, wondering what he should do. He couldn’t very well stand there and shout his atto’s name, though he very much wanted to. There didn’t seem to be anyone about and he was perplexed, for in his mind the word ‘city’ evoked images of many people milling about, going from market to market or sitting outside a tavern and watching the world go by as they drank their wine. But here... here there was no one; the place was deserted and he had no idea what he should do.

"Whom are you looking for, child?" came a voice from behind him and Vondo started, giving a strangled yelp as he turned to find himself face-to-face with a Maia wearing a blue-green surcoat embroidered with elanor and niphredil entwined. Without thinking he blurted out, "I can’t find Atto," and then cringed, wishing, in his embarrassment, that he could die again for sounding like a twelve-year-old.

If the Maia found him amusing, she did not show it. "I am Lótessë of the People of Vána," she said by way of introduction, "and I will take you to him. Leave your horse here. He will be cared for."

Vondo was so used to Maiar seemingly knowing everything that it never occurred to him as he followed her to question how she even knew who he was, much less who his atar was. Lótessë led him across the avenue past a mansion fronted by carnelian gates, bringing him into a garden surrounding a smaller mansion. "Your atto is here," she said and led him inside where he found himself in a cloister with an upper gallery. The Maia turned right along the covered walk and they went two-thirds around until they came to an unremarkable door.

Lótessë smiled at Vondo. "Your atto is in here. No need to knock. Just go in." And then she was not there, leaving behind the subtle fragrance of lilacs lingering in the air.

Vondo hesitated for a moment and then, as quietly as he could, he opened the door and peeked in. What he expected to see, he could never have said. What he saw astounded him. It was a large circular chamber that was more like an amphitheatre with tiers descending to a central dais where people sat around a ring-shaped table. He couldn’t imagine how the room could have been constructed for he was obviously on the ground floor and he had the odd sense that the space taken up by the chamber was actually larger than the width of the wing of the building and yet it seemed to be encompassed by the building itself. It made no sense and his mind shied away from the contradictions, focusing on finding his atto, whom he saw was sitting across from him in the third tier.

His initial surprise and uneasiness disappeared at seeing his atto and his brother sitting together and he bounded into the room with greater enthusiasm, ignoring the startled, and in some cases, disgruntled looks from those sitting in the tiers. "Atto! Atto! Here I am!" he called out in delight.

Herendil, like everyone else, had started at the unexpected sight of his eldest son striding into the room, his face wreathed in a smile. "Yonya," he exclaimed as he stood to face his son, "what are you doing here? How did you get here? Where are your minders?"

"I don’t need minders, Atto," Vondo retorted with a frown. "I wanted to see you again."

There were some titters from the spectators at the ingenuousness of the ellon’s reply, sounding so much like an elfling in spite of the fact that they could see that he was not. Before Herendil or Aldundil, who had also risen, could respond to that, Selmacas, who had stared in disbelief at the sight of the ellon, now rose, his expression one of anger.

Vondo, who had been making his way along the rows to reach his atar, stopped suddenly in surprise and stared at the ellon yelling at him. He frowned as a vagrant memory flitted in and out of his consciousness and then his expression cleared and he smiled innocently. "Oh, I remember you. You’re Selmacas. You have a daughter, don’t you? Cala-something." He waved his hand negligently, already losing interest in the ellon, being more intent on joining his atar and regaling him with tales of his latest adventures. But that easy dismissal sent Selmacas into a fury and with a wordless cry he was on poor Vondo, screaming at him and pummeling him, making him trip on the steps as he tried to protect himself so that he landed hard on his back, screaming in pain, cracking his head so that he nearly lost consciousness.

Immediately there was pandemonium as people yelled and tried to get out of the way. Selmacas leaped on the sprawled Vondo, straddling the ellon’s body and continued beating on him. "You traitor! Oathbreaker!" he screamed with every punch delivered. It took Herendil, Aldundil as well as Sador and Haldir, to pull him off the hapless Reborn who lay there in a huddle with blood streaming from his nose, crying, "Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me."

At once the noise level dropped. Even Selmacas, who had been screaming invectives, went quiet, breathing harshly as he struggled against those who held him. Herendil and Aldundil went to Vondo even as Finrod and others converged on the poor ellon who continued lying there dripping blood and weeping.

"Vondo, Vondo," Herendil called and would have cradled his son in his arms but Finrod stayed him.

"Let’s check his injuries first before he’s moved," the prince said quietly and motioned for Elríen to join him. The elleth came and gently felt for broken bones. Vondo’s weeping turned into gasps of pain when she touched his ribs.

"Two cracked and one definitely broken," she said quietly, "and there’s something wrong with his spine."

Finrod frowned at the elleth’s words and then nodded, as if he understood what she was saying. He combed his fingers through Vondo’s hair and spoke gently to him. "Vondo, can you move your legs? Try to move your legs."

"I... I can’t," Vondo cried. "I... I can’t feel anything. Wh-why can’t I feel anything? Wh-where’s Atto? I want Atto."

"I’m right here, yonya," Herendil crooned, taking one of Vondo’s hands and rubbing it between his own. "I’m right here." Then he turned to Elríen. "What’s wrong with him?" he asked softly.

"The force of his landing snapped a vertebra, I think," she answered just as softly. "He appears to be paralyzed."

Aldundil was on him immediately, his eyes blazing in fury, but before he could do more than wrap his hands around Selmacas’ neck, Finrod was grabbing him and pulling him away. "Enough!" he yelled as he handed the still furious Aldundil off to Oromë who happened to be right there. The Valar, in fact, were surrounding those most involved in the fracas, effectively keeping the other elves away.

"Get him out of here!" Finrod snapped at Haldir and Sador, but even as they were attempting to drag Selmacas out of the room two Maiar wearing the black surcoats of the Lord of Mandos appeared and took him in hand.

"Take him to Mandos," Námo instructed the Maiar, his expression cold and forbidding. "Keep him in one of the Gardens. Maranwë will know which ones are empty at the moment. See to it that he has everything he needs for his comfort except his freedom."

Selmacas, whose face had been red with anger now went white as the two Maiar hustled him out of the room, the doors closing silently behind them. The rest of the elves were absolutely silent, barely daring to breathe in case they came to the attention of the Valar. Meanwhile, Estë was kneeling between Finrod and Elríen, speaking softly. "It’s more of a pressure on the spinal cord than a complete break, but we will need to repair the damage. Do you sense the swelling here?" She took their hands in hers and placed them above Vondo’s abdomen and the two nodded. "It’s what is causing the paralysis."

"What do we do?" Elríen asked respectfully. "The few times that I encountered such a severe injury in an elf, they’ve chosen to flee to Mandos rather than spend all the ages of Arda unable to move."

Before Estë could respond, Vondo started blubbering. "I don’t want to die again, Atto. Please, I don’t want to die again. I just got out!" There was such a note of despair in his voice that few there were unmoved.

Námo came and stood facing Vondo. "Child, look at me," he said in a tone that would not be gainsaid and Vondo reluctantly turned his gaze on the Lord of Mandos. "I assure you, if you do flee to Mandos, I will be very displeased." Námo allowed his expression to darken and several of the elves blanched at the force of his words.

*Don’t frighten him into Mandos, Brother!* Estë sent to Námo, her tone sharp, even as she was quietly describing to Elríen and Finrod what they needed to do to repair the damage to Vondo’s spine.

"But how will we repair the damage?" Elríen exclaimed, looking perplexed. "If we try to move him...."

"Do not worry about that," Estë said and looked up at Manwë, giving him a nod. "He needs to be kept very still and horizontal."

Manwë nodded and then to the amazement of the onlookers Vondo was suddenly floating about three feet from the ground. Estë stood and motioned for Finrod and Elríen to stand, then gestured for the other thirteen healers to gather around Vondo, who never spoke or even seemed to be aware of his surroundings, his gaze fixed on Námo.

"Findaráto and Elríen will do the actual repairs," Estë said, "but you must lend them your strength. I will guide you." She turned to Finrod and smiled. "You are no stranger to this, so you will take the lead."

Finrod nodded, his eyes blanking out with deep concentration and then to the amazement of many, if not all, he began to Sing. The flow of Power was evident and some of the elves even took a step or two back. Elríen and the other Tol Eressëan healers gasped almost as one and then fell silent as Finrod continued to Sing a song of healing, his hands underneath Vondo, the palms touching the area of the injury. The sense of Power rose with every verse until it crescendoed into a paean of praise for Eru in allowing the healing. Finrod sang a final verse and then wilted to the floor. Three of the other healers also fainted and the rest were reeling with fatigue, held up by helpful hands. Ingwion, who had been standing behind Finrod, reached for him as he crumpled to the ground and pulled him out of the way as a litter appeared underneath Vondo’s body and the ellon was gently lowered onto it, though no hands held him. When he was safely settled, a blanket wrapped around him, Estë smiled down at him and Námo released him from his attention.

"We need to keep you still for a day or two until the swelling recedes and the healing is complete. I’m sending you into healing sleep." Then before the ellon could utter a protest, with a simple stroke of her hand across his brow, he fell asleep. Only when she was satisfied did she turn her attention to Elríen and the other healers. "You did very well, my children."

Elríen smiled weakly, leaning heavily on one of the other healers. "Thank you, lady, considering that I don’t think any of us have ever gone this deep into hröacenda before, especially using Songs of Power to heal. Lord Elrond, I think is quite adept, but it’s not a technique that most of us have had occasion to use. We’ve usually relied on herbal remedies and an elf’s natural healing abilities, that and healing sleep to effect repairs to the hröa, and when that fails, we allow them to fade."

"Understandable," Estë said with a smile, "and even here the use of Songs of Power is rarely employed. Findaráto seems to have mastered it all on his own."

Finrod blushed slightly at the praise. Then Estë gave the healers a measuring look. "It is obvious that you are all weak from expending so much energy. I think, Nienna, beds can be found for them," she said briskly to her spouse's sister.

"I’ve already seen to it, dear," Nienna said, smiling at one of the healers who was reeling where he stood. She held him up by the elbow with a single hand. "Tiutalion has aired out one of the wings. Ah, here he is now."

A Maia wearing the dark grey surcoat and fountain emblem of the Lady of Pity appeared, giving them all a bow. "All is ready, Mistress," he said and Nienna nodded, encouraging the fourteen healers to follow Tiutalion. "You will not be missing much, I assure you," she said. "Tiutalion will see to your needs." The healers gave their obeisance and with some of the other elves giving them support, they followed the Maia out.

"I think the rest of you may also depart," Manwë said to the remaining delegates and, as mild as his tone was, there was a force behind it that none dared disobey and there was a flurry of bows and curtsies as everyone began to leave, speaking in soft murmurs.

Only the Valar, the three kings and their heirs, along with Sador, Beleg, Amarië and Alassiel remained with Herendil, Aldundil and a now sleeping Vondo. Herendil turned to Estë. "He will recover?"

"Yes, Herendil," she said with a smile. "Your son will recover. It will take a day or two for the swelling to subside and then he should regain full use of his legs. He’ll be up and around soon."

"Thank you," Herendil said with great emotion and Estë took him into her embrace and held him until he could get himself under control.

Nienna then spoke. "I think it best that Vondo stay here rather than be moved too far. You and Aldundil may stay as well and I’ll have Vandacalimë and Vorondil sent for."

Herendil nodded his thanks and then looked at Manwë, his expression more chagrined. "I’m sorry, lord. I had no idea Vondo would actually come here. Whatever possessed him to do so?"

"I’m afraid things did not go too well between him and Laurendil and Vondo decided to come find you. He missed you, all of you, you know, and did not quite understand why all of you had deserted him," Manwë replied.

"But we didn’t desert him," Aldundil exclaimed in surprise as he gazed down at his sleeping brother.

"No, of course not," Irmo assured him, "but that is how he felt. At any rate, he is here now. I’ve instructed one of my Maiar to let Laurendil and the others know. They’re about a day out from Valmar. I’ll have them come here so they may rest before returning to Lórien."

Estë meanwhile was checking on Finrod. "You are recovering more quickly than before," she told him with a smile. "Your technique is improving."

"Having all the other healers helped," he said with a thin smile as he accepted a goblet of wine that appeared in Estë’s hand. "Vondo?" he asked after taking a long gulp.

"He will recover and so will you." She held out her hand and helped him up with Ingwion supporting him.

"I’m sorry I attacked him," Aldundil said, shaking his head ruefully. "I... I guess I just snapped."

"Understandable," Manwë said calmly, "but you must take care not to allow yourself to be goaded again, Aldundil. You are too fine an ellon to lower yourself to Selmacas’ level."

"Let’s get Vondo settled," Námo then said, "and I think you should get some rest yourself, best beloved," he added to Finrod.

Finrod nodded, taking a steadying breath and then chuckling in spite of his fatigue.

Finrod gave him a weary smile. "I was just thinking how upset Glorfindel is going to be when he learns how much fun he’s missing not being here."

Sador was not the only one who eyed him with disbelief and Finrod couldn’t help laughing at their expressions as they made their way out of the chamber with Irmo and Oromë carrying Vondo’s stretcher. The last to leave were Manwë and Námo. The Lord of Mandos gave the Elder King a knowing look. "From their lips to our ears," he said softly and Manwë’s eyes twinkled with humor.

"The board is set but we’re still missing a few pieces," Manwë said as the two exited the chamber. "Time to bring them into the game."

Hröacenda: Body-reading, an elvish healing technique; cf. attested word sanwecenda ‘thought-reading’. My thanks for Alassiel for coming up with the term and allowing me to borrow it.

Glorfindel stood on the quay where Vingilot was moored, looking out to sea. The harbor was well protected but even so winter still found its way there and the water was rough that morning. Snow had fallen the night before, blanketing the entire area. The elflings from the village were eagerly cavorting in it and Glorfindel smiled to himself at the sound of their laughter ringing across the valley. The occasional surprised squawk from an adult told him that yet another victim of a snowball had been found.

He idly ran his hand along the side of the ship as he kept his eyes on the water. There was something mesmerizing about the constant shifting of the waves, a power so deep and impersonal as to be almost frightening. It was a pity he was always getting sick whenever he ventured out in a boat. Eärendil assured him that on a larger ship it was unlikely that he would suffer so, but Vingilot was the only ship there and it no longer plied the waves of Ulmo’s realm.

The wind stiffened and he held his cloak a little closer to him and sighed. It was just past the winter solstice and he wondered idly how it was going with the Council and if there had been any trouble with the Tol Eressëans. They had received news that it was indeed being held, but nothing more. He wondered about his gwedyr, about Finrod and Sador and Beleg especially, and Ingwion, of course, the only non-Reborn in their little group. He wondered if the Prince of the Vanyar ever felt left out and then snorted in self-derision at such an inane thought. He had a great deal of respect for Ingwë’s son. He remembered how lost and alone he had felt when he first went to Vanyamar and how Ingwion had taken him under his wing and offered him his friendship. It was the next best thing to having Finrod there... and Sador.

He missed them, all of them. Not for the first time he wondered what he was doing there in Aewellond instead of being with Finrod and the others. Not that his presence at the Council was needed; he had said as much himself and truly believed it. Still, if he were honest with himself, he would admit to feeling a little envious, a little left out of things, a little... bored.

Yes, that’s what he was feeling — bored. Oh, he enjoyed the training, though with the winter it had been put off as no one had thought to construct a salle where they could work out during inclement weather. And he enjoyed renewing his friendship with those hailing from Gondolin and making new friends as well, but there really was not much else to do here besides the training. Some of the others, such as Galdor and Legolas, had taken up other trades or tasks to keep them occupied, but Glorfindel knew himself well enough, however chancy his memories still might be, to know that learning a craft or taking up farming simply was not something he could do. He had been a lord of his House, a member of Turgon’s Privy Council, a warrior and confident of kings and princes and he craved the excitement of those things.

He realized that the inner restlessness he’d been feeling once the incessant training with the Maiar and the other warriors had stopped had always been there, only put in abeyance by the constant drills. Now, that restlessness was coming to the fore again and he understood why the sea so fascinated him: the restlessness of the always moving waters matched the restlessness of his fëa.

He sighed again and wrapped his cloak about him more closely as the wind suddenly picked up. Spray from the water striking the wharf hit him and he stifled a curse as he stepped back and then decided standing there was a ridiculous waste of time and turned to go back to the tower and perhaps inveigle Eärendil or Elwing into a game of chess. Just as he was turning away, he spied movement out of the corner of his eye and turned back to face the harbor, squinting against the sun glare on the waves.

He stood there, waiting for the object to resolve itself into something recognizable, and heard the sound of voices singing from across the way. Then he was waving as he saw that it was indeed a ship, coming into port under minimium sails as it glided towards him. Glorfindel realized that the ship would share the dock with Vingilot and he quickly got the moorings ready, having learned that much of seamanship from Eärendil.

The ship was one of the swan ships of the Teleri and he wondered who could possibly be aboard. He had had the impression that the Maiar allowed no one to approach Aewellond but apparently that was not strictly true.

The sound of running feet alerted him that others had seen the ship enter the harbor and soon he was joined by Aerandir, Elleront and Falathar who quickly took over the job of securing the ship to the wharf while Glorfindel stood back and watched. There was much shouting and calling out between those on board and Eärendil’s sailors and Glorfindel realized that this was not the first time this particular ship had come to Aewellond and he was intrigued to find out who these travelers were. Once the ship was properly moored, a gangplank was lowered and a tall ellon, whose features seemed vaguely familiar to Glorfindel, stepped briskly out and greeted them joyfully.

"Captain Falmaron!" Aerandir called as he, Elleront and Falathar went to greet the new arrival. "We didn’t expect to see you here until the spring."

The captain laughed. "Nor did I but I decided to stop here anyway. Where’s Eärendil? And who’s this?" He looked pointedly at Glorfindel who simply stood there smiling.

"Ah, let me make you known to Lord Glorfindel who recently joined us," Aerandir said. "My Lord Glorfindel, this is Falmaron, Captain of the Elerína."

"Forgive me, but there is something familiar about you," Glorfindel then said. "Have we met before? Perhaps in Mandos, for I can see that you are a Reborn as am I."

Falmaron gave him a piercing look and shook his head. "I have no memory of meeting you in the Halls of Waiting, my lord...."

"Glorfindel, then," Falmaron echoed with a nod, "and I’m just Falmaron. As I was saying, I have no memory of meeting you in Mandos, though in truth I’m not sure that means anything."

"Why don’t we go inside?" Falathar suggested. "Eärendil is around here somewhere, else he would’ve been here to greet you himself. Elwing, I think, is conversing with some birds in her tower." He nodded towards the white-stoned tower that none but the Lord and Lady of Aewellond were allowed to climb.

Falmaron nodded, then turn to the sailors standing by the rails. "Secure the ship and then go greet your friends. I’ll call for you when I’m ready to leave."

"As you will, Captain," one of the ellyn said with a careless salute and then the sailors were busy with their tasks as Falmaron, Glorfindel and the other three sailors made their way off the wharf and headed towards the tower. They were nearly there when Eärendil appeared, coming around a corner of the building attached to the tower and gave a glad cry, running to greet the Teler who gave him a fierce hug.

"So what brings you here and in the middle of a storm?" Eärendil demanded with a laugh.

"Ah, that would be telling now, wouldn’t it?" Falmaron replied with a laugh of his own.

"Come in, then, and warm yourself," Eärendil said, "and you can tell us all about it. Your crew?"

"Securing the ship and then they’re off to visit friends," the captain answered. "I don’t think we’re going anywhere until after this storm blows itself out."

"Good, good," Eärendil said eagerly. "You never stay long enough as far as I’m concerned. But come, I see Elwing is waving to us. She’ll be down presently."

They all looked up to see the Lady of Aewellond looking down at them and waved back. Then she disappeared and they went inside and Aerandir quickly went to the kitchen and presently brought back some mulled wine that had been simmering on a backburner, infusing the house with the tangy scents of cinnamon and orange and other spices. By now Elwing had joined them and others, including Hendor, Galdor and Legolas, also came in until Falmaron had a good sized audience eagerly waiting to hear what the sea captain had to tell them. Glorfindel, the newest member of their little clique, sat on a bench against the wall, sipping his wine and watching everyone around him, wondering why this Teler looked so familiar to him.

"Why are you here, Falmaron?" Eärendil asked when all were settled. "What brings you here in the teeth of winter? I thought you would be well south by now."

"And certainly I had planned to winter in Avallónë as usual," Falmaron said after taking a sip of his wine, "but something compelled me to come here instead. Indeed, I was already more than halfway to Tol Eressëa when the urge to come here came over me." He gave them a rueful look. "My crew thought I was insane, though none were stupid enough to say so. Frankly, so did I, but the more I ignored the feeling the more intense it became and so I was two days out from Alqualondë when I ordered the ship turned about. Naturally, the wind was against us and we spent much of our time tacking."

"It’s taken us two days longer than it should have to get here," Falmaron answered.

Glorfindel did a quick calculation. "Then you turned about just before the Gates of Winter as those of Gondolin called the solstice," he said.

Falmaron shrugged. "I do not know, Cousin," he replied, "I only know that I needed to be here."

"Cousin?" Glorfindel asked, latching onto the word. It was the term normally used between those who were related to one another within the first three degrees of consanguinity and not for more distant affinities, yet Glorfindel knew that none of Elwing’s family had survived.

Falmaron gave him a smile. "Elwing is my first cousin twice removed, for her great-grandfather is mine uncle."

Glorfindel blinked at that bit of news. "You’re Lindarion’s brother," he said. "That’s why you seemed familiar."

Glorfindel nodded. "Indeed. I have met your entire family. Your atar helped me to come here though he knows not where Aewellond lies, only that it lies somewhere in the North. He provided me with provisions and aid."

Falmaron gave him a puzzled look. "You have the look of the Vanyar. Did you die in this War of Wrath everyone talks about?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "My atar was of the Noldor," he answered. "I died in Gondolin."

Falmaron rose suddenly to everyone’s surprise and stared at Glorfindel for the longest time, his expression unreadable. No one dared to speak, but Glorfindel slowly stood to face the Teler, not sure what the ellon meant to do. Finally, Falmaron spoke, his voice low and full of deep emotion.

Glorfindel shook his head. "No. I was with Turucáno. He forbade us to join in the fight." He paused and tilted his head as if considering something. "Does it really matter now?"

"To me?" Falmaron replied with a surprised look. "No. Of course not. I have no animosity towards my slayer, but...." His expression became more puzzled.

"What is it, Falmaron?" Eärendil asked with concern. He and the others had remained silent until now, not wishing to interfere, but the Star-lord felt it was time to speak, rising as he did so to lay a hand on the captain’s arm. "Why are you upset?"

Falmaron looked at him and it seemed as if he only then remembered that he and Glorfindel had an audience. He gave Eärendil and the others a warm smile. "Forgive me, my friends. I did not mean to upset any of you. Come. Let us sit and perhaps I can explain."

He sat and Eärendil and Glorfindel followed suit. Elwing motioned to Galdor to pour more wine into everyone’s goblets. Meanwhile, Falmaron continued staring meditatively at Glorfindel, who returned his gaze with equanimity, sipping on his drink.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "To the best of my knowledge, your atar, indeed your entire family, is on good terms with the Noldor, or at least with Arafinwë and his family. You know that Findaráto has been released from Mandos?"

"About a century or so ago," Glorfindel answered. "I have only been released for a few years myself."

"Falmaron, will you not tell us the story?" Elwing asked gently. "We have never pried but we are curious to know what happened to you."

Falmaron stared at his cousin for a moment and then shrugged. "There’s not much to tell, really. On the day I was killed I was not in Alqualondë. I was acting as a guide to an ellon, a Vanya, dedicated in service to Lady Yavanna. He was cataloguing the plants that flourished in and around the sea. It was my lot to act as his escort, making sure he did not do himself an injury in his enthusiasm." He paused and grimaced slightly. "It wasn’t even my turn."

"Oh, it’s just that Atar had each of his children acting as Cemendil’s escort and that day it should have been Lindarion, but at the last minute he asked me to take over for him because... because... I forget now why." He frowned again, as if trying to recapture the memory and then shrugged in a resigned way. "Doesn’t matter now why. The end result is that as we were returning to Alqualondë we found ourselves in the middle of a pitched battle. My memory of it is still confused but I think I tried to protect Cemendil when a couple of Noldor came at us with swords. Neither of us were armed, of course, and the shock of seeing our ships in flames....Anyway, I died. I don’t know what happened to Cemendil."

The room was absolutely silent for the longest time, as if they were afraid to breathe and thereby break the spell of Falmaron’s tale, so simple in the telling, yet so fraught with horror and pain. Finally, the Teler, whose expression had gone dark with memory, shook himself and gave them a rueful look.

"When I was Reborn and returned to Alqualondë I was dismayed to find my family feeling bitter over my death. I remember Olwen asking me if I knew who killed me. I’m not sure what they would have done with the information if I had had it, which I didn’t. I knew none of the Noldor by sight except my sister’s children. I couldn’t understand why they were so upset with me for not being angry for having died, for not feeling hatred for my slayer. Yet, what was the point? For all I knew my slayer was himself slain and we might very well have played together in ignorant bliss within the Halls of Waiting. That was something I don’t think my family could accept. I finally could not take it any longer, so I left, went to Tol Eressëa where I befriended some sailors and hired on as crew. After a few years, I bought my own ship and the rest you know."

"Well I don’t," Glorfindel said with a smile, "but that’s of no consequence to me. Suffice it to say that when Olwë and Lindarion joined Arafinwë and Findaráto on a Progress through Tol Eressëa this past summer, they were confronted with a number of Noldorin Reborn and Exiles and neither seemed unduly upset by it. They treated all with respect and Lindarion and I became fast friends."

Falmaron smiled. "I am glad to hear this, more than you can know. I vowed I would never return to Alqualondë so long as there was one Teler who held hatred in his heart for what happened. Hatred leads nowhere except to death, death of one’s fëa if not of one’s hröa."

"Well, I cannot speak for all the Teleri," Glorfindel said, "but I can tell you that your family and those whom I met during my brief visit to Alqualondë appear to hold no animosity towards the Noldor. Your atar, in fact, spoke eloquently about forgiveness and a need to move forward and ensure that such a thing never happens again."

"So does that mean you will return to Alqualondë and be reconciled with your family, Cousin?" Elwing asked. "It has grieved me deeply that you severed your ties with them. My family, too, is a victim of Kinslaying, and for long and long I held hatred in my heart, but I realized that it would not bring them back to me any sooner. It’s taken me a long time to forgive those who murdered my family and forced me to abandon my own children."

Falmaron took Elwing’s hands in his and squeezed them. "This I know and I honor you for it. I have the advantage of passing through Lord Námo’s demesne and being taught by him and the Lady Nienna, yet you came to this on your own."

"Not on my own," Elwing corrected with a smile. "I had the help of my beloved and my friends."

Falmaron nodded in acknowledgment, then turned his attention back to Glorfindel. "So, what brings you here, my friend? You say you were of Gondolin. I know little of what happened in the Outer Lands and care even less, but I will hear your tale now that I have told you mine."

"Which is only fair," Glorfindel said with a smile. "Well, as I said, I followed Turucáno’s banner and...."

The telling was long, for Falmaron interrupted with questions and the day was dying towards evening by the time Glorfindel brought his story to a close. At one point, Elwing excused herself to check with the cooks about dinner, returning shortly to let them know that dinner would be ready in another hour or so. Glorfindel, meanwhile, finished up his narrative, telling Falmaron about how he arrived in Aewellond under Mánatamir’s guidance.

"Ah, Mánatamir," Falmaron said with a laugh. "Him I know quite well. It was he who led me here the first time and ever since I have acted as the go-between for the people here and in Avallónë, trading back and forth, when I’m not exploring the coast and the islands. I was planning to return here in the spring laden with goods for trade, but now I’m not sure I should risk the seas at this time. They can be treacherous with storms."

"Yet, you say you were nearly to Tol Eressëa when you felt the urge to turn back and come here," Eärendil said and Falmaron nodded.

"Yet, why?" Glorfindel asked. "As you can see, we are not in straitened circumstances. All is well here, is it not?" He asked this of Eärendil and Elwing and both nodded.

"Well, we are glad you are here, nonetheless, Cousin," Eärendil said to Falmaron, "and welcome you and your crew for as long as you wish to stay."

"Thank you," Falmaron said, then frowned. "If there is naught amiss here, as you say, then why did I feel so strongly that my presence was needed here?"

Suddenly the air was filled with the perfume of lemongrass mixed with rosemary and Mánatamir was there in their midst, smiling. "Perhaps I can answer that."

Everyone rose to their feet, half in respect and half in surprise, at the sudden appearance of the Maia. Mánatamir raised a hand to forestall their demands for an explanation.

Glorfindel eyed the Maia with suspicion. "Need to know?" he asked. "How about just telling us what we want to know and stop treating us like children!"

There was a stunned and uneasy silence that hung in the air as the other elves just gaped at Glorfindel who never took his eyes off the Maia. Mánatamir sighed.

"Don’t make this more than it is, Glorfindel," he said quietly, and as mildly as he spoke, yet could they sense the steel underlying his voice.

Glorfindel flinched slightly at the reprimand but refused to apologize. Instead, he snarled a bitten-off oath and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Even as he was stomping down the path towards the quay he knew he was being childish and stupid but he couldn’t stop himself. There was just something about all this that rankled. He was as curious as the rest to know why Falmaron felt the need to come here, yet he could not find it in himself to sit and listen meekly to what he suspected was yet another example of Valarin manipulation passed off as something more benign.

He paused along the path, trying to control his breathing and gather his scattered thoughts into something more coherent. It was snowing again, but he ignored the flakes as they swirled about him, his mind on more important matters. He did not recall ever feeling this way before, not even in his previous life. What had changed? Why was he so suspicious of every motive put forth by the Valar? He had been so trusting before... before he learned how his own memories had been manipulated by them, made to forget Eärendil. Yes. That was it. However much he recognized why they did what they did, he had never fully accepted its necessity and the feeling of violation....

He flinched and felt himself grow ill at the thought. What Tulcaner and his fellows had done to him had been a violation, but a physical one. What the Valar had done... it smacked too much of....

He found himself on his knees heaving. He couldn’t even think the word without collapsing, so vile was the concept, yet in spite of what the One had told him, it still felt to him as if he’d been spiritually raped. The exigencies of training with the Maiar and then the summer’s Progress had forced him to push all that aside, bury it deep and out of the way, but meeting Falmaron... and then Mánatamir appearing... it was all coming back to him and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. Now, more than ever, he wished Finrod was with him, comforting him. He trusted Finrod as he trusted no one else and he was feeling lost and confused with the emotions presently overwhelming him.

"Oh, gwador," he sobbed and hid his face in his hands as he knelt on the stone path while snow fell around him.

He wasn’t sure how long he knelt there, the wetness of the snow seeping into his clothes. It may have been minutes or hours. He only knew a sense of despair creeping over him. Too much had happened to him, too much that was simply wrong, too much that he still did not understand. Flashes of memory surged upward from the dimness of his mind — of a time when the Trees were alive and he was safe in the loving bosom of his family, of when they were not and madness reigned supreme, of leaving Tirion and his old life behind, little realizing what the future had in store for him. The memories that surfaced came and went in seconds, barely long enough for him to grasp their meaning, a collage of scenes that seemed to build towards a climax and then one memory came to the fore and stayed....

He was sitting in a garden in Vinyamar overlooking the Sea. Gulls screeched overhead and black-feathered terns with their forked tails strutted along the beach in search of food. Someone came and sat down beside him. Without looking up he knew it was his friend Ecthelion.

"Then why do you spend hours sitting here staring into the West?" Ecthelion enquired. "What do you hope to see?"

"Nothing," Glorfindel answered. "I do not sit here to remember, Ecthelion. I sit here to forget."

"Everything," Glorfindel answered, his voice gone cold and his eyes dark. "Everything...."

Glorfindel jerked when he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see a concerned Eärendil staring down at him, snowflakes mantling him.

Numbly, Glorfindel took it and allowed himself to be drawn up and herded back into the warmth. Everyone was still there, their own expressions full of concern. Glorfindel noticed Mánatamir standing where he’d last seen him. Nothing had changed. How long had he been outside? He shook his head and snow fell from it, spattering Legolas, who uttered an oath in disgust and moved away, much to everyone’s amusement, even Glorfindel’s.

"You’re white as a sheet," Elwing exclaimed, coming to them and throwing a knitted blanket over Glorfindel’s shoulders. "If you were one of the Edain, I’d swear you were freezing."

"Nay, I barely registered the fact that it was snowing," Glorfindel said with a sigh as he was led back to his chair which he’d deserted. Hendor thrust a goblet of mulled wine into his hands and he nodded his thanks before taking an appreciative sip.

"You were being honest," Mánatamir said. "But what I said was true. You were making more of my words than was there, though I admit I might have worded things differently."

"I realized that I’ve never really accepted what the Valar did to me, even though I know they had the best of intentions in blocking my memory as they did."

"It was not an easy decision for them to make," Mánatamir said with a sympathetic look. "I was not privy to their discussions, but I know from Eönwë and Olórin that not all agreed to it. Lord Irmo especially felt it was not only wrong but ultimately futile. And of course, he was proved correct." He gave Glorfindel a brief smile and the ellon nodded.

"At any rate," the Maia continued, looking more pensive, "the damage has been done, as they say."

"Glorfindel," Eärendil then said, leaning over to lay a hand on his arm in companionship, "I know this has been very difficult for you, but I want you to know that we all love you and only want you to be happy. All of us are here for you whenever you need a willing ear. Don’t shut us out, please."

"Bah!" Galdor exclaimed in mild disgust. "You have never been a burden, my friend, except when you were playing one of your stupid jests."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "Stupid, were they? I’ll have you know that they were works of art. Ecthelion and I...."

"Were the most impossible ellyn that ever drew breath," Hendor interjected with a mock scowl. "Do you know how many times my Lord Tuor wanted to strangle the two of you? And I can assure you Lady Idril was not far behind."

Eärendil started laughing. "Oh, yes. I remember lying in bed some nights, listening to Ada and Nana going on about Glorfindel this and Ecthelion that and when will those two grow up?" He gave Glorfindel a wicked smile. "They were convinced that the two of you were a terrible influence on me, and all the while I was lying there thinking that you and Ecthelion were the bestest uncles a lad could ever have."

Now everyone started laughing and Glorfindel blushed, not daring to look at anyone. "We were good friends, your parents, Ecthelion and I," he muttered.

"The very best, and they knew it, and treasured it," Eärendil said with all sincerity. "I often heard them speaking of you and Ecthelion with great fondness and regret that you were both lost to them. They missed you both terribly, as did I. But all that is the past," he continued. "You are not a burden, at least not to us. Whether the Valar think the same...." He gave Glorfindel a sly wink and there were knowing grins among the others.

Glorfindel nodded and looked at Falmaron, who had remained silent during the exchange. "I apologize, my lord. I fear I’ve let my personal feelings get the better of me."

Falmaron shrugged. "You are recently Reborn. I remember how close to the surface all my emotions were when I was first released. The least little thing said I took as criticism when most of the time, as I think back, it was most likely just an observation on someone’s part. You’ll grow out of it eventually."

"You’re most welcome, youngling," Falmaron replied, his smile unrepentant. The others snickered. The sea captain turned to Mánatamir. "You were going to explain my sudden desire to brave the winter seas to come here."

Eärendil smiled at him and gave him a wink. "We’re all ears, Mánatamir. Tell us what you will."

"It’s very simple, actually," Mánatamir began. "You, Falmaron, needed to meet with Glorfindel."

"And this meeting could not have waited until spring?" Falmaron demanded, his eyebrows rising in disbelief. Glorfindel’s own expression was unreadable to any of them as he stared at the Maia.

"It would have been better if you two had met over the summer," Mánatamir said, "but Glorfindel was not ready and the Royal Progress through Tol Eressëa took precedence. However, you might recall, Falmaron, that Eärendil and Elwing kept urging you to stay longer this time round. Had you listened to them and to your own heart you would have been here when Glorfindel arrived."

"My heart was silent on the matter," Falmaron replied, though he looked a little doubtful as if he didn’t quite believe his own words. "I wished only to spend some time continuing our mapping of the islands before we would be forced to return to Avallónë for the winter."

The Maia nodded. "Which is why it was not until you were heading back to Tol Eressëa that you allowed yourself the luxury of listening to your heart." He gave the ellon a gleeful look. "I can assure you I did everything to inspire you to return here short of grabbing the damn wheel and turning the ship around myself."

Now Falmaron blushed. "Why didn’t you?" he asked. "Why didn’t you just appear and tell me?"

"What would have happened to me if I hadn’t listened and continued to Avallónë?" Falmaron now looked worried.

Mánatamir’s expression softened towards sympathy. "Why nothing would have happened, child," he said. "You and Glorfindel simply would not have met. Then or ever."

"Wh-what do you mean by that?" Falmaron demanded, his face paling and those listening also paled at the Maia’s words.

"Nothing sinister, I assure you," Mánatamir told them. "I only meant that it was unlikely that you two would ever meet because by the time you were back here, Falmaron, Glorfindel might well have returned to Tirion. You would never have learned about your family and would then have no reason to think you should return to them and reconcile with them."

"Is that what this is all about?" Glorfindel enquired. "Getting Falmaron to reconcile with his family?"

"In part," Mánatamir replied with a nod. "Falmaron needed to hear from you about your own experiences with Olwë. He needed to know that things have changed and it was time to go home, at least long enough to reconcile with his family. What he decides to do after that would be up to him."

There was a long pause as everyone considered the Maia’s words. Then, Eärendil gave Falmaron a shrewd look. "It is true that Elwing and I and all your friends here have wished for you to be reconciled with your family. We know Olwë and Lirillë and your brothers and sister and we have the greatest respect for them. Your atar welcomed Elwing without reservation while I was with the Valar and when I came to Alqualondë he welcomed me as well, though the blood of the Noldor ran in my veins."

"But not the blood of the Kinslayers," Falmaron said. "When I was first reunited with them I was disturbed by how they kept asking me about the one who killed me. Did I know who he was? Did I feel anger or hatred towards him, towards all the Noldor? I was confused by the questions because they made no sense to me and I fear I couldn’t give them the answers they were looking for. I still cannot." He turned to Glorfindel, his expression almost pleading. "You know of what I speak. You know how everything was different afterwards."

"But Falmaron," Elwing retorted, "you weren’t guilty of anything. Why do you say your innocence was restored to you? You were innocent from the beginning, untainted by the madness that overtook the Noldor."

"But I wasn’t innocent, Elwing," Falmaron said with a sad smile. "I was slain. At that very moment my innocence was lost. At that moment I came face-to-face with evil and knew it for what it was. Had I survived the attack it is very likely that I would have nursed hatred in my heart and I would have become corrupted by it, perhaps corrupting others, including my family and thereby destroying them where swords had failed. Dying was what saved me and them from that fate. How then could I possibly hate the one who slew me, sending my fëa to the one place, to the one person who could cleanse me of my incipient hatred and restore me to my innocence?"

"None of them could," Falmaron nodded in agreement. "Not then, though you tell me that things have changed."

"They have indeed," Mánatamir interjected. "Your leaving them woke them up to what they were doing to you, what they were doing to themselves. It took them all time to come to terms with your new-found innocence, for they themselves were no longer innocent. Their fëar were still tainted with darkness. You did well to leave when you did, child."

"And they came to understand that eventually," the Maia said. "But now, it is time for you to return and reconcile with them. That is why you and Glorfindel were meant to meet. He holds the key to your reconciliation."

"You were there during the Progress and interacted with Olwë and Lindarion and the other Teleri," Mánatamir answered. "You saw the way they treated the Reborn, Celepharn in particular. You are a witness to the honest respect they gave to the Noldor. Beyond that, you are the first Noldorin Reborn permitted to come to Alqualondë."

Mánatamir shook his head. "No. That in itself is not the point. The point is, Olwë gave you his permission to return to Alqualondë with him. That was a monumental step forward for him, though you do not see it."

There was a considering silence among them. Then Falmaron gave Glorfindel a nod. "Mánatamir is correct," he said. "That my atar accepted you is indeed a giant step forward for him."

"And this is why I was meant to come here," Falmaron replied, "to meet Glorfindel and learn of my atar’s change of heart."

"His heart was not changed, child," the Maia responded. "He never stopped loving you. Only his perceptions were changed. Olwë has struggled through these many yéni to find some meaning in all that has happened, to salvage what he could for his people and their way of life. Nothing was the same after your death and the deaths of so many others. Innocence was lost and those who survived have never regained it. While we may regret that loss, wish it were otherwise, we cannot but recognize that something else was gained in the losing."

The Maia smiled. "You were the final lesson," he said and Falmaron’s expression became thoughtful at the implications of what Mánatamir was saying.

"So what now?" Glorfindel asked then. "Falmaron has met me and knows his family have become more tolerant and more forgiving. So what? What does it have to do with me?"

"Nothing," came the surprising reply. "It was important for Falmaron to meet you, nothing more. What Falmaron does with the knowledge he has gained this day is his affair."

Glorfindel sat in silence, thinking about the Maia’s words and finally nodded. "Fair enough." Then he stood and threw off the blanket that Elwing had placed around his shoulders. "If you will excuse me, I think I need some time alone."

"And I need to see about my ship," Falmaron said, rising as well. "Will I and my crew be stuck here for the winter?" he asked Mánatamir. "Those goods I was meaning to bring to Avallónë will have to be unloaded if we are."

"This storm will blow itself out in a day or two," the Maia assured him. "You may leave then. I have been commanded to tell you that Lord Ulmo has already instructed Ossë and Uinen to see that you arrive safely in Alqualondë."

"And what makes you think I will go there first?" Falmaron asked. "I would prefer going straight to Avallónë and get this shipment unloaded. Besides, from what I understand, my family isn’t even in Alqualondë. There’s no point my being there unless they are."

But Mánatamir wasn’t listening to the ellon. In fact, they could all see that the Maia’s eyes had that glazed look of someone communing with another in ósanwë and they remained respectfully silent. Glorfindel stayed where he was, curious to know what would happen next. Then Mánatamir’s expression cleared and he gave them his full attention. "There have been some unexpected developments in Valmar and things are getting out of control."

"All was going well until Lord Morcocáno was about to speak," the Maia replied.

"The head of Avallónë’s city council," Falmaron answered before Mánatamir could speak.

Glorfindel gave a low whistle of surprise. The other elves stared at him. "This is significant to you?" Eärendil asked.

Glorfindel nodded. "Yes, very significant. Damn, but I wish we weren’t so far from everything," he exclaimed in frustration. "Not that my presence there is needed, but I hate being so far away from... well, from everything." He ended on a lame note, giving them an apologetic look, and there were knowing chuckles all around.

"So what exactly happened with this Lord Morcocáno?" Galdor asked and Mánatamir went on to explain about Uinendilmë and Morcocáno storming from the council chamber, ending his tale with Brethorn’s words.

Mánatamir smiled. "It got Olwë’s attention and the attention of the other Teleri. Your atar admits having been responsible for driving you away and asked Brethorn to let you know when next you met how much he loves you."

Falmaron sat in thoughtful silence for a moment and then gave them a shrug. "I guess it is time to go home," he said softly and then he turned to Glorfindel. "If you wish, you’re welcome to sail with us. It’ll take eight or nine days for you to reach Valmar and by then the whole situation may have changed, but at least you’ll be there and not here stewing."

"Thank you for the offer," Glorfindel replied, "but I don’t think I have permission to leave here." He glanced first at Mánatamir and then at Eärendil.

"You are not a prisoner, Glorfindel," Mánatamir said with no little exasperation. "Go if you wish, stay if you wish. That is for you to decide."

Glorfindel nodded. "Then I will go, that is, if you have no objections," he said this last to Eärendil, who shook his head.

"No objections," the Mariner replied with a smile. "But you will return, won't you?" The look he gave him told Glorfindel that this was more a command than a question.

"And I will hold you to it, my friend," Eärendil said, giving the ellon a firm hug.

"Best he stays here with us," Eärendil said. "Falmaron’s vessel isn’t equipped to transport a horse. You’ll be able to find one once you reach Alqualondë." Glorfindel nodded reluctantly.

"That’s settled then," Elwing said with a satisfied look as she stood up. Just then, one of the servants arrived to announce that dinner was ready to be served. Elwing thanked her and gestured to the others. "Why don’t we go in to dinner?" She took Eärendil’s arm and everyone followed them out of the room, everyone, that is, save Mánatamir, who watched them leave with a slight smile on his face before fading from view to go in search of Cundu who was in a corner of the kitchen happily chewing on a bone.

While waiting out the storm, Glorfindel and Falmaron spent much of the time comparing their experiences as Reborn. The others listened avidly to their tales.

"There are, of course, some Reborn here," Eärendil said at one point. "They came with their families but I cannot say that I’ve had much to do with them on a daily basis. As long as they cause no trouble, I tend to leave my people to look after themselves."

"As far as I know, they are treated no differently than anyone else," Eärendil replied. "Indeed, if I heard anything to the contrary you can believe that I would have seen to it."

"Most of the Reborn who came here were released very early on," Legolas said. "I think they were some of the first to be re-embodied, not long after we came to Tol Eressëa from Beleriand. Now that I think on it, all of them are Sindar or Nandor; none are Noldor. Anyway, by the time they migrated here with their families, they were acting fairly mature, or about as mature as they’re likely to get." He gave them a winning smile.

Falmaron and Glorfindel looked at one another and then without warning leapt towards the Sinda who apparently was ready for them, for he was already racing for the door. Glorfindel gave a yell and tackled him, pinning his legs down while Falmaron straddled the ellon’s back and began poking him with his fingers. All the while Legolas was practically screeching and the rest were looking on laughing.

"I never... ouch!... said you were immature... hey!... I said... will you stop that you... ahhh!..."

"All right, you two, let him up," Eärendil ordered. "I think he’s learned his lesson."

Glorfindel released Legolas’ legs and Falmaron stood up, the two of them returning to their seats, smirking. Legolas lay there for a moment or two to catch his breath before rising and returning to his own chair. Everyone else had wide grins.

Galdor looked at his friend and shook his head. "I would think that you would have remembered the way Glorfindel was before he died, Legolas."

"At any rate, it’s interesting to know that none of the Noldor were released until later," Falmaron said. "I know that many of the Teleri were released shortly after the War of Wrath as well. I think I was re-embodied within a year or two of the Host of the West returning to Valinor and there were several others with me."

Falmaron shrugged. "Confusion I think was the upper-most emotion I was feeling when I was first re-embodied. My sense of time was off. I actually have very little memory of my sojourn in Mandos, far less than you seem to have retained, and I think that is true with the other Teleri who died. I know that when I woke up in the Gardens I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten there and I was afraid of the light. I knew nothing about the creation of Isil and Anar and even moonlight initially frightened me. I remember I kept calling for my atar and amillë and not understanding why they weren’t there. The Maiar who cared for me did their best, but I wanted nothing to do with them. It took a long time for me to remember that I had actually died and to accept what was happening to me."

"Odd that," Glorfindel said. "I mean, you not remembering dying. Once the initial confusion of having a body again passed, I was quite aware of the fact that I had died and was now Reborn. Granted, my memories about Mandos are vague but I do have them. I remember my time with Finrod and afterwards."

Falmaron shrugged. "I cannot really say why this was not the case with me or the other Teleri Reborn with whom I have spoken. Perhaps the nature of our deaths plays into it."

"Perhaps," Glorfindel said. "It would be interesting to see if those who were victims of the Kinslaying in Doriath and at the Havens have had similar experiences to yours."

"Have any been released, though?" Galdor asked. "I don’t recall seeing anyone here who died at the hands of the Fëanorians."

Others shook their heads. "To tell you the truth, I don’t think I ever thought about it," Eärendil admitted. "In fact, it seems to me that none of those whom I knew at the Havens and who died at the hands of the Fëanorians are here. The Reborn who do reside here were all victims of the war against Morgoth."

"Finrod and I wondered if there was a pattern to the way in which various groups of elves were being re-embodied," Glorfindel told them, "but we could never figure it out. We suspect that those who were innocent victims were reborn first, so it makes sense that the Teleri would be re-embodied before all others, yet it doesn’t always follow. I know of at least two people who died in Alqualondë who have yet to be reborn and they were victims, not perpetrators, and I know of at least one Kinslayer who is now reborn, though some of his victims apparently have yet to leave Mandos."

"It does confuse things, doesn’t it?" Falmaron remarked with a wry smile. "I am sure Lord Námo knows the whys and wherefores of it all. I do not envy his task."

"Nor do I," Glorfindel replied. "Well, whatever the rhyme and reason of who gets re-embodied and who does not may be, I am only grateful that I have been Reborn and have been given a second chance to live again."

"And we’re glad that you are here, Glorfindel," Elwing said fervently. "I heard much about you as I was growing up and never did I think I would ever meet you in person."

"Oh, it does indeed," Elwing replied with a laugh. "And if anything, the tales do not do justice to the reality."

Glorfindel blushed and, deciding to change the subject, turned to Falmaron. "Will we stop at Alqualondë or go to Tol Eressëa?"

"We will stop at Alqualondë first if only to ascertain if my family is there or not," the captain replied. "It’ll take us a minimum of five days to get there. Who knows what will have happened in the meantime?" Glorfindel nodded. "At any rate, assuming that they are not there, I will take you to the harborage that looks across the bay to Tavrobel and from there you can find a horse to take you to Valmar."

"Well, there’s no sense my going to Valmar," Falmaron replied. "I’ll continue on to Avallónë and off-load my shipment and then return to Alqualondë to await my family. You are not to tell them about me," he added sternly. "I wish to surprise them."

"We can sail on the morning tide," Falmaron reported after he’d checked out the weather. "I’ve already alerted my crew."

"I’ll make sure there’s a hot breakfast for you before you leave," Elwing informed them.

Dawn was still an hour away as they sat down to breakfast, their conversation muted, for in spite of Glorfindel’s promise to return, there was a sense of finality to his leavetaking and his friends were all feeling despondent.

"Unless something unforseen happens to prevent me from returning after the New Year, I promise I will be back," Glorfindel assured them for the twentieth time.

"It’s just that we’ve been waiting such a long time for you to come here and now you’re leaving," Legolas said, voicing everyone else’s thoughts.

"I’m sorry," Glorfindel replied. "But really, there’s naught for me to do here over the winter. If you had thought to construct a training salle we could have continued with our training in spite of the weather. Perhaps in the spring when I come back we can devote some time to building one."

"We ought to be training in spite of the weather," Galdor said with a huff. "I doubt that when the Dagor Dagorath arrives, Morgoth’s going to wait until it’s a nice sunny day to start the war. He was never that accommodating before."

The others chuckled. "True," Glorfindel averred, "but we haven’t progressed to the point where we need to practice in inclement weather. So, when I get back, we’ll build that salle. In the meantime, perhaps you can amuse yourselves by deciding where it should go, how it should look and what materials to use."

"I guess we can do that," Galdor admitted. "We’ll get the villagers involved in the project. Perhaps we can make it a community center as well as a training salle. There’s been some talk lately about having one. Our population is growing to the point where we need a central meeting place to discuss whatever issues need discussing. Meeting here in this house is no longer practical."

"Then that should keep you all out of trouble until I get back," Glorfindel said with a grin.

"Just so long as you do come back," Eärendil said, "or I might have to come and fetch you myself."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at that threat. "That would certainly be interesting to see," he said and there were chuckles all around.

By the time breakfast was done the sun was up and they made their way to the quay where Falmaron’s crew were already busy checking everything over before they set sail. Besides his closest friends, the other warriors he’d been training, along with what appeared to be half the village, came to see them off. Glorfindel was making his final farewells and Falmaron was already aboard, overseeing the final preparations, when there was the overpowering scent of lemongrass mixed with heather and then Mánatamir was there in their midst.

"Come to see us off?" Glorfindel asked with a smile, but when the Maia did not return the smile, his expression became more worried. "What is it? What’s wrong?"

"You’re needed in Valmar now, Glorfindel," Mánatamir said gravely. "Lord Manwë sent me here to tell you that your presence is sorely needed."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "Well, in that case, his timing is lousy. He should have diverted that snowstorm that’s kept us here, otherwise we could have left two days ago."

"Well what is the point?" Glorfindel demanded. "Just what is happening in Valmar that needs my presence?"

"His own grandson?" Glorfindel asked, looking horrified. "And what has that to do with the Council?"

Mánatamir nodded and then proceeded to explain about Vondo and what happened when he came to Valmar. Those listening to the tale looked on in amazement and dismay.

"Poor child," Elwing whispered as Mánatamir came to the end of his news and there were many nods and not a few tears among them.

"Damn Selmacas for an obdurate fool," Glorfindel muttered. "I still don’t see why I need to be there, though. The damage has been done. My being there isn’t going to change anything."

"Perhaps, perhaps not," Mánatamir said in a reasonable tone. "All I know is that Lord Manwë wants you in Valmar as quickly as possible."

"Well, we can’t get there today," Glorfindel protested, sounding annoyed. "According to Falmaron, it’ll take us at least five days to reach the harbourage where I can hopefully secure a horse and then it’ll take another four days of hard riding to get to Valmar. Unless Lord Manwë wants to give me wings, I can’t see how I can get there any sooner."

"There is a quicker way than Falmaron’s ship," Mánatamir said and turned to look at Eärendil, giving him a meaningful look.

"What? You mean Vingilot?" the Mariner exclaimed. "You know I’m not allowed to take her on pleasure cruises. I was stretching the point using her to rescue you and Glorfindel from those monstrous cats."

"This will hardly be a pleasure cruise, Eärendil," Mánatamir said with wry amusement. "Lord Manwë has authorized you to bring Glorfindel and Falmaron to Valmar aboard your ship."

"Whoa!" They all turned to see Falmaron standing at the rail looking upset. "I’m not deserting my ship," he said angrily. "Besides which, there’s no need for me to go to Valmar. I can wait for my family in Alqualondë once I’ve seen to the disposition of my cargo."

The Maia shook his head. "I’m afraid my Lord Manwë insists that you accompany Glorfindel, Eärendil and Elwing to Valmar."

"Me!?" Elwing exclaimed. "Why do I need to go? And who will govern here if we are both gone?"

"As for the whys and wherefores, I do not know," Mánatamir admitted. "I only know what I’ve been ordered to tell you. As for the rest, I’m sure these good people can do well enough in your absence."

"But what about my ship?" Falmaron demanded. "This cargo has to get to Avallónë and we’re all set to sail. I’m not leaving my crew behind."

"Your first mate is capable of commanding, is he not?" Manwë’s servant said. "And I will accompany your crew to ensure that they arrive safely in Avallónë."

"I don’t like it," Falmaron said. "This smacks of manipulation. First I find myself turning my ship around and coming here in the teeth of a storm with no idea as to why, and when I finally get here I find out I was supposed to meet with Glorfindel and I’m sorry, but I think if the Valar truly wanted the two of us to meet, they could have arranged for us to meet at any time. So why here and why now?"

"As to that, I cannot say, for I do not know my Lord’s will in this," the Maia replied. "I only know that you must come with Glorfindel to Valmar, you, Eärendil and Elwing."

"Can Vingilot actually get us to Valmar so quickly?" Glorfindel asked Eärendil.

The Mariner nodded. "We can be there in a matter of hours," he answered. "We’ll have to fly low, though, so that the ship is not visible to those in Ennorath. It would confuse them since Tancol is now an evening star."

"Cannot the rest of us go with them?" Galdor asked Mánatamir. "I’m rather curious to see what all this is about."

There were murmurs of agreement among the crowd. Mánatamir frowned. "I have no orders in that regard."

"Well, it seems to me if Lord Manwë has not specifically forbidden it, then there’s no reason why some of us can’t come along as well," Galdor retorted.

"The delegations to the Council number fourteen each," Glorfindel said. "Why not form our own delegation? If Falmaron is included, then we will need ten others to join us."

The idea met with approval and while Eärendil ordered Aerandir, Falathar and Elleront to help him to ready his ship, a discussion was held on the quay as to who else should go. Galdor and Legolas insisted that they come, as did Hendor. The other seven were chosen by lot from among the village guildmasters. Thus, when Eärendil declared Vingilot ready, the delegation was composed of masters from the tanners, woodworkers, fishers, potters, husbandmen, smiths, and weavers. Falmaron reluctantly grabbed his kit and followed, shouting last minute instructions to his first mate from the deck of Eärendil’s ship. Mánatamir assured him that all would be well with his crew and ship. He stood on the deck of Falmaron’s ship, waving, with Cundu by his side, the dog barking his own farewell.

Even as the last bit of luggage was being stowed away, the moorings were loosed and Vingilot began to rise into the air. Falmaron’s ship was also released and her sails unfurled as she headed for the open sea. Everyone in the village alternated between waving at the two ships until they both disappeared, Elerína now heading on a southerly course along the coast while Vingilot sailed over the low hills towards the towering Pelóri. Eärendil assured them that there was a pass through which they could safely navigate the mountain range.

Glorfindel spent the time at the rail, looking about him with interest. His previous trip had been short and he had not been in a position to see much of anything. Now, he gazed down upon the land and marveled. The Pelóri rose precipitously before them, their peaks eternally snow-capped and forbidding. Glorfindel was not the only one to hold his breath as Eärendil unerringly brought the ship between the granite peaks. He wasn’t even aware that he’d been holding his breath until the mountains were safely behind them and they were sailing above a level plain of virgin forests and deep lakes.

At some point Elwing, sitting on a barrel, began singing a sea chanty and Eärendil and his crew picked up on the melody. Some of the others, including Falmaron, were obviously familiar with the song for they began singing it as well. It was not long before Glorfindel was joining in the chorus and then other songs were being sung and those who were unfamiliar with the words were taught them. Thus, the time passed quickly. Eärendil kept the ship on a southerly course, shifting slightly to the southwest when they had traveled for nearly two hours.

"There’s Taniquetil," he pointed out and they all went to the port side to see the majestic mountain of the Valar rising far in the distance, though so massive was it that it appeared closer than it was. "We’ll by-pass Vanyamar and head straight for Valmar. We should be there by around noon."

By now the trackless wastes of the north had given way to more fertile land of softly rolling hills and wide valleys. Nearer to Vanyamar were the orchards, vineyards and farmlands of the Vanyar, not as rich as those of the Southern Fiefdoms where the bulk of the farming took place, but well enough so to provide for the city’s immediate needs, and some types of fruits and grains grew better in the cooler climate around Taniquetil than further south.

Eärendil had avoided Vanyamar. "Though any with eyes to see are quite likely to notice us," he said to Glorfindel and Falmaron as he stood at the wheel, carefully guiding Vingilot while the other two ellyn stood nearby. The Silmaril shone brightly from the lantern that hung from the center mast. Several kinds of birds flew beside them or around them, very much like schools of fish might escort a ship at sea, Falmaron remarked and Eärendil nodded.

They saw the road that came down from Formenos, though Glorfindel was happy enough to know that they would not be sailing anywhere near that place. He did not want to think about those who were in exile there. Soon, the road between Vanyamar and Valmar appeared in the distance and Eärendil shifted the wheel slightly and they were now following the road.

"Saves having to guess where the city is," the Mariner said with a sly grin and Glorfindel and Falmaron chuckled.

Elwing struck up another song, one that they all knew, and Eärendil kept the ship on course for the city of the Powers, riding the air currents as easily as Falmaron’s ship would have ridden the ocean currents. Just as it was going on noon, they sighted the mansions of the Valar. From their perspective, Glorfindel could see the dead husks of the Two Trees rising above the city and beyond them the Ring of Doom, the gemstone thrones shining brightly in the sun. The city itself glowed in a multitude of colors. They could see many people walking along the Landamallë and Glorfindel thought he saw Finrod and Ingwion among the crowd but couldn’t be sure.

"I have no idea," the Mariner replied. "There doesn’t seem to be a dock handy."

"Try Lord Ulmo’s lake," Falmaron suggested. "I see a small jetty off the side of the mansion. See? That stone structure that juts out."

Eärendil nodded, and issuing a few sharp orders to the crew, brought the ship down beside Lord Ulmo’s mansion. Glorfindel and Falmaron, along with Elwing and the other non-sailors, lined up along the rails to watch their approach. Glorfindel could see many people making their way towards Lord Ulmo’s mansion, stopping at the shore of the lake to watch as Vingilot came abreast of the jetty. At once Aerandir and Elleront jumped off onto the jetty while Falathar and Falmaron threw the ropes to them and the ship was soon secured. Vingilot did not rest upon the lake, but hovered a foot above it, so Eärendil had Elleront throw a rope ladder over the side. The Mariner then reached up to the lantern, removing the Silmaril. Elwing came to him with a circlet of mithril and Eärendil slipped the jewel between the prongs which would hold it in place before putting the circlet on his head. The Silmaril blazed once and then its light settled to a steady glow.

"Shall we go?" Eärendil said with a smile and taking the lead, he made his way down to the jetty which extended towards the stepping stones by which one crossed the lake between the mansion and the shore. Elwing followed with Glorfindel and Falmaron next. Once the rest of the ‘Aewellond delegation’ was down, they headed towards the shore while Aerandir and Elleront climbed up the ladder and pulled it up behind them.

As they came to the stepping stones, Glorfindel looked about and saw Finrod standing beside Arafinwë and grinned, giving them a wave. Ingwë and Olwë were there with their heirs as well and he recognized many others in the crowd. Those waiting on the shore just stood there in silent awe at the sight of the ship and Eärendil wearing the Silmaril. As their party reached the shore, the onlookers silently backed away to give them room. Glorfindel followed directly behind Eärendil and Elwing with Falmaron behind him. Ignoring everyone else, Glorfindel made his way to Finrod and smiled hugely at the stunned and disbelieving look on his gwador’s face.

He gave Finrod a hug and, looking at Arafinwë, asked, "So, what have I missed?"

Lord Manwë sat back in his chair at the Council table and watched the Children yelling at one another with clinical interest. They were all back in the Council chamber which was still at Nienna’s. There had been a consensus that it would not be moved until certain matters had been resolved. It was the day after the fiasco with Selmacas and no one was in a good mood. Arafinwë had refused to even deal with the ellon until, as he put it, ‘I can look upon him without wanting to rip his throat out’. The attack on Vondo and the reason for it had been the topic of the day and no one seemed interested in resuming their work on Council matters, so Ingwë had disgustedly adjourned them, insisting that in the afternoon session they get back to the matter at hand.

Eärendil arriving with what he claimed to be the Aewellond delegation and calmly demanding a seat at the Council table sent half the Children into paroxysms of delight and the other half into near apoplexy. Glorfindel’s rather loud comment to Finrod that it was a good thing that Lord Manwë had sent him to straighten things out only added fuel to the fire. Finrod had buried his head in his hands while Glorfindel stood by smirking.

*Were you expecting this?* Námo bespoke Manwë as the Valar sat behind the Elder King idly watching the show. Oromë and Irmo were making bets on who would throw the first punch and at whom.

*Not really,* Manwë admitted with a rueful chuckle that none of the elves heard. *You have to admit, Glorfindel knows how to make an entrance.*

*We’ll give them a few more minutes,* Manwë answered. *I’m curious to see what Ingwë will do.*

They all glanced to where the High King sat stonily in his chair, a lone island of calm in the midst of the storm all around him. Even Arafinwë and Olwë had entered the fray. Olwë was actually shouting at Falmaron, who was shouting right back while the rest of their family looked on, most with expressions of pain. Olwen was weeping, but Beleg, they noticed, was staring at the shouting match with unalloyed amazement. As to what exactly Olwë and Falmaron were shouting at one another, even the Valar could not hazard a guess; there was too much commotion going on and the noise level was becoming intolerable. Arafinwë was busy trying to get everyone else to calm down without much success.

*We really need to get this under control sooner rather than later, Manwë,* Aulë growled. *Someone is bound to get hurt.*

Before Manwë could respond, though, Ingwë raised his right hand. "Enough!" he shouted, the force of his command cutting across the din, echoing off the walls.

The silence that followed was almost deafening. Everyone stared at the High King still sitting there with his hand raised in admonition, his expression still stony, though his eyes blazed with cold anger.

"When you children are seated, we will begin," he said in a conversational tone that made the words sound even more damning. Most of the elves blushed with embarrassment and began making their way to their seats, refusing to look at anyone. Only Eärendil and the other members of his entourage, including Glorfindel, remained standing, for there were no seats for them. They stood in a group in one of the aisles between the tiers facing Ingwë and the other High Kings. Eärendil bowed slightly to them.

"We were told that Lord Manwë specifically ordered Lord Glorfindel to come to Valmar," he said. "The rest of us decided to... um... tag along, but if our presence does not meet with your approval, we will return to Aewellond."

"By way of Avallónë," Falmaron muttered darkly as he glared at his atar, whose own expression was fraught with pain and remorse. "I mean to be there when my ship arrives."

"Nonsense," Ingwë said firmly. "You are all here and you are welcome, including you, Falmaron. Lord Manwë, we need another chair at the table for Lord Eärendil and some place for the others to sit."

The peremptory tone of Ingwë’s address to the Elder King shocked more than one person, though the Valar, Manwë included, did not appear unduly insulted by it. Manwë did not even raise an eyebrow at Ingwë’s tone, but gestured negligently and a chair appeared, on the back of which was a black onyx stone inset with a diamond.

"I’m sure if Findaráto and Morcocáno shift their chairs, you can squeeze in," Manwë said mildly. "We’ll expand the chamber at the next session, but for now the others will find some benches along the wall," he added, gesturing behind him.

Eärendil gave Elwing a light kiss and a smile, nodding to Glorfindel, who took Falmaron’s arm and led the way to the back of the room by the door where two long benches were found on either side of it. Once they were settled and Finrod and Morcocáno made room for Eärendil, Ingwë spoke again.

"Aewellond," Eärendil supplied with a slight smile. "It means ‘Haven of birds’."

Ingwë nodded. "At any rate, I am a bit confused as to your presence. You say that Lord Manwë specifically ordered Lord Glorfindel here?" He turned to give the Elder King an enquiring look. Manwë merely smiled enigmatically.

"So we were told," Eärendil replied when the Elder King remained silent. "The Reborn who was injured... he is....?"

"He is well," Finrod spoke up. "Lady Estë has assured us that he will be completely healed by tomorrow."

"He is presently in my custody," Námo answered from the tiers, a dark smile on his lips. "His ultimate fate has yet to be decided."

"So why exactly am I here?" Glorfindel called out from the back. "What does Selmacas’ attack on Vondo have to do with anything? I thought you were supposed to be deciding on what form of government the Tol Eressëans should have, or am I mistaken?"

"You are not mistaken, Glorfindel," Manwë answered. "But you are not the only one who needs to be here. We Valar felt it was important that others beside yourself be present."

"To what end, though?" Ingwë asked. "Do not mistake me, I do not question Lord Eärendil’s right to be here, nor that of these others. While the primary purpose of this Council is to determine the shape of the government on Tol Eressëa, I deem another equally important purpose is for all of us of Eldamar and Aman to come together. I am thinking that it is high time that we institute such a council as this on a regular basis to discuss those issues which may affect us all."

"All well and good," Morcocáno said, "but I fail to see what business it is of these people. If they were so important, why were they not here from the beginning?"

"We weren’t invited," Eärendil said. "Of course, I doubt if any of you gave us a thought, and I blame you not for it. My people and I have been at pains to keep ourselves separated from the rest of you, but the fact remains that everyone in Aewellond, with the exception of myself and Elwing, originally resided in Tol Eressëa. So we do have an interest in knowing what is happening there."

"As I said, he is here at Lord Manwë’s behest," Eärendil answered. "You’ll have to ask him."

All eyes turned to the Elder King, who sat there calmly. "My reasons for asking Glorfindel here are my own, but in truth, he was the lure to bring the others here."

"Bait," Glorfindel muttered angrily. "That’s all I am to you, aren’t I?" He stood up and gave the Valar an angry stare. "That’s all I ever am to you. Well, I’m finished with all that. Find someone else to be your goat." He stormed towards the door, intent on leaving, though where he thought he would go was anyone’s guess, including his.

"Glorfindel!" Eärendil shouted forcibly. Glorfindel stopped, reluctantly turning to face the Mariner, his expression surly. "Sit down and be quiet," Eärendil said, his voice still commanding.

Glorfindel hesitated, still defiant. "Now," Eärendil said, his tone cold, his expression stern.

The Reborn sighed, plopping down gracelessly between Falmaron and Elwing with ill-concealed disgust. Elwing patted his arm sympathetically.

Finrod stared at Eärendil in amazement. "How did you do that?" he asked with honest awe in his voice.

Eärendil gave the prince an embarrassed smile, though there was a glint of humor in his eyes as well. "It helps to be Turgon’s heir," he said softly.

Finrod blinked a couple of times, as if trying to assimilate what Eärendil was truly saying, glancing up at Glorfindel still sitting there glowering at nothing and then grinned. "Of course," he said, giving Manwë a knowing look. "Now it all makes sense." But what exactly he meant by that remained a mystery, for before anyone could ask, Ingwë spoke.

"At any rate, allow me to fill you in on what has happened with the Council, Lord Eärendil. Over the last week there has been much discussion as to what form the government on Tol Eressëa should take. The consensus is that it is impossible at this time to choose a king that everyone can agree should rule them. While many would welcome Prince Findaráto, he refuses to accept the crown, and none of the former kings of Beleriand have yet been released from Mandos."

Eärendil nodded. "I can understand people’s reluctance to accept one of the kings over the others. The Noldor would, I deem, accept one of their high kings but that cannot be said for the Sindar and Nandor. So what has been decided?"

"Lord Morcocáno of Avallónë has offered the best solution," Ingwë replied. "He has suggested a two-tier system consisting of local councils, which are already in place, and an island-wide council which we are calling the Assembly, for lack of a better term. The local councils will concern themselves with local problems while the Assembly, composed of representatives from the various communities, would concern itself with those issues which may affect everyone on the island as well as having the authority to deal with the three mainland kingdoms. There is little or no dispute about that. What is now under consideration is the manner in which the Assembly will be constituted, specifically, whether the head of the Assembly should be chosen from within the Assembly itself or should he or she be an outsider with no ties to anyone within the Assembly."

"You mean, someone who is chosen separately to head the Assembly and then chooses those who will sit on his Council?" Eärendil asked, looking for clarification.

"That is one option, though not the most favored one," Ingwë answered. "It is believed that the people themselves should choose who in their community should sit in the Assembly to represent them, but whether the person who sits at the head of the Assembly is then chosen from among those representatives or is chosen separately, that is the main issue presently under discussion."

Eärendil nodded, pursing his lips. "Yes, I can see where this is going. If the person is taken from within the Assembly, then ultimately, he or she is hostage to the goodwill of the rest of the Assembly, for they could simply give a vote of no-confidence and choose another more to their liking."

"In which case, the Assembly can easily become deadlocked with personality battles and nothing constructive is ever accomplished," Morcocáno stated. "That is sometimes the case with the city councils which is why I think with the Assembly someone from outside should lead."

"Someone who does not even live on Tol Eressëa, you mean?" Eärendil asked. "Someone who has complete disinterest in your affairs?"

Morcocáno blinked, as if the thought had never occurred to him, and indeed it was obvious when he spoke that it hadn’t. "Someone not of Tol Eressëa? Why would we want that? Why would we want a stranger ruling over us who has no interest in our problems?"

"I think you are confusing ‘uninterest’ with ‘disinterest’," Finrod said to Morcocáno. "The former speaks of apathy towards something, but the latter speaks of impartiality towards something, and I believe that is what Lord Eärendil means. Someone who has no real ties to Tol Eressëa would be completely impartial."

"Yet, would that not cause its own problems?" Brethorn asked. "Impartiality without sympathy towards its subject could lead to tyranny. At least, if the person is chosen from the Tol Eressëans we will be assured that he or she will be sympathetic if not completely impartial."

"The ideal, of course, would be someone who is both," Manwë said, "but as we do not live in an ideal world, we will have to work with what we have."

Barancheneb raised his hand and Ingwë nodded to him. "My question is this: assuming that the head of the Assembly — and we really need to come up with an appropriate title for the office — is not chosen from within the Assembly itself, how do we go about choosing such a person? What criteria do we use?"

"That is certainly something that needs consideration," Ingwë averred. "Perhaps we need to take this one step at a time though. Lord Eärendil, you have heard the consensus of this Council as to the structure of the government to be implemented on Tol Eressëa. Do you have any comments before we go on to the subject of who will lead the Assembly?"

"I think what has been decided so far is acceptable," Eärendil replied. "I have spoken with those who have found their way to Aewellond from Tol Eressëa and certainly the various city councils have proven viable up to a point. The primary complaint I have heard from others is that sometimes personalities get in the way of actually governing and things do not get done as they should. This problem could be compounded on the Assembly level if there is not a strong enough leader whom everyone will acknowledge as such to guide them and see that personalities do not get in the way of right government. The people of Tol Eressëa deserve better."

"Thank you," Ingwë said with a bow of his head. "You brought up the possibility of having someone who is not from Tol Eressëa leading the Assembly and Master Barancheneb is correct that we do need a title for that role. Perhaps, for the purposes of this discussion, we can refer to this person as ‘Cáno’."

"It seems to me that deciding who among the Tol Eressëans would be Cáno is fraught with the same problems as you have with deciding who should be king. I am sure there are many fine people with leadership capabilities, some of them right in this room, but I suspect you will have a fight on your hands as soon as anyone is put forth as a possible candidate for the office."

There were nods and murmurs among a number of the spectators. Galadhwen sniffed disdainfully, but did not interrupt Eärendil.

"Having someone from outside Tol Eressëa act as Cáno might present its own problems," Eärendil continued, "but perhaps fewer than the alternative. Also, I am thinking that perhaps in time one of the kings will come forth and claim suzerainty over the people of Tol Eressëa. If the Cáno is a Tol Eressëan, he might not wish to give up his position as readily as someone who is from the mainland." He shrugged. "At least, that is how I see it."

"You think then that the Assembly and the local councils are a temporary measure until a king comes forth to claim the crown?" Marthchall asked, looking somewhat dismayed. "If so, then I can foresee a time of war between those who desire this hypothetical king and those who wish to keep things as they are."

"Yet, is not a monarchy the proper form which a government should take?" the Jewelsmith Master, Gelloneth, enquired. "Why would anyone object?"

"Power," Finrod replied before anyone else could answer. "It is a sweet drug that few can resist without great effort. Once held, few are willing to give it up. No. I agree with Marthchall. There is a danger in thinking that the Assembly and local councils are a stopgap measure until the right king comes along to solve everyone’s problems for them. The Assembly has to be seen as a legitimate form of government and the Cáno must be seen as having the same status as the High Kings, with concomitant rights and obligations to treat with them and the Valar as any ruler should."

"Certainly I do not claim that monarchical rule is the only legitimate form of rule there is," Eärendil stated. "I am not a king, yet it is given to me to rule over those who live in Aewellond, for they look to me and my lady for guidance in all matters which affect the community as a whole. Keep in mind, though, that for the majority of the people of Tol Eressëa, kingship is what they desire and they may see this Assembly and its Cáno as a stopgap measure even if we here do not. That has to be considered as you are deliberating on this matter."

"Lord Eärendil is correct," Manwë said with a nod of approval to the Mariner. "If I may suggest that we all adjourn for the day and discuss among ourselves in an informal manner what has been said here. Lord Eärendil’s arrival has caused you to miss the noon meal. Go, and refresh yourselves and meet again in the morning with fresh minds and ideas."

Ingwë gave Manwë a bow from his seat. "An excellent suggestion, lord. If everyone is agreed, we will adjourn now and resume this discussion in the morning."

"Then, it only remains to determine where Lord Eärendil and his people are to be housed," Ingwë said to Manwë.

"I see no reason why they cannot stay at the townhouse with us, Ingwë," Arafinwë said before Manwë could answer. "I know Glorfindel will not wish to be anywhere but where his otornor are." He flashed Glorfindel a smile and the ellon nodded. "And the Aewellond delegation cannot properly be called a Tol Eressëan delegation even if it isn’t strictly an Amanian one."

Ingwë nodded. "If no one objects and if Lord Eärendil is amenable, then you and your people are welcome to join us at the royal townhouse while you are with us."

"If it won’t be an imposition, your Majesty," Eärendil said, "then on behalf of myself and my people, I accept your kind offer, but what of my crew?"

"They will be welcome to stay at my mansion so they are close to your ship," Ulmo said. "Lord Morcocáno’s delegation is staying there, as are the members of the Maritime guilds so they will not be alone. I’m sure they will be quite happy trading sea stories with Captain Celebaear’s people." He smiled at the captain, who nodded.

"Then, it seems all is set," Ingwë said. "Let us adjourn." With that he rose, as did Olwë and Arafinwë. Everyone else followed suit and began to make their way out, talking softly in small groups.

Olwë and Finrod went directly to where Glorfindel and Falmaron were standing waiting for Eärendil who was speaking with Ingwë, Arafinwë and Manwë. Olwë gave his son a sad look.

"Can we speak to one another without shouting, do you think?" he said. "You know how upset your emmë gets when we’re shouting."

Falmaron eyed his atar for a moment and then nodded. "I would not want to upset emmë," he said.

"Why don’t we go and talk as a family away from everyone else," Olwë suggested. "You have not met your cousin, Beleg. He is your Aunt Olwen’s son and is a Reborn like yourself."

Falmaron’s expression could only be described as incredulous but he nodded and allowed Olwë to take his arm and lead him away, the king motioning for the other members of the family to join them.

Finrod, meanwhile, was speaking to Glorfindel. "Would you like to meet Vondo?" he asked. "The elflings, Vorondil and Laurendil are keeping him company. I know they will all like to see you again. The elflings are constantly asking me where Unca’ Glorfi is."

"I would like that," Glorfindel said in a subdued voice, "if Eärendil doesn’t mind."

Finrod gave him a surprised look and turned to Elwing with questions in his eyes, but she merely smiled. "I’m sure Eärendil would not mind at all, Glorfindel. You go with Prince Finrod and visit with your friends. We’ll see you at the townhouse later, shall we?" She directed the question to Finrod who nodded. "Then off you go," she said, making shooing motions at them both.

The two ellyn could not help grinning, and after giving her respectful bows, they made their way out of the chamber while Elwing and the rest of the delegation from Aewellond joined Eärendil and were introduced to Ingwë and Arafinwë who invited them to lunch with them, an invitation that was gratefully accepted.

"That went better than I had hoped," Oromë said. Several others nodded in agreement.

"Interesting about Eärendil and Glorfindel," Varda said, giving Manwë a meaningful look.

"Yes, it is, isn’t it?" the Elder King replied, giving nothing away. "There may be hope for our favorite elfling yet."

There were knowing smiles from the other Valar and then one-by-one they divested themselves of their fanar, thinking themselves elsewhere until the chamber was empty.

Cáno: (Quenya) Commander, but also ‘ruler, governor, chieftain’, usually as a title of a lesser chief, especially one acting as the deputy of one higher in rank.

Finrod led Glorfindel along the arcade to the room where Vondo had been put. The two were accompanied by Sador and Ingwion. Herendil and Aldundil were also with them. Finrod had been willing to excuse them from the morning’s Council meeting to sit with Vondo, but both declined, saying that Vondo had more than enough people watching over him and their presence would make for even more crowded conditions. So, they had been on hand when Eärendil had brought Vingilot to Valmar.

"How is Laurendil taking all this?" Glorfindel asked as they made their way around the cloister.

"Feeling guilty, of course," Finrod answered. "He blames himself for what happened. He thinks that he should have been more sympathetic and understanding of what Vondo was feeling. I told him that was nonsense. He’s actually not had as much experience dealing with newly released Reborn yet and wouldn’t have known Vondo would react as he did."

Glorfindel shrugged. "He wouldn’t be the first Lóriennildo to make that particular error of judgment. At least he doesn’t look down on us like many of them do."

"Did," Finrod corrected with a smile. "I’m working on it. As for Laurendil, I think it was professional pride that made him do what he did. He wanted to see Vondo brought down a peg or two. He was treating him more like a raw recruit for his rangers, one that he needed to put in his place, rather than a very emotionally fragile Reborn."

Finrod shot him a surprised look but did not comment as they had arrived at the door. He gave a perfunctory knock and opened it and they went in, stopping in surprise at what they saw. The room was spacious but spartan in furnishings. Most of the room was taken up by three beds pushed together. In the middle bed was Vondo but the other two beds were occupied by the bodies of the five elflings huddled close to the patient, all six of them sleeping. Vorondil was sitting in a chair near the window that looked out onto the outer gardens surrounding the mansion and smiled up at them as they entered, putting a finger to his lips. Glorfindel saw Laurendil was also there, sitting in the shadows, his expression morose, even haggard, as he stared at the children and Vondo. Glorfindel doubted the ellon had eaten or slept in days, not since leaving Lórien. If Laurendil was aware of their entrance he gave no sign.

Finrod gave Glorfindel and the others an amused look and whispered to Herendil, "I’ll take Laurendil out so you can visit with your son."

"I don’t wish to wake him or the other children," Herendil whispered back. "I’m going to find Vandacalimë. We’ll come back later when it’s not so crowded." He nodded at Aldundil to include him in his statement. "Leave Vorondil here to watch over them. I don’t think he will want to leave anyway."

Finrod nodded. "Sador, Ingwion, there’s no need for you to hang around, or you either, Glorfindel. Why don’t you go have lunch and I’ll see you later. Laurendil and I need to talk."

"Perhaps I should help you with that talk," Glorfindel said, raising an eyebrow in a suggestive manner.

Finrod hesitated and then nodded. "Very well. I’ll just bring Laurendil along." He walked over to where Laurendil was sitting, still ignoring them. Vorondil started to rise but Finrod gestured for him to remain seated. Glorfindel nodded to the others and they silently went outside. A few minutes later, Finrod came out with Laurendil who was looking decidedly unhappy. He refused to look at Herendil and Aldundil, but stared at Glorfindel in surprise.

"I flew," Glorfindel replied with a smile and the others chuckled at Laurendil’s disbelieving expression.

Herendil stepped forward, laying a hand on Laurendil’s shoulder. Laurendil gave him a guilty look. "Laurendil, I do not blame you for what happened with Vondo. It wasn’t your fault."

"Perhaps," Herendil averred, "or perhaps not. My understanding of Reborn is minimal, but I get the impression that if not you then something else would have set Vondo off on this ill-fated adventure of his."

"Herendil is correct," Finrod said. "Vondo was feeling deserted by his family and was very unhappy about being left behind. I’m sure his flight from Lórien would have happened eventually."

"I should have gone after him when he first ran off," Laurendil said, "but Ingil and Manwen both said to leave him be. If I’d listened to my own heart in this matter...."

"Things may have been different, or they may not have," Aldundil interjected. "Beating yourself up is a waste of time, my friend. Take it from someone who knows." He gave the ellon a smile. "What happened was unfortunate, but Vondo is recovering and will soon be giving us all grief now that he’s been reunited with his co-conspirators." The others all chuckled knowingly at that and even Laurendil had a faint smile on his lips.

"Good," Herendil said, giving Laurendil’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. "Aldundil and I will be going now. Sador, Ingwion, will you join us for lunch?"

Sador gave Finrod and Glorfindel a hopeful glance, obviously wanting to stay with them, but Glorfindel gave him a slight shake of his head and he sighed. Finrod gave him a sympathetic smile and leaned over to whisper something in his ear. What was said, the others did not hear, but Sador’s expression lightened and he turned to Herendil and nodded. Ingwion gave them a shrug and accepted the invitation as well.

"We just need to find my wife and...." Herendil began but Laurendil cut him off.

"She said she was going to visit with the queens," he told Herendil. "I imagine they’re either at the townhouse or perhaps visiting the markets in Eldamas."

"Thank you," Herendil said, then gave Finrod a respectful bow which Aldundil echoed, taking their leave of their prince. Sador and Ingwion followed them and then it was just Finrod, Glorfindel and Laurendil.

"So, how is Manwen doing?" Glorfindel asked once they were alone. Finrod had started walking away from Vondo’s room and the three ambled along the arcade.

"She is doing well," Laurendil answered. "I really should be back in Lórien but I only arrived late last night."

"And you’ve been sitting in that corner ever since, I wager, castigating yourself," Glorfindel retorted, giving Laurendil a shrewd look.

"Stupid," Glorfindel said with a shake of his head. "You know better than that."

"I mean, you are going to be no good to Manwen unless you are completely rested," Glorfindel replied, not at all upset by Laurendil’s attitude. "I imagine you pushed yourself rather hard to try and catch up with Vondo and now you don’t even rest. What about the others who came with you?"

"Which is what you should be doing," Finrod said gently. "Lord Irmo is not going to let you remain here for more than a day or so, just long enough for you and the horses to recover from your mad dash. I know you, Laurendil. You pushed yourself and the others to the limit, determined to catch Vondo. I saw the way the others were practically reeling from fatigue when you got here. Unlike you, they’re not used to such hard riding, but even you cannot go without sleep forever."

"And when was the last time you actually ate?" Glorfindel asked. "And I don’t mean trail-rations while on the road. I doubt you even bothered to stop except to allow the horses to rest and only minimally at that. Otherwise, I suspect you kept right on going. I’m sure your fellows really appreciated that."

His tone was laced with sarcasm which Laurendil could not ignore. The ellon blushed and would not look at them.

"If anyone is to be blamed for this, it should be me," Finrod said and Laurendil started to protest, but Finrod continued. "No. Let me finish. If I hadn’t asked you to work with Vondo in improving his tracking skills none of this would have happened."

"Perhaps," Finrod averred, "but no more ridiculous than you blaming yourself for what happened."

"Happens to the best of us, my friend," Glorfindel said. "Now that you are aware of this particular fault of yours, you can take steps to avoid it in the future."

His expression was so bland and his tone so supercilious that it evoked a bark of laughter out of Laurendil while Finrod just grinned at the two of them.

"That’s better," the prince said. "Now, why don’t we find you something to eat and then I want you to rest." Laurendil let out a sigh but did not protest. "We’ll go to the Laughing Vala and have a late lunch," Finrod continued as he led them out of the cloister and towards the avenue fronting the mansion. "At this hour it won’t be crowded and we can probably get a private room. Afterwards, we’ll come back and retrieve the children and you can meet Vondo, Glorfindel."

The other two agreed. They made their way past Valmar’s northern gate into Eldamas and headed for their favorite inn while they caught up on one another’s news.

When they returned to Nienna’s mansion a couple of hours later they found Vondo and the elflings awake, but Vorondil was now asleep, curled up beside his uncle who was sitting up, an arm around his nephew, while listening to the other children quietly telling him about the blizzard and the treasure hunt and the snowball fights and anything else they could think of to entertain him. One of the beds had been pushed back so they could sit facing Vondo. When Finrod opened the door, the five elflings stood and bowed. Finrod motioned them to resume their seats as he moved to the foot of Vondo’s bed while Laurendil went to the other side and checked the ellon’s vitals. Glorfindel stood beside Finrod, giving Vondo a curious but friendly look.

"Better," Vondo answered with a smile as he allowed Laurendil to check him over. "I woke up from my nap and could wiggle my toes."

There were looks of relief on the older ellyn’s faces. "That is good news," Laurendil said. "Lady Estë said you could get up starting tomorrow but you’ll need to take it easy until you’re completely healed."

Vondo nodded. "So she told me, for she was here when I woke up." He frowned slightly. "What happened to... to Selmacas? Why did he attack me? He seemed so surprised to see me and it wasn’t a pleasant surprise either."

Finrod sighed and both Laurendil and Glorfindel shook their heads. The elflings listened with undisguised interest. "It hasn’t been decided yet," Finrod answered. "And your questions deserve an answer but not right now."

Oromendil turned to Sorondur and whispered loudly, "That means they’re going to wait until we leave to talk about it."

The older elfling nodded sagely. "They think we’re too young to understand," he replied and the other elflings nodded in agreement.

The grown ups, including Vondo, exchanged amused looks. "Well, since you know this to be so, then you may leave," Finrod said. "You missed all the excitement earlier when Lord Eärendil brought Vingilot in for a landing. If you would like, I’ll have one of Lady Nienna’s Maiar take you to where the ship is docked so you can see it."

That perked the children up and in minutes, Tiutalion was escorting them away. Vorondil was still sleeping and Vondo suggested leaving him be. "He’s exhausted," the Reborn said, brushing the hair out of his nephew’s eyes which were half closed. "He forced himself to stay awake while I and the elflings took our naps."

Laurendil opened a clothespress and pulled out a light blanket, placing it over Vorondil who never moved. Then he stared down at Vondo, who now started to fidget under the apprentice healer’s regard. "I’m sorry," Laurendil said quietly.

"So am I," Vondo responded. "It was stupid of me to take offense and stupider of me to run away. All it got me in the end was trouble."

The three older ellyn glanced at one another, their expressions revealing their surprise, obviously not expecting this sudden display of maturity on Vondo’s part. "I’m glad you understand that, Vondo," Finrod said. "Both you and Laurendil learned valuable lessons, I think. Now, let me make you known to my otorno. This is Glorfindel. Glorfindel, this is Aldundil’s older brother, Vorondil, though for clarity’s sake we call him Vondo instead."

"Greetings, Vondo," Glorfindel said with a smile. "I hear you’ve been giving your minders as much grief as I used to, if not more so."

"I don’t need minders," Vondo said with a frown, but then he grinned. "Though it’s fun eluding them and letting them chase me."

The other three laughed softly so as not to disturb the still sleeping Vorondil. Glorfindel and Finrod sat on the bed the elflings had vacated while Laurendil drew up a chair on the other side. Vondo shifted his position slightly, tightening his hold on his nephew who snuggled a little closer to him but did not wake.

"So are you going to tell me why Selmacas called me a traitor and oathbreaker?" Vondo asked.

There were uneasy looks between the older three ellyn. It was Finrod who answered him. "You are neither a traitor nor an oathbreaker, Vondo. I’m afraid Selmacas allowed his anger to blind him and he spoke without thought."

"Yet he seemed stunned by the fact that I was alive," Vondo insisted. "I may be emotionally young but I’m not stupid. He thought me safely dead and I suspect that he would have been happy if I’d never been reborn. Does it have something to do with his daughter?"

Vondo gave a slight shrug. "Not really. I’m not even sure what her name is. It keeps escaping me."

"Yes and no," Vondo answered. "When I saw him a name popped into my head and I knew the name went with him, but that’s all I know. I have no actual memory of him or his daughter, whoever she is."

All four adults looked in amazement at Vorondil, who was the one who had spoken. He was blinking, and stretching. Vondo gave him a rueful look. "Sorry, Nephew. We didn’t mean to disturb your rest."

Vorondil shook his head, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "No. That’s all right, Uncle. I’ve had enough rest." He yawned and struggled off the bed, straightening his tunic and reaching for his houseboots which he had removed before curling up. When he finished putting his boots on he looked up at Finrod, his expression determined. "I think Uncle Vondo needs to know the truth, Master."

Finrod shook his head. "It’s too soon, child. He’s not ready to hear the truth, not yet."

Finrod cast him a dark look. "You’re not helping, gwador," he said in Sindarin.

"Hey! I know that language," Vondo exclaimed. "Wait, don’t tell me...um... Sindarin, right? And... and you said something about not helping and gwador... that’s the same as otorno, isn’t it?"

The others stared at him in surprise. "Yes, that’s correct," Finrod finally said, his expression wry. "Well, I guess we’re not going to be able to keep any secrets from you, are we?"

But Vondo’s attention had been diverted and he wasn’t listening, all excited by his discovery. "Say something else in Sindarin. No, wait... let me see if I can remember how to speak it. Ah...um... i-eneth nîn Vondo...Im magor... no, that’s not right." He frowned in concentration and then his expression cleared. "Im adonnen!" he said triumphantly, giving them a brilliant smile.

"Oh, I’ve always had an interest in languages," Vondo said somewhat breezily. "I’m pretty sure I was studying to be a lambengolmo before I went to war. I must have picked up Sindarin rather quickly while I was in Beleriand."

"You didn’t seem to notice it when people were speaking it in Lórien," Laurendil commented.

Vondo shrugged. "Most everyone speaks Quenya and I never really thought about it. The two ellyn with whom I share a pavilion are Noldor so we just speak Quenya to one another. So everyone speak some Sindarin to me and let me see if I can figure it out," he demanded, and it was obvious to the others that he had just discovered a new game.

"What about me?" Vorondil asked, feeling left out. "I’m still learning and I don’t know very much."

"You can help me," Vondo said, patting the space next to him, inviting Vorondil to join him on the bed. "We’ll be a team, them against us."

Vorondil gave Finrod a questioning look and the prince nodded. Anything to distract Vondo from the subject of Calalindalë, if only temporarily. Vorondil made himself comfortable beside his uncle.

Finrod, Glorfindel and Laurendil exchanged measuring looks and shrugged at one another. "I’ll go first," Glorfindel said and the other two nodded. He thought for a moment and then began speaking. "Mi ’Ondolin ennas cuias aran estannen Turgon...."

Lambengolmo: (Quenya) Linguistic loremaster, literally ‘loremaster of tongues’ [lambë ‘tongue, language’ + ingolmo ‘loremaster’; the initial vowel in ingolmo disappears in compounds when the first element of the compound ends in a vowel.] This is an attested word. The Lambengolmor (plural) was a school founded by Fëanor (see War of the Jewels).

Mi ’Ondolin ennas cuias aran estannen Turgon....: ‘In Gondolin there lived a king named Turgon....’. Cuias is the third person singular past tense form of the verb cuia- which is an intransitive verb, i.e. it cannot take a direct object. Intransitive verbs in Sindarin form their past tense with the ending -s or -st while transitive verbs form their past tense with the ending -nt.

That evening, after dinner, the Amanians gathered as usual in the townhouse’s library, which did not actually contain any books — "No point having them in a building where no one actually lives," Ingwë had said when Sador had commented on this lack — though that was its designation. There were a few maps of Valinor stored in this room — "Woefully out of date," Arafinwë had confessed to Finrod when he discovered them — and some curios of dubious origin sitting on the shelves gathering dust — "I think they’re some of Fëanáro’s earliest artistic attempts as an elfling," Arafinwë had stated with an indifferent shrug when Glorfindel had pointed them out — but that was about it. Its main virtue was its size: it could comfortably seat twice the number of people who were presently occupying it.

Besides the royal families, Sador, Beleg, Amarië and Alassiel were also there, along with Eärendil, Elwing, Glorfindel and Falmaron. Herendil and Aldundil were present as well, though they would return later to Lady Nienna’s where the rest of their family was staying until Vondo was recovered. Laurendil had retired shortly after dinner, admitting to extreme fatigue, while Galdor, Legolas, Hendor and the other delegates from Aewellond had gone back to Valmar to renew acquaintances with the Tol Eressëans. Some of the Amanians who were not gathered in the library had joined them or were off pursuing their own pleasures elsewhere. The elflings were safely in the nursery under the watchful eye of Mistress Luhtana.

As was his custom once everyone was settled in their favorite chair with goblets of wine or cider in their hands, Ingwë asked if anyone had any comments about the day’s events. Finrod was the first to speak, addressing himself to Herendil and Aldundil.

"Vondo was asking about Selmacas and wanting to know who Calalindalë was," he told them.

"Nothing," Finrod replied. "Vorondil, however, told him that Calalindalë was his amillë."

Both Herendil and Aldundil sighed. "Luckily, though, we were able to divert Vondo’s attention before he started asking more questions," Finrod said.

"Glorfindel said something and I responded in Sindarin," Finrod explained. "Vondo got all excited because he realized he understood what I’d said and wanted us to speak some more to him. It ended up becoming a game."

"He’s not going to forget, though," Glorfindel reminded them. "He’s going to continue asking questions. He’s going to have to be told the truth eventually."

"And perhaps this is the best time for you to tell him," Glorfindel rejoined, "when he has no emotional connection to either Selmacas or Calalindalë. Well, to Calalindalë, at least," he amended with a wry grin. "I’m sure he has plenty of emotional connections to Selmacas now." The others all groaned in response to the pun and Sador, sitting next to him, punched him playfully in the arm. "At any rate," he continued when they were all calmer, "when those emotions eventually surface he will already know what has happened and will be able to put them into perspective."

"Perhaps," Herendil averred reluctantly, sighing. "I just hate to see his innocence lost so soon."

"Selmacas’ attack put pay to that," Finrod said with a snort. "You underestimate your son. His emotional responses may be in question but not his intelligence. He knows we’re all hiding something from him."

"You may wish to consult with Lord Irmo and Lady Estë about this," Arafinwë suggested. "They probably have a firmer understanding of Vondo’s ability to handle the news than you."

Herendil nodded. "I will consult with them tomorrow before the morning session."

"And speaking of morning," Arafinwë said, turning to Eärendil, "should you not have sailed long before this? Vingilot is the Evening Star this time of year, after all."

"And did you not notice her shining brightly even as we went to sup?" Eärendil rejoined with a complacent smile. "I usually do not sail Vingilot at night, not since the Valar created the planet that simulates the brightness of the Silmaril." He gestured with his hand towards the circlet on his head where the Silmaril lay shining mutely in the candlelight.

"No, I do not," Eärendil answered. "At home the Silmaril is placed in a special container until I need it to fly Vingilot. Since there’s nowhere here that I can safely place it, I will wear it during our stay here."

"They will not accept it, even for so short a time," Eärendil explained, "else I would have given it to Lady Yavanna for safekeeping from the very start. Indeed, as most of you know, when I came before the Valar, I tried to do just that, but she refused to take it. No. For better or worse, I am its guardian and to me falls the burden of safekeeping it."

There was a brief pause while people digested this and then Ingwë spoke. "You were telling us about flying Vingilot."

Eärendil nodded. "I only sail at those times when the Valar wish to increase the brightness of Tancol for some reason or during the day when Anar’s light hides even the Silmaril from your sight. At those times, I act as Lord Manwë’s spy." He laughed at the disbelieving looks of the others. "My crew and I observe what is happening in the Outer Lands and I report to Lord Manwë what we have witnessed. He says that the Eagles are not always able to understand what they are seeing, intelligent creatures though they are, for they are not as we."

"That is correct. You do know, of course, that our world is not flat, don’t you?" Eärendil said.

"Of course," Ingwë snorted with unconcealed disdain. "We are the pupils of the Valar after all and are aware of the structure of Arda to the outermost rim."

Eärendil nodded. "I often sail to the other side of the world where Mortals dwell who have little knowledge of the Middle Lands, for there appears to be only sporadic trade between them and the peoples of the South and East. Most live in primitive villages and there are few cities worthy of the name. Lord Manwë suspects that the Maia who was once known as Aulendil and is now called Sauron fled to those regions and has begun to raise an army against the West."

There were scowls all around. "Just what we need, another damn war!" snarled Aldundil.

Eärendil shook his head. "If it comes to that, I do not think the Valar will interfere. Sauron may be a Maia but even an Elf of sufficient power can defeat one." He nodded at Glorfindel who blushed under everyone’s regard.

"So you are saying that if Sauron does go to war against the Elves and Men who still dwell in the Outer Lands, they will have to deal with him themselves without any help from the Valar or us?" Olwë asked.

Eärendil nodded, though he did not appear happy. "I am not in the confidence of the Valar but based on what has been said in my presence, and more importantly, what has not been said, I think they’ve decided that any future conflicts are for those of Endórë to deal with. There will be no direct interference on the part of the Valar." The emphasis on ‘direct’ caused many there to nod in understanding.

"Well, I suspect we’ll be seeing an increase in the number of elves sailing if war does come upon them," Finrod said with a sigh. "That will make life more interesting for the Tol Eressëans."

"To say the very least," Ingwë replied with a tight smile. "And more interesting for us if we do not resolve the conflicts which plague that island now. If we receive an influx of refugees it will merely make matters worse unless we have a firm government in place to deal with them."

There were nods all around. "It’s clear that a two-tiered government is what they want," Sador said. "The only real question remaining is how the Assembly will be ruled and by whom."

The ellon looked startled. "Me? Why are you asking me? I’m just an observer and Finrod’s aide, though he never seems to need any." He stuck his tongue out at Finrod who replied in kind, setting everyone else chuckling at their antics.

"Nevertheless, I would hear your thoughts," Arafinwë said. "You, Finrod and Beleg are all Reborn. Do you agree with Brethorn’s assessment of the situation?"

There was a moment of silence and Sador shrugged. "I have had little experience with the kinds of problems most Reborn seem to have with the... er... Once-born, and I suspect it’s because of my standing in your court, Atya," he said, smiling shyly at Arafinwë.

"I hear a ‘but’ in there somewhere," Arafinwë said with a knowing look and Sador nodded, blushing slightly.

"I have had my own run-ins with some who are less understanding than most, and I spoke with many Reborn while we were on Tol Eressëa and listened to their stories. I’ve seen the way some of you have reacted to the Reborn here, the way they seem to make a game out of everything, and you consider them to be no better than overgrown elflings. Yet, Brethorn and others like him were released from Mandos even earlier than Finrod and no one treats him the same way."

"That’s because I’m haryon to the Noldóran," Finrod replied with a thin smile, "and they wouldn’t dare, but in actual fact, I was treated with more disdain when I first returned to Tirion than either you or Glorfindel have experienced. I paved the way for you and the other Reborn to find acceptance among the Noldor, just as I suspect Falmaron was meant to do among the Teleri, only he managed to succeed in running away, while I ended up nearly getting myself killed all over again for my trouble."

"Mánatamir said I was Atto’s final lesson," Falmaron said quietly in the lull that followed Finrod’s words.

Olwë sighed deeply and his eyes were shadowed with regret as Lirillë reached for him and the two huddled together on the settee where they were sitting.

"At any rate," Sador continued softly, "I think the Reborn are here to teach everyone."

"Teach us what?" Lindarion demanded. "Teach us to forgive what was done to us, to you?"

"Sador is correct, Lindarion," Beleg said, entering the conversation for the first time. "Forgiveness is something that cannot be forced upon you. It’s something you have to come to on your own, but the first step towards forgiveness is acceptance. You need to accept that these things happened, that your brother was murdered, that he himself may have even killed in defense of others. And beyond that, you need to accept that your brother holds no animosity towards the one who slew him, or even to the fact that he died at all."

"Of course it’s easy for us," Falmaron said with a snort. "We’ve had the benefit of being counseled by Lord Námo himself. Our fëar have been purged of whatever hatred we may have harbored towards our slayers or of the fact that we died at all."

"Well, I never hated that stupid balrog," Glorfindel said with a virtuous sniff.

"No, you only hated the fact that your pretty hair got all burned up," Sador retorted with a wicked grin.

Before anyone knew what was happening, Glorfindel launched himself at Sador, toppling them both to the floor, Sador’s chair splintering beneath him. Alassiel cried out Sador’s name even as Finrod and Eärendil were dragging a snarling Glorfindel off of the ellon while Arafinwë knelt to see how hurt Sador was.

"That’s enough from you, Glorfindel," Eärendil shouted, angrily shaking the golden-haired ellon. "Be still or I’ll send you back to Aewellond."

That threat seemed to work, for the ellon simmered down. "He had no right to make fun of my hair," he muttered.

Eärendil and Finrod exchanged exasperated looks, the Mariner rolling his eyes. "Elflings," he muttered and Finrod hid a smile as he led Glorfindel back to his chair, pushing him down and standing over him. "What has gotten into you, gwador?" he asked him softly, speaking Sindarin. "Sador meant nothing by his words. He was only teasing."

Finrod turned a helpless look at Ingwë who seemed more amused than anything as he stood up. "I’ll handle him," he whispered to Finrod who gave him a grateful look as he went to see how Sador was doing. He was not surprised to see Alassiel there helping Arafinwë.

"I’m all right, Atya," Sador said, wincing slightly. "It’s just a bump and nothing’s broken."

"You let me be the judge of that, hinya," Arafinwë said softly as he ran practiced hands over Sador’s body and checked his head. "How many fingers am I holding up?" he asked.

"I can’t count that high," Sador quipped as he tried to rise, but Alassiel gently pushed him back into a supine position.

"Honestly, Sador, this is no time for jokes," she said with some anger. "Now stop acting the idiot and answer the question."

Sador reddened under the reprimand. "Two. You’re holding up two fingers. Happy now?" This last was directed at Alassiel who leaned down and gave him a kiss which seemed to mollify the ellon, for he answered Arafinwë’s other medical questions without being flippant.

"I think you should retire for the night," Arafinwë suggested as he and Alassiel helped Sador to his feet, "but I know you don’t want to be left out of anything."

"I’ll just sit here with Alassiel and Amarië and be quiet," Sador said and that was agreeable to Arafinwë who directed the servants, whom Aldundil had called in, to remove the broken chair.

Meanwhile, Ingwë was crouched beside a still glowering Glorfindel. "You seemed so mature when you showed up today with Lord Eärendil," he said with a smile, "I almost didn’t recognize you. I’m glad to see you’re still acting the elfling every now and then."

Glorfindel looked at Ingwë in surprise, his anger forgotten. "Why?" he asked in confusion.

"Because that’s what made me love you in the first place," Ingwë answered with a chuckle. "There you were, a grown elf acting like a put-upon adolescent in front of my entire court, practically insulting me. How could I not love you at that very moment? You were like a breath of fresh air. I’d forgotten how volatile the emotions of elflings could be."

Ingwë nodded. "As well you should be," he replied, "but I’m not the one who needs to hear your apology."

Glorfindel sighed and nodded, standing up. Ingwë rose as well and resumed his own seat while Glorfindel went over to where Sador was now sitting, nursing a goblet of cider, for Arafinwë forbade him to have any wine. He held a cold cloth, which Amarië had given him, to the back of his head. Sador looked up at Glorfindel, his expression somewhat apprehensive.

"Come sit with me, dear," Eärwen said to Glorfindel and the ellon complied, bringing his chair over to where Eärwen was sitting.

"Well now that the excitement is over," Ingwë said as he nodded his thanks to Ingwion who had replenished his atar’s goblet, "what were we discussing?"

"Actually, I am more interested in hearing Sador’s thoughts about the constitution of the Assembly," Eärendil said. "He never did get to answer the question as we got sidetracked."

All eyes turned to Sador who shrugged, grimacing at the pain. "I think an outsider is what is needed," he answered. "Someone with no real ties to anyone on Tol Eressëa, yet is sympathetic to their plight."

"You certainly don’t think someone from Aman should rule, do you?" Alassiel asked. "I doubt very much that any of the Tol Eressëans will want a Noldo or a Teler heading the Assembly."

"What about a Vanya?" Ingwion asked, fingering his ruby ring in an absent-minded way.

"I don’t know," Alassiel admitted. "We Vanyar have stayed out of the affairs of the other clans and especially out of Tol Eressëa, but I cannot claim neutrality in this. My own atar died for the sake of those of Beleriand and it’s taken me much time to come to terms with his death. For a long time I blamed you, Uncle," Alassiel said, addressing Ingwë, who did not appear surprised by her words.

"I know you did, child," he said. "Nor did I blame you for blaming me. I blamed myself as well. Intarion only went because I refused to allow Ingwion to lead the Vanyar. I know your ammë would have preferred Intarion to stay as well." He glanced over at Lirulin sitting serenely near her daughter.

"He wanted to go," Lirulin said. "He vowed a long time ago that someday he would complete the journey to the Outer Lands that we had begun."

Lirulin shook her head, smiling at her daughter. "It doesn’t matter," she replied. "I’ll tell you the story someday. For now, let us concentrate on what is happening now. I think having a Vanya at the head of this Assembly might cause its own brand of problems but certainly we Vanyar can be seen as being more neutral than the other two clans with respect to the Tol Eressëans."

"More neutral, I grant you," Eärendil said, "but not necessarily more sympathetic. Forgive me, but the Vanyar have always struck me as being stand-offish, wishing to have nothing to do with the other clans. In the few instances where I have had to deal with the Vanyar I have gotten the feeling that most look down on everyone else, the Noldor for rebelling against the Valar and the Teleri for ignoring the Valar altogether and the Tol Eressëans for simply existing."

"That accusation was certainly valid once," Ingwë averred, "but attitudes have been changing slowly over time. I will admit that I had my own reasons for wanting to see the Noldor, all of them, gone and out of our hair. They seemed to be born to be trouble and every problem that cropped up could conveniently, if not truthfully, be laid at their feet. It took time for me to see beyond that." He stole a glance at Ingwion, who sat there still fiddling with his ring, but the ellon’s expression was untroubled and he flashed his atar a brief smile.

Eärendil’s eyebrows went up. "Me? Whyever would I want to rule over the Tol Eressëans?"

"A poor lord I made, never being there," Eärendil snorted with self-contempt. "I doubt anyone would want me now. Besides, I’m content to rule at Aewellond and I know Elwing does not wish to leave there for any length of time." He gave his wife a fond smile and she leaned over to give him a kiss.

"Still, Sador’s suggestion does have its merits," Glorfindel said, giving Sador a smile. "The people at Aewellond are all from Tol Eressëa originally. They don’t seem to have any trouble accepting you as their lord and many of them I know were at the Havens." He shrugged. "Seems to me that would solve a lot of problems."

"Except that, even if everyone on the island begged me, I still would not do it," Eärendil said. "You know as well as I what Aewellond is meant to be. I will not desert the people there who look to me and Elwing for guidance. We have a purpose there and I don’t think the Valar will wish for me to put it aside."

"Yet, you are not the only one who can lead the people of Aewellond and train the warriors as they must be," Glorfindel pointed out in a reasonable tone. "Nor do I see this as a permanent thing. I sincerely believe that someday one of the kings of Beleriand will rule in Tol Eressëa. Until then, whoever ends up heading the Assembly will be more like a Steward than anything else."

"A Ruling Steward?" Finrod asked, looking dubious. "And when this hypothetical king does arrive, what then? Will this Steward give up his or her power so easily?"

"That remains to be seen," Glorfindel said with a shrug, then gave them a sly look. "Perhaps by the time a king shows up, the Steward will be more than willing to hand over the reins of government after dealing with the likes of Morcocáno and Galadhwen for yéni."

"I feel sorry for anyone who ends up taking that role," Amarië said. "It will be a thankless job however you want to look at it."

"Indeed," Ingwë said with a sigh. "It appears we are at an impasse. Most of the delegates seem to believe that having someone from outside Tol Eressëa head the Assembly to be the best solution, but I deem that anyone put forth as a candidate will not be found acceptable to the majority for one reason or another."

"Then they will have to find someone among themselves to head the Assembly and perhaps set it up so that if that person proves unworthy of the position, then he or she can be removed and another put in their place," Olwë said. "I myself do not care which route these people take. However they wish to set up their government is fine by me. I will deal with whoever leads them with all courtesy and respect, whoever they are."

"Well, we’ll see what is decided tomorrow," Ingwë said. "In the meantime, it grows late and we will not solve this conundrum tonight." He rose and held his hand out to Elindis and the two tendered their good-nights and left, signaling the end of the discussion.

Herendil and Aldundil also made their farewells and left soon after. Others began to drift away, either to retire for the evening or to gather in more intimate groups to sing and tell stories. Glorfindel suggested to Sador that they go to the Laughing Vala for a while and they were joined by Finrod, Amarië, Alassiel, Ingwion and Lindarion. Arafinwë agreed to the plan so long as Sador promised to refrain from drinking anything alcoholic.

"And if you have the slightest headache or are feeling dizzy, you are to tell Findaráto and come back here immediately," the king admonished and Sador agreed.

As it happened, they only stayed at the inn for about an hour or so, for Sador kept nodding over his cider, much to everyone else’s amusement, so the others finished up their drinks and they returned to the townhouse around midnight.

The next morning, once breakfast was done with, the elflings asked to accompany Finrod to Lady Nienna’s so as to be with Vondo and Vorondil while the Council was in session.

Finrod gave them a grave look. "Vondo will be released from his bed today and he will be at the Council, so you won’t be able to see him."

That was news to others besides the elflings. Arafinwë gave him a piercing look. "And whose decision is that?" he asked.

Finrod’s own expression did not change as he turned to his atar. "Mine. I think we need to address what happened between Vondo and Selmacas before we can continue with the Council. I think it will be wise to have the Tol Eressëans see what Amanian justice looks like."

"Perhaps not," Ingwë averred, "but I still would hesitate calling a court of chivalry at this time."

"And I’m more inclined to let Selmacas stew in Mandos for a while longer," Arafinwë added. "I warned him...."

"You warned him about making trouble with Herendil and Aldundil," Finrod reminded him. "You did not warn him about Vondo."

"How did he come here?" Ingwion asked. "I cannot imagine that he managed to sneak out of Lórien without someone noticing. Certainly the Maiar would have. Why didn’t they stop him?"

"Orders," Laurendil answered with a scowl. "Orders from Lord Irmo, or so Ingil confessed to me when I called him on it just before I left Lórien."

"This sounds like the Valar wanted what happened to happen," Alassiel ventured, looking distraught.

"They certainly wanted something to happen, that’s for sure," Sador said with a snort of disgust. "Glorfindel isn’t the only one they’re manipulating. I think half of what’s been going on with the Council has been subtly orchestrated by the Valar."

"Yet, I cannot believe they actually intended for Selmacas to attack that poor ellon," Eärwen said. "That smacks of cruelty and indifference and I have never known the Valar to be either."

"You think they wanted Selmacas to attack Vondo, or at least hoped he would?" Sador asked, his expression one of shock. "But why? Why subject an innocent Reborn to such trauma? Why would the Valar deliberately goad Selmacas into attacking Vondo? I saw Selmacas’ face as he was taken away. He was terrified and rightly so. If this was a set-up...."

"Then we need to address the issue now," Finrod insisted. "We need to lay blame where it rightly belongs, if any are truly to be blamed for this disaster. Selmacas has never been a friend to me, as many of you well know, but I cannot countenance even someone like him being treated as a pawn in someone else’s game. He deserves better. We all do."

"You truly think the Valar should answer for this?" Eärendil asked incredulously. "Even if what you say is true, how can you hope to put them on trial or punish them?"

"Lord Manwë said in the beginning of this Council that he and the Valar would abide by our rules," Finrod said, looking now at Ingwë. "I think it’s time we find out if that was just talk on his part."

"Now you’re beginning to sound like me with my suspicions," Glorfindel said with a thin smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Selmacas has the right to be heard," Ingwë said, looking at Arafinwë who nodded. "Very well," he continued, "I will ask that Selmacas be brought here for trial. Traditionally trials are set for noon when the light of the sun is at its strongest and shadows are not present. It’s too late to postpone this morning’s session, but I don’t see any point in continuing with our agenda until after the trial."

"Let us go to the Council and explain what we are about," Olwë suggested. "You still have to speak with Lord Manwë about having Selmacas brought back to Valmar."

"But what about us?" Sorondil asked and the adults looked at the elflings in dismay, having completely forgotten about them.

Finrod shook his head, giving them a sympathetic smile. "You have lessons that have been neglected, if I’m not mistaken. Remain here with Mistress Luhtana. I will send Vorondil here after the trial, for he, too, has been neglecting his lessons. Later, you will be able to visit with Vondo, but it will most likely not be until late this afternoon or early in the evening."

The five children sighed. "Can we at least eat dinner with Uncle Vondo then?" Veryandur pleaded.

"I don’t see why not," Finrod replied, "provided that you are on your best behavior and do not give Mistress Luhtana any grief."

As they were making their way through Eldamas towards the northern gate leading into Valmar, Ingwë spoke. "I will go to Lord Manwë and ask that Selmacas be brought to us by noon."

"I’ll go see Vondo and explain what is going to happen," Finrod said. "He’s going to need to understand why Selmacas did what he did. There’s no hiding this from him now whatever his family wishes."

"Arafinwë and I will speak to the other delegates as they arrive and tell them what we plan. It is in my mind not to let the Valar know that we will be putting them on trial as well. Let them think this is only about Selmacas’ attack on Vondo."

"Why don’t we just see what the others have to say?" Ingwë suggested. "Perhaps we will just keep the proceedings informal this morning."

They all agreed to this and when they came to Valmar, Ingwë left them to go to Lord Manwë, taking Ingwion with him, while the others continued on to Lady Nienna’s mansion. Once there, Finrod took Laurendil and went in search of Vondo and his family while Olwë and Arafinwë and the other Amanians continued to the Council chamber to find Brethorn and the other Reborn already there waiting for them.

"Has something happened?" Brethorn asked, looking worried. "When no one was here...."

"Just a slight change in the schedule," Olwë assured him. "Ingwë is speaking to Lord Manwë about it. We’ve decided we need to deal with Lord Selmacas’ attack on Vondo before we go any further with this Council. The trial is set for noon."

The Reborn delegates, and now several others arriving in time to hear Olwë’s words, looked concerned.

"I would think that would be an internal matter of the Noldor and not something that concerns any of us," Morcocáno ventured.

Olwë hesitated, looking uneasy. He glanced around and gestured for them to come closer, speaking in a low voice. "We think there is more to this than meets the eye. Prince Findaráto means to bring charges against the Valar."

The silence that followed that statement lasted for several minutes. "On what grounds?" Brethorn finally asked, looking decidedly ill.

"On the grounds that they’ve been manipulating us, this Council, all along for their own ends," Arafinwë answered. "Not that we have any means of punishing them or anything like that, but we mean to confront them with this accusation. Their touch has been subtle for the most part, and normally I don’t think any of us would really notice but Vondo showing up was too... blatant."

There were considering looks among the delegates as Olwë opened the door and gestured for them all to enter, those who would be sitting at the table absent-mindedly choosing a gemstone and finding their seats while the others made their way to the tiers. The delegates arriving late were apprised by their fellows of what was happening.

"You say this trial is set for noon," Galadhwen said to Olwë, for she was sitting next to him. "What do we do in the meantime?"

"Why don’t we wait for Ingwë before we make a decision," Olwë replied. Then he swept his gaze over them all. "And not a word about what we mean to do. If the Valar get wind of this beforehand...."

There were nods and murmurs of assent all around. Just then, Finrod entered, along with Herendil and Aldundil. Finrod reached into the bowl to take one of the three remaining gemstones and made his way to his seat, stopping to have a whispered conversation with his atar and anatar.

"Herendil was unable to find Lord Irmo to discuss what to tell Vondo, so we went ahead and told him the truth."

"Surprisingly calm," Finrod answered. "He was more upset for Aldundil and Vorondil than he was for himself. He still has no real memory of Calalindalë. He can’t even remember what she looks like. To him, the knowledge of what he meant to Calalindalë and what she meant to him is all intellectual; there is no emotional connection to any of it."

"We’ve told the other delegates about what we plan with regards to the Valar," Olwë said. "No one is happy about it, but they will go along with it."

"I’m not happy about it, either," Finrod said with some exasperation, "but I think we need to clear this up before we go any further."

"Agreed," Olwë said, then looked up. "Ah, Ingwë has arrived and so have the Valar."

Finrod turned to see the High King and Ingwion entering with Lord Manwë, with the other Valar behind them. He gave his atar and anatar a knowing nod and then went to claim his seat. Meanwhile, Manwë gestured for Ingwion to select one of the remaining gemstones and then they both followed Ingwë down to the dais. When all were settled, Ingwë welcomed them.

"It has been decided that Lord Selmacas’ trial will be held at noon today," he told them. "Lord Námo has instructed his People to bring Selmacas here at that hour."

"As Selmacas is a Noldo who attacked another Noldo, it would be my sovereign right to act as sole judge," Arafinwë answered, "but my fellow rulers have agreed to adjudicate with me. I am afraid that most of you will be called upon as witnesses to the event."

"Well, that is still some hours away," Lindarion said. "What do we do in the meantime?"

"If I may," Eärendil ventured and when Ingwë nodded, he continued. "Unlike the rest of you, I have not had the benefit of hearing your stories. My people and I would appreciate hearing from each of you as to why you are here and what you hope to accomplish."

"I think that would be acceptable," Ingwë said with a nod. "Are there any objections? No? Then perhaps someone would like to begin."

There was a brief pause as everyone at the table looked at everyone else and then Finrod raised a hand. "Why don’t I start?" When there was no objection, he went on. "Although I had been re-embodied for over a century, and even though I was friends with some of the Reborn who eventually settled on Tol Eressëa, I never really gave them or any of the other inhabitants a thought until one day last year an embassy from Tol Eressëa arrived in Tirion...."

After Finrod finished his tale, others chimed in briefly with their own. When Gilvagor happened to mention the New Year Tournament which had been attended by several people from Tol Eressëa, people began discussing that with great interest. Even Glorfindel was asked to describe his part in it and those who had not been there wondered if similar tournaments could not be held again on a regular basis.

That idea was agreeable to them all and a discussion was held as to when the next tournament could be held and who would host it. In the end it was decided to hold one at the next summer solstice to give everyone a chance to prepare and Arafinwë offered to host it, saying that the plains before the Calacirya would be a good place for the tournament.

By then, it was growing close to the noon hour and Ingwë suggested that a recess be held while the chamber was prepared for the trial. Lady Nienna spoke up, stating that refreshments had been set up within the cloister and everyone was invited to come. The atmosphere was relaxed and congenial as people happily mingled with one another while making their way from the chamber.

Finrod, with Sador, Beleg and Glorfindel in tow, made a point of chatting with Lord Oromë and Lady Vána, with Glorfindel blithely answering the Valar’s questions about his training. Others, taking Finrod’s cue, also spoke with the Valar in a friendly manner, thereby hoping to deflect any possible suspicions as to the elves’ plans.

Just before noon, the delegates streamed back into the Council chamber to find that the room had been reconfigured slightly in their absence. The central dais appeared larger somehow and the table had been replaced with three tables placed in a ‘U’ formation with spaces between them. At the open end was a chair. The middle table was obviously where the three kings would sit. Unlike during the Council sessions, Arafinwë, as chief judge, sat in the central chair with Ingwë on his right and Olwë on his left. There were six other chairs at this table and these were reserved for Herendil, Vondo and Laurendil on one side and Finrod, Ingwion and Lindarion on the other. The other delegates found their seats at the other two tables, nine delegates at each, for Lord Manwë elected to sit with the other Valar, stating that this trial was for the elves to deal with; the Valar would merely be observers. Lady Vandacalimë, Aldundil and Vorondil joined the Noldorin delegates in the tiers. Vorondil looked distressed and Aldundil kept a comforting arm around his son during the proceedings.

"Have Lord Selmacas brought in," Arafinwë ordered, and immediately, the doors opened and every head craned to see Selmacas between two of Lord Námo’s People, grim and silent. The Noldorin lord was ashen, his eyes glazed over with shock as he stumbled on the steps leading down to the dais. The Maiar casually held him up and saw him seated, then they bowed to the kings and stepped away, retreating up the steps and leaving, the door silently closing behind them.

"Lord Selmacas," Arafinwë intoned, "you stand accused of an unprovoked attack against Vorondil Herendilion, known as Vondo, causing severe, perhaps even fatal injuries had it not been for the fact that Prince Findaráto and others were able to heal him. How do you plead?"

Selmacas rose to his feet, gave the kings a respectful bow, and said, "I plead guilty, your Majesty, though I hope to be given an opportunity to explain myself."

Selmacas swallowed and all could see how strained he appeared. Without consulting anyone, Elríen stood and went to the ellon, speaking to him softly. He appeared both genuinely surprised and grateful for her attention and answered just as softly. She nodded and turned to the kings. "If someone could bring some water for Lord Selmacas?"

Before anyone could respond, a small table with a pitcher of water and a goblet appeared to one side of Selmacas’ chair. Elríen didn’t even blink, but went over and poured the water and handed the goblet to Selmacas, who drank it, looking somewhat better afterwards. He quietly thanked the healer who nodded and returned to her own seat.

"Why don’t you be seated, Selmacas, while you speak?" Arafinwë suggested kindly and Selmacas did.

"I regret what I did," Selmacas began without preamble, not looking at Vondo but keeping his eyes down as he clutched the goblet. "When I saw Voron... er... Vondo standing there blithely dismissing my daughter, the daughter he had professed to love, I... my mind went blank and I don’t even remember attacking him. I was so blind with my own fury and... and shamed at how my daughter has been treated...."

"Calalindalë has been treated with great kindness," Arafinwë interjected. "More kindness than she showed to her son or husband, more kindness than she really deserved."

"Yet, she is... imprisoned for an indeterminate period of time," Selmacas retorted, "without even a chance for her amillë and I to see her."

"I am sure she would be allowed visits from you and your wife," Arafinwë said, casting an enquiring glance at Lord Manwë.

The Elder King shook his head. "It is our opinion that Calalindalë needs a time of reflection before we allow you to see her, Selmacas. Her condition is rather... toxic."

"And she is not alone," Vairë added. "Lady Míriel is her constant companion and has been of enormous help in our endeavors to heal your daughter of her hatred which nearly destroyed her son and can easily destroy others as well. In time, Selmacas, I promise you, Calalindalë will be released from my care."

Selmacas nodded reluctantly. "At any rate, it was only afterwards that I realized what I had done. My own sense of shame, I fear, got the better of me." He then looked to Vondo and stood, his attitude one of resignation. "I regret my actions, Lord Vorondil, and ask at least for your understanding if not your forgiveness."

Vondo looked at Herendil, who nodded, before turning back to Selmacas. "It is I who should ask for your forgiveness, Lord Selmacas. Only this morning has it been made clear to me what happened between me and your daughter and how it is that my brother married her and gave me my nephew. Please believe me when I say that I never meant to cause you grief by my insensitivity. In truth, I still have no memory of Calalindalë. I only know what I’ve been told. I grieve that my death has been the cause of so much unhappiness, not only in my own family, but in yours. I bear you no animosity and I ask the court to show leniency as no permanent damage was done to me."

"Thank you," Selmacas said sincerely and resumed his seat, resigned to whatever fate was due him.

Arafinwë held a whispered consultation with Ingwë and Olwë for a few minutes and then addressed Selmacas, gesturing for him to stand. "Lord Selmacas, it is the opinion of this court that you are indeed guilty of the charges against you, however, given the mitigating circumstances, as well as your sincere regret for your actions and Lord Vorondil Herendilion’s plea for leniency, we will accept your parole. If during the rest of this Council you refrain from causing any more trouble, you will be released from your parole at the conclusion of the Council. Do you accept these conditions?"

"Then you may take your seat among your fellow delegates," Arafinwë said, gesturing towards where the other Noldor were sitting. As Selmacas bowed once again and made his way to his seat, Arafinwë swept his gaze among those sitting at the other two tables, his expression somewhat sardonic. "If there is no further business...."

That, of course, was Finrod’s cue. He stood and Arafinwë nodded for him to speak.

"There is one more piece of business this court needs to address, Sire," Findaráto said formally.

Finrod glanced to where the Valar were sitting and took a deep breath before speaking. "I accuse Lord Manwë and the other Valar of gross misconduct and contempt of this Council. I demand that the Valar be placed on trial to answer these charges."

There was an expectant silence as every elf there eyed the Valar, wondering how they would react. Most were anticipating Lord Manwë either protesting the charges or simply blasting them all into Mandos where Lord Námo would be waiting for them. So when the Elder King started to smile, they all held their collective breaths — some even closed their eyes — expecting the worst.

But they were not expecting to hear Lord Manwë laughing. "It’s about time," he exclaimed merrily, and he laughed even harder at the shocked expressions on all the elves’ faces.

Finrod scowled at the amused smirks on the faces of the Valar, and had to force himself to remain calm. "What do you mean by ‘it’s about time’?" he asked Manwë, not in the mood to be polite about it.

Others were beginning to come out of their shock and were murmuring among themselves. Manwë raised a slender eyebrow at Finrod and sighed slightly, setting off a light breeze that ruffled everyone’s hair, then rose and walked down to the dais to stand beside the chair recently vacated by Selmacas.

"Now you make fun of us," Finrod said coldly. "You are not taking this seriously."

There were sharp intakes of breath from more than one throat. Manwë looked sadly at Finrod and shook his head. "On the contrary, Findaráto, I and my fellow Valar are taking this very seriously. Your accusations, while unfounded, need to be addressed."

"Unfounded?" Ingwë asked, raising an eyebrow and scowling. "Perhaps they are to you, lord, but it does not follow that they are to us. We believe we have just cause to bring the Valar to an accounting."

"I realize that, Ingwë," Manwë acknowledged, "which is why I am standing here, allowing myself, who am vice-gerent to Eru Ilúvatar over all of Arda and the Elder King above all other kings, to be put on trial."

An uncomfortable silence followed and several elves eyed Ingwë nervously, as if they were wondering if perhaps things had gone too far. For a moment Ingwë stared at the calm visage of the Elder King and then nodded once before turning to Arafinwë.

"If I may take over?" he asked politely and Arafinwë gave him a surprised look at the unexpected question.

"You need not have asked," he said. "You are the Ingaran, High King over us all."

"And yet, of your courtesy, I do," Ingwë responded gravely, "for this is still your court."

Ingwë thanked him and turned back to Manwë. "You may sit if you wish, Lord Manwë, or stand if that makes you more comfortable." He gave Manwë a slightly sardonic smile and Manwë inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment.

"Prince Findaráto, if you would read the charges so all know what they are," Ingwë commanded.

Finrod bowed to him and then straightened. "We charge the Valar, through the person of Lord Manwë, with contempt and with wilful manipulation of people and events surrounding this Council for their own benefit and not for ours. We are prepared to offer evidence to this court."

"Very well, Prince Findaráto," Ingwë said, nodding for him to resume his seat, then turning his attention to Manwë. "My lord, how do you plead?"

"Not guilty, of course," Manwë said with a slight, almost provocative, smile as if daring them to do their worst.

Ingwë ignored the smile, his expression neutral as befitted one who sat in judgment and turned to Finrod. "You may call your first witness."

Glorfindel, who had been sitting with the others from Aewellond, stood and made his way down to the dais. Rather than making his way through the space separating the kings’ table from one of the side tables to stand in the center, he deliberately worked his way through the tiers so as to approach from the open part of the ‘U’ where Manwë stood, blithely waving the Elder King out of his way as he went into the center, giving the kings a respectful bow and Finrod a cheeky grin and a wink.

Finrod kept his expression bland but he had to grip the edge of the table tightly in an effort not to shout at his gwador for his flippancy. He found himself silently counting to twelve in an attempt to remain calm. Glorfindel saw this. His only response was a raised eyebrow, as if to say ‘What do you expect from a recently released Reborn?’ Finrod closed his eyes briefly, ignoring the amused looks from some of the others, before speaking. "Lord Glorfindel, would you explain to this court what you learned recently when you and I were... elsewhere."

Glorfindel nodded, his expression now sober. "It appears that when the time came for me to be re-embodied, a decision was made among the Valar to suppress certain of my memories related to Lord Eärendil...."

As he spoke, the other elves sat spell-bound by his tale and many who did not know him well saw him in a new light. Gone was the flippant Reborn. Glorfindel comported himself as befitted an Elf-lord, a scion of a House of Princes. His narrative was terse and to the point with no snide side comments. He explained what had been done and why and how he began to remember.

"Though to this day, I still cannot see Tancol," he said at the end. "I thought when I found Lord Eärendil I would be able to see the star but so far I haven’t and I suspect I never will."

Glorfindel bowed and turned to face Lord Manwë, who had stood there unblinking during the narrative. He could have been a statue for all the movement he made.

The Elder King shook his head. "Not at this time," he said, "but we reserve the right to recall this or any other witness once Prince Findaráto has presented his case."

"Very well," Ingwë replied. "Lord Glorfindel, we thank you for your courtesy." Glorfindel turned, gave the kings a bow and made his way between the tables, passing Finrod and giving him another wink. "Call your next witness," Ingwë ordered Finrod.

"I call Lord Falmaron," Finrod said and the Teler rose from where he’d been seated with his family and made his way to the center of the dais. Unlike Glorfindel, he first bowed to Lord Manwë who gave him a gracious nod of recognition before turning to bow to the kings.

Finrod nodded. "Then, Captain, please describe the events which led you here," Finrod requested.

Falmaron sighed and gave his atar sitting before him a weary smile which Olwë returned with a smile of his own. "I am the Captain of a trading vessel named the Elerína," Falmaron began. "I ply my ship between Avallónë and Aewellond. I usually come to Aewellond in the summer months, wintering over in Avallónë. Over the years, my crew and I have undertaken a mapping expedition through the islands before heading back to Avallónë for the winter, laden with trade goods from Aewellond."

"Who authorized the mapping expeditions?" Ingwë asked when Falmaron paused for a moment.

"No one," Falmaron replied. "It is something I decided to do on my own, for I enjoy exploring and chafe at having to stay in one place for long. Actually, I have thought to start sailing south of Tol Eressëa and begin mapping the unknown regions of Valinor. The southern seas are warmer during the winter months so I would not have to remain in Avallónë all winter. My crew, I find, get as restless as I after only a month or so of inactivity."

"Are you sure then that the idea to undertake these mapping expeditions came from your own desires and not from some outside source?" Finrod asked.

Falmaron stared at him in surprise, blinking rapidly, as if trying to grasp what the ellon was implying. "To the best of my knowledge," he said, turning to face Lord Manwë, "the idea of mapping the islands was my own and no other."

Manwë nodded. "We have, of course, been watching you and applaud your initiative in mapping the islands. If you wish also to begin mapping the coastline south of Tol Eressëa, there is no reason why you cannot do so. Your expeditions will prove helpful in the future, as we mean to open up the southern parts of the continent to the Eldar in the near future and maps will be necessary. Others will be exploring and mapping the interior but you will need good maps of the coastline as well."

There were murmurs of surprise among the listeners which settled down when Ingwë raised his hand for quiet. Falmaron turned to face him. "Please continue with your testimony," Ingwë said and Falmaron complied, explaining how he had set sail for Avallónë and how he was almost overcome with feelings of distress and a need to turn back towards Aewellond.

"My crew thought me insane to order the ship about in the middle of a storm," he concluded, "though they obeyed me. And when we finally reached Aewellond it was to find that all was peaceful and none were in danger. The reason for my unease had naught to do with Aewellond at all. It was merely a ploy to get me to turn back so that I would meet Lord Glorfindel."

"Apparently it was so I would learn from him that my family has had a change of heart concerning the Reborn and that it was time for me to return home." He scowled and shook his head. "I was informed that we needed to meet then and there or we would never have met at all and I would never have learned about my family, which I really find hard to believe. I am sure that if the Valar wanted the two of us to meet, a way would have been found. So, why the need for it now? Would it really have made that much difference if we did not meet until the following summer when I would have returned to Aewellond, assuming Glorfindel was still there?"

"Who told you that you and Lord Glorfindel needed to meet now rather than later?" Olwë asked.

"Mánatamir, a Maia in the service of Lord Manwë," Falmaron answered. "He was also the one who came and told us that Lord Glorfindel, Lord Eärendil, Lady Elwing and I were all needed here in Valmar."

"Any further questions for this witness?" Ingwë asked Finrod and the ellon shook his head, thanking Falmaron for his testimony. Falmaron bowed to the kings, turned and bowed to Lord Manwë and then went back to his seat.

Before Ingwë could instruct Finrod to call his next witness, Lord Morcocáno raised a hand to be recognized. Ingwë frowned but nodded anyway. Morcocáno stood. "While I deplore the fact that Lord Glorfindel and Captain Falmaron have been possible victims of the Valar’s manipulations, I do not see where anything we have heard has any bearing on the charges of contempt against this Council. Nor do I believe that I am the only one here who is wondering where Prince Findaráto is going with this."

"I can understand your concern, Lord Morcocáno," Finrod said, standing to address the Tol Eressëan. "I assure you that it will all become clear in due time if you will just be patient."

Morcocáno nodded. "I am patience personified, my lord," he said somewhat sardonically as he resumed his seat.

Finrod refused to be baited, but called his next witness, which turned out to be Eärendil. There were murmurs of surprise from many and even the Mariner seemed taken aback at the summons, but he made his way to the center readily enough. Manwë never moved or gave any indication that he was even paying any attention to the proceedings. In fact, his eyes appeared somewhat unfocused and some wondered if he and the other Valar were silently plotting a defense or simply laughing at them behind bland façades.

"Lord Eärendil," Finrod said, "when the Maia Mánatamir appeared as Lord Glorfindel was getting ready to sail with Captain Falmaron, what was your reaction to his announcement that you and Lady Elwing had been summoned to come to Valmar?"

"Glorfindel and Falmaron were already on their way south," the Mariner explained. "My lady wife and I and their other friends were seeing them off. Indeed, had Mánatamir come ten minutes later he would have found the ship gone. So when he appeared and announced that Lord Manwë required Glorfindel to come to Valmar immediately, we were all rather taken aback at the summons and wondered what was really going on."

"Falmaron appeared unlooked for," Eärendil said. "He only just made it to harbor before we were hit with a snowstorm that kept us indoors for two days."

"I wonder if that’s the same storm that hit us?" Brethorn said out of turn and then put a hand to his mouth, looking chagrined.

No one censured him though, for others were having the same thought and many were mentally tallying up the days to see if the two storms coincided.

"The one had nothing to do with the other," Manwë said, and the sound of his voice startled more than one person.

Finrod nodded. "At any rate, Lord Eärendil, how did it come about that Vingilot was used to transport everyone here?"

"Mánatamir did not tell us all at once that Lord Manwë had summoned not only Lord Glorfindel, but Captain Falmaron, Lady Elwing and myself. He was rather sly about it and when we questioned him as to why we four were being summoned, he insisted he had no idea but was merely following his lord’s orders."

"Did you at any time express any interest in attending this Council?" Finrod asked.

Eärendil shook his head. "We knew about it, of course, because Lord Glorfindel told us about the Royal Progress and what was planned. Also, Mánatamir kept us informed as to what was happening. In fact, it was the news that Lord Morcocáno had walked out on the Council that inspired Lord Glorfindel to leave with Captain Falmaron. He was feeling restless anyway and was upset not to be in the thick of things." He smiled at Glorfindel as he said this and there were knowing smiles among some of the others who knew the Reborn well.

Eärendil shook his head. "Both Elwing and I were shocked when Mánatamir told us that we, too, had been summoned. Summoned, mind you. If Mánatamir had merely said that because the sea route would take too long, Lord Manwë had authorized me to bring Glorfindel and Falmaron to Valmar on Vingilot, I would not have thought twice about it. It was an elegant solution, after all. But the fact that Mánatamir insisted that Elwing also accompany us made me suspicious, wondering what need was there for either of us to be here. I would have brought Glorfindel and Falmaron here and then I would have returned to Aewellond without a second thought."

"Who decided that you form your own delegation to this Council, if you had no intention of staying?" Arafinwë asked.

"Galdor asked if it would be all right for him and others to accompany us," Eärendil said with a chuckle. "Then Glorfindel suggested that we should form our own delegation and since each delegation consisted of fourteen members, we chose the others by lot. You should have seen Mánatamir’s expression. Poor Maia had no idea what hit him, for he wasn’t sure if the others should go, but we pointed out that since Lord Manwë did not specifically forbid it then there was no reason for them not to come."

"I’ll have to remember to make my orders more precise from now on," Manwë said mildly.

"My lord, may I respectfully remind you that you are the accused and your comments are in contempt of this court," Ingwë said firmly.

There was a sudden intake of breath among the spectators. Even Finrod, who was going to ignore the Elder King’s words, gave Ingwë a concerned look. There was no reason to antagonize the Valar any more than they already had, after all. Manwë gave Ingwë a serene look and nodded. "I stand corrected," he said. "Pray excuse my rudeness."

Silence hung uneasily in the chamber for a moment or two before Finrod pulled himself together and thanked Eärendil, dismissing him. When Eärendil was seated, Finrod stood to address the Council.

"Before I call my last witness, I wish to recap what we have learned so far. Lord Glorfindel’s testimony points to a longstanding practice of manipulation on the part of the Valar and we see this with Captain Falmaron as well. Also, keep in mind the blizzard that struck here without warning after Lord Morcocáno walked out on the Council."

Finrod shook his head. "No, I do not, at least not directly. Certainly, that incident was a major reason for the Valar to bring down that blizzard upon us, but I suspect that it was just a matter of time, given the volatility of personalities, that some other incident would have given the Valar an excuse to act."

"The end result though was not a bad thing," Gilvagor said. "Forcing us to work together to clear the snow did break down many of the artificial barriers we’d put up between us."

"That is true," Finrod averred, "but it is an example of the Valar’s contempt for this Council and its members that they felt it necessary to intervene in this manner instead of allowing us to work it all out on our own. Granted, the manipulation was subtle and it’s possible that what they intended would not have materialized. Some of you may have simply ended up murdering one another while you were trapped inside the mansions." He smiled to let them know he was only jesting and there were a few embarrassed chuckles.

"Just one more game of hide-and-find and I certainly would have cheerfully strangled every last Reborn within reach," Gwîrendur said with a smile, giving Brethorn a wink.

The Reborn just made a face and stuck his tongue out and the mood lightened throughout the room.

"At any rate, I wish to call one more witness and then give Lord Manwë the opportunity to present his defense," Finrod said and when Ingwë nodded, he called Vondo’s name. The ellon gave a start and then cringed into his chair. Both Herendil and Laurendil leaned over to speak to him in low whispers, Herendil stroking the ellon’s hair to comfort him. After a moment, Vondo nodded and slowly stood, his face white as he stared at Lord Manwë.

Finrod, divining Vondo’s dilemma, walked over to the ellon and put an arm around him. "You have nothing to fear," he said softly, though all could hear him. "This is not the same as when you were judged after your death. Were you judged by Lord Námo alone?"

"I know you were," Finrod said sympathetically. "But it’s over with and you have gone beyond it. Would it help if you stay here with your atar and answer the questions from your seat?"

Vondo gave him a grateful look and nodded enthusiastically. Finrod smiled and gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead and told him to retake his seat, returning to his own place. Herendil patted his son on the thigh and gave him an encouraging smile. Vondo still seemed upset and Laurendil turned to speak to Lord Irmo, but the Vala anticipated his request and a flagon of water appeared at the table along with a crystal goblet and Laurendil poured some water into it and gave it to Vondo who drank it avidly. Finrod waited until he had drained the goblet before asking his first question.

"Vondo, would you tell us why you decided to come to Valmar when you knew you were not allowed to leave Lórien?" he enquired, speaking calmly, as if to a child, and certainly the ellon was that, at least on an emotional level.

"Tell us why you were mad at Laurendil," Finrod instructed patiently. The past year dealing with the five elflings and Vorondil had taught him how to deal with the literal-mindedness of the young and the emotionally young.

Vondo told them about the tracking game, becoming more enthusiastic as he spoke. Finrod had to gently interrupt him, saying that they didn’t need to know all the details of the game and Vondo blushed. He spoke about how, when he saw Laurendil smirking at him after he had failed to find the former Ranger, he had stalked off to sulk.

"I hated Laurendil then and I wanted to see my atto and ammë," he said. "And that’s when I got the idea to come find them. I saw no reason why I had to stay in Lórien when my family was here. So I left."

"And what did you do?" Finrod asked. "What steps did you take to leave and to avoid detection?"

Vondo began to explain but now Ingwë started asking for clarification, expressing surprise that the gates of Lórien were open and unguarded. Vondo was also questioned closely about how he managed to elude Laurendil and then his encounter with the Maia who had led him to the Council.

"And you never wondered how it is that you were able to leave Lórien so easily?" Finrod asked.

"Oh sure," Vondo replied breezily, "but I decided I wasn’t going to worry about it. I’ve eluded my minders before and this was just one more such time. I was having an adventure and didn’t care about anything other than to reach Valmar and find Atto before Laurendil caught up with me." He gave Herendil a shy smile and the absolute innocence of it caused more than one person to smile indulgently.

Finrod thanked Vondo and paused for a moment, staring, not at Lord Manwë, but at Lord Irmo, sitting in the tiers with the other Valar. "If I may ask, my Lord Irmo, simply so we have a complete picture of the circumstances, when were you aware that Vondo had left Lórien and was heading for Valmar?"

"My People were aware of Vondo’s plans as soon as he made his way to the stables and acquired a horse. They asked me for instructions and I told them to let the ellon go. I had one of them follow Vondo to make sure no harm came to him while he was on his adventure. The other Maiar were also instructed not to join with Laurendil in pursuing Vondo."

"Would you have made sure that Vondo made it to Valmar without interference?" Finrod asked.

"There was no need," Irmo replied. "Vondo was clever enough on his own to cover his tracks. By the time Laurendil or anyone else even knew that he was missing, Vondo was sufficiently ahead that none could have caught up with him."

"Except the Maiar," Finrod said and Irmo nodded. "Why, then, did you not allow the Maiar to bring Vondo back? What reason was there for Vondo to even be in Valmar?"

But Irmo shook his head. "That question properly should be addressed to Lord Manwë," he said. "It was his decision, after I told him about Vondo leaving Lórien, not to involve the Maiar in this."

Finrod turned his gaze upon the Elder King. "Then, by all means, let us hear what you have to say about this, my lord. It is in my mind that what happened with Vondo was a deliberate manipulation on your part, aimed at this Council for reasons none of us yet understand. I contend that you deliberately allowed Vondo to come here with the intention of having him interrupt the Council. Whether you anticipated Lord Selmacas’ reaction or not, you allowed a recent Reborn to come to harm in a most grievous manner and while he is physically healed, I doubt the emotional scars will disappear any time soon. So, my lord, let us hear your defense." He sat back in his chair, his expression calm.

Everyone else in the room held their breaths, staring at Lord Manwë, waiting for him to speak, wondering what defense the Elder King would put forth. Not a few wondered how they could ever hope to pass judgment upon the Valar and what the Valar would do about it.

Manwë took a moment before speaking, gauging the reactions of the elves to what they had heard from the various witnesses. Oddly enough, it appeared as if the Amanians were more upset than the Tol Eressëans by what they had heard. The one group that looked the least upset were the Reborn, but they had a slightly different view of the world than the Once-born. He had to admire young Findaráto, though, for the manner in which he had presented his case. His time as King of Nargothrond had been well spent, for he was proving to be a canny magistrate, his arguments carefully and logically laid out. It had taken great courage for him to even lay these accusations before them. That the other Children went along with him, especially Ingwë, spoke volumes concerning the respect they all had for this grandson of Finwë.

"All that you have heard from these witnesses," Manwë finally said, "is true... from a certain point of view."

"Does this mean you are saying that our point of view is invalid?" Morcocáno demanded sourly.

"You are out of line, Morcocáno," Ingwë said sternly. "Pray remain silent and allow Lord Manwë to speak."

"Invalid?" he asked. "No, not invalid. Simply incomplete. Your accusations are based on what you know, but what you know may not be the complete truth. Let us take the witnesses one at a time. Everything Glorfindel told you is the truth. We did suppress his memories of Eärendil and his ability to see the star. This was not a unanimous decision on our part. There was a great deal of debate on the subject. In the end, though, I decided that for Glorfindel’s own safety, it would be best to suppress some of his memories until such time as we felt he would be able to handle them. That time came sooner than we expected, but the end result is that Glorfindel went in search of Eärendil and in finding him gave us the opportunity to use him to bring Eärendil and Elwing here to this Council."

"So why can I not see the star?" Glorfindel demanded. "Why is it kept hidden from me?"

Manwë turned to face Glorfindel, his expression sad. "I do not know, Glorfindel. By all rights, as soon as you started to remember Eärendil you should have been able to see Tancol. There is no reason for you not to. Our own thoughts about it is that Ilúvatar Himself is preventing you from seeing it for His own purposes. It was He, after all, who made it possible for you to remember Eärendil in the first place. Had we had our own way in the matter, it would have been years, if not centuries, before you would have remembered."

"No, it does not," Manwë agreed. "I can only tell you that you must trust that Ilúvatar knows what He is about. I am sure you will someday see the star when you need to see it."

The Elder King paused for a moment, but when Glorfindel did not speak again, he turned back to Ingwë and continued. "Falmaron is, admittedly, a different case. We were grieved that his family were unable to come to terms with Falmaron’s Reborn attitudes and have, in fact, worked to see him reunited with his family ever since he left Alqualondë."

Manwë smiled. "Do you think it was just happenstance that led you to enter the Blue Seashell Guesthouse on your first visit to Avallónë where you met a certain fellow Reborn?"

Falmaron gave a startled gasp. "You mean Glóremmir?" He turned to where the Reborn Noldo was seated, looking equally nonplused. "I... I just decided to go in."

"And... and I just thought it was interesting to meet a Telerin Reborn," Glóremmir said faintly. "I... I helped... I mean, I was there when...." But he couldn’t go on and his expression became one of anguish as he looked, not at Lord Manwë but at Lord Námo. "Did I... I mean...."

Námo shook his head. "Does it really matter, my son?" he asked gently, his amaranthine eyes full of deep compassion. "Does it matter to either of you?" He looked at Falmaron as he spoke.

For a moment, the Teler just sat there staring first at Námo and then at Glóremmir, whose expression remained anguished. Then he shook his head. "Glóremmir and I are good friends and we always will be," he said quietly, giving his friend a smile, which Glóremmir returned somewhat tremulously. Then Falmaron looked at his atar. "And it matters not to me if he was the one."

Olwë’s own expression was one of pain, his lips tight, his hands clenched, but at the last he took a deep shuddering breath and nodded, accepting what his son was implying.

"You were going to go to another guesthouse further along the street, one that had been recommended to you by one of the sailors on the ship that brought you to Avallónë," Manwë then said with a slight smile, bringing them back to the matter at hand, "but at the last minute you changed your mind, or rather, one of Ulmo’s People inspired you to stop at the Blue Seashell instead. That’s where you met Glóremmir and became friends. He and your other friends, such as Brethorn, have been encouraging you to reconcile with your family all along, haven’t they?"

Falmaron nodded, looking chagrined. "I wouldn’t listen, though." He gave Glóremmir and Brethorn an apologetic look. "I wish I had."

"So do we," Manwë said kindly, "but you Children are a stubborn lot and so we eventually decided to take more direct measures and that is where Glorfindel comes into the picture." He flashed the ellon a quick smile.

"Why was it so important for me to be reconciled with my family now, though?" Falmaron asked. "Would it have mattered so much if Glorfindel and I had not met until next summer or whenever?"

"As to outcome, no, it would not have mattered when you and Glorfindel met," Manwë answered, "and yet it would have mattered much, for there were many other factors involved. In spite of the fact that many Tol Eressëans are related to the Teleri, being descendants from the same Third Clan, your people have been less than welcoming of their sundered kin, whether Reborn or Once-born. This apathy was, I fear, a consequence of your own family’s reluctance to accept you and the people of Alqualondë took their cues from them. Your reconciliation will go a long way towards counteracting the apathy the Teleri have towards the Tol Eressëans, and Olwë allowing Glorfindel, who was one of the Exilic Noldor, to come to Alqualondë has helped begin healing the rift that lies between your people and the Exiles."

He paused briefly to allow the elves to digest what he had said and then went on. "So, if what we did to ensure that you two met so that you, Falmaron, would see your way clear to return and reconcile with your family is manipulation, then so be it. We prefer to think of it as inspiring you and others towards a particular course of action which ultimately will prove beneficial, not only to you, but to others. We have never ordered you to do or not to do something. We learned that lesson a long time ago, but we will try to inspire you towards a particular action without interfering with your free will. We can only inspire, never command, for contrary to popular opinion, we are not your masters. Rather, we are your elders who are here to guide and teach you. And when you cooperate with us in this respect then we are free to take advantage of the situation."

"It still sounds like manipulation to me," Glorfindel muttered, though they all heard him.

"We did not stop you from looking for Eärendil," Manwë said somewhat sternly, "and we gave you a traveling companion to see you safely to Aewellond. All that you have done, Glorfindel, has been of your own free will. If we see fit to take advantage of that, that is no more than any of you have done among yourselves, seizing the opportunity to advance some desire of your own when someone else makes a free will decision to do or not to do a thing. The difference is, you Children tend to forget that you are not the only inhabitants of Valinor and so you tend to be selfish about it, seeking to benefit yourself but not necessarily anyone else. We Valar seek always that which will benefit all."

"Contingency plans," Finrod said in the silence that followed Manwë’s speech. Others gave him startled looks, not sure what he was talking about, but Manwë smiled and nodded.

"What about me, though?" Vondo asked, sounding distraught. "Did... did you want me to get hurt?"

Vondo did not hesitate, so used to obeying a command from Valar and Maiar alike, but rose immediately and went to stand before the Elder King who gazed upon him fondly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "The last thing we wanted was for you to be hurt," he said. "Selmacas’ actions took us by surprise."

Manwë looked at Arafinwë, his expression suddenly unreadable. "Then you are forgetting your own lessons, Pityahuan."

Arafinwë went still and his eyes darkened with painful memories. Ingwë placed a comforting hand on his arm and the touch seemed to bring him back to the present, for his expression lightened and he began breathing again. He glanced at Ingwë for a second before turning his attention to Manwë whose own expression was unchanged. Vondo had instinctively sought comfort in Manwë’s arms, for the Elder King had him now in his embrace, gently rocking him, though he kept his attention on Arafinwë.

No one else dared to move or speak, but finally Arafinwë lowered his gaze. "I stand corrected," he said softly.

Manwë nodded, looked down at a clearly confused Vondo and smiled, planting a gentle kiss on the ellon’s forehead. "We let you come here because we were curious to know what you planned to do when you arrived. We did nothing to hinder or to let, except we forbade the Maiar to give Laurendil assistance in catching you."

"I was too clever for that," Vondo sniffed, clearly pleased with himself for having outsmarted the former Ranger and many hid smiles at the Reborn’s ingenuousness.

"At any rate," Manwë continued, "Selmacas’ reaction at seeing you was as shocking to us as it was to everyone else, though perhaps it should not have been." He glanced up to where Selmacas was sitting. The ellon blushed, then turned white, and refused to look up.

"So you are saying that what happened with Vondo was an accident?" Finrod asked.

"In so far as we Valar had anything to do with it, yes," Manwë answered, gently pushing Vondo out of his embrace and motioning for the ellon to resume his seat. "Oh, I’m sure that you will say that if we had stopped Vondo from coming all this would have been avoided, but that’s putting the cart before the horse. We will not interfere with your free will except on those rare occasions when your actions present a danger to yourself or to others, much as a parent will curtail a child’s whims for the same reason. However, in our case, we intervene directly only rarely. The last time we did so, most of the Noldor up and left." This last was said somewhat wryly and many of the Noldor present, even the Reborn, found themselves blushing and not making eye contact with anyone.

"As I said earlier, we can inspire but we cannot command and our actions are predicated on taking a much longer view than you Children. For all that your lives are bound to the life of Arda, you do not always see the big picture and only rarely do you see the future. We Valar, who sang Arda into existence, see further and more clearly than any of you, but even so, we are not omnipotent. Our actions are limited by what others in free will do or not do, and while we can anticipate the logical consequences of events and make contingency plans, as Prince Findaráto put it, we work under a disadvantage, namely, that we had nothing to do with your creation and so in one sense you lie outside our purview. That is why I said we are not your masters, but your elders and fellow creatures under Ilúvatar."

"You claim that you take no direct action towards having us do or not do a thing," Finrod said, "yet it seems to us that even taking indirect action is tantamount to manipulating us."

"And you do not do the same?" Manwë retorted. "Can your kings claim not to influence their subjects by means both direct and indirect to accomplish a desired outcome? Do not be so naive, Findaráto. You yourself have done so in the past as King of Nargothrond. But this is the main difference between you and us: we keep to indirect methods of persuasion, whereas, with you, more often than not, if indirect means do not work, you resort to more direct ones. That is not necessarily a bad thing where you are concerned, but for us to do so usually results in disaster. In fact, whenever direct means are taken, they are taken by Ilúvatar, rather than by us."

Manwë nodded. "You already know of one such intervention on Ilúvatar’s part when you and Glorfindel decided to incorporate Songs of Power into your tournament match, but let me give you another example from your own life. You may recall when you decided to run away to the mountains how you kept being inundated with snow?"

Finrod went an interesting shade of pink as all eyes turned to him and he nodded.

"Yes, well, that was us, or rather, me. Did you think all that snow falling directly on your doorstep and nowhere else was coincidental? But you were so stubborn, you refused to give up, even when all the game in the area disappeared, forcing you to hunt further and further afield."

"Actually, you can blame Oromë for that." Manwë turned to look at the Lord of Forests who smiled and waggled his fingers at Finrod.

"Now, that is where it gets interesting," Manwë said, nodding enthusiastically. "None of us had anything to do with bringing the bear into your camp. Much too dangerous. You could have easily been killed rather than just ending up breaking your leg and Námo would have been... upset." The slight pause caused a few people, including Finrod, to shudder at the thought of just how upset Námo would have been.

"Especially when I’d just gotten rid of you," the Lord of Mandos interjected. Finrod responded by making a face at him and sticking out his tongue, much to the consternation of everyone except the other Reborn, who merely smiled. Námo’s only reaction was a raised eyebrow but those sitting near him thought they detected a slight smile on his lips.

Manwë chuckled at the levity. "No, the bear was not our idea, though Oromë did admit that he wished he’d thought of it."

"So it was just a coincidence that it showed up when it did," Finrod said, though his expression was doubting.

"If you believe in coincidences," Manwë replied equably, giving him a significant look.

Silence reigned throughout the room as the elves digested that bit of information.

"Still," Ingwë said, "that blizzard you dumped on us was anything but indirect."

"Think you so?" Manwë asked with an amused smile. "It was actually less direct than what Tulkas was planning to do to you all for your intransigence."

Every eye turned to the Vala known as Astaldo, the Valiant, to see him smirking and several there began to rethink certain truths about their view of the Valar.

"Besides," Manwë continued, "none of you seemed to mind too much, especially when you started playing in it. We were rather amused by the snowball fight at the end."

"You had a snowball fight without me?" Glorfindel exclaimed, glaring down at Finrod. "That’s not fair! I’m always missing out on all the fun."

The next thing anyone knew, snowballs appeared in the hands of several of the elves, who stared at them in dumbfounded shock. Then Finrod chuckled evilly, stood up and unerringly threw his snowball at a still fuming Glorfindel, eliciting a squawk of surprise. Immediately, everyone else with a snowball launched them at Glorfindel as well, those sitting near him ducking to avoid being hit. When the last snowball had been thrown, Glorfindel sat there wiping the snow out of his eyes.

"Yes, much. Thank you," was Glorfindel’s dignified reply while puddles formed about his feet, and everyone broke up in laughter. They laughed even harder when several towels appeared out of nowhere and fell onto Glorfindel’s lap and the ellon set about drying himself off.

When the laughter had died down, Manwë turned back to the kings and Finrod. "I rest my case," he said.

That recalled everyone to the purpose for which they were met. Ingwë looked at Olwë and Arafinwë and the three held a whispered conversation for a moment or two, then Ingwë motioned Finrod to join them. The ellon stood and moved to stand between Olwë and Ingwë and there was more whispering between them. Finally, Finrod nodded and returned to his seat. The kings straightened in their chairs and Ingwë spoke.

"It is the opinion of this court, having heard both sides, that this matter is too weighty for only us to decide, therefore, we ask that the heads of the delegates, other than Prince Findaráto, adjourn to a private room and discuss the matter and come to a decision as to whether the Valar are guilty as charged."

There was a moment of indecision and then Eärendil stood and cast his gaze upon the other delegates. "Let us adjourn then," he said and began making his way towards the door. The other heads of the delegations followed him. When the door closed behind the last of them, Ingwë sighed.

The wait was actually not long, perhaps twenty minutes. During that time many of the elves stood and mingled, speaking softly to one another. Lord Manwë remained standing while the other Valar stayed in their seats. No one, not even the kings, bothered them. No one, that is, except Vondo, who went over to Lord Irmo and began excitedly telling him all about his adventures eluding Laurendil. The Valar smiled indulgently as they listened to the Reborn speak.

Then, without warning, the door opened and the delegates filed in. The silence was palpable as everyone else took their seats. All the delegates save Eärendil went to sit down. The Mariner made his way to the dais and spoke quietly to the kings for a moment. Ingwë nodded and gestured for Eärendil to stand in the center.

Eärendil bowed to the kings and then turned to face Manwë. "We agreed that, while the Valar admit to...um... inspiring events and people indirectly, they have not done so in a wilfully manipulative manner nor have they acted against our deepest wills." He then turned to face the kings. "We therefore humbly submit to your Majesties our request that all charges against Lord Manwë and the other Valar be dropped."

Immediately there was pandemonium as elves stood and cheered. Even those who privately thought that perhaps the Valar were not as guiltless as all that were relieved that they would not be faced with the prospect of actually having to censure the Powers. Ingwë raised his hand demanding silence. When it finally came he addressed Eärendil first.

"Thank you, my lord. You and your fellow delegates have executed your duty to this court well." Eärendil bowed and then turned and bowed again to Manwë before heading back to his seat. Ingwë then addressed Manwë.

"My lord, it appears that thou and thy fellows have been acquitted of the charges made against thee. We thank thee for thy courtesy and patience during these proceedings and beg that thou wilt forgive us our impudence in bringing these charges against thee."

"I assure you, Ingwë, that neither I nor my fellow Valar have any ill feelings towards you." Manwë paused for a second and then smiled. "Indeed, we have found it a most interesting and enlightening experience. And now, if we can put this behind us, perhaps we can concentrate on the reason why we are all here in the first place."

Ingwë nodded and stood, as did Olwë and Arafinwë. "Agreed," he said. "This court is adjourned. The Council will meet again tomorrow. My Lord Manwë, I trust that the Council chamber will be as it was when next we meet."

"Yes, it will be," Manwë said, "but it will not be here. Tomorrow, we will convene in Lord Námo and Lady Vairë’s mansion."

There were expressions of consternation among the elves at the thought of having to walk the spiral and not a few wondered aloud as to how long it would take for them to all walk it and then recover from its effects. Námo stood and all eyes went immediately to him.

"Since it would take too long for everyone to walk the spiral, I will have the Council chamber constructed elsewhere on the grounds of my estate."

Before anyone could respond the elves were overwhelmed by flashes of multi-colored lights as the Valar shed their fanar and faded from their sight. When they recovered, the elves were somewhat subdued at the display of power and they left the Council chamber in a more somber mood.

"I am so glad that is over," Finrod said earnestly and with much relief as he joined Glorfindel and the others.

"You were the one who brought up the charges," Glorfindel retorted. "I would think you would have wanted them to be guilty."

"Whoa!" Glorfindel exclaimed, and everyone around them stopped to stare at Finrod. "If you knew they were not guilty, then why did you bring up the charges? Why did you accuse them?"

"Because I knew others were of a mind to do so," Finrod answered, looking pointedly at Herendil, who had the grace to look abashed.

"Because of a lot of things," Finrod assured him. "I deemed it a good opportunity to clear the air about many things between us and the Valar."

"Whose idea was it for the heads of the delegations to deliberate on a verdict?" Sador asked.

"Because that way the burden of deciding to convict or absolve the Valar did not fall exclusively upon the High Kings of Aman but, in a sense, on all of us gathered here, including the Tol Eressëans," Finrod answered.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow, his expression one of amused admiration. "You’re getting very devious in your old age, aren’t you?"

The Valar foregathered in one of the more intimate audience chambers in Ilmarin. Its windows looked south and west and from them they could see the plains stretched out before them with Valmar in the middle distance. The Mound of the Trees rose like a black smudge further to the west of the city, but the Ring of Doom was not visible, for the dead husks of the Trees blocked their view.

As soon as they reformed their fanar, Manwë went to stand on the balcony that looked south. Far below and to his right was Vanyamar, barely visible for the folds of the mountains and the forests that covered much of the lower slopes. The tallest of its white towers, now gleaming with a rosy hue in the late afternoon sun, pushed bravely upward but most of the city was invisible from this angle. As Manwë stood there taking in the view, flocks of birds came swooping towards him, and he held his arm out for one of the smaller hawks to land on.

The hawk, preening its dull brown feathers, looked at him with one eye and then the other, sidling up the Elder King’s arm. Manwë chuckled at the hopeful look the bird gave him and he brought forth a gob of raw meat which the avian took with remarkable delicacy.

"And now that you’ve had your little treat, perhaps you can tell me what you have learned," Manwë said with another chuckle.

The hawk gave a screech and Manwë stroked its head, raising his arm slightly to bring the bird to eye level, and then the two communed for several moments before Manwë released the bird from his gaze.

"So, it is like that, is it?" he said as he absently brought forth another gob of meat for his feathered friend. "Go now. Join your brothers and keep watch. You have done well and I am pleased."

The hawk gave another screech and Manwë obliged it by flinging his arm upward to give it the necessary lift as it spread its wings and flew off, joined by the other birds that had continued circling as he and the hawk had communed. Varda joined him as the birds all flew to the north, handing him a goblet of miruvórë, which he accepted with a smile.

"The great cats have sensed that the Silmaril is gone from Aewellond," he answered. "They appear to be gathering in force and making their way there."

They turned to see the Lord of the Forest and the Hunt standing there, goblet in hand, giving them an enquiring look.

"I’ve just been informed that the alatyauli are gathering in numbers and making their way to Aewellond," Manwë answered as he and Varda stepped back inside the room.

Oromë’s eyes began to glow at the prospect of a hunt and he drained his goblet in one gulp. "I should go then and prepare my People for a glorious hunt."

"Wait," Manwë said. "Perhaps we should permit the cats to reach Aewellond. I am curious to see how well the warriors do against them."

"But all the best of them are in Valmar," Tulkas pointed out. "And those who are in Aewellond are leaderless."

Oromë nodded in agreement. "And it’s a sure bet that no watch has been set. There’s been no need for one as far as the Children are concerned."

"And what happens if those animals enter the valley and attack an innocent, even a child?" Nessa asked, looking concerned. "That will be a very high price for them to pay for not being vigilant when they do not know they should be."

Manwë nodded. "Nor is the death of any of them acceptable. Still, it is time that we test the mettle of these warriors. They cannot rely on someone like Glorfindel to always be there to guide them. In the war that will someday come, they may very well find themselves without any of their leaders and will have to be able to fend for themselves."

"Perhaps," Oromë said with a shake of his head, "but I do not think we should take the chance that innocents will be harmed. They should be warned at least to set a watch. I’m surprised Eärendil did not order one."

"Or Glorfindel, for that matter," Tulkas said. "Our balrog-slayer is of a suspicious bent and would never leave so open a place as Aewellond without adequate guards while he and the others are away."

Manwë shook his head. "I prefer not to involve him or the others in this. It is as I said. Those in Aewellond need to understand that even Valinor is not entirely safe."

"Send Olórin then," Irmo suggested. "Have him walk among the Children as he once did before and inspire them to look to their borders against possible dangers."

"That might work," Manwë said with a nod. He spoke the Maia’s name and Olórin appeared, giving them all his obeisance.

"I would like you to go to Aewellond," Manwë said and explained the situation and what he wished accomplished. When he was finished, Olórin nodded.

"A simple enough assignment," he said, his eyes slightly unfocused as he began thinking out a strategy. "I see no difficulty in it." Then he turned to Oromë. "Will my lord call for a Hunt?" he asked politely.

Olórin raised an eyebrow. "Actually, I was thinking of standing on the sidelines and cheering you on, as well as offering my unbiased critique of my brethren’s fighting skills."

The Valar laughed and Oromë clapped the Maia on the shoulder. "In that case, I’ll put you in the front line alongside Roimendil and Ulcuroitar."

Olórin smiled and gave the Vala a bow. "I wouldn’t have it any other way, my lord."

Oromë nodded, looking pleased. "We’ll see what these beasts do first. I won’t call for a Hunt until they are actually attacking Aewellond."

"Then I will wait until you call for me to join you," Olórin said. "It will be interesting to see how well the Children handle themselves."

"Good," Manwë said with a smile for his Maia. "Off you go, then." Olórin gave them another bow and was gone. Manwë and Varda made their way across the room to where several chairs and settees were arranged for easy conversation and sat down. The others joined them.

"A rather pointless exercise," Aulë said with a snort. "A waste of time, if you ask me."

"Still, it did serve its purpose," Yavanna said. "The Children are going to be less likely to balk at anything we do from now on if they remember what you told them here."

Manwë nodded. "That is certainly one thing I wished to accomplish by allowing them to put us on trial."

"It’s rather ludicrous though for them to think they could," Nienna said with a thin smile.

"Not from their standpoint," Námo said with a shake of his head. "They felt it necessary, or at least Findaráto did."

"Wasn’t he though?" Varda replied with an amused smile. "He’s very clever and very wise."

"And, of course, he didn’t believe a word that he spoke against us," Manwë added with a chuckle. "That was all for the benefit of the others."

"I think we can all do with a break," Irmo said. "As amusing as the trial was, it was still rather... emotional, at least on the Children’s part. I could do with some peace and quiet away from their more excited natures."

"Sounds like an excellent plan," Manwë said. "Shall we retire to Ashkadphelun and enjoy ourselves?" The others nodded agreeably. "I’ll have Eönwë keep an eye on things while we’re away," the Elder King continued and after he had called his Herald and had given him his instructions, the Valar shed their fanar once again and thought themselves to the far reaches of Arda where they spent several hours indulging themselves in play.

The elves spent the day in small groups discussing the trial and its implications. Vondo was invited to visit Vingilot, much to his delight, and Eärendil happily allowed him, Vorondil and the other elflings, now released from their studies, to come aboard and have a brief sail, coasting above the mansions while Herendil, Vandacalimë and Aldundil watched from below. He allowed each of them a few minutes at the wheel, though of the elflings, only Vorondil, Sorondur and Oromendil were actually tall enough to see over it. While the elflings were being entertained, Finrod was holding court at the Laughing Vala, having commandeered a private salon. With him were Glorfindel, Sador, Ingwion, Laurendil, Amarië, Alassiel, Beleg, Lindarion, Falmaron, Olwen and Gilvagor.

"An interesting turn of events, to say the least," Laurendil said at one point after they had given the servants their orders and were enjoying tankards of ale or goblets of wine. "I think I’m going to have nightmares about it."

Laurendil nodded, his expression bland. "Just the idea of actually putting the Valar, any of the Valar, on trial is enough to turn my hair white, as Beren would have said."

"Ah yes," Finrod said with a nod, "I recall some of the Edain using that expression, usually when one of their children did something particularly stupid or dangerous."

Sador snickered. "I remember my atar saying something similar to me when I had done something... um... stupid. I told him, quite sincerely, ‘But Ada, your hair can’t turn white’ and he glowered at me and said, ‘Well, it should!’" He waggled his eyebrows and they all laughed.

"Still, it was quite a risk you took, Findaráto," Gilvagor said, giving him a shrewd look over his tankard as he took a sip.

Finrod shrugged. "A calculated risk, I agree, but I felt it necessary to do it, if only to control the situation. I had the feeling from listening to people talking after the incident with Selmacas and Vondo that there was a sense that the Valar could not be trusted, that they were treating us like errant elflings instead of with the respect due to us as Eruhíni. Emotions were running high and I feared that things would be said or done that would prove detrimental to us all. We need the Valar, whether we like it or not. Lord Manwë was correct when he said that we tend to take more selfish views and forget that we are not the only inhabitants of Valinor. He could have also reminded us that we were not the original inhabitants either, but I am glad he did not press the matter any further."

"We continue with the Council," Finrod replied. "We still need to decide on who should be Cáno and how that person should be chosen. That is the major sticking point."

"Who do you think should be Cáno?" Glorfindel asked. "Do you have anyone particular in mind?"

"I think Eärendil would do nicely," Amarië spoke up before Finrod could reply. "Have you noticed how everyone listens to him? Even people like Morcocáno and Galadhwen seem to defer to him more than to anyone else in the Council."

"Yet, as logical as that choice might be, I doubt either Eärendil or the Valar would agree to it," Glorfindel said with a shake of his head. "Eärendil’s life is in Aewellond, as is Elwing’s, and neither are comfortable being anywhere else. I tried to convince them to return to Tol Eressëa someday, but both are shy and unsure of their standing among us, for neither of them are, strictly speaking, of the Firstborn."

"Their mixed heritage would not be a problem for most Tol Eressëans," Gilvagor said with a slight frown. "I can, of course, appreciate their reticence in leaving Aewellond. I am glad to hear that they do not live in total isolation and exile, though." Then he gave Glorfindel a measuring look. "So, tell us about your training regimen, Glorfindel. I feel rather insulted that the Valar do not think the rest of us are worthy of special training."

"I don’t think that’s what it’s about," Glorfindel said. "I think those like Galdor and Legolas and the others are being trained to lead the armies. After their training, then I imagine they will be in charge of training everyone else."

"As if we’re not already doing so," Ingwion said with a scowl. "My atar initiated a training regimen for all of us almost as soon as the Host of the West returned from Beleriand. I know that Arafinwë and Lord Eönwë spent a great deal of time describing how things went during the war with both Atar and the Valar. The end result was that training was resumed."

"But only in a rather haphazard manner," Glorfindel pointed out. "When I saw the way the Vanyar were training I was somewhat dismayed. The younger warriors were treating it all as a game, while the older warriors, the ones I assume fought in Beleriand, were not always — how can I put it? — in agreement as to how the training should be done. There wasn’t enough discipline or uniformity in training. And I don’t recall ever seeing any of the Noldor in training."

"That’s because they aren’t," Finrod replied. "Or rather, they are not doing so in any systematic manner. The Noldor who accompanied my atar to Beleriand returned to find their families were not interested in what they had experienced or endured. Their going was in expiation for all our sins, and not for any personal glory. That’s why people like Aldundil undid their warrior braids and pretended that the war never happened, or tried to."

"What about Atar though?" Sador asked. "Surely, he would have seen to it that training continued."

Finrod shrugged. "I think he’s left it for his captains to see to it. I really never bothered to look into it that much. I had my own concerns just trying to fit in again and find a purpose for myself. It wasn’t until this whole business with Aldundil and Vorondil came about that I began to look more closely at the matter. I have been meaning to speak to Atar about it, but I was going to wait until after the situation on Tol Eressëa was dealt with." He looked at Glorfindel. "Perhaps before you return to Aewellond, you and I can sit down with him and discuss the matter."

"Oh, I know you’ll return there," Finrod replied with a knowing smile, "if for no other reason than because Eärendil will command you to return."

"He is not in a position to command anything from me," Glorfindel retorted with a heavy scowl.

"So I say," Glorfindel averred with a nod, but everyone there could hear a shadow of doubt in the ellon’s tone.

"Well, we’ll just wait and see, won’t we?" Finrod said and Glorfindel scowled even more. Everyone else wisely kept their opinions to themselves and there was a painful silence that was broken by the door to the salon opening and servants began filing in with trays. "Ah, good, lunch is here," Finrod said approvingly. "Why don’t we change the subject?"

"Are you and Glorfindel going to compete in the tournament at the summer solstice?" Lindarion asked. "I’m sorry I missed the last one."

Finrod laughed and even Glorfindel smiled. "I very much doubt the Valar will ever let the two of us near a tournament again except as interested spectators." Glorfindel snorted good-naturedly but did not contradict him.

There was laughter all around and then Beleg spoke about the archery competition and how he had some ideas about improving it and the rest of their meal was spent in pleasant conversation as they drifted from one topic to the next.

Ingwë and Elindis were holding court at the townhouse where a late luncheon was also being served. Olwë, Arafinwë and their respective wives and a number of the Amanian delegates were foregathered with them. Arafinwë insisted that Selmacas be present, much to the ellon’s dismay. As with others, the main topic of interest was the trial and the necessity for it in the first place. Arafinwë glanced at Selmacas idly pushing his food around his plate, not looking up at anyone. When there came a natural lull in the flow of conversation, the Noldóran spoke.

"You are very fortunate, Selmacas, that my son saw deeper than all of us as to the nature of what was happening. I was ready to exile you to Formenos or someplace even less inviting, and I think you know this."

Selmacas looked up as all other conversations stopped and all eyes fell upon him and Arafinwë. "Yes, I do, and I was prepared to accept exile, though I am glad it did not come to it." He gave the king a slight sardonic look.

"Naturally," Arafinwë replied equably, taking a sip of wine. "Even so, your attack was unprovoked and uncalled for. Never mind that you attacked a Reborn who all unwittingly dismissed you and your family with a single negligent gesture. I can almost understand your anger, but even if Vondo had not been Reborn, your attacking him was wrong."

"And I acknowledged my error," Selmacas said. He gave Arafinwë a puzzled look. "Will you then rescind the pardon granted me, Arafinwë?"

The king shook his head. "No. I will not, and could not even if I wished to. The trial was publicly held and recorded and your parole stands. However...." He paused, as if rethinking something and all saw Selmacas pale somewhat as he awaited whatever else Arafinwë would say. "However, I think you still need to be punished for what you did."

"Hmm? Oh, nothing too terrible, I assure you," Arafinwë said in an off-hand manner. "I understand that in all these years, neither you nor Tarwen have ever had anything to do with your own grandson. I find that deplorable. I think it is time you accepted the fact that Vorondil is your daughter’s son, if not by the ellon you had hoped to have him by. That is not Vorondil’s fault. Whatever his parents’ sins, he is blameless. I think it is time you and Tarwen began acting like the grandparents that you are."

"He’s done well enough without us," Selmacas said sarcastically. "Herendil and Vandacalimë have filled those roles quite admirably. I doubt if any of them would appreciate me or Tarwen interfering with their little family unit."

"And yet, you are family and it’s time you acted accordingly. I am sure Herendil will recognize your right to be a part of your own grandson’s life. You don’t have to deal with the rest of the family, that’s your choice, but I think it’s high time Vorondil had two sets of grandparents."

Silence hung heavily in the air as Arafinwë waited patiently for Selmacas’ reply. Finally, the ellon nodded. "I suppose you have a point, my lord," he said quietly. "I just don’t see any of them, Vorondil especially, believing in my sincerity, especially after what I did to Vondo."

"Well, that’s where your punishment comes in," Arafinwë said with a thin smile. "You and Tarwen have a lot of work to do, rebuilding the bridges you burnt between you and Herendil’s family. And as they say, there’s no time like the present, so I would strongly suggest that while you are here that you make a concerted effort to become a part of Vorondil’s life."

"Start with Vondo," Ingwë interjected. "He’s already forgiven you and holds no animosity towards you. Indeed, I had the feeling he even pities you in some ways. Create a relationship with him and you will automatically draw Vorondil into it, for it is obvious to me at least that uncle and nephew have already created a strong bond of love and friendship between them."

"Ingwë is correct," Arafinwë said. "Make your first overtures to Vondo and go from there. Just don’t expect any miracles. You have much damage to repair and it will take time."

Selmacas nodded, not looking up. "I will do my best," he said, though he didn’t appear too happy about the prospect of forming a relationship with his grandson.

"And that is all we are ever asked to do," Arafinwë responded. "Don’t disappoint me, Selmacas."

The Noldorin lord glanced up, an angry retort on his lips, but whatever he saw in Arafinwë’s eyes gave him pause and he stopped, nodded his head and resumed staring at his plate.

After an uneasy moment or two of strained silence, Ingwë decided to change the subject and turned to Elindis. "Why don’t we invite everyone to an informal gathering tonight, my love? We have not really had any of the Tol Eressëans here for a visit. I think it’s time we did."

Elindis smiled. "I think it’s a wonderful idea." She turned to Eärwen and Lirillë. "Would you help plan it?" Both ellith indicated that they would and Ingwë called for his heralds and scribes to spread the word that all were invited to the townhouse for an evening of song and dance and quiet conversation.

After that, conversations turned to other matters as they all continued to relax during the remainder of the afternoon. When Vondo, Vorondil and the elflings showed up later, all excited about their sail on Vingilot, Arafinwë was pleased to see Selmacas asking Vondo how he would compare sailing on Vingilot with sailing on one of the Telerin swanships to Beleriand. The question was nonchalantly asked and, while initially Vondo showed surprise, he answered readily enough. When Selmacas then asked Vorondil if he’d enjoyed the ride, the ellon’s reaction was one of confusion at being addressed by a grandfather who had never spoken to him before and he was unable to do more than nod. Herendil, Vandacalmië and Aldundil looked on with varying degrees of suspicion but did not interfere. Luckily, Selmacas did not press the point but went on to ask the other elflings how they enjoyed sailing on Vingilot. The children were eager to tell of their adventures and soon even Vorondil was looking more relaxed and chiming in with one or two observations of his own.

It was a small start, but it was a start, and that, to Arafinwë, was all that mattered.

Ashkadphelun: (Valarin) Ring Dwelling, i.e. Saturn. It was called Lumbar by the Elves.

Author’s Note: Ingwë’s ruminations about the previous evening’s gathering and what was decided there will make more sense if you first read Ellie’s excellent and quite humorous companion piece, ‘Drawing Comparisons’, which she wrote with my blessing.

The next morning, Ingwë, with Olwë and Arafinwë, led the Amanians down the Landamallë, the three kings studiously ignoring the chatter of their wives and some of the other ellith who apparently were still discussing last evening’s gathering and its outcome. Ingwë stole a glance at his fellow rulers, giving them a sour smile which they returned. It wasn’t that he disapproved of the ellith’s idea of reinstating training camps throughout Eldamar, such as they had had in preparation for the War of Wrath. After all, it was he who had insisted that ellyn should be encouraged to learn the skills of the warrior, but he had left it to each realm to decide how that training would go. Having such camps again would certainly provide a more uniform system of training and perhaps this would be a good way to convince Olwë to set up his own training camps. Unlike the War of Wrath, the Teleri would not have the option of sitting out the Final War. He imagined that those warriors training in Aewellond with Glorfindel would eventually end up overseeing the training of the other warriors, especially since they themselves were being trained by warrior Maiar.

No. He quite approved, and he wished he had thought of the idea himself. It was the rest of it that grated.

The thought of market towns springing up near the various training sites for the sole purpose of catering to the whims of the ellith whose only purpose for being near the camps at all apparently would be to ‘judge’ the poor ellyn who would be subject to their scrutiny made him blanch. Never mind that the idea of the markets was a good one in and of itself. He knew that there had to be a means of providing cultural exchanges between the Amanians and the Tol Eressëans and markets and fairs would certainly allow for this, but at the expense of the warriors attempting to train?

And this whole notion of using the days of the week or the attributes of the Valar to ‘rate’ the warriors and their skills! Absurd and typical of ellith without any sense or regard for the dignity of the ellyn, all of whom were training for the single purpose of risking their lives to protect the very ones passing judgment on their skills and how they looked in armor! He had been rather shocked and dismayed that Elindis would stoop to such... such... he didn’t even have a word for it! Cultural exchanges, yes, he was all for it, but not at the expense of the warriors. He would ban all ellith from the camps if necessary. He wasn’t High King for nothing!

Satisfied that he had solved that particular problem, he turned his thoughts to the morning’s Council session. They had been here for over a week and it was time to wrap this Council up, decide who should lead the Tol Eressëans and get on with it. If only they could find someone whom everyone could agree on to lead the Assembly. He was inclined to encourage Lord Eärendil to take up that role, for he could see that the ellon had the respect of the Tol Eressëans and he certainly was capable of leading such a fractious people, but he had the feeling that the Mariner would decline. Yet, who else could he suggest?

He stole a glance at his son walking with a group of the younger elves. Ingwion was relating to them some tale or other of his ‘apprenticeship’ with Lord Námo with much laughter amongst the listeners and he could not help but smile. His son had begun to blossom during this past year, coming out of his self-imposed isolation from the world. Glorfindel had been the first to breach his ramparts with his adolescent craziness, turning everyone’s life upside down, but Findaráto had been the one to tear down the walls completely during the Tournament. The love that the two cousins had for one another had grown deeper over this past year. He wished he had thought to have Findaráto come to Vanyamar sooner, but perhaps it was better this way. An elflingish Findaráto might have caused Ingwion to retreat even further into his shell, remembering his cousin from before. Ingwion had been devastated when Findaráto had gone into exile and when Arafinwë had brought Ingwë the news that Findaráto was dead, he had kept that information to himself. He had not told Ingwion anything about his cousin until after he had received word that Findaráto had been reborn and was now returned to Tirion, thinking the news would not be so shocking. But Ingwion went into a state of depression and withdrew emotionally from everyone once again and it was some time before he allowed himself to be drawn out of it.

He watched his son as Glorfindel, now speaking, made some comment about the Lord of Mandos that had all the Reborn listening in on the conversation gleefully sniggering, while the others, including Ingwion, were looking scandalized but trying hard not to laugh at the same time. He hadn’t been sure how to react to the notion of his child being the apprentice of the Doomsman of Arda. Certainly he would have been delighted had he been apprenticed to Lord Manwë. Indeed, he would have expected it as a matter of course. And perhaps, now that he thought of it, that was the whole point. Ingwion had been going through the motions for far too long. Becoming Lord Námo’s apprentice had shaken him out of his routine, forcing him to make new connections and giving him certain responsibilities that he might otherwise not have taken up if he had done the expected thing.

Ingwë started, dragging his thoughts away from his son, dismayed that he had allowed his mind to wander instead of focusing on the needs of the Council. He glanced at the carnelian gates leading into Lord Námo’s demesne. They stood open and inviting. He wondered where the Council chamber had been set up, for he saw no sign of any structure. Then he noticed that rubies lay along the path leading away from the gate, as if marking a trail. He glanced at Olwë and Arafinwë.

"Maybe we should pick them up as we go so the other delegates won’t be able to find their way," Arafinwë suggested with a sly smile.

Ingwë gave him an arch look. "I think your exposure to the Reborn has corrupted you, Nephew."

Olwë sniggered and Arafinwë just smiled as he reached down to pick up the nearest ruby. Almost immediately there was an overwhelming floral scent, and then one of Lord Námo’s Maiar was suddenly there.

"Put the ruby down, Arafinwë," she said, giving him a stern look and the Noldóran hastily dropped the gem, turning almost as red as the ruby in embarrassment as everyone else around him laughed. Then the Maia smirked. "If you will follow the trail, you will find your way." She gave Arafinwë another meaningful look before fading from their view.

"Well, shall we?" Ingwë said and he led the way into the gardens surrounding the mansion of the Lord of Mandos and his Spouse.

The rubies led them to the left, around the mansion, through a somnolent rose garden, past a fountain with statues of swans gracing its center, along a terraced lawn overlooking what appeared to be a maze, and then through a tunnel made of thick vines. Emerging from the tunnel they found themselves facing an open-air amphitheater dug into the earth and constructed of green-veined marble. It was obviously an outdoor version of the Council chamber complete with the copper bowl at the entrance. Standing there waiting for them were the delegations of the Reborn and the Weavers’ Guild.

Brethorn nodded enthusiastically. "That was my idea. Saves having the Maiar lead everyone about like sheep."

"Atar wanted to pick them up as we went so no one else would find the place," Finrod said.

Brethorn’s eyes widened as he stared at an embarrassed looking Arafinwë. Gwîrwendur tapped the Reborn on the shoulder. "I win," he said with a smirk and Brethorn sighed as he nodded. "I’ll pay you later," he said.

"Oh, I bet Brethorn here that someone other than one of the Reborn in your party would suggest stealing the rubies so no one else could follow the trail," the head of the Weavers’ Guild delegation said airily. "We knew you would arrive first before anyone else."

"And why did you think a Reborn wouldn’t suggest such a thing?" Ingwë enquired.

Gwîrwendur waved a hand dismissively. "Too predictable. I’ve noticed how the Reborn are generally blamed for acting like elflings and doing silly things, but so far, since we’ve been here, they’re the only ones not acting stupid."

"We’ve been very careful to be on our best behavior," Brethorn said with a virtuous air that fooled no one.

"See what I mean?" Gwîrwendur retorted with a knowing smile and there were chuckles all around.

"Well, why don’t we get settled," Ingwë suggested. "The others will be arriving soon."

With that, the heads of the delegations chose their gemstones and found their seats while everyone else settled in the tiers, which were covered with plush velvet cushions for their comfort. Descending into the amphitheater they discovered that the air was warmer than above, so that they were all quite comfortable in spite of the fact that the day was somewhat on the blustery side; the wind never reached them within the amphitheater. Eventually all the delegates were present except for the Valar and not a few wondered out loud to their neighbors if they would even appear. Some admitted to feeling uncomfortable with the idea of the Powers being there after yesterday’s trial and hoped they would stay away, but most were genuinely curious to see what the Valar would do.

Several minutes went by and there was still no sign of the Valar. Ingwë frowned. Before, the Valar had appeared as soon as the last of the elves was seated, but this time there was no sign of them. "Do you think we should start without them?" Ingwë quietly asked Olwë and Arafinwë. Both of them shrugged.

"It is rather odd that Lord Manwë did not at least send word to us that they would either be late or not coming at all," Arafinwë said. "I do not believe that the Valar would be so discourteous."

"Unless they are miffed at us for putting them on trial," Ingwë said. "They did depart rather precipitously afterwards even though we exonerated them."

"And that’s probably the point," Olwë said. "The fact that they needed our approval rather than the other way around probably did not sit well with them however gracious they were about it."

"Well, this is getting us nowhere," Ingwë retorted. He looked up and spoke so all could hear. "I don’t think there’s any point in waiting to see if the Valar will show, so we can begin."

Even as he was speaking, however, there was movement above them and they turned to see Lord Námo calmly walking down the aisle to the central dais, silently taking the last chair. He glanced around at the stunned and uncomfortable expressions on the faces of the elves, ostensibly ignoring the two delegates on either side of him — Laeglîr and Belegorn — trying not to be too obvious as they moved their chairs slightly away from his. He gave Ingwë a nod, his expression, if not cold then certainly solemn.

"Lord Manwë sends his regrets," he said. "There’s been a small emergency requiring his immediate attention and those of the other Valar. As I am playing host to the Council today, I said I would sit in for him. Unfortunately, my presence will be required later so Vairë will come and take over when I must leave."

Námo shook his head. "No, Ingwë. The matter concerns events occurring elsewhere in Arda and will not affect matters here. It may appear to you that we Valar waste our days idly meddling in your affairs, but we are in fact the Guardians, not only of Arda, but of all of Eä, and much of our time is spent in assuring that all is well with the cosmos. Our mandate extends well beyond this small corner of Eä, after all."

There was a sober silence among them as they digested the Vala’s words and then Ingwë nodded. "Thank you. Let us begin. It seems to me that the major sticking point is who will lead the Assembly. We seem to be at an impasse as to how the Cáno should be chosen as well as who among us all might be an acceptable choice for the position. Perhaps we should first concentrate on the manner in which the Cáno is chosen as well as what criteria should be used to make the selection. Once that is decided upon, then perhaps it will become clearer who might be the most likely candidates for the office."

There were murmurs of agreement and then Ingwë opened the floor to suggestions.

The morning’s discussion was lively but not acrimonious. Námo did not participate unless asked a direct question and that was rare. Instead, he sat there with half his mind on the Council while the other half was with his fellow Valar dealing with the ‘small emergency’ that they had discovered needed their attention when they had gone off-planet to play among the rings of Ashkadphelun. Of course, ‘small’ was a relative term when dealing with the immensities of the cosmos, he thought with amusement. The Children might consider the situation very grave, but since they were unaware of it, they could continue on in blissful ignorance.

Of course, he and the other Valar had their own ideas about who should be Cáno, and had had the person in mind for some time; indeed, long before this Council was ever conceived, at least in the minds of the Elves. The Valar had long anticipated the Council and its outcome. Foresight did have its advantages... and disadvantages. He thought about that with some chagrin. When it came to predicting what any mirroanwë would do with any real certainty even his vaunted ability to see further into Arda’s history than any of them often failed.

The Children saw the Valar as meddlesome and manipulative, and there was probably some justification to that accusation, but it was not the entire story. The revolt of the Noldor had come as a shock to the Valar, more than the elves would ever know or understand. All they had done for the Children had been done for love of them. Fëanáro’s rejection of their authority had been bad enough, but for all but a tithe of the Noldor to have followed him, ignoring the pleas and warnings of the Valar... that had been devastating. He remembered how shocked he had felt at the sight of Manwë weeping when he brought back Fëanáro’s final answer. If Námo could hate, he felt he could have hated that arrogant son of Finwë for reducing the Elder King to tears in such a fashion. Instead, he felt only grief that it had ever come to that pass.

But all that was in the past, he reminded himself. The present and the future were what must concern them all, including the Valar. He made himself pay closer attention to the discussion around him even as he continued to keep mental tabs on what was happening elsewhere.

"Yet, do we not agree that the Cáno should be someone who has proven him- or herself to be an able ruler already?" Boromir, the Master Woodworker, asked. "And it matters not if this person has led a kingdom or a humble guild, just so long as he or she has shown leadership qualities."

"So, you would have no objection to someone who is a guildmaster or mistress leading us?" Minyon asked.

Boromir shrugged. "Why not? Are we who have never lifted a sword any less capable of leading? Why should we limit our search to only those few who have exhibited a talent for killing and perhaps leading warriors into battle, but have no other skill? All of you who are the heads of your guilds know that your position is as much administrative as it is actually saying ‘do this’ or ‘go there’. The Cáno needs to be versed in diplomacy and have good judgment besides understanding how the kingdom should be run on a day-to-day basis. He must also be someone who, even if not a warrior, can inspire warriors to follow him."

"We know all that," Galadhwen said impatiently. "The question still remains: how do we find this paragon? Many of us, whether warriors or no, fit the description you offer us, but how do we choose among us? What other criteria can we use? How do we measure wisdom, for instance? That is a trait that must surely be considered in any leader. Yet, it’s been my experience that wisdom comes with age, and so, should we then choose only among the oldest of us?"

"If they are truly that wise, they would be smart to decline the offer," Gil-galen said with a sly look and several elves chuckled in acknowledgment.

"Perhaps you are thinking too narrowly," Námo offered suddenly and everyone stopped to give him their attention. "The criteria that you have mentioned are not limited to those who are the oldest among you," he continued. "You have the example of one who was the youngest of the House of Finwë who yet proved to be the wisest." He looked pointedly at Arafinwë who simply shook his head.

"I was not at all wise, my lord, as well you know," he protested, looking embarrassed. "Why else would I have spent all those years as Lord Manwë’s... er... apprentice before I was allowed to take up the crown?" The slight hesitation did not go unnoticed by any.

Námo waved a hand in dismissal. "You showed your innate wisdom by returning to Aman. Your apprenticeship was, shall we say, a time of refining a trait you already possessed in an inchoate way." He then turned to the others. "All I am saying is that you should not necessarily limit yourselves to looking among those whose reputations have already been established. You might do well to look among your younger people who are not quite so set in their ways, who may be more flexible in how they approach things. Findaráto is another example: the son of the youngest son of Finwë who was pretty much dismissed by all when he lived in Aman, yet he proved himself to be one of the finest and wisest rulers your people have ever known."

Finrod kept his eyes on his lap, fidgeting uncomfortably under everyone’s thoughtful gaze, clearly as embarrassed as Arafinwë had been at being held up as an example of wise leadership. He did not see his atar’s sympathetic, yet also proud, look at Námo’s words.

"Well, I must leave you for now," Námo said, rising. "Lady Vairë will be along later."

Ingwë nodded graciously to him. "We thank you for your comments, my lord. You have given us something else to think about. Perhaps we should adjourn for now, seeing as how we’ve been at it without a break for several hours now. We will convene again after lunch."

Námo nodded. "I have instructed my Maiar to provide you with lunch," he said. "A couple of pavilions have been set up in the area before the maze you all passed to get here. My people will see to your needs."

Ingwë thanked the Vala, who then gave everyone a respectful bow and turned away to climb the steps, knowing that he had done as much as he dared to steer the Children in the direction the Valar wished for them to go. He considered consulting Manwë about the possibility of having someone like Olórin walk among them, inspiring them towards choosing the person the Valar wanted to rule Tol Eressëa at this time, but decided against it. Best to see how the Children did on their own. From past experience he knew that the elves might actually surprise them, though not necessarily in a good way, he reflected wryly, even as he thought himself to the outer reaches of the solar system.

Eärendil contemplated Lord Námo’s words as he sat back in his chair under the pavilion where they had all gathered for lunch, sipping his wine and nibbling on some cheese and fruit. He had listened more than spoken during the meal as those around him offered their opinions about what had been discussed that morning. A few were openly dismissive of the Vala’s suggestions. These, he noticed, tended to be the older elves from Tol Eressëa, whether Noldorin Exiles or Sindar. The Amanians seemed more open-minded about it. It was difficult to deny Lord Námo’s words when one of their own kings had been held up as an example of what the Vala meant. The Nandor seemed unwilling or unable to offer any concrete opinion on the matter while the Reborn were quite enthusiastic about it, though they did not put forth any actual candidates.

He took another sip of wine and pondered. Who would he choose if asked to do so? He confessed that he knew little about any of these people, isolated from the mainstream of elvish society as he’d been for all these past centuries. He glanced idly around. He had the feeling, unprovable of course, that the Valar already had their own candidate in mind. The question was, would the Valar put this person’s name forward or would they accept whomever the elves chose on their own?

Hmm.... And just how would the Valar look at this? He pursed his lips in thought and tried to see these people as the Valar might see them. He dismissed everyone who was a proven leader in whatever capacity, which pretty much eliminated the Council heads and not a few of the other delegates, Lady Meril, for instance, or Lord Herendil. Who did that leave? Was the person the Valar wanted as Cáno even among them, or was it some anonymous elf happily living out his life somewhere in Eldamar in ignorance of his destiny? He had to smile at that thought. In some sense, that’s what they were all doing. No. He had a feeling that whomever the Valar wanted as Cáno was here among them, hiding, as it were, in plain sight.

Well, he would just have to keep his eyes open. Perhaps he should make a list of all the younger attendees, those who had yet to be placed in any position of power. He would have to consult with Elwing. She had taken upon herself the onerous (to him) task of getting to know all the other delegates. He was having enough trouble just dealing with those who sat at the Council table with him. He realized with some chagrin that one reason why he had never stayed very long at the Havens was his innate shyness and difficulty in dealing with people directly. Even in Aewellond, Elwing was usually the one to whom everyone went first before laying their problems at his feet. He knew that he would probably never shake off the feeling of being unworthy to sit among the elves, pretending that he was one of them, when in his heart he longed to be other than what he was.

He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it of such gloomy thoughts. Life was what it was and the choices he made were what they were. But yes, he would ask Elwing for her opinion. He respected her insights and he suspected that she might even have one or two people in mind for the job already. He glanced to where she was sitting with Indil and Olwen, the three of them laughing at some jest and smiled, thanking the Valar and Eru for having brought her into his life.

Then Councillor Dúlinn, sitting across from him, asked him a question about Aewellond and he turned from his ruminations and gave his full attention to the ellon.

Glorfindel looked about him as he sipped on some wine, half listening to Finrod and Sador discussing some question concerning diplomatic procedures which Sador had raised that did not really interest him. He had to smile to himself. When Lord Námo had suggested looking at the younger elves for their leader, he knew from their expressions that some of the delegates were considering him as a possible candidate. Well, he wasn’t all that young and if being diplomatic was a desired trait for this Cáno of theirs, he was definitely not in the running. He was about as diplomatic as an orc and he wasn’t about to change anytime soon. A brief memory of a certain meeting of Turgon’s Privy Council rose before him and he forced himself not to laugh. Well, he could laugh now, though at the time it had been rather embarrassing. Ecthelion had ragged him about his gaffe for weeks afterwards.

Well, anyway.... even if someone was stupid enough to put his name forward, he would decline. He already had a job, as far as he was concerned. So, who might be a likely candidate? He reached for an almond biscuit and pondered that question a bit, still only half listening to what was being said around him.

"... still don’t see why Atar would come first after King Ingwë when he’s the youngest of the three High Kings," he heard Sador say.

"The age of the person holding the crown is not what is considered," Finrod answered patiently. "The Noldor arrived in Aman before the Teleri, so the Noldóran is considered to have precedence over the Lindaran, just as Ingwë as Ingaran has precedence over them all, for he was the first of us to step upon these shores."

"Yet, all three ambassadors set foot on these shores at the same time," Sador pointed out, "and they became kings."

"But only two of them returned to Aman as kings," Finrod said. "Elu Thingol never made it back and his brother, Olwë... hmmm... I just realized something."

"What’s that?" Glorfindel couldn’t help asking, putting aside his ruminations for a moment.

"Olwë was the youngest of the three brothers," Finrod replied. "Elmo was the second oldest, yet the Teleri who eventually continued to Valinor don’t seem to have considered him as their king. They chose Olwë instead."

"Maybe," Finrod averred, though he looked doubtful. "It is interesting though to think that among the Noldor and the Teleri, the youngest eventually became king."

"Not just them," Ingwion said from the other side of the table where he was sitting with Lindarion, Falmaron and Olwen.

"What do you mean?" Finrod asked, looking as puzzled as the others listening to the conversation.

Ingwion gave them a surprised look. "You didn’t know? My atar isn’t the oldest in our family. My Uncle Ingoldo is actually considered the older brother, though I’m not sure how they figured that. Why do you think he hates my atar so much? As far as he’s concerned, by rights, he should be Ingaran, not Atar."

Glorfindel wasn’t the only one to steal a glance further up the table to where Ingwë was seated with Elindis and the other royal couples. As if he felt all their eyes on him, Ingwë turned to look at them, his expression a bit puzzled, and everyone looked hurriedly away, trying not to catch anyone’s eyes for fear they would start laughing out of embarrassment.

"Well, that is interesting," Glorfindel said after a moment, seeing things in a whole different light.

"So, anyone have any ideas about who should be Cáno?" Finrod asked. "Who among us would be considered both young enough and wise enough to take on the job?"

"You mean stupid enough, don’t you?" Glorfindel corrected with a wicked grin and the others all laughed.

"I think the better question is, who among us has the respect of most of the Tol Eressëans, whether they are young or not?" Olwen said. "Without that, what matters if the person is young or old, wise or not?"

"So who has their respect?" Sador asked. "Who among us is listened to by all sides?"

"That’s just the thing," Glorfindel said in a frustrated tone. "Those to whom the Tol Eressëans will listen are people like Finrod or Eärendil but neither of them will or can accept the position. So who does that leave us?"

There were sighs all around as they contemplated the impossibility of finding someone to fill the role of Cáno.

Falmaron snorted. "I would be very suspicious of anyone who actually wants to be Cáno."

"So perhaps we should find out who doesn’t want to be Cáno and choose the one who is the most adamant," Glorfindel suggested and everyone else laughed.

"Everyone who wants to be Cáno, raise your hand," Finrod said with a sly look and no one was surprised when they all raised their hands, including Finrod. "Well, I guess that lets us off the hook," he said smugly and there was even more laughter.

When they returned to the amphitheater after lunch, Lady Vairë was already there, waiting for them. She gave them a smile. "I understand that my lord husband left you with a suggestion," she said as she and the three kings made their way down the steps.

"He suggested looking for someone who was young," Ingwë replied, "but I have to wonder. Do we not want someone who is experienced in the ways of ruling?"

"Were you experienced?" Vairë asked. "Were any of you? You learned as you went along."

"So are you suggesting that whoever becomes Cáno will need to do the same?" Olwë asked. "If so, then it seems to me that he is likely to be working at a disadvantage if everyone around him is older and supposedly wiser. They’re likely to be telling him what to do and not the other way around."

"Wisdom comes in many guises," Vairë said as everyone began taking their seats. "And youth is a relative term among those who are immortal."

"All this talk about the younger brother becoming ruler seems to be pointless, though," Galadhwen offered. "What does it have to do with anything we’re discussing here?"

"Well, it does seem to be a pattern, though I don’t think it’s a conscious one," Brethorn said. "And it’s not absolute, either. After all, Elu Thingol was the oldest of the three brothers who led the Teleri and he became king, if just not here in Aman. Also, Finrod is the oldest son of King Arafinwë and he was king once as well."

"By default more than anything," Finrod said. "Galadriel was ready to take over but whoever heard of an elleth ruling in her own right? Even Queen Melian, though she is a Maia, did not rule the Sindar, Elu did."

"Your ammë and your Aunt Anairë did well enough until I was ready to take up the crown," Arafinwë said with a pointed look at his son.

"The point my husband was making," Vairë said, steering them back to the original discussion, "was to remind you not to limit yourselves to looking only at those who are older, but not necessarily wiser. Some of your younger people have had life experiences that many of the oldest among you have never had to face. They may be young in years but old in other ways."

Unfortunately, the discussion that followed proved inconclusive and frustrating for them all and tempers began to flare, so that Ingwë decided it was best to adjourn earlier than usual. No one was particularly happy about doing so, but they all realized that continuing was pointless.

"Might I suggest that we not meet again in Council for a day or two while we all deliberate on what has been decided or not decided," Eärendil suggested. "Perhaps we simply need to speak to one another in less formal surroundings. A solution may present itself on its own. I think right now we’re all trying too hard."

That notion was agreeable to all and after consulting with his fellow rulers and Lady Vairë, it was decided that as the next day was Valanya, they would not meet again until Anarya, two days later. Elindis, seated behind her husband, stood and suggested that the next two days be devoted to games and friendly competitions among the delegates. Brethorn immediately volunteered to have his delegation organize the games and contests with the help of the members of the Warriors’ Guild and Ingwë announced that he and his fellow rulers would arrange for a feast. Thus they adjourned in better spirits.

Valanya dawned and the Tol Eressëans were treated to the sight of nearly all of Eldamas, including the Amanian delegates, congregating in the Landamallë before the mansions of the Elder King and the Elentári where they lifted their voices in song in praise of the Valar. The ceremony lasted for about an hour and it appeared that there was a set order in the singing of the hymns and everyone knew them by heart. Some of the Noldor among the Tol Eressëans found themselves singing these ancient melodies, remembering earlier, happier, days when the Trees shone forth and it seemed that no evil would ever mar them. Not a few found themselves choking up with emotions.

"And they do this every Valanya?" one of the Sindar asked one of the Noldor standing next to her, who was wiping the tears from his eyes.

The final song turned out to be a solo, for it was customary to have someone sing a new song at the end. How the singer was selected remained a mystery to the Tol Eressëans but they were assured that every week a new song was sung, more for the entertainment of the crowd than in actual praise and thanksgiving to the Valar. Today, a young ellon with the golden locks of the Vanyar was singing, accompanying himself with a lute. The song was exquisite and, interestingly enough, it was in praise of snow in honor of the recent blizzard. It was also rather humorous as the singer sang of some of the things that went on while the elves were digging themselves out. Some of the verses were mild digs at the Valar for not lending a hand in the clean-up and there was much appreciative laughter among the listeners. When the song ended the applause was loud and long and there were demands for an encore. The ellon, who appeared to be rather young, shyly obliged them and many of his listeners were soon joining him in the chorus. When the song ended a second time, the applause was just as loud as before, but now the crowd began to drift away in pursuit of their own pleasures, many singing snatches of some of the more humorous verses.

"I have no doubt that youngster will be invited by the Valar to a private audience and asked to sing that song to them," some of the Tol Eressëans overheard Ingwë say approvingly and many of the Amanians voiced their agreement to that statement. The Tol Eressëans, listening to this, began to see the true relationship that the elves of Eldamas (and presumably the rest of Aman) had with the Valar, so different from what they themselves had experienced, both in the past and in recent days, and not a few wore thoughtful expressions as they joined the Amanians for the day’s festivities.

The contests that were devised, at least the physical ones, while competitive on one level, were mainly designed for fun and none were taken seriously. They were more like the games played by elflings and in fact it surprised no one to learn that some of the ideas for the contests came from Vorondil and the elflings under Finrod’s care. Other contests were in the realm of poetry recitations, singing and the playing of musical instruments.

One contest consisted of groups of four people in which a simple musical phrase was sung by a ‘judge’. Then, having drawn lots as to the order in which they would participate, the first person had to sing the given phrase and then add to it. The next person then had to repeat both phrases perfectly before adding to it and so on. This would continue until contestants made an error and were eliminated. The one who could sing the entire sequence of phrases without error won and then the next group of singers would come up, but they would be given a different musical phrase to work with. Once the first elimination round was done all the winners of that round went into the semi-finals until there were only four singers left who would compete in the final round. The complexity of the initial phrasing grew with each round. And while the Vanyar were naturals in this type of thing, the other clans held their own so that, by the final round, there was an ellon of mixed Noldorin and Sindarin heritage from Tavrobel, a Telerin ellith and two Vanyar. One of the Vanyar and the Teler were eventually eliminated, leaving the other Vanya and the Tol Eressëan to battle it out. The competition was intense, and the spectators watched in awe as the phrasing became more and more complex until the Vanya, perhaps from overconfidence, sang one phrase wrong and the Tol Eressëan was declared the winner.

The respect with which the Vanya apparently had for her rival’s talents became evident when she invited the ellon to join the music academy in Vanyamar as one of its instructors. The ellon was so astounded at the offer he could only stand there nodding his head, but that seemed to be all that was necessary and everyone was quite pleased by the outcome.

Glorfindel and Galdor agreed to present an exhibition of their fighting skills against two of Lord Manwë’s warrior Maiar to show everyone the level of training they were receiving. Glorfindel’s abilities were greater than Galdor’s but only because he had been training longer. It was a stunning performance that left the spectators breathless. In the midst of the fighting between Glorfindel and Erunáro, Ingwë leaned over to whisper into Elindis’ ear.

She gave him a scathing look and then relaxed at his mischievous smile. "He’s all of them rolled into one," she whispered back and Ingwë nodded, returning his attention to the fighting and enjoying the show.

Eärendil, during this time, was taking to heart Elwing’s advice which he had solicited after the Council had adjourned, asking her opinion about who might be considered a likely candidate as Cáno, to which she had answered, somewhat cryptically, "Look to the one who is least noticed but most often there."

As she had never steered him wrong before, he took the opportunity during the next two days while the different competitions were being held to observe everyone, or as many as he could. It was not an easy task but he began to see a pattern. Whenever someone needed something, whenever a dispute arose that required someone’s mediation, whenever an opinion was requested, one person seemed always to be there, though barely acknowledged. Yet, for all that, he was apparently highly respected, for whenever he spoke, always in soft tones that nevertheless held the ring of truth and authority in them, he was listened to. What he had to say might not always be agreed upon by others, but he was never dismissed and he was always taken seriously.

And there was another thing Eärendil noticed about this person: he appeared equally at ease speaking to the High King as he was speaking to Vondo or one of the elflings and everyone in between. He would laugh and joke with the Reborn and then turn around and have a serious discussion with one of the Vanyarin nobles on the merits of translating Sindarin poetry into Quenya and vice versa. Whether his own views agreed with others or not, he was always courteous and attentive to all. He was young, oh so very young, and yet... not all that young. His eyes gave him away. He had seen horror and tragedy and had experienced it personally. Young he might be in the eyes of most, but he was also old in ways that many of the elves, even those of Tol Eressëa, could never fathom.

Was this the one, then? he wondered. It seemed an implausible solution to their problem. And he knew that this one had little in the way of practical experience in administration, but then, he thought wryly, he hadn’t been all that experienced either when he founded Aewellond with Elwing. He had learned as he went, depending on Elwing, who had more practical experience in such matters, to guide him. So experience wasn’t necessarily a requirement; having excellent and trustworthy counselors would be.

Well, he would speak to Elwing about it and get her opinion, but of all those who were at the Council, this one person seemed to be the only viable candidate. He knew he would have the instant support of the Noldóran and the Lindaran and their families, and probably even Ingwë and Ingwion. Of the Tol Eressëans, the Reborn and the Warriors would accept his proposal, possibly Marthchall and those of Angobel and even Tavrobel, but he wasn’t entirely sure about the Guilds or Kortirion and Avallónë, or the Nandor. If Elwing agreed with his assessment, then they would have their work cut out for them, sounding out the other delegates. But one thing at a time.

He looked around for his wife and found her, ironically enough, speaking to the very person he was considering for the position of Cáno. As if she felt his gaze on her, she looked at him. He raised an eyebrow and through that silent communication common among married couples, gave her to understand that he had found who he was looking for standing next to her and did she agree. She gave him the very barest of nods before turning her attention back to her companion.

Well, that settled that, Eärendil thought in satisfaction as he looked around to see whom he would approach first. Time to get to work.

Eärendil approached Ingwë first, as well as Arafinwë and Olwë, and sounded them out on his idea. Arafinwë gave him his enthusiastic approval, while Olwë was more cautious, but in the end, agreed that it was an elegant solution. Ingwë’s reaction was more telling. The High King immediately sent for Ingwion, Finrod and Lindarion and had Eärendil explain to them what he was thinking. Lindarion’s reaction was as cautious as his atar’s, but he did not offer any real objections. Finrod had a far-away look in his eyes, as if he were seeing something or remembering something and when he came back to the present, he nodded.

"It would solve many problems," he said, "including what happens when one of the other kings is reborn. He would gladly step down and never look back."

Ingwion’s reaction was almost as telling as Ingwë’s. The smile he gave them was one of relief. "For a time, I thought I would have to volunteer for the position."

"I am already slated to go to Tol Eressëa as emissary for the Valar," he answered. "I had an awful feeling I would have to take on both roles. Now I’m glad I do not. Being the Valar’s emissary will be a tough enough job without compounding it."

"I do wish they had consulted me about it, though," Ingwë said with a wry look. "You are, after all, my heir."

"An heir who will most likely never succeed to the throne unless you and ammë suddenly decide to run away to sea or something," Ingwion retorted mildly and the others chuckled. "Nor am I in a hurry to do so," he hastened to reassure his atar. "Being trained as the Valar’s emissary has given me a challenge, something to look forward to. I haven’t had that for a long time."

Ingwë nodded. "I know, and I’m even grateful. So, we are all agreed as to Lord Eärendil’s solution?" he asked them and there were nods all around.

"Well we’re the easiest to convince," Arafinwë said, "but the ones who need convincing are the Tol Eressëans."

"Only some," Eärendil stated. "If you think about it, there are several groups that will offer no objections to this proposal and will be very supportive."

"He’s right," Finrod said. "Ingwion and I can approach those we know will approve of the idea while you tackle those who may prove problematic."

"No. I think it would be better if you handle the ones who will object the loudest," Ingwë said, "if only because they were all willing to offer you the crown from the first. If you and Eärendil speak to them together they will be less likely to suspect this as being an Amanian plot. We’ll speak to those whom we know will be more amenable to the idea, for they will not be as hostile and suspicious."

Finrod reluctantly agreed and said he would recruit Glorfindel to help keep certain people entertained while the rest of them were speaking to the various delegations. "We don’t want our candidate to get wind of what we are doing until we’ve accomplished our goal."

They all agreed to that and Finrod and Eärendil went off to find Glorfindel and speak to him, while Ingwë assigned the others to certain delegates to sound them out. Finrod and Eärendil found Glorfindel in a small park not far from the royal townhouse where he and Legolas were acting as attendants to Elwing, seeing to her comfort as she sat under an oak tree surrounded by Vorondil, his uncle, and the elflings, among others, who were all listening with bated breath as she entertained them with the tale of how she and Eärendil found their way to Valinor. Finrod gave Eärendil a smile at the sight, for everyone listening, even Glorfindel and Legolas, was hanging on her every word.

As the two approached the group, Glorfindel happened to look up and Finrod jerked his chin to his left and Glorfindel got the message, for he leaned over to whisper something in Legolas’ ear. The ellon nodded and Glorfindel then moved silently away from the tree and nonchalantly made his way to a pavilion set up in a corner of the park where light snacks and drinks could be had. Finrod and Eärendil joined him there and the three ordered some ale. There were only a few other patrons and they were able to find a table in a secluded corner.

As they sat there, sipping their ales, Glorfindel gave them a considering look. "What’s going on?" he asked. "The two of you look rather too smug about something."

Finrod let Eärendil explain. Glorfindel did not interrupt and his only reaction was a brightening of his eyes and a nod as the Mariner finished speaking. Finrod then explained what he wanted from Glorfindel and the ellon shrugged. "That shouldn’t be too hard. He and some others have been badgering me to teach them some of my moves. They all have this crazy notion that they want to compete in the tournament that is being planned for next summer." He gave them a sardonic look and the other two chuckled.

"And they are probably all too young to compete anyway," Finrod commented shrewdly and Glorfindel shrugged.

"Most of them, aye, but not all," he replied. "I have hesitated to do as they ask simply because I know that they will not be allowed to compete however much they desire it."

"How?" Glorfindel enquired. "I tried to convince them that they should concentrate on the archery competition since they are all eligible, but no, they want the flash and glory of fighting with a sword and getting to beat on their opponents to within an inch of their lives." He gave them a disgusted look as he drank his ale.

"Your fault, really," Eärendil said with a knowing smile. "You make it look so easy... and so much fun."

Glorfindel snorted good-naturedly as Finrod sniggered. "At any rate," Finrod said, "I was thinking that the younger ellyn who are perhaps not old enough even to act as squires can act as pages and begin training in the martial arts."

"Too young to train or to compete," Finrod said with a nod, "but not too young to learn."

Glorfindel sat there for a moment, his eyes staring at nothing in particular as he thought about what Finrod was saying. "I remember how we all made our own weapons... before," he finally said. "Perhaps these youngsters can benefit by learning the fine craft of swordmaking before they learn how to wield them."

"And making armor and shields and other weapons," Finrod said with a nod. "Think you can keep them occupied with that? Tell them that there will be prizes at the tournament for the best crafters of swords and such. Have them come up with a plan to design classes. While the warriors are training at the various training camps that will be put up, these ellyn and ellith, if they so desire, can be taking lessons in weapons design. Have them explore the different styles of weapons and armor among the various elvish cultures and then have them design and make their own swords, armor and what have you."

"Hmm... that might just work," Glorfindel said with a nod. "Let me speak with Gilvagor about Eärendil’s proposal and then tell him about this. I have absolutely no doubt that he will fall in with the idea and will get the other warriors to help me. Between us we can keep all the youngsters occupied so they are unaware of what you are doing. You don’t have much time, though. The Council reconvenes tomorrow. Are you sure you can convince people like Morcocáno and Galadhwen or even Laeglîr?"

"Perhaps not directly," Finrod averred, "but there are others who will be more sympathetic and they can use their not inconsiderable influence to convince the more reluctant."

"By others, you mean people like Lady Meril, Lord Thorongorn, and Lord Borhael," Glorfindel said with a shrewd look.

"Well, we had best get on with it then," Glorfindel said, draining his tankard. "I’ll go hunt down Gilvagor or Haldir while you do what you need to do. Are you sure Ingwë will go for this? He’s the one who’s placed an age limit on those who will train."

Both Glorfindel and Eärendil gave him somewhat skeptical looks but otherwise offered no protest as they finished up their ales and went their separate ways. Glorfindel did not have to go too far to find his quarry. Gilvagor was with Haldir and Gwilwileth and some of their friends from Tol Eressëa, wandering through a nearby market square, examining the wares. They were congregated around one particular stall where leather goods were being sold. One of their group turned out to be a member of the Leatherworkers’ Guild and they were having a friendly discussion with the vendor about the differences between Amanian and Tol Eressëan styles and techniques. Glorfindel sidled up to them and quietly got Gilvagor’s attention.

"We need to talk," he said softly to the warrior and then walked away. Gilvagor excused himself from the group, following Glorfindel to where the ellon stood beside a small fountain. "What is the matter?" he asked.

Glorfindel quickly explained, and before he had reached the end of his narrative, Gilvagor was dragging him over to where the others were still speaking with the leather goods seller. They looked up at their approach. "We may have a solution to our problems," Gilvagor said without preamble. "Let’s go somewhere where we can talk in private," he ordered and the others, while obviously curious, refrained from asking any questions until they had retired to an inn where they commandeered a small private parlor. Once they had given the innkeeper their orders and had been served, Gilvagor asked Glorfindel to speak. He did not get very far before everyone started speaking at once.

"Whoa!" Glorfindel exclaimed, raising a hand to stem the tide of questions and comments. "I am merely the messenger. Eärendil, Finrod and the kings are handling this. My task is to keep certain people occupied and unaware of what is being planned."

Glorfindel explained what he and Finrod discussed and there was much enthusiasm for the idea. Gilvagor nodded. "I think we can work something out. Why don’t we go see if any of the youngsters are interested?"

It was agreed that Haldir would accompany Gilvagor and Glorfindel on their quest while the others went their separate ways. It took them a little time to hunt their quarry, but eventually they found him and others. Gilvagor let Glorfindel speak to them.

"I’ve been thinking over your desire to learn something of swordfighting from me," he said, "and while I cannot go against King Ingwë’s command to train only those who are at least seventy-five years old, I thought you all might be interested in learning how to make your own swords and armor and such. Lord Findaráto has suggested that competitions be held during the tournament next summer for the best crafted weapons and armor. So, if you’re interested, you can help Gilvagor, Haldir and myself with designing classes which will be held in tandem with the training camps that are being planned."

There was much enthusiasm for the idea and Gilvagor suggested that they all retire to Lord Tulkas’s mansion to talk things over. Glorfindel gave the warrior an approving look. Having a certain ellon indoors would keep him from overhearing conversations that he should not be hearing just yet.

Finrod and Eärendil continued on their way, hoping to track down Lady Meril or Lord Thorongorn or Lord Borhael and recruit them to their cause in convincing those whom they suspected would be the least willing to go along with the idea. Lady Meril, when they found her in the company of Queen Eärwen, was already aware of what was being discussed and fell in readily enough with their plans, saying she would find Lord Thorongorn and Lord Borhael and get them to help her.

"Trust me, my lords," the good lady said with a hard smile, "by the time I finish with Galadhwen and Morcocáno and anyone else who proves difficult, they will actually think it was their idea from the beginning."

"And take credit for it from Lord Eärendil?" Finrod asked with a glint of humor.

"Nay, my lord," Meril said in all seriousness. "To you go the spoils of victory. Now, if you will excuse me, my lords, your Majesty, I will go see what I can do to make this happen." She gave them all a curtsey and went on her way.

Eärwen eyed her son with some amusement. "You seem quite eager about this," she said.

"It’s an elegant solution, you have to admit, and he’s perfect for the role," Finrod retorted.

"Indeed, he is," Eärwen agreed. "I just wonder what the poor dear will say when he finds out. I think he will be the hardest to convince."

"I think you are right about that, Ammë," Finrod said, "but he may be more amenable to the idea if he knows this is what the Valar wish for him as well, especially one particular Vala."

Eärwen gave her son a shrewd look. "Yes, I think you are correct. So, I believe you and Eärendil had better find the Valar and tell them."

"They’ve made themselves scarce," Eärendil pointed out. "It may not be easy to speak with them."

"Scarce, perhaps, but not completely unavailable," Eärwen said. "I suggest you go to Lord Manwë’s mansion and see if you cannot at least speak with his Herald. Let Eönwë do the rest."

Finrod and Eärendil decided Eärwen had the right idea and they wandered back into Valmar. When they reached the Elder King’s mansion they found a Maia at the gate keeping an eye on the Landamallë where groups of elves were wandering and she immediately sent for Eönwë. When the Herald appeared, and before either elf could speak, he said to them, "Lord Manwë and the other Valar are expecting you." The two ellyn exchanged surprised looks and then shrugged, allowing Eönwë to lead them inside for their audience with the Valar.

Late that night when most of the people staying at the townhouse had either retired for the night or were out about their own business elsewhere, Finrod and Eärendil joined Ingwë and the other kings in a private conversation to compare notes. They met in the High King’s private study.

"While there are some who are less than enthusiastic about the idea," Ingwë told them, "we were able to exact a promise from them that they would not object to it if the majority of the delegates accepted it. I think, with further reflection, they will see that it’s the best solution any of us has come up with to date."

"The Valar are in agreement," Finrod said. "They will support this. In fact, I got the distinct feeling that this is what they wanted all along."

"You think they intended to push their own agenda on us?" Ingwë asked with a sigh.

"I think they were hoping they wouldn’t have to," Finrod said. "They looked both pleased and genuinely relieved that the idea came from us and not from them."

Eärendil nodded. "When I told them how it was that Elwing gave me the idea in the first place, Lord Manwë laughed and said that his insistence that she and I come here was now justified."

"Indeed," Ingwë replied, lifting an eyebrow. "Well, I will not dispute that as I am very glad you did come."

They took a quick count. There were one or two about whom they were still unsure, but Finrod pointed out that if the Valar indicated their acceptance to the idea, more than likely the undecided would fall into line. "We do need to stress that the idea was wholly Eärendil’s and that it was only later that we consulted the Valar about it and received their blessing."

The others nodded. "Well, we’ll see how it all goes tomorrow," Ingwë said. "I’ve passed the word along that within the townhouse there was to be no discussion about it. We don’t want our... er... victim to hear about our plans for him too soon."

"We’ve also cautioned everyone else not to do or say anything tomorrow that might alert him," Arafinwë said.

"It seems a bit cruel not to discuss this with him beforehand," Eärendil said with a sigh, "though I understand why we haven’t."

"I know, but to tell him ahead of time will give him an excuse to refuse us," Ingwë said. "Hopefully, when he sees how even the Valar are behind him becoming Cáno, he will acquiesce to our wishes more easily."

"It will be interesting to see how long it’ll take us to convince him that he’s the one," Finrod said with a smile and the others agreed as they adjourned their meeting to retire for the evening, satisfied that all would go as planned the next day.

There was much excitement and an air of expectation among the delegates the next morning as they met again in the outdoor amphitheater behind Lord Námo’s mansion. No one minded, though a few wondered why the Council chamber hadn’t been moved to Lord Irmo’s mansion as was expected. Ingwë when asked, just shrugged. "The Valar probably are getting rather tired of recreating the chamber all the time," he said and left it at that.

In point of fact, it had been Finrod’s idea not to move the Council chamber. "If everything goes as planned, this will be the last formal Council meeting," he explained to his atar and the other kings. "No sense recreating the chamber again for this last session."

Once everyone was seated, and this time all the Valar were present, Ingwë welcomed them all and then said, "Lord Eärendil approached me yesterday with an idea that might be the solution we’ve been looking for. I would like him to tell the rest of you about it."

Ingwë frowned. "Be that as it may, my lord," he said in frosty tones, "we would have Lord Eärendil formally present his idea to us all and then proceed from there." He glared at the Tol Eressëan, who shrugged and said nothing. Then, he turned to Lord Eärendil. "You have the floor, my lord."

Eärendil rose and bowed to Ingwë. "Thank you, your Majesty," he said. "Lord Morcocáno is correct that you who sit at this table are aware of my idea as to who should be chosen as Cáno of the Tol Eressëan Assembly and you all know why. But that is not to say that everyone here is aware of this and so I will explain. Observing this Council, it was obvious to me that most of you were amenable to the idea of having someone who was essentially an outsider become Cáno, someone who could not be accused of being influenced by one party or another among the various interests on the island, yet that person also had to be sympathetic to the people of Tol Eressëa and desire their well-being and would have the respect of the majority of the people. And then Lord Námo and Lady Vairë suggested that we not necessarily limit our search among the oldest of us, but perhaps look for someone among the younger generations, pointing out that age did not necessarily imbue wisdom upon a person. Pondering all this, I asked my beloved wife for her opinion and her answer was simply: Look to the one who is least noticed but most often there."

He paused for a moment, making sure he kept his eyes from straying towards the unsuspecting ellon and giving the game away. "An interesting observation, I think you will agree. At any rate, I took Elwing’s advice and over the last two days I observed as many people as I could without being obvious about it, and lo and behold! I found one person who was indeed least noticed by most yet was always there to lend a hand, or an ear, or sage advice, and I saw the respect that everyone gave him, though it seemed to me that most of the time he was unconscious of it. When I thought I had found the one we’ve been looking for I went to Elwing and told her and she agreed with my choice. And so, my lords and ladies, I would formally submit to you my candidate for Cáno of the Assembly of Tol Eressëa." Now he turned slightly to the right to look up at the tiers where the Noldorin delegates sat and smiled. "I name Lord Sador Bronwegion."

"WHAT!!!" Sador leapt from his seat, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief, his face bloodless. "No! No no no no!" he cried, shaking his head. He tried to leave, but Glorfindel blocked his path.

"NO!!!" the ellon screamed, trying to push Glorfindel away, but now Finrod had risen and gone to them and held him while everyone else remained still.

"Hush," Finrod said softly. "It’s going to be all right, Sador. Hush now and listen."

Sador looked at him in disbelief and a rising sense of anger as he twisted in Finrod’s embrace. "All right!? All right!? What do you mean by that? It’s not all right. I am not...."

"Sador," Manwë said, rising from his seat, and the Vala’s voice stilled the ellon’s protest. "Come here, child." Finrod let him go and after a moment’s hesitation, Sador went to stand beside Lord Manwë who looked at him with sympathy. "Child, I know what a shock this is to you, but trust me when I say that we Valar have long awaited this moment."

"Do you remember my telling you that you were released from Mandos earlier than you normally would have been?"

"I found it interesting," Manwë continued, "that you never asked me why you were released early."

Sador frowned in thought and then shrugged, giving Manwë a shy look. "I guess I just assumed you wouldn’t tell me even if I had asked."

Manwë smiled. "And you would have been correct, but I was still amazed at your seeming lack of curiosity. You appeared less concerned about your own plight and more about Vorondil’s."

"For this very reason, child," Manwë said kindly. "It has always been our hope that you would lead the Tol Eressëans, at least for a time."

"For the very reasons Lord Eärendil enumerated," the Elder King replied. "Through a series of circumstances, and not all of them contrived by us mind you, you have, without any conscious thought of doing so, garnered the respect of nearly everyone here by your courtesy, humility, bravery and wisdom."

"Wisdom?" Sador shot back. "I’m barely out of elflinghood. How can I be considered wise?"

"You are young, that is true," Manwë said, "however, wisdom is not a product of age but of experience. You have experienced much in your short life, more than even someone like Ingwë, who is perhaps the wisest of you all. Dying, I think you can agree, grants a person a different perspective on things and allows them to see the larger picture, more than is usually granted any of the Children."

"Well if dying is a criterion why not choose one of the other Reborn?" Sador demanded.

"Because you are the only one who fits all the criteria," Oromë suddenly said, rising from his seat and moving down to stand beside Manwë. "You do not realize how special you are, Sador. You have the blood of all three clans flowing through your veins, and while you lived and died in Beleriand, you are also conversant with the culture of the Amanians and have their respect as Arafinwë’s ward. You are, in one respect, an outsider, for since your release from Mandos, you have moved among the Amanians and not with your Sindarin kin on Tol Eressëa. You have both the impartiality and the sympathy that this position needs."

"When I asked you what your impressions of Tol Eressëa were after your first trip there, do you remember what you told me?" Manwë asked.

Manwë nodded. "In spite of what happened to you there, you felt at home, didn’t you?" he asked Sador, who nodded again. "And that is what we have all been counting on."

"But... I’m just a... a potter and the Noldóran’s ward," Sador protested. "I’m nothing special. I don’t know anything about being a cáno."

Oromë placed a hand on his right shoulder, drawing his attention. "Sador, you are more than you think. You never thought of yourself as a warrior, and yet, every warrior here would readily proclaim you as one. Under Arafinwë’s tutelage you have begun to learn statecraft and diplomacy and have earned the respect of the lords and ladies of the various realms. Your being a potter, and a very good one, I may add, gives you insight to the needs of the common people, the craftsmen and artisans and workers of the land who make up the bulk of the population. And more importantly, you have the respect, nay, the love and approval, of the Valar."

"We want you to be these people’s leader," Manwë said, "but more than that, they want you to be their leader."

"I’m too young," Sador protested, "and I’m a Reborn. No one trusts a Reborn."

"We trust you," Gilvagor said and there were murmurs of agreement throughout. "And I wouldn’t worry about your youth. There will be those who will offer you their own experiences and hard-won wisdom, yet you have much of your own, though you do not see it."

Sador looked about him and reluctantly saw the sincerity in the eyes of many. "All that you say may be true, but the fact remains that not everyone on the island knows who I am or even cares. They are not going to accept me as Cáno, especially when I have no doubt the vast majority are expecting to have a king rule them."

"Oh, I don’t say there won’t be resistance," Manwë averred, "but if we lay the proper groundwork, much of it will go away soon enough."

"Well, what about the Assembly?" Sador asked. "The people who are elected to it may not know me from a hole in the wall and will not look kindly upon me, an outsider and a Reborn, to lead them."

"That would be true if we held general elections for those who should sit on the Assembly," Manwë replied, "but if you all heed me, I say, let those who presently sit at this table, except for the three Amanian delegates and Lord Eärendil, constitute the first Assembly. You have already been chosen by your people to represent you here, there’s no reason why you cannot continue to do so."

"That sounds reasonable," Ingwë said. "I think that would certainly work and if anyone feels they do not want to sit on the Assembly, then they could certainly ask for others to take their place."

"We will probably add to the number," Dúlinn offered. "Perhaps have those of us here be permanent members of the Assembly with others sitting on the Assembly for a specific number of years before ceding their seat to another. That way we get new blood on a periodic basis."

"I’m sure such details can be worked out to everyone’s satisfaction," Manwë said, "but for the moment let us concentrate on this matter. Lord Eärendil has put forth Sador’s name for the position of Cáno. How say you all?"

One by one all those seated at the table, except for the Amanians, rose and cast their vote for Sador. Then Manwë turned to the assembly at large. "What say you, my Children? Will Sador Bronwegion be your new Cáno?"

At once there was a standing ovation and great applause. Even the Amanians and the other Valar stood and added their approbation. Manwë raised a hand to halt the cheers and when they finally died down he looked at Sador standing there white and trembling and spoke with gentle sympathy and yet with firmness of will. "Sador Bronwegion, you have heard the heartfelt acclamation of these people. Will you accept the position of Cáno which they offer you?"

For a long moment, Sador just stared at the Elder King, his expression one of deep distress, then he looked to where Finrod and Glorfindel still stood together. They were both smiling and Glorfindel gave him a nod. He turned his attention to Arafinwë and was surprised to see the look of pride on the Noldóran’s face, as if Sador were truly his own son who was being honored. Then he looked about him and saw a mix of expressions, mostly those of encouragement and approval, but there were one or two who looked less than pleased by it all and for some reason that assured Sador more than all the looks of support the others were giving him.

He looked at Manwë and Oromë standing before him and sighed. Manwë’s expression was carefully neutral, but Oromë’s was one of grave fondness and he remembered how he had once gazed into the Vala’s eyes and had felt such peace. That peace, oddly enough, flowed into him now, and with it came an unspoken assurance that all would be well however he chose.

Without taking his eyes off of Lord Oromë, he nodded. "I accept," he whispered and then the entire Council broke into loud cheers and only the two Valar heard him add with a note of despair, "ar nai Eru órava messë ilyë."

And only the Valar were aware of Eönwë standing by the entrance, book in hand, calmly recording Sador’s words and smiling all the while.

Ar nai Eru órava messë ilyë: (Quenya) ‘And may Eru have mercy on us all’.

After the acclamations had died down, Ingwë called everyone to order, thanking Eärendil for his suggestion and Sador for accepting the nomination. "I trust that the details of how the Assembly will be structured can best be decided amongst yourselves and Lord Sador at your leisure. It seems to me, unless anyone else has something further to discuss, that the purpose of this Council has been achieved and that we should bring it to a close. Are there any objections to this?" There were none and Ingwë continued, "Then, I declare this Council to be done, and well done. Having said that, I would like to suggest that a similar Council convene at Mid-summer."

"For the purpose of having the different realms keep in touch," Ingwë replied. "I think it behooves us to continue meeting on a regular basis and discuss anything that is of mutual interest to us all. I do not anticipate such a Council lasting as long as this one, but I think even an informal gathering of representatives of our various realms would be beneficial to us all."

There were murmurs of agreement among many, though not all, of the delegates. Some seemed to hold reservations as to the efficacy of having such a Council so soon, and Morcocáno even suggested that they not meet at Mid-summer but at the next Mid-winter; however, most preferred to meet during the warm season.

"That way the Valar aren’t likely to drop a blizzard in our laps if we don’t behave," Finrod said with a sly smile and many of the elves laughed.

Manwë raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Don’t be too sure about that, young Findaráto," he said and now all the Valar were seen to snicker.

Eventually, everyone agreed that a Council of some form should be held at Mid-summer during the tournament and that it could simply comprise the three High Kings representing their respective realms, Lord Sador representing the Tol Eressëans and Lord Manwë for the Valar. "And perhaps Lord Eärendil will also join us at that time to represent the interests of those who reside in Aewellond," Glorfindel piped up, and there was general agreement to this. Eärendil only said that he would think about it, but if he himself did not come, he would most likely appoint someone in his place and that was deemed acceptable.

"And now, I do not know about anyone else," Ingwë said at the last, casting a warm smile upon them all, "but I could do with some lunch. Let us therefore adjourn. My Lord Manwë, on behalf of us all, I wish to thank you and the other Valar for hosting this Council and providing us with the wherewithal to meet. In spite of some upsets along the way, I think on the whole this has been a very successful and rewarding time for us all." He then rose and bowed to the Elder King. Immediately, Olwë and Arafinwë and all the other Council members rose and offered their own obeisance to the Valar.

"And we thank you, all of you, for having the courage to come together in peace and goodwill for everyone’s benefit," Manwë replied. "May Eru Ilúvatar continue to bless all your endeavors. And now, I believe Lord Námo and Lady Vairë have arranged for luncheon to be served, so we will leave you to enjoy it. In the meantime, I will arrange for a feast to be held tomorrow in honor of this Council and especially in honor of Lord Sador as the newly chosen Cáno of the Tol Eressëan Assembly. Until then, my children, enjoy the day."

With that, the Valar all faded from view. Then Ingwë spoke. "Well, I guess that’s that. Why don’t we go have lunch?"

There was much laughter among them as they left the amphitheater and made their way to where the pavilions were set up for lunch. Ingwë insisted that Sador walk with him and the other two kings, speaking to him quietly, assuring him of his support and offering advice, while everyone else followed.

After lunch, the elves broke up into various groups, some of them wandering back into Eldamas for last minute shopping, while others foregathered in one tavern or another to continue discussing the Council and its outcome. Finrod took the elflings, along with Vorondil and Vondo, for a ride into the countryside. Glorfindel went with them. Ingwion was seen speaking with Olwen and the two wandered away from everyone else, though Salmar and Faniel followed them at a discreet distance as chaperones.

Sador managed to slip away from everyone by pretending he needed to use the privy once they returned to the townhouse, but in actuality he went to his room and sat in the embrasure overlooking the central courtyard where a fountain sang merrily. Thankfully, the courtyard was empty of people. He sat there with his stomach tight with emotions. He had been unable to eat much for all of Alassiel’s coaxing and had said very little, speaking only when directly spoken to. It was all too sudden and completely unexpected. He gathered from listening to the conversations around him that just about everyone knew what had been planned except him. He felt somewhat betrayed by this. Why hadn’t his gwedyr come to him and warned him of what they were planning? He could have told them he wasn’t interested.

Perhaps that was it. They knew he would object and refuse to let them name him for the position. It was really absurd. He was much too young, barely out of elflinghood. And what did it matter if he’d died? In Mandos there was no time or at least not as the living understood it. If he had lived he would be over six hundred years old and that was still too young by anyone’s standards. Did dying really make that much of a difference? Did the centuries wandering the Halls of Waiting truly prepare him for this? What had he done all that time? He could scarcely remember and in truth he rarely thought about it. If he concentrated hard enough images would form, images of himself happily playing with others elves, be they Sindar, Noldor or even Vanyar, though he had a sense that the Vanyar came later.

But now, thinking about it, he wondered if that was all that had happened to him while he was in Mandos. He scrunched his eyebrows together, concentrating hard, trying to put some coherence to his memories of that timeless state and then a door seemed to open within him and he saw himself in the company of Lord Námo and one other and they were speaking to him, instructing him, though he could not hear their words. He struggled to bring the images into focus, he struggled to hear their words, and then, suddenly he could and he found himself no longer in his townhouse bedroom but back in Mandos, standing before Lord Námo and Lady Nienna....

"Soon, child, you will be released from my care," Lord Námo said with a gentle smile. "Soon you will be returned to Life."

Sador frowned, not quite understanding. "What is Life?" he asked in all innocence.

He noticed the two Valar exchanging looks which were unreadable to him. He was not sure what they were talking about and tried not to fidget. Anyway, he would much rather be playing with his friends. This conversation was rather boring and pointless as far as he could tell. As if they had divined his thoughts, the two Valar turned their attention to him and smiled. Lady Nienna was the one who spoke.

"Life is Life, child, and until you re-experience it, you will not be able to understand, but trust us when we say that it is your destiny to live."

"Aren’t I living now?" Sador asked, clearly not understanding and frankly not really caring. Why couldn’t they just let him go and play with everyone else?

"You are merely existing," Lord Námo replied. "In the meantime, my sister would speak to you about things you must know before you leave Mandos."

"Speak to me about what?" Sador asked, just intrigued enough to temporarily forget wanting to go play with his friends.

Lady Nienna gestured and he stepped towards her so she could put an arm around his shoulders. "I am here to teach you wisdom," she said.

"What’s wisdom?" Sador asked as he allowed himself to be led away. "Is it a new game?" He thought he heard Lord Námo give a snort of amusement from behind him but when he turned to look, the Lord of Mandos was no longer there.

Lady Nienna chuckled. "Some people think so," she answered. "Come, let us talk...."

Sador sighed as the memory slipped away and he found himself back in his bedroom. He could not easily recall what Lady Nienna had talked to him about. How was he supposed to know if he was wise or not if he couldn’t even remember her lessons, for he had a sense that that had been but the first of many meetings between them, right up to the moment he was released from Mandos and he awoke within one of the Gardens of the Reborn, learning how to have a hröa all over again. He grimaced. He shouldn’t have caved in so readily to everyone’s demand, especially the Valar’s. After all, was this not one more instance of their damned interference and manipulation? He shivered, and it had nothing to do with the sudden cold breeze that swept down into the courtyard, ruffling his hair. The thought that he’d been released from Mandos when he was specifically to fulfill some sort of destiny designed by the Valar made his skin crawl. He closed his eyes, leaning against the stone and sighed. The breeze died and even the sound of the fountain seemed to fade. It was only then that he realized that he was no longer alone in his room, but he had not heard anyone enter.

Opening his eyes he gasped in surprise and dismay as the last person he expected to see stood in the middle of the room, gazing upon him with a mixture of love and concern.

"L-lord Oromë," he stuttered, trying to untangle his legs so he could rise and give the Vala his obeisance, but Oromë came to him and gently pushed him back down and then sat on the opposite side of the embrasure. Silence reigned between them and then Oromë spoke.

That simple statement seemed to open a floodgate of emotions that Sador could neither control nor name. He glared at the Vala. "Angry?" he hissed, leaping up. "ANGRY?" he nearly screamed. "I am beyond angry, you... you... Vala, you!" he snarled. He was riding on a crest of ever rising fury and a deep sense of betrayal and he cared not a whit whom he insulted. "Is that all I am to you is some pawn in a political game? Glorfi is bait and I’m your dupe? And Finrod. What is he, your favorite pet?"

"Don’t ‘child’ me, Oromë!" Sador screamed, backing away from the Vala. "I am not a child!"

"Then stop acting like one!" came the angry retort and it was like a splash of cold water in his face. Sador stood there gaping at the Lord of Forests, his mouth moving but no sound came out of it. Then, to his utter horror, he burst into tears and found himself squatting on his heels, wrapping his arms around his legs and rocking himself for comfort, though there was none to be had. Oromë never moved but allowed him the space to vent his emotions. How long it lasted, Sador did not know, but after a time the tears abated and the rocking ceased and a sense of futility, an emptiness of purpose, rolled through him like a gentle yet inexorable wave. He might even have fallen asleep for a time, for he slowly came to himself, blinking as if from a dream and looked up to see Lord Oromë still sitting there gazing upon him dispassionately.

"Feeling better?" Oromë asked quietly. Sador gave a half shrug of his shoulders, not really sure what he was feeling. Oromë nodded. "Go wash your face," he commanded, jerking his head towards a corner of the room where a wash basin and a pitcher of water stood on a small table.

Sador untangled himself from his crouch and dutifully went over to splash some water on his face. When he was done, he turned around to face the Vala but did not move. Oromë lifted an eyebrow in amusement and gestured with his left hand. "Come back here and sit down, Sador. I have no intention of holding a conversation with you standing on the other side of the room."

Sador sighed but did as he was bid, sitting back down on the embrasure facing the Vala.

"That’s better," Oromë said with a slight smile, but Sador did not return it, merely glaring at Oromë.

For a moment, Oromë just stared at him and Sador had to look away, feeling slightly ashamed of his attitude but at the same time not really caring. He had every right to be angry.

"Sador, I know you feel betrayed, betrayed by me and by the other Valar and even by your gwedyr. Believe me when I tell you that that was never our intent. And believe me when I tell you that we did not inspire Eärendil to choose you. He came to that choice on his own."

"But you said you wanted me to be Cáno," Sador protested. "So you had to be manipulating things so someone would suggest me for the position."

"Actually, we weren’t," Oromë replied. "If the Council had continued to be at an impasse for one more day, we would have brought your name before its members ourselves, though we were reluctant to do so for obvious reasons. Fortunately, we did not have to do so. The most we did was to point out to the Council that they might wish to look further afield, that they might wish to look to the younger generations of elves rather than to the older ones for their Cáno."

"Yes," Oromë averred. "That was as close as we dared come to manipulating the Council towards our own wishes." He gave the ellon a sardonic look and Sador grimaced. "The truth is, Sador, we had Eärendil and Elwing brought here for this very purpose. They are both outsiders, in more ways than one, and their Mortal heritage allows them to see things in a different light. It was our hope that they would see a way through the morass of conflicting interests which besets the Tol Eressëans. They were unlikely to be bogged down by preconceptions which plague many of the older elves. Both Eärendil and Elwing were very young, even by Mortal standards, when they began ruling the refugees at the Havens, were they not?"

Sador nodded again. "I remember people talking about it," he said. "As long as Lord Tuor and Lady Idril were there, everyone, whether from Doriath or Gondolin, even the very few who managed to escape from Nargothrond, was happy enough to let them rule, but once they were gone, there was some doubt as to whether Eärendil should now be our lord. I think there was even some talk of asking Lord Celeborn to come and take over."

Sador shrugged. "I am not sure. Idril, as Turgon’s daughter, was considered to have precedence even over Gil-galad, at least among those at Sirion. And Eärendil was Idril’s son and therefore Turgon’s heir. Many thought that the High Kingship should rightly fall to him rather than to Gil-galad for all that he was not strictly of elven kind. I think people gave lip-service to Gil-galad being High King but they looked to Eärendil as their proper lord. Indeed, as best as I recall, I don’t think Gil-galad ever set foot at the Havens, but remained with Círdan on Balar. I think Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel came once when Lady Idril and Lord Tuor were still with us, though I never saw them myself."

"At any rate," Oromë said, "in spite of their being counted among the Firstborn, they still feel like outsiders among you, and that allows them to see things more clearly than it is sometimes possible when one is in the midst of a problem with seemingly no solution."

"For all the reasons that were given, child," Oromë said kindly. "For all that and more. No one expects you to remain as Cáno forever. I know you do not want that for yourself, but the Tol Eressëans need someone now. A time will come when one of the kings will rule there, as is proper, but until then, think of yourself as being merely a Steward."

Oromë nodded. "Perhaps, but the point is, you are the only one on whom everyone can agree. You know how the Council has been struggling to find a solution as to who would lead them once they decided on a format for ruling among themselves. This Council would have dragged on for another week if Eärendil had not offered you as a candidate and then it would have simply broken up with nothing accomplished and everyone mad at everyone else and blaming everyone else for the impasse."

"I think a ceremony will be devised in which you are invested with the powers of Cáno before the entire populace and then you have the unenviable task of keeping all those people happy." Oromë gave him a wicked grin and in spite of himself, Sador found himself grinning back.

"Oh, I think it will be appropriate for it to be held at the New Year, don’t you think?" Oromë replied. "That will give you time to come to terms with your new position. There will need to be decisions made about where the Assembly will meet and you will need to find a place to live. Nothing will be done immediately."

He paused and leaned over to put his hand on Sador’s knee, giving it a friendly pat. "You are not alone, child. You have a lot of people who are behind you and will help you, including me."

The Vala nodded, giving him a gentle smile. "Yes, Sador, including me. You are my apprentice, after all."

Sador could only stare at the Lord of Forests, blinking in disbelief, his mouth a perfect ‘O’ as several things finally began to fall into place. He was still sitting there in shock as the Vala stood and bent down to give him a kiss on his brow before fading from his view.

Sador was still staring at the spot where Lord Oromë had been sitting when there was a knock on his door. Before he could decide if he wanted to respond, the door opened and Finrod peeked in.

"Sador?" he asked and then stepped inside followed by Glorfindel, Beleg, Ingwion, Alassiel and Amarië.

He gave them an incurious look, saying nothing as they shuffled in and stood before him, their expressions mostly ones of concern. Alassiel came forward and sat down beside him, stroking his hair. "Are you well, Sador?" she asked, but when he didn’t respond, she gave Finrod an anxious look.

Finrod sat opposite them and Glorfindel joined him while Ingwion pulled up a chair for Amarië, then went over to the bed and sat. Beleg simply crouched next to Amarië, perfectly comfortable sitting on his heels with his arms wrapped around his legs.

Sador looked at him and tried to formulate some kind of answer, but he was too conflicted to speak coherently. He finally answered with a shrug and turned to gaze down at the courtyard below him.

She gave him a nod, guilt and some other emotion in her eyes. He couldn’t quite figure out what it was and found he didn’t care.

"You all knew," he said, turning to Finrod and the others. "You all knew and you didn’t tell me."

"Best?" Sador hissed, becoming angrier by the minute. "Best for whom? Me? To keep me in the dark until the last minute? Why? So I would be unable to refuse? Do you hate me so much that this was your way of getting rid of me?"

The shock on everyone’s faces would have been funny if the situation weren’t so serious.

"Hate you?" Finrod said in a pained voice. "Sador, no one hates you. Why would you think that?"

"You obviously couldn’t be bothered to treat me as an adult," Sador continued, paying no attention to Finrod’s question. "No one could be bothered to approach me and ask for my opinion."

"Only because none of you gave me a choice," Sador snarled. "Everyone from Lord Manwë on down knew what Eärendil was about, everyone but me. So, what am I to think? You either hate me, or you don’t trust me, or both."

"Of course we trust you, Sador," Amarië said in an exasperated tone, "otherwise we wouldn’t have considered you as Cáno."

"But you didn’t trust me enough to ask first!" Sador yelled as he leapt up, his hands clenched at his sides.

"Sador, sit down," Finrod ordered and such was the force of his command that the ellon reluctantly did so, though when Alassiel tried to put her arm around his shoulders he sidled away from her, moving closer to the window. He ignored her hurt look as he glared at them all. Finrod sighed. "Sador, we don’t hate you and we don’t mistrust you. We love you and...."

"Sending me away from... from the only family I have left is the best for me?" Sador exclaimed, forcing back the tears that threatened to fall. "How can that be the best for me? How can you say you love me when you don’t want me anymore?" Now the tears began to fall in earnest. Finrod leaned over to take one of Sador’s hands.

"No you don’t!" Sador screamed, jerking his hand away. "You don’t want me anymore. Th-that’s why you hide away in Lórien and that’s why Glorfi ran away to Aewellond and that’s why B-beleg stays in Alqualondë. You all l-left me and now you want me to b-be Cáno so I have to leave Atar and... and Ammë... and An-anammë." He brought his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, hiding his face, a ball of misery as he continued weeping.

He vaguely heard the door opening again and then someone was speaking, though he paid no attention to the words. Without looking up he felt Alassiel leave his side and he thought Finrod and Glorfindel left as well, but he didn’t care. Then the door closed and he thought he was alone, only, when he looked up through tear-blurred eyes, it was to see Arafinwë standing there looking at him with great tenderness. They were alone. Sador wiped the tears from his eyes.

Arafinwë moved to sit next to him though he was careful not to try to touch him. "I sent them away," he answered gently. "I could hear you yelling at them from the other side of the house and decided they weren’t helping."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, yonya," Arafinwë said with a sad smile. "It is we who are sorry. We never meant to upset you this way."

"Why couldn’t you tell me, warn me?" Sador demanded. "Why does everyone treat me like... like an elfling? I bet if they wanted Beleg to be Cáno they would have asked first."

Arafinwë didn’t answer immediately, merely looking upon him with grave sympathy. Sador forced himself not to fidget. In some ways, Atar Arafinwë reminded him rather uncomfortably of the Valar, the way he seemed to be able to see straight into your fëa. There was no judgment in his eyes, merely understanding and... compassion. Sador had to look away and let his eyes settle on the fountain in the courtyard below them.

"Sador, look at me," Arafinwë finally said and Sador reluctantly complied. "I know you are upset, hurt and confused by what has happened. I would have been worried if you weren’t."

Arafinwë smiled and reached over to take Sador into his embrace, wrapping his arm around the ellon’s shoulders to give him a hug. Sador did not resist. "If you had eagerly accepted the position of Cáno and had been all smiles, anxious to get on with it, I would have had serious doubts as to the rightness of choosing you. The fact that you are huddling in your room accusing your own otornor of perfidy against you tells me a different story."

"I don’t expect you to, yonya," Arafinwë replied. "Do you know that I fought tooth and nail not to be Noldóran?"

The question was so unexpected that Sador just gaped at him. Arafinwë nodded. "I never wanted the crown. When I decided to turn back from the rebellion, I fully expected the Valar to appoint another to lead the Noldor who remained behind. I figured the last thing they would want was a scion of the House of Finwë to wear the crown when it was the House of Finwë that led the rebellion against their authority."

Arafinwë chuckled. "I didn’t care. It could have been anyone, preferably someone who had remained behind, like Rialcar or Pelendur."

Arafinwë shook his head. "It wasn’t a question of choice. I was the son of Finwë and to no other would the Noldor look for their king, nor would the Valar sanction the choosing of another." He smiled. "Lord Manwë said I should consider it my punishment for leaving in the first place."

"So... I’m being punished?" Sador asked, blinking back tears, wondering what he’d done wrong.

Arafinwë shook his head. "No, Sador. You’re not being punished. Lord Manwë was merely jesting, though it took me some time to realize it. I was Noldóran for the simple reason that the Valar did not trust anyone else to lead the remnant of the Noldor. You have no idea how broken in spirit we were, especially those of us who left and then returned. We had lost the respect of the Teleri and the Vanyar and were looked upon with suspicion by the Valar, especially Lord Aulë. But by the same token, Lord Manwë knew that only I, as a son of Finwë, could do what was necessary to reclaim the self-respect of the Noldor, to raise them up from their sorrow and shame, to redeem them in the eyes of the other clans. It did not happen overnight, I assure you, and there were times when I despaired that it would ever happen, but it did happen and I know now that the Valar were correct: no one but I could have done it."

He gave Sador another hug and kissed him on the top of his head. "And that’s true for you. We chose you as Cáno not because we hate you or don’t want you with us anymore, but because we know that you are the best person for the job. You have the respect and admiration of all. You know when to speak and when to listen. Your being a Reborn gives you a perspective on things that we Once-born can never have. You know what it means to be a refugee, and let’s face it, everyone on Tol Eressëa is just that, so you can sympathize with them as they struggle to rebuild their lives. Beyond that, you have the respect of the rest of Aman. Even Ingwë finds you wise beyond your years and respects you. And then, there are the Valar."

"L-lord Oromë said I was his apprentice," Sador told him, giving him a shy look.

"Earlier, just before Finrod and the others came looking for me," Sador replied. "We... we talked." He looked up at Arafinwë and frowned. "You knew, didn’t you? I mean about me being Lord Oromë’s apprentice."

Arafinwë shook his head. "Suspected, but until you told me just now I was not entirely sure."

"I don’t understand why I’m his apprentice, though," Sador sighed. "He didn’t stay long enough for me to ask."

Arafinwë chuckled. "The Valar are like that. They make a pronouncement that stuns you and then conveniently disappear so they don’t have to bother with explanations."

Arafinwë laughed and gave him another hug. "Careful, yonya. You don’t know who may be listening."

Now Sador looked about guiltily and Arafinwë smiled at him. "I wouldn’t worry about it, Sador. The Valar are not our masters. We have naught to fear from them. I do not know why Lord Oromë has chosen you as his apprentice, but he has and in due time he will explain his purpose in doing so. Much of our dealings with the Valar are based solely on faith."

Sador nodded and sighed. "Lord Oromë said I had been their choice all along, even before anyone had even thought about forming this Council and all."

"They have a slight advantage over us, in that they can see further into the future than we," Arafinwë stated. "So, the Valar were aware of this need before we were. Well, that does not surprise me. We Eldar are very good at ignoring what we do not wish to see until we are given no choice in the matter. In this instance, I fear I am most at fault."

Arafinwë nodded. "Of the three High Kings, I am the only one to have dealt with the elves of Beleriand. I knew their plight. I witnessed their desperate courage against Morgoth. I saw how hard they strove to save what they could of their civilization. Yet, when they came to us, I could not bring myself to offer them aid. I, more than Olwë or Ingwë, allowed the events that have happened to happen. Had I taken an interest in the Tol Eressëans earlier, perhaps all this could have been avoided."

For several minutes they sat there in silence while Sador thought about what Arafinwë had told him. Arafinwë continued holding him, giving the ellon as much time as he needed. Finally, Sador stirred. "Lord Oromë said something about holding a ceremony at the New Year."

"I suppose some sort of ceremony of investiture must be created," Arafinwë averred. "We’ll be in the midst of Spring by then when all is new and blossoming again. A rather propitious time, don’t you think?"

Arafinwë smiled, though Sador didn’t see. "Well, since it’s your ceremony, I think you can design it any way you please."

Arafinwë resisted a sigh. "No, yonya. You will not be alone. You will be surrounded by people whom you know and who know and love you. There will be Gilvagor and Brethorn and Ingwion and others as well. You may not have your otornor with you, but you don’t have them even now, for Findaráto, Glorfindel and Beleg all have their own lives to lead, just as you do. Yet, you are never far from their thoughts as they are never far from yours."

"What will Anammë say when she finds out?" Sador then asked. "I don’t want to leave her and I’m still her apprentice, too." He paused and wrinkled his nose. "Can I have two masters at the same time?"

"When one of them is a Vala, yes," Arafinwë answered with a laugh. "As for Netilmírë... um... that’s a good question. I am sure she will be delighted to hear about your... er... promotion, but as for the rest," he shrugged, "I think something can be worked out."

"Maybe she’d like to come live with me," Sador suggested shyly. "Just for a little while, until I get settled."

Arafinwë smiled warmly. "We’ll ask her and see what she has to say. As it is, you’re going to have to find a place to live, once it’s decided where the Assembly should be located."

"Kortirion," Sador said firmly, moving out of Arafinwë’s embrace and straightening his shoulders. "It’s the most logical place, after all. We’ll have to find someplace to meet though. I don’t think the city’s council chamber would be appropriate."

"No, I agree with you there," Arafinwë said. "I wouldn’t worry about it right now though. Gilvagor or some other person will help find an appropriate place for the Assembly to meet and he can also help you find a place to live. You’ll need to have a large enough house for entertaining, as well as offices for your staff."

"Yonya," Arafinwë said with a smile, "you are now the Cáno-elect of Tol Eressëa. Your position is on par with mine. Trust me, you will need a staff, not only to oversee your household, but to oversee the day-to-day bureaucracy that runs the government."

"Who do I choose? How do I choose?" Sador asked, looking a bit frightened at the prospect.

"You choose wisely," Arafinwë replied. "You choose those whom you trust, but more importantly, you choose those whom you know will not be afraid to speak up against you and let you know where you have gone wrong."

Arafinwë nodded. "Why do you think I’ve tolerated someone like Selmacas on my Privy Council all these centuries? He does not always agree with me nor I with him but we have each other’s respect and I know that he will tell me what I need to hear, not just what I want to hear."

Sador thought about it for a moment. "So, I should choose people who don’t like me?"

"Selmacas is not my enemy, Sador. He is opinionated and arrogant, but he is also one of my canniest advisors. We are not friends, not the way Herendil and I are, for instance, but I do value him for his abilities. He is shrewd and wise in the ways of government. When I led the Eldar back to Beleriand during the War of Wrath, Selmacas was one of the people whom I entrusted to aid Eärwen in governing Tirion during my absence. We have our differences, but I have never known him to be anything less than loyal to me and to the crown." He stopped and gave his ward a shrewd look. "Who would you like to accompany you to Tol Eressëa?"

Sador gave him a blank look. "What do you mean? Won’t everyone on my staff be from Tol Eressëa?"

"No one is expecting you to give up everyone you know and love to become Cáno, Sador," Arafinwë explained. "While logistically speaking the bulk of your household staff should come from amongst the Tol Eressëans, none of the Council members who will now comprise the Assembly are so naive that they would expect you to not bring your own small cadre of supporters from Tirion or elsewhere. Ingwion will do the same thing: hire Tol Eressëans to supplement whatever household he brings with him from Vanyamar when he is finally sent to Tol Eressëa as the Valar’s emissary. It will be expected and no one will begrudge it, not from him or from you. So, who would you like to accompany you, assuming they are agreeable to it, for I will not order anyone to do so. I do not think you want anyone who is reluctant to go, do you?"

"No. At least, I don’t want anyone to be more reluctant to go than I am," Sador replied and Arafinwë chuckled at the attempted levity. "Well, if I can choose," the ellon continued, looking suddenly shy, "I would like Rúmillion and his cousins with me. They’re my closest friends."

"I think that’s an excellent idea and I don’t think they would decline the opportunity. Rúmillion is an able magistrate and well versed in all our laws and customs. Serindë, of course, is an able diplomat and she can continue guiding you and Mardillë will be a good choice to handle not only your personal finances but those of the government as well now that it will be centralized and you’ll have to deal with taxes and appropriations and the like. Anyone else?"

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow. "Well, I suppose I should have seen that one coming. I’m sorry, Sador, but it’s not my call. Alassiel is Ingwë’s subject, not mine. She would need his permission and I do not see him granting it at this time. I know, I know. You both love each other. That is obvious, but yonya, trust me when I say that you’re going to be too busy this next year to deal with the emotional ups and downs of a romance. As it is, even if you are betrothed tomorrow, it will still be a year before you are actually married."

Sador sighed. "I know, or at least, I guess I know. Finrod said I was too young yet to be considering marriage."

"And my son is correct," Arafinwë said. "I have no doubt that your love for one another is sincere, but now is not the time. If you truly love one another, the time of waiting will not diminish that love; it will only deepen it."

"Oh, I’m not saying you need wait as long as Findaráto and Amarië," Arafinwë replied with a sly grin which Sador echoed. "I think you should concentrate on your duties as Cáno for a few years. They should occupy you well enough. I hope you are not so naive as to believe that there will not be objections to your appointment, or that even those who elected you will not sometimes disagree with your decisions."

"No, I know better than that," Sador assured him and then nodded. "You’re right, of course. One thing at a time. If Alassiel and I are meant to be together, it will happen. We just have to have faith."

"As with all things in our lives," Arafinwë said. "Well, you think about it. There’s no real hurry. Speak with Findaráto. He will no doubt have some suggestions of his own. He knows my court almost as well as I do. And speak with Gilvagor. He can begin looking for an appropriate residence for you and making up a list of possible staff. We have two and a half months."

Sador nodded, then leaned back against the embrasure and sighed, closing his eyes. "Everything is so complicated," he said softly, as if speaking to himself. "Sometimes I long to be back in Mandos where everything was simple."

Arafinwë leaned over and patted him on the knee in sympathy. "I know, yonya, but just think of all the fun you’d have been missing if you were."

Sador opened his eyes in disbelief, but when he saw the twinkle of amusement in Arafinwë’s eyes, he snorted and muttered something in Sindarin that was not at all polite. Arafinwë started laughing and a moment later Sador was joining him.

And standing invisibly in a corner was Vanimeldë, still watching over her charge, smiling in satisfaction.

The farewell feast for the Council delegates was held in Lord Manwë’s mansion and was both sumptuous and relaxing, primarily because the Valar made themselves scarce, saying that the night was for the elves. Ingwë and Elindis acted as host and hostess but the feast itself was served by Maiar, who disappeared once the feast was done and everyone gathered together for conversation, dancing and singing.

The delegates were obviously happy at the outcome of the Council, relieved that the one sticking point had been resolved, and were anxious to return to their homes. Those who would comprise the core of the Assembly spent part of the evening talking about what else needed to be done before Sador could be installed as Cáno. Galadhwen announced that she would not sit in the Assembly, preferring to remain as part of the city council of Kortirion. When asked whom she thought should sit in her place, people were genuinely surprised when she mentioned that Lady Meril was willing to do so.

"I thought you hated her," Sador said without thinking as he and others stood around after the feast to talk and then blushed furiously at his gaffe. Finrod and Glorfindel both rolled their eyes. Meril and Galadhwen exchanged amused looks while others chuckled.

Galadhwen, apparently not offended, answered Sador. "You’re going to have to learn how to put things more diplomatically, my boy. Meril and I have had our differences in the past but that does not mean I hate her. She’s a good administrator of her estate and well versed in our laws and customs. She will be an asset to the Assembly. And while you may consider her an ally, do not be fooled into thinking she will always agree with you."

"I don’t want anyone to always agree with me," Sador protested. "I want people who will tell me if I’m going in the wrong direction or not."

"Very wise," Galadhwen said. "If you keep that in mind at all times, I have no doubt you will do well."

There were murmurs of consent to that. Then Marthchall spoke up. "I, too, will resign from this Council and will not sit in the Assembly. I wish to devote my time to seeing to the needs of Angobel and people like Gurthalion who may be suffering emotionally from the traumas they endured as slaves of Morgoth. Also, I am interested in pursuing the idea of having some of our younger people remove to Aman and join the mining guild there to learn new techniques."

"A worthy goal," Arafinwë said, "and we can discuss this further when we return to Tirion. In the meanwhile, who will take your place? I think it important that Angobel and the farming communities that have allied with you should be represented."

Marthchall nodded. "Morfinnel has agreed to represent us, at least for now. We may ask someone else to take over eventually, perhaps someone from one of the farming communities that joined with us. It all depends."

Arafinwë nodded. "I suspect that there will be a period of adjustment for everyone and it will take a little time to sort things out."

"In the meantime, when I return to Tol Eressëa I will see about finding suitable accommodations for Sador and whatever staff he may bring with him," Gilvagor said, giving the young ellon a smile.

"I am hoping to convince a few of the younger courtiers from Atar’s court to join me," Sador said. "I’ve worked with a number of them and we get along well enough."

"An important consideration," Meril said. "Will you also be hiring people from Tol Eressëa?"

"Oh, yes," Sador replied. "It makes sense to have people who know their way around the island as part of my household. I’ve only been a visitor there and don’t pretend to know all that I need to know about the islanders, though from this past Royal Progress I think I have a fair idea of the larger issues confronting us."

Sador nodded. "Well, of course, my lord. After all, I’ll be living there from now on. As Cáno my loyalty will be with Tol Eressëa and not with Tirion."

There were approving looks from everyone, whether Tol Eressëan or Amanian. "And that is as it should be," Ingwë said. "I think Lord Eärendil made a wise choice in naming you, young Sador. I have no doubt that Tol Eressëa will blossom under your wise and prudent leadership."

Sador blushed and stammered a thank you. Then the conversation drifted to other matters and Sador was able to slip away to spend some time with Alassiel, though they were careful to remain in full view of their elders so that there would be no talk of impropriety. In fact, Lirulin, Findis and Valandur joined them and they spent the rest of the evening in lively conversation.

Meanwhile, Eärendil was telling others that he and Elwing would be returning to Aewellond in the morning. "We’ve been away too long and must look to the needs of our own people," he said when Arafinwë and Olwë both invited them to visit for a while longer. "However, we will make a point to come to Tol Eressëa at the New Year to see Sador invested as Cáno and we will make time to visit with you both."

"Besides, we need to ensure that Glorfindel keeps his promise and returns to Aewellond with us come the New Year," Elwing added with a knowing smile.

"Well, when I thought I would be traveling here by way of Falmaron’s ship, I did promise I would return to Aewellond by the New Year or at least whenever Falmaron set sail again."

Glorfindel shrugged. "I haven’t decided. I suppose I will return to Tirion and give Sador a hand with moving to Tol Eressëa."

"I’m sure he will appreciate it," Finrod said. "The New Year is going to be quite a busy time for us all. I have to take the elflings back to Vanyamar and return them to their parents. I will plan to do that early enough so I can join Uncle Ingwë and his entourage when they leave for Tol Eressëa."

"You know how the children love Sador," Arafinwë said, "I think they would enjoy traveling to Tol Eressëa to see him become Cáno. You can return them to their parents afterwards."

"That would be a good way for them to finish their service with me, acting as pages for both Sador and me," Finrod replied with a nod.

"How will they adjust to their lives once they leave your service?" Elindis asked. "I imagine they have experienced things that their playmates have not and that may set them apart."

"I know," Finrod said. "Lindorillë is still insisting she wants to be my squire one day." There were many knowing smiles among the listeners. "Sorondil, I think, would like to someday work with the Reborn and Veryandur, I suspect, will make a good herbalist. Eruanna’s embroidery skills are advancing nicely and I think she wants to study weaving from her parents, since they are both weavers. Oromendil has told me he is planning to work with his atar who is Lord Nolondur’s factotum."

"I think it would be a good idea to have them continue their studies then," Ingwë said. "I will arrange for Sorondil, and Veryandur to be tutored by my own healers and Lindorillë... hmm... she has been acting as your secretary, I understand."

Finrod nodded. "Her handwriting is improving and she is very good at organizing."

"Then I will see that she is enrolled in the Academy to study the scribal arts," Ingwë suggested. "Once she has reached her majority, perhaps you will then take her on as your personal secretary. Eruanna can certainly learn the weaver’s craft from her parents and perhaps we will see about having her continue her studies in embroidery and any of the other fiber arts that might interest her. I think when she is old enough she could apply to the Academy as well."

"Thank you," Finrod said with some relief. "I am sure the children will be happy to know that their skills and abilities which have been fostered during this past year will not go to waste."

"I will also have them act as pages when they are not otherwise engaged in their studies," Ingwë said with a smile. "That is something that they should continue practicing, don’t you think?"

"Oh yes," Finrod said, returning Ingwë’s smile with one of his own. "I know they are very proud of their abilities to serve at a feast without spilling or dropping anything."

"What about Oromendil?" Elindis asked. "You said he wants to work with his atar?"

Ingwë nodded. "Well, I think then it would be wise to leave it to Nolondur and Vanyafindë to see to the ellon’s education, but I will continue to keep an eye on him myself and see that he does not neglect his duties as a page."

"I think he would not want to be left out of things when the others are all continuing their training as pages," Finrod averred.

"Then that is settled," Arafinwë said. "I am glad that the children have done so well under your tutelage, yonya. You should be very proud of yourself."

"Well, having to deal with Glorfindel’s elflingish ways helped," Finrod couldn’t help saying, giving everyone a wink.

"Hey!" Glorfindel protested. "Just for that, I’m not going to teach you some of the fighting techniques I learned from Manveru and the other warrior Maiar." He gave Finrod a disdainful sniff.

"That’s all right," Finrod said with a straight face. "I wasn’t planning on teaching you any of the tricks I’ve learned from them either."

"When have you had time to learn fighting techniques from the Maiar?" Glorfindel asked with a suspicious glare.

"Who said anything about fighting techniques?" Finrod replied with an innocent look. "I was talking about tricks, not fighting."

"Well, in that case.... I’ll show you what I’ve learned if you show me what you’ve learned," Glorfindel responded in a more conciliatory tone.

"Yes, but only for a few weeks," Finrod replied. "I will come to Tirion around the beginning of Coirë and help with Sador’s move."

Thus it was decided and when the evening ended, everyone left Lord Manwë’s mansion in a good mood.

Over the next two days, the delegates made their farewells and began leaving in small groups. Arrangements were made for Sador to meet with some of the Assembly members in a couple of weeks to finalize the plans for his investiture. Gilvagor promised to look for a suitable residence for Sador while Borhael and Meril would look into finding a place for the Assembly to meet. It was decided that the Assembly should have its own building with meeting rooms and offices. The other delegates were going to have to find accommodations for themselves and their staff as well for when the Assembly met, though it was still debatable as to whether any of them would bother to set up permanent residence in Kortirion.

"We will have to decide how often the Assembly needs to meet," Brethorn said at one point, "and whether it makes more sense for Assembly members to live permanently in Kortirion or to simply come to the city when necessary."

"Luckily, the island isn’t so large that a person cannot reach Kortirion from anywhere within two days," Gilvagor pointed out.

"Well, the main problem is going to be deciding what will be the purview of the Assembly with respect to the city and town councils that are already in place," Marthchall said. "Some people may not like the idea of having to give up some of their power to the Assembly."

"One thing at a time, please!" Morcocáno pleaded. "Let’s get Sador invested and the Assembly members recognized and then worry about the rest later. As it is, since most of the present leaders of the various city councils are here and approve of the Assembly, I do not fear that we will have too much of a battle on our hands in that regard."

The four Amanian delegations were the last to leave. Marthchall was accompanying Finrod to Lórien to retrieve Gurthalion, for Lord Irmo came to him and told him that the ellon was ready to leave. With them would go Vondo, Laurendil, and the elflings. Vorondil and Aldundil had been invited by Selmacas to return to Tirion with him and Finrod had given his permission. Neither Aldundil nor Vorondil looked entirely happy with the idea, but when Arafinwë and Finrod quietly explained to Aldundil what was behind Selmacas’ invitation, he acquiesced and put a better face on it, encouraging Vorondil to spend more time with his grandfather.

Vorondil groused that he needed to get back to his studies. "No one is taking my apprenticeship seriously," he stated. "How can I be a Lóriennildo if no one lets me study?"

Lord Irmo saved the day by announcing that while the Council was meeting Eärnur had gone to Alqualondë to visit with his family. "I will have him stop at Tirion on his way back and have him tutor you until the New Year. I’m sure he would like to see Sador’s investiture, so he can return to Lórien with you and Findaráto."

That appeased Vorondil but did not please Vondo, who was reluctant to be parted from his family again and was ready to argue. Much to the surprise of all, it was Glorfindel who managed to put a halt to Vondo’s tantrum before it even started. The golden-haired warrior gave Vondo a stern look. "You snuck out of Lórien against all rules. Even I never contemplated doing that while I was there, so you are going to march back there and apologize to your friends for disappearing on them and causing them to worry about you and you will apologize to the healers who were forced to come after you, and then you will attend all your classes and not give anyone further grief. You’ll be lucky if Lord Irmo lets you out before the Remaking."

No one even dared to smirk and Vondo, now in tears, had to be comforted by his amillë, who gave Glorfindel a grateful smile even as she held her firstborn.

"Looks like someone is growing up," Arafinwë whispered to Finrod. His son just smiled and gave him a brief nod.

With that crisis over, they all prepared to depart. Eärendil and Elwing and the Aewellond delegation made their way to Lord Ulmo’s mansion where Vingilot was moored, accompanied by most of the Amanians and the few Tol Eressëans still in Valmar to wish them a safe journey. Everyone was aboard and ready to go when Eönwë appeared.

"Lord Manwë sends his greetings," he said to the assembly and then addressed Eärendil. "He wishes you to stop at Ilmarin on your way back to Aewellond. There is a matter he needs to discuss with you and Elwing."

Eärendil gave the Maia a considering look. "Lord Manwë’s timing is rather suspect."

"No, Eärendil," Eönwë said with a shake of his head. "Lord Manwë has some news concerning Aewellond and wishes to discuss it with you in private."

Elwing gasped and everyone else looked disconcerted. "Is something wrong? What has happened?" Eärendil demanded.

"All is well in Aewellond, I assure you," Eönwë said, "but it would be best if Lord Manwë explained."

Eärendil nodded. "Then we will stop there on our way back. Please let Lord Manwë know that I should be there in about an hour or so."

Eönwë bowed and departed, leaving the elves to wonder what was going on. "I’m sure there is no reason to fret," Ingwë assured them all. "Eönwë would not lie. If he says all is well in Aewellond, then it is. Now, I think you had better cast off and be on your way, hinya," he said to Eärendil, giving him a fond smile. "When you come back for the New Year, come to Vanyamar and we will journey together."

"Thank you, my lord," Eärendil said with a grateful smile and then he gave the orders to cast off. Vingilot rose and with a deft turn at the wheel, Eärendil sent the ship northward.

"Well, time for us to be on our way as well," Ingwë said and within the hour they were on the road, leaving Valmar to the Valar and the Maiar and those elves of Eldamas who served them.

Coirë: (Quenya) The season known as ‘Stirring’ by the Elves, falls between 10 February and 6 April of the Gregorian calendar. In Sindarin it is known as Echuir.

Note: A factotum (from Medieval Latin ‘to do everything’), is an employee or assistant who serves in a large range of capacities.

Sador’s first act upon returning to Tirion was to seek out Netilmírë and tell her all that had happened. He did not speak at first about his own part in it, but regaled her with details of all the drama and pathos of the Council itself as he went about his duties in the workshop. Netilmírë let him speak, interrupting only to offer a pointed comment that usually had Sador laughing outright, or asking a question for clarification.

"So, who did they decide would be this Cáno of theirs?" Netilmírë finally asked. "Obviously they chose someone or you wouldn’t be here."

Sador stuttered to a halt, feeling the blood rush from his face and he found he could not look at his anammë. Netilmírë, who had been busy with glazing one of her pieces while listening to Sador’s narrative, looked up when she noticed the silence and saw Sador’s expression.

"Sador!" Netilmírë put down her brush and went to the ellon who was beginning to cry. "Tell me, child. What is the matter? Why do you weep so?" She wrapped him in her arms and rocked him until he began to calm down.

"They chose me," he whispered so softly, his face buried in her shoulder, that Netilmírë wasn’t sure she had heard correctly.

Sador lifted his head and looked at her with a mixture of terror and wonder. "They chose me," he repeated. "I’m their new Cáno."

Netilmírë blinked in disbelief. She could feel her mouth moving but no sound issued forth. Sador saw and in spite of his tears snickered and gave her a wry look. "My reaction exactly."

Gathering her scattered wits together Netilmírë muttered something about tea and Sador immediately went to make some. She followed him to the small kitchen area and sat there staring at him as he bustled about.

Sador stopped as he was measuring out some tea leaves and nodded. "It was Lord Eärendil’s idea, his and Lady Elwing’s." He turned to face her. "I had no idea they were even considering me. If anyone had asked for my opinion on the matter I would have told them that someone like Brethorn would be a good candidate. He may be a Reborn, but he’s well respected and very capable. He already leads the Reborn Council. He’s very impartial and... and... well, he would make a good Cáno."

"I’m sure he would," Netilmírë said, "but the fact is, he wasn’t chosen, you were. What I want to know is why."

Sador sighed as he continued putting the tea things together, bringing everything over to the table where Netilmírë was sitting. She poured the tea while he told her what Lord Eärendil had said and what Lord Manwë and Lord Oromë had told him, ending with the revelation that the Lord of Forests and the Hunt considered him to be his apprentice.

"I asked Atar if I could be an apprentice to two masters, and he said that if one of them was a Vala, then yes," Sador concluded, taking a sip of tea, waiting for his anammë’s response.

"Yes, I can see how that would be possible," she finally said. "I find it interesting that Lord Oromë didn’t tell you for what you were apprenticed. Certainly he’s not going to teach you the fine art of pottery making. That’s my job."

"Lord Oromë conveniently disappeared after telling me I was his apprentice before I could ask," Sador said with a wry smile and Netilmírë snorted.

"Typical," was all she said and then they were silent for a while, each with his or her thoughts. Finally, though, Netilmírë put down her tea cup and gave Sador a considering look. "So, you agreed to this."

"I really had no choice," Sador said, looking embarrassed. "You don’t know how close everything was to breaking down. It was important for many reasons that the Council end successfully. If I had adamantly refused the appointment, I fear there would have been very hard feelings all around and the Tol Eressëans would have left in disgust, leaving King Ingwë looking the fool. I couldn’t do that to him or to Atar or King Olwë. They labored too hard and long to make this Council succeed and I couldn’t disappoint them."

"No, of course not, and I’m very proud of you, inyo," Netilmírë assured him. "It took great courage to do what you did. So now the question is, what next?"

"Gilvagor is looking for a place for me to live in Kortirion," Sador said, "and I guess I will be busy packing and making arrangements to move as well as helping with the Investiture ceremony. It’s not like being crowned king so the ceremony has to be created from scratch, though Finrod said that something along the lines of when a king appoints a regent or steward might work."

"And what about us?" Netilmírë asked. "What about your apprenticeship with me?"

Sador sighed, refusing to look at her. "I don’t know, Anammë. I just don’t know."

Silence settled over them for several minutes and then Netilmírë smiled. "You know, now that Tol Eressëa has a government, the other kingdoms will need to send ambassadors and trade delegations. What if I were part of that? I can move to Tol Eressëa with you and continue your training as a potter. Frankly, you’re nearly at master level now, but I think we should follow propriety and have you promoted to journeyman status before you leave. That way you will have greater standing with the Tol Eressëan guilds."

"I had thought to invite you to come live with me, if only for a little while," Sador said shyly. "I know you don’t want to live there forever, but...."

"It’s true that my life is here," Netilmírë said, "but I think a change of scenery will do me good. Why don’t we close up shop and go see his Majesty and talk to him about this?"

Sador agreed and soon they were making their way to the palace where they had to wait for about a half an hour until Arafinwë was able to spare them some time. When Netilmírë told him about going to Tol Eressëa with Sador, he smiled.

"I think it’s a wonderful idea," he said. "If you have no objections, I would appoint you as head of the trade delegation that I am planning to form."

"A good point," Arafinwë said with a nod. He gave them a considering look. "Why don’t we have you go in an unofficial capacity," he suggested. "You will be Sador’s advisor on trade and the guilds. That way you can continue his apprenticeship without raising any questions about conflicting interests."

"Oh, yes," the ellon said enthusiastically. "I like that idea very much. I will need to send word to Gilvagor to find a residence that might have an outbuilding that could be converted into a potter’s workshop. We’ll need a kiln, too."

"Gilvagor hasn’t yet left for Tol Eressëa," Arafinwë said. "I’ll have him sent for and you can tell him your requirements."

When Gilvagor was summoned and apprised of what had been decided, he smiled. "I think I know just the place. It’s actually an estate just outside the city that was abandoned by its owner who moved back to Avallónë. It isn’t very large, but it has a lovely orchard and gardens. The main house has plenty of room for a small household but some of the outbuildings could be converted into living spaces as well. A kiln would be easy enough to have built. Yes, I’m sure that the place would suit and the price should be reasonable."

"Oh," Sador exclaimed. "I forgot about that. How am I supposed to pay for anything when I don’t have any money?"

"Oh, not to worry," Gilvagor said. "Each of the delegates has pledged a portion of their own wealth or that of their guild towards creating a treasury. The various city councils will set aside part of their budget towards financing the Assembly."

"And I spoke with Ingwë and Olwë and we will contribute monies into your personal account which is already set up," Arafinwë said.

"One was created for you as soon as you became my official ward," Arafinwë explained. "Also, the wages to which you are entitled under your apprenticeship contract with Netilmírë have been deposited into the account all along."

"And as for buying the estate," Gilvagor said, "I think that will be done by those of us who were at the Council. We know you are sacrificing much to leave Tirion, so that is one burden you should not have to shoulder."

"Thank you," Sador said sincerely. "The estate sounds wonderful. I wish I had time to go and see it for myself, though."

"I will have someone draw pictures of it and send them to you," Gilvagor suggested. "Would that be sufficient?"

"Yes, it would," Sador said. "In the meantime, unless you find something better, go ahead and begin looking into purchasing it for me, for us." He gave Netilmírë a shy smile and she smiled back, giving his hand a warm squeeze.

"Then that’s settled," Arafinwë said. "Now all we have to do is put the rest of your household together, decide on the form of the ceremony, get you measured for appropriate court clothes and then make sure you actually show up for the Investiture."

"Knowing you, yonya," Arafinwë said with a smile, "it wouldn’t surprise me if you tried to sneak away and hide in the mountains the way Findaráto once tried to do."

"I would never do that," Sador said with a virtuous sniff. "I would most likely run away to sea and join Falmaron’s crew instead."

The others just smiled, knowing the ellon wasn’t being serious. Gilvagor then excused himself, saying he needed to make preparations for his trip home. Arafinwë invited Netilmírë to stay for dinner, which would just be a family affair, and she graciously accepted.

The weeks went by in a blur for Sador as he was drawn more and more into the role of Cáno. Arafinwë often sat down with him and spoke of how he ran his own Privy Council, what types of issues were decided at that level and how things were conducted. "Just to give you a basis for comparison," he told Sador. "While my powers are nearly absolute, that cannot be said for you. Still, even I must have the good will of my councillors and of the people in order to do my job. I am not autocratic. You must learn to walk a fine line between standing for what you know is right even if others disagree with you and caving in to the wishes of those in the Assembly who will have their own agendas. You must always remember that it is your Assembly. You must own it from the very beginning or it will own you instead."

"By setting the tone of your rulership from the beginning," Arafinwë explained. "You need to let everyone know that you are the one in charge, not they. Be forceful, but respectful of the opinions of others, and do not be afraid to admit that someone else has a better idea than you. You are only one person and you cannot know everything. At the same time, let them know that when you say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ you mean it and will not allow others to continue the argument after you have ruled on the issue."

"Sounds impossible," Sador said with a sigh. "Everyone in the Assembly is going to be older than I and will try to tell me what to do ‘for my own good’." He gave Arafinwë a disgusted look.

The Noldóran gave him a sympathetic smile. "The difference is that those who were at the Council know you and will be supportive of you. Gilvagor, Brethorn, even someone like Morcocáno, know your worth and respect you for your wisdom."

"Everyone keeps harping on that," Sador said with a frown. "The way they keep going on about my ‘wisdom’ you would think I wrote a book about it or something."

Arafinwë laughed. "Perhaps you should," he said with a twinkle in his eyes. "You can call it ‘Everything I Know About Life I Learned in Mandos’."

Now Sador was laughing and Arafinwë looked on in approval. "Do not be overly concerned about all this, yonya," he said. "Take it one day at a time. Trust your instincts, yet don’t be afraid to go to those whom you trust if you have doubts. Netilmírë will be with you and Rúmillion. He is very wise for all that he’s not that old. He was very helpful with Findaráto when my son was a recent Reborn. Did you know that?"

"Oh yes," Sador said with a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Rúmilion and his cousins were not shy about telling me all about the kinds of trouble Finrod got into when he first returned to Tirion. I found it rather amusing that he would yell at me for getting into trouble, as if he’d never done anything stupid in his entire life."

"The prerogative of older siblings," Arafinwë replied with a smile. "So, now, let us review your understanding of procedural matters while conducting a meeting of the Assembly...."

As promised, Finrod returned to Tirion at the beginning of Coirë, bringing with him the elflings, all dressed in new tabards and looking very proud of themselves. Laurendil and Manwen, well along in her pregnancy, accompanied them, bringing Vondo along. Sador expressed surprise that the ellon had been allowed to leave Lórien so soon again.

"It is a different case than most other Reborn," Finrod explained. "Having met his family before leaving Lórien and interacting with them has hastened his maturity somewhat, or at least that is what Lord Irmo claims. Personally, I think the Lord of Lórien is simply glad to get rid of him for a time. It seems that Vondo has set a new record in the fine art of disruptive behavior for which we Reborn are famous. He still has difficulty with authority and Lord Irmo will not release him permanently from his care just yet. This is just a sort of holiday."

Finrod laughed. "Who do you think? I heard that even Lady Nienna refused to take him."

There were smiles all around. "That’s not good," Glorfindel said. "Even I benefitted from my time with the Lady of Pity. Do you think his family is going to be any more successful in controlling him than the Valar?"

"Oh, I think so," Finrod said with a nod. "For one thing, all Vondo could talk about was his family: how much he missed them and did they miss him, what was Vorondil doing and was Selmacas treating him right, when was Aldundil returning, and so forth and so on. When Lord Irmo told him that he was being sent back to his family for good, he actually calmed right down and became more cooperative."

"Maybe if Lord Irmo allowed the families of the Reborn to visit them in Lórien while they are still adjusting to living they might mature more rapidly, and be able to leave Lórien sooner," Sador opined. "But, of course, that would only work for those who actually have any family waiting for them." He gave them a sad smile and Glorfindel hugged him.

"You have us," he reminded the ellon. "We’re your family until you can be reunited with your real family."

"Whenever that happens," Sador muttered, but he looked less pensive and when Finrod, attempting to lighten his mood, asked him if Gilvagor had found him a place to live, he brightened visibly and ran to his room to retrieve the drawings of the estate that the warrior had sent him and he and his gwedyr spent a happy hour going over the drawings and discussing the move.

It was decided that Sador would move to Tol Eressëa two weeks before the Investiture, which would be held on the eve of Yestarë, the first day of the New Year, thus giving him and his household time to settle in and become acquainted with Kortirion. Finrod and Glorfindel would go with him while Arafinwë and Eärwen would follow later as they meant to travel with Ingwë and Elindis. Ingwion, who arrived in Tirion with his own household four days before the scheduled move, would travel with Sador, Finrod and Glorfindel. He had purchased a townhouse within the city not far from the set of buildings in a small courtyard that had been set aside as the offices of the Assembly.

Kortirion experienced a small population explosion as those who were now on the Assembly made their way to the city, purchasing townhouses to live in while the Assembly was in session. It had been decided that the Assembly would meet four times a year, at the two equinoxes and at the two solstices. In between sessions the day-to-day running of the government would devolve upon Sador’s hand-picked Privy Council, drawn from the Assembly as well as from his own household, who would oversee the various governmental departments, though most of the burden of government would still fall upon the shoulders of the city councils. The Assembly would limit itself to handling trade agreements between the various island communities and the mainland kingdoms, as well as encouraging cultural exchanges. It would also deal with passing laws that would affect the entire island. This was the broad outline of how the new government was to be structured. Everyone was aware of the fact that there would be a period of trial-and-error involved. The new government was not a monarchy and people were still feeling their way through it. It would take time, but everyone was confident that they would be able to hammer out the flaws in the system so that it would run smoothly.

There was a great deal of excitement within the palace in Tirion as the day of the move drew closer and Sador began to panic. The reality of his new status became more conscious to him when his new wardrobe arrived a few days before he was scheduled to leave for Tol Eressëa. In fact, he disappeared entirely and Arafinwë ordered a search of the palace and the city. He was finally tracked down in a small out of the way tavern sitting in a dark corner with several empty flagons of wine on the table before him. He wasn’t quite drunk, but he was getting close. It took a great deal of persuasion on Finrod’s part to get him to return to the palace and only because he was able to convince the ellon that drowning himself in wine was not going to work in the long run.

Finally the day arrived and Arafinwë joined Sador and the others who were leaving as they made their way down the Calacirya to the harbor to see his ward off. Sador was white-faced and silent during the entire trip across the bay. Thankfully, there was little fanfare associated with his arrival, for Arafinwë had sent word ahead that the cavalcade should make its way to Kortirion unmolested by the curious.

"Let’s get him settled first," he explained in a missive to Councillor Dúlinn. "He is already panicking; we don’t want him to panic even more."

So only Dúlinn and his fellow councillors were on hand to greet the new Cáno, as was Gilvagor, who would escort them to Kortirion. The meeting was brief enough so Sador did not feel overwhelmed with the need to engage in polite small talk and they were able to leave Tavrobel in good time, arriving in Kortirion the next day. Gilvagor led them to the estate that had been purchased and everyone spent some time wandering around and admiring it. Netilmírë examined the workshop and kiln and announced herself satisfied with the set up.

"What do you think, inyo?" she asked Sador after they had toured the estate. "Do you think this will do?"

For a moment Sador did not answer, merely staring about him while everyone waited for his answer. Finally, he sighed and went to hug Netilmírë who hugged him back. "As long as you’re here with me," he said softly, "I’ll be fine."

Netilmírë kissed him on the brow and smiled. "We’ll both be fine," she said.

Then Ingwion stated he would be continuing on to the city to get his own household settled. "But I’ll come back in a couple of days to see how you are all doing," he promised and left.

And so, the day of the Investiture came. The three Kings and their families arrived together the day before, settling in on Lady Meril’s estate at her insistence. Eärendil and Elwing were also there and it seemed that half the island’s population was streaming into the city for the ceremony. It was to be held in the central plaza so that as many as possible could witness it. A dais had been constructed along one side of the square and a throne-like wooden chair was placed in the middle. It had been specially carved by Brethorn as his gift to Sador. The ceremony itself would be very simple, and Lord Manwë would be the one to invest Sador as Cáno, making it clear to all that the Valar fully approved of him as Tol Eressëa’s new leader.

The day dawned clear, the sky a winter blue, but the breeze that blew was from the southwest and was warm. The city was decked out in streamers and banners and everyone was dressed in their finest festival clothes. Sador, along with Finrod and Glorfindel, rode from the estate into the city followed by an honor guard led by Gilvagor and Haldir. As they entered the square where everyone else was already waiting for them, a choir of elflings led by Finrod’s five and Vorondil broke out in a paean of thanksgiving to Eru, asking Him to bless this day and their endeavors. Sador and the others dismounted at the entrance to the square, their horses led away. Then they made a slow march up the central aisle that had been formed with Sador in front and his two gwedyr directly behind. Gilvagor, Haldir and the rest of the honor guards followed, then spread themselves in a cordon along the bottom of the dais once the three ellyn mounted the steps.

Standing there on the dais were the three High Kings in all their splendor, along with their queens and principal heirs, as well as a few others, such as Beleg, Eärendil and Elwing. Only when they were all on the dais and the choir had concluded its hymn did the Valar, along with Eönwë, make their appearance. Somehow, in spite of the crowding on the dais, it did not appear as if the Valar took up any more room.

As soon as the Valar appeared, Sador and everyone else on the dais made their obeisance to Lord Manwë, while the spectators just stood gaping at the sight of all the Valar together, whispers going back and forth as people tried to guess the identities of beings for whom most were just names. They quickly quieted when Lord Manwë raised his hand and addressed them all, speaking Sindarin, though somehow, even those who knew not the language understood his words.

"This day is a joyous day for us all," he said. "Today, the people of Tol Eressëa come into their own. Today, you are not just Noldorin Exiles or Sindarin and Nandorin refugees, you are not Once-born or Reborn, you are not former slaves or former warriors. Today, you are simply Tol Eressëans who have come together on this day to honor the one who will lead you for a time."

He paused for a moment, smiling benignly, and then continued. "Lord Sador Bronwegion is a scion of three clans, for his adar’s naneth is of mixed Noldorin and Vanyarin blood, while the blood of the Sindar also flows freely in his veins. He is a warrior, recognized as such by your own warriors, initiated into your Warrior’s Society by two whose deeds of valor can never be disputed. He is a Reborn and all that that implies. Since being released from Mandos, he has resided in Tirion as the ward of the Noldóran and is knowledgeable about good government and the art of diplomacy. He is also a potter, recently awarded his journeyman status, and so he is acquainted with what it means to be a craftsman. He is all these things and more, and for all these reasons and more the people who resided at the Winter Solstice Council in Valmar have chosen Lord Sador as Cáno."

Then Manwë turned to Sador standing next to him. "Sador Bronwegion, dost thou of thine own free will accept this office to which thou hast been called by thine own people?"

"I do," Sador declared loudly and without hesitation. He was white-faced and obviously nervous, but he had accepted what was to be.

Sador immediately knelt and raised his hands in an attitude of a liegeman to his lord, though Manwë did not cover them with his own. Sador gave his oath first in Sindarin and then in Quenya. "I, Sador Bronwegion, do hereby declare my willingness to lead the people of Tol Eressëa with justice tempered by mercy, with fairness tempered by compassion, in time of plenty and in want, in time of war and in peace, with all my strength and with all my love, until the time when it is meet for me to step down and let another take my place. Valar valuvar."

Even as he was speaking his oath, the elves observed Manwë’s Herald standing between his lord and Sador with a large blue book in his hand, writing the words down. When Sador completed the oath, Manwë spoke.

"And I, Manwë, Elder King of Arda and Vice-gerent of Eru Ilúvatar, do witness and accept thine oath this day in the name of the people of Tol Eressëa."

Then Oromë stepped forward, holding in his hands a blue velvet pillow on which sat a beautifully crafted coronet. It was an intricately shaped circlet of intertwined vines and leaves in white gold with a single sapphire set in the middle. Manwë lifted the coronet so that all might see it.

"With this coronet I crown thee, Sador Bronwegion, and invest thee with the powers and prerogatives of Cáno of the peoples of Tol Eressëa. Bear it well, Child of the Firstborn, and forget not that all authority comes ultimately from Eru Ilúvatar and it is thy responsibility to rule thy people in the shadow of His love."

He reverently placed the coronet upon Sador’s bowed head even as the choir broke into song, a hymn of praise for the Cáno especially written for this occasion. Sador then rose and everyone stepped back to allow him room to walk to the throne and sit. At this time, while the choir continued singing, the Assembly members came to him one by one and offered their allegiance to him, followed by the heads of the town councils and the various Speakers of the Nandor. The heads of the various guilds then approached en masse to speak their oaths to him, followed separately by Saelmir, newly appointed to head the Reborn Council, and by Haldir, now head of the Warrior’s Guild since Brethorn and Gilvagor had resigned their respective offices to sit on the Assembly.

And all the while, Eönwë stood next to the throne and quietly recorded each and every oath.

While this was going on, Ingwion happened to be standing next to Lady Nienna, looking on. She bent down to whisper in his ear. "Do you recognize the coronet?" Her eyes were bright with amusement.

"Do you remember the elleth who was there working on a project for me the first time you came to me?" Nienna asked.

"Niélë, wasn’t it?" Ingwion answered. Nienna nodded. "Wait! Are you saying that was what she was working on at the time, coming up with a design for Sador’s coronet?"

Nienna gave him a broad smile and nodded. Ingwion’s eyes widened with the implications. "Even then?" he asked in disbelief. "Even then you knew this day would come and it would be Sador....?"

Ingwion wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he said nothing, merely continuing to watch as various people came to give their oaths to the young ellon who was now their Cáno, seeing Sador — and the Valar — in a wholly different light.

Once the last oath was uttered and recorded, the public part of the ceremony was ended. Pavilions were set up throughout the city where the populace could gather and feast, courtesy of the High Kings and the Valar, while Sador and the other leaders of Eldamar and their families retired to the city hall’s banquet room where they were feted long into the night.

The festivities in Kortirion continued for a week. During that time, meetings were held between Sador and his advisors, as well as with the Assembly members, in which they hammered out the rights, obligations and authority of the Cáno and the Assembly with respect to the city councils as well as with the mainland kingdoms. Ingwion was formally acknowledged as the Valar’s emissary.

“This is not the first time I’ve acted as an emissary, you know,” he confided to Sador after the ceremony recognizing Ingwion’s status. “Atar sent me to Tirion some years before the Darkening to act as his emissary.”

“Oh yes, terribly,” Ingwion said, “but at the same time I enjoyed the challenge. I was even sorry that I had to leave.”

Ingwion’s expression became somewhat bleak. “The Trees died,” he said softly, “and everything changed.”

Not everyone was happy with the new Cáno, however. A small delegation approached him two days after the Investiture, during a public audience where various groups could meet and speak briefly with Sador, taking his measure. Such audiences had been scheduled throughout the week. At this particular audience, most of the time was taken up with speaking to various heads of the guilds, but in the midst of the interviews with the guildmasters a group of ellyn and ellith, who were of the younger generations, approached Sador. Their leader introduced himself as one Gil-estel, who, when asked, admitted that he had been named after Eärendil’s Star, having been born shortly after the War of Wrath.

“And what is your purpose in meeting with me?” Sador asked politely, for the other members of the group belonged to no particular guild or seemed to have anything in common other than that they were all young, most admitting to being not more than a yén or so old.

“We are concerned by the fact that there was no consultation with the rest of the inhabitants of Tol Eressëa before you were foisted on us,” Gil-estel replied. “We wondered what made you so special that you were chosen as Cáno before anyone else and you’re not even from Tol Eressëa. I’m older than you are, I am very familiar with the ways of my people, I have sat in on the city councils of Kortirion and Avallónë and have studied the Laws and Customs by which we govern ourselves, so why am I not deemed acceptable as Cáno and you are?”

“That goes for the rest of us,” one of the elleth, who introduced herself as Gil-estel’s sister, Gilmíriel, said. “What have you done that we haven’t that makes you so special?”

Sador sighed and glanced around at the others listening to the conversation. There were the three High Kings of Eldamar along with their heirs. Glorfindel, Eärendil and Elwing were also in attendance, as were many of the Assembly members. His anamillë stood next to him. The Valar were absent as they had been since the Investiture. Most of the listeners had sympathetic expressions on their faces. A few, such as Finrod and Glorfindel, were openly amused. He turned back to Gil-estel and the others.

“What you say is true, and under other circumstances my qualifications would be less than any of yours, but there is one thing I have done that none of you have, and that, apparently, makes the difference.”

“I died,” Sador replied simply, “and now I can count the Lord of Mandos as one of my personal friends.”

Glorfindel snorted while Finrod simply rolled his eyes. Arafinwë smiled broadly, Netilmírë raised an eyebrow and Brethorn, who happened to be in attendance, smirked, muttering something about name-droppers to Ingwion who was standing next to him. Ingwion struggled to keep his expression bland, but the brightening of his eyes gave him away. Gil-estel and Gilmíriel and the others in their group gaped at Sador and the calm, knowing gaze that he gave them, his eyes shadowed by memories too dark for these young elves to comprehend, affected them deeply.

“So, you are saying that... um... dying is a prerequisite to becoming Cáno?” Gilmíriel asked faintly.

The ingenuousness of that statement was too much and several people broke up in laughter. Netilmírë leaned down and gave Sador a kiss on the top of his head, thereby causing him to blush, much to everyone’s amusement.

By the end of the week, it was time for everyone to leave and for Sador and the new Assembly to get down to the business of governing. There were teary farewells on all sides, and promises to keep in touch.

“Don’t be afraid to call on me if you need to,” Arafinwë said to Sador when he and Eärwen were making their farewells to him in private. “You are no longer my ward, of course, but you are still my heart-son, and you will always be family.”

“And when in doubt, just follow your heart,” Eärwen advised, giving him a tender kiss and a hug.

“Thank you, both of you,” Sador said fervently. “Knowing that you are there makes all this bearable.”

“You’ll do just fine, yonya,” Arafinwë said with a smile, giving him his own hug. “Just remember the first rule of governing: You are always right, but only when you are not wrong.”

“We love you, too,” Arafinwë and Eärwen said and they both gave him a final kiss before departing.

Others also made private farewells. Glorfindel, Beleg and Alassiel all saw Sador alone. Finrod brought the elflings and Vorondil with him. Sador spent much time speaking to each of them, cautioning them to be mindful of what they had learned in the last year and to never forget him. Veryandur hesitantly offered to leave Narmollë behind to keep Sador company.

Sador smiled and gave him a fierce hug. “Thank you, but I already have a stuffed toy of my own that Atar Arafinwë gave me, so you keep Narmollë. I’m sure he would be much happier with you than with me, anyway.”

Veryandur looked relieved and then the visit was over. Finrod gave Sador a hug and a kiss. “You know where to find me if you need me. I’ll see you in Tirion at Mid-summer.”

At the same time that the Ingaran and the Noldóran and their people were making their way to Tavrobel to take ship to the mainland, Olwë and the Telerin delegation left for Avallónë, for they were returning to Alqualondë by way of Falmaron’s ship. Falmaron would then make his way back to Aewellond before continuing his mapping expedition. Eärendil and Elwing and those of Aewellond who had accompanied them were returning to Vanyamar with Ingwë and Elindis, for that is where Vingilot was moored. When they came to Tirion, Ingwë spent a few days consulting with Arafinwë on matters of state, before he and the Vanyar, along with Finrod, Glorfindel, Eärendil and Elwing, continued on to Vanyamar. There, Finrod would release the elflings back to their families. Then Eärendil, Elwing and Glorfindel would sail back to Aewellond on Vingilot. They did not linger in Valmar but pushed through, arriving in Vanyamar late in the evening, though they were expected, for Ingwë had sent a messenger ahead to warn those whom he had left in charge.

Finrod had made his own arrangements for releasing the elflings from his care, creating a brief ceremony with Glorfindel’s help. The ceremony was to be held at sunset on the day after their arrival. The elflings were scrubbed to within an inch of their lives and dressed in their newly cleaned and pressed page’s tabards. Finrod was dressed formally in a robe of deep blue velvet heavily embroidered on the front with his personal device of a harp and torch. His hair was carefully braided and on his head he wore a circlet of gold with a single sapphire cabochon.

Glorfindel, acting as his second, was also formally dressed, wearing the garb he had worn to his audience with Lord Manwë on that fateful trip to Valmar when he had been kidnapped. Eärendil, Elwing, Ingwë and Elindis were also present, adding an air of solemnity to the ceremony, for the High King and Queen were regally dressed and Eärendil wore the Silmaril.

The parents were informed earlier in the day of the ceremony and their part in it, and advised to dress appropriately for the occasion. The ceremony itself would take place in Ingwë’s small audience chamber, a more intimate setting than the main throne room. As the hour approached, the parents arrived and were escorted to the chamber where Ingwë and Elindis greeted them and introduced them to Eärendil and Elwing. Glorfindel then came in and, acting as herald, announced Finrod’s arrival.

“His Highness, Findaráto Arafinwion, haryon Noldórano, once King of Nargothrond.”

Finrod then entered, carrying a sword in its sheath, followed by the elflings with Glorfindel bringing up the rear. Upon seeing their children, the parents instinctively started towards them, but a quick word from Ingwë stayed them. To the children’s credit, they did not acknowledge their parents’ presence, but kept their eyes on Finrod’s back. Finrod made his way to where Ingwë and Elindis were standing before their thrones and gave them his obeisance, as did the elflings and Glorfindel. Then, as they had rehearsed earlier, the children stepped to the right and into a line, facing their parents.

Finrod, standing before the thrones, turned to speak to the parents, his expression both glad and sorrowful. “This past year has seen many changes in your families,” he said, “and perhaps in the beginning you thought these changes were detrimental. I know you have missed your children terribly, as they have missed you, but I think you will find that your joy in your children will deepen now that they are returned to you. The children have been a delight and I feel privileged to have had a hand in their upbringing, if only for this little time. They have grown in many ways. They have had many adventures and have seen more of their world than is usual for ones so young. Their horizons have expanded and you may find that they will have their own ideas about what they want to do with their lives. For now, though, it is time for them to return to the bosom of their families, and to be guided by you once again.”

He withdrew the sword from its sheath, handing the sheath to Eärendil, who stepped forward to receive it. Glorfindel then called for Sorondil and Lindorillë to approach their lord. The siblings came and knelt before Finrod, who held the sword point-down before him. He gazed fondly at the two who looked up at him with adoration, a far cry from a year ago when they had looked upon him with fear and trembling.

“Wouldst thou, Sorondil, and thou, Lindorillë, be released from your oaths to me?” Finrod asked.

“Nay, lord,” Sorondil replied on cue, “for we love thee, yet we love our parents also and would be reunited with them. It will be as thou dost think best.”

“Then I will release you from your oaths but not from my love,” Finrod replied. He then nodded and Sorondil and Lindorillë placed their hands upon the sword hilt, tears streaming down their cheeks. “Upon this sword ye did swear your oaths of service to me,” Finrod continued. “Ye have been good and faithful vassals and I would fain keep you in my service, but the time hath come for you to return to your family, and so I, Findaráto Arafinwion, once King of Nargothrond, do formally release thee, Sorondil, and thee, Lindorillë, from all oaths to me. Yet, if a time comes when ye would renew your oaths, I will gladly accept them, but know that whatever you decide you will always have my love.” He then gave the sword to Glorfindel and bent down to raise Lindorillë up, giving her a kiss as between liege and vassal, and then did the same with Sorondil. He then turned to where the children’s parents were standing, an arm around each child.

“Here are your children returned to you,” he said. “Receive them joyfully.” He gave the children a small push and then they were in their parents’ arms, with tears of joy all around. When they were calmer, Finrod turned to receive the sword from Glorfindel, who then called Oromendil to step forward. The ceremony was the same and then it was Eruanna’s turn.

When it came time for Veryandur to be released, though, the youngest of the elflings was too wrought with emotion to answer Finrod correctly. He just clutched Narmollë tightly to him and shook his head, trying hard not to cry and failing miserably. Finrod smiled down at him and, after handing the sword back to Glorfindel, he took the elfling up into his arms and walked over to where Veryandur’s parents were standing.

“Here is your son,” he said to them. “He has been a joy and a delight and has brightened many a dull day with his cheerfulness. He is a treasure and I will sorely miss him.” He then kissed the still weeping child on the brow and gently handed him over to his amillë who accepted him gladly, mouthing a thank you to Finrod who simply nodded and then turned around, taking the now sheathed sword back from Glorfindel, who smiled at him and nodded in approval. Finrod took a moment to pull himself together and then turned to Ingwë, giving him a bow.

“You are most welcome,” Ingwë replied with a smile. “And now, I think a small celebration is in order. Ceremonies always make me hungry,” he gave the adults a wink and there was gentle laughter among them. “We have prepared a small feast for you,” he said to the parents. “The children are eager to show off their new skills to you and will act as pages this one last time.” He and Elindis then stepped down from the dais. Elindis invited them all to follow her to where the feast would be held, the children, including a now calm Veryandur, going with Glorfindel to attend to their duties.

The meal was elegant in its simplicity, yet there was no doubt in the parents’ minds that they were being royally treated. They were impressed by their children’s courtly manner and Eruanna’s atar wondered aloud how any of the children would be able to return to their previous lives. Ingwë informed them that he would continue to see to their education as pages in the royal court as well as elsewhere, assuring the parents that if the children wished to pursue certain careers then he would see that they received the necessary education, including admission into the Royal Academy. The parents were naturally astounded by the king’s offer and thanked him for his interest in their children.

“I have as much of an interest in their lives as Findaráto,” Ingwë said, “seeing as how I permitted him to take the children into his service. They are, after all, my subjects, not his. I merely… loaned them to him.” He cast Finrod a warm smile which the ellon returned.

When the feast was over Finrod gave each of the children a hug and presented them with a small gift: a pendant with his personal device on the front and the child’s name etched on the back. “If ever you need me, send this pendant to me or to King Arafinwë, and I will come, but it has to be for a very good and important reason,” he told them, “not just because you miss me.”

Then with grateful thanks, the parents led their children away, Veryandur waving farewell.

Glorfindel threw an arm around his shoulders. “You’ll miss them and they’ll miss you, but at least you don’t have an ocean between you. You’ll see them often enough in the years to come and when they are of an age I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them ask to take service with you again.”

“Glorfindel is correct,” Ingwë said. “Take comfort in knowing that you were as good and faithful a lord to them as they were good and faithful vassals to you. You should be very proud of yourself, yonya.”

The next morning, while Eärendil, Elwing and Glorfindel were making their own farewells, Eönwë appeared, startling them all. He bowed to them and silently handed Glorfindel a fine piece of vellum sealed with the eagle device of Manwë. Glorfindel stared at the piece of parchment for a moment.

“You will have to open it to find out,” Eönwë replied with an amused look on his face.

Hesitating for another moment, Glorfindel finally reached for his knife and slit the seal, opening the missive, silently reading its contents. Everyone there saw him go nearly white and both Finrod and Earendil had to grab him to keep him upright. Ingwë gave the ellon a shrewd look and turned to Eönwë.

“The last time Glorfindel received a missive from one of the Valar it was from Lord Námo admonishing him to behave. What has he done now?”

Eönwë actually laughed. “Nothing that I know of,” he answered. “This is merely the invitation Glorfindel has been waiting for. Lord Manwë has finally asked him to come to Ilmarin to speak with him.”

“Olórin once told me that if I went to Ilmarin I wasn’t to go alone,” Glorfindel said faintly.

“Nor should you,” Eönwë replied with a nod. “I was told to ask Lord Eärendil to accompany you and you may ask one other to come as well.”

Eönwë smiled. “Make your way to Ilmarin in your own time. Lord Manwë will expect you when you arrive.” Then he was gone, leaving a troubled Glorfindel behind.

“What do you think Lord Manwë wants with me now?” he asked in a small voice.

“When I was here before, Lord Manwë and I had a long discussion,” Eärendil stated. “We spoke of many things, not the least being you.”

“You are, after all, under my, shall we say, guardianship, are you not?” the Mariner reminded him. Glorfindel grimaced but did not contradict him. “You are as much my responsibility as is anyone else who lives in Aewellond and Lord Manwë wished to be assured that you were happy there. He is aware of how restless your spirit is at times.”

Now the ellon looked troubled again. “I... I don’t know.” He gave them an anguished look.

“Eönwë said to go when you are ready,” Ingwë reminded him. “I think you will not be leaving for Aewellond today, so why don’t you go now while the day is still young? Take your time. The climb will steady you and you will arrive in a better frame of mind than you are now.”

When Glorfindel still hesitated, Finrod took him by the shoulders. “This is what you have been wanting for some time now, Glorfindel. Do not fret, for I will be with you, and Eärendil. You will not be alone.”

“No, not stupid. Never that,” Finrod said and gave him a fierce hug. “Well, let’s go then, if we’re going.”

Eärendil gave his crew some orders and Vingilot was secured. Then, after giving Elwing a kiss, he joined Glorfindel and Finrod as they set off for Ilmarin.

The journey up the mountain did indeed steady Glorfindel. As the three made their way along the tree-lined walk, across a bridge surrounded by rainbows and past a towering waterfall, they speculated about what Lord Manwë’s reason for inviting Glorfindel to Ilmarin now might mean but they could draw no conclusions and finally Eärendil said that they would learn soon enough.

Reaching the gates with the eagle statues, Glorfindel stopped and gazed into the courtyard where the statue of Varda stood eternally holding up a miniature blazing star. He paled and his eyes were full of emotions that he was hard-pressed to understand or identify. Finrod and Eärendil did not hurry him, but gave him the space he needed, their expressions ones of concern and compassion rather than impatience.

“The last time I was here,” Glorfindel finally said, never taking his eyes off the gateway, “I was sick and weary and in such pain and all I could think was I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be on the mountain and I needed to get off it before anyone found me.”

Finrod gave him a hug, trying to comfort him. “It wasn’t your fault, you being here then,” he said softly. “No one thinks badly of you because you were. That was beyond your control.”

“I was so scared,” Glorfindel whispered and began shaking, trying hard not to let go.

Eärendil then took him in his embrace. “Of course you were,” he said in a gentle tone, “and you had every right to be, but that was then and this is now and now you are invited. There is nothing to fear.”

Glorfindel nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes with his hands. “I’m sorry. It... it just suddenly came rushing back. I thought I’d put all that behind me.”

“I doubt you ever will, my friend,” Eärendil said with a smile. “That sort of experience... one never truly ever recovers from it. One can only put it in perspective, accept that it happened and move forward.”

“Thank you,” Glorfindel said sincerely, pulling himself together, “both of you.”

“It’s why we’re here, gwador,” Finrod said with a smile. “Are you ready to go in?”

He squared his shoulders, straightening his tunic and stepped through the gate under the watchful eyes of the silent, still statues of the eagles. Finrod and Eärendil followed him.

As Glorfindel, Finrod and Eärendil passed through the gate and into the courtyard, they saw Eönwë approach, offering them a smile. “Lord Manwë is expecting you. Please follow me.”

He led them along a colonnade and up a flight of stairs that wound along the outside of the building and then through an upper terraced garden. From there they made their way into the mansion, passing along marbled corridors. Glorfindel glanced around with unfeigned interest, for he had never been inside Ilmarin before. Finrod and Eärendil exchanged puzzled looks, for they had both assumed Eönwë would lead them to one of the audience chambers, but this route took them further up into the mountain as the Maia led them along a winding stairway, until finally they came to a door made of blue quartz and mithril. It opened of its own accord and when they passed through the portal the elves found themselves inside a large conservatory made of clear quartz set within a mithril frame.

Eönwë did not pause so they had little leisure to look about them. He led them along a gravel path bordered with bright flowers. As they continued deeper into the park-like setting, they heard music. It was someone singing and the voice was like nothing any of them had ever heard: strong and deep, yet light and gay, at the same time. Then they came around a bend to find themselves facing a fountain beside which sat the Elder King and his Queen. It was Manwë who was singing, while Varda played a lute.

The three elves stood there, mesmerized by the scene. Finrod furrowed his brow. The song that Lord Manwë was singing was hauntingly familiar to him, and yet, he could not recall where he had heard it before. Something struck a chord of memory that was too deep to retrieve without going off and contemplating the music by himself. For now, he would just enjoy the song and the one singing it.

Only when the song came to an end and the final note of the lute strings died away did Eönwë announce their presence, the elves giving the Valar their obeisance. Manwë smiled and beckoned them forward to sit in the chairs that were already there.

“We thought this would be a less stressful place for our meeting,” Manwë said without preamble as the elves sat, speaking Sindarin rather than Quenya. Eönwë remained standing where he was, facing his lord.

The two Valar nodded. “Oromë will look in on him from time to time for us,” Manwë said. “He has a particular fondness for the child.”

“Sador told us that Lord Oromë said that he was his apprentice,” Glorfindel stated, giving the Valar an enquiring look. “When did that happen?”

Manwë and Varda smiled. “About the same time as you became mine,” Manwë replied with a chuckle.

The Valar had amused expressions on their faces and there was a suspicious snicker from behind, but when the elves looked, Eönwë’s expression was blank of emotion. Even his eyes gave nothing away.

Glorfindel turned back to the Valar, his expression now mutating from shock to puzzlement. “Why am I your apprentice?” he demanded. “When were you going to inform me?”

“I just did,” Manwë replied equably. “Sit down, Glorfindel. You’re giving me a crick in my neck.”

Manwë and Varda exchanged amused smiles. The Elder King turned to Finrod. “You don’t seem surprised, my son.”

Finrod shrugged, giving Glorfindel a sympathetic smile. “I figured he had to be someone’s apprentice the way the Valar have been treating him. I rather thought Lord Tulkas....”

“Oh, Tulkas would like to have taken Glorfindel on as his apprentice, but I beat him in arm-wrestling for the privilege.” Manwë’s expression was deadpan.

All three elves stared at the Elder King in disbelief. Varda laughed, the sound of it cold and clear and crystalline in its purity. “Did you think my husband is the Elder King solely because he was the first of us in the Thought of Ilúvatar?” she said. “Nay. Manwë is a puissant warrior who led us in all the battles against our Fallen Brother.”

The three elves blinked several times as they attempted to understand what Varda told them, and it was clear to the Valar and the Maia that they were struggling with certain images of the Elder King that were foreign to the usual way in which they saw him.

“At any rate,” Manwë said after a moment of silence, “Glorfindel has always been my apprentice even before his death. Why do you think I sent Thorondor to retrieve your body?”

“I... I just thought... I’m not sure what I thought....” Glorfindel stuttered. “I wasn’t there at the time.” He paled at the memory of just where he had been when the King of Eagles was lifting his burned body out of the chasm where he had fallen to his death after slaying the balrog. Finrod leaned over and placed a hand on his arm, squeezing it in an attempt to comfort him. Glorfindel gave him a small smile in thanks.

“Is that why you asked Glorfindel to come here, my lord, to tell him that he is your apprentice?” Finrod asked Manwë politely.

“Partly,” Manwë said, “but primarily to speak of the future. Glorfindel’s future, to be precise.”

Manwë and Varda smiled at him warmly. “It’s not what you think, Glorfindel,” Varda replied. “We have a proposition for you.”

“One that you are free to decline, if you wish,” Manwë hastened to assure him. “There are no strings attached to this proposition. You will not be penalized in any way if you decline our offer. This is something we hope you will assent to.”

“What is it you want me to do?” Glorfindel asked, looking both troubled and suspicious.

For an answer, Manwë gestured and suddenly before them they saw a map suspended in mid-air. Such was its properties that somehow, regardless of where they were sitting in relation to the map, they could all see it as if they alone were looking at it. Glorfindel and Finrod gasped in surprise. Eärendil merely raised an eyebrow at the sight, as if he were used to such things happening.

“It doesn’t look like any place in Ennorath with which I am familiar,” Finrod retorted.

“That’s because you are seeing it as it is now, not as you remember it,” Varda explained. She pointed to a particular spot and the map suddenly zoomed until they were staring at one place, a long gulf in the northwest of the land. “This is all that remains of Beleriand,” she continued. “Here is Lindon where Gil-galad rules and up here is Mithlond where Círdan builds his grey ships.”

Glorfindel and Finrod stared avidly at the map, drinking in all the details, for amazingly, wherever they looked they could see actual buildings and ships sailing the gulf. Indeed, when they leaned forward for a closer look, they both sat back with a gasp, for they could see people walking the streets of the city of the king where lamps lit the way, and they saw sailors on the ships, working the sails as they made their way back to harbor.

“You are seeing this in real time,” Manwë said. “This is Ennorath at this very hour. It is night for them now, for Anor has already set for them.”

“So why are you showing this to us?” Glorfindel asked, still staring in awe at the details of the ‘map’. He couldn’t really call it that, but what this was, he could put no name to, so ‘map’ would have to do.

“We are thinking of sending you back there,” Manwë said softly, gazing at the ellon to gauge his reaction.

“No!” he shouted, rising to his feet, his expression a mingling of surprise and outrage and even fear. “We’re supposed to be together. He’s my gwador and I am his and we’re never to be separated from one another. You promised!”

“We did no such thing, child,” Manwë said, his expression darkening. “That is what you promised yourself.”

“We haven’t sent him anywhere, yet, Finrod,” Varda said with some exasperation. “Now sit down.”

Finrod sat, glaring at the two Valar, his lips pressed together in a thin line, his hands clenched.

Manwë ignored him and turned to Glorfindel who just sat there looking stunned. “We want you to be our emissary to Gil-galad,” he said softly. “The High King will soon be in need of encouragement against the Darkness that we foresee is coming. We cannot, will not, intervene directly in the affairs of the elves who still reside there, but we wish to offer them a sign of hope, a sign that we still care. That sign will be you, Glorfindel, if you agree to this.”

“Do not think that we did not consider others for this task, including Finrod,” Manwë replied, casting a sympathetic smile at the once King of Nargothrond. “In the end, though, we decided for many reasons which I will not go into at this time, that you were the best qualified for what we wish for you to do. It is why you have been trained by our Maiar so assiduously. The skills you are acquiring will be needed there.”

“When... when would I have to leave?” Glorfindel asked and Finrod closed his eyes in despair.

“Oh, not for some time,” Manwë assured him. “You still have much to do yet. You need to mature a bit more and there are things that our Maiar have not taught you yet, things that you will need to know if you are to do what we need you to do.”

“You’ll have your gwador with you for a good long while, yet, Finrod,” Varda said with a sympathetic smile at the ellon who opened his eyes at the sound of his name. “There is no need to despair.”

“But we were supposed to be together and never be parted,” Finrod replied, shaking his head and sighing.

“That is a rather unrealistic view of things, Finrod,” Eärendil said, entering the conversation for the first time. “Even now, you and Glorfindel are not together. You are in Lórien and he will be returning to Aewellond with me.”

“But at least we don’t have an ocean separating us,” Finrod retorted hotly. “If Glorfindel returns to Ennorath, we’ll probably never see one another again except possibly at the Remaking.”

Glorfindel gave Manwë a worried look. “Is that true? Will I have to remain in Ennorath for all the Ages of Arda?”

“No, son,” Manwë assured him. “You may return whenever you feel your duty to Gil-galad and to others is done.”

Manwë and Varda smiled. “That is the other part of why we asked you here,” Varda said. “We know how seriously you take your Life Oath to Turgon, how much you want to fulfill it, frustrated that you cannot do so completely while he remains in Mandos.”

“There is a way, though, for you to fulfill your oaths to Turgon,” Manwë said.

“By going to Ennorath and looking after my son,” Eärendil said. Glorfindel and Finrod stared at him in surprise.

“Elrond,” Eärendil replied steadily. “He resides in Lindon, acting as Gil-galad’s chief healer and herald. He is alone now, for his brother... my Elros, having chosen to cleave to the Edain, has since left the Circles of Arda.”

Eärendil shrugged. “Elwing and I came to accept his choice a long time ago. Wherever Elros is now, he is safe and no harm can ever visit him again. The same cannot be said for Elrond. He is Turgon’s heir in Ennorath. Indeed, were Gil-galad to die or otherwise leave Ennorath, Elrond would be the next High King of the Noldor in Exile.” He paused, licking his lips, casting a glance at the Elder King, who nodded in encouragement, before continuing.

“As I said, my son is alone now, or he thinks he is. Gil-galad he sees as his king rather than kin, and Galadriel and Celeborn are rarely in Lindon these days, residing primarily in another city when they are not acting as Gil-galad’s emissaries. My son needs a friend.”

“Oh, yes. He has friends, of a sort, but what he needs is you, Glorfindel. You are a link to his past. You lived in Gondolin. You knew me there, and Turgon. You desire to fulfill your Life Oath to Turgon as well as the oath you made to yourself when you sought to see me and my parents to safety, dying in the attempt. You can continue serving my family, and my daeradar, but not by remaining here in Aman. You can serve me best by being there for Elrond, protecting him when I cannot.”

“I doubt he needs too much protection, Eärendil,” Glorfindel retorted. “He’s no longer an elfling.”

“No, but he is my son,” Eärendil replied. “I was never there for him, or for his brother. I cannot be there for him now. That is why I want to send you to him, to be the friend and companion that he needs, to be the... the father-figure he craves, though he is unaware of this.”

Eärendil gave him a faint smile. “I have sometimes sailed over Lindon, observing my son, and Lord Manwë’s Eagles often bring me news of what is happening.”

“What Eärendil says is true,” Manwë said. “Elrond has a difficult path to tread in his life, and there will be much sorrow, but also joy. We feel that he can survive the harsh times that we foresee for him if there is one constant in his life — you.”

“No,” Manwë retorted with a shake of his head. “You are to be my emissary and Elrond’s friend. You are to advise Gil-galad and help defend the elves against what is coming.”

“Sauron,” Varda answered and both Glorfindel and Finrod sucked in their breath at the sound of that hateful name. Varda nodded. “He is still out there, plotting and scheming. Rumors are slowly seeping out of the East of a Power rising there. It can only be Morgoth’s lieutenant.”

“Surely Gil-galad and the other elves will be wary of any overtures Sauron might make to them,” Finrod said, his expression troubled.

“Perhaps,” Manwë averred, “but Sauron is a Maia and he can disguise himself however he wishes and present to the world a pleasing mien. He is a beguiler, and he learned from his master. Of all the elves in Ennorath perhaps only your sister would truly recognize him for what he is, but there is much that is still left to chance. Glorfindel’s presence in Gil-galad’s court might well be the saving of it, for he will recognize Sauron’s threat, which Gil-galad might not, for he is still young in the accounting of years among the Firstborn.”

“What of Círdan?” Finrod asked. “Surely he is wise enough to advise Gil-galad on such matters? Why would he need Glorfindel there?”

“Círdan is an estimable elf and indeed very wise,” Varda answered, “but for all that, he does not possess the powers that Glorfindel has, or rather, will have when we get through with him.” She gave the ellon a fond smile and Glorfindel ducked his head, looking for all the world like an elfling embarrassed by praise.

Manwë shook his head. “Not at this time. And no, you cannot go with him. Do not forget that you are a Fëanturnildo and you have the healing of Aman to accomplish, you and all the Reborn.”

“The days of atonement and reparation for what the Noldor did have passed,” Manwë explained. “Your adar was responsible for that, reconciling the Noldor with the Teleri and the Vanyar and the Valar. Your task, and that of the other Reborn, is to bring healing and peace to this land. This is what this past year has been about, culminating with the recent Council and Sador’s Investiture. That was the first step, but more must be done, not by us, for we have done what we can and what we dare. The rest is up to you, up to all the Reborn, leading by example with your willingness to forgive, to forgive yourselves and others. Willing to accept everyone, seeing not Noldor and Vanyar and Teleri and Sindar, but Eldar. That is the lesson you and the other Reborn learned in Mandos, and what you must teach the Once-born, even your own family.”

“So you see,” Varda then said, “you both have your own work to accomplish. Even if Glorfindel remained here in Aman, you would still not be together.”

“But at least we would be on the same continent,” Finrod protested, “not separated by miles and miles of ocean.”

“Well, I haven’t even agreed to this yet, gwador,” Glorfindel retorted with a glint of amusement in his eyes, “so your protestations may well be moot.” He then spoke to Manwë. “You said you were not planning to send me for some time yet, so why are we speaking of this now rather than later?”

“A fair enough question,” Manwë said. “Perhaps the best answer I can give you is that we are aware of your restlessness and we even understand its source, though you may not. You need a goal, Glorfindel, something on which to pin your hopes and expectations for yourself. You haven’t had that yet. Even training for the Dagor Dagorath is too nebulous a concept for you, for you do not know when that event will happen, none of us do, but you do know that someday I will call you back to Ilmarin for one last visit and then I will ask you once again if you will go to Ennorath as my emissary and for Eärendil and Elwing’s sake and you will give me your answer, yea or nay. That is a foreseeable event, one that you can deal with even if you do not know the exact time when you will receive my summons.”

“No. I only ask that you think about it, that you continue your training with whomever I send to you. Whether you ultimately decide to remain here, your abilities will still be needed, though not in the way they will be needed in Ennorath. I will not pressure you to decide now.”

For several minutes they all sat there in silence, each in his own thoughts. Eärendil sat calmly, as did the Valar, but Finrod’s expression was still troubled, while Glorfindel looked more pensive. Finally, though, he nodded and stood, going to kneel, not before Manwë, but before Eärendil, who gazed at him with an unfathomable expression.

“I will go for thee, Eärendil,” Glorfindel said. “I will do what I can for thy son, the grandson of my dearest friends, thy parents, the great-grandson of my beloved lord who hath my life in his keeping for all the Ages of Arda. And I will do this for love of thee. I will protect the House of Turgon to the best of mine abilities, till I am no longer needed, or death takes me, or the world ends. This, I, Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, swear unto thee.”

“And what of Lord Manwë’s desire to make you his emissary?” Eärendil asked.

Glorfindel turned to face the Elder King, though he remained kneeling. “I will go as thine emissary, lord, but I think my duty to thee will come second to my duty to Eärendil.”

“That is acceptable,” Manwë said, “and indeed, in fulfilling your duty to Eärendil you will be fulfilling your duty to me also. I am well pleased, my son.”

Glorfindel turned back to Eärendil and held up his hands in the position of supplication before one’s liege and Eärendil covered them with his own hands. “Then, I accept thy vow, Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, and I thank thee.” He rose, pulling Glorfindel up with him and gave him a kiss as between liege and vassal. There was the sound of a book closing and the three elves turned in surprise to see Eönwë with a familiar blue book in his hand, smiling broadly.

“As lovely an oath as I have ever had the privilege to record,” the Maia said.

Finrod sighed and there was a look of defeat in his eyes. Varda stood and took him in her embrace. “Do not despair, child,” she said. “Your gwador is needed in Ennorath, just as you are needed here. In the meantime, rejoice in each other’s presence. Store up memories between you that will sustain you both when you are at last separated by an ocean.”

“Varda is correct, Finrod,” Manwë said. “Now, know that the time for leavetaking is many yéni in the future, so, spend this time wisely, both of you. Your duties will bring you together more often than you think.”

“I bet you and the other Valar will throw a big party the day I do leave,” Glorfindel said with a sly grin.

Manwë’s smile was beatific and the light of the living stars of Varda’s wreath brightened. “I believe Námo is already making the party favors,” Manwë said with a deadpan look.

“Continue as you have been,” Manwë replied. “Return to Aewellond and train. Learn all that the Maiar will teach you. A time will come when I will summon you to sit at my feet and learn from me as well.”

Manwë gave him a warm smile. “Return to Lórien, my son, and minister to the Reborn as you have been doing. I suspect that Irmo and Námo have their own plans for you as well. Believe me, you will be too busy to mope for long.”

“Come,” Eärendil said. “I think it is time for all of us to return to our own lives.”

“Indeed,” Manwë said, then he raised his hand in blessing. “Go with the knowledge that you are loved by Eru Ilúvatar and by us. Go in peace. Go and minister unto your people, each in thine own way, for in service to others do we find our deepest joy.”

Then Varda came among them and kissed them each on the brow. “You are very precious to us, all of you. You give us hope, the greatest gift one can ever give another. Thank you.”

None of the elves knew how to respond to this except to give the Valar their deepest obeisance before leaving with Eönwë to return to Vanyamar.

Glorfindel stood impatiently at the rail of the Elerrína, staring at the slowly approaching shore. Falmaron came up to him and clapped him on the shoulder, giving him a knowing smile. “Not much longer, my friend,” he said. “We’ll have you ashore soon enough.”

“You would think, after all this time, I would be used to this,” Glorfindel said with a shake of his head. “Yet, every time I come back to Tirion, it’s always the same. I cannot wait to get off this blasted ship.”

“Blasted ship, is it?” Falmaron exclaimed with no anger, merely giving Glorfindel a laugh. “In that case, you can swim back to Aewellond.”

“Sorry,” Glorfindel said with a rueful look, realizing he may have insulted the captain of the ‘blasted ship’. “You know what I mean.”

“Indeed I do,” Falmaron assured him, giving him another hearty clap on the shoulder, “and I understand, better than you think.”

“So where are you going, once you drop me off?” Glorfindel asked, deciding to change the subject.

“Back to Alqualondë,” the captain replied, giving him a wry look. “Where I will no doubt be inundated with all the gory details of the upcoming wedding between Olwen and Ingwion.”

Glorfindel smiled. “Nuru ocla lá umbar,” he quipped and Falmaron joined him in laughter. “I know I am not the only one who was surprised to hear of the betrothal,” he continued, “but I am glad for them both, for Ingwion, especially.”

“They met during the Darkening, believe it or not,” Falmaron revealed. “He and Findaráto came to Alqualondë to apprise Atar of what was happening in Tirion. They stayed for a while and everyone could see the mutual attraction between them. Unfortunately, circumstances drove them apart and then Ingwion....”

Glorfindel nodded in understanding and Falmaron continued. “Yes, well, at any rate, it was good to see them renewing their acquaintance during that Council in Valmar when Sador was chosen as Cáno.”

“I’m surprised that they didn’t decide to wait and wed when Findaráto and Amarië do,” Glorfindel said with a smile. “They would only have to wait another seven years.”

Falmaron laughed. “Olwen refused to wait that long,” he said. “Come. I see we are nearly there. I’ll have my people bring Alagos up.” He turned away, shouting orders while Glorfindel continued watching the shore, contemplating how five years had changed things. Where once there had been only a couple of quays, there was now a bustling port. Rómenhópa, it was called now. He could see at least a dozen ships, a mixture of the swanships of Alqualondë and the grey ships of Tol Eressëa, off-loading or on-loading goods. Friendly shouts between the sailors and the dockworkers, speaking in a mixture of Quenya and Sindarin, rang across the waters. Someone somewhere was singing a sea-chanty and several voices joined in the chorus.

As the ship came closer to shore, Glorfindel looked to see if anyone was there to greet him. To his surprise, he saw Ingwion standing on the quay, waving, and waved back. When the ship was docked and Alagos led down the gangplank, Glorfindel went to greet his friend. “I did not expect to see you here,” he said to Ingwion as the two hugged.

“I received a message saying I was to meet my parents in Valmar,” Ingwion said, giving Falmaron a hug as well, for the captain had come ashore to greet his soon-to-be brother-in-law. “As I knew you were arriving today, I decided to wait and travel with you.”

“I’m only going as far as Tirion, though,” Glorfindel said. “I will be spending the next few months overseeing the training of the Noldorin warriors at Atar’s request.”

Ingwion shrugged. “But we can enjoy one another’s company in the meantime,” he said. “I cannot stay in Tirion as I am expected in Valmar by the end of the week, but perhaps on my way back to Kortirion I will be able to visit.”

“Then let us be on our way,” Glorfindel said with a smile and then he gave Falmaron a hug in farewell and thanks and Falmaron promised Ingwion he would convey his greetings to Olwen and the family. Then the captain returned to his ship and Glorfindel and Ingwion mounted their horses and set off up the Calacirya to Tirion.

“Everyone is well,” Glorfindel answered. “Galdor and Legolas and a few others are all excited about the next tournament.”

“Do you think there will be many people attending with it so far away from everything?” Ingwion wondered. “People will have to set out nearly a month before if they want to reach Aewellond in time.”

“I thought Olwë and the Tol Eressëan sea captains were supplying ships to ferry people there?”

“Oh yes, but even so, there probably aren’t enough ships for everyone unless several trips are made, so some are going to have to leave a good month in advance. Even with Maiar helping, it will still take nearly a week to sail in one direction.”

“Hmm.... I do hope though that people do not stay away because of the distance. You do not know how excited everyone is. This is the first time Aewellond has opened itself to the rest of Eldamar. The people there are finally thinking of themselves as being a part of the elvish community rather than a lonely outpost of misfits and wanderers. Much is riding on the success of this tournament.”

They continued riding in silence for a few minutes and then Glorfindel asked a question. “How far have they gotten with the road?” The road was a major engineering project, begun three years before, which would eventually connect Aewellond with Alqualondë. They had started at both ends and hoped to meet somewhere in the middle.

“Well, we managed to get our end to Hanstovánen,” Glorfindel answered with a smirk.

“Nay,” Glorfindel replied with a laugh. “I received the news just before I left.” Hanstovánen was the name given to the area in Araman where Glorfindel had disembarked from Captain Falastur’s ship when he had been searching for Eärendil. “So, if ships went that far, people would be able to continue from there with relative ease. I have no doubt that Lord Manwë will have Maiar guarding it against attacks from the wild creatures that inhabit the Far North. The journey from Alqualondë to Hanstovánen would take only three days and from there it’s only another four days of walking, three if you really push it. I’m sure Eärendil will have hostels set up for travelers."

“That would certainly make it more feasible,” Ingwion averred. “I will tell my Atar about it.”

They continued riding along. Glorfindel contemplated the watchtowers that lined the Calacirya, manned by the Maiar in eternal vigilance. Even after all this time he was still not used to the sight of them and suppressed a shudder.

Ingwion nodded. “He’s there with Netilmírë. She’s there for the annual Council of Guilds.”

“Anyway, Sador decided to visit with Arafinwë and Eärwen while his anamillë was haranguing the other guildmasters.” Ingwion gave Glorfindel a knowing smile and Glorfindel chuckled, well aware of Netilmírë’s ways. She had become a force to be reckoned with and had the respect of every guildhouse in Eldamar. It helped that Lord Aulë himself had named her an Aulendurë, one of only a few so chosen by the Vala since the Darkening.

Ingwion gave him a wry grin. “Well, Morcocáno is Neuna Cáno at the moment.”

Glorfindel gave him a disbelieving look and Ingwion laughed. “He’s not so bad,” he said. “Morcocáno has mellowed somewhat these last few years. In fact, Sador tells me that he trusts him more than most.”

“Apparently, Morcocáno isn’t afraid to tell Sador the truth even if it’s unpalatable. Sador says that makes him invaluable in helping him rule more wisely and fairly.” Then he gave Glorfindel a wink. “Besides, Lady Meril is there to see that Morcocáno doesn’t get any bright ideas while Sador is away.”

Glorfindel snorted. “Well, it will be good to see him,” he said. “I am also hoping to go to Lórien later and visit with Findaráto and my other friends there.”

Eventually, they reached the city and were soon being warmly greeted by the royal family. Ingwion’s arrival was unexpected but welcomed and Arafinwë wanted to have the Ingaran’s suite opened for him.

“But I am only staying the night,” Ingwion protested. “I have to be in Valmar by week’s end. I do not need an entire suite to myself. Let me stay with Glorfindel, if he doesn’t mind.”

“No, I don’t mind,” Glorfindel said as he and Sador greeted one another, so the matter was settled and servants took the ellyn’s bags to Glorfindel’s apartments.

Glorfindel gave Sador a once over and smiled at what he saw. Over the last few years the ellon had become more and more confident and assured of himself, moving easily amongst the leaders of the land with grace and wit. He still sported the single warrior’s braid. Glorfindel noticed that there was a depth of wisdom in the ellon’s eyes, wisdom and a sense of his own authority, an authority he was no longer afraid to wield.

“So, how have you been, hanno?” Glorfindel asked, throwing an arm around Sador’s shoulders.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Sador replied with a smile. “I see getting beaten up by Maiar warriors still agrees with you.”

Glorfindel laughed. “Only because I give as good as I get. I don’t think the Maiar have had so much fun in ages. They enjoy the challenge.”

Sador smiled. “And no doubt they are lined up just for the privilege of being bloodied by you.”

“Eönwë has them make appointments,” Glorfindel retorted with a smirk and everyone around him laughed.

Entering the area of the palace set aside for the royal family, Glorfindel and Ingwion excused themselves to Arafinwë and Eärwen to freshen up from their journey. Sador went with them and the three ellyn spent some time catching up on each other’s news.

“Beleg has finally received his first mate’s ticket,” Sador told them as Glorfindel changed into a fresh tunic while Ingwion was washing the dust of travel from his face.

“That is good news,” Glorfindel said. “I’m surprised that Falmaron didn’t tell me.”

“He was already on his way to Aewellond by then and won’t know about it until he reaches Alqualondë,” Sador replied.

“Which means that Beleg will be hounding him to let him come with him on his next mapping expedition to the South,” Ingwion said with a chuckle as he dried himself off and reached for his own fresh tunic.

“That was the deal,” Sador said with a nod. “And it makes sense, when you think about it. This will be the first time that Falmaron will be mapping south of Aman. Beleg is still one of the best scouts and trackers around.”

“What about Vondo?” Glorfindel asked. “Is he going on the expedition as well?”

Sador nodded, giving them a bright smile. “He’s been nagging Herendil, Findaráto and, for all I know, every Maia in Lórien about it.”

“Lord Irmo still hasn’t allowed him to leave Lórien, has he?” Glorfindel enquired with a shake of his head.

“I can imagine,” Glorfindel said with a knowing smile, “but I also know that Vondo is almost as good a tracker as Beleg. I think such a trip as this will mature him far more rapidly than keeping him in Lórien when all his Reborn friends are leaving for their own lives.”

“So Herendil says, and I think Lord Irmo has merely been keeping Vondo in Lórien to increase his frustration level.”

Both Ingwion and Glorfindel gave the younger ellon disbelieving looks. Sador nodded. “The more frustrated Vondo gets, the more determined he is to leave, but he gave his oath that he would not leave Lórien without permission, so he has been sublimating his frustration into improving his tracking skills. I got a letter from Findaráto telling me that the Maiar have been taking him on overnight expeditions into the Pelóri and testing his mettle and his ability to follow orders. Every time he fails to do so, his privileges are withdrawn for a time, which just increases his frustration, but at the same time forces him to do better in following orders. I have no doubt that when Falmaron is ready to set sail for the South, Lord Irmo will allow Vondo to accompany him, assured that the ellon will be able to follow orders and not go off on his own, which is what he likes to do.”

Both Glorfindel and Ingwion nodded. “Well, I am planning to go to Lórien and visit our háno, so perhaps I will join Vondo in one of his expeditions into the mountains.” He gave them a wicked look. “Let’s see how he stands up to my training regimen.”

The other two laughed and then they went to join Arafinwë, Eärwen and Amarië for tea.

Netilmírë joined them for dinner in the royal family’s private dining room that evening, spending more time complaining about the incompetence, stupidity and downright intransigence of her fellow guildmasters than she did in actually eating. The others let her have her say, with Sador and Arafinwë occasionally adding their own barbed comments. At some point, when Glorfindel innocently asked her why she didn’t just quit the Guildmasters’ Council if she hated her fellow council members so much, she gave him a startled look.

“I never said that,” she exclaimed. “At least, I don’t think I did.” She looked around at the amused faces of the others and reddened slightly. “Did I?”

Arafinwë laughed out loud, Sador and Ingwion snickered and Eärwen leaned over and placed a comforting hand on the elleth’s arm. “Not in so many words dear,” she said with a smile, “but if we didn’t know you as we do, we would wonder.”

“I guess I got a bit carried away,” Netilmîrë muttered, now looking embarrassed.

“My dear, you have never been known for your tact,” Arafinwë said. “They still talk about the day you sent a Maia packing and pretty much told the Valar where they could go and what they could do with themselves when they arrived.”

Netilmírë groaned in dismay, hiding her face in her hands. “That was a younger, stupider me,” she said.

“Well Anammë has learned some tact since then, I think,” Sador said with a deadpan expression. When the others gave him enquiring looks, he nodded, his eyes now twinkling with humor. “At least she waited until after the meeting to lambast her fellow guildmasters instead of telling them what she thinks of them to their faces.”

There were chuckles all around, though Netilmírë’s expression was still rueful. Eärwen was about to make a comment when a page entered the dining room and went to Arafinwë, speaking to him softly. Arafinwë gave the elleth a surprised look and nodded. “Have him come,” he ordered and the page bowed and left. The king turned to the others with a bemused look. “We have a guest,” he said but before anyone could ask him to clarify that statement, the door opened.

“Olórin!” Glorfindel cried as he and the others rose to give the Maia their greeting.

The Maia smiled and opened his arms to welcome the ellon and gave him a brief hug. “It is good to see you again, Glorfindel. I have heard much about you from my fellow Maiar.”

“To what do we owe the honor of your visit, my lord?” Arafinwë asked politely when the laughter had died.

“Yes, my dear,” the Maia said with a gentle smile. “Actually, the message is for all of you.” He looked at Ingwion. “You are on your way to meet your parents, are you not?”

“Then perhaps you would not mind some company,” Olórin said. “I have been instructed by my Masters to convey to you their desire that you all come to Valmar with Ingwion.”

“And why should we do this?” Arafinwë asked. “And why wait until now to issue the invitation? I cannot just run off and leave Tirion without making provisions for my absence. For how long will we be away?”

Olórin gave the king an amused look. “You should do this because it is asked of you, Pityahuan. And I was waiting for Glorfindel to arrive to give you the message. I hate repeating myself. And as for how long, I would guess at the outside, two weeks, but probably closer to three. I am sure the people of Tirion can get along without their king and queen for that long. Your Privy Council can handle whatever needs handling until your return.”

“Such short notice,” Eärwen said with an exasperated sigh. “We’ll be up all night packing if we are to leave with Ingwion in the morning.”

“You may delay your journey and leave the day after tomorrow and still be in Valmar in good time,” the Maia told them.

“Well, no,” Olórin admitted. “Specifically, the invitation is for you, Netilmírë, Arafinwë and Eärwen to join with Ingwion, but I doubt Glorfindel would want to miss out and Lady Amarië is welcome to come if she wishes.” He gave her a warm smile.

“But why?” Ingwion asked, sounding both frustrated and confused. “The message I received only said for me to meet my family in Valmar by a specific date, but there was no reason given. If it hadn’t been for the fact that the message was from Atar and that it was delivered by no less a personage than Lord Ulmo’s Chief Maia, I would have been highly reluctant to comply, as I was already making plans to visit Olwen and her family for a few weeks.”

“The reason will become clear when you reach Valmar,” Olórin said. “Until then, there is naught that I can say, except that none of you will regret the journey.”

Arafinwë looked at Eärwen and shrugged. “I have never known the Valar to act capriciously. I will send for Herendil and Selmacas. They can keep an eye on things while we’re away.”

“Even if we delay our setting out until the day after tomorrow, there is much that needs to be done,” Eärwen said with a nod. “I will start packing tonight. Amarië, Netilmírë, will you assist?”

“Of course,” Netilmírë said and Amarië nodded. “My main concern is the Guilds’ Council. How can I just up and leave in the middle of it?”

“A summons by the Valar cannot be ignored, my dear,” Olórin said, giving her a knowing smile.

“Hmph. Well, opinions differ on that score,” she retorted but then she smiled back and nodded. “As I am the head of the Guilds’ Council this term, I can suspend all meetings during my absence, though I am reluctant to do so. I think I will simply delegate my authority to another and let them carry on without me.”

“Then I will leave you all to it,” Olórin said, giving them a bow and then he was not there, with only the faintest scent of asëa aranion and rosemary lingering in the air.

For a moment they just sat there staring at one another, then Arafinwë pulled himself together and summoned a page. Soon he was having messages sent to Lords Herendil and Selmacas to meet with him in the morning. Eärwen also began speaking to Netilmírë and Amarië about the logistics of packing on such short notice and the three ellith excused themselves. Arafinwë did the same, deciding he had better see to some paperwork that needed to be dealt with before their departure, thus leaving Glorfindel, Ingwion and Sador to their own devices.

The three ellyn sat there in silence for a time. Finally, Sador spoke, his expression bland. “Well, I guess that’s just more dessert for us, then.”

There was a split second in which none of them moved, and then they were racing each other to the sideboard where the dessert was. Naturally, Glorfindel got to it first.

Nuru olca lá umbar: ‘A death worse than fate’; literally, ‘A death bad/evil beyond fate’. This is the attested Elvish comparative form.

Aulendurë: Feminine of Aulendur ‘Servant of Aulë’ an attested title, sc. one who was devoted to that Vala. It was applied especially to those persons, or families, among the Noldor who actually entered Aulë’s service and in return received instruction from him [see ‘The Shibboleth of Fëanor’, Note 61, Peoples of Middle-earth, HoME XII].

Note: Hanstovánen appears only once in the Book of Lost Tales I, ‘The Flight of the Noldoli’, HoME I, without translation. It was where ‘a servant of Vefantur’, i.e. Námo, spied the fleeing Noldor and begged them to return to Aman. When they refused, he ‘foretold to them many of the evil adventures that came after to them.’ This is the germ of that part of the ‘Flight of the Noldor’ found in the Quenta Silmarillion that later became known as the Prophecy of the North. I have borrowed the name of the place but not its location or significance with respect to the Histories.

Arafinwë ordered a carriage for the ladies, while the ellyn elected to ride. More than once Sador, Glorfindel and Ingwion speculated amongst themselves as to the reason for the summons as they rode side by side, but no one could find an answer that made sense.

"Are you sure your summons came from your atar and not from Lord Manwë as ours did?" Sador asked Ingwion.

"Oh yes," Ingwion said. He pulled a piece of vellum from an inner pocket of his tunic and handed it to Sador. "You see? It’s from Atar. There’s no mistake."

Sador glanced at the missive and passed it on to Glorfindel who read it. He saw the seal of the Ingaran pressed into the vellum and Ingwë’s own unique signature that was impossible to forge.

"So, your atar sends you a message ordering you to meet him and your amillë in Valmar on a certain date, which, by the way, you will miss, and with no explanation as to why. Then, Netilmírë gets a summons from the Valar to come to Valmar and to bring along the Noldorin royal family. Can’t be a coincidence."

"We can hope," Glorfindel retorted with a wry look. "Where the Valar are concerned, explanations might be forthcoming but they won’t necessarily make things any clearer."

They arrived in Valmar at noon on Elenya, two days later than Ingwion had originally planned to arrive, to find Ilmarë, Lady Varda’s Chief Maia, waiting for them as they passed through the city’s eastern gate of mithril and pearls. She gave them a smile in greeting.

"They are with Lord Manwë," Ilmarë replied. "Come. Rooms have been set aside where you may change out of your traveling clothes and wash off the dust of the road. Then I will take you to them."

She led them into the Elder King’s mansion and down a corridor to a suite of rooms where they could bathe and change their clothes. An hour later, Ilmarë returned to escort them to Lord Manwë. She brought them into one of the small audience chambers reserved for intimate meetings and they found, not only Manwë and Varda, but also Ingwë, Elindis, Indil, Lirulin and Alassiel. Sador’s eyes lit up at the sight of Alassiel and without even bothering to give his greeting to anyone, he went directly to her, took her in his arms, and kissed her. She was not shy in returning the kiss while everyone else stood looking on with indulgent smiles on their faces.

"We need to get them at least betrothed soon," Glorfindel whispered to Ingwion, "or there’s going to be trouble."

Ingwion nodded but did not comment. Lord Manwë finally cleared his throat and the two lovers broke apart, both looking a bit flustered. Manwë and Varda exchanged knowing smiles. "Another Aulë and Yavanna, I think," she said, giving him a wink, and Manwë laughed. Then he turned to the new arrivals and greeted them.

"Welcome, my children. I know you have many questions, but I promise you that soon your questions will be answered. Now that you are all here, we can continue."

"Mysterious on purpose?" Manwë repeated, giving them a bland look. "Nay, we are never mysterious on purpose, we are simply mysterious." He laughed again and stood up, as did Varda. "Trust me, my children, we are not being mysterious on purpose, but we are indulging in a bit of, shall we say, fun? Yes, I believe that is the correct word."

"Come. We must go see Irmo," Manwë said and he and Varda made their way out of the chamber with the elves trailing behind, giving each other confused looks and shrugs, quietly speaking to one another as they took turns sharing their news. The Elder King and the Elentári ignored them, leading them out of the mansion and down the Landamallë, past the Tower of Bells, softly chiming in the afternoon breeze, and through the gates leading to Irmo and Estë’s estate. Much to the surprise of the elves the Valar did not enter the mansion but made their way through the gardens, across a stone bridge that spanned a small brook leading into a pool and finally through a grove of ancient oaks to find themselves in a clearing where they saw a maze. Manwë turned and smiled at the bemused expressions on the elves’ faces.

"I want you to hold hands," he instructed them. "It’s easy to get lost in this particular maze if you are not careful. Varda will bring up the rear to make sure no one gets left behind." He then held his hand out to Elindis who took it and gave her other hand to Ingwë. Soon they were all joined with Glorfindel at the end of the line between Sador and Varda. When everyone was ready, Manwë entered the maze. "Whatever you do, do not let go," he warned them.

He went left, never hesitating as he led them through the twisting path that seemed to shimmer in the afternoon sun, giving the illusion that it was shifting directions even as they were walking it...if illusion it was. In just a few turns the elves were completely confused as to their direction. Alassiel complained of feeling dizzy and Varda told her to keep her eyes half-closed. That seemed to help and others followed the Valië’s suggestion, so that all any of them could see was the back of the person before them.

How long they traversed the maze, none could afterward say, but finally they came into a large square area that they assumed was the center. It was empty. The elves stared about, wondering what was going on. Manwë simply smiled at them and told them to make a circle still holding hands. When they complied, he told them to close their eyes and to keep them closed until told otherwise.

Glorfindel nodded and dutifully closed his eyes tight and waited, wondering what was going on. He felt a sense of movement and there was a moment of vertigo even with his eyes shut and then he heard Manwë telling them they could open their eyes. When he did, he gasped along with the others, for they were no longer inside a maze but in a particular grove. There was something about the place that spoke of an ancientness that defied understanding. Glorfindel remembered being here once before and he could not suppress a shiver.

Manwë smiled at them. "Fear not! You are in Lórien. Come. Let us find Irmo and Estë. I’m rather surprised they were not here to greet us."

The Elder King made his way to the grove’s entrance and Varda made shooing motions with her hands to get the elves moving again. Outside the grove it seemed to Glorfindel as if he could suddenly breathe again and he noticed looks of relief on the faces of the other elves. He wanted to ask Varda, who was still behind him, about the grove but on further reflection he decided he really didn’t want to know the answer, assuming she deigned to give him one. Instead, he gathered his wits about him, and gave Sador and Alassiel an encouraging smile as they followed Lord Manwë. They continued down a sward and into an area of Lórien that seemed more familiar to him until they rounded a bend and saw Lórellin before them and Lord Irmo’s gaudily painted pavilion on its shore. Glorfindel could see the Lord of Lórien and Lady Estë seated within.

In spite of the fact that the pavilion didn’t look large enough to accommodate them all, at least on the outside, somehow they found the inside spacious enough with chairs for everyone. Estë poured some wine from a crystal decanter that never seemed to empty and Irmo handed the goblets out.

"So is anyone going to explain why we are here, and how we got here?" Ingwë asked over the rim of his goblet, giving Manwë a significant look.

Manwë smiled. "As to how you got here, that’s a bit difficult to explain. You really do not have the necessary mathematics to understand about tesseracts and dimensional travel. Suffice to say that there are energy points throughout Arda that allow us to transport you from one location to another, much the way we Valar are able to think ourselves to where we wish to go."

"Yes, it is," Manwë replied with a smile. "Now, as to why you are here, well that will become clear soon enough. In the meantime, I think Findaráto is expecting you in his grove. Why don’t you go to him? We will send for you when we are ready."

It was clearly a dismissal. Ingwë rose and gave the Valar his obeisance with the other elves following suit and they all filed out of the pavilion. The two kings exchanged wordless looks and Arafinwë shrugged and set off down the sward with the others behind him. It was only a matter of minutes before they were entering the Ampano Arano, the King’s Grove, which was Finrod’s home in Lórien. Glorfindel was surprised to see several pavilions set up, for on his last visit to Lórien, there had been only two — Finrod’s personal pavilion and a larger one for gatherings. Aldundil and Vorondil now had their own grove nearby, leaving Finrod his privacy. He saw Finrod sitting outside his pavilion before a small campfire, sipping tea and reading. He looked up and smiled when he saw them.

"I was wondering when you were going to get here," he said as he went to greet everyone. "I expected you a couple of days ago, but Lord Irmo said there had been a slight delay."

"The delay was Glorfindel," Arafinwë said with a wink. "The Maia Olórin waited until your háno reached Tirion before giving us Lord Manwë’s message. Your ammë was most upset to learn that she would have to pack all in a day."

"I was not upset," Eärwen said with a sniff as she hugged her son. "I was merely frustrated. Do you know how difficult it is to pack for a trip when you don’t know how long it will take or where you are actually going?"

Finrod exchanged a knowing look with his atar as he answered his amillë. "Two tunics and three changes of underclothing. That’s all that’s necessary. In fact, that’s all I packed when we left for Endórë."

Eärwen rolled her eyes and gave her eldest child a disgusted look while Arafinwë tried not to laugh. While Finrod greeted the rest of their party, others entered the grove, though no one noticed. The first that Glorfindel knew of it was someone wrapping his arms around him in a bear hug.

Laurendil released him and Glorfindel turned around to see Laurendil and Manwen, both dressed in their apprentice tunics. He gave them glad greetings, which they returned. With them was their elfling, an ellon they had named Irmondil, who had Laurendil’s dark hair and Manwen’s chin but his blue-green eyes were his alone. The elfling, not quite four, was holding onto his ammë’s hand, a stuffed toy clutched close to him, staring in wonder at all the strange people in Unca’ Finwod’s grove. Glorfindel smiled at the bemused look on the child’s face and crouched down to his level.

The elfling looked up at Manwen for reassurance before gazing at Glorfindel. "Unca’ Gwofi," he lisped shyly, hiding his face in his nana’s skirts. Manwen smiled indulgently at her son and Glorfindel chuckled. "I see you still have the toy I gave you two years ago. What did you name him?"

Manwen bent down and whispered into her son’s ear. Irmondil pushed his head out of her skirts to face Glorfindel, holding out the green velvet dragon that was a bit ragged looking. It was obvious that the toy was much loved. "His name is Calennor," Irmondil said.

Then, Finrod was standing next to Glorfindel and holding out his arms to the elfling, who gladly went into them and snuggled into Finrod’s shoulder. Finrod gave Glorfindel a smile as the ellon stood up. "It’s good to see you again, hanno," he said.

Finrod shook his head. "I have not been told. In fact, lately there has been less communication between me and certain Valar than is usual, but whenever I ask about it, I’m given vague answers and told to be patient. Something is up. That’s obvious. In fact, seeing you all here, I am inclined to think... well, I think I’ll let the Valar handle this. It’s obviously their surprise and I will not spoil it for them."

"I hate surprises," Glorfindel muttered and Finrod smiled, turning to address everyone. "I have no idea what is going on or why you are here, but I was told that all will be revealed soon. In the meantime, as you can see, I’ve had these pavilions placed here for your convenience. All that you need is here and if there is anything lacking, just let me know and I will see that you have it. I’ve arranged to have dinner served here so we will have more privacy."

"And Aldundil and Vondo?" Amarië added. "I half expected to see them here as well."

"Vorondil is at his studies," Finrod replied. "Aldundil and Vondo are around here somewhere. Aldundil has been learning the fine art of bookbinding now that he has become a Master Illuminator. He’s taking lessons along with a couple of Reborn who show an inclination for the work. Vondo, I suspect, is making some Maia’s life miserable." He gave them a wry smile and there were chuckles all around.

"And we must get back to our own duties," Laurendil said. "We just stopped by to drop Irmondil off and to say hello. We’ll see you at dinner."

With that he and Manwen gave their elfling sloppy kisses which he returned before snuggling back into Finrod’s arms and then they left. Finrod motioned with a hand towards the pavilions. "Make yourselves at home while I put this one down for his nap." He then went inside the smaller pavilion and a few minutes later they all heard him playing the harp and singing a lullaby, one known to every Reborn, and becoming familiar to many of the Once-born. A few minutes later Finrod came outside and invited everyone to join him in the larger pavilion for some wine and conversation.

Everyone avoided the topic of why they were in Lórien, but Glorfindel couldn’t help noticing how often the conversation faltered at odd moments. Ingwion barely spoke a dozen words all afternoon. Netilmírë’s expression would grow wistful whenever she looked at Sador. He and Alassiel pretty much ignored everyone else as they spent most of the time staring into each other’s eyes. Arafinwë, Eärwen, Finrod and Amarië gamely kept the conversation going between them, but Glorfindel could tell that the others just were not in the mood for talk. It was almost a relief when little Irmondil woke from his nap about an hour later. Finrod sat him on his knees and sang songs and told tales of adventures in Beleriand to entertain the elfling, thus giving everyone else an excuse not to engage in conversation.

Laurendil and Manwen returned just before the dinner hour, no longer wearing their apprentice tabards, eagerly reclaiming their elfling. Eärnur was with them and Aldundil and Vorondil showed up with Vondo soon afterwards. Vondo was all excited to show Glorfindel what he knew about scouting and would have hauled the ellon off right then and there if Finrod hadn’t laughingly told him that it was too late and there would be plenty of time later. Aldundil smiled at his brother’s crestfallen look and Vorondil rolled his eyes.

"I’m younger than he is but I’m older than he is," he said quietly to Finrod as Glorfindel took Vondo in hand and began quizzing him on his knowledge, which mollified the younger ellon as he excitedly began relating all that he knew of woodlore.

Finrod clapped Vorondil on the shoulder and gave him a smile. "Don’t worry. He’ll catch up soon enough. In time he will indeed be your uncle and not your playmate."

"Which is why you play hide-and-find with him only every other day," Eärnur quipped with a laugh. Vorondil stuck his tongue out at the Teler and then grinned, recognizing the truth of his and Finrod’s words.

Then dinner was called and everyone went to the main pavilion where Maiar were placing dishes on the table. Once everyone was served, Finrod thanked the Maiar who bowed and disappeared, leaving the elves to themselves. Those who had been visiting with Finrod in the afternoon were sharing their news with the ones who’d just arrived. When Manwen, sitting across from Ingwion, asked him something about his upcoming nuptials, the ellon suddenly threw his knife down and glared at everyone. "Why are we here?" he demanded. "What is going on? Why all the secrecy? Why are we pretending that all this is normal?" He waved an arm around, encompassing the pavilion.

"Ingwion...." Finrod started to say but Ingwion was not listening. He turned to his parents.

"You sent me that message telling me to meet you in Valmar. Why?" He did not let them answer, but continued his tirade, his voice becoming louder with rising anger. "I get to Tirion and a Maia shows up telling Netilmírë and Sador that they are to come to Valmar as well. And, oh yes, by all means bring the entire Noldorin royal family with you when you do. Only when we get to Valmar there is still no explanation, only a very strange journey that somehow gets us to Lórien in a matter of minutes instead of the three days it normally takes to get here. And when we do arrive, we’re told to go play." This last was said with an air of disgust. He glared around the table. "Does no one else think this is strange? Are you all blind? Or are you just refusing to acknowledge the truth of the matter. There is usually only one reason why people are called to Lórien, to meet with their loved ones who... who have died and are now... now...." He broke down at that point, sitting there weeping, his head in his hands.

No one moved or spoke at first, too stunned by Ingwion’s outburst. Then Elindis went to comfort her son. Netilmírë, her face white, her expression one of deep pain, turned to Finrod. "Is it true then? Is that why we’re here? I... all this time I wondered why I was here but... but I didn’t want... I didn’t want to believe...." She started weeping and Sador got up and went to her and held her.

"I think that is why you are here," Finrod said quietly. "At least, why some of you are here. But I do not know for sure. I only know that the Valar and Maiar with whom I’ve spoken lately have seemed unusually excited about something, but beyond that...." He shrugged.

There was a shimmer in the air outside the pavilion and then Lord Irmo was stepping inside. Everyone started to rise but the Vala waved them back down. "I know you are all wondering what this is about, and some of you have guessed the truth." He looked at Ingwion. "And some of you have refused to hope." He now looked at Netilmírë and smiled. "The truth is, that you are all here for more than one reason and one of those reasons is sitting here in your midst." He walked over to stand behind Eärnur’s chair, placing his hands on the stunned ellon’s shoulders.

"Tonight will be Eärnur’s last night as a journeyman Lóriennildo," Irmo said, his expression joyous, "for I now promote him to Master." Even as he spoke, Ingil appeared carrying a tabard. It was white with the rainbow emblem of the Lord of Lórien embroidered upon it. "Stand up, Eärnur," the Vala commanded, pulling the ellon’s chair out. Eärnur stood somewhat shakily, staring wide-eyed at the tabard in the Maia’s arms. Irmo began speaking again.

"We will have another more formal and public ceremony later when your family arrives next week, but I thought tonight we would have this little ceremony for your friends." He then took Eärnur by the hand and led him outside with Ingil walking behind them and the others all filing out. By now it was night and the stars shone brightly above them. They gathered around Irmo and Eärnur in a circle. Irmo smiled at the ellon. "I know you did not think this day would come, Eärnur, and in truth, it is a bit later than either of us thought, but I think you will agree that the wait has been well worth it."

"Yes, Master," Eärnur said quietly. "Looking back, I realize that you were waiting for Findaráto to join us here in Lórien and teach me what I needed to know about ministering to the Reborn."

"And that is true," Irmo said. "Your friendship with Findaráto, which I fostered, has born great fruit. You are the first of the younger generation of elves to be trained by a Reborn in ministering to the Reborn. You will be, in fact, the Master Healer in charge of overseeing the Reborn who come to Lórien. I know you have some ideas about how to improve the training of those ministering to the Reborn, as well as how the Reborn will be ministered to."

Eärnur nodded but did not speak. "Well, now you will be able to put your ideas to the test," Irmo said with a smile. Then there was another shimmer in the air and Lady Estë was there beside her spouse, smiling at the bemused Teler. Irmo began speaking again. "And so, Eärnur Falasturion, I ask thee: art thou ready to accept the mantle of Master Healer and all that goes with it?"

Irmo gestured to Ingil, who held out the tabard to the Vala. Irmo took it and helped Eärnur into it. When he was properly attired, Eärnur knelt before the two Valar. "Though you are a Master Healer in service to me," Irmo said, "you are also in service to my lady and you will speak your oath to us both."

Eärnur nodded, licked his lips and placed his hands in Irmo’s with Estë putting a hand over her spouse’s. "I, Eärnur Falasturion, do pledge myself to you, my Lord Irmo and my Lady Estë. I offer my knowledge and skills in healing for the benefit of all, to do no harm in the administering of my duties, to turn none away who come to me for healing and to expect no other recompense than the satisfaction that I have done all in my power to bring healing to another, respecting the mystery of life and acknowledging my own limitations, placing all in Eru Ilúvatar’s hands. Valar valuvar."

"And I, Irmo, Lord of Lórien, have heard thine oath and accept it. Mayest thou continue to grow in wisdom and degree, my son." He bent down and lifted Eärnur and gave him a kiss as between liege and vassal. Estë then gave him her own kiss and smiled. "Well done, child. Well done, indeed." She turned him around. "Here is Master Healer Eärnur Falasturion."

Everyone started to cheer. Finrod and Glorfindel were the first to reach Eärnur and offer him their congratulations. Others did the same. After a few moments, though, Irmo spoke. "And that is one reason for some of you being here, but here is the other reason." He gestured towards the grove’s entrance and everyone stopped and stared.

Entering the grove, accompanied by Maiar, were several people, all of them looking bemused, even a little fearful. No one spoke but then Netilmírë gave a small gasp. "Voronwë!" she cried out and began running towards one of the ellyn standing at the entrance.

"Daernana!" Sador suddenly shouted, running after Netilmírë, flinging himself into an elleth’s arms. "Oh, Daernana, I’ve missed you so much." Then he turned to the ellon standing next to them and hugged him as well. "Daerada, Daerada. You are here, too."

Netilmírë then realized that not only her husband but her daughter was there as well. "Ezelmiril! Oh, Valar! You’re alive! You’re both alive." She hugged them both.

"And my anatar Mallor as well," Sador said bringing the ellon over, speaking in Quenya and then switching to Sindarin. "Daerada, this is your Naneth Netilmírë."

"I... I am pleased to meet you... Amillë," the Sinda said in halting Quenya, looking shy and uncertain.

"And I am pleased to meet you, iôn nîn," Netilmírë returned in passable Sindarin, which brought surprised looks to everyone’s faces.

But they were not the only Reborn who were being greeted. Even as Netilmírë shouted her husband’s name, Ingwion also cried out. "Ingil! Ingil!" He started running and his parents and Indil were right behind him.

"Look, Alassiel!" Lirulin also shouted, pointing. "There’s your atar. Intarion! The Valar be praised! Intarion, my love." She started running.

Ingwion reached an ellon and wrapped his arms around him. "Oh Ingil, my brother, I never thought I would see you again," he exclaimed through his tears.

"My... my name is... Ingalaurë," the ellon said in a bemused tone. "I... do I know you?"

"I’m Ingwion, your brother, your twin," Ingwion replied. "And look! Here are Atto and Ammë and our sister, Indil." He turned to face his family. "He’s come back," he said. "He’s come back."

Ingwë held out his arms to his other son and Ingalaurë went to him, allowing himself to be hugged. "Oh my son, my son," Ingwë whispered, tears streaming down his face, rocking the ellon. "Oh my son."

"I... I don’t remember," Ingalaurë said in a strained voice, panic beginning to seep in.

Elindis took him in her arms. "That’s all right, child. There’s no hurry. You take all the time you need to remember us. Just know this: you have a family who loves you and we will be here whenever you are ready to join us."

Lirulin and Alassiel were also greeting a bemused Intarion, introducing themselves to him. He smiled fondly at Alassiel, running a hand through her hair "You’re all grown up," he said.

"That’s what happens when you go away, dear," Lirulin replied, wrapping her arms around her husband and smiling at him wistfully. "Promise me you won’t do that again."

"I promise," Intarion said simply and then Lirulin and Alassiel were bringing him over to where Ingwë and his family were and more introductions were made.

There was one ellon, however, whom no one greeted. He was standing next to one of the Maiar, staring about, looking somewhat bereft. The Maia took his hand and led him to where everyone else was standing watching the reunions. Irmo clapped Eärnur on the shoulder to get his attention and smiled. "There’s someone I would like you to meet," he said. "Eärnur, this is your uncle for whom you were named," the Vala said gently and then turned to the Reborn. "And this is your brother Falastur’s youngest child, born after you died and named for you."

His uncle canted his head to the right, giving his nephew a considering look, and then a slow smile crossed his face. "I like being a surprise," he said.

Eärnur raised an eyebrow and then started laughing. "We’ll have to plan how to surprise everyone." Then he hugged his uncle. "Welcome to Life, Uncle Eärnur. I’m so glad you’re here."

Just then, Ingwion came, dragging his twin brother with him. "Look, Findaráto! Ingalaurë has returned to us."

"So I see," Finrod said with an indulgent smile. He gave Ingalaurë a hug. "You probably don’t remember me...."

"Do you still tell people you’ll stay as long as they feed you?" Ingalaurë asked.

Finrod gave him a startled look and then was laughing, hugging the ellon tightly. "Indeed I do! Funny you should remember that. Come. Let me introduce you to other family members and our friends."

Netilmírë and Sador also brought their family with them and soon everyone was being introduced to everyone else. The Reborn seemed overwhelmed, but no one pressured them to remember more than they were able.

"This definitely calls for a celebration," Finrod exclaimed loudly. "Not only do we have a new Master Healer in our midst but families have been reunited. This is a most joyous occasion."

"You will find refreshments in the pavilion," Irmo announced. "Enjoy yourselves, my children." Then he and Estë and all the Maiar were gone. Finrod led the way into the pavilion where drinks and dainties were laid out on the dining table.

Glorfindel held back, watching everyone, seeing both the joy and the bemusement on people’s faces. Aldundil stood next to him.

"Ah... thinking... always a dangerous occupation where you’re concerned," Aldundil quipped.

Glorfindel smirked. "I was thinking how I will react when my parents are finally released from Mandos, given what... well what happened between us."

"I will not ask what that was," Aldundil said, "but, you know, at the moment, I don’t think it matters. You cannot know how you will react until the moment arrives. It’s all theoretical for you now. I would not concern myself with it yet. Rejoice in today. Rejoice that your friends have been united with their own families. Leave the rest in Eru’s hands."

Glorfindel looked at the ellon and nodded. "You’re right, of course. This is a happy occasion, and I will not let my own dark brooding spoil it for them. Come. Let us join the celebration."

He clapped Aldundil on the shoulder and together they entered the pavilion in time to hear Finrod’s toast in honor of Eärnur’s promotion. The celebration continued far into the night while Maiar stood guard before the grove’s entrance to keep the curious away.

Deep in the heart of Lórien, in a grove that few elves had ever visited, the Valar gathered for their own celebration.

"I just love happy endings," Námo said to his brother as they stood sipping miruvórë. "I have waited a long time for this day to come, when I can finally begin releasing the Vanyar from my care."

"Hopefully, this will be the beginning of a new chapter in the story of Aman and we who live here, Ainur and Eldar alike," Námo opined.

The Elder King shrugged. "Nothing too important at the moment. All is well. All manner of things are well."

"From your lips to Atar’s ears, Manwë," Námo said with a smirk and the others laughed, knowing full well that even in the Blessed Realm nothing was perfect and anything could happen to make their lives interesting.

Námo entered the throne room in Ilmarin to find the other Valar already gathered for their weekly conference. He did not bother to give any of them a greeting but went directly to stand before Manwë. "It is time," he said, and they all knew what he meant.

Manwë sighed. "Eönwë, Olórin," he said and almost at once the two Maiar appeared before their lord’s throne, giving him their obeisance. "Olórin, where is Glorfindel?" the Elder King asked without preamble.

"Last report had him and Findaráto visiting Vanyalondë," the Maia replied, speaking of the city that had been built in Avathar when the lands south of the Pelóri were finally opened to the elves for colonization. Vanyalondë had been the first major port built. "They are due to return in two week’s time, I believe. Indeed, they should already have sailed."

"I can send Ossë to speed their ship along," Ulmo suggested. "I’ll have him create a storm that will drive the ship northward at a speed that will bring them to Rómenhópa in half the time."

"Very well," Manwë said, "but make sure Ossë doesn’t get carried away. I want the ship arriving intact and its crew and passengers none the worse for wear."

"Not to mention giving Glorfindel a chance to reclaim his stomach," Námo said with a wicked grin. The ellon never did well in rough waters.

Ulmo smiled and nodded, shedding his fana and disappearing. Manwë turned to Olórin. "When the ship arrives, inform Glorfindel and Findaráto that I wish to see them as soon as possible. Let them know that I will expect them within a week of their reaching Tirion. That will give them plenty of time to get their land legs back."

There were chuckles among the Valar. Manwë then spoke to Eönwë. "Go to Eärendil and let him know that the time has come to send Glorfindel back to Middle-earth. He and Elwing should plan to be here in two weeks."

The two Maiar bowed and thought themselves away. Manwë gave his fellow Valar a considering look. "And now we wait."

They all nodded, but there was no sense of impatience to them. Instead, they all had looks of anticipation on their faces, as Manwë called them to order. "I believe Nessa was about to give us a report."

The Valië nodded. "There have been a series of volcanic eruptions on Mornanórë," she said, naming the continent that lay between the Inner Seas and the East Sea, "eruptions that are likely to cause severe disruptions in normal weather patterns throughout Arda, including Aman...."

Glorfindel and Finrod made their way up the mountain to Ilmarin after having left Ingwë and his family at the north gate of Vanyamar where they had seen them off.

"Do you think this is it?" Glorfindel asked as he and Finrod crossed the Rainbow Bridge. "Do you think I will be sent to Endórë now?"

Finrod shrugged. "Perhaps. I do not know. The summons may be for a different reason. This isn’t the first time you’ve been sent for, thinking Lord Manwë would be sending you to Endórë only to learn that he had a different task for you."

"But those other times, I usually went alone," Glorfindel pointed out. "I think this is the first time in a long time that you were asked to accompany me, like the first time I went to Ilmarin."

"Well, we’ll find out soon enough," Finrod said with a smile and to that Glorfindel could offer no arguments.

As they continued climbing, he mused on the possibility that this might be it, this might be when he would be sent to Lindon and Gil-galad and... Elrond. He was not sure how he felt about it. It had been nearly five yéni since he had been told of his mission. In that time he had striven to learn all that the Maiar and even some of the Valar were willing to teach him, not only in the warrior’s art but in matters of diplomacy and politics, for the Valar meant for him to become one of Gil-galad’s most trusted councillors. And there had been other, more esoteric lessons....

Glorfindel stole a glance at Finrod walking beside him. He’d been surprised when Lord Manwë had asked Finrod to teach him about Songs of Power, but in retrospect, he realized that, given their history and Finrod’s own abilities in that quarter, it made sense. Of course, the Valar weren’t taking any chances. He smiled to himself, recalling how there had always been at least a dozen Maiar and two Valar in attendance whenever those particular lessons were being taught and always in some remote corner of the continent where there was little chance of others being harmed if things went wrong.

Glorfindel’s reverie was broken when he felt a touch on his arm and looked at Finrod who was pointing up. Glorfindel felt the blood rushing from his face when he saw where his brother was pointing. There, floating before the gates of Ilmarin was Eärendil’s ship. Finrod gave him a sympathetic smile. "It looks as if this may indeed be the time," he said, and there was a wistful note to his words and Glorfindel gave him a fierce hug.

"We knew this day would come," he whispered. "You and I have been preparing for it for almost seven hundred years of the Sun."

Glorfindel sighed, knowing what Finrod meant, for he was feeling the same ambivalence in his fëa. Yet, he had pledged himself to this task and he was not about to renege on it. In spite of the sorrow he felt at the idea of leaving his family and friends, there was also a rising excitement within him at the thought of a new adventure. He gave Finrod a lopsided grin. "Come on. We mustn’t keep the Valar waiting."

Finrod nodded and they continued towards the gate where they were met by Olórin who greeted them joyfully and then led them to their audience with Lord Manwë. Entering the audience chamber, Glorfindel saw all the Valar were in attendance. Eärendil and Elwing were there, as well as Eönwë and two other Maiar. There was something not quite right about the two Maiar, who were clothed in shades of blue. Glorfindel could not put his finger on what the difference was. Putting the Maiar out of his mind, he gave his obeisance to Manwë and waited expectantly for the Elder King to speak.

Manwë smiled at him. "As you have probably guessed, the time has come for you to take up the task for which you have been trained, to go to Endórë and be our emissary to Ereinion and to protect Elrond Eärendilion and his family, should he ever have one. Are you still willing to do this, Glorfindel?"

"Yes, my lord, I am," Glorfindel replied and there was a sigh of relief felt throughout the room, though Glorfindel was unsure from whom it had originated.

"Ulmo has made arrangements with one of the ships leaving for Númenor," Manwë said. "You will travel to Andunië where another ship will take you to Lindon."

"Why Andunië?" Finrod asked. "I know I am not conversant with affairs on Númenor but I would think Rómenna would have been the best place to find a ship going to Lindon."

"Unfortunately, since Ancalimë ascended the throne, she has neglected her atar’s policies and no longer gives any aid to Ereinion," Manwë explained. "So, it would be best if Glorfindel avoids Rómenna. It is too close to the royal city. Eldalondë is the port into which the elves from Tol Eressëa generally sail but we will have the captain make a slight detour to Andúnië where you are more likely to find a ship heading for Lindon. In spite of Ancalimë’s policies, the lords of Andúnië retain their friendship with the elves."

"And you will not be going alone," Varda said with a smile, gesturing towards the two Maiar dressed in blue robes. "Here are two companions for your journey, Alatar of the People of Oromë and Pallando of the People of Nienna." The two Maiar bowed to him.

There were amused looks among the Valar. "It has been done before," Varda said. "Alatar and Pallando are fully incarnate, just as the Maiar were during the War of Wrath."

And that is what was different about these two, Glorfindel realized. There was a solidness about them that was not present in either Eönwë or Olórin. "So, you will be a part of my embassy or will I be a part of yours?" he asked, feeling both confused and slighted, thinking the Valar still did not trust him out of their sight, or at least out of sight of their Maiar.

"Neither," Manwë said. "Alatar and Pallando have their own mission that has nothing to do with yours. You are merely traveling together for a time. Once you reach Lindon, they will be heading elsewhere."

Glorfindel tried not to look relieved at that. He nodded at the two Maiar. "Then I will welcome the company, especially when we are surrounded by Mortals. It’s been too long since I’ve had any dealings with the Secondborn."

"It has been a while for us as well," Alatar said with a smile. "Not since the War of Wrath, actually."

"Well, the three of you will have plenty of time to compare notes," Varda said firmly. "In the meantime, Glorfindel, you have a month to make your farewells, either in person or by letter. You should be in Avallónë by the First of Lótessë."

Glorfindel nodded, suddenly feeling faint. A month! Not much time, but he would have to make the best of it. Then a thought came to him and he gave them an embarrassed look. "Ah, what should I pack?"

The Valar and the Maiar stared at him, nonplused. Finrod rolled his eyes. "Two tunics and three changes of underclothing," he said. "You don’t need anything more and whatever else you might need I am sure Gil-galad will supply."

"I would recommend leaving behind your horse," Námo answered with a wry smile, "but certainly take your sword. Or actually, I should return your other sword to you, shouldn’t I?"

Glorfindel blinked, trying to determine what the Vala was talking about and then a memory welled up of a dream he had had, or perhaps it wasn’t a dream. "I gave you my sword in safe-keeping," he said slowly. "It was the sword I wielded when I died."

Námo nodded. "And I said that I would return it to you when you were ready to accept the responsibilities a sword demands of the one who wields it."

"I remember now," Glorfindel said. He gave the Vala a considering look. "I have wielded many a sword since then."

Námo shrugged. "It is a symbol, then. A symbol of your readiness to accept the responsibilities that will be demanded of you in your new life, for it will be a new life for you, Glorfindel, no less than when you were re-embodied and everything was new again. You have only your memories of Gondolin to guide you, but Lindon is not Gondolin and Ereinion is not Turgon. It will quite literally be a whole new world for you. Are you prepared?"

"No," Glorfindel replied in all honesty, "but then, when has that ever stopped me?" He gave them a bland look and even Námo laughed at that.

"Then take back your sword, Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower," Námo said and then there was a sword in his hand, a sword that shimmered in unearthly light. Glorfindel reached out and placed his hand on the pommel, gripping it firmly but even as he did so, it disappeared. He looked at Námo in wonder and the Vala smiled. "A symbol, child. In grasping that particular sword you have shown your willingness to take up the responsibilities that are inherent in the wielding of any weapon."

Glorfindel stood there for a moment, blinking, and then on impulse, he unbuckled the sword belt around his hips and held the sheathed sword in his two hands as he knelt before the Lord of Mandos. "This is Aranna, the sword given to me by King Olwë. Take it, lord, into thy safekeeping as a pledge that someday I will return to reclaim it, however long that might be."

Námo gazed at him for a moment before reaching out and taking the sword. "I will keep it for thee, Glorfindel, and I will return it to thee so long as thou dost behave thyself. Otherwise I will skewer thee with it and stick thy fëa on a post outside the doors of Mandos as a warning to others if thou art ever so stupid as to show up on my doorstep... again."

Glorfindel blinked, not sure how to take the Vala’s words, but decided to err on the side of caution and said with all sincerity, "And if I am ever that stupid, lord, I will fall on the sword myself and save you the trouble."

Someone sniggered and then everyone was laughing. Námo smiled and reached down to help Glorfindel rise, giving him a hug. "Make me proud, best beloved," he whispered in Glorfindel’s ear.

"I will," Glorfindel said in a choking voice, trying to keep the tears from falling. Then, Námo released him and he found himself being passed from one Vala to the next as they each gave him a blessing and advice. When they were done, Manwë suggested that the elves go back to Vanyamar so Glorfindel could start making his farewells. The four elves gave the Valar their obeisance. Eärendil wrapped an arm around Glorfindel’s shoulders as they were leaving, speaking softly to the ellon about Elrond and what messages he was to give him from his parents.

Elrond Eärendilion stood on the pier, staring out into the Gulf, wondering what had possessed him to come out here in this miserable wet weather. He shook the rain from his eyes, for he eschewed drawing up the hood of his cloak. For almost a week he had come out here, ignoring his duties, ignoring his friends, ignoring Gil-galad’s own pleas to come back inside. He was not sure why he was doing this. What was he looking for? What did he hope to find out here in the harbor with the rain lashing at him? There were no ships sailing and none were expected. So why was he standing there getting more and more wet by the minute? He did not know; he only knew that he’d been haunted by images or dreams or perhaps even a foretelling and they had brought him here to the harbor day after day for the last week. He had tried to ignore the compulsion at first, doggedly going about his duties with grim determination, but without any conscious thought of doing so, he would suddenly find himself standing on this particular pier, staring out at the grey roiling waves pounding the shore. Only at the insistence, nay, the command of Gil-galad had he bothered to leave his spot to go and eat and rest, though he could not sleep. Gil-galad did not forbid him going to the harbor, but he insisted that he return to the palace at nightfall.

Elrond was not so sure about that, but he dared not disobey his king, so he had spent the nights pacing his study, waiting for the first blush of dawn, at which point he would fling on his cloak and rush out the door, heading for the harbor before anyone was stirring. And then he would stand there, waiting.

The rain seemed to fall more heavily and Elrond knew that soon he would be forced to retire to the palace again, for night was rapidly approaching. He wondered how long he would continue this vigil for what he did not know. How long before Gil-galad had enough and forbade him from even leaving the palace, forcing him to return to his duties.

This was madness! He should just return to the palace and order a hot bath and forget about it. Standing here in the rain was pointless. He was about to turn around, to head back to the city, when something caught his eye, some indefinable movement. He furrowed his brow, staring into the encroaching darkness as rain continued to fall.

Was that a ship? He shook the rain out of his eyes, and looked again, taking a few hesitant steps forward for a better look.

It was! He gasped, frozen in stunned surprise. A ship! In this weather? Through the curtain of rain it plowed onward, heading straight for the pier on which Elrond was standing. He gazed at it in amazement, for it was not even an elven ship, but one of the ships of the Edain of Númenor, lanteen-rigged on two masts, known for their speed and their capacity for sailing to windward. They were well suited for long voyages. He marveled that an Edain-built ship could have made it through the sea storm that had been pounding its way up the Gulf, forcing Círdan to ground all ships until it passed. He could make out the figures of sailors rushing about, reefing what sails were still unfurled and preparing to bring the ship to its berth. He heard voices calling behind him and turned to see people pouring out of the buildings lining the harbor, dockworkers who ran toward the pier, shouting in surprise and wonder at the sight of the ship. Turning back, Elrond saw that the ship was nearly upon them. Lines were thrown out and neatly caught by those waiting on the pier and soon the ship was berthed.

Elrond just stood there, unsure now what to do. Was this what he had been waiting for, this ship? Or more likely, for someone on the ship. A rising sense of both dread and excitement flooded him and he felt as if something portentous was about to happen, something that would change his life forever, though whether for good or for ill, he could not say. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to flee, to run back to Lindon and hide himself like some elfling cowering under the covers, afraid of the orcs in the wardrobe.

He ignored the feeling and forced himself to remain where he was. There was a great deal of bustling about the ship and then the gangplank was lowered and several people came down it. The dockworkers huddled about them, obviously demanding explanations, though Elrond could not hear what was being said. One person pushed himself out of the crowd and began walking — a bit unsteadily at first but with every step more assured — towards Elrond. His features were hidden under a voluminous cloak, so he could not even tell if the person was male or female. Whoever he was, he was no Mortal, of that Elrond was certain, for he walked with the inherent grace of the Firstborn.

The stranger stopped a few feet from Elrond and lifted his hood, revealing an ellon with bright golden hair and grey eyes that seemed to pierce Elrond’s very soul with a single glance. He wore warrior braids, which surprised Elrond, for the ellon wore no sword on his hip. The tunic peeping out from under the cloak was cut in a style unknown to him and dyed in a shade of blue he had never seen before.

Elrond could only nod, too stunned to speak. How did this stranger even know!? The ellon smiled and it was as if Anor herself had appeared. Elrond took an involuntary step back and then forced himself to remain still. If the stranger noticed, he gave no sign.

"My name is Glorfindel," the ellon said simply by way of introduction. "I have messages from your adar and naneth."

Elrond felt the world shifting and Glorfindel held out a hand to steady him. Glorfindel! Surely not the hero of Gondolin? How was that possible? Then his mind latched onto the last part of what the ellon had said. "A-ada? Nana?" Elrond whispered. "You... you know my Ada and Nana?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Yes, I know them quite well." He gazed about him as if sizing up the situation and then turned his attention back to Elrond and smiled again. "Perhaps there is somewhere a little drier where we can talk," he said, giving Elrond a considering look.

"Perhaps you could lead the way," Glorfindel suggested gently when Elrond just stood there.

The Herald of Gil-galad felt himself blushing furiously as he stumbled through an apology. Glorfindel waved it away, throwing his arms out. "Come. I, for one, am getting tired standing out here in the rain, aren’t you?"

"Glorfindel. Just call me Glorfindel," the golden-haired ellon said. "I’ll leave the titles for those who need them."

"Then, please follow me, Glorfindel," Elrond said, gesturing with one hand and the two began walking. "I suppose I should take you to Gil-galad first though," Elrond said.

"Gil-galad can keep," Glorfindel said firmly. "The first order of business is a hot bath for us both, some dry clothes and a hot meal. I’ll deal with the king tomorrow. Tonight, however, is for you."

Elrond wasn’t sure how to take Glorfindel’s statement, but decided not to argue. One doesn’t argue with a legend, does one? He nodded and for the first time offered his own shy smile. "Hot baths and a hot meal sound good to me, too."

"Excellent!" Glorfindel exclaimed, throwing a friendly arm around Elrond’s shoulders. "And while we’re doing all that I’ll tell you about your adar and naneth."

"It is, after all, why I am here," Glorfindel said with a gentle smile. As the two made their way through the streets towards the palace, Glorfindel spoke of Eärendil and Elwing. Listening to his tale, Elrond forgot all about the rain as something deep within him opened up, some emotion that he barely recognized impinging upon his soul, a warm feeling from a time in his life that he only half-remembered welling up and engulfing him, bringing light to dark places, and for the first time since Elros had left him, he knew himself to be loved.

Mornanórë: Dark Land. The continent is so named by Tolkien; see ‘The Ambarkanta, Map V’, The Shaping of Middle-earth, HoME IV, and Karen Wynn Fonstad’s The Atlas of Middle-earth (revised edition), pages 38-39.

1. Tar-Ancalimë was the first Ruling Queen of Númenor, reigning from 1075 to 1280. Her father was Tar-Aldarion, who was a friend and councillor of Gil-galad. See 'The Line of Elros: Kings of Númenor', Unfinished Tales.

Note: One of my readers, Rick, sent me this list of the gemstones mentioned throughout Elf, Interrupted, suggesting that it might be put in an Appendix so that readers would be able to refer to the gemstones, their properties and meanings, in a single place. And so, I wish to thank Rick for generously taking the time to put this list together for me. In some cases I have added additional information.

Quenya and/or Sindarin equivalents for some of these are given in brackets. Those marked by an asterisk are attested; all others are constructed.

Amber: A healing stone and the symbol of courage. In ancient times, amber was carried by travelers for protection. Also a symbol of the presence of Eru Ilúvatar.

In the Far East, amber is the symbol of courage; Asian cultures regard amber as the 'soul of the tiger'; Egyptians placed a piece of amber in the casket of a loved one to ensure the body would forever remain whole.

Amethyst: Symbolic of spirituality and piety. It has been used to ornament churches and crosses used in religious ceremony, and worn in rings and on rosaries by bishops and priests. Amethyst is considered a stabilizing force for those struggling to overcome addictive behaviors. The gift of amethyst is symbolic of protection and the power to overcome difficulty. Amethyst is a gemstone often worn by healers, as it has the power to focus energy.

Aquamarine: Derived from the Roman word aqua ‘water’ and mare ‘sea’, this pale blue gem does indeed resemble the color of seawater. The ancient Romans believed that the aquamarine was sacred to Neptune, the god of the sea, having fallen from the jewel boxes of sirens and washed onto shore. Early sailors wore aquamarine talismans, engraved with the likeness of Neptune, as protection against dangers at sea.

The association with water led to the belief that the aquamarine was particularly powerful when immersed. Water in which this gemstone had been submerged was used in ancient times to heal a variety of illnesses of the heart, liver, stomach, mouth and throat. Aquamarines were also used to reverse poisoning. [nenairë]

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 and fidelity, as well as a symbol of faith and hope. A tranquilizer for a troubled mind. [*elessar]

Carnelian: A chalcedony, ranging from a clear orange red to dark orange brown, that has the power to ease fears about rebirth (for the Eldar) and death (for Mortals).

Chrysoprase: An apple-green gemstone, it helps to make conscious what was unconscious. It strengthens the workings of insight and the higher consciousness. It encourages hope and joy as well as help in clarifying problems. Chrysoprase is used to speed the healing of any wound. It is also used as a shield or protector from negative energy. [laurelaiquamírë]

Citrine: A yellow gemstone and a symbol of hope and strength. Ideal for helping anyone to get through the tough times in life! Dissipates negative energy. Warmth, joy, and optimism.

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. Thought to be symbolic of love and the desire for a loved one's safe travel and speedy homecoming.

Hawk eye: Also known as Tiger eye or Cat’s eye. A honey-brown striped gemstone. It promotes clear thinking and insight. It also heals self-criticism and self-worth problems and is considered a grounding stone. [henfion]

Jade: Can protect a person from psychic attacks and nightmares. Jade encourages practicality, wisdom, mental peace and tolerance of others. They also believe it can rejuvenate during periods of stress, reduce fears, banish negative thoughts and increase a person’s capacity for giving and receiving love. [arnasar]

Moonstone: A type of feldspar named because of its uncanny resemblance to the iridescent sheen of the moon. Varying in color from clear to blue-white or peach, it was considered by ancient civilizations to be a sacred stone, bestowing the wearer with great spiritual understanding. Some believed that the Moonstone could even make a person invisible! Symbol of truth in self-reflection and showing what ‘is’. [isilsar (Q)/ithilharn (S)]

Rainbow Moonstone: A symbol of passionate love as well as of truth in self-reflection and showing what ‘is’.

Obsidian: Associated with Hades - Greek god of the underworld and keeper of hidden treasure. Obsidian is a grounding stone but also contains a fiery element. It is useful for developing the strength needed to stand on your own convictions against any enemy (hidden or otherwise).

Rainbow obsidian: Particularly powerful in meditation to dissolve shock, fear or barriers. It expands your consciousness, sharpens the senses and can help you delve deep into mysterious phenomena and experiences.

Mahogany obsidian: Has a gentle energy that will ground and protect its owner. It gives strength in times of need.

Opal: A symbol of faithfulness and confidence. Symbol of hope. The opal is said to be many things including the most powerful of healing stones, the stone of hope, the stone of great achievement and even the ‘stone of the Gods’. Ancient Romans associated opal with hope and good luck.

Pink Opal: Fosters compassion and a gentle resolution of painful memories. It is also a stone of hope and of love, but only to faithful lovers. [mentioned in Wars of the Valar]

Black Onyx: Enhances steadfastness and determination; extremely helpful to people who are in the process of ‘letting go’ or releasing the past; a grounding stone, valuable during the confusing or difficult times in a person’s life; used to deflect or absorb negativity of others and is a good protection against negative forces and influences. Symbol of self-control and resilience. [*nyelecca]

Peridot: A green gemstone and 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. Healing and protective. Allows one to understand changes in one's life, regulates life cycles. A ring of peridot and amethyst is a symbol of purity and morality. Used in a necklace, it is a protector against negative emotions.

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. [carnimírë]

Sapphire: Considered symbolic of wisdom and purity. In ancient times, sapphires were thought to be protective against envy, and even against poisoning. A gift of sapphire represents sincerity and faithfulness.

Sunstone: A sparkling orange-gold stone. A symbol of self-discipline, humility and a desire for service ot the greater good. Symbolically, sunstone is linked to moonstone. Carry the two stones together to bring the influences of the Sun (Healing, Protection) into harmony with those of the Moon (Love, Peace, Spirituality). [anarsar (Q)/anorharn (S)]

Blue Topaz: Thought to have magical properties in its ability to make its wearer invisible in a threatening situation. Symbolic of love and fidelity.

Yellow Topaz: Symbolic of friendship and it strengthens one's capacity to give and receive love.

White Topaz: Increases your awareness of thoughts and deeds and the karmic effects of these; Topaz is a soothing, empathetic stone that will direct energy to the place it is most needed. It heals and energizes. Symbol of truth and forgiveness.

Green Tourmaline: Also known as Verdelite; brings a joy for life. It promotes an appreciation for the many wonders that life has to offer. It encourages patience and openness, as well as sincere interest in fellow human beings. The magical uses of this stone include the stimulation of creativity.

Pink Tourmaline: Symbolic of hope. Pyroelectric when heated; the gem takes on a static electric charge, making it capable of attracting lightweight objects.

Turquoise: Considered by ancients to be a sacred stone, protective against all manners of evil and ill health. Turquoise represents friendship and luck.

Note: Numbers in parentheses refer to the chapter where a character first appears or is first mentioned even if they later appear in subsequent chapters.

Ailinwë (OMC) — Noldo of Kortirion, marched under Maglor’s banner, brother of Soronwë (92)

Alassiel Intaroniel (OFC) — Granddaughter of Ingoldo and Tinwetariel, daughter of Intarion and Lirulin (1)

Aldarion (OMC) — Junior member of Ingwë’s court, a friend of Glorfindel, competed in both the archery and sword-and-shield Tournaments (20)

Amauriel (OFC) — Taurevaryar (forest ranger) in the service of Oromë, wife of Palarran (51)

Amlaith (OMC) — Sinda of Tol Eressëa, one of the hunters whom Glorfindel and Sador meet (62)

*Amras and *Amrod — (mentioned) Twin sons of Fëanor, both of whom died in the attack on the Havens of Sirion (68)

Arafinwë — High King of the Noldor, the Noldóran, father of Finrod, Aegnor, Angrod and Galadriel, son of Finwë, brother of Ñolofinwë (Fingolfin) and half brother of Fëanor, also called Finarfin, spouse of Eärwen (1)

Artohir (OMC) — Tol Eressëan of mixed Noldorin and Sindarin heritage, husband of Galadhmíriel, father of Balamir, runs a maritime mercantile shop (66)

Balamir (OMC) — Tol Eressëan of mixed Noldorin and Sindarin heritage, one of the hunters whom Glorfindel and Sador meet, son of Artohir and Galadhmíriel (62)

Baradir (OMC) — Sinda, Captain of the Nimalphwen and representative of the sea captains to the Town Council of Tavrobel (71)

Barancheneb (OMC) — A loremaster at the Archives in Avallónë, responsible for collecting genealogical data from Returnees, heads the delegation of the Bards’ Guild at the Winter Solstice Council in Valmar (77)

Barawen (OFC) — Daughter of Baragund and Arodeth, one of Brethorn’s cousins (77)

Beleg Cúthalion — Former Marchwarden of Doriath, Glorfindel and Finrod’s playmate in Mandos, killed by Túrin, now Reborn (1)

Belegorn (OMC) — Proprietor of the Blue Dolphin Inn on Tol Eressëa, father of Margil (66)

Berethiel (OFC) — Tol Eressëan who leads the delegation of the Embroiderers’ Guild at the Winter Solstice Council in Valmar, a friend of Gwilwileth and Haldir (122)

Berethrandir (OMC) — Young ellon who is part of the household of Lord Ithildor in Avallónë and is very knowledgeable about Ithildor’s herb garden (75)

Boromir (OMC) — Noldo residing on Tol Eressëa, husband of Morwen, father of Bronweg, Handir and Nimbrethil, a carpenter (65)

Bregolas (OMC) — (mentioned) One of Brethorn’s friends from his first life who brings him to his family in Tol Eressëa (77)

Brethorn (OMC) — (mentioned) Sinda Reborn, one of Finrod’s roommates in Lórien, previously a warrior under Fingon, now living on Tol Eressëa, heads the delegation of the Reborn at the Winter Solstice Council in Valmar (72)

Bronweg (OMC) — Noldo of Tol Eressëa, one of the hunters whom Glorfindel and Sador meet, brother of Handir, son of Boromir and Morwen (62)

Calalindalë (OFC) — (mentioned) Wife of Aldundil and mother of Vorondil, presently in Vairë’s care (8)

Calencheneb (OMC) — (mentioned) One of Brethorn’s friends from his first life who brings him to his family in Tol Eressëa (77)

Calemmiriel (OFC) — *(mentioned) Noldo, Sindarin name taken by Ezelmiril, daughter of Netilmírë and Voronwë, wife of Mallor of Doriath, mother of Bronweg, Sador’s grandmother, killed in the sack of Doriath (77)

*Carangil (OMC) — (mentioned) A member of Laurendil’s company of rangers in Beleriand, now residing in Mandos (76)

Celebaear (OFC) — Sinda, captain of the Aearíen, heads the delegation of the Maritime Guild at the Winter Solstice Council in Valmar (87)

Celebriel (OFC) — Nando of Garth Hâllad on Tol Eressëa, a member of the delegation to Tirion headed by Thorongorn and Dúlinn (107)

Celepharn (OMC) — Reborn Noldo, once a vassal of Celegorm, presently residing in Lórien. Also called Artelemnar Ringilion. (22)

Cemendil (OMC) — (mentioned) A Vanya in the service of Yavanna who was at Alqualondë at the time of the Kinslaying (128)

Círdan — (mentioned) Sinda, Lord of the Falathrim, known as the Shipwright, Lord of Mithlond, also called Ciryatan in Quenya. (66)

Corudir (OMC) — (mentioned) Sinda of Tol Eressëa, former Councillor of Tavrobel and former member of the jewel-smiths’ guild, removed from office and from the guild for collusion with those involved in the conspiracy to foment discontent among the people of Tol Eressëa against the Amaneldi (71)

Dairuin (OMC) —Leader of a tribe of Nandor on Tol Eressëa residing in the forests overlooking Avallónë (78)

Damrod (OMC) — Sinda of Tol Eressëa, one of the hunters whom Glorfindel and Sador meet, son of Halmir and Melian (62)

Dúlinn (OMC) — Noldo, head of the Town Council of Tavrobel, represents the various town guilds, husband of Hithrían (71)

*Dúlinnion (OMC) — (mentioned) A member of Laurendil’s company of rangers in Beleriand, now residing in Mandos (76)

Dúnamdir (OMC) — Noldo of Tol Eressëa, a follower of Amras and Amrod, originally known as Núnestel (68)

Eäralato (OMC) — Teler, one of Olwë’s guards on the Royal Progress through Tol Eressëa (65)

Eärendil — The Mariner, son of Tuor and Idril, grandson of Turgon, father of Elrond and Elros, spouse of Elwing, Bearer of the Silmaril, Lord of Aewellond in Valinor (first mentioned in chapter 4, makes first appearance in chapter 100)

Eärnur Falasturion (OMC) — Teler, journeyman Lóriennildo, Finrod’s friend (58)

Eärnur (OMC) — Teler Reborn, died in the Kinslaying at Alqualondë, Eärnur’s uncle (148)

Eärwen — Noldotári, wife to Arafinwë, Finrod’s mother, daughter of Olwë and Lirillë (1)

*Ecthelion of the Fountain — (mentioned) A lord and captain of Gondolin, slayer of Gothmog, Glorfindel’s closest friend and ally in Gondolin (29)

Ecthelion (OMC) — Sinda, husband of Míriel, father of Egalmoth, Hareth and Halmíriel (67)

Edrahil — One of Finrod’s companions who died in Sauron’s dungeons, protecting Beren, now Reborn (59)

Egalmoth (OMC) — Sinda of Tol Eressëa, one of the hunters whom Glorfindel and Sador meet, son of Ecthelion and Míriel (62)

Eirien (OFC) — Sinda of Tol Eressëa residing in Avallónë, originally from Eglarest, wife of Thorongorn (80)

Eldacan (OMC) — Noldo of Tol Eressëa, husband of Sîdhwen, one of the Town Councillors of Tavrobel (74)

Elemmirë (OFC) — Fosterling to King Ingwë’s court, twin to Elessairon, competed in the archery Tournament (20)

Elencar (OMC) — (mentioned) Finrod’s tailor in Nargothrond who resigned his position and went to Findecáno in Dor-Lómin (123)

Elendir (OMC) — (mentioned) Sinda, father of Mithlas and Mitheryn, husband of Lalwen, missing since the War of Wrath and presumed dead (45)

Elindis (OFC) — Ingatári, Queen of the Vanyar, wife of Ingwë, mother of Ingwion and Indil (1)

Elríen (OFC) — Sinda of Tol Eressëa, heads the delegation of the Healers’ Guild at the Winter Solstice Council in Valmar (122)

Elrond — Half-elven Healer and Gil-galad’s Herald, referred to as Elerondo in Quenya (149)

Elwing — Daughter of Dior and Nimloth, wife of Eärendil, mother of Elrond and Elros (mentioned in chapter 13, makes first appearance in chapter 100)

Eregil (OMC) — One of Finrod’s Dorthonion rangers under Laurendil’s command, died at the Dagor Bragollach, now Reborn (59)

Ereinion — (mentioned) Last High King of the Noldor in Exile. Also called Gil-galad (46)

Eruanna (OFC) — Vanyarin elleth who has taken an oath of service to Finrod, cousin to Oromendil, daughter of Alcareru Lanyamo and Yellánië (6)

Falmaron (OMC) — Teler, Reborn son of Olwë and Lirillë, once a great sea captain who died in the Kinslaying , now the captain of the Elerína (mentioned in chapter 124, makes first appearance in chapter 128))

Faniel — (mentioned) Youngest daughter of Finwë and Indis, wife of Salmar of Alqualondë (121)

Faramir (OMC) — Reborn of mixed Noldorin/Sindarin blood who died in the Nirnaeth Arnediad, a member of the delegation from Tol Eressëa headed by Thorongorn and Dúlinn (107)

Findegil (OMC) — Sinda, fought and lost against both Gilvagor and Ingwion at the New Year Tournament (76)

Finrod — King of Nargothrond, Haryon of the Noldóran, Gwador to Glorfindel and Sador, also called Findaráto and Finda (1)

Galadhmíriel (OFC) — Noldo residing on Tol Eressëa, wife of Artohir and mother of Balamir, helps run the family mercantile shop, also called Aldamíriel (66)

Galadhwen (OFC) — Sinda, wife of Galdor, head of the city council of Kortirion, also heads the Kortirion delegation to the Winter Solstice Council in Valmar (88)

*Galdor (OMC) — (mentioned) Noldo, husband of Galadhwen, vassal of Fingon, died in the Dagor Nirnaeth (88)

Galdor — Lord of the House of the Tree in Gondolin, now residing in Aewellond (101)

*Geliredhel (OMC) — (mentioned) Older brother of Balamir, died in the War of Wrath (66)

Gellamion (OMC) — Tol Eressëan customer at Artohir and Galadhmíriel’s store (66)

Gelloneth (OFC) — A member of the Tol Eressëan delegation sent to Aman to arrange for the Winter Solstice Council (111)

Gildor Inglorion — (mentioned) Noldorin Exile still residing in Middle-earth, husband of Meril of Cormë Alalvëa (61)

Gil-galen (OMC) — A member of the Tol Eressëan delegation sent to Aman to arrange for the Winter Solstice Council (111)

Gilraen (OFC) — (mentioned) Sindarin captain of a ship plying trade between Aman and Tavrobel (73)

Gilvagor (OMC) — Noldo residing on Tol Eressëa, competed in both the archery and sword-and-shield Tournaments (20)

*Glassiel (OFC) — (mentioned) Sinda, wife of Mithlas, now residing in Mandos (45)

Glóremmir (OMC) — Reborn Noldo who is a member of the delegation from Tol Eressëa headed by Thorongorn and Dúlinn, died in the Nirnaeth Arnediad. (107)

Glorfindel — The Balrog-Slayer, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, gwedyr to Finrod and Sador, also called Glorfi (1)

Gurthalion (OMC) — One of the elves of Angobel, a former slave of Morgoth (83)

Gwindor — A Reborn Noldo presently in Lórien and befriended by Sorondil and Oromendil. He is the son of Guilin of Nargothrond and aided Beleg in the rescue of Túrin. Slain in the battle of Tumhalad. (21)

*Gwîrendil Nathron (OMC) — (mentioned) Noldo from Nargothrond, well known for his weaving skills, father of Gwîrendur (72)

Gwîrendur Gwîrendilion (OMC) — Noldo of Tol Eressëa, born in Nargothrond, a weaver, heads the delegation of the Weavers’ Guild at the Winter Solstice Council in Valmar (72)

Halmir (OMC) — Sinda, husband of Melian, father of Damrod and Melmíriel (67)

Handir (OMC) — Noldo of Tol Eressëa, one of the hunters whom Glorfindel and Sador meet, brother of Bronweg and Nimbrethil, son of Boromir and Morwen (62)

Hareth (OFC) — Sinda, daughter of Ecthelion and Míriel, sister of Egalmoth and Hathaldir, who is her twin brother (67)

Hathaldir (OMC) — Sinda, son of Ecthelion and Míriel, brother of Egalmoth and Hareth, who is his twin sister (67)

Hendor — Eärendil’s devoted servant in Gondolin, now residing in Aewellond (101)

Herendil (OMC) — (mentioned) Father of Aldundil, husband of Vandacalmië (8)

Herencáno (OMC) — (mentioned) Noldorin lord who was once attacked by Morcocáno (105)

Indis — (mentioned) Sister of Ingwë, second wife of Finwë, mother of Arafinwë (21)

Ingalaurë (OMC) — Ingwion’s twin brother, died during the Darkening (148)

Ingoldo (OMC) — (mentioned) Brother of Ingwë, husband of Tinwetariel, now in exile in Formenos (58)

Ingwë — Ingweron and Ingaran, High King of the All the Elves, husband of Elindis, father of Ingwion and Indil (1)

Ingwion (OMC) — Son of Ingwë and Elindis, Haryon of the Ingaran, friend to Glorfindel (1)

Intarion (OMC) — Husband of Lirulin and father of Alassiel, died during the War of Wrath (148)

Ithildor (OMC) — (mentioned) Tol Eressëan lord who is a friend of Gilvagor and whose villa in Avallónë is opened to the Royal Progress for their use while he is visiting Númenor, (75)

Ivorwen (OFC) — (mentioned) Elleth of Lindon whom Iorlas was going to ask to marry before he decided to accompany Lasgalad to Tol Eressëa (75)

Laeglîr Maethlawiel (OFC) — Speaker for the Nandorin community of Garth Hallâd on Tol Eressëa (78)

*Laerlîr Maethlawion (OMC) — (mentioned) Nando, brother of Laeglîr, now in Mandos (81)

Lalwen (OFC) — Sinda, wife of Elendir and mother of Mithlas and Mitheryn, suffering from the effects of Sea-longing (45)

Lasgalad (OMC) — Noldo, once of Nargothrond and under Laurendil’s command in the Orod-nuin-elenath Company, arrives in Avallónë from Lindon when Finrod is there, also called Calilassë (75)

Lassezel (OMC) — Vanya, a member of the Vanyarin delegation to the Winter Solstice Council in Valmar (125)

Laurendil Rialcarion (OMC) — Noldorin vassal of Finrod in Middle-earth, captain of the Orod-nuin-elenath Company, Dorthonian ranger, apprentice Lóriennildo, husband of Manwen, known as Glorendil in Beleriand (1)

Legolas — Captain of the House of the Tree in Gondolin, now residing in Aewellond (101)

Lindorillë (OFC) — Vanyarin elleth who has taken an oath of service to Finrod, sister to Sorondil, daughter of Cemendur Mastamo and Yavalda (6)

Linrod (OMC) — (mentioned) Sinda of Tol Eressëa, a woodcarver and Brethorn’s partner in the business (77)

Lirillë of Alqualondë (OFC) — Finrod’s maternal grandmother, Queen of the Teleri of Aman (27)

Lossellë (OFC) — (mentioned) Member of Arafinwë’s court, spouse of Pelendur, mother of Haldir (94)

Lótemalda (OFC) — (mentioned) Mistress of Pages in Arafinwë’s court (58)

Luhtanna (OFC) — Chief Housekeeper of the royal townhouse in Eldamas (108)

Mabring (OMC) — (mentioned) One of Brethorn’s friends from his first life who brings him to his family in Tol Eressëa (77)

*Mallor (OMC) — (mentioned) Husband of Calemmíriel and father of Bronweg, Sador’s grandfather, killed in the sack of Doriath (77)

Mardillë (OFC) — Elleth of Arafinwë’s court, a member of the Exchequer, sister of Serindë, cousin of Rúmilion and Sador’s friend (120)

Margil (OMC) — Ellon at the Blue Dolphin Inn on Tol Eressëa, son of the proprietor, Belegorn (66)

Martandur (OMC) — (mentioned) Vanya, Jewel smith, Glorfindel’s master during the three months of his thralldom (73)

Marthchall (OMC) — Noldo, former slave of Morgoth, leader of the mining town of Angobel on Tol Eressëa, originally known as Ancalimon before the Darkening, heads the delegation from Angobel to the Winter Solstice Council in Valmar (83)

Melian (OFC) — Sinda, wife of Halmir, mother of Damrod and Melmíriel (67)

Meluiwen (OFC) — (mentioned) An elleth from Angobel who is sweet on Marthchall, leads the miners in Marthchall’s absence (84)

Mereneth (OFC) — An elleth of mixed Noldorin/Sindarin blood who heads the Potters’ Guild at the Winter Solstice Council in Valmar (122)

Meril of Cormë Alalvëa — Noldorin lady residing on Tol Eressëa, wife of Gildor Inglorion (mentioned in chapter 61, makes first appearance in chapter 88)

Minalcar (OMC) — (mentioned) Noldorin lord who followed Fëanáro, died at Alqualondë (45)

Minyon Vardamirion (OMC) — Noldo living on Tol Eressëa, owner of ‘The Book Nook’ in Avallónë, friend of Laurendil and Manwen (76)

Mitheryn (OFC) — Sinda, daughter of Elendir and Lalwen, sister of Mithas, suffering from the effects of Sea-longing (45)

Mithlas (OMC) — Sinda residing on Tol Eressëa, competed in both the archery and sword-and-shield Tournaments, son of Elendir and Lalwen, brother of Mitheryn (20)

Morcocáno (OMC) — Noldo, head of the city council of Avallónë, also heads the Avallónean delegation to the Winter Solstice Council in Valmar (80)

Morfinnel (OMC) — Noldo, a miner from Angobel, teases Marthchall about Meluiwen (84)

Morwen (OFC) — Noldo residing on Tol Eressëa, wife of Boromir, mother of Bronweg, Handir and Nimbrethil, a weaver (65)

Morwen (OFC) — Sinda, Reborn, residing on Tol Eressëa, employed by Lady Meril as her chief seamstress (88)

Nambarauto (OMC) — (mentioned) Noldo who spreads rumors in Tol Eressëa (73)

Nestadôr (OMC) — Noldo, Reborn, previously a healer in Maglor’s household, now living on Tol Eressëa (72)

Netilmírë (OFC) — (mentioned) Noldo, Master of the Potter’s Guild, Sador’s great-grandmother (46)

Niélë (OFC) — (mentioned) Noldo, designed the coronet worn by Sador as Cáno (made first appearance in chapter 83 of Elf, Interrupted, Book One, where she was staying at Nienna’s house for a time) (144)

Nimbrethil (OFC) — Noldo of Tol Eressëa, daughter of Boromir and Morwen, sister of Bronweg and Handir (65)

Nolondur (OMC) — (mentioned) Vanya, a wine merchant and a member of the Vanyarin minor nobility who is also a member of Ingwë’s Privy Council (115)

Olwë of Alqualondë — Finrod’s maternal grandfather, King of the Teleri of Aman (1)

Oromendil (OMC) — Vanyarin ellon who has taken an oath of service to Finrod, cousin to Eruanna, son of Vanyafindë and Súrendilmë (6)

Palarran (OMC) — Taurevaryar (forest ranger) in the service of Oromë, husband of Amauriel (51)

Pelendur (OMC) — Member of Arafinwë’s court, spouse of Lossellë, father of Haldir (61)

Pityahuan — Quenya, "Little Hound," nickname or epessë given to Arafinwë when he was apprenticed to the Elder King during the Darkening (1)

Rían (OFC) — (mentioned) Sador’s mother, daughter of Dirhael and Gilfaen, fate unknown (77)

Rivileth (OFC) — Sinda of Tol Eressëa who works in the Archives in Avallónë (77)

Rúmilion (OMC) — Ellon of Arafinwë’s court, a member of the magistrate, cousin of Mardillë and Serindë and Sador’s friend (120)

Sador (OMC) — Reborn Sindarin potter, killed in the Sack of the Havens at the Mouths of Sirion while protecting his younger sister, gwador to Finrod, Glorfindel and Ingwion, ward of Arafinwë (1)

Saelmir (OMC) — Sinda Reborn, one of Finrod’s roommates in Lórien, previously from Gondolin, a member of the House of the Hammer of Wrath (72)

Salmar (OMC) — (mentioned) Teler, youngest son of Olwë and Lirillë, husband of Faniel (121)

Selmacas (OMC) — (mentioned) Father of Calalindalë, husband of Tarwen, works in the department of the Privy Purse in Arafinwë’s court (8)

Serindë (OFC) — Elleth of Arafinwë’s court, a member of the diplomatic corps, sister of Mardille, Rúmilion’s cousin and Sador’s friend and mentor (120)

Sîdhwen (OFC) — Sinda, represents the merchants of Tavrobel to the Town Council (71)

Sorondil (OMC) — Vanyarin ellon who has taken an oath of service to Finrod, brother to Lindorillë, son of Cemendur Mastamo and Yavalda (6)

*Soronwë (OMC) — (mentioned) Noldo, marched under Maglor’s banner, brother of Ailinwë (92)

Telemnambo (OMC) — Teler, a master stonemason who oversaw the building of Elwing’s Tower (95)

Thorongorn (OMC) — Sinda of Tol Eressëa, member of the city council in Avallónë, originally from Eglarest, husband of Eirien (80)

Tuor — (mentioned) Adan, husband of Idril and father of Eärendil, ultimate fate unknown (29)

*Turgon — (mentioned) Exiled Noldo, King of Gondolin, now sleeping in Mandos, also called Turucáno (29)

Uinendilmë (OFC) — Teler, a member of the Telerin delegation to the Winter Solstice Council in Valmar (124)

Urundil (OMC) — Noldorin guard accompanying the Royal Progress through Tol Eressëa (73)

Vánandur (OMC) — A woodcarver in Eldamas who took in Beleg upon his release from Mandos (21)

Vanyafindë Mancar – (mentioned) Oromendil’s father, a trader in service to Lord Nolondur (142)

Veryandur (OMC) — Vanyarin ellon who has taken an oath of service to Finrod; owner of a stuffed toy wolf named Narmollë, son of Séretur Samno and Illissë (6)

Vorondil (OMC) — Son of Aldundil and Calalindalë, technically a thrall to Finrod but now an apprentice Lóriennildo (1)

Vorondil Herendilion (OMC) — Aldundil’s brother and Vorondil’s uncle, killed in the War of Wrath, recently released from Mandos. Also called Vondo. (mentioned in chapter 8, makes first appearance in chapter 114)

Aldarondur (OMC) — Maia, of the People of Oromë, charged with protecting Sador (12)

Amillo (OMC) — (mentioned) Maia, of the People of Ulmo, charged by Ulmo to tutor Faramir in the study of genetics (110)

Cucuandur (OMC) — Maia, of the People of Irmo and Estë, assigned to be Sorondil’s guardian while in Lórien. (22)

Eönwë — Chief Maia of the People of Manwë, Lord Manwë’s Herald, and Keeper of the Book of Oaths (1)

Erunáro (OMC) — Maia, of the People of Manwë, twin brother to Manveru in the Thought of Ilúvatar (17)

Ilúvatar — Eru, God, manifesting as the Flame Imperishable, also referred to as Atar by the Valar and Maiar (3)

Irmo — Vala, Lord of Dreams, Lord of Lórien, spouse of Estë the Gentle (1)

Lisselindë (OFC) — Maia, of the People of Irmo and Estë, assigned to be Lindorillë’s guardian while in Lórien. (7)

Mánatamir (OMC) — Maia, of the People of Manwë, Glorfindel’s traveling companion during his quest for Elwing’s Tower, along with his wolfhound, Cundu (96)

Manveru (OMC) — Maia, of the People of Manwë, twin brother to Erunáro in the Thought of Ilúvatar (17)

Manwë — Vala, Súlimo, Lord of the Breath of Arda, the Elder King and Chief of the Aratar, spouse of Varda (1)

Maranwë (OMC) — Chief Maia of the People of Námo, brother in the Thought of Ilúvatar to Tiutalion (1)

Melian — Maia, of the People of Irmo and Vána, Spouse of Elu Thingol, Queen of Doriath, Finrod’s great-aunt, mother of Lúthien (6)

Melkor — (mentioned) The Fallen Vala, the original Dark Lord, banished to the Void (5)

Námo — Vala, Lord of Mandos, Keeper of the Halls of the Dead, Doomsman of Arda, Judge, Comforter, one of the Aratar, spouse of Vairë (1)

Nienna — Valië, Lady of Pity, one of the Aratar, sister to Námo and Irmo in the Tthought of Ilúvatar (1)

Niondil (OMC) — Maia, of the People of Nienna, a gardener and brother to Cemendillë in the Thought of Ilúvatar (43)

Ninwanyellë (OFC) — Maia, of the People of Irmo and Estë, assigned to be Euranna’s guardian while in Lórien (24)

Nornotavaron (OMC) — Maia, of the People of Irmo and Estë, assigned to be Oromendil’s guardian while in Lórien. (22)

Olóremmárië (OFC) — Maia, of the People of Irmo, normally charged with guarding the Path of Dreams from evil (106)

Olórin — Maia, of the People of Manwë, sometime attendant to the fëar in Mandos and the Reborn (1)

Oromë — Vala, Lord of Forests, one of the Aratar, known as Araw and Tauron by the Sindar. (1)

Roimendil (OMC) — Maia, of the People of Oromë, charged with protecting Beleg (12)

Súrilindë (OMC) — Maia, of the People of Irmo and Estë, assigned to be Veryandur’s guardian while in Lórien (24)

Tirnotaurion (OMC) — Maia, of the People of Oromë, charged with protecting Ingwion (12)

Tiutalion (OMC) — Maia, of the People of Nienna, brother in the Thought of Ilúvatar to Maranwë (1)

Ulcuroitar (OMC) — Maia, of the People of Oromë, charged with protecting Laurendil (12)

Vanimeldë (OFC) — (mentioned) Maia, of the People of Námo, assigned to watch over Sador (21)

Varda — Valië, Elentári, Queen of Stars, The Star Kindler, one of the Aratar, spouse of Manwë (5)

Yavanna — Valië, Giver of Fruits, Valië, Kementári, Queen of the Earth, one of the Aratar, spouse of Aulë, (1)

Elf, Interrupted: Book Two: Glorfindel's Quest by Fiondil