Snowbirds

Author’s Note: For Yule, Rhyselle asked for a story with Vorondil and Finrod and/or Laurendil after Laurendil’s return from Númenor (see The Last Messenger: A Tale of Númenor). The other elements include snow, red ribbons and a bird. Also if any Valar and/or Maiar show up that would be a bonus. Happy Twelfth Night, Rhyselle!

****

The snow came early that year, piling up against the walls of Tirion and Vanyamar. Valmar itself was untouched, though Eldamas received a light blanket of the white stuff, just enough to delight the elflings and dismay their parents. Further to the south, Lórien was still green, much to Vorondil’s disgust.

"It never snows here," he groused to Finrod after the prince gave them the news of the storm that had blanketed the eastern parts of Valinor when he arrived for a visit just before the Solstice.

"Indeed," the prince told them as he doffed his cloak, "I was barely able to make it through the drifts. It was not until I had nearly reached Valmar that the road became more passable."

"Well, you’re here now, lord," Marilla, Vorondil’s wife, said as she took Finrod’s cloak to hang it over a drying rack.

Finrod smiled at the elleth, Laurendil’s only daughter. "Marilla, when are you going to stop being so formal? You used to call me ‘Uncle’ when you were Calaldundil’s age."

Marilla blushed. "Sorry, Uncle. Sometimes I am not sure what to call you."

"Well you could call him an orc-brained ninny, if you like, my dear," Vorondil said with a laugh, giving Finrod a wink, "just so long as you do so respectfully."

Finrod joined him in laughter as he took a bemused Marilla into his embrace. "‘Uncle’ is fine for everything but the most formal occasions," he said, giving her a hug, "and there are, thankfully, few of those."

Marilla nodded. "Well, come and make yourself comfortable. I’ll get us some mulled wine." With that she left the main pavilion to go to the kitchen pavilion to prepare the hot drinks while Finrod and Vorondil took their ease.

"Calaldundil is not here?" Finrod asked.

Vorondil shook his head. "Laurendil and Manwen took him to Alqualondë to be with Eärnur this Solstice. Our Eärnur went with them." His stress on the pronoun let Finrod know that Vorondil was speaking of Marilla’s younger brother, named after Laurendil’s friend presumed lost but recently discovered alive and living on Númenor.

Finrod nodded. "I knew Laurendil was planning to go see Eärnur but was unaware that he would be taking Calaldundil."

Vorondil shrugged. "It was a last minute decision." He gave Finrod a deprecating look. "I fear my son has been smitten by the sea."

"There will always be need of healers among the sailors you know," Finrod said. "There is no reason why your son cannot be both."

"True, but still..." Vorondil gave him a worried frown.

Finrod leaned over and placed a hand on the ellon’s arm. "He’s still very young yet," he said gently. "Time enough for him to decide where his heart lies, and Lord Ulmo seems to have taken to him from what I understand."

"The Valar taking a particular interest in any of us is always cause for worry, Master, as well you know," Vorondil rejoined with a grim smile.

"I know," Finrod replied, leaning back as Marilla returned with a tray of goblets filled with steaming wine.

For a time the three of them spoke of the minor (and not so minor) doings of their families and friends but eventually Vorondil asked the one question he had been avoiding since Finrod’s arrival. "Why are you here, Master?" he asked during a lull in the conversation when Marilla excused herself to check on dinner.

For a long moment Finrod did not answer, simply staring into his goblet. Finally, he looked up and Vorondil was surprised at the tears that were welling in Finrod’s eyes. "I miss him," he said quietly and Vorondil did not need to ask of whom Finrod was speaking. "Even after all this time, I still miss him, especially during this time of year."

"I know," Vorondil replied sorrowfully. "I miss him, too, though I don’t really know why. At best, he was annoying, and at worst, he was... um... annoying as well," he ended lamely, giving Finrod an apologetic look.

Finrod started laughing. "He was that. It’s what made... makes him so endearing." He shook his head as he calmed down, his expression becoming more pensive. "When Eärnur returned to us, it all came rushing back and I found I couldn’t stop thinking about him, wondering what he was doing and with whom."

Marilla returned just then to announce that dinner was ready and so for the next little while the three spent the time speaking of other things, yet Finrod was decidedly not as witty as he normally was, being distracted, and Vorondil was less exuberant than usual. Finally, Marilla stared at the two ellyn and sighed.

"You both are depressed over something, or should I say someone?"

Finrod nodded. "I was telling Vorondil earlier that I was missing Glorfindel more than usual."

"Ah," was Marilla’s only reply.

Silence ensued as they continued eating. "Why didn’t you go with Laurendil to Alqualondë?" Finrod finally asked.

"Someone has to stay and watch over the Reborn and any others in need of care," Marilla answered with a shrug. "There will be other occasions."

"Why didn’t you go?" Vorondil asked Finrod. "I’m sure Laurendil told me he was going to invite you and Amarië to join them."

"Ah, well," Finrod said, not looking at either of them.

Vorondil exchanged a concerned look with Marilla before turning his attention back to Finrod. "What is it, Master? What has brought you here to Lórien when you should be spending the Solstice with your family?"

Finrod looked up. "Are you not my family?"

"You know what I mean, Findaráto," Vorondil rejoined and Finrod raised an eyebrow at him. Only when Vorondil was acting as a Master Healer did he ever address Finrod by name. That he did so now was very telling.

"Unfortunately, I do," Finrod replied with a sigh. "I do not really know why I braved the snows to come out here. I just felt...." But what he felt he either could or would not say.

Vorondil and Marilla exchanged knowing glances, then the elleth gave Finrod a smile. "What you both need is to get away from it all."

The two ellyn gave her puzzled looks. "What do you mean, dearest?" Vorondil asked. "You know I can’t just leave. I have duties...."

"Which can be taken over by others, including me," Marilla said, her voice firm. "While it is true that many of the Lóriennildi have gone home to their families for the Solstice, we are not that shorthanded and there are always the Maiar to help out. So, as a Master Estendurien," — here she gave them both a brilliant if somewhat wicked smile — "I am prescribing time off for you both."

"And where do you propose we go?" Finrod asked with an amused look.

"Why don’t you go camping?" Marilla suggested with a sly expression.

Vorondil grimaced. "You know how much I hate camping," he protested. "It always rains whenever I go camping. Always."

Finrod laughed, knowing the ellon was exaggerating. "Even so," he said, "I cannot stay. I must return to Tirion before next Valanya. I gave Amarië my word that...."

There was suddenly a rainbow of lights just outside the pavilion alerting the elves to the presence of at least one of the Maiar or possibly a Vala. Glancing out they were surprised to see not only the Lord of Lórien but his Lady as well.

"I’m sure your lovely wife will understand why you aren’t home as soon as you promised, my son, if I let her know you are needed here for a time," Lord Irmo said as he and Estë entered the pavilion; the three elves rose and gave them their obeisance.

Finrod gave the Lord of Lórien a dark look. "I don’t like being set up this way and I am not needed here."

Irmo’s expression became almost sad. "I assure you, child, no one is setting you up. We were not even aware of your coming until you left Valmar."

"And as for not being needed," Estë added, "You are always needed, Findaráto. In this case, Vorondil needs you."

"I do?" Vorondil exclaimed in surprise. "That’s news to me. Perhaps next time, my lady, you might consider sending me advance notice so I will know to act accordingly."

The two Valar gave the ellon indulgent smiles, while Marilla simply rolled her eyes. Finrod, not yet appeased, gave Irmo a jaundiced glare. "Vorondil is no more in need of me than you are, my lord."

"Then let us say you are both in need of each other and leave it at that," the Vala said, and while his expression remained mild, his tone was laced with something darker, and Finrod knew enough not to push the argument.

Giving a sigh, he nodded. "Perhaps you are right...."

"I’m always right," Irmo interjected smugly. "That’s why I’m the Vala and you’re not."

All three elves stared at the Lord of Lórien in disbelief. Estë rolled her eyes and muttered something too low for them to hear; Irmo’s smile only broadened.

"Now, I think Marilla’s suggestion of the two of you going camping has merit," Irmo continued brightly — too brightly in Finrod’s opinion. "That bit of woods to the south where you took Vorondil the first time should do nicely and," — he gave Vorondil a sympathetic look — "I promise, no rain."

Silence stretched between them as Finrod and Vorondil gave each other measured looks. Finally, Vorondil spoke. "Well... as long as there’s no rain...."

"Excellent!" Irmo exclaimed, looking far too pleased with himself in the elves’ opinion. "I’ll make sure all the arrangements are made. You can leave tomorrow."

"I still say we’re being set up," Finrod muttered, giving the Valar a glower, "and I resent the manipulation, nor have I given my consent to any of this. I think I will simply return to Tirion in the morning. Vorondil and I will go camping some other time, a time of our choosing, not yours."

The silence now became strained. Marilla gasped in dismay and Vorondil refused to look at anyone, keeping his eyes down, while Finrod continued to glare at the two Valar who never moved. Finally Irmo spoke. "Have you not trusted us to help before, child?"

Finrod gave him a quizzical look. "Help? Help with what?"

"Help you to heal," Irmo said softly. "It is what my Lady and I do, you know, help others to heal."

Finrod’s expression turned sarcastic. "Odd, I don’t recall suffering any injury. I’m pretty sure I would remember being wounded."

"There are other kinds of wounds besides the physical, Findaráto," Estë said, her expression less benign than Irmo’s. "I suggest you stop acting coy and face the truth. Why are you here in Lórien if you did not instinctively feel the need for healing? You should have gone with Laurendil to see Eärnur or at the very least remained in Tirion to celebrate the Solstice with your lovely wife and children. Instead, you ran away."

"I never....!"

"Nay, child," Irmo said, not unkindly, "let us have no untruths between us. You ran, pure and simple. Now we need to learn why. Both you and Vorondil are hurting. Eärnur’s return has opened wounds you both thought long closed. We regret this."

Finrod snarled. "You regret, you regret. You knew he was alive. You knew!"

"Yes, we did," Irmo replied, "nor will we apologize for keeping that information from any of you. Eärnur needed to be where he was to further our own purposes and you needed to be ignorant of that fact, for we knew you would stop at nothing to rescue him, and frankly, we did not wish him to be rescued, certainly not by you."

Finrod felt the blood rush from his head in shock and he actually reeled at the Vala’s words. Marilla, being the closest, grabbed him and forced him to a chair. Vorondil quickly refilled the Elf-lord’s goblet and thrust it at him. Finrod took it without really seeing it and downed the wine in a single gulp.

"I vowed never to leave Aman again...." Finrod muttered as if trying to convince himself of something.

Irmo nodded. "And we decided not to tempt you in reneging on your vow by not telling you the truth about Eärnur." Finrod looked up at the Valar, his expression stricken. Then Irmo sighed. "I have changed my mind. I think you and Vorondil should remain here in Lórien."

Now it was Vorondil’s turn to protest. "But I think the two of us getting away from... all of you," he glared at the two Valar who evinced surprise at the vehemence of the ellon’s expression, "is the best thing for us right now. In fact, as a Master Healer, I insist. Findaráto came to me, not you, after all, so I will be his primary healer and I will decide the course of treatment."

"Healer heal thyself," Findaráto muttered and Vorondil gave him a fierce grin.

"And what do I do in the meantime while you two are out... playing?" Marilla interjected, her expression put-upon though they could see the glimmer of humor in her eyes. Vorondil gathered her into his arms and kissed her soundly and rather passionately on the lips, ignoring the fact that they had an audience. When the two finally came up for air, Marilla’s expression was softer and more bemused.

Vorondil gave her a tender smile. "Perhaps you and I should go camping and we can leave Findaráto here to fend for himself," he said in a suggestive whisper that was heard by everyone.

Marilla giggled at Finrod suddenly turning red. The two Valar just continued to smile indulgently. "I think you should stick to your original plan," the elleth said, stepping out of her husband’s embrace. "While you’re gone I can do some... er... rearranging of the pavilion. You know I’ve been meaning to do so. Calaldundil will be leaving at the New Year for Tirion to be fostered by your atar, Uncle," she continued, turning to Finrod who nodded, "so I might as well start now. I can work faster without all of you underfoot."

"An excellent idea, my dear," Estë said with a gentle smile. "Do not hesitate to call upon any of the Maiar for help if you need it."

"Thank you, my lady," Marilla said with a curtsey.

"Well, now that that is settled," Irmo said, "shall I make the arrangements for your camping trip?" He deliberately looked at Vorondil rather than at Finrod and the ellon nodded.

"We’ll leave tomorrow at first light."

Finrod sighed. He had forbore saying anything further, knowing he would be overruled. I think I should have just gone to Vanyamar instead, he thought to himself. Ingwion would have simply gotten me drunk and that would have been the end of it.

****

Nothing had changed, Finrod saw. The clearing was still there where he and Vorondil had camped with Laurendil, Manwen and Alassiel so long ago. He shook his head. Of course nothing had changed. This was Aman, after all. He pulled himself out of his reverie and helped Vorondil with the tent. In record time they had the camp set up to their liking. A bright fire was going and Vorondil was warming the leftovers from the previous night’s dinner over it for their lunch. Neither had been in the mood for talking the entire time they had traversed the distance between Lórien and the woods, which actually bordered on the Forests of Oromë, separated from the larger and more dangerous woods belonging to the Lord of the Hunt by just a couple of miles of open meadow. Only after they had eaten and had cleaned up the dishes did Finrod voice the one question that kept roiling in his mind.

"So, what do we do now?"

Vorondil did not answer immediately, taking a sip of his tea while looking at his former Master and closest friend, gauging how pale Findaráto looked, pale and drawn, his eyes haunted by... guilt. That surprised the younger ellon, but on reflection he realized he shouldn’t be.

"Why do you feel guilt, Findaráto?" he asked, deciding to get to the very heart of it all. He had worked with the Reborn long enough to know the signs and to know how to counteract the breast-beating that often went with returning memories of a darker nature.

Finrod winced at Vorondil’s tone, recognizing it for what it was. In spite of the fact that he had been released from Mandos nearly twenty-nine hundred years ago, he was still considered a Reborn and treated accordingly. He understood the reasoning for it: the Reborn seemed to exist on a slightly different plane of reality from the Once-born. It was just enough of a difference that it made them (to others) seemingly unpredictable. "I should have known," he muttered.

"Known what?" Vorondil asked, clearly puzzled.

"Known that Eärnur was alive."

"How?"

Finrod shrugged. "I am, after all one of the Fëanturindi. It’s my job to know such things."

Vorondil raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Oh? It is my understanding that your mandate extends no further than Tol Eressëa. What happens beyond is outside your purview."

Finrod glared at the younger ellon. "How can you be so calm about this? We thought he was dead! You thought he was dead!"

Vorondil nodded, not at all perturbed by his friend’s outburst. "Yes, I did." He sighed, his expression becoming less clinical as he stepped out of healer-mode and became once again Finrod’s former apprentice. "I missed him terribly and I mourn the lost years, but Laurendil and I spent much time with Eärnur on the voyage back, coming to grips with what happened. You have not so much as spent one hour alone with him."

"I couldn’t," Finrod admitted. "When I saw him there on the deck of the ship...." He stood up abruptly and walked away into the woods towards the stream. Vorondil let him go, taking another sip of his tea, his expression thoughtful.

****

Finrod strode through the woods, not really seeing them, paying no attention to his route, so he was somewhat nonplused to find himself at the banks of the stream, his forward motion stopped. He looked around a bit, not sure what to do or which direction to take. He did not want to return to the camp just yet. Too many emotions roiled inside him and he almost felt an overpowering need to scream, a need he ruthlessly squashed. Muttering an imprecation, he turned upstream, still moving at a faster pace than was wise considering how the stream bank was littered with rocks and the odd bush.

Soon, however, the sound of the stream bubbling away and the peacefulness of the scene stole into his fëa and he felt himself calming, becoming more centered. He slowed his walk to something less precipitous and took a deep breath, reveling in the sensations he felt around him: the wet mud smell of early winter, the somnolent trees that murmured sleepy greetings to the Firstborn as he passed them, the sparkling fresh scent of pine and balsam in the air. Somewhere in the middle distance was a bird singing. He paused, trying to identify the trill, but could not place it. It was a haunting song, reminiscent of the nightingale, but less melancholy.

"It’s called a snowbird."

Finrod whirled around, his heart in his mouth, and found himself gazing into the intense grey-green eyes of a Maia, one he had never met before. That did not surprise him too much since he was well aware that many of the Maiar had no dealings with the Elves. What did surprise him was that this particular Maia wore front braids that he recalled were worn by his cousin Maglor’s warriors.

"Wh-what?!"

"The bird you’re hearing," the Maia said patiently. "It’s called a snowbird. Come, I’ll show you."

Much to the Elf’s bemusement, Finrod found himself being led away from the stream and further into the woods. The two walked in silence, Finrod not entirely trusting himself to say anything intelligent just then. They did not go too far, perhaps a few hundred yards, which was just far enough that the sound of the stream was a dim thing. The Maia suddenly stopped beneath a beech tree, gesturing with a finger to his lips for Finrod to remain silent. They stood there and listened. The song was perhaps lovelier now that they were closer. Finrod squinted up into the tree which was denuded of leaves and spied the bird sitting on a high branch. It was quite large, perhaps the same size as a crow. It was almost pure white shading to the lightest of grey along the belly and wings. It had a sweeping crest and long pinions, especially the tail, which was nearly as long as its body. It started its trill again and Finrod stood there mesmerized.

After a moment, the Maia signaled for them to leave, which they did. Finrod was still feeling somewhat bemused, as if all this was unreal, so he wasn’t surprised when the Maia led him back to the camp, where Vorondil was still sitting by the fire, nursing his tea. The younger ellon looked up and Finrod saw his expression turn from surprise to a welcoming grin as he stood up.

"Nyéreser!" he exclaimed and the Maia laughed as he opened his arms in greeting, giving Vorondil a warm hug.

Finrod stared at the two of them. "You know each other?"

Vorondil looked over at the older Elf and nodded. "We met, oh, a long time ago."

"Why did you never tell me?" Finrod asked, feeling unaccountably hurt for some reason.

It was the Maia who spoke. "Some things are not in your purview to know, Findaráto. My meeting with Vorondil was a private thing just between us."

Finrod had the grace to blush at the mild reprimand. Vorondil, however, was more interested in knowing why Nyéreser was there.

"Ah, Findaráto and I met in the woods," the Maia said with a grin. "We were admiring a snowbird."

Vorondil raised an eyebrow at that. "Snowbird! I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never seen them. I thought they lived further south. I’ve never heard of one this far north."

Nyéreser nodded. "It’s rare for them to leave Lord Oromë’s Forests, but it does happen. Do either of you know the story of the snowbird?"

Both ellyn shook their heads. "I didn’t even know they existed," Finrod said.

"Well, why don’t we sit and I’ll tell you about them," the Maia suggested and soon they were taking their ease around the fire and sipping on hot sweetened tea. "Snowbirds are like swans in that they mate for life," Nyéreser began once they were settled. "And they are like salmon in that they must return to their home forest to mate. Until the mating call though they are rather solitary creatures. That snowbird we saw is ready to mate and the song it is trilling is the mating call. It is calling for its mate."

"Will it come?" Vorondil couldn’t help asking.

Nyéreser smiled. "We may hope. Like owls, the snowbird will wait for up to two years for its mate. That song is as much a song of trust as it is a song of love."

"How long has this one been waiting?" Finrod asked.

"Nearly a year now," the Maia answered.

"What happens if its mate never shows?" Vorondil asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

Nyéreser’s expression turned sad. "It will die and its mate, if it’s not already dead, will die as well."

"How awful!" Vorondil exclaimed.

The Maia shrugged. "That is the way of things: faithful to the very end. If another snowbird approaches who is not their mate, they will be fought off, even to the death."

The two ellyn sat there in silence, contemplating the Maia’s words.

"Faithful to the end," Finrod muttered, as if to himself, his expression thoughtful.

Nyéreser gave him a considering look. "Trust is a fragile thing, but it upholds the very foundations of Eä. All that you see was built on trust, trust that no matter what, things will turn out for the best. Your trust in the Valar has been seriously eroded because of Eärnur, hasn’t it?"

Finrod grimaced. "I should have been told...."

"And then what?" the Maia countered, his demeanor less warm. "Would you have been able to keep the truth from Laurendil or Vorondil for all that time, seeing their pain and knowing you could relieve it with but a single word, yet unable to because of oaths taken? You overestimate your own strength, Findaráto. You always have. That’s why Sauron defeated you in the end."

Vorondil gasped at the coldness of the Maia’s tone and Finrod went absolutely white. Nyéreser simply sat there calmly unaffected by their reactions. For several minutes the silence between them was strained. Vorondil was a savvy enough healer to see where Nyéreser was going with this, recognizing that Finrod needed to hear the brutal truth. It still pained him to see his friend and mentor looking so hurt, but he knew that, in the long run, it was for the best.

"I would never have broken my oath...." Finrod started to say but Vorondil interrupted.

"You don’t know that, Findaráto. In fact, if anything, that oath would have broken you. It would have been too much for you to bear. Better that you remained as ignorant as the rest of us until the end."

Finrod gave the younger ellon a hard glare, but then lowered his eyes, nodding, admitting the truth of Vorondil’s words.

"You think that if the Valar did what they did to Eärnur for the reasons they did it, then none of you are safe," Nyéreser said gently, "including Glorfindel, who returned to Endórë with a mission just as Eärnur went to Númenórë on a mission."

"And ended up a slave for nearly four hundred years!" Finrod snarled.

"And you think Glorfindel might suffer a similar fate or worse," the Maia stated.

"The Valar knew what would happen to Eärnur," Finrod protested. "They knew what they were sending him to and they had no qualms about doing so, either. How do I know they did not do something similar to Glorfindel? You speak of trust. How can anyone trust those who act so capriciously with our lives? We are nothing but pawns in their little games...."

"Not so!" Nyéreser retorted, his eyes glittering darkly. "If you think that, then you do not understand the Valar as well as you believe. You little understand the burden of foreknowledge that Lord Námo endures, the necessity of allowing events to play themselves out as they must. Lord Námo saw what would happen if Eärnur never went to Númenórë and knew that his presence there was necessary, yet in the end it was Eärnur’s choice to go. He could have refused."

"Then others could have been sent," Finrod stated.

The Maia shook his head. "It would not have mattered. Events would still not have played out as they did and a young Mortal would have died in agony and the lives of the Faithful Númenóreans would have been forfeit. Only Eärnur’s presence prevented that fate from happening."

Now both Elves turned white. Nyéreser nodded, still looking a bit grim. "Such is the knife’s edge upon which the Valar operate. They are the Guardians of Eä and their mandate is for all Time. They have been forced to do things that they would rather not in order to secure the future for us all. It is a heavy burden to bear, yet they do so joyfully, trusting in Ilúvatar that all will end well, like that snowbird, singing its song and patiently waiting for its mate to come, trusting that it will and they will be complete."

At that the Maia stood. "I will leave you now," he said and was simply not there.

The two Elves stared at one another, both looking nonplused at the sudden departure. Finally, though, Vorondil stirred, bending down to stoke up the fire which had died a bit during their talk. "Eärnur forgave them, you know," he said quietly as he sat back in his chair.

"It did not look like that to me, the way he spoke to Lord Irmo," Finrod retorted with a wry look.

"Looks can be deceiving," Vorondil said with a nod. "Eärnur forgave them, but that is not to say that he still trusted them. That will take time."

Finrod sighed, closing his eyes. "Trust. It always seems to come back to that, doesn’t it?" He opened his eyes and gazed intently at the younger ellon. "Do you trust them?"

The abruptness of the question threw Vorondil for a second but he caught himself and nodded. "Yes, I do."

"Why?"

"A fair enough question." Vorondil paused, his expression becoming remote. "For the longest time I did not and you know why that was so." Finrod nodded but otherwise did not interrupt. "Yes, well, then there was Marilla...." He gave Finrod a lopsided grin and Finrod could not help but grin in response. "She taught me to trust. She helped me to put all that had happened to me into perspective."

"Surely I and Laurendil and many others helped you there?" Finrod exclaimed.

Vorondil nodded. "Each of you did help me, but Marilla was the one that helped me put all the pieces together. She told me that everything that had happened to me, the good and the bad, had happened for one reason and for one reason only: that we two would meet and fall in love and marry." He gave Finrod a penetrating look. "Do you remember what she said at our wedding?"

Finrod thought for a moment and then his expression cleared and he nodded. "‘Today begins the first chapter of our lives; all else is prologue.’"

"When she said that," Vorondil went on, "that is when I knew that I could trust the Valar, knowing that whatever happens, happens for a reason, even if we cannot see it, may never see it. So, when Eärnur was restored to us, I admit I was shocked at first and angry at the Valar, though for Eärnur’s sake, not mine. Yet in speaking with Eärnur and listening to his tale and Laurendil’s I came to accept what happened and rejoiced that one thought lost had been restored to us."

"But..."

"Findaráto, if Eärnur had died in truth, would his restoration as a Reborn have changed anything?"

That question brought the prince up short and he took several minutes to think it through. Finally, he shook his head and sighed.

Vorondil gave him a sympathetic smile. "Is this not a better ending to the story? He did not die and while I know his life was hard, it was not without meaning or beauty. I know you fear for Glorfindel, that you fear that the Valar sent him away to a fate similar to what Eärnur experienced, or worse, but frankly, the two situations are not even remotely the same."

"How do you figure?"

Now Vorondil smiled more broadly. "For one thing, this is Glorfindel we’re talking about and for another, it was not the Valar who asked Glorfindel to return to Endórë as you well know."

"They wanted him to go," Finrod pointed out.

"Yes, but in the end, as with Eärnur, the decision was his and his alone."

For several minutes silence stretched between them as Finrod contemplated his friend’s words. Before he could speak though, they heard a rush of wings and a trill of joyous birdsong and looking up, saw two snowbirds winging south towards Lord Oromë’s Forest.

"Look!" Vorondil cried ecstatically. "Its mate came."

Finrod felt a silly grin crossing his face. "Do you think that is what Nyéreser wants us to be, snowbirds singing in trust that all will work out for the best?"

"He said that the very foundations of Eä were built on trust."

"‘What is hope?’ she asked me," Finrod muttered.

"Who?" Vorondil asked, clearly puzzled.

Finrod gave him a wry grin. "A Mortal Wise-woman named Andreth," he answered. "We had a rather interesting discussion one spring morning."

"And what did you answer her?" Vorondil raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

Finrod shrugged. "I told her that there were two kinds of hope: Ambatirë, an expectation of good, which though uncertain has some foundation in what is known and Estel, which is not defeated by the ways of the world, for it does not come from experience, but from our nature and first being, that this is the last foundation of Estel, which we keep even when we contemplate the End: of all Eru’s designs the issue must be for His Children’s joy. I told her that even if she did not have Ambatirë, she should at least allow Estel to abide within her."

Vorondil nodded. "Sounds like you should follow your own advice then."

Finrod looked up sharply at the younger ellon, but the retort died on his lips and he nodded. "Perhaps I should." Then he stood up. "Come, let us take a walk and enjoy these woods before we have dinner."

"Sounds good to me," Vorondil said as he too rose and together the two of them set off to explore the woods while Anar was still in the skies above.

****

The next morning, the actual day of the Solstice, they woke to find the ground covered with snow.

"Snow!" Vorondil shouted in disgust. "They promised...."

"Only that it would not rain," Finrod said with a laugh. "Lord Irmo said nothing about it not snowing."

Vorondil muttered darkly under his breath even as he went towards the firepit to stoke up the flames and start breakfast while Finrod put together some hot mash for their horses.

"Hey! What are these?" Vorondil asked in surprise, pointing towards a couple of objects dangling from red ribbons on a nearby tree.

Finrod walked over and seeing what they were started laughing. "Snowbirds!" he exclaimed, carefully removing the two figurines from the tree branch. He handed one to Vorondil and they spent several minutes silently contemplating the exquisite details of the ceramic birds.

"A reminder?" Vorondil asked.

Finrod shook his head. "Perhaps they are a promise and a sign."

"Promise? Sign?" Vorondil gave Finrod a puzzled look.

"Yes. A promise that our friend will return to us someday if only we remain in Estel and a sign from the Valar that they too are faithful to the very end."

"Estel... the very foundation on which Eä is built."

Finrod nodded. "That and Love." He gave Vorondil a bright smile, his eyes clear of all guilt and anger. "Happy Solstice, Vorondil."

"Happy Solstice, Findaráto," Vorondil replied, then he carefully tucked the little figurine into an inside pocket of his outer tunic. Finrod was doing the same, so he did not see the sly look on the other ellon’s face as Vorondil bent down and began making a snowball....

****

Ambatirë: literally, ‘looking up’. Finrod, in speaking with Andreth, used the Sindarin form of the word: Amdir. See Morgoth’s Ring, HoME vol. 10, ‘Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth’.