Author’s Note: The events surrounding the Darkening of Valinor are scantily described in the Silmarillion, and elsewhere in Tolkien’s works. Thus, much of this story, especially concerning the events before the Darkening, is pure conjecture, based on the belief that the trial and exile of Fëanáro would have been a topic of concern for all the Elves of Eldamar, and that there were ramifications which affected not only the Noldor but all the inhabitants of Aman, Eldar and Valar alike. Therefore, motivations and actions are attributed to various characters to which some readers may object, but this is how the story presented itself to me.

With the actual Darkening, I have followed the Silmarillion as closely as possible, as well as incorporating additional material found in HoME, particularly from The Book of Lost Tales I and Morgoth’s Ring, but I have added my own ideas into the mix, especially with regards to what is happening among the Vanyar and Teleri during this time. It is to be remembered that the Silmarillion is written from the viewpoint of the Exilic Noldor, and so their perceptions of the truth of what happened are somewhat suspect. With the departure of the Noldor, what occurs afterwards among the Elves who remained behind is simply my own invention, though logically (it is hoped) following on what has happened previously in the story.

Naturally, all Eldarin words are Quenya. Words from the language of the Valar, if used, are so noted.

****

Prologue: Lehta Mandostello

Year of the Trees 1400:

Darkness was all he knew, was all he had ever known. Darkness and silence. The two were absolute within his cell and he had ceased to remember light and sound. At first he had screamed curses at the dark but after a time that could not be measured he had ceased his ranting, stilling himself into silence. Eventually, even his thoughts quieted to nothingness. He existed in darkness and silence and he found that he preferred it that way.

Thus, when the door of his cell opened he snarled in agony at the light that flooded the cell and sought entrance into his fëa, though it was only a single candle flame. He flinched at the soft sounds of feet crossing the threshold and when the chains that bound him to his throne slipped off him the sound grated on his ears.

"When you are ready, Melkor, you may leave this cell, but in fana only."

He blinked rapidly to clear the tears of pain from his eyes and looked upon one whom he hated: Námo. The Lord of Mandos stared at him dispassionately. Melkor glanced about and noticed that Tulkas and Oromë were also there, their expressions blank of any emotion.

So. The three who had been there when Námo shut fast his prison door were there at his release. He attempted a smile, the muscles around his mouth twitching. He was clearly out of practice. He would have to work on it.

"Is my sentence up so soon?" he said lightly, his voice grating with disuse. He would have to work on that, as well. "And I was just getting comfortable."

"Enough, Melkor," Oromë said brusquely. "Come. Manwë awaits us."

To his everlasting shame, they had to help him from his seat, Oromë and Tulkas holding him up. He hated them even more for that, but kept his inner thoughts tightly closed. He allowed them to support him even when he knew he could walk on his own. Let the fools think him weaker than he was. Eventually, though, the two Valar apparently decided they had helped him enough and by the time they reached the front gates of Mandos he was walking unaided between them with Námo bringing up the rear, carrying Angainor.

He blinked a number of times at the Light that assailed him but otherwise gave no indication of the pain it caused him, or the lust that rose within him for its destruction. They walked northward across the meadows and plains of Aman, crossing a paved road that had not existed when he had come this way before on the way to Mandos and wondered at its need. Then the city of the Valar rose before them and he saw the Ezellohar and beyond that the Máhanaxar. He kept his expression impassive as Oromë and Tulkas led him between the thrones of Irmo on his right and Námo on his left, bringing him to the center of the Ring of Doom to face Manwë. Oromë and Tulkas bowed to the Elder King before taking their thrones. Námo was already seated.

Melkor took a moment to survey his surroundings. The Valar sat upon their thrones in grave majesty, their chief Maiar standing beside them. That, of course, he expected to see. What he did not expect to see were other beings, like yet unlike unto the Ainur in appearance. They stood between the thrones of Aulë, Varda, Manwë and Ulmo, arrayed in cloths of gold and silver and on their brows were bright gems. The light of the stars and the Two Trees glittered in their eyes as they beheld him, staring at him in wonder and in horror and he suddenly realized who they were: the Children, the Firstborn of Eru. He hated them almost as much as he hated his fellow Valar, but that hatred he kept well hidden within him. Turning his attention to Manwë, who sat there impassively, he gave his brother a bow, making sure it was not mocking. He couldn’t afford to mock at this juncture.

"Well, Melkor," the Elder King said, "I would hear thy plea."

Hiding a grimace and knowing he had no other choice if he wished to remain free, he knelt before his brother, evincing regret. "I crave thy forgiveness, my brother, for the evils I have done. The long years of my confinement have given me time to reflect on my misdeeds. If thou wouldst grant me pardon and make me only the least of the free people of Aman, I will aid thee in all thy works, even to healing the many hurts which I have done to Arda, yea, to Eä itself."

There was silence for a time. Melkor knelt there, keeping his eyes to the ground, waiting. He hid a smile when Nienna spoke. "I would add my prayers to his, Manwë, and beg that Melkor be allowed to do as he hath promised in bringing healing unto Arda."

"Do ye all agree?" Manwë asked the other Valar.

"I trust him not," Tulkas said with a growl, "for all that his words are sweet sounding."

"Nor do I," Ulmo said, "but if thou, Manwë, would release our brother, I will abide by thy decision."

Melkor glanced up at Manwë, sitting there in deep contemplation. His brother was so guileless and his thoughts so open to him that it was almost laughable. He noticed the Maia standing beside the Elder King’s throne. Eönwë, if memory served. There was a look on the Maia’s face that he could not interpret and it made him wonder. He turned his eyes back to Manwë.

"I promise thee, O Elder King of Arda, that I will do all in my power to help in the healing of Eä, and especially of Arda, the jewel in the crown of... of Eru’s creation." He had nearly stumbled over speaking of the One, refusing to name him ‘Atar’ as the other Ainur did. He did not think any noticed his slight hesitation, though Eönwë twitched slightly before stilling himself. Melkor dismissed him as unimportant, his attention fully fixed on Manwë.

"Then I will hold thee to thine oath, my brother, and I release thee and grant thee pardon," Manwë said and a sigh that was nowhere and everywhere floated on the breeze.

Melkor allowed himself to smile, rising and giving his fool of a brother another bow. "I thank thee, my brother, and...."

"With one proviso," Manwë interjected coldly and Melkor steeled himself. "We are not so naive as thou dost think, Melkor," the Elder King said. "Thou shalt be free of Mandos, but not free to wander as thou wouldst. Within the sight and vigilance of thy brethren thou shalt remain. In Valmar thou hast free movement to go as thou wilt, but no further, and thou shalt remain incarnate. Perhaps, in time, if thou dost prove thy parole, thou wilt be granted greater freedom, but for now thou shalt abide within the gates of our city."

Melkor resisted a grimace. Well, it was better than being thrown back into the darkness of Mandos and he could wait. In time, Manwë would allow him more freedom, but first he would have to convince him that he had earned it. He gave his brother a nod. "I will accede to thy command, my brother. But where shall I dwell? What fair habitation wilt thou grant me within thy city? Must I spend my days wandering from one end to the other without a place to call mine own?"

There was a pause, as if Manwë was not sure how to answer his question, but then, from behind, he heard Námo speak and he forced himself neither to flinch nor to grit his teeth. "Thou mayest dwell with me, Melkor. A small cottage hath been constructed for thine use in one of my gardens. It overlooks the Máhanaxar." There was a smile in that last statement, though when Melkor turned to face his nemesis, Námo’s expression was as impassive as stone. He glanced at Vairë sitting on her husband’s left. Her expression was equally impassive though he thought he detected a hint of disgust as he looked upon her.

Well, as onerous as it would be, he really had no choice if he would remain free even in so limited a manner. He gave Námo a bow. "I thank thee, brother, for thy solicitude."

For a moment Námo simply stared at him and Melkor schooled himself not to fidget. He sensed that in the ages since his imprisonment, this particular Vala had grown in stature and in power and it was best to step carefully around him; their history required nothing less. Then Námo gave a small, yet telling, shrug. "It is the least I can do," he replied.

"Then it is settled," Manwë said. "Thou, Melkor, wilt dwell on the estate of our brother, Námo, until such time as we decide otherwise."

And that seemed to be the end of it, for Manwë rose and spoke to the Firstborn who had stood silently by as witnesses to the drama. "I thank ye, My Children, for your attendance. Go now in peace."

Melkor watched them give Manwë their obeisance and then they departed, maintaining silence as they left. When the Valar were alone, Manwë nodded at Námo. "He’s all yours, Námo." With that, he and all the other Valar, along with their Maiar, faded from view, except for Námo and his chief Maia who held Angainor in his hands. Almost at once two other Maiar in the black surcoats of Námo’s service appeared on either side of Melkor, giving their lord their obeisance.

"Aicatirno, Hurinórenámo, escort our guest to his new home," Námo said. They bowed once again and then Melkor was being led away.

"Oh, and Melkor." He stopped and turned to face the Lord of Mandos who nodded towards his chief Maia and the hated chains in his hands. "I am keeping this... just in case." The implication was not lost on him but he refused to respond. He gave Námo stare for stare, but in the end, it was he who had to turn away, and that rankled more than anything.

He allowed himself to be taken from the Ring and shortly thereafter he found himself passing through the gates of Námo’s demesne and into a small garden that did indeed overlook the Máhanaxar. There was a one room cottage in the midst of it, simply furnished with a cot, a table and some chairs. The Maiar left him there. Sitting on the cot, he contemplated the events just past. He was sure he had at least fooled Manwë with his false promises. He was not sure of the others, but knew that if he gave them some show of repentance and remorse, eventually they would be lulled into believing his good intentions. And then there were the Children....

He smiled at that thought.

Yes, there were definite possibilities awaiting him. He would have his revenge on all of them; it was just a matter of time....

****

Lehta Mandostello: ‘Released from Mandos’.

Fëa: Spirit, soul.

Fana: The ‘raiment’ in which the Valar and Maiar self-incarnated. The plural is fanar.

Ezellohar: The Green Mound of the Trees. Adopted and adapted from Valarin.

Máhanaxar: The Ring of Doom. Adopted and adapted from Valarin.

Aicatirno: ‘Fell Watcher’.

Hurinórenámo: ‘Hidden Heart of the Judge’.

PART ONE: PRELUDE TO DARKNESS

‘Shall they walk in darkness while we have light?

Shall they call Melkor lord while Manwë sits upon Taniquetil?’

— Quenta Silmarillion III

****

1: Seeds of Darkness Sown

Year of the Trees 1490:

"Ingwion! Wait up!"

Ingwion, Haryon of the Vanyar and Prince of Eldamar, turned at the sound of his name and smiled. Running towards him was his twin brother, Ingalaurë, better known as Ingil to family and friends.

"What’s the matter, Little Brother?" Ingwion asked with a smile, knowing how irked Ingalaurë would be at being called that.

True to form, Ingalaurë scowled. "You’re never going to let me forget that I am only five minutes younger than you."

Ingwion laughed and gave his twin a hug. "Not when it’s so much fun watching you fume."

"Hah!" was Ingalaurë’s only reply, though he smiled and gave his brother a playful punch on the shoulder. Although they were twins they were not identical. Ingwion had inherited his atar’s features while Ingalaurë favored Elindis. Both had inherited Ingwë’s famous temper and Elindis’ love of poetry. The twins were, in fact, inseparable.

"What is it, Ingil?" Ingwion asked.

"Have you not heard?"

Ingwion shook his head.

"Fëanáro of the House of Finwë has been summoned by the Valar to the Máhanaxar to answer for his attack on his brother Ñolofinwë."

"Half-brother," Ingwion corrected absently, "and when did this happen?" He had just returned to Vanyamar after spending a couple of weeks in Lórien visiting some friends who were apprentice healers and had not had time to learn all that had occurred while he was away.

"Yes, half-brother." Ingalaurë accepted the correction with equanimity then gave his twin a smug look. "See what happens when you go away?"

Ingwion merely shook his head and gestured for Ingalaurë to join him. "I was on my way to pay my respects to Atto and Ammë. Why don’t you tell me on the way."

Ingalaurë nodded. "It happened only four or five days ago," the younger son of Ingwë and Elindis of the Vanyar said. "I don’t know all the details and it seems that rumor is running rampant and far ahead of the truth." Ingwion nodded, knowing full well that what Ingalaurë said was true. "Apparently Fëanáro suffered a fit or something and actually drew steel on Ñolofinwë and threatened him." Ingalaurë continued.

Ingwion shook his head. "Madness," was his only comment.

Ingalaurë nodded in agreement. "Ñolofinwë suffered no injury but the Valar would not tolerate the disturbance of their Peace so Fëanáro has been summoned to appear before Lord Manwë at the Máhanaxar on next Valanya."

Ingwion whistled. He never cared for the hot-headed eldest son of Finwë of the Noldor so was not surprised to hear he had landed himself in trouble. "Do you think he will obey the summons?"

Ingalaurë looked shocked at the inference. "Why would he disobey a summons from the Valar? Do you think he can hide anywhere in Aman, indeed anywhere in Arda, and the Valar cannot find him?"

Ingwion just shook his head as they continued down the corridor towards their parents’ private sitting room. The brothers walked in silence as Ingwion digested the news. The Noldor were ever restless, more so than any of the other Elven clans. That restlessness, his atar had said, would cause trouble in the future. It was one reason, though not necessarily the main one, why Ingwë had moved his people closer to Taniquetil. The High King of the Vanyar feared that the Noldor’s restlessness would affect his own people. The Vanyar, for the most part, were content to sit at the feet of the Valar and learn from them.

They reached the royal apartments and entered together, both giving their parents their obeisance as liegemen to their lord and lady. Their younger sister, Indil, was also there and gave Ingwion her own greeting. Ingwë smiled and opened his arms to greet his first-born more informally. "Welcome home, yonya. Did you enjoy your visit?"

"Very much, Atto. Lord Irmo and Lady Estë send their greetings."

Ingwë nodded and Elindis patted the space next to her on the settee. "Come and tell us all about it, dear."

Ingwion complied while Ingwë resumed his own seat and Ingalaurë found a chair next to their atar. "Ingil says that Fëanáro attacked Ñolofinwë and has been summoned to appear before the Valar next Valanya," Ingwion said, more interested in learning the details of what had happened in Tirion while he was away. Lórien was a lovely place and he always enjoyed his visits there, but its one drawback was that little news from the outside impinged upon the peace and quiet enjoyed by its residents. Lórien was a place of repose and there was little concern about the affairs of the outer world. I suspect only in Mandos do they care even less, Ingwion thought to himself as he listened to Ingwë relate the events in Tirion.

"I surmise that the trouble can be laid on Melkor’s doorstep, though I have no real proof," Ingwë said without preamble. "My sources say that Fëanáro actually accused Ñolofinwë of trying to supplant him as their atar’s heir."

Ingwion gave his parents a disbelieving look. "Ñolofinwë may be many things but a supplanter of another’s rights is not one of them. I think Fëanáro is rather full of himself anyway. He never accepted Aunt Indis’ children even though his own position as haryon of the Noldóran is secured."

Ingwë nodded. "Fëanáro is a bit hot-headed, to be sure, but not all the blame can be placed on him. However, only when we hear his testimony will we know for sure what has happened."

"Will you go?" Ingwion asked.

Ingwë nodded. "As High King over all the Elves of Aman, it is my duty to attend. I would like you two and Indil to come as well. Never have we had such an affair before, that the Valar would summon one of us for judgment. This is a momentous occasion, the ramifications of which are incalculable."

The expressions on the twins’ and Indil’s faces were thoughtful as they digested Ingwë’s words. "It should be interesting, to say the least," Ingalaurë stated.

"The understatement of the yén to be sure," Ingwion retorted with a smile and they both laughed while Indil giggled into her hand.

"Well, enough of Fëanáro and the fractious House of Finwë," Elindis said with a definitive air. "Tell us of your visit to Lórien. I want to hear every detail."

Ingwion smiled at his ammë as he told them about his trip and for a time all thought of the Noldor and their problems was shunted aside as the family enjoyed each other’s company.

****

The Máhanaxar sat west of the Ezellohar and was no less an awe-inspiring place than the Mound of the Trees, though for entirely different reasons. Ingwion, standing between his atar and his twin, looked about him with interest, barely suppressing a shiver. The Ring of Doom was a wide grassy plain surrounded by fourteen gemstone thrones. These thrones were in fact somewhat larger than would be considered comfortable for any of the Firstborn, but then, Ingwion realized, they had not been made for the comfort of the Eldar, nor had any Eldar a hand in their making, and he suppressed another shiver.

Each throne was carved from a single gemstone: Manwë’s was a sapphire and Varda’s was a diamond, while Aulë’s was ruby and Yavanna’s was emerald. Ulmo’s was made of marilla and Nienna’s was a grey-silver stone called nyéresar, while Irmo’s was the deep green of arnasar and Estë had a throne of purple amethyst. Tulkas’ throne was made of amber in which a strange looking creature was embedded while Nessa’s was made of yellow topaz. Oromë had a throne of henfion and Vána’s was laurelaiquamírë. Vairë’s throne was made of black opal. It was Námo’s throne that was the most intriguing, however, for it was not an expected color. In spite of the fact that the Lord of Mandos often appeared before the Eldar in shades of black, his throne was carved of red-orange carnelian.

On the backs of the thrones were carved the personal emblems of the Valar. Manwë’s was that of an eagle and Varda’s was a star. All the others had emblems that symbolized some aspect of the particular Vala and the Eldar understood their meanings, but Námo’s made no sense and none had ever dared ask the Lord of Mandos to explain it. Ingwion wondered if there was any significance to the fact that Námo’s throne was directly opposite that of Manwë and suppressed yet another shiver.

He and his family were standing in the space between Manwë’s and Varda’s thrones as was proper, for Ingwë was ever the servant of the Elder King. Further along on Ingwion’s right he could see his cousins Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë with their families standing between the thrones of Aulë and Yavanna, indicative of the fact that the Noldorin royal family had the favor of Lord Aulë, their mentor. To his left he could see Finwë and Fëanáro with Fëanáro’s seven sons, standing between the thrones of Ulmo and Oromë. Indis was conspicuously absent as was Nerdanel, Fëanáro’s wife. Between the other thrones were many Noldor and not a few Vanyar who had come to witness Fëanáro’s judgment. Ingwion noted with wry amusement that very few of the Eldar stood near Námo’s throne.

It was at the First Mingling of the Lights of Telperion and Laurelin in which the Valar had decreed the time of judgment and as that hour came there was a sudden shimmering of lights so bright that none of the Firstborn could look upon them. The lights with their many hues coalesced into the fanar of the Valar and all gave them their obeisance. The only Maia present was Eönwë, standing to the left of Manwë’s throne as the Elder King’s herald.

Manwë nodded towards Ingwë in acknowledgment of the Eldar’s obeisance and then as one the Valar sat upon their thrones. Manwë did not look towards where Fëanáro stood, but gazed gravely at Námo. "Read the charges, Morimando."

The Lord of Mandos stood. Ingwion stared at the Doomsman of Arda and swallowed nervously, glad he was not the object of the Vala’s regard. Námo stared at Fëanáro with cold indifference and gestured. "Stand before me, Curufinwë."

Fëanáro hesitated for only a moment and then, holding his head high, strode across the Ring to stand before Námo, who continued to gaze upon the ellon with an expression that was unreadable to any of the Eldar.

"Thou, Curufinwë Finwion, known as Fëanáro, standest accused of drawing steel against thy brother, Ñolofinwë, in the presence of the Elves of Tirion and threatening him. How pleadest thou?"

Fëanáro gazed defiantly at the Doomsman and answered in a loud voice. "I do not deny these charges, for I was wroth with my half-brother who seeketh to supplant me in our atar’s love, wishing we remain as thralls to the Valar."

There was an audible gasp from the Eldar though none of the Valar even moved. Námo cast his amaranthine eyes towards Manwë then back to Fëanáro. "Thralls of the Valar are ye? And who hath spoken such words to thee, son of Finwë?"

"It matters not, for they are true," Fëanáro exclaimed.

"In what way are they true?" Manwë asked.

Fëanáro turned to face the Elder King, his expression set in an arrogant sneer. "Why hast thou withheld knowledge of the Secondborn from us, O Elder King? Ye Valar brought us to Aman in an attempt to deny us our true heritage as lords of the Outer Lands. Ye would give them over to those unworthy of it, for who are they, but the afterthought of Ilúvatar’s making?"

For a long moment there was silence and Ingwion noticed the grieved look in Manwë’s eyes and wanted to weep. Then the Elder King and vice-gerent of Eru upon Arda spoke: "We brought you to our land freely, for love of you, to dwell or to depart. And though we might judge departure to be folly, we might not restrain you from it. Ye are free to go or remain as ye will." He paused and closed his eyes for a moment, then opening them again, he continued. "Yet, if ye depart, wither will ye go that is not already in the hands of your kin, for Elwë was found in the end and he hath carved for himself a mighty kingdom in Heceldamar. Would ye take from him what was never yours to begin with?"

Before anyone could respond to Manwë’s words, Námo spoke: "Never have we withheld knowledge from you, my children, save that which we deemed harmful to you in your innocence. If we spoke not of the Second Children of Eru it is because we have no knowledge of them, save that they will appear when Eru deems the time meet. Yet, if ye think that these other Children have been sent to supplant you then ye are mistaken. What their purpose is we do not yet know."

"Yet they come and we are kept here in thralldom," answered Fëanáro, his expression still defiant.

"Kept here in thralldom, thou sayest?" Námo exclaimed. "Heard thee not the words of Manwë? We keep no one here against their will. Who hath spoken such lies to thee, Curufinwë? Who hath so darkened thy bright spirit with such falsehoods?"

Fëanáro hesitated, his eyes downcast, then he shook his head, refusing to look up. "It matters not...."

"Nay, it matters much," Námo interjected coldly. "Look at me, son of Finwë." Fëanáro raised his eyes reluctantly to face the Lord of Mandos. "Tell us where thou first heard these words of malice."

"Me-melkor," Fëanáro finally whispered, unable to take his eyes off Námo. "Melkor was the one who told us of the Aftercomers."

Before anyone could respond, Tulkas stood with a scowl. "Excuse me, while I go find our errant brother." Without another word he simply disappeared.

Námo gazed intently into Fëanáro’s eyes for another moment before lifting them towards Manwë. "Art thou satisfied, Calimando, with the testimony of Curufinwë?"

Manwë nodded. "Yea, I am. Speak thou thy judgment to which we will agree."

Námo gave Manwë a brief bow, then looked again at Fëanáro. "Though thou wast deceived in thy beliefs, thou canst not be held entirely guiltless, for thou didst knowingly and with forethought draw a weapon upon thy brother, thereby breaking the Sérë Valaron, which should never have happened." He paused then and when he spoke again his tone was absolutely glacial. More than one Elf paled visibly at it. "Thou speakest of thralldom, son of Finwë. If thralldom it be, thou canst not escape it; for Manwë is king of Arda, and not of Aman only. And this deed was unlawful, whether in Aman or not in Aman. Therefore this doom is now made: for twelve years thou shalt leave Tirion where this threat was uttered. In that time take counsel with thyself, and remember who and what thou art. But after that time this matter shall be set in peace and held redressed, if others will release thee."

Then Ñolofinwë stepped out into the Ring. "I will release my brother," he said.

Fëanáro spoke no word, either yea or nay, to any of it. Instead, he gave Námo a brief bow that bordered on the insolent, then he turned and left the Ring, looking at no one as he went. With him went his sons and Finwë. Ingwion noticed the hurt expressions on the faces of Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë when their atar left. Silence reigned and none other dared to move or speak.

Finally, Manwë nodded to Eönwë who stepped forward. "The judgment of the Valar hath been rendered. Let all go in peace." At that, the Valar faded from view, leaving the Eldar to stand in wonderment and confusion at what they had witnessed. Eventually, Ingwë stepped out into the Ring to address them.

"The Valar have spoken," he proclaimed. "Let all depart in peace, each to his own place." With that he turned and, taking Elindis’ arm, led his family from the Máhanaxar.

****

Haryon: Prince, heir to a throne.

Noldóran: King of the Noldor [Noldo + aran].

Atto: Hypocoristic form of Atar: Father.

Ammë: Hypocoristic form of Amillë: Mother.

Valanya: Powers-day, i.e., the day dedicated to the Valar and the last day of the Valarin/Eldarin week. The Elves of Aman, prior to the creation of the Sun and Moon, adopted the five-day week of the Valar but gave them different names. For purposes of this story the names of the days of the week are: Elenya (Star-day), Eärenya (Sea-day), Aldúya (Two Trees-day), Menelya (Heavens-day), and Valanya (Powers-day). With the creation of the Sun and Moon, the Elves would expand the days of the week to six, dropping Eärenya and substituting Anarya (Sun-day) and Isilya (Moon-day). Later, the Númenóreans would reintroduce Eärenya, placing it between Menelya and Valanya, thus creating the seven-day week [See Appendix D].

Yén: Elvish century equivalent to 144 solar years.

Morimando: ‘Dark Mando’, Námo’s title when sitting in judgment.

Heceldamar: Beleriand, literally, ‘Home of Forsaken Elves’.

Calimando: ‘Light Mando’, Manwë’s title when sitting in judgment.

Sérë Valaron: Peace of the Valar.

****

Author’s Notes:

1. Keep in mind that the Valian year is 9.58 solar years long. This story begins in the Year of the Trees 1490 and ends in 1500, thus it covers approximately 105 solar years. Fëanáro’s exile was meant to last approximately 115 solar years.

2. The thrones of the Valar and their associative meanings:

Sapphire: Symbolic of wisdom and purity.

Diamond: A symbol of innocence and constancy.

Ruby: Considered the most powerful gem in the universe, it is a symbol of friendship and love. It gives the wearer the ability to see things in a true and correct manner.

Emerald: Used to ward off demons and evil spirits.

Marilla: What we call Pearl and a symbol of purity and innocence.

Nyéresar: Sorrow stone; what we would call Galena. Grey is the color of sorrow and galena is a stone of transformation and used while embarking on a spiritual journey.

Arnasar: What we would call Imperial Jade and used to protect against nightmares and psychic attacks.

Amethyst: A healing stone symbolic of spirituality and piety.

Amber: A symbol of courage and the presence of Eru.

Yellow Topaz: Symbolic of friendship, strengthening one's capacity to give and receive love.

Henfion: Hawk’s Eye. Promotes clear thinking and insight. Usually known by us as Tiger’s eye.

Laurelaiquamírë: Golden-green Jewel, what we call Chrysoprase. It helps to make conscious what was unconscious. It strengthens the workings of insight and the higher consciousness.

Black Opal: A symbol of faithfulness, confidence and hope.

Carnelian: A chalcedony that has the power to ease fears about rebirth (for the Eldar) and death (for Mortals).

2: A Discussion Among the Valar

In spite of the lateness of the hour, the Landamallë Valion was not empty. As the silvery light of Telperion continued to wax, the Eldar who had come from Tirion and Vanyamar still milled about in groups of three or five, avidly discussing Prince Fëanáro’s trial. Many of them lingered at the Mindon Nyellion or strolled along, heading towards Eldamas and its many inns and taverns. It was doubtful, though, that any of them would be sleeping. The mansions of the Valar were all lit up while Maiar stood before their gates, keeping a wary eye on the Children.

Thirteen of the Valar were gathered in one of the smaller audience chambers in Manwë and Varda’s mansion. Of the Maiar, only Eönwë was present. Manwë and Varda sat on their thrones but the others took their ease in more comfortable chairs, forming a semi-circle before the throne dais. Like the Eldar milling about outside, the Valar were discussing the events just past.

"How many of the Noldor do you think will follow Fëanáro into exile?" Yavanna asked her husband, for Aulë had great love for the Noldor and was closer to them than the other Valar.

"Probably more than we would like," was his answer, "for Finwë has decided to join his son in exile. Indeed, Fëanáro’s own sons will also go with him, though neither Lady Indis nor Lady Nerdanel will accompany their husbands."

"If Finwë as Noldóran removes himself from Tirion," Manwë added, "then many of his people will follow him, leaving Ñolofinwë as regent for those who remain behind."

"And so Fëanáro’s fears concerning his half-brother are justified, if not for the reasons he stated," Aulë said sadly.

"A self-fulfilling prophecy if there ever was one," replied Námo with an ironic smile.

"I do not like this growing unrest among the Noldor," Manwë said with a frown. "It disturbs me that we Valar were caught unawares, that our Peace was broken in this manner."

Námo exchanged a glance with Ulmo that did not go unnoticed by any of them. Manwë gave them both a considering look. "Something I should know?"

Námo shook his head, unwilling to speak, but Ulmo had no such qualms. "Melkor is at the root of all of this. Fëanáro did not come to his thoughts on his own. Our brother had a hand in it."

"Why are you so sure?" Manwë asked, genuinely puzzled.

Ulmo sighed, shaking his head. "I do not think he ever meant to reform his ways," he replied. "I think he looked upon the glory and bliss of the Children and envy filled him. I do not think he ever truly meant to aid us in healing Arda of his poison."

Manwë scowled. "He gave us his oath...."

"He lied."

All eyes turned to Eönwë, who had stood silently between the thrones of Manwë and Varda, ready to serve the Elder King or any of the Valar in whatever capacity was required. He paled under the cool regard of his lord but stood firm.

"Would you care to elaborate on that, Eönwë?" Manwë asked, his tone deceptively mild.

The Maia paled even more and looked pleadingly at Námo who sighed, appearing decidedly unhappy. "Do not press him, Manwë," he said. "There is more than one Book of Oaths and not even we Valar have the right to see them."

"Yet you know of them while the rest of us do not," Varda stated, her eyes narrowing.

Námo did not flinch under her regard. "I am the Doomsman of the Valar. As such, it is given to me to know many things, about some of which I am not permitted to speak, for to do so is to alter what must be."

"When I pleaded for Melkor’s parole," Nienna said, giving her brother a dark look, "you remained silent. Did you...."

"Only the possibility that Melkor would renege on his oaths to us. Beyond that I cannot say."

Manwë turned to Eönwë. "You knew that he lied even as you recorded his oath."

The Maia nodded, looking miserable.

"Yet you said nothing," Manwë pressed.

"Only because I was not permitted to, lord," Eönwë replied. "It is a... function of my office as Oathkeeper."

"I have never understood why Atar assigned such a task to one of the Maiar," Nessa stated. "It seems too grave a responsibility."

Eönwë schooled his features, the look of dismay barely registering, but it was Námo who came to his rescue. "The Maiar are not as powerful as we Valar, it is true, but that is not to say they do not have their own strengths. We should honor them for the gifts that they are."

Manwë gave Námo a shrewd look. "You seem to know more about this than you let on."

"That is because I was there when Atar invested Eönwë with his office. You may recall that there was a time when Eönwë was counted among my own People."

Manwë nodded. "As were Fionwë and Olórin, yet I do not recall either of them returning to me with new offices."

"That you know of," countered Námo and there were looks of surprise on the faces of more than one of the Valar.

"Well that is neither here nor there at the moment," Oromë said. "I think we have gotten off-track. We were...."

At that moment, Tulkas appeared before them, standing in the midst of the semi-circle, muttering imprecations to himself.

"I take it you did not find him," Manwë said drolly.

"I tracked him as far as the Southern Fiefdoms. Some of the Eldar there told me of a strange cloud that was traveling against the wind, seemingly hiding from hill to hill until it was lost far to the south."

"You think he is heading towards Avathar?" Ulmo asked.

Tulkas grimaced. "Perhaps. I would feel more comfortable if I knew where he was at all times, preferably back in Mandos."

Námo almost smiled but stopped himself in time. "Regardless, he has fled. What that may portend for us, I cannot say."

For a time there was silence among them. Tulkas took a seat next to Nessa, willing to let others make the great decisions. Finally Manwë, his demeanor grave, spoke. "I fear I have misjudged greatly in this matter."

Námo shook his head. "You are the Elder King, Manwë, and Atar’s vice-gerent in Arda. You could do no less than what you did, though some of us were doubtful that any good would come of it."

Manwë stared at Námo for a moment before casting an eye on Ulmo and Tulkas. "Yet none of you challenged my decision."

It was Ulmo who answered. "Those who will defend authority against rebellion must not themselves rebel."

"Thank you for that, at least," Manwë replied with a sigh. "We will double the watch to the south and hope Melkor troubles us no more."

No one said anything, but more than one Vala wondered just how vain that hope truly might be.

****

Landamallë Valion: The Avenue of the Valar. Landamallë literally means ‘wide street’ [landa ‘wide’ + mallë ‘street’]. Vali is an alternative plural of Vala.

Mindon Nyellion: The Tower of Bells in Valmar. They went silent at the Mingling of the Lights of the Two Trees.

Eldamas: Elf-town. This name was most likely a designation used by the Valar and Maiar to indicate that part of Valmar where the Eldar serving the city dwelt and later adopted by the Elves for themselves.

Note: Ulmo’s words at the end are taken from the Silmarillion, chapter 6, ‘Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor’, though they are not attributed to him directly. The description Tulkas gives of Melkor’s flight is also taken from the same chapter.

3: Reactions Among the Eldar

"Finwë is a fool!" Ingwë nearly shouted, heedless of Elindis’ disapproving look. The royal family were staying, as they always did when visiting Valmar, at their estate just outside Eldamas, for they would not return to Vanyamar until the next day. "I cannot believe he would follow Fëanáro into exile. It makes no sense."

"Will you forbid him, Atto?" Ingalaurë asked.

Ingwë turned to his youngest son and grimaced. "Would that I could, yonya. High King of all the Elves of Aman I may be, but Finwë is also king and I may not supercede his authority in this, little though I countenance it."

"If Finwë follows Fëanáro he will take many of his people with him," Elindis said, pursing her lips in dismay. "They will not wish to be bereft of their king."

"And what of those who remain behind?" Ingoldo asked. Ingwë’s brother lolled indolently on a settee, his head in his wife Tinwetariel’s lap. "What happens to them?"

Ingwë shook his head. "I suspect that Ñolofinwë will hold the regency."

Ingwion snorted. "My cousin will not like that. He never sought the heirship."

"Ñolofinwë may well regret his words to release his half-brother when the time of exile is over," Ingwë said.

"Twelve years!" Tinwetariel exclaimed, shaking her head. "It seems rather harsh."

"Not harsh enough to my mind," countered Ingwë, scowling. Then he shook his head. "I like not this unrest among the Noldor. I deem it is Melkor’s doing. Fëanáro as much as admitted it."

"How does that affect us though, Brother?" Ingoldo asked, waving a hand in dismissal. "The Noldor were ever restless, never content, always seeking after new things, new ideas. This is no different."

Ingwë gave his brother a disgusted look. "On the contrary, this is very different. Before, the unrest was that of minds seeking new ideas, but now I think the unrest we see is something else, something deeper and more insidious. It is the unrest of a people who are discontent with their lives as they perceive them, a malaise of the fëa rather than the mind."

"And this talk of the Aftercomers," Ingwion interjected. "What is that all about?"

Ingwë sighed, running a hand through his fair hair, divested of crown and flowing freely. "I do not know and that troubles me even more."

"Could the Valar have deliberately withheld such information from us?" Ingalaurë asked, looking distraught.

Elindis leaned over and gave her youngest son a pat on his arm. "If so it was for a good reason. Did not Lord Námo say that they spoke not of these other ... Eruhíni because they knew nothing about them, only that they were destined someday to come forth, as we did, from Ilúvatar’s Mind?"

"I wonder what they will be like?" Indil asked shyly. "Do you think they will be like us?"

Elindis smiled at her daughter. "As to that, there is no way to know."

"Fëanáro spoke of thralldom," Ingwion interjected. "Why would he accuse the Valar of such a thing?"

Ingwë gave his son a sympathetic look. "I deem that is also Melkor’s doing. He has attempted to instill in us something that does not exist."

"What’s that?" Ingwion asked, obviously confused.

"Hatred for the Valar," Ingwë replied baldly and Ingwion wasn’t the only person in the room to gasp in dismay.

****

Arafinwë watched his older brother, his eyes full of concern and worry. They were staying at the Crown and Star Inn that sat on the road to Tirion, for Ñolofinwë had decided not to stay at the royal estate shared by the three royal families. The inn was not overly large, but it was comfortable and the best thing about it, as far as Arafinwë was concerned, was that their atar and their older brother and his sons were not there. Fëanáro had decreed that he would return to Tirion immediately to begin the onerous task of packing in preparation for their exile.

Thus, only he and Ñolofinwë, along with their families, were congregated in the inn’s common room, for they were presently its only patrons. They were sipping on wine and nibbling on sweets, or at least their children were. Their parents were simply drinking; Ñolofinwë was already on his third goblet.

"Where do you think they’ll go?" Arafinwë asked, not really caring, but needing to break the silence that was threatening to drown them. He was feeling suddenly suffocated and wished he were back in Tirion tending his gardens.

His older brother gave a shrug. "I heard Atar say that the Valar have left it to our dear brother to decide where he will dwell, so long as it was north of Vanyamar."

"North!" Eärwen exclaimed. "There is little to the north. It is rather desolate I understand."

"The land is not as arable as are the farms to the south," Ñolofinwë said with a nod, "but they should do well enough. Sheep thrive well in those lands, I hear."

Arafinwë cast his brother a wry grin. "Somehow I cannot envision either Atar or Fëanáro tending sheep."

That caused several of the youngsters to chuckle, though Arafinwë noticed his eldest son was not one of them. Findaráto, in fact, appeared to be deep in thought.

"What is it, yonya?" he asked the ellon solicitously.

Findaráto looked up, seemingly surprised at being addressed. "Nothing, Atto," he said. "I was just replaying the trial in my mind." He paused, a frown creasing his forehead. "Fëanáro mentioned the... Tatyanónar." he stumbled over the unfamiliar word. "Who are they? Why have we never heard of them before?"

Arafinwë glanced at his brother. As the elder, Ñolofinwë should answer the ellon’s question, but his brother was too busy downing his wine to bother. Arafinwë sighed and returned his attention to Findaráto. He noticed that all the other children were waiting for an answer. Artanis, he saw, had a curious gleam in her eyes that unsettled him. "I cannot answer you, Finda," he finally replied, using his son’s hated pet-name out of habit. Findaráto only tolerated his parents and his sister using it; no one else was permitted. "This is the first I’ve heard of them as well."

"Do you think the Valar actually brought us here so these... others could claim the lands that rightfully belong to us?" Findaráto asked.

Arafinwë gave his son a measuring stare and when he spoke it was with grave formality. "And in what manner dost thou imagine that these lands thou hast never seen belong to thee? Canst thou name their rivers and mountains? Canst thou describe to me the forests that grow there or the animals that dwell beneath them?"

Findaráto blushed and shook his head. "Nay, I cannot," he whispered, not looking at anyone.

Arafinwë nodded. "Until thou canst, yonya, leave behind all thought of ownership to that which thou hast no claim. Whatever was our heritage in the Outer Lands, we gave it up willingly to reside here in Aman at the feet of the Valar who have ever treated us with love and respect. Thine uncle speaketh ill of what is only good. The only thralldom we suffer is of our own making when we listen to the lies of Melkor."

"You never trusted him, did you?" Ñolofinwë asked, giving Arafinwë a frown.

"Nay, I never did, for all that he cozened us and spoke us fair. There was always something about his manner that struck me as not right and Lord Aulë never allowed him near his forge. I will trust Lord Aulë, who has ever been the friend and mentor of the Noldor, ere I ever trust Melkor, who betrayed Ilúvatar once and could do so again."

"And the fact that he seems to have disappeared is very telling, I deem," Anairë, Ñolofinwë’s wife, said.

There were nods all around. Then silence ensued again as each sat thinking. Finally, Arafinwë broached the one subject they had all been avoiding ever since Finwë had announced that he would follow his first-born into exile. He looked at Ñolofinwë, his expression sympathetic. "Are you all right with the thought of acting as Atar’s regent in Tirion, Brother?"

Ñolofinwë scowled, refusing to look at anyone. "No, I am not," he muttered, "but I will do so nonetheless and may the Valar have mercy on us all for our follies."

To that there was no reply.

*****

Indis stared at her husband in dismay and rising fury. The two of them were in their private chambers. "You are what?" she hissed. "Have you lost your mind? You cannot just abandon your people like this."

"I am not abandoning anyone," Finwë retorted with a scowl. "I suspect many of our people will follow me into exile for love of our family."

"Well I will not be one of them!" Indis proclaimed. "Fëanáro was the one who attacked my son..."

"Our son," Finwë interjected, beginning to grow angry himself.

Indis’ eyes narrowed. "I’m surprised you even remember you have other sons, my husband," she hissed. "I do not recall you comforting Ari after Fëanáro attacked him."

"He was unharmed...." Finwë protested.

"Nevertheless, you should have offered him some comfort to let him know that you did not blame him or believe in Fëanáro’s accusations. He was hurt by your indifference to his own pain." To that Finwë had no reply and Indis continued her diatribe. "And now you run away...."

"What!?"

Indis nodded, too incensed to moderate her words. "Yes! Run away. That is what you are doing. You are abandoning your kingdom and your other children and me. Who will hold the regency these next twelve years while you remain in exile?"

"I thought to establish a council of regents...."

"No!" Indis fairly screamed. "Ari is your proper regent. He is the next in succession and if you think to bypass him and his inheritance I will appeal to my brother. Noldóran you may be, Finwë, but Ingwë is High King of us all. He will not permit you to abrogate Ari’s rights."

Finwë had no reply to that either. Instead, he stalked out of the room with what he hoped was a modicum of dignity but a small part of him feared that his wife was correct: he was indeed running away.

****

The news that Prince Fëanáro had been sentenced to twelve years of exile for the attack on his brother came as no surprise to the citizens of Tirion. What did surprise them was Finwë’s announcement that he would join his beloved son in exile.

Surprise was probably not the right word — shock would be closer to the truth, shock and dismay.

"He cannot do this! He is our king!" was the most common sentiment expressed among the populace.

"If he follows the prince into exile, what will become of us?" was the question on everyone’s lips.

Unfortunately the answer that came to mind was disturbing to most and a sense of doom fell upon the hearts of the Noldor as they wondered what all this would portend.

****

Olwë, king of Alqualondë, received the packet of letters from the Noldorin courier with a gracious smile, thanking her for bringing them and asking for news of Tirion and his friend, Finwë. The courier’s expression became guarded and Olwë wondered at that.

"It is not for me to say, Majesty," the elleth replied in a carefully neutral tone. "I think what news thou seekest thou shalt find in these missives."

Olwë stared at the courier in consternation, but seeing the obvious discomfort she was exhibiting, he nodded and with another gracious smile said, "Thank you. If you will go with my steward, he will see to your needs while I see if any of these missives require an immediate answer."

The courier bowed, looking immensely relieved, and soon Olwë was alone again, staring at the courier’s pouch for several minutes before opening it. There were the usual documents of state that were passed between the three Elven kingdoms as a matter of course. He put them aside for the moment. Most of them would be handed off to others to deal with. He fished about and was disappointed to find only one personal letter from his daughter, Eärwen. Still, a letter from his beloved child was a thing to treasure in its own right and he was tempted to go in search of Lirillë so they might read the missive together.

He actually stood to do just that even as he broke the seal and began reading. He quickly scanned its contents and found himself sitting down again, the blood draining from his face. He was surprised to find his hands shaking and forced himself to take a few deep calming breaths. Then he began to read the letter again from the beginning more slowly, allowing the words to sink into his frozen consciousness as their import became clear.

"Finwë, you fool!" he muttered as he re-read the unbelievable words a third time, all thought of searching out his wife to share their daughter’s letter having fled.

****

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

Tatyanónar: Secondborn, i.e. Men; also called Apanónar "Aftercomers".

Note: Ñolofinwë’s amilessë or mother-name is Aracáno "High Chieftain", shortened to Ari.

4: The March of the Exiles

The Valar gave Fëanáro and any who desired to follow him and his sons into exile thirty days to leave Tirion for their new home. At the thirty-first First Mingling of the Trees they were to depart from Tirion. A place had been found well north and west of Vanyamar, a wide valley surrounded by a range of hills. A stream ran through it which would provide them with the necessary water for personal use. It was a barren looking spot but Fëanáro deemed it well enough when Fionwë of the People of Manwë took him there, pointing out the features that made it the most appropriate place to establish the Elda’s new home, given the parameters set down by the Valar.

"I will call it Formenos," the eldest son of Finwë stated as he and the Maia were discussing plans for the homestead, having agreed that a temporary city of tents would be erected until the actual manse was built.

"An interesting choice of name," the Maia said neutrally. "Dost thou believe that thou must fortify thyself against us?"

Fëanáro cast the Maia a wry look. "Should I call it ‘Formandos’ instead?"

Fionwë’s expression became completely unreadable. "Only if thou thinkest thyself a prisoner."

"Am I not?" Fëanáro snarled.

Fionwë gave him a cold look. "If thou wert truly the prisoner of the Valar, Finwion, thou wouldst have been remanded into the custody of Lord Námo forthwith. Be content that thou sufferest only exile from thy city and thy people for a time."

Fëanáro did not respond immediately to the Maia’s words. Instead, he gazed out at the desolate valley that would be his home for the next dozen years. "Formenos," he whispered to himself. "It shall be called Formenos."

"So be it," the Maia intoned, giving nothing away as to his own thoughts on the matter.

****

Findecáno stared at his cousin in dismay as the two of them stood alone in one of the many gardens surrounding the palace. "You don’t have to go, you know. The Valar only exiled your atar, not you."

Nelyafinwë shook his head, not looking at him, idly stripping the petals off a peach-colored rose where the flower was leaning over the stone balustrade bounding this particular part of the gardens. "I have to go. We all have to go. Atar shouldn’t be left alone...."

"And your ammë?" Findecáno retorted with more heat than he had intended.

The eldest son of Fëanáro flinched and finally looked up at his beloved cousin, tears in his eyes. "You will look after her for me, won’t you, Fin?" he asked in a voice full of pain and uncertainty.

Findecáno sighed, regretting his momentary anger. He gathered his cousin into his arms and gave him a hug and a brief kiss as between brothers. "You know I will, Nelyo, though I understand she as already indicated her desire to return to her own atar’s home."

Nelyafinë nodded. "So she has said." He stepped out of his cousin’s embrace to give him a wry grin. "You should have heard what she called Atar." He glanced furtively around to see if anyone was nearby and then leaned over and whispered into Findecáno’s ear.

The ellon choked with suppressed laughter. "She didn’t?"

The eldest son of Fëanáro nodded. "And then Atar said...." Again he whispered into his cousin’s ear and Findecáno blinked in shock.

"Oh dear," he said faintly.

"Ammë gave him a slap that sent him reeling," Nelyafinwë said, awe in his tone. "I never knew she had that kind of strength."

"She is the daughter of one of the finest smiths of the Noldor," Findecáno retorted with a snort. "What do you expect?"

Nelyafinwë sighed, brushing a hand through his red hair. "Well, anyway, Ammë made it clear that she would not stand in the way of her sons following Atar into exile if we felt we needed to." He looked suddenly troubled. "I just wish we could be a family again."

"And I still say you do not need to go," Findecáno said.

"But I do," Nelyafinwë said sadly. "We all do. Please don’t hate me, Fin," he pleaded.

Findecáno hugged him again. "I could never hate you, Nelyo. You are more than my cousin, you are my órë-háno, dearer to me than my own brothers."

Nelyafinwë stepped back from the embrace, a faint smile on his face. "That’s only because they are your younger brothers and most annoying. At least you only have two, whereas...."

The eldest son of Ñolofinwë laughed. "You are probably correct about that, otorno."

For a long moment the two cousins stared into each other’s eyes as if each were trying to gauge the other’s resolve. Finally, Findecáno nodded. "Valar aselyë, Nelyo," he said softly.

His cousin shook his head. "I do not think so, Fin," he replied sadly. "They seem to have deserted us."

"Say rather that your atar has deserted them," Findecáno retorted. "His arrogance is beyond belief and...."

Nelyafinwë placed a warning finger on his cousin’s lips, stilling his voice. "Let us not part as enemies," he said quietly. "I know my atar’s faults only too well."

Findecáno nodded, looking chagrined. "Forgive me, Cousin. I guess I am angry on my own atar’s behalf."

"I know, and I do not fault you, otorno." Nelyafinwë sighed and silence stretched between them for a time. Finally, he gave himself a shake, his red hair flowing down his back. "I must go," he said. "There is much to do before we leave."

Findecáno just nodded, afraid to say anything more. Nelyafinwë leaned over and, taking his head in his hands, gave him a kiss on his forehead then turned and walked away without another word. For a long time afterward Findecáno merely stood there, frozen in place by despair at losing his closest and best friend to his Uncle Fëanáro’s madness.

****

The transference of power from Finwë to Ñolofinwë was perfunctory and absent of any real ceremony. Only Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë and their families as well as Indis and Finwë’s High Council members were present for it. Fëanáro refused to be there and had forbidden his sons to attend as well. Arafinwë grimaced at the paucity of ceremony and witnesses, feeling slighted on his older brother’s behalf. Ñolofinwë seemed overwhelmed by it all and only Indis knew the full extent of his unhappiness.

Finwë handed his second-born son the rod of office as he intoned the words that gave Ñolofinwë the power of regency over the Noldor who would remain in Tirion. "The crown I withhold," Finwë said stiffly at the end, "for I am still Noldóran and do not abdicate my prerogatives."

Indis snorted at that but did not otherwise contradict her husband. Finwë blushed slightly and then relented somewhat and leaned forward to give his son a hug and a light kiss on the brow. "Listen to your ammë," he said softly. "She is very wise and will guide you well."

Ñolofinwë could only nod as Finwë turned and walked away to join Fëanáro, who waited impatiently at the gates of the city leading westward towards Valmar. Their route would force them along the road to the city of the Valar and thence northward past Vanyamar. The Valar had made it very clear at the outset that Fëanáro would not be able to ride across country, thus avoiding others.

"Consider it part of thy punishment," Fionwë said to him when he delivered Lord Manwë’s decree. "Let all of Eldamar see thee take the road unto exile in truth." Fëanáro had evinced an uncaring attitude towards the Maia’s message but those closest to him knew how he seethed at what he perceived to be further attempts on the part of the Valar to humiliate him.

When Finwë joined them, the march of the exiles began. There were many tears and much wailing on the part of the populace, for the king’s decision had torn the city apart. Not all were happy with Finwë and many had come to the hard decision to remain in Tirion under Ñolofinwë’s rule. Yet, some there were who felt obliged to follow the Noldóran to Formenos, not for love of Fëanáro, but out of a sense of duty. There were several households that were bereft of father or son, mother or daughter, as loyalties divided loved ones as surely as a sword divides the fëa from its hröa.

All along the route, people lined up to witness this second sundering of kin and many wept, not for those who went or for those left behind, but for what they feared would come from this rift among the Noldor themselves. At Valmar the exiles paused, reluctant to have to make their way from one gate to the other in order to take the northern road under the watchful eyes of the Valar and their Maiar servants. Finwë ordered them to set up camp, for there were elflings among them and they were already weary from the journey to the city of the Powers, made slow by the sheer number of people traveling.

"We will make for the northern road at the next Second Mingling," he told them. "For now, rest and see to the little ones."

He had, in fact, been reluctant to allow anyone not already of age to join them, but several families would not be separated and so he had finally agreed. Unbeknown to him or any of the other Elves, several of the Maiar, guised as Eldar, mingled among the exiles and secretly offered comfort to the children, many of whom were ignorant of the whys and wherefores of their enforced march, knowing only that their atto and ammë were either sad or angry or both. Many of them felt sure that they were somehow responsible for what was happening and were hurt and confused by it all. The stranger Elves who came to them, singing to them and holding them tight, helped to relieve some of that confusion from their minds and they gradually became less fearful. Their parents remained unenlightened by any of this, feeling only relief that their children were no longer teary-eyed and whining.

****

Traversing Valmar, though it did not take very long, was nevertheless nerve-racking for them all. Marching through the eastern gate, its pillars made of mithril and pearl, past the mansions of the Elder King and his Lady on their right and Lord Ulmo’s on their left, they made their way across the central plaza that fronted the Landamallë Valion at this end, heading for the northern gate of meteoric iron and diamonds. They studiously avoided looking at the mansions as they passed them. Of the Valar, themselves, there was no sign and only one of the Maiar, Eönwë, in fact, was visible to them. The Herald of Manwë stood before his lord’s gates and watched with stony indifference as the Elves processed by.

*Is all well, Olórin?* the Maia enquired of one of his fellows traveling with the exiles in disguise.

*Yes, all is well, Eönwë,* Olórin answered with a rueful chuckle. *The elflings have been comforted as best as can be expected under the circumstances. Our fellows and I have endeavored to encourage them to see this as a grand adventure.*

Eönwë raised an eyebrow at that, though none of the Elves noticed as they kept their gazes resolutely before them, refusing to look up. *Adventure? Hardly that. Certainly not for Fëanáro.*

*True,* Erunáro interjected. He and his brother Manveru were among the Maiar mingling with the Elves. *But the elflings neither know nor care about such weighty matters as trouble their elders. They only know they are being forced away from the only home they’ve ever known. Letting them think that it’s an adventure makes them more biddable and willing to be cooperative.*

*I think Lord Manwë erred in permitting this... exodus,* Manveru said from somewhere in the midst of the procession. *Fëanáro should be suffering exile alone, not taking half the populace of Tirion with him.* There was a hint of disgust mixed with exasperation coloring the Maia’s thoughts and his fellows all grinned in response.

*You may be correct, brother,* Erunáro said, *but that is neither here nor there at the moment — Oops, grab her before she gets trampled.* This last was directed at Olórin who, even as Erunáro spoke, was swooping an elleth not much older than twelve into his arms, preventing her from being knocked down as she attempted to elude her parents and climb one of the malinorni lining the avenue.

"Now just where are you going, youngling?" Olórin said kindly, sweeping his gaze around in search of the elfling’s family. The child’s parents had yet to realize their youngest daughter was no longer walking beside them.

The elleth wriggled, stretching her little arms up. "I wan’ t’ climb the twee," she lisped.

"Do you now?" Olórin replied with a laugh. "Well, these trees are not for climbing, Little One. Come, let us find your parents and if you’re good I’ll tell you the story of how the Two Trees came to be made. Would you like that?"

The elleth stopped squirming and considered the Maia’s suggestion for a moment before nodding, settling herself more firmly into Olórin’s arms as the Maia began describing how Lady Yavanna had brought the Two Trees into being. The other Maiar walking among the Elves smiled to themselves as they listened in, even as they and Eönwë continued to keep a careful watch on the Children.

****

The road towards Formenos left the main road to Vanyamar about halfway to the High King’s city and while it was normally a half a day’s ride between there and Valmar, the number of people making the trip to Formenos precluded a swift journey, especially with elflings among them. Fëanáro chafed at the delay.

"I wish to arrive at our new home as quickly as possible," he groused to Finwë and his sons as they watched tents going up on the plain where their intended road met with the main road.

"We are going as swiftly as we can, yonya," Finwë answered. "We will get there soon enough. I am only grateful we will not have to pass Vanyamar to do so. I do not wish to face Ingwë at this moment."

Just then Macalaurë happened to look up to see a cavalcade heading towards them from the direction of Vanyamar and recognized Ingwë in the lead. "From your lips to the Valar’s ears, Anatar," he said softly, though all heard him and turned to follow his gaze.

Finwë scowled but Fëanáro’s own expression lightened into grim amusement as Ingwë rode up. Ingwë’s expression nearly matched Fëanáro’s as he alighted from his steed. "Thought you would avoid me, did you, Finwë?" the High King of all the Elves of Aman said. He glanced around at the encampment and grimaced before looking back at his brother-in-law. "Come. It is time we talked." He gestured for Finwë to follow him away from the crowd and Finwë complied, reluctant though he was. Yet, Ingwë had spoken to him as High King and not as family and Finwë was no longer in a position to refuse Ingwë’s request. Fëanáro began to follow but Ingwë stopped and gave him a hard stare.

"This doth not concern thee, Therindion," Ingwë said, his tone cold. "Return thou to thy sons and see to the welfare of these benighted children who follow thee."

It was like a slap in the face and Fëanáro simply stood there with his mouth open in shock while Ingwë took Finwë’s arm and led him away.

"That wasn’t necessary, you know," Finwë said softly to his brother-in-law.

Ingwë gave him a sour look. "You coddle him too much."

"He’s my son and he needs me!"

"And you have two others who need you as well, or have you forgotten?" Ingwë retorted with a scowl.

"Of course not!" Finwë protested.

"You could have fooled me, Brother!" Ingwë replied with just as much heat. "If I had known this is how you would treat my sister and the children she bore you I would not have allowed the marriage for all that I knew she loved you desperately. Perhaps too much so, for I think you never got over Míriel."

Finwë looked away, afraid that Ingwë was hitting too close to the heart. Míriel had been the love of his life and while he truly did love Indis, he could not forget Míriel, who looked back at him through Fëanáro’s eyes. His first-born was a constant reminder of the love he had lost and he could not reconcile his feelings for her with his feelings for Indis.

"Why are you here, Finwë?" Ingwë asked after the silence had stretched for several uncomfortable minutes between them.

"My son needs me," was all he could say and even to his ears it sounded pathetic.

"And your people do not?" Ingwë asked coldly. "I have been told that families have been torn apart by this and loyalties divided where there should only have been harmony. Melkor’s lies are shrouded in truth, I deem, for the very thing you and Fëanáro accuse him of is what you are doing to your people all on your own."

Finwë looked up then, his features set. "I have made my decision. I asked no one to follow me or my family into exile but I will not refuse them either. As for Melkor...." he grimaced as if the very name of the Vala left a bad taste in his mouth, "I am not entirely satisfied with the Valar’s explanations concerning Melkor’s insinuations about these... Aftercomers."

Ingwë gave Finwë a measuring look. "These Aftercomers as you call them are Eruhíni, no less than we. What their purpose for being is anyone’s guess, but I will trust Lord Manwë’s words or even those of Lord Námo before I ever trust those of Melkor. You Noldor were ever fools to be so willing to listen to him."

"He served us well enough and taught us many things," Finwë countered.

Ingwë nodded. "Not the least of which is how to disturb the Sérë Valaron which none have broken until now. I do not know what was in Fëanáro’s mind when he pulled live steel upon his own brother...."

"Half-brother," Finwë said almost automatically and then blushed at the cold look Ingwë gave him.

"...his own brother. I always thought building an armory was a bad idea. Against whom do you think you will need such weapons? The Valar or the Maiar?" The High King snorted in disbelief, then raised a hand to forestall Finwë’s reply. "Well, that is as it may be. I will see that Ñolofinwë has my full support during the next twelve years."

"Indis will help him," Finwë said, not knowing what else to say.

Ingwë nodded. "She’s much smarter than you are, Brother. I wish you’d listened to her instead of Fëanáro. All of this could have been avoided." He swept a hand to encompass the encampment.

"Is that all, Ingwë?" Finwë asked, pulling the rags of his dignity together. "I have to see to my people."

For a long moment Ingwë just stood there giving Finwë a considering look. Finwë forced himself not to look away. Finally, the High King nodded. "Yes. I’ve said my piece. Valar aselyë, hánonya."

Finwë shook his head. "Of that I very much doubt."

Ingwë gave him a brief smile. "You may be surprised." Then he turned away and went to his horse. In minutes he and his guards were riding away, leaving Finwë and the Noldor to themselves.

****

Somewhere in the encampment, several Elf-guised Maiar met around one of the campfires to quietly discuss their charges and plan for the last leg of their journey to Formenos.

"Three more First Minglings should see them there," Manveru said.

"I’ll be glad to return to my usual form once we’re done with this," Erunáro commented. "I’m beginning to regret volunteering for this assignment."

Olórin snorted. "You have no sense of adventure, my friend."

Before Erunáro could respond three elflings approached, having recognized the Maiar as the friends who had comforted them along the way. The oldest, an ellon not much more than twenty or so, appeared to be their spokesman.

"P-please, w-would you tell us a story?" he asked in a whisper as if he feared to be overheard or censured.

The Maiar glanced at one another for a brief second, then Olórin nodded to the elflings and gestured for them to come nearer. "And what story would you like to hear, my children?" he said solicitously.

Before long they were surrounded by many more elflings and not a few of their parents as they listened avidly to the tale of the making of Arda, unaware that the storyteller and his companions, who made the occasional comment, were Maiar who had been present when the Valar Sang Arda into existence.

****

Formenos: North Fortress.

Formandos: North Prison; Mandos literally means ‘Castle of Custody’.

Órë-háno: Heart-brother.

Otorno: Sworn brother.

Valar aselyë, hánonya: ‘The Valar be with you, my brother’.

Fëa: Soul, spirit. The plural is fëar.

Hröa: Body.

Anatar: Grandfather.

Notes:

1. The concept of ‘days’ is used here for the sake of convenience. While the Two Trees shone, the Valar and Eldar marked Time between one First Mingling of the Trees to the next when Telperion was waxing and Laurelin was fading. This is what is meant by ‘day’ in this story.

2. Nelyafinwë, also called Maitimo, is better known to readers as Maedhros. ‘Nelyo’ is an attested nickname. He was also called Russandol for his red hair.

3. Therindion ‘son of Therindë’ is the matronymic Fëanáro adopted after Finwë married Indis in honor of his mother. See The Peoples of Middle-earth, HoME XII, "The Shibboleth of Fëanor’.

4. Tolkien at one point gave Ñolofinwë three sons rather than the two we know of from the Silmarillion, thus Nelyafinwë’s reference to Findecáno having two brothers. The third son, Aracáno, supposedly died crossing the Helcaraxë and so never came to Beleriand or received a Sindarin name. As was a common practice among the Elves of this period, Ñolofinwë named this son after himself, giving him his amilessë or mother-name. Had he survived long enough to reach Beleriand and take a Sindarin name, according to Tolkien, it would have been Argon.

5: Unrest Revealed

"Ah, Nephew. Just the person I was looking for."

Ingalaurë turned to see his Uncle Ingoldo approaching and became suddenly wary. Ingoldo had very little use for his brother’s children. Indeed, he seemed to have little use for his own son, Intarion, treating the ellon with contempt. Ingalaurë could not understand this, for Intarion was likeable enough and was one of Ingwë’s respected loremasters and councillors.

"And why do you wish to see me, Uncle?" Ingalaurë asked.

"I was curious as to your thoughts about Prince Fëanáro and his trial."

Ingalaurë stared at his uncle in surprise. "Why would you even care what I thought about any of it? Shouldn’t you be asking my atar that question?"

Ingoldo waved away Ingil’s objections. "Eventually, I suppose, but at the moment I am more interested in your opinion."

"I don’t understand...."

"Many people are unhappy with the judgment against Fëanáro," Ingoldo explained.

Ingalaurë’s eyes narrowed. "By ‘many people’ I assume you speak of the Noldor."

"And even some of the Vanyar," his uncle replied and Ingalaurë felt ice flowing through his veins.

"I have heard nothing against the Valar ...."

"Nor have I," Ingoldo hastened to agree, though there was a slyness to his tone that disturbed the younger Vanya. "Yet, it cannot be denied that Fëanáro’s judgment left a bad taste in many people’s mouths. Twelve years’ exile... rather harsh, don’t you think?"

Ingalaurë shrugged, not really caring. "He only brought it upon himself. Frankly, I think he got off rather lightly. And now, if you will excuse me, Uncle, I have somewhere I need to be."

With that he gave Ingoldo a brief bow and then set off, not even giving his uncle time to respond. He came to a juncture in the corridor, meaning to turn right towards his atar’s study where he was expected, but then took the left-hand corridor instead, stopping before a particular door and knocking.

"Enter," came a voice on the other side of the door and Ingalaurë opened it.

"Am I disturbing you, Valandur?"

Valandur Voronwion, husband of Ingalaurë’s cousin Findis and Ingwë’s chief loremaster, looked up from the document he was perusing and smiled, gesturing the younger ellon further in. "Not at all, my prince. What troubles you, for I can see from your expression that you are indeed troubled."

Ingalaurë sat down, taking a moment to observe his cousin’s husband. Valandur had the typical golden hair of the Vanyar, though it was somewhat darker in shade than most. His eyes were a brilliant green and full of wisdom. There was a warmth of acceptance in Valandur’s eyes that always made Ingalaurë feel special, as if he were the most important person to the loremaster at that moment. He also liked that Valandur never hurried him but was always patient with him, letting him take whatever time the ellon needed to formulate his thoughts before speaking.

"I had a very disturbing conversation with my uncle just now," the prince said.

Valandur nodded, his eyes narrowing. "In what way was it disturbing?"

"He wanted my opinion on Prince Fëanáro’s trial and judgment."

Valandur’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Indeed? How interesting." He stared past the younger ellon, his eyes unfocusing slightly in thought. Ingalaurë forbore to speak. Finally, Valandur’s expression became more present and he returned his attention to the prince. "What did you tell him, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

Ingalaurë shrugged. "I told him Fëanáro only got what he deserved and that I thought he got off lightly, all things considered."

Valandur’s expression was impassive. "Yet, that question is not what disturbed you, is it?"

Ingalaurë shook his head. "Nay, it surprised me, for I cannot imagine why Uncle Ingoldo even cares what my opinion about any of this would be." He paused for a moment, licking his lips. "It was something else that he said," he continued. "He mentioned that many people, and not just the Noldor, were upset by the judgment and felt it was unfair."

"Ingoldo said exactly that?" Valandur demanded.

The younger ellon blushed and shook his head, suddenly reminded that as a loremaster Valandur was a stickler for exact and precise language. "No, not in so many words, but that was the sense of what he was saying."

The loremaster’s expression remained unreadable to the younger ellon and Ingalaurë tried not to squirm. Valandur had been one of his tutors when he’d been an elfling and he still remembered how rigorous the loremaster had been in his instructions.

"Ingoldo claims that there are Vanyar who disagree with the sentence meted out to Prince Fëanáro?" Valandur finally asked and Ingalaurë nodded. "And that thought is what upsets you, that there are Vanyar who are unhappy with the Valar’s judgment."

Ingalaurë nodded. "The Valar are just and their sentence was not capricious. It could have been worse and they showed mercy when they allowed others to go into exile with Fëanáro and Uncle Finwë."

"That is true," Valandur admitted. "Nothing like this has happened among us since the dawn of our existence. The Valar have shown great restraint in this matter."

"Then, you do not think Atar needs to worry....?"

"Ah," Valandur said with a shrewd smile, now divining the ellon’s concerns more clearly. "You wonder if the High King should know about this but you are afraid to be the one to tell him."

Ingalaurë sighed, looking chagrined. "I am not a speaker of gossip and I have no real proof of what I have told you. I do not wish to be thought untrustworthy if what Uncle Ingoldo told me is not in fact true."

"No one would think that of you, Ingil," Valandur said gently, speaking more familiarly to the younger Elf. "Your atar respects you too much to dismiss whatever you might tell him, but if you wish, I will investigate this further and give Ingwë my own report. It is, after all, my job." He gave the prince a wink and Ingalaurë smiled. "And I will keep your name out of it."

The younger ellon sighed in relief, glad that Valandur understood. "Thank you," he said as he rose.

Valandur stood as well and put a comforting hand on the ellon’s shoulder. "You are most welcome, youngling. I am grateful that you came to me with your concerns. Trust that I will hold your confidence and take all that you have said seriously."

"My atar is fortunate to have you as his loremaster," Ingalaurë said somewhat shyly.

"Nay, I am the fortunate one," Valandur said with a laugh.

When Ingalaurë left, Valandur resumed his seat and for the longest time stared out the window at nothing in particular, thinking deeply of all that the young prince had told him. Finally, he pulled a piece of parchment to him and, after sharpening his quill, he began to take down notes.

****

Ingwë looked up at the knock on the door of his study which was open and smiled at his second-born son. "You’re late," he said, though he did not appear too upset about it.

"Forgive me, Atar," Ingalaurë said, giving the High King his obeisance. "I was unavoidably delayed."

"No matter, no matter. Come, sit. Your brother should be here soon."

"I was surprised not to see him here already." Ingwion was notorious for always being on time while his twin was more lax about such things.

Ingwë laughed. "In this case, Ingwion has a good excuse."

"Oh?"

"He’s with your ammë. She needed him to help with the latest inventory of household goods."

Ingalaurë nodded. Elindis was rather shy and retiring but she ran the royal household with great verve and no one was foolish enough to ignore her wishes when she wanted a thing done, at least not after the first time. Her children had learned early on that their amillë came first in their lives and could deny her nothing. "I wish I had Ingwion’s head for numbers, else I would willingly help...."

"You have other talents no less important than those of your brother," Ingwë assured him with a smile.

"And perhaps someday I’ll even learn what those talents are," Ingalaurë muttered bitterly.

Ingwë’s expression became sad. "Child, you underrate yourself. You have many talents. You are well versed in the lore of our people, more so than Ingwion, and your poetry is second to none. Lord Manwë was especially pleased with your latest endeavor."

Ingalaurë gave his atar a surprised look. "He was? But, I never got a chance to recite it. Ingwion took up all the audience time last Valanya with his flute concerto."

"I gave the Elder King a copy of the poem before we left. He sent this by way of reply." Ingwë handed his son a piece of parchment sealed with the Elder King’s sigil of an eagle in flight.

Ingalaurë broke open the seal with hands that were shaking, but whether with fear or excitement, he could not say. He read the words written on the parchment and felt a smile cross his face. He feared he would not be able to stop grinning for some time. He looked up at his atar and silently handed him the missive. Ingwë read the words aloud:

"‘Unto Ingalaurë Ingaranion from Manwë, Elder King of Arda: It was with great pleasure that We received a copy of thy latest poem from thine atar. We found thine use of language sublime and subtle well beyond thy young years. Thou hast a true gift with words, my son, and We are well pleased with thee. Next Valanya We would be honored to hear thee recite this poem to Us and any others thou wishest to share with Us.’"

Ingwë looked up and gave his son a warm smile. "So thou seest, child," he said, using more formal language that nonetheless held great familiarity in its tone, "the Elder King himself recognizeth thy worth and rejoiceth in it. Do not disparage thyself nor compare thyself with thy brother. Thou’rt not him and he is not thee. Thine ammë and I are well pleased with thee and all that thou doest. Never doubt that, or our love for thee."

"Thank you, Atto," Ingalaurë said softly, now suddenly embarrassed.

Ingwë stood and pulled his son into his embrace, giving him a light kiss on the forehead. "You are most welcome, hinya. Ah, I believe Ingwion is here."

Ingalaurë turned to see his twin striding into the room, giving them both a cheery grin. "Have I missed anything?"

"Nay," Ingwë said with a warm smile for his first-born. "Your brother and I were just discussing something private between us." He gave Ingalaurë another hug and then reached over and took the Elder King’s missive, handing it to him. Ingalaurë gave him a shy grin and tucked the parchment inside his tunic. "So now that you are both here, there is something I wish to discuss."

Ingwë gestured for his sons to sit and once they were all settled the two ellyn gave their atar their undivided attention. Ingwë gave them both a fond smile. "Your Uncle Finwë’s departure from Tirion has left a vacuum in the political situation among the Noldor," he said without preamble. The twins glanced at each other, frowning.

"I thought Cousin Ñolofinwë was the regent," Ingwion said, looking confused.

"And so he is," Ingwë acknowledged, "but your cousin has had no real training in ruling and Indis does not feel up to the task of helping him, so I have decided to go to Tirion to offer my assistance."

That startled the two ellyn and they both sat up straighter. "But... why?" was all Ingwion could ask and Ingalaurë felt just as confused by their atar’s words.

"I am, after all, the High King, yonyar," Ingwë said with a knowing smile. "As such it is my duty to see that your cousin receives the proper training to be an effective ruler. Your ammë will be coming with me, as she misses Indis and I’m sure the two will have much to discuss. In the meantime, I am leaving you two in charge of things here."

"You’re what!?" Ingwion stood in shock and Ingalaurë felt the blood drain from his face. How could Atar leave them with the governing of the Vanyar, he wondered. It made no sense.

Ingwë motioned for Ingwion to take his seat, which the elder twin did with some reluctance. He gave them both a sympathetic smile. "I do not make this decision lightly. I think it is time that you both have some experience in this regard. And it will not be for very long, perhaps no more than a few handful of weeks." His expression became more solemn as he continued speaking. "The Noldor have been bereft of their proper king with Finwë sharing his son’s exile. There is great unrest and strife among them because of all this and Ñolofinwë is going to have his hands full trying to bring some semblance of peace among his people. He needs my help and I need your help."

"Will not Uncle Ingoldo resent you leaving the governing of the Vanyar to us, though?" Ingalaurë ventured. He was reminded of his earlier conversation with his uncle and wondered if he should mention it now, but decided that it would be best to leave it in Valandur’s capable hands.

"You are my sons and my heirs," Ingwë said, "and as High King I have the right to appoint whomever I wish as regent. That I am making you two joint-regents will show our people that I make no distinction between you. You are both my heirs and Ingoldo will just have to accept that."

"I’m not sure we’re ready for this, though, Atto," Ingwion said with a frown, feeling suddenly young for all that he was older than Fëanáro.

Ingwë smiled. "You are more ready than your poor cousin, I assure you. You have both been well trained by the best loremasters of Eldamar. I have every confidence that when I return Vanyamar will still be standing." The drollness of his words set the twins laughing.

"And speaking of loremasters," Ingwë continued, "I do not intend to leave you without capable support. I am appointing Valandur and Findis as, shall we say, your personal councillors. If you have any questions or concerns while I am away, you may go to them. They will advise you but they will not dictate to you. Any decisions you make will be your own."

"But surely you don’t expect us to promulgate laws or pass judgments?" Ingwion asked in surprise.

Ingwë shook his head. "I will not be gone long enough for you to get into that sort of mischief. You will be required to sit in judgment during open court. You both have already done so to a lesser degree. Now it is time for you to go the extra step. Valandur and Findis will be there to help you and I will uphold any judgment you make, though I reserve the right to review any judgments and overrule you should I deem it necessary."

The twins nodded, both feeling somewhat relieved though they still had lingering doubts. Ingwë stood and gathered them both into his embrace, hugging them fiercely. "You are my sons and I am very proud of you both," he whispered to them.

"We just don’t want to... disappoint you, Atto," Ingalaurë said just as softly, speaking for them both.

Ingwë kissed his youngest son on the brow and then did the same to Ingwion. "You can never disappoint me, either of you."

"What about Indil? Won’t she be unhappy to be left out of all this?" Ingwion asked, his expression somewhat sly.

Ingwë smiled. "Your sister is too besotted with Tamurilon to want to bother." The twins laughed at that, knowing the truth of their atar’s words. "I just wish they would make up their minds and announce their betrothal," Ingwë sighed somewhat dramatically, much to his sons’ amusement. "Your ammë is getting anxious."

Both twins laughed again and then the three of them left the study in search of the other members of their family to further discuss the logistics of having co-regents while the High King and his Queen were absent.

****

Yonyar: Plural of yonya: My son.

6: The Handing Over of Authority

The High King’s announcement of naming his twin sons as co-regents during his absence from Vanyamar produced a variety of reactions. For the most part, the people of Vanyamar were happy enough, if a bit surprised, with Ingwë’s decision. Both ellyn were well liked and respected among their people. There was no sense of discontent at the decision as far as Valandur could tell when he sent his spies among the populace to listen to their reactions and he told Ingwë so.

The responses among the immediate members of the High King’s family, however, were more diverse. Indil’s reaction was just about what everyone expected. "Better you than me," was her only comment. The twins rolled their eyes and smirked at one another.

Ingoldo’s response was much more heated. "As your brother and, need I remind you, the elder brother," he fumed, "I should hold the regency. Do you really expect these elflings to do anything but make a mess of it?"

Ingwë’s eyes narrowed as he frowned at his brother. "Neither Ingwion nor Ingalaurë are elflings, Brother, nor have they been for quite some time. It is time for them both to take on the responsibilities of ruling and I have every confidence in them."

"As do I." Everyone turned to see Intarion standing there, a smile on the ellon’s face. "You are correct, Uncle," he said to Ingwë. "My cousins are full worthy of your trust in them and I offer my humble self to help them in any way that I can." He gave his uncle and the twins a respectful bow.

Ingoldo glared at his son in disgust and turned away. Tinwetariel shook her head in dismay. "Really Intarion, when are you going to stand up for your own rights instead of crawling about like a whipped dog?"

Intarion’s expression became unreadable as he faced his parents. "I know my place, Amillë. Ingwion and Ingalaurë are the rightful heirs to the High King, not I, and quite frankly, I have no wish to be other than what I am."

"A servant to...." Tinwetariel started to say but was interrupted by Intarion.

"Nay! Unless you mean that we all serve the High King and the people of Vanyamar, then you are correct, but I am no one’s thrall, whatever Fëanáro or you might think."

There was an uneasy silence that stretched to an uncomfortable level before Ingwë broke it. "I thank you for your offer, Nephew, and I am sure my sons will welcome your guidance, but more importantly, I think they will welcome your friendship even more."

Intarion smiled at Ingwë. "They will always have that, Uncle, and my love." The twins nodded enthusiastically, for they felt the same way about Intarion.

"Good, good," Ingwë said, then turned to his brother and sister-in-law. "We do not understand this animosity you have towards your own son," he said, speaking as High King rather than as the family head. "Intarion is a credit to Our family and Our people. We are well pleased with him and value his contribution to Our government."

"Bah!" Ingoldo snorted in disgust and stalked out of the room without so much as a bow to Ingwë. Tinwetariel followed him, her expression also one of displeasure.

For a long moment there was only an embarrassed silence, then Intarion spoke. "I am sorry, Uncle...."

Ingwë shook his head, going to the ellon and placing his hands on Intarion’s shoulders. "It is I who am sorry." He sighed. "Your atar never forgave me for being the one to act as our ambassador to the Valar. He was crushed that Lord Oromë chose me to represent the Vanyar instead of him even though I was most reluctant to go."

"Why is that?" Intarion asked, his expression of curiosity mirrored on the faces of the others in the room.

Ingwë smiled and looked fondly at Elindis, who smiled back. "Because it meant being separated from my beloved and I did not know if I could endure it."

"Yet you did," Elindis said softly. "We both did."

"Atar never liked that I decided to become a loremaster," Intarion said with a sigh. "He wanted me to enter the diplomatic corps and become your chief herald." He gave them a shy grin. "I would rather hide behind my scrolls, instead. I’m no good in public venues."

"Thou’rt very good at what thou doest," Elindis said, going to her nephew and giving him a warm hug and a gentle kiss on his brow. "My lord and I are most pleased with thee, child. Thy parents... that they do not recognize thy worth is their own loss and thou shouldst not feel to blame."

Intarion looked down at his feet, his expression somewhat morose. "I sometimes think I must be a failure for not doing what mine atar wishes."

"Never that," Ingwë assured him. "The failure is in thine atar for not recognizing and rejoicing in thine own worth. But be assured, child, that We do."

Intarion gave them a short bow, looking more appeased. "Thank you, Uncle. I appreciate thy trust in me."

"It is more than trust, Intarion," Elindis said with a smile. "It is love, for thou’rt family."

Ingwë nodded. "My beloved speaks truly, Nephew. Now, since there has never been a need for a regency, perhaps you could lend us your knowledge of lore to help me craft a suitable ceremony of transference of power."

Intarion nodded gratefully, giving Ingwë his obeisance. "I would be honored, Uncle."

****

The ceremony handing over the kingdom to the twins was much more elaborate than the one for Ñolofinwë, and more public. Before the gathered lords and ladies of the city as well as the heads of the several guilds, Ingwë gave over the rod of his office to Ingwion. To Ingalaurë he gave an ancient spear, one that Ingwë himself had wielded during the Elves’ long journey across Endórë to Aman, for there had been many dangers along the way.

"For ye are both Our regents," Ingwë intoned as the twins knelt before him, "and so unto Ingwion We bestow the rod of Our office that he may judge rightly the affairs of the realm. And unto Ingalaurë We bestow Our spear which is named ‘Quenditirno’ that he may ever guard Our people and keep them safe."

The twins rose as one and bowed low to the High King and Queen before turning to face the spectators, all of whom gave them their obeisance. Then Ingwë spoke again, addressing the entire assembly.

"We leave Our chief councillors to aid Our sons in the governance of the realm, but they have the final say in all matters. We reserve the right, however, to overrule any judgments they may make in the meantime if the situation warrants. Otherwise, Prince Ingwion and Prince Ingalaurë have Our deepest trust. Let all treat them as they would treat Us, with the respect due to your sovereigns."

The assembly bowed again and then there were cheers as Ingwë led his sons down the center aisle, one twin on either side of him, with the rest of the family following. It escaped no one’s notice that Lord Ingoldo and Lady Tinwetariel were not present, though their son was.

****

"Well, that’s a relief," Ingwion said with a sigh as he doffed his formal outer tunic stiff with embroidery, throwing it carelessly on a nearby chest and plopping into one of the chairs next to the fireplace of the twins’ sitting room. They each had their own suite of rooms — bedroom, study and bathing chamber — but shared the sitting room and privy. Ingalaurë gave his twin a wry look as he took the other chair, handing Ingwion one of the goblets of wine which he had poured for them before sitting. Ingwion gave his twin a look of thanks before taking a sip and sighing even more heavily.

For a while neither twin spoke, each lost in his own thoughts. Ingalaurë, however, finally broke the silence with an observation. "Atar never said how we were to come to an agreement and who would have the final say in matters that might come up."

Ingwion shrugged. "I suppose we could ask him about it," he said diffidently, taking another sip of his wine. "Of course, as the elder...."

"By five minutes," Ingalaurë couldn’t help interjecting, though there was no animosity in his voice.

"As the elder," Ingwion repeated with a grin, "it stands to reason that I should have the final say."

Ingalaurë scowled. "I suppose," he agreed with great reluctance.

Ingwion gave his twin a sympathetic look. "Let us pledge here and now, hánonya, that we will always come to a decision together and if we cannot agree, then we will go to those who are older and wiser than we and listen to what they have to say."

"Atar did say he was leaving Findis and Valandur as our personal councillors," Ingalaurë replied with a nod. "Let us agree then, that we will consult them if we find we cannot agree between ourselves."

Ingwion held out his hand to Ingalaurë who took it. "Let us even so. Valar valuvar."

"Valar valuvar," echoed Ingalaurë and the twins smiled at one another.

Neither of them noticed the unclad Eönwë standing in the middle of the room, solemnly recording their oaths.

****

Quenditirno: Elves’ Guard. Quendi is the original name which the Elves gave to themselves, meaning 'Those who have voices; speakers'. Eldar, 'People of the Stars', is a name bestowed upon them by Oromë.

Hánonya: My brother.

Valar valuvar: ‘The will of the Valar will be done’, an attested phrase.

7: Ingwë In Tirion

Ingwë stared reflectively at the Mindon Eldaliéva rising high above the houses and palaces of Tirion, its light ever shining, casting silver shadows down the length of the Calacirya as he led his entourage towards the western gate of the city. It had been some time since he had last been in this first city of the Eldar and the memory of his original leavetaking was not a pleasant one. He and Finwë had not parted on good terms, for the Noldo had been grieved at Ingwë’s departure, though the breach in their friendship was eventually healed with the marriage of Ingwë’s beloved sister, Indis, to the Noldóran.

Elindis, riding beside him, gave him a gentle knowing smile. "It always seems... smaller than I remember it, no matter the number of times we visit," she said.

Ingwë gave her a puzzled look. "The tower?"

She shook her head. "The city."

Ingwë shrugged. "When we Vanyar left there were more than enough empty houses. I imagine that it has taken the Noldor some time to fill the city with people again. There has been no need for expansion as yet."

Elindis nodded. "I suppose you are correct. I look forward to seeing Indis again and her children. I think the last time we saw them all together was when Artanis was still an elfling."

Her husband sent her a warm smile. "Well we did see them at the trial."

"That doesn’t count," Elindis countered. "You and I barely spoke to Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë and Indis wasn’t there."

"Well, you two will have plenty of time to catch up on all the family gossip," Ingwë said indulgently.

Then, there was no more time to talk as they entered the city and were greeted by Ñolofinwë, who met them alone, save for the ubiquitous guards, in the plaza before the western gate, contrary to all protocol. Yet the look of relief and gladness on the younger ellon’s face more than told the story for Ingwë and he once again silently castigated Finwë for his stupidity and adamance.

"Be welcome, Ingwë Ingaran to Tirion," Ñolofinwë said formally, giving his uncle a deep bow before turning to Elindis. "And to thee, Elindis Ingatári, thrice welcome. My amillë has been quite impatient for thine arrival."

Ingwë laughed. "Which is why you have broken all protocol to meet us here, is it?"

Ñolofinwë blushed slightly. "She was getting on my nerves," he muttered, keeping his eyes down.

Elindis’ laugh was merry and she went to her nephew and bestowed upon him a kiss as between close kin. "Then we should not try your amillë’s patience much longer. Let us to the palace and greet the rest of the family."

Ñolofinwë gave them both a warm smile. "I’ve made provisions for your escort, Uncle." All formality was put aside as he led them up the main avenue towards the palace with Ingwë on his right and Elindis on his left, "and I’ve opened up the north wing for your use. It’s been closed for ages, but it looks towards Taniquetil and Vanyamar and so I thought...."

Ingwë gave his nephew a brief hug and a smile. "It is well, Nephew. I’m sure we will be quite comfortable."

The eldest son of Indis gave Ingwë a grateful look. "I’m so glad you came," he whispered with heartfelt emotion. "I don’t know what to do. I never wanted..."

"Hush now, hinya," Ingwë said, putting an arm around the younger ellon’s shoulders. "All is well. I am here and I will help you. You are not alone in this, Ari," using Ñolofinwë’s pet name.

Ñolofinwë smiled. "Thank you, both of you."

"We are, after all, family and what else are families for if not to help one another?" Elindis said softly and Ñolofinwë felt himself relax for the first time since his atar had left, taking a third of Tirion’s citizens with him.

****

The meeting between Ingwë and his sister was somewhat strained, though she greeted Elindis warmly enough. Beside her, waiting for their arrival were two younger ellith — Anairë, Ñolofinwë’s wife, and Nerdanel, Fëanáro’s long-suffering spouse. Ingwë had not seen Nerdanel before, for when Ñolofinwë had wed, Fëanáro and his sons had not attended, and so he looked upon the elleth with interest.

Nerdanel had the typical dark hair of the Noldor though there were red highlights which explained the red hair sported by Nelyafinwë and Telufinwë and to a lesser degree her other sons. Her eyes were also dark grey. She stood proudly beside the Noldotári and there was no hint of sorrow or self-pity in her eyes, much to Ingwë’s approval.

"Well, Brother," Indis said with a sigh as they made their way into the palace, "I’m not sorry to see you but I think your coming here at this time is a mistake."

"Oh?" Ingwë replied. "You indicated in your last missive that you did not feel up to the task of instructing your son on the intricacies of ruling a nation. I was under the impression you were asking for my help. Was I wrong?"

"Not to say wrong," Indis retorted, "but I think your being here will only inflame the resentment our people are feeling at the moment. Finwë is their king...."

"A king who deserted them for selfish personal reasons," Ingwë interrupted coldly. "I’ve already said my piece to Finwë and he knows well where I stand in this. I gave him my promise that I would look out for you and your sons and offer whatever help you needed. It is why I am here."

"Well, I am grateful that you are, Uncle," Ñolofinwë said fervently, hoping to stave off his amillë’s next spate of words. Her expression had not softened since the royal party had arrived. "I welcome your wisdom and experience and hope that I can learn from you what I need to know to be a good ruler to my people."

Ingwë smiled at his nephew. "You are most welcome, hinya. We do not intend to remain long at any rate, just for a few handful of weeks, if for no other reason than I want to make sure my sons don’t have enough time to destroy Vanyamar in our absence."

That got a laugh from everyone, even Indis, and the mood lightened as the family continued on towards the north wing where the High King and Queen would take up residence while in Tirion.

****

"The first rule of being a leader," Ingwë said to Ñolofinwë as the two sat together after the welcoming feast in what was Finwë’s private study and was now Ñolofinwë’s, "is never confuse wisdom with common sense."

His nephew gave him a quizzical look as the two of them sat before the fireplace sipping their wine. Ingwë smiled knowingly.

"Wisdom comes from experience, but common sense comes from here," and he reached over and touched the other ellon’s chest. "You have little wisdom in the way of ruling, though I have no doubt you have watched your atar as he did the things a good ruler should."

Ñolofinwë nodded but did not comment. Ingwë continued. "But you do have common sense, the notion of what is right and fair and what is not." Again his nephew nodded. "So, for now, use your common sense. Listen to what your heart tells you and then if you still have doubts, go to those whom you trust for their wisdom and their compassion before making any decision."

"Compassion?" Ñolofinwë asked, not entirely sure what his uncle meant.

Ingwë took another sip of wine before answering. "Wisdom, or rather, the accumulation of experiences, should always be coupled with compassion. There are those, unfortunately, who do not have compassion though they are wise in the ways of the world. These are very dangerous people, for they calculate everything to a nicety and people are often left out of the equation."

The younger ellon sat for a time, mulling over his uncle’s words, but in the end he shook his head, not really sure what to think. "I’m sorry, Uncle, I don’t understand."

Ingwë nodded, realizing that this particular lesson, perhaps the most important he could impart, would also be the most difficult. "Do you genuinely care for the needs of your people?" he asked softly. "Not just the needs of your nobles, but for the needs of the least among you? Other than your own body servants, do you even see the people who keep this palace running, the cleaners and washers, the guards and gardeners, the cooks and stablehands, the maids who see to the comfort of your guests, and everyone else in between? Do you even know their names and their families, what their hopes are and their dreams?"

Ñolofinwë sat staring at Ingwë in shock. He wasn’t sure if even his atar could have answered such a question in the affirmative. He was ashamed to realize that he had no idea who even cleaned his apartments, though he suspected Anairë might.

Ingwë watched the play of emotions across his nephew’s face and knew he had touched upon something that had never occurred to the younger ellon and wondered anew if Finwë had been that neglectful of his younger sons’ education. Outwardly he appeared calm but inside he was seething at his brother-in-law’s seeming indifference to his younger sons. Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë were as full worthy of Finwë’s love and respect as Fëanáro but apparently the Noldo had allowed himself to be besotted with his elder son simply because Fëanáro was a living reminder of his first love. Not for the first time Ingwë wondered why Finwë had ever sought to remarry.

When the silence between the two had stretched to an uncomfortable limit, Ingwë reached over and placed a hand on Ñolofinwë’s knee. "I don’t expect you to run out and start asking the names of everyone you meet in the hallways of the palace, hinya," he said with a gentle smile and Ñolofinwë looked less distraught. "I am merely giving you something to think about." He leaned back and gave his nephew a measuring look. "As an experiment, why don’t you ask your brother as well as your own sons and even your brother’s children if they can name any of the members of the household staff beyond their own personal servants and guards. Perhaps it will give you all an incentive to be more aware of those who see to your safety and comfort."

Ñolofinwë smiled then and nodded. "I will ask them tomorrow at breakfast."

Ingwë hid his own smile at the look of anticipation in the younger ellon’s eyes, glad that this first lesson had gone so well.

****

Findaráto trailed after his parents into the family dining hall for the breaking of fast. It had become a custom for Indis’ sons and their families to breakfast together. Sometimes, Nelyafinwë or Macalaurë would join them, but the other sons of Fëanáro never bothered, preferring to dine in their own apartments; Finwë also rarely joined them and when he did the others were constrained to be more formal than usual.

The oldest son of Arafinwë and Eärwen was in a reflective mood. His younger brothers were having one of their usual mild arguments about who was the better bowman or swordsman or rider. Findaráto shook his head as he listened to their friendly argument. It seemed that was all they ever cared about. And Artanis was almost as bad. As young as she was, she was better at most things than her brothers, except for Findaráto. No one disputed his preeminence in all these matters and more, for he was also a scholar if not exactly a loremaster in the same class as his Uncle Fëanáro.

He shook his head slightly, not willing to think about Fëanáro and the shame he had brought upon the House of Finwë with his rash accusations and attack on Uncle Ñolofinwë. The trial had disturbed him on many levels and he had been spending much of his time mulling over the implications of all that had been said... and not said.

His ruminations were interrupted when he realized upon entering the dining hall that something was happening. For one thing Ingwë and Elindis were present, though Anamillë Indis was not, and Findaráto groaned inwardly, for with the High King and Queen of all of Eldamar there, breakfast was bound to be stiff and formal and boring, in spite of the fact that they were also family. He was almost tempted to bow out and have someone bring his breakfast to his rooms but realized that it would be considered rude, so he made his obeisance to Ingwë and went to the sideboard which was laden with food, for breakfast was the most informal of all the meals taken and everyone helped themselves.

He found his usual seat, not at the high table (he had only once been seated there in honor of his coming-of-age) but at the table where his family usually sat together. The High King and Queen he noticed were seated on either side of his Uncle Ñolofinwë and his wife at the high table, quietly discussing something, which Findaráto could not hear, so he concentrated on his breakfast, stilling Angaráto and Aicanáro who had continued their argument into the dining hall with a quelling look. Even Artanis appeared suitably subdued in the presence of the two royal Vanyar.

Then, Ñolofinwë stood up and all eyes centered on him with a mixture of amazement and confusion. Findaráto watched with interest, not his uncle, but great-Uncle Ingwë who sat there with an amused smile on his face. He had to force himself to listen to Ñolofinwë.

"... come to my attention that perhaps my education in the ways of governing has been sorely neglected and I wondered if anyone else suffered from the same neglect. Uncle Ingwë asked me a simple question yesterday and to my embarrassment I found I could not answer, so I thought to ask each of you the same question and see if any of you fare better than I did." He smiled at that and Findaráto realized that his uncle did not mean for this to be taken too seriously, though obviously it was important.

"So what was the question?" Arafinwë asked his brother and there were many interested nods throughout the room.

"Just this," Ñolofinwë answered. "How many members of the household staff, from bedchamber maids to gardeners, can you name, other than your own personal body servants and guards?"

Ñolofinwë sat down, a smug smile on his face as everyone else gave each other confused looks. Even Findecáno and Turucáno looked a bit nonplused at the question, which, truthfully, had been most unexpected.

Arafinwë was the first to break the silence. "Well, let’s see... there’s... um... and then there’s...." he stuttered, looking suddenly embarrassed and Findaráto gave him a sympathetic look.

"Anyone?" Ingwë asked, looking around the room at his sister’s family.

"Do you know any of them, Uncle Ingwë?" Artanis asked suddenly and both her parents gave her hard glares which suitably chastened her.

Ingwë laughed. "But they are not my household staff, hinya," he said equably.

Findaráto sighed, not really wanting to do this, but feeling that he should. He rose and everyone’s eyes fell on him and he started to blush. He really did not like being the center of attention. He kept his eyes studiously on his plate. "Well, there’s Calandil, who used to be Anatar’s chief guard but is now Uncle Ñolofinwë’s, and then there is Yavannamelda who is the chief cook, and Tavarion who is the head gardener, and Lótemalda who is in charge of the pages and...."

"Do you know any of the lesser staff members?" Ingwë asked suddenly, intrigued by this unassuming child’s knowledge. It would not be unusual for any of them to know the names of the heads of the various departments that ran the palace, but few bothered to learn the names of the younger staff members who did the actual chores.

Findaráto looked at Ingwë. "Some of them." Ingwë gave him an encouraging nod and he took a deep breath. "Well... there’s Calainis and Terendulë and Fereniën. They generally are the ones who clean our apartments and fetch us something if we need it." He stopped and gave them a wicked grin. "Terendulë is rather besotted of Hallacar who is one of the apprentice gardeners."

"Now, yonya," Eärwen said in gentle admonishment, "it isn’t polite to say such things about others."

"It’s true, Ammë," Findaráto rejoined with a laugh. "I caught her one day staring out the window of my sitting room watching Hallacar working in the garden below wearing naught but his breeches." He grinned even more at the memory of walking in on the unsuspecting maid and seeing her all flustered and fearing for her position. He had merely smiled, putting a finger to his lips. Then, grabbing the book he was looking for, he sauntered out of the room whistling, as if he’d not caught her sighing over an ellon.

Several of the Elves laughed at Findaráto’s words. Ingwë was quite surprised that the youngster was so aware of those around him and apparently without any coaching from others. A most unusual trait in one so young.

"So what’s the moral of all this?" Findecáno asked his atar.

"The moral, yonya," Ñolofinwë said, "is that we should all be more aware of those who offer their service to us and take the time to know who they are. Young Findaráto seems to have already learned that lesson on his own. It behooves the rest of us to do the same."

Findaráto blushed under the scrutiny of his family, especially his younger siblings and older cousins, but Ingwë gave him a wink and a smile and he felt a little better. "So how do you go about it, Finda?" his sister asked.

"Oh... well..." Findaráto shrugged, stealing a glance at Ingwë, as if looking for support. "I just... I don’t know... ask for their names?"

"It’s a start," Ingwë said with a nod. "It’s a start."

The others all looked thoughtful as they continued with their breakfast.

****

Ingaran: High King.

Ingatári: High Queen.

Hinya: My child.

Ellith: Plural of elleth: Female Elf.

Noldotári: Queen of the Noldor, i.e. Indis at this time.

Anamillë: Grandmother.

Note: Telufinwë is the youngest son of Fëanáro and Nerdanel. He will be known as Amras in Beleriand.

8: Olwë

The Lindaran in Aman stood on the balcony to the throne room and stared pensively upon Alqualondë. The palace of Olwë sat midmost the city on an artificial mound overlooking the Swanhaven. To the east was the harbor gate, an arch of living rock sea-carved, a mournful lullaby echoing through the holes of the arch as a sea breeze blew gently through them. Southward, beyond the seawall, he could see the Light of the Two Trees streaming from this end of the Calacirya, causing the gems that littered the shore to glitter and sparkle like stars fallen from the heavens. To the north lay the ever dark of the star-strewn heavens and Olwë enjoyed that view best. Swanships sailed serenely beyond the harbor bar, seeking for the fish that were the main staple of their diet, though they traded with the Noldor for other foodstuffs that did not grow easily here on the shores of Elendë.

Olwë sighed, leaning his elbows on the balcony rail, looking down at the lamp-lit quays as his people went about their business. He could hear flutes in the distance and out on the waters sailors sang a sea chanty invoking Lord Ossë’s aid in their endeavors. Street vendors walked serenely about the city selling their goods to all and sundry and elflings played in courtyards and gardens under the indulgent eyes of their minders.

He smelled perfume in the air, a pleasant mix of jasmine and lavender, and smiled, though he did not turn as his wife came up behind him. Lirillë wrapped her arms around her husband and leaned her head against his back. He straightened, wrapping his own hands around hers.

"Will you go?" she asked quietly.

"I do not know," he answered honestly enough. "Arafinwë would welcome me for Eärwen’s sake and for the love we bear for one another. Ñolofinwë and Indis, though?" He shook his head. "I fear they will see it as interference on my part."

"You and Finwë were ever close," Lirillë said as she disentangled herself from Olwë to move to his side. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her as they looked out upon their city. "Our people have grown close over the ages, especially once we left Tol Eressëa and the Noldor helped us in building Alqualondë," she continued. "It is a pity that Fëanáro’s... impulsiveness has strained relations between our two peoples."

Olwë smiled down at Lirillë. "Impulsiveness, is it? I think you’re being too kind on the ellon."

She smiled back. "I like to find the good in all, as well you know."

He leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips and she responded in kind and for a while they were lost in their bond and love for one another. When they finally broke apart, Olwë gave her another smile. "I know indeed, which is why I love you so. You help me to find the balance for my own... impulsiveness."

She gave him a merry laugh and by mutual consent they turned and went back into the throne room, usually referred to as the Great Audience Hall. It was perhaps not as large as those in Tirion or Vanyamar, or even as ornate, but it was beautiful in its own way. The thrones themselves were wrought from giant alabaster shells and studded with pearls, sitting on a three-step dais of mithril. The room was circular, its roof domed, an unusual architectural feature not found among the Noldor or Vanyar. The throne dais stood in the room’s center underneath the domed roof, which was not entirely closed at the top, allowing for starlight to shine through and bathe the room in a silvery glow. Other illumination was provided by crystal lamps suspended from mithril-wrought sconces that were placed around the wall. Pearls, emeralds and sapphires adorned the walls and ceiling in pleasing geometric designs and the play of light was reminiscent of the sea. The floor was a dark blue-grey marble inlaid with pearls outlining eight-pointed stars. There were several doors made of precious nessamelda wood that led to various antechambers but the main door, opposite the balcony, was wrought of beaten mithril. There were fifteen panels, seven on each side of a single central panel. The smaller panels showed representations of all the Valar in low-relief while the main panel featured a collage of scenes from the everyday lives of the Lindar, with the swanships being prominently displayed.

The rulers of the Lindar were presently alone in the room, Lirillë having dismissed the guards and servitors who were normally in attendance. Olwë moved towards the dais, sitting on the top step before his throne. Lirillë joined him.

"Faniel is naturally upset," she said, speaking of their daughter-in-law, married to their youngest son, Salmar. She was the youngest child of Finwë and Indis. She and Salmar were only recently married and had been husband and wife for less than a year.

Olwë nodded. "She told me she wanted to go to Tirion to see her parents."

"Will you permit her to leave?" Lirillë asked.

Her husband gave her a surprised look. "Why would I forbid it? My only concern is that if she and Salmar go there they will be caught up in the madness that seems to have overtaken the Noldor."

"Not all of them," Lirillë reminded him. "Eärwen will be there and you know she and Arafinwë will watch over them."

Olwë nodded, still not happy at the thought of his youngest son and their newest daughter leaving the safety of Alqualondë.

"Perhaps you could place a time limit for their visit," Lirillë suggested, knowing well how her beloved felt. "I see no reason for them to remain for more than a half a year. By then Ñolofinwë will have gotten settled in his new role and hopefully the excitement over Fëanáro will have died down."

"That sounds reasonable," Olwë admitted, thankful once again that Lirillë was his wife and queen. "Will you tell them?"

Lirillë smiled. "Coward."

The Lindarin king laughed. "We’ll tell them together then." After a moment though he sobered as he thought again about the letter Eärwen had sent them. "Finwë is such a fool," he muttered sadly.

"I know," Lirillë said gently. "He is your dearest friend and you grieve for him."

"I grieve that he did not see fit to let me know what was happening. I could have gone to him, made him see the folly of his decision to follow Fëanáro into exile. Why would he forsake our friendship so easily as to leave me out of his councils when we were ever helping one another before?" His expression was one of loss mixed with anger and confusion.

Lirillë wrapped her arms around him, giving him a fierce hug. "I do not know, beloved. Perhaps he was ashamed to send for you. Perhaps he feared your disapproval and disappointment more than your anger and could not face it. Perhaps in all the excitement of the moment he simply forgot."

"Perhaps," Olwë said with a sigh.

"You could still go to him, you know," his wife said. "They do not set out for this Formenos for another week according to Eärwen."

Olwë shook his head. "If not even Indis could persuade him from his course, I doubt I could do any better. By the time I reached the city it will be too late anyway."

"Then, what will you do?" she asked.

"I will remain here and pray that somehow all will work out as it should and when the time of exile is over my friend and brother will be restored to me."

"Á vala Manwë," Lirillë whispered.

"Indeed," Olwë sighed, leaning over to give his wife another kiss. "I suppose we should return to our duties," he said with a wry grin when they finally came up for air. "The kingdom won’t run itself." Lirillë smiled back but said nothing.

It was some time though before they did indeed leave the throne room, preferring to sit where they were, their arms wrapped around each other for comfort while the stars above bathed them with their silvery light and the sound of flutes drifted from somewhere outside, serenading them. As far as they were concerned, the kingdom would just have to get along without them for a little while longer.

****

Lindaran: King of the Lindar, the name by which the Teleri called themselves [Linda + aran], cf. Noldóran ‘King of the Noldor’ and Ingaran ‘High King’. While Noldóran and Ingaran are attested, Lindaran is constructed based on the attested examples.

Lindar: ‘The Singers’, the name by which the Teleri call themselves. The adjective is Lindarin.

Elendë: Another name for Eldamar, that part of Valinor inhabited by the Elves.

Á vala Manwë: ‘May Manwë order it’, an attested phrase.

9: The Twins at Ilmarin

"Well, they’re settled," Manwë said with a sigh to the other Valar as they met in council in Ilmarin. "Fionwë reports that Formenos," — here he cast them all a wry grin which was greeted with sighs and much rolling of eyes among them — "is being quickly built. He suspects it should be habitable in about fifteen weeks or so."

"What of those who followed Finwë?" Aulë asked, still displeased with the Noldóran. He had banned most of the Noldor from his forges, especially those known to be in sympathy with Fëanáro.

"They are presently living in tents," Manwë told them, "though most will no doubt live within Formenos once it’s finished. Already some of them are working the land in small plots or tending to sheep."

"Fëanáro and his sons are going to find their new lives somewhat straitened," Námo remarked with a wry smile. "Ever have they roamed Valinor, never staying long in any one spot, searching out new places. Twelve years in a single valley will most likely drive them to distraction."

Oromë sighed a bit. "I miss Turcafinwë already," he said. "I tried to convince him to travel with me to my Forest, rather than to Formenos, and continue to learn the tongues of birds and beasts. I was just about to teach him the language of the nermir...." He gave Námo a somewhat sad smile.

"I think the Eldar call them wilwarindi these days," Námo said, his expression more amused than anything.

"Whatever," Oromë said dismissively. "The point is, this entire episode with Fëanáro has disrupted many lives, including some of ours, I might add, and I suspect it will not get any better."

Many of them nodded in agreement. Manwë sighed. "I fear you may be correct, Oromë. Yet what other alternative was there? Fëanáro did violence against his own brother..."

"Half-brother," Námo muttered slyly, thoroughly enjoying himself. Vairë gave him a warning glare and several of the others just rolled their eyes at their brother’s pedantic manner.

Manwë scowled, in no mood for Námo’s levity. "Half-brother or not, Fëanáro committed a violent act and disrupted our Peace."

"Perhaps we should have given him a ship and sent him on his merry way to Endórë," Námo suggested, his tone completely serious. "He accuses us of keeping him here against his will. We should have allowed him to leave, to prove that neither he nor any of the Firstborn suffer thralldom at our hands."

"And what would that have accomplished?" Ulmo asked. "Heceldamar is ruled by Elwë and Melyanna. He would find no welcome there, I deem."

"Heceldamar is not the only place in Endórë where he could have gone," Tulkas pointed out.

"Well, it matters not," Manwë said. "Condemning him to permanent exile from Aman would not have solved the underlying issue, that the Noldor are suffering from unrest, a malaise of the spirit that was inculcated through Melkor’s malice. We need to repair the damage that’s been done."

"Yet how?" Varda asked. "I deem it would have been better if none of the other Noldor had been given leave to follow Fëanáro into exile, not even his sons or Finwë."

"I allowed it for I foresaw that Finwë would not be swayed from his course," Manwë answered. "Finwë is the most stubborn of the Eldarani and I deemed it the lesser evil to permit this. Had we insisted that Finwë and the Noldor who left with him remain in Tirion, I think there would have been further disruptions of our Peace."

"Most of those who went into exile," Námo pointed out, "are already Fëanáro’s followers and would have resented being ruled by Ñolofinwë."

"Ingwë going to Tirion to help Ñolofinwë may prove counterproductive in the long run," Vairë said. "His presence there may do more harm than good."

"Perhaps," Manwë averred, "I did not forbid him when he told me of his intentions, though, for I deemed it wiser to let him go."

"And how are his sons handling the task of being their atar’s regents?" Yavanna asked with a faint smile. "I noticed they have not kept to the custom of attending to us on Valanya since Ingwë left for Tirion. I have missed their merry presence and that of their sister."

The Elder King nodded. "I sent word that they were not required to do so until they felt more at ease in their new roles. Ever have they come to us in the company of their parents. They may feel intimidated coming here on their own."

"Still, I think we should encourage them to come next Valanya," Varda suggested. "I am sure they have many questions and they will get no help from Ingoldo."

"Ingwë told me he had asked Valandur and Findis to watch over his sons," Manwë said, "but I think you are correct, beloved. I, too, miss their presence. The children of Ingwë have always been a delight. Very well, we will issue the invitation for Ingwion and Ingalaurë to attend us next Valanya."

"Invitation?" Ulmo asked, his sea-green eyes glittering with amusement. "Not command?"

Manwë gave him a smile. "An invitation, though I will word it so that there is no doubt in their minds that we won’t take ‘no’ for an answer."

"Why only the twins, though?" Nessa asked. "Why not Indil as well?"

Manwë gave her a knowing smile. "I suspect that the twins will want Indil to remain behind to keep an eye on Ingoldo while they are visiting us."

The other Valar chuckled, all of them looking forward to seeing the twins once again.

****

"Are you sure we can’t just say ‘no’?" Ingalaurë asked petulantly. "It’s not even a summons, just an invitation."

Ingwion scowled at the piece of vellum that had been handed to them by no less a personage than Eönwë himself. He turned to Valandur, whom they had summoned as soon as the missive was given to them, handing it to him. "What do you think, Valandur? Can we politely decline?"

Valandur took the letter and read it carefully, finally shaking his head and giving the twins a sympathetic look. "I am sorry, Ingwi," he said, using the family’s pet name for him, "though this is worded as an invitation, there is no doubt that the Valar expect the both of you to appear before them next Valanya, as was your atar’s custom."

"But...." Ingalaurë started to protest, but Valandur cut him off.

"And the fact that the Elder King’s Herald did not wait for an answer leads me to the conclusion that a reply was neither needed nor expected, so I would say this is definitely a command, very politely worded, but a command nonetheless."

The twins sighed almost as one and Valandur hid a smile. "It’s not as if you’ve never stood before them, Ingwi, Ingil. This will be no different."

"I suppose," Ingalaurë admitted reluctantly.

"We were just hoping to avoid having to go," Ingwion added. "I don’t feel comfortable leaving Vanyamar right now. Uncle Ingoldo will insist that in our absence he should be left in charge."

"Ah," the loremaster said, suddenly divining the reason for their reluctance to attend the Elder King. "You could appoint Indil," he suggested. "Your sister would be happy enough to take charge just for the few hours you were gone."

"Hmm...." Ingwion said, "We never thought of that. Indil has shown no inclination to even want to help us before this."

"But she would not be happy seeing Uncle Ingoldo be in charge even for one day," Ingalaurë pointed out. "I’m sure she’ll agree."

Ingwion gave Valandur a quizzical look. "Can we do that? Appoint Indil, I mean."

"She is acting as chatelaine in the queen’s place," Valandur pointed out, "so it would be logical for her to take over the reins of government much as your ammë would whenever the High King had to consult with the Valar."

Both twins breathed sighs of relief, glad that a solution had been found. "So now all we have to worry about is facing the Elder King alone and hope we don’t mess up on protocol," Ingwion said with a rueful grin and Ingalaurë chuckled in sympathy.

"Would you like Findis and me to accompany you?" Valandur asked gently.

Both ellyn looked somewhat mortified at that suggestion. "We’re not elflings!" Ingalaurë nearly shouted. Ingwion put a calming hand on his twin but he looked no more pleased by the loremaster’s suggestion than his brother.

"I never said that, Ingil," Valandur replied calmly. "As it turns out, I have been meaning to journey to Ilmarin myself as I wish to consult with Lord Manwë on a particular matter, so we can go together."

"What matter is that?" Ingwion asked in surprise; Ingalaurë’s expression mirrored his brother’s.

Valandur raised an amused eyebrow at their obvious curiosity. "A matter that is private to me," he rejoined somewhat cooly and both twins blushed.

"Sorry," Ingwion said, chastened, and Ingalaurë nodded, looking equally chagrined.

"Apology accepted, my princes," Valandur said equably. "So, shall we plan to go to Ilmarin next Valanya together?" he asked, his tone warmer than it had been.

Both twins looked up with grateful smiles and nodded.

****

Valanya saw the twins making their way up the mountain in the company of Valandur and Findis as well as the ubiquitous guards. The road was actually a series of broad stone steps with occasional flat areas of paving. It was lined with trees, mostly firs, which provided pleasant shade along the route. At one point in its gradual climb the road passed over a gorge where a waterfall fell from dizzying heights into a ravine. The bridge across was known as the Rainbow Bridge for the multitude of rainbows that graced it. As the road climbed higher into the mountain, it narrowed at times and the steps became steeper but for the most part it was a gentle climb and the Elves arrived as fresh as they had been when they set out an hour or so before.

Out of habit, they all stopped before the gates to stare in wonder at the giant eagle statues gracing the pillars with their wings spread, forming an arch under which they must go. And then there was the statue of Varda with a miniature star pulsing between her outstretched hands. The sight never ceased to awe them.

When they passed the gates, they were met by Eönwë, who gave them all a bow and a smile. "My lords, my lady, welcome to Ilmarin. Your escort will be seen to." He gave a nod and several Maiar wearing the sky-blue tabards with the embroidered eagle of the Elder King on them appeared and directed the guards towards a side wing of the mansion where they would be given food and drink while they waited to escort their charges back to Vanyamar. In the meantime, Eönwë gestured for the others to follow him.

"Lord Manwë sends his greetings," he told them as he led them through the main doors. "He and the other Valar have some pressing business to attend to so they will not be able to receive you immediately. In the meantime, I’ve been asked to take you to one of the receiving rooms where you may have some refreshments while you wait."

"Will they be long?" Ingwion asked, feeling even more nervous than before. He really just wanted to get this over with and go back to Vanyamar and knew his twin felt the same way.

Eönwë, divining the ellon’s thoughts just from Ingwion’s expression, gave them a sympathetic smile. "They will be as long as they need to be and no longer, child." He stopped suddenly, forcing the others to stop as well and looked gravely at the twins, who tried not to squirm too much. Valandur and Findis he ignored, for both were experienced enough in the ways of things not to be unduly upset by the change in the schedule. The twins, for all that they were millennia old and were in fact older than their Noldorin cousin, if not the loremaster, had had fewer experiences, being sheltered by their parents far longer than perhaps had been wise. It did not matter to the Maia, for it was not his call. Still, he had watched these particular Children grow and mature over the years and felt somewhat proprietary towards them.

"Lord Manwë and the other Valar are the same people you have always known. There is no reason for fear or nervousness," the Maia said gently.

Ingwion nodded. "I know that. We know that," he said, nodding towards his brother, "but this time it’s different somehow." He grimaced, not sure how to express what he was feeling. "We’ve never done this on our own before."

"Ah..." was the Maia’s only reply as he glanced at Valandur and Findis standing there with the same indulgent smiles on their faces and suddenly understood why they were there when the ‘invitation’ had been for the twins alone.

"May I offer you some advice, my princes?" Eönwë asked.

The twins glanced up at him in surprise and nodded almost as one.

For a long moment, the Maia just looked at them and then smiled. "Just be yourselves. The Valar have known you since you were born and you have known them for all your lives. Nothing has really changed between you. And if you have any questions concerning your new roles, feel free to ask them of Lord Manwë. He has been the Elder King since we entered Eä and has had much experience in the ways of ruling. He will teach you much if you let him."

The two young ellyn looked at each other and some kind of communication passed between them for they both nodded once and as one turned to the Maia. "Thank you, my lord," Ingwion said, speaking for them both.

Eönwë nodded and they resumed their walk and soon found themselves in a small antechamber, comfortably appointed, where a light collation and some raspberry wine awaited them. Valandur poured the wine into four cut-crystal goblets and handed them to everyone, cautioning the twins to sip theirs slowly and not gulp it down in their nervousness.

"We don’t want you two approaching the Elder King drunk," he said with a wink and a smirk. The two ellyn rolled their eyes but did as they were told. In truth, they were both far too nervous to enjoy the wine, and food at this moment was beyond them. After a few sips, though, they both started to feel calmer.

The weekly meetings between Ingwë and the Valar never took place in the throne room, but in a smaller, more intimate anteroom and Ingwion assumed such would be the case today. He remembered the way the Valar looked at the Máhanaxar and the thought of meeting them today as they sat on their thrones....

Suppressing a shiver he stared into his goblet, wondering how long they would have to wait. In all the years that they had come to Ilmarin, he could not recall them ever having to wait for their audience with the Elder King and the other Valar and wondered why this time was different. He was saved from further ruminations by the appearance of Eönwë who announced that the Elder King would see them now. Putting their goblets down the four Elves stood and followed the Maia to another room further down the hall.

This was the same antechamber the twins knew from previous visits and they both visibly relaxed at seeing a familiar place. The Valar were all there, either seated or standing about in an informal manner. Only Manwë and Varda were seated on thrones, but they were more like overly ornate chairs and thus not as imposing as their thrones at the Máhanaxar.

Eönwë announced them. "Prince Ingwion and Prince Ingalaurë, Loremaster Valandur and Lady Findis."

Manwë smiled at them as they made their obeisance and gestured them forward. "Welcome, my children. We have missed your presence these last few weeks. Come and join us."

There were four empty chairs before the throne dais and the twins instinctively took the middle chairs while Findis sat on Ingalaurë’s left and Valandur sat on Ingwion’s right. Varda smiled knowingly and spoke, not to the twins, but to Valandur.

"I understand, Lord Valandur, that you have a question for us."

Valandur nodded. "Indeed, lady. Yet, I deem this is not the appropriate venue for it. My lady wife and I accompanied Ingwion and Ingalaurë so they would not feel... outnumbered." He said this with a wry grin and the twins both blushed.

There were many smiles and Tulkas’ booming laugh filled the chamber. "But you are outnumbered, for there are only four of you and fourteen of us."

"Fifteen, if you count Eönwë," Námo said with a sly smile, giving a nod to the Maia who would stand attendance upon them all as was customary. Eönwë gave the Lord of Mandos a smile in return.

"Perhaps I should have said ‘less outnumbered’," Valandur quipped and the Valar all laughed.

Manwë gave the twins a sympathetic look. "I know you are both feeling a bit lost at the moment, having these sudden responsibilities thrust upon you. We," and here he gestured to his fellow Valar, "are concerned that you are handling your duties well and are here to offer you our support."

"Thank you, my lord," Ingwion said, always the spokesman for them both.

"How have you been doing so far?" Varda asked them, giving them an almost motherly look.

The twins glanced at each other and then, surprisingly, it was Ingalaurë who answered. "Well... at first, it was... overwhelming," he said somewhat quietly, not really looking at anyone or anything in particular. "It’s not that we didn’t know what to do, it’s just that... that..."

Ingwion grimaced. "It’s Uncle Ingoldo..."

"And Aunt Tinwetariel," his twin added with a nod.

"And what exactly is the problem with them?" Varda asked, her eyes narrowing.

But neither twin felt inclined to speak, not sure if they weren’t being disloyal to the family. It was Valandur who supplied the answer, his expression cool and disapproving.

"Ingoldo has begun questioning every decision, judicial or administrative, that is being made by the twins."

"And Tinwetariel is nearly as bad," Findis said, giving a huff of displeasure as she spoke. "She’s decided to take Elindis’ place and is constantly mothering them."

"More like smothering," Ingwion muttered. Then his expression changed along with his voice and they realized he was imitating the formidable Tinwetariel. "‘Now dears, I don’t think those are appropriate tunics for the courts. Whatever was your ammë thinking when she ordered them?’"

Ingalaurë picked up the litany. "‘You really should let your uncle give you advice, dears. He is, after all, much older than that half-baked loremaster and his half-breed wife.’" The younger ellon gave his cousin and her husband an apologetic look but neither Findis nor Valandur appeared upset.

Valandur, in fact, gave them a wry smile. "I’ve been called worse by better, my princes, so you need not apologize for your aunt’s vindictiveness."

"And as for being a half-breed," Findis said with a sniff, "better half-breeding than no breeding, as my ammë says."

That set the Valar laughing. "Well said, daughter," Aulë remarked with a wink at the elleth and the twins had the pleasure of seeing their usually unflappable cousin blush like an elfling.

"Ingoldo has always been ambitious," Manwë told them. "If I didn’t know better, I would think he were more Noldorin than Vanyarin."

"Certainly in temperament than in blood," Oromë said.

"He thinks Fëanáro was ill-treated by you," Ingalaurë said, then ducked his head, wishing he had not said anything, as every Vala gave him their full attention.

"Perhaps you should explain," Manwë said softly, and Ingalaurë wanted to refuse, but there was a tone of command in the Elder King’s voice that brooked no refusal, so he repeated the conversation he had had with Ingoldo. Ingwion stared at his twin in surprise, for Ingalaurë had never mentioned the encounter to him.

"Then I told Valandur, but not Atar," he ended and was relieved when the attention of the Valar shifted to the loremaster, who seemed less intimidated by them.

"It is, in fact, one of the topics about which I had hoped to consult with you, my Lord Manwë," he said, "and now that Ingil has brought it up...."

"Hmm... yes," Manwë said, looking thoughtful. Making a decision, he gave the twins a warm smile. "Thank you for telling us these things, my children. We will think on them, for there are many undercurrents among the Eldar about which we are ignorant. I wish to speak with Lord Valandur further. Perhaps you and Lady Findis would care to wander through the conservatory in the meantime."

"I will escort them," Námo said and the twins looked suddenly distraught, wishing one of the other Valar or a Maia would accompany them.

Vairë came beside her spouse. "Actually, I think Findis and I will chat awhile," she said.

"Very well," Manwë said. "I will call you when we are done here."

Findis stood and with a prod of her foot she made Ingalaurë stand, which forced Ingwion to rise as well. The three gave the Elder King their obeisance and then Vairë hooked her arm in Findis’ and led her away, chatting brightly about threads and looms or some such. The twins weren’t really paying attention, for Námo was beckoning them to him. The Vala took them by their arms with Ingalaurë on his left and Ingwion on his right, steering them towards another door. Both ellyn sighed almost as one, looking as if they were going to their own executions, neither seeing the amused expressions on the faces of the other Valar as Námo led them away.

****

Turcafinwë: Third son of Fëanáro and Nerdanel, known as Celegorm in Beleriand. In the Silmarillion it is said that, while his brothers were often guests in the halls of Aulë, he often went to the house of Oromë where the Vala taught him the tongues of birds and beasts.

Nermir/Wilwarindi: Butterflies. The first word, literally meaning ‘field-fay’, was used by the Valar before the coming of the Firstborn (see Wars of the Valar).

Eldarani: Kings of the Eldar [Elda + arani; cf. Ingaran (Inga + aran)].

10: The Twins and Námo

The twins walked beside Námo in silence down a corridor and then up several flights of stairs until they came to a mithril and blue quartz door that opened silently as they approached. Stepping through the portal, they stopped and Námo allowed the ellyn time to look about, their expressions turning from fearful to wonderment at the sight of the conservatory. It was much larger than they had anticipated, made of clear quartz set within a mithril frame. They could see the peaks of the mountains surrounding Ilmarin, eternally wrapped in snow, yet, here was warmth and eternal Spring.

All about were trees and flowers in a park-like setting and the twins visibly relaxed at the sight of butterflies flitting through the air and the sound of birds singing high in the trees, invisible save as flashes of color as they flew from tree to tree. Flowers of every shade and hue and species lined the path and when they saw a herd of miniature red deer calmly foraging, both ellyn gasped in delight. Námo led them further into the park to a fountain where there were benches and bade the twins to sit as he remained standing, gazing at them.

"How do you feel about all that has happened of late?" the Lord of Mandos asked them. Both ellyn shrugged, not really looking at him, but not quite not looking at him, which amused him. He knew the effect he had on most of the Eldar, and admitted to himself that he purposely played upon that, giving himself an aura of mystery far beyond those of his brethren. It was meant to distance him from the Children for their sake as well as his, for the burdens of foresight that were his forced him to maintain a certain reserve, even among his own kind. His fellow Valar, and to a lesser extent, the Maiar, took him as he was and valued him for himself, but the Children were often caught up in their own preconceptions and misconceptions and he did little to dispel them.

He waited patiently for an answer to his question, knowing eventually one or the other would brave one. He was making a silent bet with himself as to which twin would speak up first, guessing it would be Ingwion. He was not wrong.

The older twin took a deep breath before speaking. "Fëanáro only got what he deserved...."

"That is not what I asked, though," Námo interrupted in a mild voice. "I asked how you were feeling."

"Confused," came the answer, not from Ingwion, but from Ingalaurë, "and angry."

Námo nodded, his expression giving nothing away. "The confusion is felt by many, but anger? Do you feel as Ingalaurë does?" he asked Ingwion.

The ellon nodded. "Confusion, anger, sadness... All of these and more until I don’t know where one emotion begins and the other leaves off."

"Uncle Ingoldo scares me," Ingalaurë whispered, feeling abashed at making such an admission before the Vala, especially this Vala.

"Why does he scare you, Ingalaurë?" Námo asked in a gentle voice that surprised the twins.

"He just does," the ellon replied. "He’s always glaring at us, arguing every decision we make, and I’m pretty sure he’s trying to turn Atar’s Privy Council against us. A few have begun to echo our uncle’s words and we don’t know what to do. I wish Atar had never gone to Tirion. He’s needed here."

For a long moment silence stretched between them as Námo contemplated what he had heard, passing the information to his fellow Valar for their consideration.

*We cannot interfere with the internal politics of the Children,* Manwë reminded them, even as he was listening to Valandur telling him about the unrest he was uncovering among the Vanyar. *I would advise caution as to what you tell them,* he directed at Námo. *Ingwion and Ingalaurë need to learn to stand on their own.*

*Yet, Ingoldo is clearly a threat to them,* Námo pointed out. *I have to agree with young Ingalaurë that Ingwë should not have left Vanyamar at this time.*

*What is done, is done,* Manwë intoned, *and short of ordering Ingwë back to Vanyamar there is little we can do but offer a friendly ear and hope that a solution comes to them on their own. They will learn nothing about themselves or others if they are always handed a solution. That is as true for someone as wise as Ingwë as it is for his sons.*

To that Námo could only agree. "Have you told these things to Valandur?" he asked the twins. "As I understand it, your atar left him and Findis as your personal councillors. Have they offered you no solution to your problems with your uncle?"

Ingwion scowled. "Valandur only says to continue as we have, to remember that Atar will return soon and he will put Uncle Ingoldo in his place."

"You do not like that advice," Námo said.

Both twins shook their heads and then Ingalaurë spoke. "I overheard Lord Lassezel speaking to Lord Tamurilon and Lady Lindórië the other day, saying that perhaps the Privy Council should revoke our regency and appoint Uncle to rule until Atar returned."

Ingwion turned to his brother in surprise. "Where did you hear that and why didn’t you tell me?"

Ingalaurë shrugged. "It was after the last meeting of the Council," he said. "We were on our way to attend to some judicial matters when I remembered leaving a pertinent document behind that we would need."

Ingwion nodded.

"So I went back," Ingalaurë continued. "I was just about to enter the Council chamber — the door was partly open — when I overheard Lord Lassezel speaking."

"What were the reactions of the other two?" Námo asked and both twins looked up in surprise, as if they had forgotten he was there. Námo hid a smile at their identical expressions.

"Well... Tamurilon said nothing, but Lady Lindórië was rather vocal," the younger twin said. "She pointed out that the High King duly appointed us to the regency and if anyone attempted to overturn that, then they could be considered traitors. She didn’t think Atar would be very forgiving of anyone who tried to force us from our positions."

Ingwion frowned. "I wish you had told me."

"Sorry," Ingalaurë said, looking contrite. "There’s more, though." At the expectant looks of both his twin and Lord Námo Ingalaurë swallowed nervously before continuing. "Lord Lassezel said that no one would force us, but if we were... convinced that we were in over our heads and that someone older and wiser...."

"Meaning Uncle Ingoldo," Ingwion interrupted, his expression one of disgust.

His brother nodded. "... someone older and wiser should take over the reins of government until Atar returned...."

"And what was the reaction to that?" Námo asked, silently passing on the information to Manwë and the other Valar. He could almost see Manwë’s frown.

"Lady Lindórië said that such an action was still treasonous and even if it weren’t it would still require the full consent of the Privy Council and she would never accede to it."

"And Tamurilon?" the Vala asked. "Did he say nothing to any of this?" He was curious about the young Vanyarin lord, a scion of one of the older noble families, who had caught the eye of Ingwë and Elindis’ daughter. If Tamurilon sided with Lassezel that might spell doom to any alliance between the two families.

Ingalaurë shook his head. "If he did, it was not in my hearing. Just about then I heard them approaching the door so I hid behind one of the arrases lining the hallway until they were gone. Lord Lassezel was still trying to convince the other two about the rightness of his position. As soon as I could no longer hear him, I retrieved the document we needed and went on to court." He turned to his brother. "That's why I was late getting back. I’m sorry I didn’t mention any of this earlier, but there was no way to tell you just then and with everything else it just slipped my mind."

"So Valandur knows nothing about this," Námo said.

Ingalaurë shook his head. "Do you think he should?" he asked somewhat uncertainly.

"That is something you must decide, my prince," the Vala said, not unkindly. "Neither I nor any of the Valar will tell you what to do. We will offer advice but in the end any action you take must be based on your own decisions, not ours. We will not, indeed, we cannot interfere with the internal politics of the Eldar, unless it directly conflicts with our Peace, as Fëanáro’s actions did."

The twins sighed almost as one, then Ingwion nodded. "I think we should tell Valandur about this. I knew that some of Atar’s councillors were siding with Uncle Ingoldo but I didn’t know about this. I wish Atar were here."

"As do we all," Námo said, surprising the ellyn. "However, that is not the case and it is up to you as his sons and duly appointed Regents to deal with the situation until such time as Ingwë does return."

"Do you think we should send a letter to Atar, letting him know what is happening?" Ingalaurë asked, not Námo, but Ingwion.

"Whom could we trust?" Ingwion asked. "Uncle Ingoldo oversees the courier service. Any letter we send to Atar would have to go through him."

"We could find someone who isn’t a courier, a merchant, perhaps, going to Tirion," the younger twin suggested.

Ingwion thought about it for some minutes. "Too risky. Besides, do you know any merchants?" He gave his twin a wry look.

Ingalaurë scowled. "Well, there’s Nolondur, but he’s not in Vanyamar at the moment," he said, mentioning the name of one of the minor Vanyarin lords who had business dealings in the Southern Fiefdoms.

Ingwion then turned to Námo, who had remained silent all this time. "So... what do you think we should do, lord?" he asked, not really expecting an answer but hoping for some words of wisdom to help them.

"What your heart tells you to do, child," came the reply.

For a long moment silence reigned between them, then Ingwion nodded, coming to a decision. He turned to his brother. "I think it’s time for a family discussion... without Uncle Ingoldo or Aunt Tinwetariel."

Ingalaurë nodded. "But we should include Intarion."

"Agreed."

Námo watched the play of emotions on the twins’ faces. Ingwion’s expression was set and his eyes were dark with purpose. Ingalaurë... Námo blinked, not sure he was seeing things correctly, then looked more deeply into the ellon’s fëa, and nodded to himself. So be it, he thought, neither sad nor elated at the revelation given to him just then, merely accepting it as what must be.

"Let us return to Lord Manwë," was all he said, giving nothing away of what he was feeling at the moment. "He and Valandur have finished their conversation."

The twins nodded as they stood and together the three of them made their way out of the conservatory.

****

They returned to Vanyamar, dismissing the escort and retiring to the twins’ private sitting room where Ingwion informed Valandur and Findis that he and Ingalaurë were calling a family council while Ingalaurë poured them all some wine. "We want you to be there as well," he said. "There are things you need to know, assuming you don’t already."

Valandur and Findis exchanged surprised glances, then gave the twins nods. "Just tell us when," Findis said, "and we will be there."

"By family council, do you mean everyone?" Valandur asked and was unsurprised when Ingwion shook his head.

"Uncle Ingoldo and Aunt Tinwetariel will not be there," he said, "but we will invite Intarion, though I’m not sure how we can do so and not alert Uncle to what we are planning."

"Hmm..." Valandur mused, looking uncertain. "That will be tricky."

"Not in the least," Findis said. "Leave it to me."

The three ellyn stared at her in disbelief. "You?" Valandur asked, wondering what his wife was up to. "How?"

She merely gave them a smug smile. "Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?" She laughed at the put-upon expressions of the three ellyn. "Just let me know where we will hold this council."

"Hmm..." now it was Ingwion’s turn to be uncertain. "It has to be someplace where our aunt and uncle won’t accidently find us."

"Or would even consider joining us," added Ingalaurë.

"Ah..." Valandur said with a gleam in his eyes. "In that case, I may have the very place."

"And that would be where exactly?" Findis demanded with some exasperation.

Valandur gave her an innocent look that fooled none of them. "Why, that would be telling, wouldn’t it?"

Findis rolled her eyes while her husband laughed, taking her in his arms and giving her a kiss. The twins watched the byplay between the two and snickered at one another. Then Valandur became more serious. "I need to check some things out first, but I will let you know by tomorrow. When did you want to hold this council, my prince?" he asked Ingwion.

"Sooner rather than later," Ingwion replied. "Before next Valanya if possible."

"Actually, I was thinking that next Valanya would be the perfect time for our meeting," Valandur said.

"But we will have to go to Ilmarin then," Ingalaurë reminded them. "We promised Lord Manwë we would continue Atar’s tradition."

"Exactly," Valandur said with a nod.

For a moment the twins just stared at the loremaster, then at each other, contemplating the implications of what was being said. Then Ingwion gave Valandur a wicked smile. "I am so glad you are on our side, meldonya."

Valandur laughed. "As am I."

****

Meldonya: My (male) friend. Referring to a female friend, one would use meldenya.

11: Deceptions

Valandur entered his office and closed the door, locking it. Locks were uncommon among the Eldar, save in situations where they were absolutely necessary. Valandur, on the day he was appointed as Ingwë’s chief loremaster, had a lock put on his office door, for he was more than just a loremaster for the High King, he was his spymaster, enjoined to collect information about the well-being of Eldamar as a whole. Ingwë was the High King of not just the Vanyar but of all the Elves of Aman and it was important for him to be privy to information not normally available to just anyone. Some of that information would be sensitive and for the High King’s eyes only, his and Valandur’s.

The ellon stood leaning against the locked door and took a centering breath before voicing a single name. It was barely breathed, no more than a whisper, yet almost at once it was answered as a flowery perfume that always marked the presence of one of the Maiar permeated the room. Valandur recognized the fresh smell of asëa aranion mingled with that of rosemary and smiled as the Maia known as Olórin appeared before him, his expression one of mingled curiosity and amusement.

"You called?" the Maia quipped and Valandur could not help but smile.

"Thank you," he said, as he always did whenever the Maia deigned to appear at his summons. Theirs was a strange relationship, born out of mutual need, for they were both gatherers of information for their respective masters and would occasionally trade intelligences. Yet, they were also friends. The Maia, in fact, greatly respected the ellon’s intelligence and quick mind. His ability to put disparate information together into a coherent whole was nothing short of breathtaking and Olórin enjoyed watching that bright inquisitive mind at work. He had learned much about the Children through his friendship with Ingwë’s chief loremaster and his respect and admiration for them all continued to grow.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure?" Olórin asked politely, nodding at Valandur’s thanks.

"Ingwion and Ingalaurë wish to call a family council, without the knowledge of certain members of the family."

Olórin raised an eyebrow. "By ‘certain members’ you mean Ingoldo," he said and it was not a question.

Valandur nodded. "And Tinwetariel, though we will invite Intarion."

"We?" the Maia enquired, his expression one of amusement more than anything else.

"Findis and I have been invited to the council."

"Ah..." Olórin said, suddenly understanding and approving. "And the purpose of summoning me?"

Here Valandur hesitated, suddenly unsure. The Maia gave him an inviting smile and, taking a deep breath, the loremaster answered. "I had thought we might all meet at Ilmarin next Valanya. The twins going there would not arouse suspicions and since Findis and I accompanied them today...."

"What of Indil, though?" the Maia interrupted. "She rarely goes to Ilmarin."

Valandur nodded. It was true. Even Elindis did not always accompany her husband when he made the weekly pilgrimage to Ilmarin to pay his respects to the Elder King and the other Valar. "She has begun to act as chatelaine in her amillë’s place. She would not easily leave her duties unless specifically asked."

"You wish for Lord Manwë to issue an invitation to Indil in the same vein as the one given to her brothers?"

"Yes, if that is possible."

"And Intarion? Should he be issued a similar invitation?" Olórin enquired, giving the ellon a knowing look.

Valandur shook his head. "Findis said she would see to Intarion, though she won’t say how." He gave Olórin an exasperated look and the Maia laughed. "So will you ask Lord Manwë...."

"I already have," Olórin said with a smug smile. "My Lord Manwë is not entirely sanguine about permitting this council in Ilmarin, for he has been careful not to involve any of us in the internal affairs of you Children. Yet, he is no less concerned about the situation than you, so he will allow it."

"Thank you," Valandur said gratefully.

Olórin nodded graciously and then rewarded the ellon with a sly smile. "Besides, my Lord Manwë is curious to see just how your lovely wife intends to get Intarion to Ilmarin without his parents being any the wiser." He then winked, adding, "As am I."

Valandur laughed. "That makes three of us."

Olórin joined his friend in laughter and there was the echo of Another’s laughter as well, and then the Maia gave Valandur a bow and was gone, leaving the Vanyarin loremaster alone with his own thoughts.

****

Indil stared in dismay at the missive which Eönwë had just handed her, reading the words for the second time. "Why would Lord Manwë wish to see me?" she asked the Maia. "Ingwi and Ingil are the ones in charge."

"My Lord Manwë has his reasons," the Maia said cooly and gave the elleth a brief bow before fading from view, leaving Indil more confused and exasperated than before.

She went in search of her brothers and found them in their atar’s study, preparing themselves for court which would be held soon. She thrust the missive at them, scowling. "Did you know about this?" she demanded.

Ingwion took the missive from her and read it before passing it on to Ingalaurë. He glanced at Indil, standing there looking irate and shook his head. "No," he said truthfully, for Valandur had not told him and Ingalaurë of his arrangements with Olórin, merely saying that Lord Manwë had given them his permission to meet in Ilmarin. In fact, the twins had been wracking their brains trying to come up with a plausible reason for Indil to accompany them. Apparently, the Elder King was one step ahead of them.

Indil sighed, looking defeated. "Why would he want to see me?"

"I’m sure he has his reasons," Ingalaurë said, unconsciously echoing Eönwë, as he handed the missive back to his sister. "Don’t worry, nésa, Lord Manwë doesn’t bite." He gave her a bright smile and was rewarded with a disdainful sniff as Indil stalked out of the room.

The twins shared a smile, then went back to work.

****

Findis refused to tell the twins or Valandur how she had managed to contact Intarion without his parents being any the wiser. "You’ll just have to trust me," she told them and with that they had to be content.

During the week before the next Valanya, life continued much as it had previously, but now the sons of Ingwë felt more confident about themselves, knowing that the Valar themselves were on their side even if they could not interfere directly with what was going on. Thus, when Ingoldo again suggested before the entire Privy Council that they were too inexperienced to act as regents and that they would do well to resign their posts and let those more experienced and wiser than they hold the reins of government until the High King’s return, Ingwion gave him a hard stare.

"The High King," Ingwion said formally, "left my brother and me as regents to his kingdom. If you have a problem with that, Uncle, I suggest you take yourself to Tirion and complain to him directly." He then turned his gaze upon the rest of the Council. "And that goes for any of the rest of you who feel as our uncle does. In the meantime, we will continue as we have."

With that he stood and Ingalaurë followed, leaving most of the members of the Council gaping after them. A few were smiling in approval. Only Ingoldo was fuming and his anger was such that the others quickly excused themselves, leaving him alone.

When Valanya came around again, however, everyone was surprised when Ingwion informed the court that Prince Ingoldo would hold the regency temporarily while he and his brother and sister presented themselves before the Elder King, as was customary for the royal family. "I trust, Uncle," he said quietly to Ingoldo, "that Vanyamar will still be here when we return."

He did not give Ingoldo a chance to reply, leading the way out of the palace and through the north gate to the road to Ilmarin, where they were met by Lord Tamurilon. Indil saw him and smiled, going to him and embracing him.

"I’m glad you could come," she said.

"I would not miss it for all of Arda," Tamurilon replied.

The twins, Valandur and Findis looked on in disbelief. "Ah... Indil, what’s going on?" Ingwion finally asked.

She turned to the others. "I asked Tamurilon to come with us. I was feeling a bit nervous coming before the Elder King and I... well...."

She stuttered to a stop as she saw the looks of dismay on their faces. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked.

Ingwion was furious, but more at himself than at Indil. How could he be so stupid as to forget Tamurilon? He knew how close he and Indil were. Why they were all but betrothed as far as the rest of the family was concerned. It had never occurred to him, to any of them, that Indil would invite her beloved along.

Tamurilon began to guess that more was going on than just the usual audience with the Valar, and started to give his apologies, meaning to bow out of the expedition, as much as he wished to be with Indil, but it was Ingalaurë who stayed him.

"What is your opinion about Lord Lassezel’s suggestion of persuading my brother and me to abdicate the regency?"

There was a startled gasp from everyone and then Tamurilon understood even if it was clear that Indil did not, for her expression was one of great puzzlement at what seemed to be a random question having nothing to do with visiting with the Elder King and his Queen for a few hours.

"I oppose it, as do Lindórië and several others," Tamurilon answered.

Ingalaurë exchanged a look with his brother, Valandur and Findis and then turned back to Tamurilon. "Then if you like, Tam, you are welcome to join us."

Tamurilon nodded. "I would like that, if Indil doesn’t mind."

"No, no. I don’t mind. I’m confused, but I don’t mind."

"All will be explained soon, sister," Ingwion said. "Just trust us a little more."

Indil nodded and they continued on their way. As they approached the Rainbow Bridge, however, they espied Intarion leaning on the stone wall, looking expectant. Before anyone could offer a greeting he straightened, scanning them with a hopeful look.

"Is she here?" he enquired.

Ingwion gave him a strange look. "Who, Intarion? Whom do you seek?"

Intarion’s expression was somewhat confused. "She said she would be here at this time," he said, holding out a piece of parchment.

Findis came to the rescue, for none of the others understood what was happening. Going to Intarion she put an arm around his shoulders. "I am sorry, Intarion, for the ruse, but it was I who sent you that missive."

"You?" Intarion gave her a surprised look. "But... it’s her handwriting, her signature. I would know it anywhere."

"Yes, it is," Findis said gently, "because I asked her to write it."

"But why? Findis, what does all this mean?" Intarion’s confusion was fast evolving into hurt anger. "Why would she toy with me in this fashion?"

"She has not," Findis said firmly. "It was a necessary ruse to get you away from your parents."

"Necessary, perhaps, my dear," Valandur said with a disapproving frown to his wife, "but cruel. Intarion, I apologize on behalf of us all. We are on our way to Ilmarin to hold a family council and we wanted you to be a part of it. We left it to Findis to find a way to get you away without Ingoldo or Tinwetariel being any the wiser. Had I known what she planned, I would have found another way to inform you."

"Then... then she’s not coming?" Intarion could only ask, his anger transmuting again into sorrow.

"No, she’s not," Findis said softly, "but that is not to say you will not see her. I’ve arranged for you to meet with her once we return to Vanyamar. Never fear, Intarion, you will see your beloved Lirulin before the Second Mingling, I promise." She turned to her husband, giving him an arch look. "So you see, I am not as cruel as you would paint me, husband." She returned her attention to Intarion. "Lirulin was reluctant to write the letter until I assured her that I had every intention of making sure the two of you met sometime today."

Ingwion decided to enter the discussion, going to Intarion and putting a hand on his arm. "I regret the deception, Cousin, and if you wish I will have Findis take you to Lirulin now, but we value your opinion and would like to include you in any decisions we make today."

"What decisions?" Intarion asked. "And if this is a family council, why is Tamurilon here?"

"We will explain everything when we get to Ilmarin," Ingwion said, casting a surreptitious look at their escort, who had remained impassive all this time. Intarion, wise in the ways of court life, nodded his understanding.

"Then, if that is the case, I will accompany you, my regents." He gave Ingwion and Ingalaurë a bow, then he turned to Findis, his expression less forgiving. "I pray you speak the truth, Findis. If I learn that you have toyed with mine and Lirulin’s love for one another...."

"I would never do that, Intarion," Findis said quickly. "Come. We must not keep the Valar waiting."

"I thought we were having a family meeting," Intarion said, giving them a confused look.

"And I thought I was being summoned to appear before Lord Manwë," Indil spoke up suddenly, giving her brothers a scowl.

"You are," Ingalaurë replied. "We all are and then we will hold our council."

"Well, we’d best be getting on, then," Indil groused. "As Findis says, we mustn’t keep the Valar waiting."

With that they crossed the bridge and soon they were before the gates of Ilmarin.

****

Note: According to Tolkien, ‘Unclad and unveiled the Valar were perceived by some among the Eldar as lights (of different hues) which their eyes could not tolerate; whereas the Maiar were usually invisible unclad, but their presence was revealed by their fragrance.’ [Tolkien, ‘Words, Phrases, and Passages in Various Tongues in The Lord of the Rings’, Parma Eldalamberon 17:175].

12: Family Council

They were ushered into the antechamber where the Valar normally held audiences with any of the Eldar. Ingwion and Ingalaurë, more used to their presence, gave them deep bows and smiles. Of the others, only Valandur and Findis appeared equally comfortable. Indil was actually looking pale and Tamurilon held her hand in an attempt to offer her some comfort, though looking at the couple it was debatable as to who was comforting whom. Intarion swallowed nervously. It wasn’t that he had never come to Ilmarin before, but those times had been rare and he had been one in a crowd. Now, he felt more exposed, more visible to the Valar whose eyes missed nothing.

Lord Manwë raised a delicate eyebrow at the sight of them all and hid a smile. "I see," was all he said. Ulmo actually chuckled and there were amused grins on the faces of several of the other Valar. The Elves glanced at each other, not quite sure how to take the Elder King’s statement. Then, Manwë gestured to them and they all approached with the twins in the lead. They stood in two lines before the thrones of the Elder King and the Elentári with Indil between her brothers in front and the others standing behind with Valandur and Findis flanking Intarion and Tamurilon. For a long moment the two enthroned Valar gazed into the eyes of the Elves, and none of them could look away.

Ingwion felt a sensation that he could not quite define, a sort of sifting within his mind or perhaps his very fëa as he stared into the blue eyes of Lord Manwë, blue eyes with gold rimming the pupils, blue eyes that saw far more than the ellon could comprehend, blue eyes into which he gladly fell, never fearing that he would not be caught in the end. He shook himself slightly when those same blue eyes moved away from his to capture his sister’s, but he was given no reprieve, for now he was staring into the silvery eyes of Lady Varda and he heard himself gasp, his breathing becoming shallower and quicker. Again he felt himself falling, and it was as if he were falling into the very heart of a star. He feared to be burned but the flames that surrounded him were cool and he forced himself not to resist, knowing that there was naught to fear.

*You are correct, child,* he heard Varda bespeak him. *There is naught to fear.*

He felt a gentle, soothing caress upon his fëa and then he was released from her gaze. He found he could breathe normally again. Even as he looked to see how his siblings and the others fared they were all stirring as if from deep sleep and they gave each other sheepish smiles.

"A room has been prepared for you," Lord Manwë said and the Elves gave him their full attention. "We will not interfere with whatever decisions you make nor will we give you any council save this: listen to what your hearts tell you. There are many currents in the river and not all lead to the same end and they do not all have the same source. Be discerning and trust one another. You each have a piece of the picture but not the whole. It is your task to fit the different pieces together. Only then can you come to a right decision. Go now. Eönwë will show you the way. If there is anything you need in terms of food or drink or materials, you need only say and it will be sent to you."

Eönwë, who had been standing between the thrones of his lord and lady, now stepped forward. The Elves all bowed and followed him out of the room. For a time silence reigned among the Valar and then Tulkas shifted his stance where he had been leaning against the wall and sighed.

"And now we wait," he said and then after a beat, "I hate waiting."

There were knowing grins from the others. "We all do, Brother," Oromë said with a sigh of his own.

****

The room to which they were led was spacious with windows facing west, overlooking the plains that stretched below the Pelóri mountains. Looking out, they could see the graceful spires of Eldamas in the far distance and the mansions of Valmar beyond. The Ezellohar was visible though the Máhanaxar further west was not because of the Light of the Trees. The room itself was simply appointed, with little decoration and Ingwion suspected that this was deliberate so they would not be distracted from their purpose. Between the chairs were small tables on which sat cut-crystal goblets and decanters of wine as well as plates of fruits and cheese and sweet delicacies.

They sat and Ingwion noticed with wry amusement that he and Ingalaurë were seated opposite each other. Valandur was seated to his right with Findis, facing west, while the other three were squeezed in on his left with Indil between the two ellyn. He grimaced to himself, realizing that the inclusion of Tamurilon had thrown the symmetry and rightness of a council of six akilter. He did not know if that was an omen or not and was somewhat furious at Indil for including Tamurilon into what was a family discussion. Since no betrothal had been announced, Ingwion did not see the young Vanyarin lord as a brother yet. Well, there was no help for it. The ellon was, for better or worse, a part of all this now.

He cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. "First, I wish to apologize to you, Indil, and you, Intarion, for the... subterfuge in bringing you here. Ingil and I felt that we needed to speak but without interference from others."

"By that, you mean my parents," Intarion interrupted with a frown.

"Unfortunately, yes," Ingwion said. "Uncle Ingoldo has been rather argumentative and has been attempting to undermine our authority while Atar is away."

"Beyond that," Ingalaurë said, "we have reason to believe he seeks to depose us and take the regency for himself." He stared pointedly at Tamurilon, seated between Ingwion and Indil and the young lord paled.

"I oppose him," he said, "though I have yet to speak against him as Lindórië has."

"Does she know your views?" Findis asked.

Tamurilon had the grace to blush and shake his head. "I told her I had to think about it."

Indil gave her beloved a hard stare. "Why this... cowardice? Why do you not speak your thoughts, whether yea or nay, so others know where you stand?"

Tamurilon reddened under Indil’s glare and Ingwion almost felt sorry for him, but he was curious as to why as well and waited to hear the young lord’s answer.

"I am the newest member of the High King’s Privy Council," he said in a soft voice, not looking at any of them. "Atar decided to give up his position in my favor."

He paused and the others nodded, well aware that Tamurilon’s sire had resigned his position to pursue his love of studying the olvar of Aman in greater depth. Cemendil was a devotee of Lady Yavanna and had entered her service, leaving his son to take his place in Ingwë’s council.

"I was surprised that Ingwë accepted you in Cemendil’s place," Valandur said. "By rights, the position should have gone to one of the other older lords. I can tell you that there was some resentment at your appointment, Tamurilon, for some felt slighted by Ingwë’s decision."

The younger ellon nodded. "I am aware of that, my lord...."

Valandur raised a hand in denial. "Let us leave all titles outside this room, son," he said. "In this room let us all be family."

Indil smiled at Valandur and Ingalaurë nodded. Ingwion was more ambivalent in his feelings but decided that Valandur was correct. For weal or for woe, Tamurilon was a part of this and they were indeed family. "Valandur is correct, Tam," he said, using the ellon’s pet name and giving him a smile which the other ellon returned.

"So you feel that you need to tread softly where my atar is concerned?" Intarion asked Tamurilon, giving the ellon a slight frown.

"Where they are all concerned," Tamurilon corrected. "Not all of the members of the Privy Council accepted Atar’s resignation or his appointing me in his place. I think some felt that the High King should have chosen someone older and wiser. Only a few people, Lindórië being one of them, have openly welcomed me, but I still remain cautious. I have not yet mastered the art of knowing who is my friend in truth and who only pretends to be in order to gain an advantage over me." He gave them a shy, embarrassed look. "I’m not very good at politics," he confessed.

"Better than most, I deem," Valandur said with a wicked grin. "You know how to keep your mouth shut."

That set the others laughing and the tension that had settled over them earlier dissipated. Then, Intarion spoke, his tone one of both puzzlement and distress. "Has Atar truly attempted to suborn the other members of the Privy Council to his view? I know he is ambitious and has always been jealous of Uncle Ingwë’s status, but I never thought he would go so far as to... to commit treason." He ended on a nervous note and he blanched at his own words, for such a concept was alien to him, to them all.

"He has not as yet committed that crime," Ingwion pointed out. "So far all he has done is talk and as far as I know there is no penalty for that." He kept his tone light for Intarion’s sake. "Still, it cannot be denied that there are those willing to listen to his views and if enough agree then it will only be a matter of time before they act on it."

"They would have to act quickly," Ingalaurë said, "for Atar will not remain in Tirion long."

"Should we not send him word of what is happening?" Indil asked.

"And who would you trust with such a missive when Ingoldo heads the courier service?" Findis asked.

There was a moment of silence as they all thought about the implications of Findis’ words. Then, Tamurilon spoke. "Me," he said. "You could trust me."

All of them stared at the young lord in surprise. "You? But what reason have you to even go to Tirion?"

"None," Tamurilon said with a shake of his head, and then his eyes lit with mischief. "But who says I need to go to Tirion? I could easily journey to Eldamas where my atar is presently residing. Who would suspect me of anything more than filial duty in visiting him? And indeed, it’s been my habit to visit Atar every so often with news of the family and Vanyamar."

"When did you last visit Cemendil?" Valandur asked.

"It has been quite a few weeks, actually," the ellon said. "I last visited him some time before the whole business with Fëanáro began."

"Then you leaving now to visit him would not be considered odd," Intarion said, beginning to understand what the youngest member of Ingwë’s inner council was getting at.

Tamurilon nodded. "And after I return to Vanyamar, who would notice that Atar has decided to do a bit of traveling? He is often wandering about Eldamar, studying the plant life. He uses Eldamas as his base for it is conveniently central to everything and he has direct access to Lady Yavanna and her Maiar, for all know that the Kementári stays close to the Trees."

They all sat for a while thinking it through. Then Ingwion looked at Tamurilon. "In the past, did you obtain Atar’s permission to leave Vanyamar to visit Lord Cemendil?" He noticed that Valandur gave him an approving nod and even Ingalaurë’s expression was one of grudging respect for not having thought of it himself.

"Yes," Tamurilon said, "and always he granted it and never did I abuse his trust, but returned when I said I would."

Ingwion nodded. "Then, at tomorrow’s council meeting, you may ask us leave to visit your atar with the promise that you will return by the following Valanya."

"At which point I assume I will accompany Indil to Ilmarin because she has missed my presence and desires my company?" He gave Indil a sly grin and a wink. She returned the smile with one of her own.

"Exactly," Ingwion said with a laugh and the others joined him.

When the laughter had died somewhat, Ingalaurë spoke. "Still, sending a message to Atar almost seems as if we’re running to him the way we did when we were elflings, expecting him to solve all our problems for us."

Before Ingwion could respond to that, Valandur spoke, shaking his head. "No. Sending a message to Ingwë is merely prudence. He should be aware of what is happening here. We should still deal with the situation as best we can and try to solve the problem on our own. Better for Ingwë to return to find that all is well than to return to chaos because we did nothing in the meantime."

The others nodded. "So just what should we do?" Indil asked.

Tamurilon spoke up, addressing Ingwion. "Your little speech the other day was a good start. I know one or two on the council who had been vacillating between accepting Ingoldo’s claims and remaining true to you and Ingalaurë who chose to remain loyal because of it. I do not know how long such sentiments will last, though, and I do not like that I will be gone even for a few days. I fear my absence may tip the balance towards Ingoldo if he pushes for a vote of no-confidence."

"We will have to risk it," Ingwion said soberly. "The council does not meet every day and I can postpone its next scheduled meeting until after your return on some pretense or another."

"That solves that problem, but what are we to do with Ingoldo and those who support him?" Ingalaurë asked. "I am not ashamed to say that he frightens me sometimes."

"Perhaps we should give him something with which to... um... keep him occupied," Findis said, looking pointedly at Intarion, who blanched. The others looked a bit confused.

"You mean Lirulin and me," Intarion said in a low voice.

Ingwion gasped, suddenly understanding. "No. That would be unfair to Lirulin. She deserves better than that. Even if Uncle Ingoldo did nothing, you can bet Aunt Tinwetariel will."

"What exactly are you suggesting, Findis?" Indil asked.

The eldest child and daughter of Finwë and Indis shrugged. "I think it’s time Intarion openly declared himself to Lirulin. You know perfectly well her parents welcome the match. It’s only Ingoldo and Tinwetariel who oppose it. Yet, Intarion and Lirulin are both well past the age of consent and can make their own decisions." She gave Intarion a shrewd look. "You and Lirulin have already discussed this between you, have you not?"

The ellon nodded glumly and sighed. "We had thought to announce our betrothal soon. We just weren’t sure when but I knew that we needed to wait until Uncle Ingwë returned so he could give us his support."

"You have that anyway, and you know it," Findis said, "but if you make your announcement now...."

"Yet, what would be the proper occasion?" Indil asked. "They cannot just announce it in the middle of a market square. There has to be a reason why the announcement is made now and not at some other time."

They pondered Indil’s words, realizing that she was correct, but then Intarion’s eyes brightened and he smiled. "I know the perfect time for making the announcement." They gave him their full attention and Intarion nodded. "Lirulin’s atyénaurë is a week from this Aldúya."

"Ah..." Ingwion said with a nod. "How convenient."

"Isn’t it, though?" Intarion said with a straight face and they all laughed.

****

When they adjourned, they were met by Eönwë, who led them back to the antechamber where Manwë and the other Valar greeted them again.

"You have come to some decisions," the Elder King said, making it more a statement than a question.

Ingwion nodded. "Yes, we have. We have decided that Atar needs to be informed about what is happening. Tamurilon has volunteered to take a message to his atar in Eldamas."

"Ah...." was Manwë’s only comment, but the elves could tell from the expressions on the faces of the other Valar that they approved. "Anything else?" Manwë asked.

Now Ingwion gave Intarion a sideways glance and smiled. "Intarion and Lirulin are going to announce their betrothal next Aldúnya, which is also Lirulin’s atyénaurë."

There were some raised eyebrows at that announcement. Námo, who happened to be standing next to Varda, gave Intarion a sly look. "Does the lady know of this?" he asked.

Intarion blushed and looked at his feet, not willing to meet anyone’s gaze. "Er... actually... um... that is...."

"She’ll know before the day is over," Findis said firmly. "I doubt she’ll object."

"And the reason for this sudden... betrothal?" Varda couldn’t help asking.

Intarion now looked up and they could see the gleam of mischief in his eyes. "Atar will not approve," he said.

There was a brief silence as the Valar came to several conclusions.

"That’s putting it mildly, I believe," Manwë said drolly.

Both Ingwion and Ingalaurë nodded. "So we hope," the older twin said.

"Ah..." Manwë said again, understanding what was not being said. He turned to Námo with a wicked smile. "I think you could take lessons from them."

"I rather doubt it," the Lord of Mandos said in a forbidding tone, but the laughter they saw lurking behind his cold mien belied his words.

****

Olvar: ‘Growing things with roots in the ground’, i.e. plants as opposed to kelvar ‘living things that move’, i.e. animals.

Atyénaurë: Anniversary-day, i.e. one’s begetting day, constructed from Old Sindarin atînaurë [at- ‘again’ + în ‘year’ + aurë ‘day’]. In Sindarin this became edinor.

Aldúya: Two Trees-day, the third day of the Valarin week.

13: Betrothal

Ingwion was secretly relieved to find that all was quiet in Vanyamar when they descended the mountain. Ingoldo was studiously polite as he reported to the twins that naught of any import had occurred while they were having their audience with the Valar. Tamurilon and Intarion returned separately so as not to arouse suspicions. Findis promised to take Intarion to Lirulin while Valandur remained with the twins and Indil. When she returned a few hours later there was definitely a smug look on her face. The twins glanced at each other and grinned.

At the council meeting held the next day, Ingoldo remained silent, only speaking when directly addressed. His expression was stony and his eyes smoldered with barely concealed anger but he did not contradict anything said by either twin or those whom he knew favored them over him. His own supporters remained silent as well, and some of those who had vacillated in their allegiance were now openly supporting Ingwion and Ingalaurë.

"Well, I think that will be all for today, my lords and ladies," Ingwion said with a bow of his head. "I thank you for your time and...."

"Forgive me, my prince," Tamurilon said, right on cue.

"Yes, Lord Tamurilon?" Ingwion said, giving the ellon a slight frown that only two other people knew to be faked.

"It has been my habit to go to Eldamas to visit my atar from time to time," Tamurilon explained. "I wish to do so now, if I may."

"Now?" Ingalaurë asked, playing his part in the charade.

Tamurilon nodded. "It has been some time since I saw Atar," he said, "not since before that incident with Prince Fëanáro."

Ingwion noticed the pained expressions on the faces of most of the councillors at the mention of the first-born son of King Finwë and suppressed a smile. Ingoldo and a few others, he noticed, kept their miens blank and he could not tell what they were feeling.

"Well, how long do you intend to be gone, Tam?" Ingwion asked, bringing the discussion down to a more personal level.

"If I leave tomorrow I can be back before next Valanya," the youngest member of the Privy Council answered. "I should point out," he added quickly, "that the High King always gave his permission to let me go whenever I asked."

Ingwion glanced at Ingalaurë as if to gauge his twin’s reaction to that information. Ingalaurë gave a slight nod for the benefit of the onlookers and Ingwion turned to Tamurilon with a smile. "Far be it from us to deny you that for which Atar has already given his permission. Please give Lord Cemendil our warmest greetings and regard." He paused, as if considering something. "As you will be gone until next Valanya, I think we can forgo our usual council schedule unless something drastic comes up. We will adjourn until next Menelya. You will be back by then, I trust?"

Tamurilon nodded. "I will return that morning."

"Good. Then we will meet again an hour after the noon meal a week from this Menelya," Ingwion said. "I thank you for your time, my lords and ladies. The council is dismissed."

With that, he and Ingalaurë stood and the others followed, some more reluctantly than others, but all gave them their obeisance, again some more reluctantly than others. The twins exited the council chamber side-by-side and it was only after they had reached their own apartments that they allowed themselves a good laugh over their performance.

"Now let us hope that Lord Cemendil will play his part in all this," Ingwion said when they had calmed down somewhat.

"How long do you think Uncle will wait before he makes his move?" Ingalaurë asked. "With Tam away he might think he has a majority vote in the council."

"Yet, if we do not meet, then there cannot be any vote," Ingwion pointed out.

"Unless he forces a meeting in the meantime," Ingalaurë insisted. "You did tell them that we would meet if something drastic occurred. Uncle may very well precipitate that ‘something drastic’ to force the issue."

"Then we will have to be firm and tell him that you and I will determine what is drastic and what is not," Ingwion said with a frown. "He cannot call a council meeting on his own. Only you and I have that authority. Even if all the other members of the council ask for a meeting, if we refuse, they cannot hold a meeting without our presence or whatever they decide will be null and void. I know, because I looked it up." He gave Ingalaurë a wicked smile and the younger twin snorted in amusement.

"Let’s hope you’re correct, Brother," he said, "or we may be in greater trouble than we think."

To that Ingwion had no reply.

****

The week passed rather quietly.

"Too quietly," Ingalaurë remarked darkly as he and Ingwion made their way up to Ilmarin four days later for their weekly audience with Lord Manwë.

"You cannot have it both ways, háno," Ingwion replied with a smile.

"I did not like the idea of Uncle haring off to the hunting lodge," his brother said. "I know he goes there around this time and there’s nothing unusual about him doing so, but I would prefer to have him where I can see him."

"As would I," Ingwion admitted, "but we sort of gave him a legitimate excuse when we allowed Tam to go to Eldamas. We couldn’t very well deny him the right to spend a few days hunting. We don’t have that authority."

"I know," Ingalaurë said. "I just wish...." He shrugged and Ingwion wrapped an arm around the ellon’s shoulders, giving him a brief smile.

"As do I," he said softly. "As do I."

When they reached Ilmarin and were ushered into the audience chamber, they were surprised to see only Lord Manwë present and wondered what was happening elsewhere that required the attention of all the other Valar. For as long as the twins could remember, all the Valar, even Lord Ulmo, made a point of being present when Ingwë came on Valanya to discuss the doings of the Vanyar and the rest of Eldamar.

Manwë smiled warmly as they gave him their obeisance, gesturing for them to take seats before him. "My fellow Valar send their regrets," he said. "They are... away."

"Away?" Ingalaurë asked with a frown. "Away where?" Then he gasped, looking somewhat abashed as he realized he had overstepped the bounds of propriety.

Manwë’s smile deepened, for he was not at all offended by the ellon’s curiosity. "We Valar seldom leave Arda these days," he explained. "The drama of creation is centered here now that you Children have entered the Story, but that is not to say we never leave. We are the Guardians not just of Arda but of all of Eä and so the others are away, overseeing the rest of the cosmos. Lord Námo thought he detected some anomalies in the upper dimensions of the space-time continuum...." He paused, seeing the blank looks of incomprehension on the twins’ faces and chuckled somewhat ruefully. "Well, that is neither here nor there. Suffice to say they regret they could not be here at this time, but they will return soon. After all," and here he gave them a sly look, "there’s a betrothal in the offing, if I’m not mistaken."

The twins both snickered at that and nodded eagerly. "Intarion is very nervous about it," Ingwion offered. "Every time I see him he’s... er... throwing up."

"Poor ellon," Manwë said in a commiserating tone. "And the young elleth? How is she faring?"

The twins shrugged, not really knowing or even caring. Ellith were... well ellith and neither really had much to do with them as yet. "Findis and Indil would know," Ingwion admitted somewhat apologetically.

Manwë nodded, well aware through his network of Maiar, just how Lady Lirulin was faring. He decided to change the subject. "Your uncle is away, I see."

Ingalaurë grimaced. "We were discussing that on our way up," he said. "Neither one of us is happy not to have him where we can see him, but we had no choice but to let him go. I just hope he’s not plotting some kind of mischief in the meantime."

"As to that," Manwë said equably, "only time will tell. I suspect though that once the betrothal is announced he will have little time to think of anything else. I take it your Aunt Tinwetariel is also against the match."

Ingwion nodded. "They both think Lirulin is not good enough for Intarion. Her family belongs to the minor nobility and in fact, her atar is a member of the merchants’ guild, trading with Tirion and Alqualondë."

"Oh?" Manwë asked, giving them to know that he was truly interested in hearing more, even if the twins suspected he already knew about Lirulin and her family. They would not know that Manwë was more interested in their own feelings about Lord Nolondur.

Ingwion nodded. "He is a wine merchant. He has several vineyards in the Southern Fiefdoms. I’ve tasted some of his wines. They are quite good. Atar has his own stock of Lord Nolondur’s best." He gave Manwë a wide grin, which the Elder King returned.

"So, Ingwë sees nothing wrong with Nolondur being a merchant?" he asked diffidently.

Both twins shook their heads. "Nor do we," Ingalaurë said. "Lord Nolondur is well respected among the guildmasters of his craft and well liked by those who know him. He is generous and open-handed to all. Only those who think knowing a trade to be demeaning look down on him."

"I once asked him why he, a member of the nobility, sought to become a vintner," Ingwion said.

"And what did he say?" Manwë asked.

Ingwion shrugged. "He said that he had started his vineyards almost as an afterthought when we Vanyar still resided in Tirion. He had hired people who professed some knowledge of wine-making to tend to the grapes but he came to realize that he had no real knowledge of what went into making a good wine, so he asked to be admitted into the vintner’s guild as an apprentice." He paused and snickered. "Atar was rather nonplused by it when he found out but decided not to forbid it, saying that it was a harmless hobby."

"Only it turned out to be more than a hobby for Nolondur, didn’t it?" Manwë said, his eyes twinkling with humor.

The twins nodded. "He went on to become a wine merchant," Ingalaurë stated, "saying that it gave him more satisfaction than being a minor lord of a minor estate that no one really cared about, least of all him."

Manwë raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Oh? I was under the impression that he cared very much for his lands and position."

"For the sake of his children," Ingwion said. "He cares naught for such things for himself and rarely attends any court function unless Atar makes a point of reminding him of his duties to the crown. As it is, he’s often away, either overseeing the delivery of his wines or examining his vineyards."

"How does he feel about his daughter marrying Intarion?" the Elder King then asked.

The twins glanced at each other somewhat blankly. Ingwion then turned to Manwë with a sheepish look. "I don’t think anyone’s ever bothered to find out."

"Ah...." Manwë said, giving them both an amused look. However, he did not pursue the subject any further and after a few more minutes of discussing other matters, the ellyn took their leave of him. For a time, Manwë sat and pondered many things. Finally, he stirred, speaking a single name softly. Immediately Eönwë was there, looking expectantly at his lord. Manwë smiled. "Find Olórin for me, would you? I believe he is with Nienna at the moment." He then gave the Maia the spatiotemporal coordinates for a particular star system in a galaxy whose light took nearly thirty thousand years to reach Arda, where Nienna and Vána were checking out the Arda-like planet circling an orange sun. It appeared that higher life forms were beginning to develop there and there was much speculation among the Ainur as to whether any of them would become sentient. "Tell him I need him to do what he does best."

"And what is that?" Eönwë asked in genuine curiosity.

"I need him to be an Elf for a time," Manwë answered.

Eönwë raised an eyebrow but otherwise did not comment. He had the greatest respect for his fellow Maia and knew his talents well. Without another word he gave Manwë his obeisance and faded from view, leaving the Elder King once again alone.

****

Ingoldo returned from the royal hunting lodge in the evening of Eärenya, his mood still sour. Intarion and his cousins stayed out of his way. Intarion, in fact, was entertaining the twins and Indil in his own apartments. Valandur and Findis joined them. They were all enjoying some of Lord Nolondur’s wine from Ingwë’s private stock, which Ingwion had brought with him.

"I don’t think Atar will mind," he said. "If he were here, I’m sure he would open a bottle or two himself in celebration."

"The betrothal hasn’t been announced yet, Ingwi," Intarion said with a smile. He was looking unusually pale and nervous.

Findis leaned over and placed a comforting hand on the ellon’s knee. "Are you having second thoughts about the betrothal?" she asked.

Intarion shook his head. "No. It’s what I want... what we both want, but I fear Atar’s wrath, never mind Amillë’s. They will not be happy and may try to... break the betrothal."

"They will fail," Valandur said solemnly. "You are both of age. Indeed, you could have married any time in the last dozen yéni. Why you waited this long...."

"I kept hoping my parents would come to accept Lirulin and her family," Intarion explained, looking rueful. "A foolish hope, I know, but...."

They all gave him sympathetic smiles. "Valandur is correct, though," Indil said gently. "It’s time and past time that you two were married." Then she gave him a wry look. "Now, with you and Lirulin betrothed, perhaps I can finally convince Tam that we should be as well."

"A double wedding," Findis said with a dreamy smile. "Under the Trees, of course. You and Tam will stand under Laurelin while Intarion and Lirulin stand beneath Telperion with the High King in the middle to hear your vows."

"Please, Findis," Ingalaurë said with a pained expression on his face. "The next thing we know you’ll be trying to get us married," he exclaimed, gesturing to his brother as well as himself.

"And what would be wrong with that?" Findis asked in surprise.

"Nothing," Ingwion said somewhat hastily. "It’s just that... well... um... couldn’t we take it one betrothal at a time?" he pleaded.

Valandur laughed, amused at the looks of horror on the twins’ faces at the prospect of marriage. "Peace, beloved," he said to Findis, giving her a brief but loving kiss on her cheek. "Ingwion is correct: one betrothal at a time. Tomorrow will be Intarion and Lirulin’s day. Let us not spoil it with useless fantasies about double weddings and such. I fear others will be spoiling the day for them without us adding to it."

They all sobered at that. Ingwion was then reminded of something that Lord Manwë had asked, and turned to Intarion. "I wonder how Lirulin’s parents think of all this. You’ve never really said."

"They are delighted, actually," Intarion answered. "Lord Nolondur has been addressing me as ‘yondo’ for ages now and both he and Lady Yáviën have insisted for some time that I call them ‘Atya’ and "Emya’.

"Well that’s a relief," Ingalaurë said with a smile. "Having one set of parents against the marriage is bad enough, but having both sets would be a complete disaster."

"Atar will insist that Lord Nolondur is merely pushing this marriage to improve his own social standing," Intarion warned them.

"Something that no one who knows Nolondur will believe anyway," Valandur said dismissively. "So just when and where do you plan to make the announcement?" he asked.

Intarion smiled, excitement brightening his eyes. "At Lirulin’s atyénaurë party. Oh, I almost forgot." He cast them a wicked grin. "You’re all invited."

"Well, I should bloody well hope so," Ingalaurë muttered in mock affront and then they were all laughing.

****

The party was actually a small affair, with only about twenty or so close friends and family. Ingwion, Ingalaurë and Indil came with a small gift for the elleth. At Findis’ suggestion the three of them presented her with a small sheaf of vellum especially crafted for inscribing musical notation, as well as some quills and several small bottles of ink, for Lirulin, young as she was — younger, in fact, than Indil — was an accomplished musician and composer. Her green-blue eyes lit up with delight at the gift and she spent several minutes thanking them profusely.

The three royals then greeted Lirulin’s family, who greeted them in return with some degree of familiarity. Then they greeted the others with whom they were acquainted and were introduced to those whom they did not know, mostly friends of Lirulin from the music academy where she taught. They appeared slightly uncomfortable in the presence of the nobility but were soon put at ease by Ingwion, Ingalaurë and Indil as they teased Intarion and Lirulin mercilessly, much to everyone else’s amusement. Intarion retaliated in kind with some embarrassing tales of his own and soon they were all laughing.

After the celebratory meal, Intarion rose, looking shy, embarrassed and pleased all at the same time. He had been sitting next to Lirulin during the feast, and now he stood, his hand in hers. The room hushed, expecting Intarion to give the usual begetting day speech before the final subtlety was brought out for them to enjoy, but only three of the onlookers knew what the speech would really be about.

Intarion cleared his throat. "Before we indulge ourselves with the atyénaurë cake," he said, looking unusually pale to the others, "there’s something Lirulin and I wish to say...."

****

"YOU WHAT!?" Ingoldo screamed in rage, glaring at Intarion.

Everyone in the room winced. Ingwion, Ingalaurë and Indil were there to lend their cousin their support. Intarion had decided to postpone telling his parents about the betrothal until the next morning. They were all gathered in the royal family’s dining room breaking their fast. The family was alone. Valandur and Findis had made previous arrangements to entertain the others of the household who normally dined with Ingwë and his family elsewhere, so as to give Intarion and his family some privacy.

Tinwetariel was weeping beside her husband. "Oh, how could you be so thoughtless," she wailed. "We’ll never live down the shame of it."

"Shame, Aunt?" Ingwion could not help asking, his expression cold and disdainful. "Lirulin comes from a well-respected family and Intarion has naught to be ashamed of. I know Atar will approve." He smiled encouragingly at Intarion, who was looking ill. He hated confronting his parents; they had a way of making him feel small and insignificant.

"Well, I do not," Ingoldo exclaimed. "Nolondur is naught but a scheming, manipulating wine merchant who hopes to better his lot with this marriage. Well, he’s in for a rude awakening, for I will not allow it."

"You will not allow it?" Intarion demanded, suddenly becoming angry on Nolondur’s behalf. Intarion had the greatest respect and love for the older ellon who treated him as a son and did not care for his atar’s mean-spirited views. "You forget, Atar, I am not an elfling and you cannot stop me from marrying Lirulin."

"My son marrying a... a wine merchant’s daughter?" Ingoldo sneered "It’s absurd. We’ll be the laughing stock of the court."

"I am not marrying a wine merchant’s daughter," Intarion said coldly. "I am marrying the daughter of Lord Nolondur and Lady Yáviën, who have the favor of the High King."

"Bah!" Ingoldo snorted, "We’ll see about that." Standing, he took a still weeping Tinwetariel by the arm and led her out of the dining room, leaving the others behind.

"Don’t worry, Intarion," Indil said, giving her cousin a sympathetic smile. "What can he possibly do?"

No one answered, but secretly Ingwion wondered how far Ingoldo would go to prevent the marriage from ever taking place.

****

Yéni: Plural of yén: Elvish 'long-year' or century of 144 solar years. At this time, Intarion is about 3000 years old. The twins are 3257 years old and Indil is 2900 years old.

Atya: Reduced form of atarinya ‘my father’; a term a child would use in addressing his or her father.

Emya: Reduced form of emilinya ‘my mother’; a term a child would use in addressing his or her mother. Emil is an alternate form of amil/amillë.

14: News from Vanyamar

Cemendil stared up at the city of Tirion on Túna, remembering earlier times when he dwelt there with Séremárië, his beloved wife, before any of their children were born. He thought fondly of her, happily in service to Lord Manwë as a court bard. Her lays were well known among the Vanyar and even among the other Elves of Eldamar. She was one of the most respected teachers at the Academy and well loved by her students. It had been she who had convinced him to leave Ingwë’s service and follow his first love: the study of plant taxonomy. He had worried that Ingwë would be dismissive of his decision and that Lady Yavanna might not accept his wish to become her apprentice, but both worries were unfounded. Ingwë expressed his regret at losing so able a councillor but understood that Cemendil had been unhappy of late and accepted his resignation, welcoming Tamurilon as his replacement.

"I will miss your wise council, my friend," Ingwë had said, "but I welcome your son in your place, for I know you have imbued him with your own wisdom."

Lady Yavanna had been more reserved in her acceptance of him. "You are somewhat late, child," she had told him, "I expected you some time ago." She gave him a sigh that was like the soughing of the wind in the trees, then smiled at the ellon’s obvious confusion. "Well, better late than never, I suppose," she continued somewhat wryly. "Welcome to the fold, Cemendil. Your atar named you well."

That had been some time ago and now he was well settled in Eldamas, studying the plants in the area as well as journeying abroad to other parts of Valinor, places rarely visited by any of the Elves, save perhaps Fëanáro and his sons, for they had been well known for their wanderlust, that is until they were exiled to a single valley far to the north.

Cemendil shook his head, clearing his mind of that last thought. He had attended the trial more out of curiosity than anything, residing as he did in Eldamas, and had been dumbfounded at Fëanáro’s truculence before the Valar. Well, that was neither here nor there at the moment. He sighed and, not for the first time, wondered how he had allowed himself to be talked into coming here. Tam had spent half the time of his visit convincing him to do so. He had been reluctant, for he did not wish to leave his work but in the end he had agreed.

"But I might not be able to leave for a couple of weeks, for I have my own work to attend to," he said. Tam, of course, had urged him to leave earlier, and in the end he had agreed to leave on the same day as his son would leave for Vanyamar.

"I do this for the love I bear for Ingwë," he told Tam as they parted, "but please do not ask me to do this again. Next time, if there is a next time, you will have to find another way."

Tam, to his credit, had simply nodded and left it at that. Now, here he was before the gates of Tirion and he wished he were anywhere else, doing anything else. Giving in to another sigh, he spoke softly to his horse, urging it forward from where he had stopped a few hundred paces from the western entrance of the city. There were few travelers entering Tirion this late in the day, so he did not have to wait long to pass through the gates, giving the guards there a respectful nod. He made his way to an inn where he often stayed whenever he had occasion to visit Tirion. It was situated half-way up the hill upon which the city sat. It was too late to go to the palace, so he had a quiet dinner and retired.

The next day, Valanya, was traditionally a day of rest and celebration. Thus, there were few businesses open and the streets were somewhat deserted as he made his way towards the palace, remembering his former life in the city. He still avoided visiting the street where he and Séremárië had kept house, his feelings about it ambivalent, for he was never sure if he feared to see that it was still deserted even after all this time or that it was not. At any rate, that street lay further to the north and he was making his way almost due east along one of the main arterials that led directly to the palace.

At the entrance he was stopped by a guard asking his business. Cemendil handed him a letter that Tamurilon had given him, a letter signed by Ingwion and Ingalaurë as co-regents of Vanyamar. "I have been asked to deliver a message to the Ingaran from his sons," he said as the guard read the letter of introduction informing all and sundry that the bearer of the letter was acting as an official courier for their Highnesses. The guard returned the letter to Cemendil and nodded.

"I will have you escorted to Lord Axantur," he said, naming the Noldóran’s Chamberlain and Master of Ceremonies. "He will bring you before the High King."

Cemendil gave the guard a brief bow. "Thank you."

The guard beckoned to one of his fellows and gave him his instructions. Soon Cemendil was following the ellon through the hallways of the palace, bringing him to Axantur’s office. The guard knocked on the door frame.

"Yes? What is it?" came a querulous voice on the other side of the half-opened door. The guard pushed the door open wider. Cemendil saw an ellon facing away from them, hunched over a desk that looked out onto an inner courtyard.

"My lord," the guard said, "this is Lord Cemendil who wishes to see the Ingaran."

Lord Axantur, or so Cemendil assumed him to be, sighed but did not bother to turn around. "Everyone wants to see the Ingaran, who shouldn’t be here, and the Noldóran, who should be," he muttered in frustration. "Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait your turn. It’s Valanya, after all. Their Majesties are not seeing anyone today. Send him away," the Chamberlain ordered, giving them a dismissive wave of a hand, still too intent on whatever he was doing to have the courtesy to face them.

Cemendil rolled his eyes and waved at the guard, mouthing ‘Thank you’ as he motioned him to return to his post. The guard gave him a short bow, smiling as he mouthed ‘Good luck’ before turning and leaving. Cemendil eyed the Chamberlain’s back with a mixture of amusement and indignation. He remembered having to deal with underlings in Ingwë’s court and was glad he was no longer subjected to their highly overrated opinions of their own worth.

"Excuse me," he said in as forbidding tone as he could muster, "but unfortunately I cannot wait on the pleasure of your office to see Ingwë. I have a personal message for him and...."

Axantur turned in exasperation, holding out a hand in an imperious manner. "Then you had best give it to me and I’ll see it delivered."

Cemendil’s eyes narrowed. "It was delivered into my hands with the explicit orders that I give it to none but the High King."

Axantur huffed, obviously displeased. "Orders or no, nothing gets to their Majesties except through me...."

"Which makes me wonder if anything gets to them," Cemendil could not help retorting, though he instantly regretted that he had allowed his anger to impugn the integrity of the ellon before him. Before he could tender his apologies, another voice joined the discussion.

"I can take him, Axantur."

Axantur actually stood and bowed while Cemendil turned to see an ellon with the golden hair of the Vanyar, though there were hints of silver woven in the tresses. He wondered if the ellon were part of the entourage that had accompanied Ingwë to Tirion. He had been away from court long enough that he did not think he would recognize any of those who entered government service after his departure.

"If you wish, Prince Findaráto," Axantur said with steely politeness.

Cemendil felt his eyebrows leave his forehead. Ah... so this was the eldest son of Prince Arafinwë and the Lady Eärwen. He was rather unassuming in his dull colored tunic of rain-washed grey and if it weren’t for the courtesy that Axantur accorded him, Cemendil would have dismissed the ellon as a lowly servant.

Findaráto gave them both a smile that nearly rivaled the light of the Trees in its artless brilliance. "I wish, Axantur," he said. "I was on my way to pay my respects to Uncle Ñolofinwë anyway. If you would follow me... um...."

"Lord Cemendil, your Highness," the Vanya said with a proper bow.

"Lord Cemendil, welcome to Tirion," Findaráto said with a bow of his head. "Please come with me." He started to walk away and then stopped to glance back at the Chamberlain who was still standing, looking less than pleased. "Oh, and Axantur, next time, let’s see a little more respect. Lord Cemendil has shown remarkable fortitude in the face of your rudeness, but others might not be so... forgiving." His expression made it clear that he was speaking of himself and Cemendil’s estimation of the prince changed remarkably. Here was one it would be wise not to anger. Axantur bowed but said nothing and Findaráto turned back to Cemendil with a smile.

"This way, Lord Cemendil," and the Vanya fell into step with the prince as they made their way down the hall. "So how is Vanyamar these days?" Findaráto asked after a moment or two of silence as they went up a marble staircase.

"Actually, I have no idea," Cemendil said with a smile. "I left Vanyamar some time ago and now make my home in Eldamas."

"And yet, you claim to have a letter for my great-uncle," Findaráto pointed out in a reasonable tone.

"I was given the letter by my son who had received the letter from Prince Ingwion with instructions to give it to me and for me to in turn give it into Ingwë’s hands and to no other."

"How odd," the prince said, then shrugged. "Well, no doubt Ingwion has a reason for all this... intrigue. Ah... here we are." They had come to a door that appeared no different from all the other doors they had passed. Findaráto knocked, and then opened the door without waiting for an answer. "Fair day to you, Uncle," he said cheerfully as he entered the room with Cemendil trailing behind. "I’ve brought someone to see Uncle Ingwë."

The Vanya found himself in a sitting room, comfortably appointed and fully occupied. He recognized Ingwë and Elindis sitting together on a settee, but had to assume the others gathered in a semi-circle of chairs around the royal couple were members of the Noldorin royal family. He noticed, though, that Lady Indis was not among them. Cemendil started to bow to the assembly but was forestalled by Ingwë rising from his seat and coming to him.

"Cemendil?" he asked in disbelief, taking the ellon by the shoulders. "What brings you here?"

Cemendil smiled. "I was in the neighborhood and...."

He got no further as Ingwë threw back his head and laughed all the while hugging his former councillor. He still had a grin on his face as he calmed down. "A likely story," he said, then led him further into the room, quickly introducing them: Ñolofinwë, Anairë, their three sons, Findecáno, Turucáno and Aracáno, and their daughter, Írissë, along with Arafinwë, Eärwen and their daughter, Artanis. The ladies were sitting quietly in the embrasure overlooking the garden below, working diligently on some embroidery, though Elindis sat with her husband. Ingwë explained to Cemendil that Arafinwë’s other two sons were visiting friends elsewhere in Tirion. "This is Lord Cemendil who once served me faithfully and well as one of my councillors," Ingwë said at the last.

"And now?" Arafinwë asked in an amused voice.

"Now he serves Lady Yavanna with the same unswerving loyalty," Ingwë answered and they all looked upon Cemendil with grave respect.

Cemendil turned to Ingwë, his expression sober. "I hope that I still serve you, aranya, as faithfully as ever. I was asked to seek you out and to give this into your hands." He pulled a piece of vellum from the leather pouch he had slung over his shoulder. It was heavily sealed.

Ingwë stared at it for a moment, not taking it. Finally, he looked up into Cemendil’s eyes. "Do you know what is written here?"

Cemendil shook his head. "I am merely the messenger, sire, nothing more."

"Why, though?" Elindis asked from where she was sitting. She, too, was working on a piece of embroidery. "The regular courier was here only yesterday."

Cemendil shrugged. "I’m sorry. I truly know nothing about it save that my son came to me and gave me this, asking that I come here and give it to you personally."

Now Ingwë took the letter, staring pensively at it before walking over to a desk and picking up a thin knife, carefully breaking the seals. He slowly unfolded it and began reading. Findaráto, meanwhile, offered Cemendil a seat and a glass of yellow wine, mellow and pleasing to the palate.

"Nothing bad, I hope," Ñolofinwë said, giving his uncle a concerned look.

"Depends on how you define the term," Ingwë said absently, still reading. Then, he looked up and his expression was one of almost pure fury, and Cemendil felt himself grow weak at the sight. He vaguely noticed that some of the others in the room looked equally unnerved.

"Perhaps I should leave...." he said as he started to rise, but Findaráto, sitting next to him, laid a hand on his arm, forestalling him.

"Sit, my lord," the prince said. "Whether you are aware of it or not, the moment you accepted the letter from your son you became embroiled in this... affair."

Cemendil shook his head in denial, pulling away from the prince. "I am here as a favor to my son, nothing more," he insisted. "I want no part of any of this." He glared at Ingwë. "I resigned from your government, Ingwë. I have no intention of taking back my office." He gave them all a stiff bow and moved towards the door.

Ingwë’s expression mutated from fury to confusion and it was obvious to the others that he had not been paying attention to the conversation between Findaráto and Cemendil. "Wait!" he cried, going to Cemendil and taking him by the shoulders, turning him around. "Forgive me, my friend," he said softly. "Please stay. You were ever one of my wisest councillors and I would welcome your insight now."

Cemendil hesitated. "I left all that behind, Ingwë," he said in a tone that held a measure of regret, regret that he may have caused his king and dear friend much grief in leaving. "I... I really do not wish to return to that."

"I know," Ingwë said in a tone that held an equal amount of sorrow and resignation in it. "Only, please stay... for me, for the sake of the friendship we once had."

"You have never lost my friendship, Sire, nor my love," Cemendil said softly yet with much emotion. "I regret causing you any pain at my leaving but...."

Ingwë held up a hand to forestall his apology. "I never blamed you, Cemendil. You were right to leave when you did. But come now and join us. While your loyalties have changed somewhat I hope your love for our people has not."

Cemendil could only shake his head as he reluctantly allowed Ingwë to lead him back to his seat. Ingwë resumed his own next to Elindis, sighing heavily as he stared down at the missive still in his hand. "I am sorry for... frightening any of you," he said, looking at each of them and capturing everyone’s eyes with his own. "I fear that the news, if not bad, is certainly disturbing and I understand why my sons chose to bring me this news through you, Cemendil."

"What is it, Ingwë?" Elindis asked, her expression one of deep concern. "Has something happened to the children?"

"Nay, nothing like that," Ingwë was quick to reassure her. "Indil and our sons are well, if troubled." He turned his attention to the rest of them. "It appears that Ingoldo has sought to overthrow the regency I set up before leaving. He is trying to convince my Privy Council to either force Ingwion and Ingalaurë to abdicate in his favor or to forcibly remove them from office."

There was a collective gasp in the room. Cemendil shuddered at the images those words evoked within him. One of the reasons he had gladly left Vanyamar to enter into Lady Yavanna’s service was so as to remove himself from Ingoldo’s influence. He did not delude himself into thinking he was untouchable. Everyone had their price, though for most the price was so high it did not matter. He was not sure if his price was truly high enough and feared that Ingoldo or one of his followers would offer him something he could not refuse. He’d hope that by removing himself from his position, the temptation would never arise. His only consolation was knowing that Tamurilon’s integrity was even greater than his own and beyond any price, which is why he had had no qualms in suggesting his son take his place on the council. Still, he could not help a twinge of regret at his own cowardice in virtually running away.

"What do you mean to do about it?" Ñolofinwë asked. "Will you be returning to Vanyamar now?"

"No," came Ingwë’s surprising answer and they all looked at him with various degrees of disbelief and confusion. He waved the letter before him. "This is but a progress report," he said, "one that my sons felt I should have so that I would be aware of what was happening, but they ask that I take no action at this time."

"Then why the subterfuge?" Arafinwë asked, looking pointedly at Cemendil, who sat there at a loss as to how to respond. Tamurilon had told him little, only asking that he deliver the letter. He had not asked for any details; the less he knew, the less he could inadvertently reveal.

Ingwë shook his head. "Cemendil is not at fault, Arafinwë. I believe him when he tells me that he knows little of what is happening in Vanyamar."

"I left that life," Cemendil insisted, looking almost pleadingly at Ingwë. "I do not want to return to it."

"I know," the High King said, giving him a sympathetic look, "and I regret that you have been dragged into it again. My apologies on behalf of my sons. They should never...."

"I doubt they were the ones to come up with the idea of sending me," Cemendil interrupted. "I suspect that Tam suggested this route. Ingoldo still heads the courier service, does he not?" Ingwë nodded. "That’s what I thought," Cemendil continued. "Obviously your sons feared the possibility that Ingoldo would not respect the seals on any missive sent by them to you."

Now there was another sharp intake of breath from the listeners at the implications of the Vanyarin lord’s words. Ingwë’s expression darkened again towards wrath.

"So are you truly not going to do anything?" Ñolofinwë asked again.

For a long moment Ingwë did not speak. He stared down at the letter and then back up at Cemendil, who sat there feeling furious at what he feared would be asked of him next. He had left his former life in good faith, embracing his present life as a servant to the Earth-Queen with enthusiasm and gratitude and now he was being sucked back into the morass of conflicting loyalties and agendas from which he had fled. He resented it and wished now he had never agreed to his son’s request. Only his friendship with Ingwë had convinced him to do so and now he could see in the High King’s eyes that very friendship being betrayed.

As if reading his thoughts, Ingwë said, "I will understand if you refuse, Cemendil, but for friendship’s sake I ask that you carry one more letter."

"To Vanyamar?" Cemendil asked, feeling a sick twisty feeling in the pit of his stomach as he saw his life spiraling out of control. He wondered briefly if he could simply call on Lady Yavanna to rescue him, then dismissed the thought from his mind. The Earth-Queen allowed the Elves who were in her service to live their own lives, to make their own choices and would not interfere unless those choices directly impacted her demesne.

Ingwë shook his head. "No. To Alqualondë."

There was dead silence. Cemendil stared at Ingwë in absolute shock, not sure he had heard correctly. "Alqualondë? Why to Alqualondë?"

Now, for the first time since reading the letter, Ingwë smiled. "Why, to inform King Olwë of the upcoming nuptials between my nephew Intarion with the Lady Lirulin, of course."

"What!?" Elindis nearly screamed, grabbing the missive out of her husband’s hand and reading furiously.

"You mean, Intarion and Lirulin are finally betrothed?" Findaráto asked with a wide grin of delight.

Ingwë nodded. "Or rather, they will be by now. They planned to make the announcement on Aldúya."

"So, Cousin Intarion finally grew a backbone, did he?" Artanis spoke up with a dismissive sniff. "About time, though I feel sorry for Lirulin marrying someone who is usually afraid of his own shadow."

"That’s quite enough from you, Daughter," Arafinwë said sternly. "You do both Intarion and Lirulin a disservice with your disparaging remarks."

"Thine atar is correct, child," Ingwë said with a slight frown, speaking more as High King than as the eldest member of their family. The use of the word ‘child’ did more to chasten the elleth than her atar’s disapproval. "Intarion is far braver than thou canst imagine, for he hath endured his parents’ disapproval of Lirulin for yéni upon yéni and hath refused to consider any other candidate for marriage that they have foisted upon him. Beyond that, he hath Our deepest respect and love, for he hath ever been loyal to Us."

Artanis stood up and gave them a curtsey in apology, before returning to her seat, keeping her eyes on her lap, knowing that she had disappointed her family with her thoughtless words. Cemendil had noticed Findaráto rolling his eyes and shaking his head when Lady Artanis had spoken. Obviously, he felt differently about Lord Intarion than his sister.

"Perhaps I should travel to Vanyamar and give Intarion some moral support," the eldest child of Arafinwë said, confirming Cemendil’s good opinion of him, "and I can pass on any personal messages you may have for Ingwion and Ingalaurë, Uncle, messages that Ingoldo will never read." He tapped the side of his head and the meaning was clear: any messages would be completely verbal.

"And what of your studies, yonya?" Arafinwë asked. "Will you abandon them at this critical time? You are very near to achieving your mastership."

Findaráto shrugged. "It isn’t as if I plan to stay there indefinitely, Atto," he said, "just until the wedding. By then, you’ll all be there, won’t you?" He gave them a sly look and Ingwë laughed.

"Indeed," he said. "Well, if you are willing to go, Nephew, it will give me more peace of mind, knowing that you are there to lend whatever aid you can to my sons. And if you wish, I will write a letter to Valandur. As my chief loremaster, he knows the heads of all the guilds and academies. I see no reason why you cannot continue your studies there in the meantime. I’m sure your tutors will not object."

Findaráto bowed his head. "Thank you, Uncle, I appreciate it."

Ingwë then turned to Cemendil. "Will you go, meldonya?" he asked softly. "Will you go to Alqualondë?"

"Why me though?" Cemendil could not help asking. He turned to Ñolofinwë. "Surely you have your own courier service. Should they not be the ones to take such a message to King Olwë?"

It was Ingwë who answered. "Normally, yes, but the betrothal announcement is not the only message you will be carrying. That is merely an excuse."

For a moment, Cemendil stared at Ingwë in dismay. "I left that life," was all he could think to say. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go; he had been meaning to journey to that region of Eldamar for some time now to begin the cataloguing of the olvar there, but not like this, not as Ingwë’s lackey.

"I know," Ingwë said sorrowfully, rising to stand before Cemendil and pulling him up to face him, "but will you go, otornya?"

Cemendil sighed, and nodded. Ingwë calling him his otorno was the determining factor in his decision. "Only for you, otornya," he said softly, his eyes down, "only for the love I bear for you will I do this." Then he looked up at the High King and his eyes were full of anguish. "But please, do not ask me again, ever. I left that life. I belong to Lady Yavanna now, not to you."

Ingwë embraced him, kissing him on the cheeks as a liege to his vassal. "But just this last time you are mine," he whispered into the ellon’s ear and to his utter horror Cemendil found himself bursting into tears as Ingwë held him. He never noticed when the others, led by Elindis, left the room.

****

Otornya: My (sworn) brother; contracted from otornonya [otorno ‘brother’ + -nya ‘first person singular possessive suffix’], cf. yonya ‘my son’, contracted from yondonya.

Note: Írissë is better known from the Silmarillion as Aredhel. She will marry Eöl and be the mother of Maeglin.

15: Muina Hostalë

The Privy Council meeting held the day after Intarion’s betrothal announcement was strained, to say the least. Ingoldo was a study of silent affront, still unable to accept or forgive his son for going behind his back and becoming betrothed to someone whose family he despised. Ingwion and Ingalaurë, on the other hand, were barely able to conceal their glee at their uncle’s discomfiture. The other members of the council took their cue from Ingoldo, though, not understanding the reason behind his mood, and so they too maintained a cool politeness as the council was called to order. Tamurilon, however, couldn’t resist asking with studied innocence, his eyes bright with barely contained mischief, "Did I miss anything while I was away?"

Ingwion glared at his twin across the table where Ingalaurë was rolling his eyes, before turning his attention to Tamurilon. He was hard put not to laugh at the expression of disgust that marred Ingoldo’s visage. "Actually, you did," the prince said evenly. "I was about to announce to this Council that my cousin, Lord Intarion, has officially betrothed the Lady Lirulin as of last night. The date of the nuptials has yet to be determined."

Then he sat back with a smirk as the other Council members began congratulating Ingoldo, unknowingly adding fuel to the fire of his anger. Yet, he was not so stupid as to unleash that anger on his fellow councillors, but swallowed it and his pride and, as graciously as he could, thanked everyone for their good wishes. Only Ingwion and Ingalaurë refrained from adding their congratulations to the others, for they had made their position known the night before, supporting Intarion and attempting to shield him from his parents’ wrath, which did not endear them to either Ingoldo or Tinwetariel. Tinwetariel, in fact, was in high dudgeon and had refused to leave her apartments or to speak to Intarion.

In the end, the meeting devolved into a gossip hour as several of the councillors, knowing full well Ingoldo’s views on Lirulin and her family, began discussing weddings, gently needling Ingoldo with comments about what a good match the couple made and how pleased her parents must be that the two had finally made their feelings for one another official.

"Lord Nolondur is a good manager of his estates and well respected for his business acumen," Lady Almáriel said primly, "and Lady Yáviën is a gracious hostess whose balls are the talk of Vanyamar. Their daughter, I understand, is a gifted musician. Intarion could do much worse." She gave a slightly disgruntled sigh. "I only wish my own daughter, Amarië, was suitably betrothed."

"I thought she and Prince Findaráto had an understanding," Lindórië said coyly.

"Hmph," Almáriel snorted. "So Castamir and I thought, but so far the prince has yet to come forward with a marriage proposal."

"Maybe he’s just shy," Tamurilon said with a grin.

"My cousin is anything but shy, Tam," Ingwion couldn’t help joining the discussion. "He is young though. He’s only just seen his ninth yén. Amarië is even younger, I believe." He looked pointedly at Almáriel who nodded.

"Well, I’m sure when they are ready they will make the announcement," Ingwion said smoothly. "In the meantime, unless there is pressing business to discuss I don’t think we need remain in council. I have the feeling that my cousin’s betrothal is a topic of great interest to many of you, so, if there are no objections, let us adjourn until Elenya."

With that, he rose along with Ingalaurë and the others rose as well, giving the two princes their obeisance as they left the council chamber. Passing Tamurilon, Ingalaurë clasped him by the shoulder, dragging him along. "Why don’t you come with us and you can tell us how your atar is doing. I think Indil is about somewhere. No doubt you will wish to accompany her tomorrow when we all go to Ilmarin to pay our respects to the Valar."

Ingwion hid a smile at the ingenuousness of his twin’s words as Tamurilon obediently followed the two princes out, leaving Almáriel and Lindórië and a few of the other councillors chattering away about the betrothal while Ingoldo sat there fuming.

****

"Did you see the look on Ingoldo’s face when you asked if anything had happened while you were away?" Ingalaurë laughed as he and Tamurilon entered the sitting room shared by the twins. Ingwion was already pouring them some fruit juice as they entered. He snorted in amusement as he handed out the goblets.

"I couldn’t believe you said that, Tam," he said. "That was absolutely priceless."

They saluted one another with their goblets before drinking, laughing all the while as they moved out onto the balcony that overlooked the gardens below. They leaned against the balustrade with Tamurilon in the middle looking out onto an intricate boxwood knot garden in the center of which was a fountain showing Lady Nessa, Lady Vána and Lady Yavanna dancing in a circle with their hands upraised.

"How’s Intarion taking his atar’s wrath?" Tamurilon asked more soberly.

"Surprisingly well," Ingwion said. "I think he’s just relieved to have finally done this. He and Lirulin have been waiting for too long. Our aunt and uncle are never going to accept the marriage."

"Too bad," Tamurilon said. "I like Lirulin and her atar is very astute."

"Speaking of atari," Ingwion said, "how is yours doing?"

"Did he agree to take our letter?" Ingalaurë asked.

Tamurilon nodded, turning his back on the garden to sit on the balustrade. The other two followed suit. "He is well. He was somewhat reluctant to take the letter and I had to convince him to go sooner rather than later. In fact, he will be there now, though it will be too late to seek an audience with the High King. He will try to see him tomorrow or, failing that, on Elenya."

The twins nodded. "Did you ever learn what drove him from the Privy Council?" Ingalaurë asked. "I know that the official reason was that he wished to take service to Lady Yavanna, but there were rumors of other, darker reasons for his leaving."

Tamurilon cast his eyes down, giving a sigh. "He would never speak of it to me. I’m not even sure if he told my amillë the full story. Perhaps only Ingwë knows it, for I know they spoke several times during the weeks leading up to his resignation and my appointment."

"So you do not know either," Ingwion said.

Tamurilon shook his head. "He only told me to watch myself, especially around Ingoldo, but he never gave me any specifics."

"I know Atar was grieved at his leaving," Ingwion commented. "I know he misses Cemendil terribly."

"So do I," Tamurilon confessed, his expression sorrowful.

The twins gave him surprised looks. "But you see him every so often," Ingalaurë protested.

Tamurilon looked up, shaking his head. "It is not the same, for he does not like for me to speak of the political doings in Vanyamar except in generalities. I miss talking things over with him. I miss his wisdom. These days all he wants to talk about are his stupid plants." He ended on a bitter note.

"I’m sorry," Ingwion said and Ingalaurë nodded in sympathy.

Tamurilon shrugged. "It is the way it is." Then he turned to face the garden as he took another sip of his juice and his expression lightened into a smile. "Look! There’s Indil."

The twins glanced over their shoulders to see their sister entering the garden below. With her were Intarion and Lirulin. The three ellyn grinned at one another.

"Perhaps I should go down and offer my congratulations to the happy couple," Tamurilon said slyly.

"We’ll join you," Ingwion replied and the three returned to the sitting room, putting down their goblets and exiting for the stairs that led to the gardens.

****

By the time they reached the garden, Indil, Intarion and Lirulin were seated on benches facing the fountain, speaking animatedly. The three looked up as the ellyn approached. Intarion rose with a smile and he and Tamurilon gave each other warm greetings.

"I just heard the good news," Tamurilon said. "Congratulations to you both." He turned to Lirulin sitting there shyly and bowed over the hand which she offered. "Have you decided on a day yet?" he asked them.

"That’s what we were discussing," Indil said, as she offered her own hand to Tamurilon, who ignored it to sit beside her and kiss her tenderly on the cheek, much to her embarrassment and everyone else’s amusement.

"Atto and Ammë would like to see us wed with great pomp," Lirulin said, casting a resigned look at Intarion who looked equally resigned.

Ingwion smiled knowingly. "My parents will no doubt insist as well," he said. "It is the price one must pay for marrying into royalty."

"My parents will refuse to have anything to do with it," Intarion said. "They may even try to break the betrothal."

"If they do, I assure you they will have a fight on their hands," Ingwion replied darkly, "a fight they will not win."

"And if I know Atar," Ingalaurë chimed in with a wicked smile, "he will force your parents to attend the ceremony even if he has to have them brought under guard bound and gagged."

"Ingil," his sister admonished, "that’s uncalled for. Intarion has enough grief to deal with without you adding to it with your thoughtlessness."

The younger twin looked suitably chastened. "Sorry, Cousin," he said to Intarion. "I didn’t mean to be insulting."

"That’s all right, Ingil," Intarion said with a sigh. "I know how trying both my parents are. I wouldn’t be surprised if Uncle Ingwë did just that."

Lirulin leaned her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him. "I wish they didn’t hate me so."

Intarion glanced down at her, a sad smile on his lips. "They don’t know you well enough to hate you, my love. They only know that your atar doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty even though he is a noble. They cannot forgive him for what they see as an insult to the nobility as a whole. They despise him for being willing to engage in commerce rather than joining the rest of the nobility in their useless pursuits of hunting and feasting away their lives."

"What about you, Cousin?" Ingwion asked, arching his eyebrows in mock affront. "Will you join your wife’s atar in the wine business or will you remain with us, engaging in useless pursuits of hunting and feasting?"

Intarion smiled. "Perhaps I will do both."

Ingalaurë snorted. "I cannot see you as a vintner, Cousin. You had best keep doing what you do best."

"And what is that?" Intarion demanded, his expression one of hurt and anger.

Ingwion intervened before his twin could reply. He put a hand on his cousin’s knee and gave him an accepting look. "You are a wonderful loremaster, Intarion. Valandur is well pleased with you and I know Atar depends on your council more than he lets on."

"Yet I have no seat on the Privy Council," Intarion replied angrily. "I spend my days researching the Laws and Customs of the Eldar but to what end? I have no real purpose, no real position in the government. I might just as well apprentice myself to Nolondur and go into partnership with him."

"You underestimate your worth, Intarion," Tamurilon said, breaking into the discussion. "And to tell you the truth, I’m just as glad that none of you are part of the Privy Council."

They all looked at him in various degrees of surprise. "Would you like to explain that statement," Ingwion said, "for the last time I looked, both Ingil and I are part of the Privy Council."

"But only as regents to Ingwë," Tamurilon replied equably. "Once the High King returns, your status as regents will no longer exist. I very much doubt Ingwë will ask you to sit on the Privy Council after this."

"But if we prove ourselves ably..." Ingalaurë began but Tamurilon shook his head.

"It matters not. Ingwë is wise not to have any of you on his Council. It would give him too much power."

They sat in silence for a time, digesting Tamurilon’s words. Only the splashing of the fountain and the music of birds in the trees beyond the garden itself broke the silence. Finally, Ingalaurë muttered something too low for any of them to hear, his expression one of disgust.

"So when Atar returns, we’ll be sent back to the nursery," he said in a louder voice.

"I doubt that," Ingwion said with a wry grin.

His twin glared at him. "We might as well be. He gives us power and then takes it away."

"He hasn’t taken anything away yet, háno," Indil said sharply. "Do not presume to know Atto’s mind. You may indeed be dismissed from the Council upon his return, but do not think that Atto won’t reward you for your diligence and loyalty. You should have more faith in him than that."

Ingalaurë grimaced, keeping his eyes down. Ingwion watched his twin with concern, hoping his brother did not fall into resentment over this. He himself would be glad not to have to deal with the Privy Council any longer than necessary. Ingwion felt himself too unprepared for the role fate had thrust upon him in these troubling times and he had other interests anyway, interests that he had had to put aside for the time being. He was looking forward to going back to them once the High King returned.

"I apologize if anything I said upset you," Tamurilon said softly, his expression one of regret. "It was not my intent. If I’m not mistaken, Ingwë seeks out your opinions on many matters in an informal manner." He turned to Indil with a questioning look.

She nodded. "Often, after dinner, when we gather as a family, Atto will ask us for our opinions on policy. I’ve often thought he took our opinions seriously enough that he allowed himself to be swayed by them."

"Or at least, to consider them with the same degree of respect with which he receives the opinions of those on the Council," Ingwion added with a nod of agreement. "I think he uses us as a sounding board for his own thoughts, not willing to commit himself until he has heard our own opinions on the subject."

"So in a sense, you, Ingalaurë, Indil and Intarion are Ingwë’s other privy council," Tamurilon said.

"Along with Valandur and Findis," Ingwion said with a nod. He noticed a more thoughtful look on his twin’s face and was glad. Perhaps the growing resentment he had felt from Ingalaurë would be transmuted into something else, something more constructive.

Indil’s eyes widened with a thought. "I just realized something. Atto never asks for our opinions on matters of state when Uncle Ingoldo or Aunt Tinwetariel are there. He always waits until after they leave." She gave them a wide grin. "We’re his muina hostalë. Even Uncle Ingoldo doesn’t know we exist."

The smugness of her tone caused them all to laugh.

****

Muina Hostalë: Secret Council, literally, ‘secret assembly’, as there is no known word for ‘council’ in Quenya. ‘Assembly’ would be the closest in meaning, since ‘council’ is defined as ‘an assembly of persons summoned or convened for consultation, deliberation or advice’.

Atari: Plural of atar: Father.

Note: 9 yéni = 1296 solar years. At this time, Finrod is 1341 years old. By contrast, Ingwion and Ingalaurë are 3257 years old and have seen 22.6 yéni.

16: A Noldorin Prince in Vanyamar

The next week or so was fraught with much tension within the Vanyarin royal household. Ingoldo and Tinwetariel refused to speak to anyone unless absolutely necessary. They also refused to host the traditional betrothal dinner, as was the duty of the ellon’s family. It marked the official, as opposed to the unofficial, beginning of the betrothal period and the date of the wedding would be announced at that time. The dinner would be attended primarily by the immediate members of the two families as well as the closest friends of the betrothing couple, for these friends would later act as witnesses on the wedding day itself.

"I think we should wait until Atar returns," Ingwion suggested to Intarion and Lirulin when they broached the subject soon after the betrothal had been announced to the Privy Council. "As the head of our family he and Ammë can host the dinner."

"My parents are being very unreasonable about all this," Intarion said with a sigh. "I think I should have married Lirulin a long time ago. I’ve wasted all these yéni hoping my parents would come around." He gave Lirulin a rueful look, which she returned with an understanding smile and a squeeze of his hand in sympathy.

"Well, you are betrothed now," Indil said, "and that is all that matters. Tam and I have been talking and we thought to make our own betrothal official as well, but we have decided to hold off. One royal wedding at a time."

"Royal wedding?" Lirulin asked. She was a diminutive elleth, her hair the color of ripened wheat, her eyes a bluish-grey. Yet, there was an inner strength in her that appealed to them all. She was not overwhelmed by the company in which she found herself. As the daughter of a minor noble, she was at least familiar with the ways of the royal court.

Indil gave her a twinkling smile. "Intarion is the nephew of the High King, Lirulin," she reminded the other elleth. "It will be royal enough, believe me. That is why Tam and I have decided to postpone our own wedding for a time. We didn’t want to detract from your big day in any way."

"I almost wish you and Tam would get betrothed," Intarion said with a serious demeanor, "then we could have a double wedding. It would make it less of an ordeal for us, for I doubt my parents will be all that cooperative about it and are likely to spoil the day just out of pique."

"Perhaps," Ingwion said, "but I doubt if the High King will permit it. Atar can be very... persuasive and he’s likely to put the fear of the Valar into them both so they remain on their best behavior." He flashed them a knowing grin and they all laughed.

"I wish they would get back from Tirion sooner rather than later, though," Ingalaurë said with a straight face. "I’m tired of being regent. Too much work."

Ingwion rolled his eyes. "Co-regent," he retorted, "and the only work you seem to do lately is coming up with ways to avoid working at all."

"My greatest talent," his twin rejoined with a smug smirk and the rest of them laughed.

In truth, both twins worked hard to see that all was running smoothly. Even Indil had begun to help, taking over many of their amillë’s duties, especially those which concerned seeing to the general welfare of the citizens of Vanyamar. She began walking through the streets of the city as Elindis was in the habit of doing, stopping to chat with merchants or sit in someone’s garden and play with their elflings. Even the twins, when their other duties allowed, took up the habit of walking through the city and speaking to the people about their hopes and dreams. Intarion would join them on these walks and received many congratulations on his betrothal and a fair amount of (in his opinion) useless advice about how to be a good husband to Lirulin. He would often recount these encounters later to her and they would laugh over them.

"Though in truth I am grateful that they take the time to speak to me at all," Intarion said once when the cousins, along with Tamurilon and Lirulin, were all gathered together as had become their habit of late. "I’m always surprised that they even know who I am."

"You’re not as visible a figure as the rest of us, that’s true," Ingwion said, "but don’t sell yourself short, Cousin. The people are well aware of your reputation as one of Atar’s loremasters and Lirulin’s reputation as a composer. Her music is well known and appreciated by all the Elves of Vanyamar. Even if your parents are of a different mind, everyone else seems to think yours is a good match and they’re very happy for you both."

And so it went.

About a week after Tamurilon returned from Eldamas, Ingoldo excused himself from the Privy Council, stating that his son’s betrothal and preparations for the wedding were consuming too much of his time. It was a convenient fiction since all knew that Ingoldo was having nothing to do with his son or the wedding plans, which were on hold since the betrothal had not been officially announced, but Ingwion and Ingalaurë accepted the excuse. No one was surprised when Ingoldo rode out the next day with a retinue of his men, all of them armed with bows, even Ingoldo. It was obvious that the High King’s brother was heading for the royal hunting lodge. He gave no indication as to when he would return.

"I would rather have him here where we can keep an eye on him," Ingwion said to his brother and sister, "but I have no reason to prevent him from leaving."

The other two nodded, looking troubled. "What about Aunt Tinwetariel?" Ingalaurë asked.

"She’s indicated a sudden desire to travel herself," Indil said with a disgusted snort. "She is already making plans to journey to our estate outside Eldamas."

"Hmm...." Ingwion said with a frown. "From Eldamas she could travel easily enough to Tirion and harangue our parents."

"Or lie in wait for them in Eldamas," Ingalaurë suggested darkly. "With such a retinue as they have, Atar and Ammë will most likely stay the night at the townhouse for a day the way we did after Fëanáro’s trial."

Ingwion shrugged. "Nothing we can do about it so I suggest we enjoy the reprieve."

"Doesn’t Uncle’s absence from the Privy Council make it impossible for you to govern, though?" Indil asked. "I thought you needed all members of the Council in order to make any decisions."

"No," Ingwion replied, "not necessarily, and we aren’t making any new laws or anything, merely keeping things as they were when Atar left. We don’t need the Council for court either, though our rulings are subject to review by Atar if he feels it is warranted."

"Well, I hope they don’t tarry too long in Tirion," Indil said with a sigh. "I miss them."

"We all do," Ingwion said, giving his sister a brief hug and a kiss on the cheek.

****

There was commerce between the three elven kingdoms that operated on a regular schedule, whether it be the courier service or traders, so when a small retinue approached the southern gate of Vanyamar about a week after Intarion’s parents left the city, a group which included no less a personage than Prince Findaráto, on a day when neither couriers nor traders were expected, it caused quite a bit of excitement among the denizens of Vanyamar.

"I’ve come to lend you moral support," Findaráto explained with a laugh when he met with his cousins in private after the more public and formal welcome in the portico of the palace, "and to give everyone’s blessings and good wishes for the betrothal."

"Well, we’re glad you’re here," Ingwion said, giving him a broad smile. "How long will you be staying?"

Findaráto shrugged. "For as long as you feed me."

There was a split second of silence followed by gales of laughter and the cousins settled down to share the latest doings of the Vanyar and the Noldor with one another.

"We are a poorer city," Findaráto admitted sadly as he was describing recent events in Tirion, "since a goodly portion of the inhabitants followed Anatar and Uncle Fëanáro into exile."

"How is Ñolofinwë handling it?" Ingwion asked in sympathy.

"Better than I would have," came the honest reply. "We were all grateful for your parents coming. Anamillë has secluded herself from the rest of the family and has even hinted at possibly returning here or going to Lórien."

They all shook their heads at that. "She should be helping Ñolofinwë instead," Indil said with a frown.

"So your atar told her in no uncertain terms," Findaráto admitted, nodding his head, "but like the rest of us, Indis has a very stubborn streak and would not be moved by her brother’s words."

"Well, now that you’re here," Ingalaurë said, "what are your plans?"

"Atar wishes for me to complete my studies," the Noldo replied, "so I must speak with Valandur and make arrangements to meet with suitable tutors. Beyond that, I have made no other plans."

"With both Ingoldo and Tinwetariel gone," Ingwion said, "some things have been placed in abeyance. Ingoldo oversaw the couriers but they operate more or less independently, so we do not worry about that too much, but both he and Tinwetariel were also negotiating certain trade agreements with the Noldor before the trial, agreements that were never finalized. Would you mind helping with that? I would like to have at least a preliminary agreement set up that we can present to my atar when he returns. Intarion has already agreed to act for Vanyamar if you would act for Tirion." Intarion nodded.

"What of the Noldorin negotiator?" Findaráto asked.

"He went with Finwë to Formenos," Ingwion replied with a scowl. "Ñolofinwë hasn’t had the time yet to appoint another, but since you’re here and willing to help...."

"I will need to look over the documents first," Findaráto said. "I am not as well versed about trade as perhaps I should be."

"Valandur will help you there," Intarion interjected. "He’s been teaching me what I need to know as well, since trade is also not a subject about which I have great knowledge, though now that I will be marrying the daughter of a wine merchant, I suppose I should start learning." He gave them all a wry grin and they laughed.

"Very well," Findaráto said. "Let me speak with Valandur first and I will let you know. I suppose we should inform your atar and my uncle about these new arrangements and get their approval. That way, Ingoldo and Tinwetariel cannot complain of impropriety on our part."

To that none had objections.

"But beyond that," Findaráto continued, addressing his remarks to Intarion, "we need to address the question of the betrothal dinner. I don’t think you should wait for Ingwë to return. While traditionally the dinner is hosted by the prospective groom’s parents, that is only a tradition. Actually, any kinsman who is of age can act as host. So I think you should go ahead and hold it and make the official announcement. There’s no telling how long you will have to wait for Ingwë to return otherwise. You waited this long in the hope that your parents would come around, but obviously they have not. To wait any further is ridiculous and simply works to their advantage, not yours."

"He’s right," Indil said with a firm nod. "I told you the same thing, if you remember, and Lirulin agreed with me."

Intarion sighed. "I know. I guess I’ve gotten in the habit of delaying, hoping that things would be better, but to do so now is rather stupid, isn’t it? Very well, I will go tell Lirulin and her family. Who will be hosting the dinner?"

"Why, I will, of course," Findaráto said with a smirk.

"Oh? Why you?" Ingwion asked in bemusement.

"Because it’s the only way to make sure that I’m properly fed for at least one meal while I’m here."

The cousins exchanged quick glances and then almost at once leaped at Findaráto who had anticipated their move, neatly avoiding them with a laugh. He then made a rude noise and ran out into the garden with the others chasing him, all of them laughing like elflings. It was some time before they ended their game.

****

Findaráto arranged through Intarion to meet with Lirulin and her parents to coordinate the betrothal dinner. When the two arrived at the wine merchant’s house, Findaráto gave Lirulin a warm hug.

"It’s been some time, hasn’t it, Liri?" he said with a fond smile, calling her by the pet name which he knew only her parents were permitted to use.

"Too long, Finda," she replied impishly, using his own pet name which she knew he hated and by which he allowed no one to call him.

They laughed together, enjoying the joke. Then Findaráto turned to Nolondur and Yáviën and gave them a respectful bow, which they returned.

"Welcome to our home, Prince Findaráto," Nolondur said. "We are honored by your presence."

"The honor is mine, Nolondur," the prince said with a warm smile. "I often wondered just how old I was going to get before I saw my cousin here finally married to your daughter. Glad I am that I only had to wait two yéni longer than I originally anticipated for this happy event."

Intarion gave him a scowl, looking embarrassed at the same time, while the others laughed. Yáviën gestured for them all to come into the garden where a table had been placed set for luncheon. It had been Yáviën’s suggestion when they were making arrangements for the meeting. Nolondur indicated that Findaráto should sit on his right while Intarion was on his left. Yáviën sat at the other end of the table while Lirulin sat next to her betrothed. A sixth place was set next to Findaráto which was empty.

"I must apologize for our son," Nolondur said. "He was called away at the last minute. One of our neighbor’s mares has decided to give birth today."

Findaráto nodded. "Telemnar is quite dedicated as a lamastámo as I recall," he said.

"One of the best," Nolondur said proudly. "He has been recently appointed as chief lamastámo for the High King’s personal stables."

"A coveted position, I know," Findaráto said with a smile. He lifted his goblet of wine. "Then we have more than one thing to celebrate today. May your son continue to grow in wisdom and skill as a healer of animals. You have every reason to be proud of him."

Nolondur and Yáviën both stammered their thanks, the latter blushing prettily at the praise given to her son. Lirulin smiled broadly, pleased by the graciousness of Findaráto’s praise for her beloved brother. She knew that their atar had hoped Telemnar would follow him into the wine business, but when her brother had spoken of his love for animals and his desire to be a healer, Nolondur had given him his blessing and sent him to those loremasters most knowledgeable about treating animals. That he had achieved the coveted position of chief lamastámo for Ingwë’s stables at such a young age spoke well of his skills.

During the rest of the luncheon, they discussed the upcoming betrothal dinner. Yáviën was unsure at first as to the propriety of Findaráto acting as host, but the prince allayed her fears. "As I told Intarion," he said, "it is only tradition that dictates that the betrothal dinner be hosted by the parents of the prospective bridegroom, yet nowhere is it written that this must always be so. The Axani ar Haimi states only that a male kinsman who is of age will act as host. While it is true that either Ingwion or Ingalaurë would be the more logical choice to act as such absent Ingoldo or Ingwë, I, too, am kin through my anamillë. Also, as a Noldo, I can be seen as a disinterested party in all this."

"Then the only real question before us," Nolondur said with a nod, "is when shall the wedding take place?"

"The fact that Intarion is a member of the royal family," Findaráto replied, "means that more time must be allowed for the preparation of the ceremony. However, I doubt it need be as elaborate as the wedding that Indil is planning for herself." He gave them a wry grin and they all laughed.

"When will she and Tamurilon make their own announcement?" Yáviën asked.

"Not until after our wedding," Intarion said. "She and Tam did not want to detract attention from us on our special day, or so she claimed."

"And she was correct to do so," Findaráto retorted, though his tone was mild. "You two have waited too long for anyone to steal your light. As for when, naturally we must wait for Ingwë’s return and when I left Tirion he gave me no indication as to when that might be. My uncle has need of him at the moment. I’m afraid Anatar’s departure left what remained of the government in disarray. Many high-ranking members of various posts left with him and the junior officers are hard-put to take over. It’s going to take time for everything to settle itself out."

"Finwë gave no indication that he would rule from Formenos as I believe Fëanáro has called his place of exile?" Nolondur asked, his eyes narrowing in disapproval.

"Oh, he’s agreed to let Uncle Ñolofinwë take over in Tirion while he governs those who followed him to Formenos," Findaráto replied. "The problem for my uncle is that he fears making any rulings in Finwë’s absence, knowing that once the terms of the exile have been met, the Noldóran will return to Tirion and would then be in his right to overrule any decision Uncle Ñolofinwë might have made in the interim."

"A very sticky situation all around," Nolondur said.

"That’s putting it mildly," the Noldorin prince responded with a thin smile. "But, let us leave this topic and move on to more pleasant subjects, such as what should the dinner menu be and where should it be held."

For the next hour or so they discussed these and other matters not necessarily related to the betrothal in a relaxed mood, enjoying the pleasant ambiance of the garden. Telemnar came in at one point and was warmly greeted by Findaráto.

"I hear congratulations of a different sort are in order," he said to the ellon, giving him a warm hug and a smile. "I always knew you had a great gift as a healer. Glad I am that you have found your calling."

Telemnar smiled, blushing slightly at the praise. "I was never so stunned than when it was announced that the High King had appointed me as his chief lamastámo," he said as he joined them at the table.

"How is the mare?" Findaráto asked.

"A filly," Telemnar replied with a smile. "Both are doing well." Then he gave them an embarrassed laugh. "Young Ercassë, who is only about sixteen, has decided to name her Telemnariën even though the mare’s name is Lissequilë."

They all laughed at that. Findaráto raised his goblet. "To Lissequilë and Telemnariën, then. Fortunate they are to have such skilled hands as yours, Telemnar, helping to bring forth new life."

The others echoed the prince’s sentiment while Telemnar stammered his thanks for Findaráto’s kind words. Shortly thereafter, their business concluded, Findaráto and Intarion took their leave, happily loaded down with several bottles of some of Nolondur’s finest wines.

****

Anatar: Grandfather.

Lamastámo: Literally, ‘Animal helper’, what we would call a veterinarian [laman ‘four-footed animal’ + sámo ‘helper’; cf. Rómestámo ‘East-helper’. When initial, st- would normally simplify as s- for archaic Þ-. The final _n_ in laman (as in rómen) is assimilated to _s_.

Axani ar Haimi: Shorten form of Axani ar Haimi Eldaliéva: ‘Laws and Customs of the Eldalië’ . [axan ‘law, rule or commandment as primarily proceeding from Eru’; haimë ‘habit, custom’; Eldaliéva ‘belonging to the Elven-folk’ (associative or possessive form)].

Lissequilë: Honey-color. Traditionally, foal names are chosen based on the initial letter of the mother’s name, thus, the filly mentioned in this chapter would normally have a name beginning with ‘l’.

17: Findaráto Before the Valar

The betrothal dinner was set for the following week, to be held on Aldúya, the traditional day for betrothals and weddings as it had originally been dedicated to Aulë and Yavanna and had been called by the Valar ‘Árë Veruo’. Before that, however, when Valanya came around again, Findaráto joined the twins, Indil and Intarion for their weekly audience with the Valar. "It’s been quite some time since I’ve done this," he told them as they made their way up the mountain, "not since my last visit to Vanyamar and that was more than two yéni ago."

"I’m sure they haven’t forgotten you," Ingalaurë said with a wicked smile.

"That’s what I’m afraid of," Findaráto quipped and they all laughed.

As usual, they were met by Eönwë, who gave them a respectful bow before leading them to the audience chamber. When they were presented to the Valar and had taken their seats, Manwë gave Findaráto a knowing smile.

"It has been some time since your last visit with us," the Elder King said. "What has brought you here now?"

"I thought to lend my support to Ingwion and Ingalaurë as well as to Intarion," Findaráto answered. "With Ingwë helping my uncle, and Ingoldo making life difficult for everyone else...." he shrugged, giving them a wry grin.

"You are very generous in giving yourself to others," Aulë said, "but I hope this does not mean you are abandoning your studies. I would be disappointed if you did."

"No, my lord," Findaráto said. "Lord Valandur is helping me to arrange with the loremasters here in Vanyamar to continue my studies in metallurgy and crystallography. I will remain here until my studies are finished."

"And as long as we feed you," Ingalaurë muttered with a sly grin.

Findaráto laughed. "That too. One should always have one’s priorities straight after all."

The Valar smiled at the byplay. Then Manwë nodded. "I believe among your other studies you have learned the art of forging weapons."

Findaráto nodded, looking slightly uneasy. "I... I did not think the Valar...."

"That we did not know what was happening?" Manwë said, his expression more amused than angry. "We have noticed how the Noldor carry shields with their house devices upon them, yet they carry no weapons abroad."

"Others have forged weapons as well?" Findaráto asked in surprise, then realized what he had just said and blushed in shame as he saw his cousins looking askance at him.

"Fëanáro and his sons are not the only ones stockpiling weapons," Aulë said gravely. "Our Maiar have reported that many forges have been set up throughout Tirion to create swords, spears and axes."

"I am not sure I approve," Manwë said, "for what enemy do you see against whom you must take up arms?"

"Yet, you have not forbidden us from making them," Findaráto countered, not willing to answer the Vala’s question.

"Admittedly, we were unaware of this until recently," Námo said gravely, "though we suspected more was going on when the Noldor began carrying shields betokening their allegiance to one House or another. Fëanáro’s accusations against us have created an atmosphere of unrest among the Noldor. We are hoping that this time of exile will calm tempers and your people will realize that their fears of being kept here in Aman in thralldom are baseless and founded on Melkor’s lies only."

"And what of the Second Children?" Findaráto asked, his expression somewhat haughty. "Was that a lie as well?"

"No, it was not," Manwë stated. "Yet, it is as we said at the trial. We spoke of them not for we have no further knowledge of them save that Ilúvatar will bring them forth in a time of His choosing. The Outer Lands will be for them to dwell in, even as you dwell here in Aman. What role Ilúvatar intends for them to play in Arda’s history is unknown to us at this time."

Findaráto frowned in thought. "Atar reminded me that we gave up our right to the lands across the Sea when we came here. Yet, in my heart there burns in me a deep desire to see those lands and to carve a new destiny for myself there." He gave them a sigh. "Here my atar is accounted as the least of the House of Finwë, for mine uncle Fëanáro is Anatar’s heir. I have no real purpose here save to fritter my time away in pursuing studies that more and more seem pointless to me."

"Do you believe Lord Melkor’s lies, then?" Ingwion asked in the silence that followed Findaráto’s statement.

His cousin shrugged. "They are not all lies, are they?"

"Melkor is very good at weaving his lies with truths and half-truths until it is difficult to tell one from the other," Námo said. "You must decide for yourself what you will believe or not believe, keeping in mind what we have taught you."

"The Noldor learned much from Lord Melkor," Findaráto said. "Not all of what we learned from him can be bad, can it?"

"No," Aulë said. "The learning in and of itself is not the problem; it is how that knowledge is put to use. Knives and axes, for instance, have varied purposes, from the cutting of one’s meat to the chipping away of stone for building materials. Swords, however, have one purpose and one purpose only: to kill."

"Or to defend," Findaráto added, though his manner was less haughty than before and his expression more troubled.

"Yet, one must then ask: defend against what or whom?" Aulë countered.

"Who are your enemies, Findaráto?" Manwë asked, his expression grave. "The Valar? The Vanyar or the Teleri? Your own people? The Second Children who have yet to arise and whose only crime will be that they exist? Wherefore are these weapons being made if there are no enemies against whom they should be used?"

"Lord Melkor...."

"Is our concern, not yours, Arafinwion," Manwë said, his tone as cold as the snows that blanketed the mountains surrounding Ilmarin.

Findaráto cringed at that and his cousins paled.

"Your studies you say serve no purpose," Aulë then said. "Yet, metallurgy teaches you the fine art of forging, not weapons, but tools for the benefit of all. Crystallography teaches you the properties of gemstones and how best to use their powers to enhance the lives of the Eldar. You have also studied the crafting of words and the power which they exert upon the hearts of those who hear them. You have seen this done to great effect by your own uncle. Have you not thought to use that same knowledge to counteract those words of unrest and revolt which have been sown through Melkor’s lies and Fëanáro’s discontent?"

"Only if I thought they needed to be counteracted," Findaráto said, speaking softly and not looking at anyone.

There was a sigh that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere and silence ensued for many long minutes. Ingwion, Ingalaurë, Indil and Intarion exchanged worried glances, dismayed at how the audience was going. Ingwion eyed his young cousin with concern.

"Do you truly believe that the Valar wish us ill?" he asked. "Do you truly believe that we are kept in thralldom? We came here of our own free will...."

"We were born here," Findaráto countered, giving Ingwion a hard stare. "We have known no other life."

"Is your life so displeasing to you then?" Manwë asked and there was deep sorrow in his eyes as he spoke.

Findaráto shook his head. "No. I cannot say that. Yet, the more I think on these things the more I feel that I no longer belong here." He gave them an apologetic look. "I am sorry. I do not mean to offend...."

"Speaking the truth is not offensive, child," Varda said, "however much we grieve to hear this from your lips. You are a bright and inquisitive ellon and we think you can do much to heal the rift that seems to be growing between the Noldor. It cannot lead to anything but disaster otherwise."

"And not just for the Noldor," Námo added, "but for all of us. You have dwelt within our Peace for three ages now. You have grown in wisdom and degree and we have delighted to be your teachers in all things that are good for you to learn. It would do no one good for all this to be destroyed."

"When you return to Tirion," Manwë then said, "we would have you be our messenger to the Noldor. We would have you speak to Ñolofinwë and your atar and tell them of our concerns."

Findaráto gave him a puzzled look. "Why do you not simply tell them yourselves, lord? I do not know when I will return to Tirion nor can I guarantee that any will listen to me."

"We cannot simply make the Noldor see reason by decree, child," Manwë answered with great patience. "The voice of reason will be best coming from you. Do not dismiss your own powers of persuasion or the respect that others have for you. You may think yourself the least of the House of Finwë, but you are of that noble House and people will listen to you."

"But only if you are willing to be our herald," Aulë said. "We will not force you to go against your own will in this."

For a moment or two there was silence as Findaráto thought over the conversation. Then he sighed. "You have given me much to think on," he said quietly. "I cannot say either yea or nay to your request at this time."

"We understand," Manwë said gently. "In the meantime, continue your studies... all of them." He gave the ellon a measuring look and Findaráto nodded, looking somewhat nonplused at the request. Manwë smiled. "Good. Now, how do the wedding plans go?"

The sudden change of topic threw the Elves for a moment, but Intarion gathered his wits sooner than the others and gave the Elder King an answer. "I’ll be so glad when the wedding is over," he said with a heartfelt sigh. "I wish there was a way to speed the process up."

There were knowing smiles among the Valar and the coy looks that were exchanged between Lord Aulë and Lady Yavanna did not escape the Elves’ notice. "The Eldar have created some rather elaborate rituals for the joining of spouses," Varda replied. "We Valar developed a less formal ceremony."

"Only out of sheer necessity," Námo said with a straight face. "Aulë and Yavanna never gave us a chance to develop anything more complicated than ‘Do you? Good. You’re married’."

Aulë and Yavanna blushed while the other Valar laughed heartily and at the confused and curious looks of the Elves they laughed even more. It was some time before any of them could calm down long enough to tell them the story of Aulë and Yavanna’s rather precipitous courtship.

****

Later, after the Elves had left, the Valar sat in silence for a time. Finally, Námo stirred, looking directly at Manwë. "If even someone like Findaráto believes the lies that Melkor has sown what hope have we of counteracting them and restoring peace in Aman?"

"None," Manwë said bluntly. "That is why I hope to persuade Arafinwion otherwise. He is not so caught up in the deceptions that are being fostered among the Noldor that he cannot be shown a different way."

"The desires of his heart of which he spoke are troubling, though," Irmo opined with a frown. "Fëanáro’s words have breached the contentment which he felt here. He will not be the only one to feel that way."

"What do we do then?" Yavanna asked pensively. "Give them leave to depart Aman? What good will that do? Will they usurp the lands now ruled by our sister Melyanna and her consort, Elwë?"

Manwë shook his head. "The lands which are held by them are not the only ones that will be imperiled. We know nothing of when or where the Second Children will arise. I have long suspected that it is Atar’s will that they will claim the Outer Lands as their inheritance. In time, even the Elves of Beleriand must cede their demesne to them."

Varda turned to Námo. "You have not seen their rising?"

Námo shook his head. "I see only that great lights will be for their awakening as I told you long ago. Nothing more have I seen. In this, I am as much in the dark as the rest of you."

"It is as Atar decrees," Manwë said with a sigh. "I would that the Eldar remained in Aman where the wearying of the ages will be slow and the danger of fading will be minimized. I fear if they return to the Outer Lands, such wearying will come swiftly to them and they will either have to return to Aman or suffer diminishment as the Second Children lay claim to their destiny."

"Then we must do what we can to persuade them not to take that road if at all possible," Oromë said. "I led them here, urging them on when their spirits faltered. I will not lead them back."

"Nor will I," Ulmo said. "If any desire to return they must find their own way back."

Manwë nodded. "We have sown seeds of doubt in young Findaráto as to the wisdom of his people’s course of action. Let us hope that such seeds will grow in the time he resides in Vanyamar. Perhaps by the time he returns to Tirion he will be willing to speak for us to his people. Reason must prevail or all is for naught."

There was agreement among the Valar and then they moved to other topics of concern as they exercised their Guardianship of Arda and all that dwelt therein.

****

Árë Veruo: Day of the Spouses. The name is given in ‘The Etymologies’ as Arë Veruen. This is Qenya. I have updated it to modern Quenya [see ‘The Etymologies’, HoME V, The Lost Road, s.v. LEP/LEPEN/LEPEK].

Note: The discussion between the Valar and Findaráto is based on Chapter 7 of the Silmarillion, ‘Of the Silmarils and the Unrest of the Noldor’:

‘And when Melkor saw... that pride and anger were awake among the Noldor, he spoke to them concerning weapons; and in that time the Noldor began the smithying of swords and axes and spears. Shields also they made displaying the tokens of many houses and kindreds that vied one with another; and these only they wore abroad, and of other weapons they did not speak, for each believed that he alone had received the warning.’

18: The Betrothal Dinner and What Came of It

Findaráto chose to hold the betrothal dinner in the apartments set aside for the Noldóran and his family on the very rare occasions when any of them visited Vanyamar. "It’ll be more intimate this way," he explained to Intarion and the other cousins. "You weren’t expecting to invite too many people were you?" He gave them a wry grin.

Intarion smiled wanly. "Just the usual crowd," he said, giving a nod towards the twins and Indil.

Findaráto nodded as well. "This dinner is a mere formality, more for the benefit of the citizenry than for the families involved. Technically, you only need the betrothed couple, at least one person from each family to represent the interests of the families and two witnesses unrelated to either family by blood or marriage. As the host, I would stand in for your parents. I know Lirulin’s parents and her brother will attend and naturally the twins and Indil. Who else?"

"Valandur," Intarion said without hesitation. "I have already asked him to act as my witness and he has agreed." He raised a hand to forestall Findaráto’s expected objection. "I know that technically Valandur is family because of Findis, but I am hoping that the relationship is distant enough to be acceptable. Valandur has been my mentor and friend and...." He gave him a helpless shrug.

"Hmm... Findis is your first cousin and is counted among the Noldor rather than the Vanyar," Findaráto said. "I, too, am counted among the Noldor and not the Vanyar and I am your first cousin once removed. I am also acting as host, but I think we can get away with it. I think the rule about the witnesses being unrelated by blood or marriage to either party in the betrothal was designed to ensure that there is no hint of collusion. Valandur did not raise any objections, did he? As a loremaster he would be aware of this particular custom."

Intarion shook his head. "When I asked he seemed genuinely pleased and honored. I would hate to have to disappoint him...."

"As would I," Findaráto said. "Then let’s leave it as it is. If anyone objects as to the propriety of his being your witness, we’ll deal with it then. I suspect that if we were to enquire about other betrothals we will find that the custom is honored more in the spirit of the tradition than in the letter and many a witness has been related to one or the other party to some degree or other even if not directly so."

Intarion gave his cousin a relieved look. "Good. I would hate to have to tell Findis she wasn’t invited."

They both laughed, knowing the elleth well, and then Findaráto began mentally counting the number of people who would be attending. "If Lirulin invites only one person as her witness we’ll be an even dozen." He smiled broadly. "A rather propitious number, wouldn’t you agree?"

They all nodded. "I’ll ask her to just bring one witness, then," Intarion said. "There’s nothing that says we cannot have additional witnesses at the actual wedding is there? I would like Tam to be a part of the wedding party as well."

Findaráto shook his head. "No, there is nothing against it. We only need to have two disinterested witnesses at the dinner itself. How you arrange the wedding and who should be part of the ceremony is up to you and Lirulin."

"And all the aunties in Eldamar," Indil quipped and they all laughed, knowing that it was more true than not.

****

When Lirulin and her family arrived at Findaráto’s apartments for the betrothal dinner he smiled when he saw who was accompanying them.

"Amarië! I didn’t know you would be acting as Lirulin’s witness," he exclaimed, giving the elleth a bow, kissing her proffered hand.

"Lirulin didn’t tell you?" Amarië asked, casting a glance at her friend.

"I wanted it to be a surprise," Lirulin said shamelessly, giving them both a fond smile. "It’s been ages since either of you have seen each other and I thought this dinner would be the perfect opportunity for you both."

Findaráto sighed and gave Amarië a good-natured smile. "Now that she’s betrothed, she’s decided to play matchmaker for the rest of us."

Lirulin laughed along with everyone else. "And why not?" she said with a sniff. "You two were made for each other. Everyone can see it. High time you made it official. I don’t want you to wait the way Intarion and I have had to."

Now there was an uneasy silence among them and Findaráto could see how uncomfortable Intarion looked. Lirulin suddenly realized what she had just said and started to stammer an apology, but Intarion took her in his arms and kissed her. "It’s all right, love," he murmured. "You are perfectly correct. I, too, think Findaráto and Amarië should make their understanding more official." He gave his cousin an apologetic look.

It was Amarië who came to everyone’s rescue. She went to Lirulin and gave her a hug. "I think we should just concentrate on your betrothal for now, don’t you? Time enough for Findaráto and me to renew our relationship now that he will be staying here for a time."

"Amarië is correct," Indil said. "Now, why don’t we all sit down and enjoy this lovely meal? I understand Findaráto chose the menu himself." She gave him a smile and winked.

Taking the bait, Findaráto sniffed. "The only way to ensure that I was properly fed."

They all laughed at that and the earlier tension eased. Findaráto motioned them all to the table, indicating where each should sit. Findaráto would preside at the head of the table with Intarion on his left and Lirulin on his right. Next to Intarion was Valandur as his witness with Findis, Ingalaurë and Ingwion. Amarië sat beside Lirulin as her witness with Nolondur, Yáviën and Telemnar. Indil took the seat opposite Findaráto. The table was set with fine linen, white as the snows upon Taniquetil. Mithril trenchers and goblets of cut crystal lay gracefully upon it. In the center was the traditional twelve-candle mithril candelabrum used for betrothals. The base of the candelabrum was actually a wide and shallow bowl intricately carved with a wedding scene. The bowl was filled with water scented with sweet basil upon which linden leaves floated. A wreath consisting of amaranth, celandine, and hawthorn blossoms entwined with sprigs of linden encircled the base of the bowl.

The meal itself was elegant in its simplicity. Findaráto had eschewed the more elaborate dishes usually served at a feast and settled for a first course of cold cherry wine soup with fresh bread and white cheese followed by a second course of roasted game hens cooked in red wine and a medley of fruits — raisins, prunes, dates, apples and pears. New potatoes and a garden salad that included edible flowers accompanied the main dish. The third remove was dessert which consisted of plates of gingerbread and small almond filled pastries baked in honey and wine. Nolondur had brought several bottles of his best wines and the meal was merry.

During the course of the dinner they discussed a variety of subjects, catching up on news. The Vanyar were especially interested in Findaráto relating stories about Tirion. The older members of the party remembered when the Vanyar lived there.

"I sometimes wonder if anyone claimed our old house," Yáviën said at one point. "I rather miss it."

Findaráto shook his head. "I have no idea. I have been told that when Ingwë led the Vanyar away many of the Noldor were devastated, thinking that they were being deserted by their friends. It took some time for them to accept it. I think Anatar’s marriage to Indis helped to heal the breach a bit, for mine uncle and Atar have ever been popular with our citizens."

"Yet, I understand that nearly a third of the Noldor went to Formenos with Finwë and Fëanáro," Telemnar said as he nibbled on an almond pastry.

"Out of loyalty," Findaráto answered. "There were no easy decisions on anyone’s part. Tirion is no longer a place of peace and contentment. The sundering has only deepened the unrest that many have felt."

"Including you?" Nolondur asked, giving the ellon a shrewd look.

Findaráto looked somewhat abashed. "I admit to a certain level of... disquiet in my fëa. Not that I believe mine uncle’s words against the Valar. That’s patently false. We are not, nor have we ever been, their thralls. Still, I sometimes have to wonder what our lives would be like had we remained in the Outer Lands."

"There’s no way of saying," Valandur replied. "We may speculate and think that our lives might have been better, but it’s possible they could have been worse than what we have here in Aman. Certainly they would have been different, but that’s not the same thing. I, for one, am content to remain in Aman. I have no desire to ever see the Outer Lands again."

"You remember them?" Lirulin asked in surprise. "I wasn’t aware that you were that old." Then she blushed, aware that she might have insulted the loremaster.

Valandur laughed, his eyes full of amusement. "Well, certainly not as old as some. I was actually an elfling when we undertook the Great Migration. I was never so happy as when we finally came through the Pelóri and saw the Two Trees for the first time. I remember feeling that I was home at last and for no reason in particular I started crying, though by this time I was no longer an elfling. Then I found myself being comforted by one of the Maiar, Tiutalion of the People of Nienna, actually. He didn’t say a word, just held me through my tears and when I finally stopped weeping, he smiled, gave me a kiss in benediction and simply said, ‘Welcome home, child.’"

He paused, a slight smile gracing his lips as he lingered over the memory. "Later, I realized that I had been weeping tears of joy, not sadness. Tiutalion understood that."

They were silent for a time as each person pondered Valandur’s tale. "It must have been a wondrous sight, seeing the Two Trees for the first time," Findaráto said after a time.

The older Elves all nodded but did not comment otherwise. Then Yáviën stirred and gave her daughter and Intarion a smile. "Perhaps it is time to discuss the details of the wedding."

Lirulin gave them a shy smile, as did Intarion. "We were thinking of having the wedding in a half a year’s time, if that is not too soon," Intarion said.

"Hmm... normally the betrothal lasts a whole year," Nolondur said, "but under the circumstances and seeing how long you’ve waited already, I don’t see a problem."

"Nor do I," Findaráto said. "In fact, if I thought we could get away with it, I would say you should have the wedding even sooner." He cast them a sly grin and there was much laughter amongst them.

Findaráto stood up then and went to a side table where lay two sheets of parchment as well as a bottle of ink and quills. "I’ve had the betrothal contract and a copy written up," he said and the others rose from the table and joined him. They saw that both copies were beautifully calligraphed and illuminated, laying out the terms of the betrothal. Intarion and Lirulin’s names were prominent followed by their parentage and titles. Spaces were left blank for the names of the witnesses as well as the date of the wedding and the terms of the dowry. When Findaráto asked for particulars, Nolondur informed him that a quarter of his estate would go with Lirulin upon her marriage.

"And I have already accepted a position in Atto Nolondur’s mercantile ventures," Intarion added.

"What of your studies as a loremaster?" Findaráto asked with a frown. "I know that Ingwë relies on you."

"Me and several other loremasters, including Valandur," Intarion replied, giving his mentor a nod. "Ingwë will always have my expertise, but I agreed to apprentice myself to Lirulin’s atar when he made the proposition since Telemnar has chosen another profession."

"And frankly, I would welcome having Intarion helping me with my wine business," Nolondur said. "Ingwë has been pressuring me to take up more of my duties as a lord of the Vanyar and having Intarion will make it possible for me to honor Ingwë’s wishes without jeopardizing my other ventures."

"And Ingwë approves?" Findaráto asked. Both Intarion and Nolondur nodded. "Then, we will state that the wedding will take place three hundred and fifty weeks from now. Any particular day?"

"Aldúya," Lirulin answered.

Findaráto nodded as he took up a quill and dipped it into the inkwell, carefully inserting the necessary information in the document. Then all the principle parties signed it. When the final signature was in place, Findaráto opened a bottle of wine and began pouring it into their goblets. "This wine is from Tirion," he said. "Perhaps not as good as your wine, Nolondur, but I brought it with me for just this reason."

Nolondur sniffed the bouquet and smiled. "Ah... I recognize this. It’s from Finwë’s own vineyards, pressed from Tirion white. An excellent vintage."

Findaráto nodded and raised his goblet for a toast. "To the happy couple, Intarion and Lirulin. May they know only joy."

"To Intarion and Lirulin," everyone else echoed and they all drank while Intarion and Lirulin stood side-by-side holding hands and offering them shy smiles. Then Intarion leaned over and gently kissed Lirulin on the lips much to everyone’s satisfaction.

At that moment, though, the door crashed open and everyone jumped in shock as they turned to see Ingoldo standing there, his eyes blazing with wrath. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded harshly.  He was still wearing his riding leathers and apparently had come directly to Findaráto’s apartment from the stables.

"I might ask you the same thing, Ingoldo," Findaráto said, his eyes narrowing in displeasure at the interruption, stepping forward to confront him. "How dare you burst in here...."

"Save your ire for someone who cares, Noldo," Ingoldo snarled. Several of the onlookers gasped at the implied insult. "I want to know what is going on here."

"If you must know, Atar," Intarion replied, "we’ve just finished signing the betrothal agreement."

"Bah!" Ingoldo spat. "There can be no agreement without my consent."

"In that you are mistaken," Valandur said coldly. "Neither your presence nor your approval is necessary. Intarion and Lirulin are adults and may do as they wish. All propriety has been observed as to witnesses and the agreement of the dowry. Whether you and Tinwetariel like it or not, Ingoldo, Intarion and Lirulin are officially betrothed. The wedding date has been set. All that remains is to have it announced at the next court."

"Which will be first thing tomorrow," Ingwion said. "And then, the day after I will formally announce the betrothal to Lord Manwë and the other Valar. While such an announcement is not necessary to make the betrothal legal, I think they will appreciate the courtesy."

"The betrothal contract has been properly filled out and witnessed, Ingoldo," Findaráto said. "There is little you or Tinwetariel can do about it."

Ingoldo glared at them angrily but before he could respond to Findaráto’s words, Ingalaurë spoke up. "How did you learn of this anyway?"

Ingoldo sneered. "Tulcaner let me know," he replied, naming one of his most loyal servants. "As soon as he learned of it he came to the lodge. I had hoped to get here before this and stop this nonsense but my horse went lame...."

"Atar, please," Intarion pleaded. "Can you not just be happy for me? I love Lirulin and no other...."

"I will not see my son married to a wine merchant’s daughter...."

"Who also happens to be of the nobility," Ingwion interrupted, giving his uncle a cold stare. "Atar has never objected to Intarion courting Lirulin and as the head of our family his is the ultimate decision."

"We’ll see about that," Ingoldo snarled and made a lunge towards the table where the betrothal contracts were. What he thought to do with them was anyone’s guess, but before he could reach them, Findaráto stepped in front of him, his expression forbidding. The two ellyn glared at one another but it was Ingoldo who broke eye contact first. Without another word he turned away, slamming the door behind him.

For several minutes no one moved or spoke. Finally Nolondur stirred, shaking his head. "Perhaps I was wrong to neglect my duties in Ingwë’s court...."

"No, Nolondur," Ingwion stated firmly. "Atar never condemned you for becoming a wine merchant. He was quite amused when he learned of your interest, stating that now he could be assured of a proper supply of only the best wines at a discount price." The glint of merriment in the ellon’s eyes brought chuckles all around and they relaxed somewhat.

"Ingwion is correct," Findaráto said. Then he went to a desk and pulled open one of its drawers. "The High King and Queen asked me to give these to you at the proper time," he said, pulling out two small boxes, giving them to Intarion and Lirulin. When they opened them they found two matching silver rings.

"But we have already exchanged betrothal rings," Intarion said in surprise.

"These are not betrothal rings," Findaráto said. "Take a closer look."

They did so and then they both gasped almost at the same time as they realized the truth of Findaráto’s words. They held up their rings for everyone to see. Both rings were set with an amethyst surrounded by four citrines. Etched into each amethyst was an eight-pointed star, Ingwë’s personal emblem.

"What does it mean?" Telemnar asked as he examined his sister’s ring.

"It means that Atar has placed Lirulin under his protection," Ingwion answered. "Intarion already enjoys it as a member of the royal family but having these rings made for you both is a sign that Atar and Ammë both approve of the union." He gave Lirulin a wide grin. "Whether you like it or not, Lirulin, you’ve just been officially adopted. Welcome to the family."

Everyone laughed at that and when the party broke up a little while later they left in better spirits, determined not to let Ingoldo’s interruption upset them overmuch.

"Once I read the contract out loud at open court tomorrow," Ingwion said as they were all leaving, "it will be truly official. Nothing Ingoldo or Tinwetariel does thereafter will matter."

"I will bring the contracts with me when I attend court," Findaráto said. "I think it best if I hang on to them for the nonce, just to be safe."

No one needed to ask why, and soon Findaráto was left alone. Calling in some servants to clear away the remains of the dinner, he stood over the table where the betrothal contracts lay, contemplating many things. When the servants left he did something he never thought he would have to do: he locked the door to the apartment. Then he brought the documents into his bedroom and slid them into a thin wooden case for protection and then slid the case under the mattress of his bed. Before climbing into bed he did one more thing. Rummaging through the clothespress he pulled out a knife, removing it from its sheath and placing the naked blade under his pillow.

He was taking no chances.

****

Note on the meaning of the flowers: These are taken from ‘In the Garden: the Language of Flowers’: http://home(dot)comcast(dot)net/~bryant(dot)katherine/flowers(dot)html

Amaranth: Unfading love.

Celandine: Joys to come.

Hawthorn: Hope.

Linden: Matrimony, conjugal love.

Sweet Basil: Good wishes.

Note on the meaning of the gemstones:

Amethyst: The gift of amethyst is symbolic of protection and the power to overcome difficulty.

Citrine: A symbol of hope and strength. Ideal for helping anyone to get through the tough times in life, dissipating negative energy and bringing warmth, joy, and optimism into one’s life.

19: A Relationship Renewed

The reception of the announcement of Intarion and Lirulin’s betrothal at court the next morning was warm and approving. Many there had wondered if the ellon would ever betroth the fair elleth. Both Intarion and Lirulin were present at the court with Findaráto standing beside them carrying the copies of the contract. Lirulin’s parents were there as well, though Telemnar was not, having to attend to his duties as Ingwë’s chief lamastámo. If anyone wondered at the absence of Ingoldo and Tinwetariel, they kept their thoughts to themselves. After Ingwion read out the particulars of the betrothal there were cheers and congratulations for the couple.

Once court was done for the day, the couple disappeared and Nolondur and Yáviën made their own excuses, taking their copy of the betrothal contract with them, leaving Findaráto alone with Ingwion, Ingalaurë and Indil.

"Will you come with us tomorrow to see the Valar?" Ingwion asked Findaráto as the four made their way towards the family’s private wing. Ingwion had canceled the usual Privy Council meeting for that afternoon, and indeed, there was little that needed discussing, since the realm was running smoothly. They would convene again after Valanya.

"Of course," the Noldo replied, looking surprised. "It goes without saying. In fact, I am going to bring the betrothal contract with me. There is something I wish to ask Lord Manwë." What that was, he would not say and so the matter was dropped and the cousins, later joined by Tamurilon, spent the rest of the day in leisurely pursuits, enjoying each other’s company.

The next day, Indil excused herself from attending upon the Valar, wishing to meet with Lirulin and Amarië to begin discussing the upcoming wedding. Ingwion gave his sister a disbelieving look. "The wedding is half a year away. It’s not going to take you that long to...."

"It’s never too early to start planning," Indil interrupted, "especially when it comes to the bride’s gown and her marriage linens."

The ellyn all shuddered convincingly at that thought and Indil smirked as she left them. Thus, it was only Ingwion, Ingalaurë, Findaráto and Intarion (who joined them at the last minute) who made their way to Ilmarin where the Valar greeted them warmly.

"And what do you have there, Findaráto?" Manwë asked, nodding at the thin wooden case which the ellon was carrying.

Findaráto held it out and opened it, pulling out the thin parchment and handing it to the Elder King for his inspection. "Ah, the betrothal contract," Manwë said as he read it. "In half a year’s time, I see." He cast a sly grin at Intarion. "Almost as precipitous as Aulë and Yavanna."

There was laughter among the Valar as the Elves watched in bemusement as Lord Aulë and Lady Yavanna both started blushing. "We’re never going to live that down," they heard Aulë mutter and then the laughter grew louder.

"It’s just too funny, Brother," Tulkas boomed. "Everyone said my courtship with Nessa was fast, but we have nothing on you two." He smirked as Aulë glowered at him, but then the Worldsmith’s own good humor rose and he was chuckling along with the others, giving Yavanna a brief kiss that set her blushing even more, though now her expression was more pleased than embarrassed.

"At any rate," Manwë said to Intarion, giving him a warm welcoming smile, "may we extend our own congratulations for your betrothal." The other Valar all nodded and murmured soft congratulations.

Intarion bowed. "Thank you, my lords and ladies," he said, his pleasure evident in the smile he gave them.

"And was there a particular reason why you brought this contract with you?" Varda then asked, looking at Findaráto.

The ellon nodded, replacing the parchment in the case and closing it. "I would ask that you keep this in safekeeping, Lord Manwë," he said, handing the case to the Elder King. "I don’t trust...."

He stopped, remembering their earlier conversation and hoping he wasn’t being too froward. At the time that he thought of the idea, it seemed only prudent, given Ingoldo’s behavior at the dinner. Now, however....

"We will, of course, keep this safe with us," Manwë said gravely, "if that is your desire." He looked at Intarion and the ellon nodded.

"Nolondur has his copy," Ingwion said, "and I doubt if anything will happen to it, but I agree with my cousin. I don’t trust Ingoldo not to try something."

"He is being somewhat unreasonable, to be sure," Irmo said with a frown. "I was not aware that the Vanyar were also victims of the unrest we are seeing among the Noldor."

"Do you think it is related?" Námo asked his brother, raising an eyebrow at the thought.

The Lord of Lórien shrugged. "I don’t see how, yet, I have noticed a certain level of discontent among certain people in Vanyamar, a discontent which seems to center around Ingoldo and Tinwetariel. I’m not sure what it portends, though. Jealousy lies at the core of it, certainly, but beyond that...."

"Well, that is a discussion for another time," Manwë said mildly. "Let us not trouble ourselves with it today of all days." He turned to Ingalaurë with a smile. "Perhaps, child, you will grace us with one of your lovely poems and then Findaráto will give us a song. You may borrow one of our harps if you like," he said, addressing Findaráto, who smiled in delight at the thought of playing one of the Valar’s own musical instruments.

Ingalaurë also looked pleased and soon the halls of Ilmarin were resounding with music and laughter as the Valar and the four ellyn took their ease.

****

On Elenya Findaráto found himself at loose ends while Ingwion and Ingalaurë were meeting with the Privy Council and Indil and Intarion were engaged in their own work. He wandered idly through the various gardens surrounding the palace, paying little heed to his path, so he was surprised to find Amarië sitting by a fountain, a piece of embroidery in her hands. She looked up at his approach and smiled, putting the hoop down and extending her hand for him to kiss.

"I wondered if I would see you," Amarië said.

"Why did you not come to the palace and ask for me?" Findaráto asked, taking a seat next to her.

"Now, what would have been the fun of that?" she answered with a laugh and he joined her. "Besides," she continued after a moment, "this is much more pleasant."

"Indeed it is," he replied and then they were both silent for a time. Amarië picked up her embroidery and began stitching — a flower that Findaráto thought would be a rose when finished. Neither of them spoke; Findaráto gazed at nothing in particular while marshaling his thoughts. Finally, he cleared his throat awkwardly. "I’ve missed you," he said, not looking at Amarië.

"And I you," she answered quietly, continuing to stitch.

"I should have written," he said.

"Yes," she replied, but there was no condemnation in her tone. "And I should have visited Tirion."

"Yes," he answered in the same neutral tone she had employed.

Silence reigned between them for a moment or two longer and then Amarië stopped her stitching with a sigh. "I guess we both should have done what we didn’t."

Findaráto couldn’t help giving her a grin. "We make a great pair, don’t we?"

She laughed and it was light and gay and unforced. "So everyone keeps insisting."

"Do you think we should be betrothed, as Lirulin and the others say?" he asked suddenly, and then grimaced, wondering when he had become so stupid. Was he not a loremaster in his own right? Surely he could do better than that!

"What do you think?" Amarië said, starting to stitch again, thereby avoiding looking at him.

"I... I would like to," he answered as honestly as he could, "but something tells me the time is not meet and I don’t mean because of Intarion and Lirulin." He shook his head. "I’m sorry. I know you want more...."

"What I want, Findaráto, is whatever you are willing to give me," Amarië said serenely. "I will not pressure you, just as I know you will not pressure me. If we are to be betrothed it will be when we are both ready and not before."

"And if we’re never ready?" he couldn’t help asking, though he did not believe it.

She looked up at him and the smile she gave him set his heart racing and he had to stop himself from reaching out and embracing her in an unseemly manner. "I do not believe it, and neither do you. I certainly don’t think we’ll be so foolish as to wait as long as Intarion and Lirulin," she added with a laugh.

"I hope not," Findaráto replied as he joined her in laughter.

They settled into a more comfortable silence after that while Amarië returned to her embroidery — yes, definitely a rose, Findaráto could now see, a lovely white rose in full bloom on a piece of dark blue silk — while he let his gaze wander over the garden. Finally, though, he turned back to her with a shy smile. "Would you care to take a walk?" he asked.

Amarië slipped her needle into the edge of the fabric and set the embroidery aside. "I would love to," she said.

Findaráto stood and held out a hand to her and then, arm in arm, they walked through the garden speaking of inconsequential matters, yet Findaráto thought that even so the bond between them was deepening towards something more than childhood friendship and he was glad.

****

Days passed and weeks followed. Ingoldo disappeared back to the royal lodge and refused to return to Vanyamar. From Tinwetariel there was no word as to when she might return from Eldamas. The cousins were just as happy that both were away. The tensions in Ingwë’s court that Findaráto had noticed as soon as he arrived in Vanyamar were easing and the members of the Privy Council (according to Ingwion) were being less fractious and more cooperative. Those who had been siding with Ingoldo earlier were now content to allow the twins ‘room to breathe’, as Ingalaurë said at one point and Ingwion nodded in agreement to his brother’s assessment.

A routine was established amongst the cousins in which the business of the realm was conducted during the morning hours, leaving the afternoons and evenings free, although both Ingwion and Ingalaurë took turns being ‘on watch’, as they put it, in the event that a situation arose and had to be dealt with. Findaráto spent his mornings at his studies, concentrating on crystallography for the moment. He was interested in the properties of gemstones, both in terms of personal use and for certain industries. He thought, based on the work his uncle Fëanáro had done on the Silmarils (he had only seen them twice since their creation), that certain gemstones, rubies especially, might be used to harness certain types of energies. He was not sure if his theories would be workable, but so far his research had been promising. He was hoping to present them to Lord Aulë sometime soon.

In the meantime, he and Amarië continued to meet whenever possible. It became almost a ritual for them to foregather beside the small fountain where Findaráto had chanced upon her. Often, they would just sit and talk about family and friends, hopes and dreams. Amarië would stitch and Findaráto would play softly on the lap harp that Lord Manwë had gifted him after his impromptu performance. It was now one of his greatest treasures, the beautiful cherry wood glowing softly in the ever-present Light of the Two Trees, the soundboard decorated with a knotwork pattern that had been burned into the wood and then painted in a rainbow of colors.

When they were not sitting, they would walk arm in arm, taking in the lovely sights of the gardens. Once, they came to an old oak tree in one of the lower gardens and Findaráto smiled at it, his eyes clearly looking back upon a memory. Amarië noticed.

"What is it?" she asked.

Findaráto shook his head, then led her closer to the tree. He had to search for what he was looking for, bending over a bit. "Here," he said and pointed.

Amarië crouched down for a better look. There were scratches carved into the trunk of the tree that at first showed no pattern that Amarië could see but the longer she gazed at them the more they became decipherable and then she gasped, looking up at Findaráto, who gave her a rueful look.

"You did this?" she asked in amazement.

"I was very young and didn’t know better," he said in apology.

She gave him a wicked grin. "Evidently." Holding up her hand so he would help her to rise she cast a shrewd look at her beloved. "I assume you were punished for carving these names on the poor tree."

"Oh yes," Findaráto said with a laugh. "Duly punished." But he would not elaborate and she did not press for details.

Amarië glanced up at the tree, laying a hand on its trunk, then turned her gaze upon the ellon standing beside her. "It doesn’t seem to hold a grudge against you."

"I apologized to it long ago," he answered serenely and, holding out his arm for her, they continued their perambulation.

Their meetings did not go unnoted, though no one spoke of them in Findaráto’s presence. There was no talk of impropriety among the court gossipers, for the gardeners tending the various plants acted as unobtrusive chaperones. Unknown to Findaráto, Ingwion had told the others to leave the couple alone whenever they met unless they were specifically invited to join them, which wasn’t very often. His siblings and Intarion were more than happy to comply with his request and they quietly discussed the possibility that a betrothal announcement might be in the offing, though never in Findaráto’s hearing.

Thus, the days passed in an idyllic manner and the troubles that had occurred earlier were almost forgotten. Even Fëanáro and his exile were topics of the past and were no longer of interest to the good people of Vanyamar. On a particular Valanya, the cousins, now joined by Amarië, Lirulin and Tamurilon, were foregathered with the Valar as was their custom. Ingwion and Findaráto were entertaining them all with a harp and flute concerto. Ingalaurë and Indil had earlier sung a duet in praise of the Two Trees which had been well received by the Valar. The concerto was just coming to an end and there was much praising of the skill of the two ellyn when the doors of the chamber opened and Eönwë entered, giving them all a bow before stepping to Manwë’s side and whispering in his ear before stepping back.

Manwë’s expression never changed, but something in his eyes alerted the Elves and they sat there staring at the Elder King with some trepidation. Then, the Elder King smiled at them in a kindly manner, turning his attention to Ingwion. "News has come from Vanyamar. Your amillë has returned."

"Ammë!" the three children of Ingwë and Elindis exclaimed almost at the same time.

"What of Atar, though?" Indil asked. "Is he not with her?"

"Apparently not," Manwë answered.

"What can it mean then?" Ingalaurë demanded, his expression one of confusion, a confusion that was mirrored by his siblings.

"There is only one way to find out," Manwë said gently. "Go, my children. I regret that our time together must be foreshortened but you should return to the city and greet your amillë. I am sure she has all the answers to your questions."

With that the Elves took their leave of the Valar, speaking excitedly amongst themselves as they exited the chamber, wondering what the return of the High Queen might portend. When the Valar were alone, Manwë turned to Eönwë.

"What of Ingwë?" he asked.

His Herald gave an elegant shrug. "Two hours after Elindis left Tirion, he was seen heading down the Calacirya. By now he is at Alqualondë."

"Did anyone go with him?" Varda asked.

"Arafinwë and Eärwen accompanied him," Eönwë answered, "but none of their children."

"Hmm...." Manwë said, his brow furrowing in thought. "Then it isn’t a family visit."

"Why take Arafinwë, though?" Aulë asked.

"Ñolofinwë would not have left Tirion this soon after the trouble with Fëanáro," Tulkas replied, "that might prove dangerous, so whatever Ingwë is planning, he has decided to use Arafinwë instead."

"Are we so sure he is planning anything?" Námo asked with a thin smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

"He went to Olwë," Nienna pointed out, "not the other way around."

Námo gave his sister in the Thought of Atar a considering look and then bowed his head in acknowledgment of her insight. "This may prove interesting," he said, turning his attention to Manwë, who nodded.

"The question is: interesting for whom?" the Elder King retorted with a wry look and to that comment none of them had a ready answer.

****

Notes:

1. White rose in full bloom: According to the Language of Flowers, means ‘I am worthy of you’.

2. The ruby is considered to be the most powerful gem in the universe, so it is probably no accident that many of the early lasers in our own time were powered by this stone.

20: Deepening Currents

Elindis met her three children and Findaráto in her private sitting room, the others in their party having separated from them when they reached the palace with promises to meet later. She was alone, having dismissed her ladies-in-waiting and the servants. She gave them a brilliant smile and embraced them one by one, kissing them.

"Glad I am to see all of you again," she said even as she was giving Findaráto a hug in greeting. "Gladder still am I that Vanyamar was not moved in my absence."

They all laughed at that. "Now, Ammë, you know I wouldn’t have allowed Ingwi and Ingil to do that," Indil said slyly.

Ingalaurë stuck out his tongue at his sister and she merely smirked. Elindis gestured for them to sit and Findaráto went to the sideboard and poured some wine for them all before taking his own seat.

Elindis smiled fondly at him. "Your family sends their love and good wishes. Your brothers miss you as does Artanis, and they want to know how long you plan to stay in Vanyamar."

Findaráto grinned. "As I told your children, I’ll stay as long as you feed me."

Elindis laughed, the sound light and gay. "In that case, when we grow weary of your presence I will be sure to inform the cooks to bar you from the kitchens."

The others joined her in laughter, Findaráto laughing the loudest.

"Why didn’t Atto return with you?" Ingwion asked once they calmed down.

"Your atar decided that he wished to speak with Olwë before returning home," Elindis replied serenely. "He will be back soon."

The younger elves gave each other surprised looks. "Why does he want to speak with Anatar?" Findaráto asked.

"The troubles that have occurred recently are affecting us all," Elindis said gravely. "Even the Teleri may well become embroiled in this, whether they wish it or not. Ingwë sent Lord Cemendil to Olwë to inform him of what was happening and then decided to visit him personally. He took your atar and amillë with him."

Findaráto raised an eyebrow at that, but did not comment.

"Tam told us that his atar was very unhappy at being asked to act as a courier for us," Ingalaurë said. "And now you say Atto sent him on to Alqualondë?"

Elindis nodded. "Yes, and he was most reluctant to go, but your atar was able to convince him. Olwë later sent a missive saying that Cemendil had arrived safely and he was keeping him there as your atar requested."

"Oh?" Indil said.

"Yes," Elindis replied. "Your atar sent a private missive with Cemendil for Olwë besides the verbal message that Cemendil was to deliver to him. Ingwë asked Olwë to keep Cemendil in Alqualondë for the time being and let him catalogue the olvar that thrive there. Olwë reported that Cemendil was quite happy to do so and could be seen tramping along the shore collecting samples." She chuckled. "He’s had to have one of his people trail along because the ellon does not know how to swim and Olwë fears that in his enthusiasm Cemendil might forget this as he tries to collect seaweed from the ocean."

They all chuckled at that. "I will tell Tam about his atar," Indil said. "He was worried about him and felt bad about involving him in all this. I know he will be relieved to hear that he is safe and happy."

"Did Uncle Ingwë say what he planned to talk to Anatar about and why did my parents go with him?" Findaráto asked.

Elindis shook her head. "He did not confide in me," she answered, "and I did not press."

"I still don’t understand why Atto went though," Ingwion said. "Never in my memory have I ever known him to travel to Alqualondë and I can count on one hand the number of times he and you have visited Tirion since we Vanyar left that city."

"Yet, Olwë is one of the High Kings," Elindis pointed out, "and your atar has decided to consult with him. True, he’s not as close with Olwë as he was with Elwë, for they had shared the adventure of being the ambassadors to the Valar before the Great Migration. When Elwë was lost to us, your atar grieved for him deeply. Still, Olwë has proven to be a wise and compassionate leader of the Teleri and Ingwë respects him greatly."

"Well, I hope he returns soon," Ingwion said. "I’m looking forward to just being his haryon again."

"Me, too," Ingalaurë added.

Elindis did not comment, merely smiling fondly upon her sons. Then, Indil asked about Tirion and their conversation shifted to other topics.

****

Ingwë glanced at Arafinwë and Eärwen as they rode along the shore road leading to Alqualondë. They had spoken very little during the trip. Arafinwë’s expression seemed troubled, though Eärwen appeared happy at the thought of seeing her family again.

"Care to talk about it?" he said suddenly and Arafinwë started.

"Talk about what?" he asked.

"About what troubles you," Ingwë replied. "You did not seem pleased when I asked you and Eärwen to accompany me."

Arafinwë gave the High King a nod. "And I am not. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I look forward to seeing Olwë and Lirillë and the others as much as Eärwen, but I fail to see why you wanted us to come with you at all. By all rights, my brother should be here instead of me."

"Ñolofinwë cannot leave Tirion at the moment, as well you know," Ingwë said. "You are Finwë’s son as well, and I feel you should be more involved in the decisions that are being made on behalf of the Noldor. Also, as Olwë’s son-in-law, he will respect your opinions and views on what has been going on of late."

"And me?" Eärwen piped up, looking coy. "What is my role in all this?"

Ingwë laughed. "Why, I thought you would enjoy seeing your parents and siblings again, is all. I have no ulterior motives where you are concerned, my dear."

Eärwen gave them a huff. "Pity. I was looking forward to being clandestine, ferreting out secrets and acting mysterious."

Both Ingwë and Arafinwë laughed at that, the latter taking her hand and kissing it. "Well, I think if you just be yourself, child," Ingwë said, "you’ll have all the secrets of Eldamar laid out before you in no time."

Eärwen smirked and the two ellyn chuckled at her smug expression.

A short time later they came in sight of Alqualondë. Ingwë gazed upon the city of the Teleri with interest, for he had never been there before. He could see that the haven was like a basin of quiet waters, save that towards the eastward and the seas the ring of rocks that enclosed it sank somewhat, and the sea pierced through them, so that there was a mighty arch of living sea rock. The sea wind whistled through the holes in the arch, greeting the visitors with its flute-like music. The arch was so great that two ships might pass through and he suspected that the mast-tops would not even graze the rock.

This far north, not much of the Light of the Trees reached the city for the seawall blocked most of it. A ring of gold lamps, and lanterns of many colors along the wharves and landings gave illumination. Eärwen pointed them out.

"The lanterns betoken the different houses to which the wharves and landings belong," she explained. "See there, that lantern with the blue glass? That is the royal landing. I see Atto’s ship is berthed there. That means we will find him at home."

The city itself, he saw as they crossed over a wide bridge that connected the main part of Alqualondë to the shore, was constructed on a series of canals and there were small boats shaped like swans on the still waters being propelled by a single Elf standing in the stern, using a long pole to maneuver the boat while others sat on cushioned benches clutching parcels. The passengers in nearby boats gave their party curious looks but then returned to their own conversations.

"It’s more convenient for us to use these small boats to get from one place to another," Eärwen told him, "though you can see that there are walkways and bridges as well."

"It is more beautiful than I had imagined," Ingwë commented as he sent one of his guards ahead to act as herald. "The Teleri have done well in constructing their city."

"They did have help," Arafinwë couldn’t help saying, giving his wife a sly grin and Eärwen stuck her tongue out at him, causing him to laugh while Ingwë merely chuckled.

Eärwen led them towards the center of the city where the royal palace stood and soon they were being greeted by Olwë and Lirillë and their heir, Lindarion.

"This is an unexpected surprise," Olwë said as he embraced his daughter, "but a most pleasant one. You are all welcome. Come, let us retire to our apartments and you will tell us why you have graced us with your presence."

They made their way through the palace with its pearlescent walls shimmering softly in the starlight that filtered through the wide embrasures, the sound of water lapping softly against the outer walls soothing to the fëa. Olwë led them across a covered bridge that separated the royal family’s private apartments from the more public parts of the palace, which stood on two artificial islands in the midst of the city surrounded by a wide moat. The palace was linked to the rest of the city by several bridges, though none touched upon the island housing the royal family.

"How is Cemendil doing?" Ingwë asked Olwë as they walked side-by-side.

"Have no fear for him, my friend," Olwë said with a smile. "I showed him your missive and he was both mortified and grateful at the same time. I assured him that he was free to leave whenever he wished but I let him know that if he chose to stay all of my kingdom would be open to him and his research. I believe he had always meant to come here to study the sea and shore life but had not expected to come so soon. I have given him his own suite of rooms here in the palace and have assigned people to help him with the collection and cataloguing of his specimens."

"I am glad to hear it," Ingwë said. "I fear I abused my privilege as High King to coerce him into coming here, but in truth, I knew how he hated court intrigues. It’s why he left my Privy Council to become one of Lady Yavanna’s students. Sending him to you was a way of rewarding him for acting as my sons’ courier, though I doubt he saw it as such at the time."

"Well, while you are here you should speak to him," Olwë suggested as they entered the family’s sitting room. "I think you will find that he is quite content to be here. When he first arrived, he was stiff and formal and I could tell he was in a state nearing despair, but within a week, once he began his studies, he became more cheerful and relaxed and his eyes would brighten anytime someone made the mistake of asking after his research." He gave them a rueful look and the others chuckled, realizing that Olwë was speaking of himself.

Lindarion poured some light yellow wine into goblets and handed them to everyone as they took seats, with Arafinwë and Eärwen sitting together on one of the settees while Ingwë took an ornately carved chair made of nessamelda wood with deep blue cushions. Olwë and Lirillë sat in another settee and Lindarion took a chair that was less ornate though on the back was painted his personal device: a deep blue lozenge in which was a gold and silver star of four radiating points reaching the edges of the lozenge, thus indicating that he was a prince of the realm. Overlaying the star was a white swan ship, the emblem of Alqualondë, and Olwë’s own emblem, thus indicating that he was also the king’s throne-heir.

"So, to what do we owe the pleasure of your presence?" Olwë asked as he sipped on his wine. "I am assuming that this is not precisely a social visit with family."

"You are correct," Ingwë said, "though I hope that we will have some time for relaxation while we are here. I cannot linger myself, though I hope Arafinwë and Eärwen will stay for a time." He smiled fondly at the younger couple before turning his attention back to Olwë, his expression more grave. "This entire affair with Fëanáro has brought certain things to light and Finwë’s intransigence in all this has not helped matters. I, for one, am very disappointed in him."

Olwë nodded. "I had debated going to Tirion when Eärwen’s letter came informing me of what was happening, but in the end I realized I would come too late to make any difference to the outcome."

"Unfortunately," Ingwë said with a nod. "Had news of what happened reached you earlier you may have been able to persuade Finwë as to the folly of his decision, but perhaps not. He has ever loved Fëanáro above his other sons." He cast a rueful glance at Arafinwë whose expression was glum. "Forgive me, yonya, but I speak only the truth in this."

"As well I know, Uncle," Arafinwë said with a sigh. "I know Atar loves Ñolofinwë and me in his own way, but Fëanáro has always had his heart. Sometimes I wonder why he even bothered to marry Amillë."

"I am beginning to wonder that myself," Ingwë said. "The whole affair with Míriel rankled and I thought at the time that only trouble would come of it, but Indis truly loved Finwë and I hadn’t the heart to deny her that happiness." He shook his head at the memory. "Well, as I think you Lindar are fond of saying, water under the bridge."

"Indeed," Olwë said. "So, what must we discuss that has not already been decided? What is your purpose here, Ingwë?"

"I wished to discuss the ramifications of all that has happened face-to-face instead of through letters."

"We Lindar have nothing to do with what occurs in the rest of Eldamar," Lindarion said, sounding somewhat haughty. "Why should we be concerned with the stupidities of others?"

"Stupidity?" Arafinwë retorted. "Nay, say rather, the ensnarement of some caught in Melkor’s web of deceit."

"We have heard rumors that that one was seen fleeing southward," Lirillë said.

"So we’ve been told," Ingwë replied. "The Valar have set a watch on the southern range. Hopefully, we have seen the last of Melkor, but what Arafinwë says is true. The Noldor have been ensnared and it behooves the rest of us to free them from it if possible. I think those who elected to remain in Tirion rather than follow Finwë and Fëanáro to Formenos were less affected by Melkor’s lies than the others. Still, I think we of the other clans should keep a wary eye on them all. Melkor’s poison is insidious and I’m seeing some of it spreading even among the Vanyar, or at least those who are in sympathy with Fëanáro."

Olwë frowned. "A troubling thought. There has been more commerce between Tirion and Alqualondë than between Tirion and Vanyamar, I suspect, but I’ve not noticed any change in attitude among my own people. Few, I think, are even aware of Fëanáro’s attack on his brother or the trial that resulted in his exile. Fewer still would care."

"Yet, there is this," Ingwë said solemnly. "Fëanáro took the Silmarils with him into exile and my heart warns me that those jewels lie at the center of all the woes that have befallen the Noldor and may yet be the cause of more woes that could affect not only Eldamar, including Alqualondë, but also Valmar."

"The Valar?!" Lirillë exclaimed in surprise. "I cannot see how they would be affected by any of this."

"Their Peace was broken by Fëanáro’s rash attack on Ñolofinwë," Ingwë pointed out. "I can tell you that the Valar, Lord Manwë especially, were very upset by it and I think they actually resented even having to hold a trial. The only other person who has ever been brought to the Máhanaxar to stand trial was Melkor himself. I think they were highly disappointed that one of the best and brightest of us Eldar ended up there as well."

There was a pause as all contemplated Ingwë’s words. Finally, Olwë sighed. "So, what is it you want from me, Ingwë?"

"Your support of Ñolofinwë," Ingwë answered. "In spite of the fact that Finwë is no longer residing in Tirion, I hope that you and those who have had commerce with the Noldor will continue to do so. I want Ñolofinwë to know that he does not stand alone in this."

"He will have my support," Olwë said simply, "and you as well. You are the oldest of us and the wisest and I will abide by your decisions in this matter, save where it may conflict with the safety and well-being of my people and my kingdom."

"Fair enough," Ingwë said. "That is all I ask. Let us all hope that in the next twelve years, tempers will cool and right reason will prevail. I, for one, will be very glad to see Finwë back in Tirion where he belongs."

They all nodded at that, then Lirillë gave Ingwë a smile. "If that is the end of your business with us Ingwë, does that mean you’ll be leaving shortly?"

"Lirillë!" Olwë exclaimed in shock while Ingwë merely laughed.

"Nay, Olwë, do not berate your wife," the High King said. "She has the right to ask and in answer, I would say that while I must return to Vanyamar soon I do not need to leave this very minute. I would welcome the chance to stay a while and enjoy your company and the city, which I have never seen."

"Then, you are welcome to stay for as long as you wish," Lirillë said. "Perhaps you would like to take a sailing trip around the city. It’s the best way to see it, I think, and we can have a picnic on board. The other children will join us and you can meet them."

"That would be lovely, thank you, my dear," Ingwë said.

"Then I will go make the arrangements," Lirillë said as she rose, the others rising with her. "In the meantime, we’ll put you in the suite across from Eärwen and Arafinwë’s apartments. They will escort you. It has a lovely view of the harbor."

Ingwë bowed graciously over Lirillë’s hand. "I look forward to the sail and the picnic. Until then."

He left with Arafinwë and Eärwen and Lindarion, who elected to join them, leaving Olwë and Lirillë alone. The queen gave her husband a considering look.

"His words trouble you, beloved," she said.

"Yes, they do," Olwë answered, wrapping his arms around her and giving her a loving kiss.

"In what way?" she asked, returning his kiss with her own.

"In every way," he said, "but most especially in the idea that the seclusion which we Lindar have enjoyed since we came to Valinor may be eroding and not by our choice. I fear the consequences."

"As do I," Lirillë replied, "but that will be as it will be and we will weather the storm together, as we’ve weathered all other storms before."

He smiled gently down at her and gave her another lingering kiss. "Indeed," was all he said and after another moment or two of enjoying their togetherness, they left the room, Lirillë to oversee putting together the picnic and Olwë to order the royal ship readied for their use.

****

Notes:

1. The description of Alqualondë is taken from The Book of Lost Tales 1, Chapter VII, ‘The Flight of the Noldoli’.

2. The description of Lindarion’s personal device is based somewhat on the discussion on Eldarin Heraldry devised by Tolkien which can be found at: www(dot)forodrim(dot)org/gobennas/heraldry/heraldry(dot)htm.

3. Ingwë refers to the Teleri as the Lindar when speaking to Olwë, knowing that Olwë might consider Teleri to be pejorative. He does not do so with Eärwen since, living among the Noldor as she has, she has long gotten used to hearing her clan referred to as Teleri.

21: The High King Returns

Ingwë returned to Vanyamar two weeks after Elindis with much pomp and celebration, for Ingwë had sent riders ahead to warn Elindis of his coming. Thus, when he arrived, all of Vanyamar was there to greet him. There was a brief but solemn ceremony, before the front portico of the palace, in which Ingwion and Ingalaurë returned the governing of the realm to its rightful lord with Ingwë thanking them for their faithful stewardship. Then a day of festival was declared and all of Vanyamar rejoiced. A welcoming feast was held later around the time of Second Mingling. Notably missing from the feast were Ingoldo and Tinwetariel. As they were supping, Ingwë informed Intarion and the rest of the family that he had met with Tinwetariel in Eldamas, but only briefly.

"She ranted about your betrothal," he said with a wry grin, "demanding that I rescind it as soon as I returned to Vanyamar. I told her I would take it under advisement."

There were snorts of disbelief all around. Ingwë put a comforting arm around Intarion and gave him a warm smile. "And all my closest advisors seem to think the betrothal is a good idea, so my advice to you and Lirulin is to get married as soon as possible." He gave him a wink and there were smiles all around.

"The wedding date is already set," Findaráto said, keeping his expression bland. "We would have been happy to see them wed almost immediately, but decided it would be best to wait for you to return."

"Oh?" Ingwë said, giving his great-nephew a measuring look. "So, just when will the wedding take place?"

"About three hundred and forty or so weeks from now," Findaráto supplied.

"That soon?" Ingwë exclaimed, evincing surprise.

"Not soon enough for some people," Indil said with a sly smile and Intarion blushed.

There was laughter all around. Ingwë gave Intarion a knowing grin. "I am surprised that the lovely Lirulin is not here. She and her family would have been most welcome to this feast."

Intarion nodded. "Nolondur decided to make a trip to the Southern Fiefdoms to check on the latest crops from his vineyards and Lirulin went with him," he explained. "Yáviën is overseeing their household here and Telemnar... well, he may be your chief lamastámo, but he doesn’t feel comfortable in these social gatherings."

"Hmm.... well, with his sister marrying into the royal family, he will have to get used to it," Ingwë said. "In the meantime, why don’t you tell me what you have all been up to while I was away. I was relieved to see that Vanyamar hadn’t been misplaced during my absence." He gave Elindis a sly wink.

There were groans from his children and Findaráto, while Elindis merely smirked.

****

The High King spent the next few days going over all that had been done in his name while he was away, spending most of the time with Ingwion and Ingalaurë, listening to their reports and having them explain the reasoning behind their decisions. In the end, he nodded, a pleased smile on his face.

"You both have done well," he told them. "Indeed, better than I expected. I will ratify all your decisions at the next Court and will publicly express my pleasure and gratitude for a job well done."

The twins beamed with delight and they found it impossible to keep the smiles off their faces for the rest of the day, much to their parents’ amusement.

At the next Valanya after Ingwë’s return, he and Elindis, along with their children, Findaráto and Intarion, made their way to Ilmarin where Lord Manwë and the other Valar welcomed the High King back.

"We missed your weekly visit," Manwë said, "but these youngsters and their friends have done a marvelous job of entertaining us during your absence. You should be very proud of them."

Ingwë and Elindis beamed, thanking the Elder King for his kind words. Then Varda enquired about Tirion and Alqualondë and Ingwë told them what was transpiring in those two realms.

"Ñolofinwë is doing well, and has the love of the populace," Ingwë said. "I have every confidence that he will be able to bring healing to his people. When the time of exile is over, Finwë will hear no complaints, I am sure."

"Good," Manwë said. "We are all grieved at the dissension Fëanáro’s actions have brought about and look forward to the day when we can put all this behind us."

Ingwë nodded. "That is my hope as well. When I spoke with Olwë he said that he would do all in his power to support Ñolofinwë. I left Arafinwë and Eärwen in Alqualondë where they are advising Olwë regarding the Noldor. He and Lirillë have promised to visit Tirion soon, so as to publicly acknowledge their support of Ñolofinwë. I think that will go a long way towards diffusing any resentment that might arise otherwise."

"Resentment?" Aulë asked, looking perplexed. "Resentment by whom?"

"The Noldor," Ingwë replied. "Those who remained behind in Tirion are feeling somewhat lost and confused. They fear that with Finwë gone the other elven realms, and perhaps even the Valar themselves, will not see Ñolofinwë as a legitimate ruler and they will be, how can I put it, snubbed by the rest of us."

"Ah..." Aulë said, the light of understanding brightening his eyes. "That makes sense. I must make a point of letting them know that they are still welcome at my forge." He gave Findaráto a brief smile before he continued. "Those who are in Formenos, unfortunately, I cannot welcome under the terms of the exile, but those of Tirion have no need to fear that they will be turned away by me or my People."

"If they are aware of this," Ingwë said, "I think it would help."

"We must all work towards healing the breach of trust that has opened between us," Varda said. "We would see the Sérë Valaron restored."

"That is my hope as well," Ingwë said with a bow and the other elves all nodded.

Findaráto spoke up then, addressing Lord Aulë. "I am glad that we Noldor have not been banished from your demesne, my lord," he said. "It would have grieved me if I were unable to consult with you or your People. My studies in crystallography are proving quite fruitful and I would welcome your input."

Aulë smiled benevolently upon the ellon. "Then, come to Valmar whenever you wish and we will talk about it."

Findaráto gave him a grateful bow and soon the conversation drifted to other less weighty matters and the audience with the Valar ended on a lighter note.

****

Upon hearing from his sons and others about Ingoldo’s attempts at undermining his authority and then absenting himself from Vanyamar for such a long period of time, Ingwë kept his thoughts to himself, and only those closest to him knew how angry he truly was. He was half tempted to order Ingoldo back forthwith, but, in the end, he decided on a different strategy — he would go to Ingoldo instead. When he told the family of his plan, his sons offered to accompany him, but he turned them down.

"I wish to speak with your uncle alone," he said, "nor do I intend to stay long."

"Will you order him back?" Elindis asked.

"I do not know," Ingwë replied. "I did not order Tinwetariel to return even though she should be here overseeing the revision of the trade agreements between us and the Noldor."

"Findaráto and Intarion have actually been working on those," Ingwion stated. "Valandur has been helping them with the legal aspects."

Ingwë gave his loremaster an enquiring look. Valandur, sitting with his arm around Findis, nodded and smiled at Findaráto and Intarion. "They have both been very good pupils. I have not influenced them in any way, merely teaching them the ramifications of the agreements as they stand now and what was hoped for with the revision. They’ve done all the rest. I think you will find that the agreements are quite equitable and both sides come out ahead."

Ingwë gave the two younger ellyn a considering look. "I will look over the documents when I return from the hunting lodge, then."

"We’ll have them all in order for you before you return, Uncle," Findaráto said and Intarion nodded.

"I am surprised that you plan to see Ingoldo, though," Valandur ventured. "He was very disruptive while you were away. Frankly, we’re better off without him or Tinwetariel."

Ingwë frowned. "I know," he said, "but he is my brother and a member of my court. I need to speak to him and I know he will not come to me except under armed guard."

"You going to him will not work either," Valandur pointed out. "He will see it as a capitulation on your part."

"Perhaps," Ingwë averred with a sigh, "but what other choice do I have? Certain truths must be spoken between us and I will not wait upon his pleasure, so I will go. Once I’ve said my piece to Ingoldo, I will return as quickly as I can."

Elindis gave him a loving kiss. "Hurry back then, my love," she said softly, "your family has been without you for too long already."

Ingwë smiled and gave her a kiss that was just as loving while the others decided they suddenly needed to be elsewhere and quietly made their way out, grinning all the while. If Ingwë and Elindis noticed, they gave no indication.

****

The High King took only one guard with him when he left for the hunting lodge. No one was happy about that, but Ingwë pointed out that if he took more than that Ingoldo might see it as a threat. Sérener’s presence would satisfy the proprieties without raising Ingoldo’s suspicions.

So they went, traveling south towards Valmar before they came to the road leading to the hunting lodge; the same road that Finwë and Fëanáro had taken to Formenos. By order of the Elder King, Maiar were sent to widen the road somewhat — originally it had just been a well-trodden path — to make it easier for the exiles on their way to Formenos.

"I wasn’t too happy to hear of Lord Manwë’s decree," Ingwë told Sérener as they made the turn onto the road, "though there was little I could do about it."

Sérener nodded. "I’ve heard people refer to it as the Mall’ Etelerroron," he said and his expression was one of disgust.

Ingwë raised an eyebrow. "You don’t approve."

Sérener shook his head. "It gives Fëanáro too much legitimacy to my mind. I think it should remain nameless and forgotten."

"Well, I can hardly issue an edict forbidding people from referring to this road by that name," Ingwë said with a smile.

"Pity," Sérener replied with a wicked grin. "I would’ve liked to have seen the expressions on the faces of some people if you did."

Ingwë threw back his head and laughed as they continued northwestward toward the lodge. They made good time and soon they came to where a much narrower path veered to the west through the forest toward the lodge. Ingwë took some moments to stare grimly northward where the road continued toward Formenos, finally shaking his head before urging his horse upon the forest path. Sérener remained silent, his expression closed as he followed his lord.

The lodge stood within a forest clearing about a quarter of a mile from the road. It was not overly large, made of fieldstone with a turreted front and consisting of a single large gathering room and a kitchen on the ground floor. Upstairs was a sleeping loft. There was also a small stable behind the lodge as well as a privy.

As he approached the lodge, Ingwë reflected on the fact that it had been some time since he had bothered to come here with his sons. Lately, he realized, only Ingoldo seemed to use it on a regular basis, coming here every so often, but alone, save for a few retainers. As far as Ingwë knew, his brother had never bothered to bring his own son here. Ingwë resolved to rectify that at some future date. It would be a fine thing to have his sons, as well as Intarion and perhaps even Tamurilon, along for a few days of relaxation away from the court.

"It doesn’t look as if anyone is at home," Sérener commented as they came to the front door.

Ingwë glanced upward to see that no smoke came from the chimney. In fact, the lodge looked as if it hadn’t been opened at all, for he could see that the inner shutters on the windows were closed.

"Check the stables," he ordered, even as he alighted from his horse and went to the front door. It was locked. He hunted around and found the place where the key was always kept and unlocked the door. Inside it was dark and there was the musty smell of a place that had not been aired out for some time.

Sérener entered the lodge a couple of minutes later. "There is evidence that they were here," he said, "but perhaps not for a week or so."

"Could they have gone hunting further afield, do you suppose?" Ingwë asked with a frown.

"With the horses, my lord?" Sérener asked skeptically.

Ingwë nodded. "So the question remains, where did my brother go?"

"Eldamas?" Sérener ventured. "The Lady Tinwetariel...."

"Yet, there was no sign of him when I passed through a few days ago," Ingwë pointed out. "Nor did my sister-in-law make any mention of the fact that Ingoldo was there. Believe me, if he had been, he would have made his presence known to me."

"Then where....?"

Ingwë shook his head. "There is perhaps one other place he could have gone, but I sincerely hope my guess is wrong. Come. Let us rest the horses and ourselves for an hour and then be on our way."

"Back to Vanyamar?" Sérener asked, sounding puzzled.

Ingwë gave him a grim look. "No. Formenos."

Sérener raised an eyebrow at that, but made no comment, merely going back outside to tend to the horses while Ingwë opened some of the shutters to let in the light and then made his way to the kitchen to see if there was anything to be had for a quick meal.

An hour later, they were shutting up the lodge again and on their way, turning north instead of south once they reached the road.

****

Mall’ Etelerroron: The Road of the Exiled Ones, reconstructed from Sindarin edledhron > Old Sindarin etledro(ndo) [ET, LED]. Mallë is elided.

22: Ingwë at Formenos

The road to Formenos wound its way through a forested area that opened up into steppes with tall grasses undulating in the breeze. Their way followed the gentle grade of the hills rather than seeking a way around them or through them. Ingwë eyed the road with disapproval; Sérener, apparently eyed it with suspicion.

"It’s too flat," Ingwë’s guard said suddenly, his face set in a scowl.

Ingwë turned to him with a puzzled look. "What do you mean? The road rises." He pointed to the way ahead.

"That is not what I meant, Sire," Sérener said. "I was referring to the grass." He pointed down at their feet. "The Noldor passed this way many weeks ago, yet, look, there is no hint that the grass is reclaiming the road."

Ingwë looked about him and realized the truth of what Sérener had said. The road that the Maiar had made for the Noldor was not paved in any manner. Essentially, they had merely flattened an area that was wide enough for two wagons to pass through. By now the road should have been less evident as the grass began to grow back, but that was not the case. The way was still flattened, as if made only the day before.

"Has there been any traffic along this road?" Ingwë asked.

Sérener shook his head. "As to that, I cannot say, lord, for no watch was put on it."

"True," Ingwë said. "Something I should have ordered, but did not. Well, perhaps when we reach Formenos the mystery will be solved."

They continued on and eventually as Telperion’s light began to fade and Laurelin’s began to grow, they came to a final rise and looked down into a fair valley that was ringed with a series of ridges that were bare of trees. Instead, strange stone pillars were set equally spaced on the hilltops. Ingwë had no idea what their purpose, if any, was. The valley was wide, perhaps a league across. To the northeast, he could see a small city of tents clustered around a half-finished edifice made of fieldstone, its main doors facing south. It seemed to Ingwë’s eyes to be unbeautiful, its lines too straight and precise and he had the sense that he was seeing, not a residence, but something more formidable, more sinister in the making, something meant to protect those within from attack. He grimaced at the thought and shook his head. Whom did Finwë think was going to attack him and his people? The Valar? He wondered whose idea it was to build it in the first place, and suspected that it had come from the mind of Fëanáro. At least, he hoped so. The thought that Finwë might feel such a need disturbed him more than the thought of Fëanáro coming up with the idea.

People were wandering about, some working on the building, others tending to sheep and cattle or hoeing small patches of gardens. Elflings played quietly under the watchful eyes of their parents and Ingwë grieved at the sight of them. He had thought the Valar allowing others to join Fëanáro and his sons in exile a mistake. To his mind it would only cause further tension between the Noldor themselves, and possibly with the Vanyar.

Ingwë gave Sérener a rueful look. "Let’s see if Finwë will speak to me. Keep your eyes peeled for my brother or any of his men."

"You truly think Lord Ingoldo came here?" Sérener asked.

Ingwë shrugged. "There are few other places he could have gone. I truly hope he isn’t here, but I intend to find out."

With that he started to urge his horse downhill but the sudden appearance of two Maiar caused both horses to shy, though Ingwë and Sérener were able to calm them quickly enough. Ingwë eyed the Maiar with something like annoyance. They were wearing blood-red surcoats with the silver sword emblem of Lord Tulkas embroidered on them.

"What do you here, Ingwë of the Vanyar?" one of them asked, his tone respectful though there was much authority in it.

"You have the advantage of knowing who I am," Ingwë replied, reigning in his anger.

The Maia who had spoken smiled. "I am Cassantur of the People of Tulkas. My brother Maia is Ramandor."

"And now that you know who we are, perhaps you will answer our question," Ramandor said.

"I’ve come to speak with Finwë," Ingwë answered.

"For what purpose?" Cassantur asked. "Know that we have not been given any instructions as to who may come and go freely from this vale."

"Yet, it is only Fëanáro who is enjoined to remain here for the term of his exile, is he not?" Ingwë said. "Surely, those who came with him did so voluntarily and are not under the Valar’s ban, are they?"

"Perhaps not," Ramandor conceded, "but we have been set to guard and so we must fulfill our duty in asking for what purpose you come here."

"For all that Finwë has chosen to follow his son into exile, he is still Noldóran and as such I wish to consult with my fellow ruler on matters concerning the state of affairs among the Eldar. There is still much unrest in our realms."

"I will see if Finwë will speak with you," Cassantur said. "Remain you here for now. You may take your horses onto the field so they may graze but go no further than that."

Ingwë nodded. "Thank you. Please tell Finwë that this is not a social call on my part."

Cassantur gave him a wry look. "If he will not see you, Ingwë of the Vanyar, I cannot make him come to you, nor will I allow you to go to him unless I have specific orders from my lord."

"Fair enough," Ingwë said with a sigh. He and Sérener made their way down into the valley, releasing their horses to graze, and stood about while Cassantur faded away. Ramandor remained with them. Ingwë took the opportunity to quiz the Maia on one or two matters that were uppermost in his mind.

"Why has the road not been returned to its original state?" he asked. "We noticed that the grass has not yet grown back."

"The road will be needed twelve years hence when the exiles return to Tirion," Ramandor answered readily enough.

"But that is twelve years from now," Ingwë pointed out.

"Yes, but we Maiar are not willing to redo the road again," the Maia explained with a wry smile, "and so we have made sure that it will remain in its present condition until then. Once there is no need for the road we will allow the grass to grow back. It’s easier to maintain the road in its present condition than to rebuild it."

"Have there been any other visitors to Formenos since the Noldor came?" Ingwë then asked, his tone nonchalant, as if he spoke out of idle curiosity, waiting for Finwë’s arrival.

Ramandor’s expression became unreadable. "None have crossed the barrier except you, Ingwë of the Vanyar."

"Barrier?" Ingwë asked, looking around in puzzlement, for he could see nothing that looked anything like a barrier to him. He could see Sérener casting his gaze about him as well, his expression equally puzzled.

Ramandor pointed to the pillars spread across the ridges bordering the vale. "There is a barrier, one you cannot see, but it is there nonetheless."

"Not much of a barrier if it doesn’t stop anyone from crossing it," Sérener muttered, his guard’s mind-set affronted by the thought.

Ramandor cast him a brief knowing smile. "The barrier does not prevent any from passing through, but if any do, we Maiar are instantly alerted."

"So, every time one of those sheep stray...." Ingwë started to say as he pointed to where he could see a flock of the creatures grazing, but the Maia shook his head.

"The barrier only works against Elves, Vanyaran," he explained and then gave them a slightly wicked grin, "which means that if any of the sheep or cattle wander away, their owners have to wait until one of us comes to retrieve their lost lamb."

The two Elves chuckled at that. "Rather inconvenient," Ingwë surmised.

"Perhaps," Ramandor conceded, "but a Maia always comes at the Second Mingling to check on them," he nodded towards the Elves in the valley, "to see if anything is needed."

Ingwë gave him a hard look. "A Maia comes? Are not the Maiar guarding...."

"Yes, we are," Ramandor interjected, "but we all have other duties to the Valar. Yet, those of us assigned to watch duty are constantly aware of the barrier and if any Elf crosses it from either direction, we are there at a single thought. Cassantur and I, for instance, were attending upon our Lord in Valmar when we felt you cross the barrier and we were here before your horse took another step down the road."

Both Elves raised an eyebrow at that revelation and silence reigned between the ellyn and the Maia for several long minutes as Ingwë digested that bit of information.

"What are those strange pillars?" Sérener asked suddenly. "Do they have anything to do with this barrier of yours?"

"They mark the barrier," the Maia explained. "Only here where the road comes down is there no pillar since the road itself acts as a marker. The pillars are there more for the benefit of elflings than anything else. Unlike the adults they need a physical reminder of just where the barrier lies."

Ingwë looked more closely at the pillars. All of them, from what he could see, were the same: smooth and featureless, rounded at the top, standing elf-high. He took note of where the pillars stood in relation to the community below and frowned. "So, if someone from the valley were to climb the ridge but not pass a pillar, you would not be alerted."

Ramandor nodded. "The Noldor here have free range within this valley, but they may not pass the pillars."

Ingwë nodded, deep in thought. "That means that anyone can come up from this side, stand beside a pillar but not pass it and look down into the valley."

"Technically, they could," the Maia conceded, "but except for this road there is no easy way to this valley."

"Yet, it is possible," Ingwë pressed.

Ramandor shrugged. "Anything is possible, Ingwë of the Vanyar, but some things are less likely than others."

"Yet, a person from outside, if he could reach the top of a ridge," Ingwë insisted, "could stand there in full view of anyone from the valley and someone from Formenos could climb the ridge on his side and as long as neither passed the pillars, they could have a conversation and you Maiar would never know it."

There was a long pause as the Maia contemplated Ingwë’s words, his eyes sweeping across the ridges and valley before settling upon the two Elves. "I will speak to my Lord Tulkas about this," he said, giving Ingwë a slight bow. Then he straightened and smiled. "Ah, it looks as if the Noldóran has deigned to give you an audience, Ingwë of the Vanyar, for see, he approaches." The Maia pointed and Ingwë turned to see his friend making his way to them with Cassantur as escort.

"I think it’s the other way around," Ingwë said with a wry twist of his lips. Ramandor merely shrugged, his expression giving nothing away as to what he was thinking of the whole situation.

It took a little time for Finwë to cross the valley to where Ingwë awaited him. Ramandor, in the meantime, kindly provided an awning of blue sendal under which he caused two chairs and a small table to appear. The table had a decanter of wine and two goblets sitting on it. Ingwë bowed his thanks to the Maia, then ordered Sérener to take their horses and move back up the road to await his lord’s pleasure. The conversation between the two kings would be private, or as private as it could be with two Maiar there.

Ramandor must have divined Ingwë’s thoughts for he smiled. "We will leave you your privacy, Vanyaran," he said. "When you have finished your meeting, just call for me and I will come."

Ingwë gave him a puzzled look and the Maia shrugged. "The barrier only tells us if someone has breached it; it does not tell us who."

Ingwë’s eyes widened at the implication of the Maia’s words. "Then I will do as you bid," he said with a bow.

By now, Finwë and Cassantur were there, the Maia looking amused, Finwë looking less so. In fact, Ingwë could see, the Noldóran was caked with stone dust, though he had made an attempt to clean himself up a bit. Before Ingwë had time to proffer a greeting, Finwë spoke.

"Why are you here, Ingwë?" he demanded, glowering at him. "Came to gloat? Or did you forget something from our last meeting?"

Ingwë kept his expression neutral and gestured to the table and chairs. "Why don’t we sit and be comfortable, Finwë." He followed his own advice and sat in one of the chairs, reaching for the decanter and pouring wine into the goblets. Finwë hesitated for a moment, stealing glances at the two Maiar and Ingwë before complying and sitting in the other chair. As soon as he did the two Maiar bowed to them and faded away.

Ingwë handed one of the goblets to Finwë and picked up the other for himself. "I did not come to gloat, Finwë," he said after taking a sip of the wine. "I came to consult with you."

"About what?" Finwë asked after taking his own sip.

"About what is happening here and elsewhere," Ingwë said. "I did not approve of the Valar allowing all these people to follow you and your son here. I fear that in the intervening years of the exile, the division between the Noldor will only widen. You have the makings of a small city here and it’s obvious that those who followed you did so out of loyalty to you, if not for Fëanáro’s sake."

"Your point, Ingwë?" Finwë asked with a scowl.

"My point, meldonya, is that when you return to Tirion, how will you reconcile your followers to those who remained behind and see Ñolofinwë as their lord?"

"He is merely my regent...."

"And after twelve years, I suspect that many of the citizens of Tirion will conveniently forget that little fact," Ingwë retorted. "You may find reclaiming your throne not an easy thing."

Finwë reddened in anger. "Are you accusing Ñolofinwë of disloyalty to me?"

"No, Finwë, I am not," Ingwë replied with his own anger rising. "I am suggesting that your decision to follow Fëanáro here was a mistake. You should have stayed in Tirion. Your coming here was a signal to many, including me, I might add, that you did not agree with the Valar’s sentence upon your son."

"I will not desert my son!" Finwë shouted, slamming a fist on the table, jarring the decanter, which Ingwë just managed to grab before it toppled to the ground.

"You have three sons," Ingwë shot back, "in case you have forgotten, not to mention your daughters whom you never mention."

"Bah," Finwë said with a scowl as he sat back in his chair and drank his wine. "They are well enough. Findis and Faniel are well enough now that they are married."

"And Lalwendë?" Ingwë asked.

Finwë snorted. "You mean Finwaina? She made it very clear that she has no desire to marry anyone anytime soon. She’s much too busy with her own work."

"Making swords and spears, I understand," Ingwë said with a frown.

Finwë shrugged. "If it keeps her happy and out of my hair...."

Ingwë glowered at the Noldóran. "Getting back to your other sons," he said softly, "I know you still feel guilt over Míriel, but you have no reason to take that guilt out on the innocent. Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë deserve better from you."

"Leave Míriel out of this," Finwë said in a dangerously low voice.

"It was you who went to the Valar demanding that you be allowed to marry Indis," Ingwë pointed out. "You wanted more children, you said. Well, you got your wish, but sometimes I have to wonder if you ever loved them."

"Are we finished here?" Finwë interjected heatedly.

For a moment Ingwë merely stared at his friend, his expression closed. When he did speak it was with a question of his own. "Have you had any visitors lately?"

The unexpectedness of the question threw Finwë and he took a moment or two to gather his wits. "Visitors? Why do you ask?"

Ingwë shrugged. "Just wondered if I’m the first visitor you’ve had since you came here."

Now Finwë eyed Ingwë with some suspicion. "Well, as to that, I cannot say."

"Cannot, or will not?" Ingwë retorted.

Finwë merely shrugged, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he took another sip of his wine before setting the goblet on the table and standing. "If that’s all you have to say to me, I will be going. There is still much work to be done."

Ingwë stood as well, sorrow etching his fair face as he gazed at his friend, fearing that their friendship might be ending. "I wish you had not come here, Finwë. It cannot lead to a good resolution to any of our problems."

Finwë shrugged. "Water under the bridge, as I think Olwë is fond of saying."

"He misses you, you know," Ingwë said sadly. "He would have come to you had he known sooner what had happened. He was very upset at your decision to leave Tirion. He thinks had he come to Tirion in time he could have persuaded you to stay."

"I miss him, as well," Finwë said, "but he would not have persuaded me from my course."

"So I told him."

The two stared at one another for a long moment, regret in both their eyes for what could not be changed. Finally, Ingwë nodded. "Ramandor," he said quietly and the Maia was suddenly there. Ingwë gave him a bow. "Thank you," he said and then without another word, he turned and strode up the hill, refusing to look back. He came to the crest of the hill and nodded to Sérener. "Let us go."

They mounted their horses and it was only then that Ingwë looked back to see Finwë striding away toward Formenos. Of the Maia there was no sign. Ingwë cast a knowing look at his guard. "What are you thinking Sérener? Tell me your thoughts."

"I am thinking that perhaps Lord Ingoldo could well have come to Formenos to speak with someone, though I do not know why or who."

"Finwë denied that there have been any visitors," Ingwë said.

"That does not mean there haven’t been, Sire," Sérener pointed out. "The Noldóran could be unaware of anyone showing up."

"I doubt it," Ingwë replied. "Unfortunately, I have no proof either way. Well, we’re not going to find any answers here. Let us go."

"Will we stop at the lodge on the way?" Sérener asked.

Ingwë shook his head. "No. In fact, I find the idea of riding back down this road distasteful. Come. Let us ride overland. We will camp along the way and be back in Vanyamar by the next First Mingling."

Ingwë urged his horse back down the hill away from Formenos with Sérener right behind him and then they left the road, heading southeast.

****

Vanyaran: King of the Vanyar [Vanya + aran], cf. Ingaran  [Inga + aran], which is attested, and is Ingwë’s actual title as High King of all the Eldar in Aman. Ramandur, addressing him as Vanyaran, merely acknowledges Ingwë as King of the Vanyar only. This is not actually a slight, since Ingwë had said earlier that he wished to consult with his fellow ruler, thus Ingwë is not necessarily acting as High King in this instance.

Meldonya: My (male) friend.

Note: Tolkien gave Finwë three daughters by his second wife, Indis, besides his two sons, Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë. They were thus named Findis, Finvain, and Faniel [See ‘The Earliest Version of the Story of Finwë and Míriel’ and ‘Later Versions of the Story of Finwë and Míriel’, War of the Jewels, HoME X]. None of them made it into the Silmarillion as published. In my version of events, Findis is married to Ingwë’s chief loremaster, Valandur, while Faniel is married to Olwë’s youngest son, Salmar. Finvain’s name has been Quenyanized to Finwaina. In PoME her mother-name is given as Lalwendë, which I use here. In the same source it is said that ‘[s]he went into exile with her brother Fingolfin, who was most dear to her of all her kin....’ [See ‘The Shibboleth of Fëanor’, in particular the section entitled ‘The names of Finwë’s descendants’, Peoples of Middle-earth, HoME XII].

23: A Matter of Record

When Ingwë arrived back in Vanyamar he received an unpleasant surprise — Ingoldo was there. He was lolling on a settee in the family’s main sitting room, sipping on wine when Ingwë entered the room.

"Where have you been, Brother?" Ingoldo asked, his expression seemingly innocent, though there was a glint of smugness in his eyes that Ingwë caught. "I was surprised to hear that you had come and gone."

"I went looking for you, if you want to know," Ingwë said shortly. "I found the lodge empty."

Ingoldo shrugged. "And so? I decided to hunt further afield and camped out."

"Where did you go, then, north?" Ingwë asked, going to the sideboard to pour himself some wine.

"North?" Ingoldo repeated, frowning. "No. We went south and further west actually." He gave his brother a wintry smile. "Nothing worth hunting in the north."

Ingwë snorted, clearly unconvinced, but let it go. "I’m for a bath. We will talk later, Brother. Don’t go anywhere."

Ingoldo did not respond, merely sipping his wine and looking, to Ingwë’s eyes, even more smug. With a sigh Ingwë made his way to his suite with goblet in hand, wishing only to remove the grime of travel from him. His brother could wait.

****

Dinner that evening was a tense affair. Ingoldo practiced indifference towards them all, ignoring his son and everyone else. He might have been dining alone, and Ingwë thoroughly wished that he was. He had contemplated having a private chat with his brother but the ellon’s present attitude was too grating and he decided to have it out there before the rest of the family.

"I received some disturbing reports about you while I was away, Brother," he said during a lull in the conversation which had been muted and somewhat listless. Everyone froze except Ingoldo, who nonchalantly took a sip from his goblet.

"Reports written by your spies," Ingoldo said dismissively, casting a dark look towards Valandur, who merely shrugged, giving him a smile that did not reach his eyes. Then Ingoldo’s gaze landed on the twins, who paled, giving their atar nervous looks.

"Reports from some of my other councillors," Ingwë said mildly. "I resent you attempting to undermine my authority and the authority of my duly appointed regents."

"Children," Ingoldo retorted with a sneer.

"They have not been children for a very long while," Ingwë replied. "I was well pleased by how they and their sister handled themselves during my absence, as were the Valar. I have heard no complaints by anyone about their conduct. You, on the other hand...." He shook his head. "Well, all I can say is that I’m disappointed in you, Ingoldo, you and Tinwetariel both. Your conduct has been less than sterling, both of you going off in a huff. I understand that Intarion and Findaráto had to take over the trade negotiations that you and Tinwetariel were supposed to deal with."

Ingoldo shrugged. "It is not our fault that Herucalmo ran off to join Finwë and Fëanáro in exile," he countered, naming the Noldorin negotiator.

"Hmmm... yes," Ingwë said, giving his brother a piercing look. "I find it curious though that these two ‘children’ as you would call them, were able to do in a few short weeks what you, Tinwetariel and Herucalmo were unable to do in all the time you spent on it. In fact, it seems to me that the three of you spent more time imbibing wine and taking your ease than actually negotiating."

To that Ingoldo had no answer, merely glowering at his plate.

"And your intransigence towards Intarion’s betrothal has gone far enough," Ingwë continued, his tone turning cold. Ingoldo gave his brother a wary look. "Your son is to marry soon whether you want him to or not. We do not care what reasons you have for disliking his betrothed or her family. Nolondur is an esteemed lord of the realm and your refusal to treat him with proper respect does not please Us." The shift in pronoun was telling and Ingoldo paled.

"We have sent word to Tinwetariel to return to Vanyamar," Ingwë said after a slight pause to allow Ingoldo time to reflect on his words. "When she does, and the Valar help her if she disobeys Us, you will both publicly address Our Court, giving your blessing for your son’s upcoming wedding."

"Now see here, Ingwë!" Ingoldo exclaimed.

"No!" Ingwë shouted, pounding a fist on the table. Everyone started and Elindis shot her husband a disapproving look which he ignored, his attention solely on Ingoldo. "You see here. I have had enough of this. Your attitude is unbecoming of a member of this family and I will not allow it to continue. The only ‘children’ I’ve seen lately have been you and your wife, both of you sulking like ten-year-olds who have been denied a sweet by their elders. You are an embarrassment to me personally and if you continue in this manner I will remove you from the Privy Council and exile you to some place where you and your wife can sulk to your heart’s content. Do I make myself clear?"

The silence was profound and no one dared to break it. Finally, Ingoldo gave a single nod of his head. Ingwë let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. "You have Our leave to retire, Brother," he said stonily, refusing to look at anyone. A moment later, Ingoldo rose from the table, filling his goblet to the brim with wine and stalking off, slamming the door behind him.

"You’ve made yourself an enemy, Ingwë," Valandur said quietly after several tense moments of silence when everyone pretended to be eating.

Ingwë snorted. "Ingoldo has ever resented the fact that Lord Oromë chose me to be the ambassador for the Vanyar over him."

"And thereby becoming our king," Valandur said, nodding.

"Yes," Ingwë replied. "Though, mind you, I did not think I was the right ellon to act as an ambassador. In fact, I was rather appalled that Lord Oromë chose me over everyone else. I always thought that there were others who would have been better choices."

"Including Ingoldo?" Findaráto asked, his expression shrewd.

Ingwë actually chuckled. "No, not including my brother."

"The Valar see further into our fëar than we," Elindis said serenely. "I was so proud of you when you were chosen." The absolute sincerity and love that radiated from her was unmistakable.

Ingwë found himself blushing for no particular reason. "I hated leaving you behind," he said, his eyes dark with memories of a time so far in the distant past that the younger Elves could scarcely conceive of it.

"Getting back to Ingoldo," Valandur started to say but Findis interrupted.

"Must we?" she complained. "Dinner is ruined enough without making it worse."

"Forgive me, all of you," Ingwë said with some chagrin. "I did not originally plan to have this discussion with my brother in your presence."

"It’s as well that you did, Atto," Indil said. "Uncle Ingoldo and Aunt Tinwetariel made our lives miserable while you and Ammë were gone. And the way they treated poor Intarion...."

"I’m sorry to be the center of contention," Intarion said, looking embarrassed.

Ingwë raised an eyebrow in surprise. "My dear child," he said with all sincerity, "none of this is your fault. Do not even think to blame yourself for your parents’ intransigence. Elindis and I are very proud of you and we both look forward to the wedding. Lirulin is a lovely elleth and we are very pleased to have her as a part of our family."

"Your uncle is correct, dear," Elindis said with a kind smile. "Indeed, we have often thought of you as another son, rather than our nephew, and we welcome Lirulin as our other daughter."

"Thank you, both of you," Intarion said, looking suddenly shy. "I must confess that there have been times when I wished that you were my parents in truth."

There was an uncomfortable silence after that, for no one was quite sure how to respond to the ellon’s words. Finally, though, Findaráto spoke up, his expression sly. "So, does that mean if I stick around long enough, you’ll start thinking of me as another son as well?"

"Only if we continue feeding you," Ingwion retorted, sticking out his tongue at his cousin. Findaráto threw back his head in laughter and the others joined in, glad to find a release from all the negative emotions of the last hour.

****

Tinwetariel returned three days later with her entourage. Ingwë summoned her to his study before she had time to greet anyone or even unpack. Fifteen minutes later, she left the study, her expression stony, her fury barely contained. Servants and guards seeing her storm down the hall suddenly found reasons to be elsewhere, and those who were unfortunate not to escape in time became very busy, studiously not looking her way, afraid of catching the lady’s eye. In her fury, though, it’s doubtful Tinwetariel was even aware of them.

Two days later, Ingoldo and Tinwetariel made an appearance at Ingwë’s Court, both formally dressed, as was only proper. They stood to one side of the throne dais, ignoring the proceedings. Their son, Intarion, was also there, along with Lirulin. Ingwë had issued an invitation to Lirulin’s family to attend the Court, but only Lirulin came, giving the High King an excuse for her parents’ absence.

"Atar is still in the Southern Fiefdoms, lord," she told him before Court convened, "and Ammë decided to join him once I returned, else I know they would have come, and my brother is tending to an ill horse at the moment."

"I am aware of Telemnar’s duties, child," Ingwë said kindly. "Well, it is enough that you are here today."

Other matters were addressed before the Court ere Ingwë got around to Ingoldo and Tinwetariel. He gave them a steady stare, his expression unreadable to the courtiers and spectators, as he spoke. "Our brother has something he wishes to say before We dismiss this Court."

Ingoldo grimaced slightly and took a step forward. When he spoke, he kept his voice carefully neutral. "It has come to my attention that some people might think that my wife and I are not in favor of our son Intarion’s recent betrothal to Lady Lirulin Nolonduriel. Nothing is further from the truth. In fact, we welcome Lirulin into our family and offer our blessing for their union."

He then gestured for Intarion and Lirulin to approach. Intarion’s expression was unreadable; Lirulin’s was wary. Tinwetariel also stepped forward to stand beside her husband. Ingoldo took Intarion’s hand and placed it in Lirulin’s. "Intarion, Lirulin, may your union be blessed by the Valar as it is blessed by your amillë and me," he said, giving them both a kiss of benediction on the brow. Tinwetariel then kissed them as well.

"Welcome to the family, my daughter," she said, though there was no warmth in her voice.

Findaráto, standing on the other side of the throne dais in the midst of his cousins, watched the reactions of the courtiers and spectators to what was happening and suspected that they no more believed Ingoldo’s words than Ingoldo did. But that was not the point, he reflected wryly. Ingwë forcing Ingoldo and Tinwetariel to give their blessing to Intarion and Lirulin in such a public venue made their blessing, however insincerely given, a matter of record.

Ingwë then stepped down from his throne and Elindis joined him as he addressed the Court. "And We, too, offer Our most sincere blessing for Intarion and Lirulin. May you know only joy, my children," he said with a smile for them both as he gave them his own kiss of benediction. Elindis followed suit, smiling warmly on the couple, a complete contrast to Ingoldo and Tinwetariel’s actions. Intarion and Lirulin murmured shy thanks and then with a nod from Ingwë the Chamberlain stepped forward, announcing that the Court was over. Ingwë and Elindis then moved so that Intarion and Lirulin were between them when they processed out of the audience chamber with their children and Findaráto coming behind them. Ingoldo and Tinwetariel, however, did not join the royal family. Instead, Ingoldo grabbed his wife and stalked off to the side, exiting through another door that led directly towards their apartments.

No one seemed to notice or to care.

****

Ingwë led the family to the main sitting room overlooking one of the many gardens surrounding the royal residence. He and Elindis immediately began divesting themselves of their regalia with the help of servants while the rest of them found seats.

"You know they didn’t mean it," Intarion offered with a sigh.

"Of course they didn’t," Findaráto said as he lounged in a chair, accepting a goblet of wine from one of the other servants. "And I rather doubt that anyone was fooled by it."

Ingwë nodded his thanks to the servants and quietly dismissed them before addressing Intarion. "Whether they meant it or not, their blessing of your betrothal is now a matter of record. There will be no way for them to deny it."

"Forcing their hand that way, though," Intarion said, "will only make matters worse for Lirulin and me, I fear."

"What are your plans after the wedding?" Elindis asked gently.

"That is something I... we need to discuss," Intarion replied. "Nolondur has asked me to join him in his mercantile ventures, seeing as how Telemnar has chosen a different calling."

"And do you want to?" Ingwë asked, giving the ellon a shrewd look.

Intarion nodded. "But only with your approval, Uncle," he said. "I know you had other plans...."

Ingwë raised a hand. "Plans that are only that... plans. It is your happiness that is important here. You have my blessing whichever path you choose. As it is, I’ve been trying for years to get Nolondur to return to Court. I have always valued his insights. When Tamurilon’s atar left to become a student of Lady Yavanna, I found I missed Nolondur’s wisdom even more. Perhaps we can make an even trade, you for Nolondur." He gave Intarion and Lirulin a wicked grin and everyone chuckled.

"Atar has been hoping Intarion would join him in his business," Lirulin said shyly.

"Then I think it’s a fine idea," Ingwë said. "It will be nice to have someone in the family engaged in the wine business."

"Oh? Why is that?" Findaráto couldn’t help asking.

Ingwë gave him a sniff. "Why, because it means I will finally get a family discount. Nolondur always makes me pay full price for his wares, High King or not."

That set everyone laughing.

"I think Atar would make even the Elder King pay full price," Lirulin commented between giggles. "He thinks very highly of his wines."

"As well he should," Ingwë said with a fond smile. "At any rate, we will worry about all that later. Right now we should just be concentrating on the wedding."

"And Ingoldo?" Valandur asked. He and Findis, of course, had attended Court with everyone else, but until now he had kept his thoughts to himself. "He’s dangerous, Ingwë."

Ingwë raised an eyebrow at Valandur’s words. "Dangerous? I don’t see how. At the moment, he’s angry."

"And that anger can turn towards hatred," Valandur said. "I would keep a wary eye on your brother if I were you, Uncle. Ingoldo may have been thwarted for now, but he strikes me as one who always has contingency plans already in place." He shook his head in disgust. "Melkor spent most of his time with the Noldor, currying their favor, but that is not to say that he did not try to do the same with the Vanyar."

"We rejected his offers," Ingwë said, "even as Olwë did."

Valandur nodded. "True, but it was you and Olwë who rejected him. That is not to say that individuals did not. When Indis married Finwë there was a greater degree of interaction between our two clans. I’m afraid that some of Melkor’s insinuations found fertile ground among some of your subjects, especially those who are most in contact with the Noldor. Ingoldo is one of them, I deem."

"Hmmm... well, as to that, there is no proof either way," Ingwë said, frowning slightly. "But I take your meaning and I agree. However, unless and until Ingoldo does something in outright defiance of Us, there is little We can do."

"And therein lies the problem," Valandur said, nodding in agreement.

"Would you want it to be otherwise, my friend?" Ingwë asked, giving his loremaster a shrewd look.

Valandur shook his head. "Unfortunately for us all, no."

"Then, let us put Ingoldo aside for the nonce," Elindis suggested quietly. "He and Tinwetariel are a problem for another time. Let us simply enjoy this day. In fact, you ellyn may run along and amuse yourselves as you will, while Indil, Findis and Lirulin fill me in on the details of their plans for the wedding."

There were good-natured groans from the younger ellyn and grins from Ingwë and Valandur, but no one disputed Elindis’ suggestion. In fact, Ingwë made a suggestion of his own. "Why don’t we superfluous ellyn go hawking and leave the ladies to their own devices?"

That met with general approval from the ellyn and in a short while the High King was seen riding out of the southern gate of the city accompanied by his sons, Intarion, Findaráto, Valandur and an equal number of guards, hawks in hand.

24: A Conspiracy Is Formed

The weeks came and went and everything seemed to settle down. Ingoldo and Tinwetariel resumed their usual duties, though they kept mostly to themselves when propriety allowed. Ingwë kept a wary eye on them both but otherwise gave no indication that anything was amiss between himself and his brother, speaking to him civilly whenever they were together. The twins, Indil and Intarion continued along as they had before. Their duties were somewhat curtailed now that Ingwë and Elindis were back, but Valandur took the twins in hand, stating that he wished to teach them further the art of oration and rhetoric, asking Findaráto to help him.

"You are both princes of Eldamar and must act sometimes in your parents’ stead," the loremaster told them."Thus, it behooves you to know how to use persuasive speech to good effect. Findaráto has a natural bent for it and between us I’m sure we can hone your own abilities to the fullest. I have the feeling that the unrest that has surfaced since Fëanáro’s trial will only worsen unless we are able to calm it. Your atar cannot be everywhere at once, so you need to help him when you can, using effective arguments to still any disquiet that might arise among our people."

Ingwion was willing enough to learn from Valandur and Findaráto but Ingalaurë was more reluctant. "What could Findaráto, who is so much younger than the rest of us, teach Ingwi and me that we don’t already know?" he demanded.

Findaráto, who was in on the conversation, smirked. "I convinced you to keep me here for as long as I wished, did I not?"

Both twins gave him a puzzled look. "You said you would stay as long as we fed you," Ingalaurë said. "I don’t recall you having to convince us...."

"That’s the point, though," Findaráto said. "You asked me how long I intended to stay. I could have given you an actual date on which I would leave, say, the day after Intarion and Lirulin’s wedding, or a yén from now. Instead, I said, ‘for as long as you feed me’. Are you going to deny me sustenance?"

The twins shook their heads. "That’s silly," Ingwion said. "Why would we deny anyone food?"

"And therein lies the subtle beauty of my reply to your question of how long I intended to stay," Findaráto said. "You would not deny me food however much you might wish to do so just to get rid of me and as long as you fed me...." He gave them an elegant shrug and a merry smile.

Valandur laughed. "When I heard what you had told them upon your arrival I wondered how long it would take anyone to realize how clever your response was, Nephew."

Findaráto bowed; Ingwion and Ingalaurë exchanged rueful looks. "Ammë," they said almost as one. When Valandur gave them an enquiring look, Ingwion explained. "When Ammë returned she asked Findaráto the same question and received the same answer."

"And her response?" the loremaster asked.

"She just laughed and said something about informing the cooks to bar Findaráto from the kitchens as soon as we grew weary of his presence," Ingwion replied with a shrug.

Valandur smiled. "Your amillë is very clever and little gets by her," he said. Then his expression became more sober. "You see how your cousin was able to manipulate you without you even being aware of what he was doing?" The twins both nodded, Ingalaurë more reluctantly than Ingwion, giving Findaráto a glower, while Findaráto smiled amiably.

"Then I think you can agree that he will be helpful in teaching you the more subtle aspects of rhetoric and persuasive speech," Valandur continued. "Fëanáro is considered the most gifted in that regard, and I suspect that Findaráto learned from him."

Findaráto nodded. "Yes, I did, though there is little love between us," he said. "Still, I recognized his talents and studied them and adapted them to my own style. You know the Valar wish for me to speak out against the unrest among the Noldor when I return to Tirion. They recognize my own talents of persuasion."

"And will you do as they have asked?" Ingwion enquired.

Findaráto gave a shrug. "I have yet to decide either way and as I will not be returning to Tirion until after the wedding, I will not make a decision until then."

"In the meantime," Valandur said briskly, "why don’t we begin our lessons?" The others nodded. "Good. So let us begin by examining Findaráto’s answer to your question about how long he would be staying in Vanyamar. What was your immediate reaction to his words ‘for as long as you feed me’?"

Ingwion and Ingalaurë exchanged considering looks before Ingwion answered. "Well, I think my first reaction was ‘I had better check with the cooks to make sure we had enough provender to last for all the ages of Arda’."

Findaráto barked a laugh at that. "Just the reaction I was looking for," he said and soon the others were laughing as well.

****

A few days later, the children of Ingwë and Elindis, along with Findaráto, Intarion, Lirulin, Tamurilon and Amarië foregathered in the main sitting room of the royal apartments at the request of the High King. Amarië was somewhat reluctant to come when Findaráto told her, for she was still unsure of her feelings towards him or their relationship and sometimes felt like an outsider when with the others, but he convinced her that she should attend the meeting.

"It’s not really a summons," he said to her, "but neither is it simply an invitation, one that you can politely decline. Besides, I would like for you to be there."

"Do you know why the king wishes for me to be there?" she asked.

Findaráto shook his head. "Not just you, but all of us," he answered, naming the others who would be there. "I have my suspicions as to why he has called us all together," he said at the end, "but Íd rather let the High King speak for himself."

And so she accompanied him to the meeting, giving everyone a shy greeting. All welcomed her warmly, Lirulin and Indil especially, insisting she sit with them while Findaráto joined his cousins and Tamurilon. Neither Ingwë nor Elindis were there as yet and the younger Elves spoke quietly among themselves, wondering about the purpose of the summons, but none of them had an answer.

A few minutes after Findaráto and Amarië arrived, Ingwë and Elindis entered the room, followed by Valandur and Findis, which surprised them all. Ingwë gave them a smile as they all rose and gave him and Elindis their obeisance.

"Please be seated, children," he said as he and the others took their own seats.

"Why are we all here, Atar?" Ingwion asked. "Has something happened?"

Ingwë shook his head. "No, Ingwion, nothing has happened... yet." He paused, allowing the implication of his words to sink in. "I have decided to formally summon my... um... Secret Council."

All of them started at that. "How did....?" Indil started to ask.

The older Elves all laughed lightly at the stunned looks on their faces, though Findaráto’s expression was more bemused and Amarië’s was simply one of confusion. "You can blame Valandur," Ingwë said.

When the younger Elves gave the loremaster enquiring looks, he merely smiled. "Someone overheard you speaking in the knotwork garden some weeks ago before Findaráto arrived."

"Someone?" Ingwion asked. "Who?"

"Not important," Valandur replied. "When your atar made me his chief loremaster, I also became his spymaster."

There were stunned expressions on all their faces, though Findaráto only nodded, his expression more considering. "You’re spying on us?" Indil demanded and she was not the only one looking appalled and affronted.

"No, child," Ingwë assured her. "Valandur has a quirky sense of humor, I’m afraid." He gave the ellon a measuring look before turning his attention back to the others. "No one is spying on any of you, least of all Valandur."

"My task is to gather information about the realm, to gauge the temper of the people and to let the king know what he should know in order to rule more effectively," Valandur explained. "As such, it behooves me to cultivate the friendship of others and ask them to pass along any interesting tidbits they might come across in the course of their days. Such a person was in the garden, though you were unaware of them. They were not intentionally spying on you; they just happened to be there when you spoke about being the High King’s Secret Council. This person thought it important enough to tell me about it and I in turn told Ingwë when he returned from Tirion."

Ingwë smiled at them all. "I was rather amused when I was told," he said, "for, in truth, that is how I have always thought of you all."

"Well, you couldn’t think of me as part of your Secret Council, Uncle," Findaráto said with a wry smile, "or Amarië."

"I really shouldn’t be here," Amarië said, looking somewhat distressed, but Ingwë waved a hand in dismissal.

"Both of you are here because I wish you to be. I have great respect for Findaráto’s mind and Amarië, I know you and my great nephew have renewed your relationship and I would not wish to have something like this come between the two of you."

Amarië nodded, looking less distressed and Findaráto gave her a warm, encouraging smile.

"So, why have you summoned us, Atar?" Ingwion asked. "Do you wish for us to be your spies, as well?"

"No," Ingwë said decisively. "I want to discuss how we can allay the tensions that are cropping up here in Vanyamar. Valandur has noticed an increase in unrest among the populace since Fëanáro’s trial and I think we need to address it."

"At the trial," Intarion said, speaking slowly, as if to better marshal his thoughts in some coherent order, "it seemed to me as if the Valar were actually taken by surprise by Fëanáro’s accusations."

Findaráto nodded. "Odd that, considering that they seemed to be aware of the secret forges that have sprung up among the Noldor. Why were they surprised by the one but not the other?"

"You would think that with their Maiar walking unclad among us that they would be aware of all that went on in Eldamar," Intarion said.

"Yet, if you go by that assumption," Ingwë pointed out, "then Fëanáro’s accusations would have credence."

"What do you mean, Uncle?" Findis asked.

"He means that if the Valar truly had their Maiar spying on us then we would indeed be justified in believing ourselves their thralls," Valandur answered.

"Valandur is correct," Ingwë said with a nod.

"Yet, how do we know that is not the case?" Ingalaurë asked. "We would never know if any of the Maiar were lurking about, reporting our every move and word to the Valar." He cast a suspicious look about the room as if he were able to spy out any lurking Maiar. Some of the others were doing the same. The older Elves chuckled at their antics.

"Except, as Intarion pointed out, they were taken by surprise by Fëanáro’s accusations against them," Ingwë said. "That alone proves, to my mind, that they do not have their Maiar spying on us. Oh, I have no doubt that the Maiar, passing through Eldamar on business of their own, will notice things being done or said and will report such things to the Valar if they deem it important enough, but I do not think they are deliberately going around peeking into every corner and behind every closed door. Since we came here, the Valar have left us to ourselves, offering their counsel and aid whenever we have asked for it, but otherwise they have not interfered with our lives in any way."

The others sat in silence, mulling over Ingwë’s words for several moments. Then Elindis turned to her husband and spoke. "Perhaps, dear, you should tell them what we wish from them."

Ingwë nodded. "As I said, I wish to address the growing unrest among our people. Valandur pointed out to me that since my sister’s marriage to Finwë, there has been greater commerce between our two peoples, more so than when I first brought the Vanyar here below Taniquetil. That being said, it stands to reason that some of the Vanyar may well be sympathetic towards Fëanáro, or at any rate, towards the Noldor who are his followers. I told your uncle, Findaráto, that I am not sure that all those in sympathy with Fëanáro went into exile with him."

"You think some remained behind?" Findaráto asked, frowning in thought.

"Yes," Ingwë answered. "And I have reason to believe that they are in communication, not only with those in Formenos, but also with their sympathizers here in Vanyamar."

They all looked at him in surprise. "How can they be in communication with those in Formenos?" demanded Tamurilon. "Surely the Maiar who guard...."

"Ah... as to that, let me tell you what I discovered when I went there," Ingwë said. He quickly described what he had seen when he went to Formenos and the discussion he had had with Ramandur. "That was the flaw in the set-up there," he concluded. "I do not know if the Valar will correct the situation or even if they can. Certainly, it did not seem to have occurred to the Maia with whom I spoke that someone who wished to speak to anyone within the valley could do so without any of the Maiar being the wiser."

"You mentioned sympathizers in Vanyamar," Findaráto said, giving his uncle a shrewd look. "Do you have anyone specific in mind or are you just speaking in generalities?"

"For now, I prefer to speak in generalities," Ingwë said. "What suspicions I have are only that, suspicions. I have no proof that anyone in Vanyamar is involved, yet the unrest did not arise until after the trial. I think that there are some who felt the Valar’s judgment too harsh. Twelve years of exile is quite long, and with the Noldor divided between Tirion and Formenos, those twelve years may prove disastrous for any attempts at reconciliation between those who followed Finwë and Fëanáro into exile and those who have decided to remain in Tirion under Ñolofinwë’s regency."

Findaráto nodded. "So I have felt as well," he said, then sighed. "And knowing my Uncle Fëanáro as I do, I very much doubt these next twelve years will mellow him or make him any less haughty."

"It did not please many that he took with him the Silmarils, hiding them away," Valandur said. "Even those in sympathy with Fëanáro think he has become too possessive and the Silmarils should be enjoyed by all, not hidden away from all eyes but his."

"Certainly the Valar feel that way," Elindis said.

"Yet they do not demand that Fëanáro give over the Silmarils into their keeping," Amarië ventured.

"Which again speaks in their favor," Ingwë said, "and shows that Fëanáro’s accusations are baseless. If we were indeed their thralls than all that we have created for ourselves would rightly belong to them as our masters. Yet, this is patently untrue. The Valar will not interfere with our free will decisions, however wrong-headed they may think we are."

"So, what exactly do you want us to do?" Ingalaurë asked.

"Valandur and Findaráto tell me that you and Ingwion have been improving your oratory skills and your ability to argue effectively," Ingwë answered and the twins nodded. "And that’s all to the good, for I want you two in particular, but the rest of you generally, to begin, as you interact with others, to argue against any dissatisfaction and disaffection that may be uttered in your hearing."

"Assuming anyone will bother to speak their minds on the subject," Findaráto said. "Few, I imagine, will willingly speak their mind to those they perceive to be in authority or have the ear of those who are."

"Yet, all of you have friends and acquaintances," Elindis pointed out. "Lirulin and Amarië have their students and colleagues at the Academy and Intarion is already helping Lirulin’s parents with their winery. He is in contact with others who will pass the time of day speaking idly of this and that."

"And Tamurilon, even though he is a member of my Privy Council," Ingwë added, "is also friends with the sons of many of our nobles and I know he has cultivated those friendships in order to keep tabs on how our nobles feel about certain subjects." Tamurilon nodded. "I do not want any of you to do more than you already are in speaking with your friends or with people in general, but if the occasion arises that some speak their unrest, then you should counter them with words of calm and common sense. Go about your lives as you have, yet be more aware of what is going on around you. Report back to me or to Valandur anything of a disturbing nature and, when you can, be the voice of reason when others are speaking rashly."

The younger Elves looked at one another, each gauging the others’ reactions to the High King’s words. Finally, Ingwion turned to his atar. "I think we can do that," he said. "I also think it would be helpful if the others are given instruction in oratory and rhetoric. I know that I have learned much about how to speak persuasively from Valandur and Findaráto, and I think the others would benefit as well."

Ingwë gave Valandur and Findaráto a considering look. "What say you? Will you teach these others the fine art of debate?"

"Of course," Valandur said. "I would be happy to do so for anyone who wishes."

"As would I," Findaráto said. "In fact, I thought it rather odd that you only wanted the twins to hone this particular skill and not Indil or Intarion."

"I had my reasons for doing so," Ingwë replied, "but I have no objections to anyone else joining the classes."

"I know I would like to," Intarion said and Tamurilon nodded. The three ellith exchanged knowing looks.

"I don’t think we ellith need such lessons," Indil said with a slight smirk.

"Oh?" Ingalaurë asked, giving his sister a jaundiced look. "Why is that?"

"Because we already know how to convince others to think as we do," Lirulin replied with a laugh.

"Especially ellyn," Amarië added with a smile at Findaráto, who smiled back.

"They have a point, dear," Elindis said coyly.

Ingwë laughed. "In that case, perhaps I should have you three ellith conduct the classes instead," he said.

Indil wrinkled her nose. "I don’t think so, Atto." The other two ellith nodded in agreement and the younger ellyn breathed sighs of relief, which set the older Elves laughing.

The meeting ended not long after and the younger Elves gave the High King and Queen their fond farewells as they left. Valandur and Findis remained behind. For a while there was companionable silence between the four Elves as they sipped their wine, each lost in their own thoughts. Then, Valandur spoke. "We know that Ingoldo and Tinwetariel are part of the faction sowing unrest among the Vanyar," he said. "Why did you not mention them?"

"For Intarion’s sake," Ingwë said. "I did not wish to distress him with such news. He has enough to deal with as it is."

Valandur nodded. "It was a good idea to include Findaráto and Amarië in this little conspiracy of ours."

"Conspiracy?" Findis asked her husband, giving him a disbelieving look.

Valandur smiled. "We are conspiring to counteract the whisperings and innuendoes of those who would sow discord among us, so yes, we are a conspiracy, a conspiracy of right reason and common sense, a conspiracy of hope that the Valar’s Peace will prevail over all."

Ingwë nodded. "We are indeed a conspiracy, plotting ways to defeat the darkness that seems to have entered into our lives. Do not forget, we now know that Melkor is behind much of this unrest. We need to counteract his poison as best we may. Those youngsters who just left will be our secret weapon against Melkor’s lies."

"Findaráto worries me, though," Valandur said thoughtfully and the others gave him surprised looks.

"In what way?" Ingwë demanded. "Do you think his loyalties suspect?"

"No," Valandur answered. "At least not to you, but I have sensed an unease of his fëa, a certain amount of restlessness and discontent. I fear that some of Melkor’s words have found purchase within his young soul."

"Surely he does not believe us to be thralls of the Valar," Elindis exclaimed. "He has been quite respectful whenever we have visited the Valar. Indeed, I sensed no stiffness or disquiet when in their presence."

"No, you are correct there, Elindis," Valandur averred. "But he has been seen seeking out some of the oldest of us, those who remember the Great Migration, asking about details of what the Outer Lands are like."

Ingwë looked pensive. "When we were in Tirion, Arafinwë confided in me that Findaráto had actually wondered if the Valar had purposely brought us here so that the Secondborn could, and I quote, claim the lands that rightfully belong to us." There were several raised eyebrows at that and Ingwë nodded. "Arafinwë assured me that he corrected his son about this, pointing out that we willingly gave up all claims to the Outer Lands when we agreed to reside here in Aman."

"Do you think Findaráto has accepted my brother’s correction?" Findis asked with a frown.

"I do not know, dear," Ingwë said honestly enough. "I can only hope, for all our sakes, that he has dismissed Melkor’s lies, all of them."

"Yet, not all his words were lies," Valandur pointed out, "for the Valar did not deny the coming of these others, thus, it is conceivable that even someone like Findaráto may be deluded into thinking that there is some weight to Fëanáro’s words, however much he may dislike or even distrust his uncle personally."

There was a slight pause as the others thought about the implications of Valandur’s words, then Ingwë sighed. "It is too late to keep him out of our councils," he said, "nor do I truly wish to. He is a link to Tirion that may prove useful in the future. I trust in his loyalty to us as family, if nothing else. He may not actively engage in debate with others, but he has been willing to teach my sons, and now the others, how to counteract any voices of dissent with persuasive arguments for calm and right reason. That, for me, is a point in his favor."

"He’s very loyal to his cousins," Elindis said quietly. "He would do anything to help them, whatever his own feelings about certain matters may be."

"And there is Amarië to consider," Findis added. "She may be the key to assuaging his restlessness. If they were to become betrothed...."

She left the thought dangling in front of them and the others had thoughtful expressions on their faces. "Well," Ingwë said, "we can but hope that their relationship blossoms to the point where they declare themselves. It would be a good match."

"It would certainly make Almáriel happy," Findis said coyly, giving them a sly smile.

Ingwë laughed. "And when Almáriel is happy, we all are happy."

The others joined him in laughter and shortly thereafter Valandur and Findis gave the king and queen their wishes for a pleasant sleep before retiring themselves.

25: Consultations

Over the following weeks Ingwë kept a close eye on Ingoldo, or rather, he had Valandur do so. The loremaster was very discreet but also very thorough, yet in the end, there was no proof that anyone could find that suggested that Ingoldo might be in sympathy with the Exiles. Nor was there any evidence that he was in communication with those in Formenos.

"The absence of proof does not mean there isn’t any," Valandur told the High King after giving him his weekly report on the state of the kingdom. "Ingoldo is no fool and if he suspects that you are looking more closely into his affairs, he will make sure there is nothing to find."

Ingwë nodded, looking frustrated. "No doubt you are correct," he averred. "Yet, when I saw how Formenos was set up and realized the flaw in the Valar’s security measures, I just knew that Ingoldo was taking advantage of the situation for his own purposes."

"What would you do if you did have such proof?" Valandur asked, more out of curiosity than anything. He had no love for Ingoldo, but understood the conflicting dynamics which existed between the two brothers. If Ingwë had a blind spot, it was Ingoldo and his belief that his brother was not intent on taking the throne from him. Valandur was not so sure that Ingoldo did not have such designs.

Ingwë shrugged, looking a bit rueful. "To tell you the truth, I do not know. All I do know is that the Valar made a serious mistake permitting Finwë to accompany his son to Formenos. Indeed, I would go so far as to say that even Fëanáro’s sons should not have been allowed to accompany him. Exile is, after all, exile. Allowing all those people to go to Formenos has merely turned it into another Noldorin enclave. I dread to think what will become of the Noldor as a people after twelve years divided."

"A weighty thought," Valandur said. "and then there is the question of what effect this will have on the rest of us, for surely we cannot simply ignore what has happened and hope that Fëanáro will actually come to his senses and be reformed. We must plan for the possibility that he will be just as rebellious as ever and possibly drag the rest of us into his madness if we are not careful."

"Ñolofinwë is the one I feel sorriest for," Ingwë said. "He has been placed in an untenable position and I do not think he will weather the storm that may come."

"He may surprise you," Valandur said. "He is, after all, Indis’ son." He gave Ingwë a knowing grin and the High King chuckled in acknowledgment.

"He is that," Ingwë averred and then the subject of Fëanáro and the Noldor was put aside for the moment to discuss other more important matters concerning the well-being of the Vanyar.

*****

As the wedding day came ever closer there was a flurry of activity as the preparations went apace. The royal family split into two groups, those not directly involved with the planning and those who were. Those not involved did their level best to stay out of the way of those who were, and the sense of relief was mutual for both groups. Findaráto was one of those not directly involved with the wedding plans and spent much of his time at his studies when he was not with Amarië, though those times were becoming rarer as she became more involved with the wedding plans herself. A number of times he traveled to Valmar to consult with Aulë, who welcomed him warmly.

"And how are your studies in crystallography coming along?" the Vala asked when Findaráto visited him some time after Ingwë’s return from Tirion.

"Well enough," Findaráto replied, "though I am somewhat frustrated."

"Tell me," Aulë said solicitously as he led the ellon from the antechamber where he had met him and took him to an inner courtyard where they sat under an elm tree. Aulë offered Findaráto some wine which the ellon accepted.

"I am convinced that certain gemstones contain an inner fire which, if it can be harnessed, could be used as energy sources."

"Any gems in particular?" Aulë asked.

Findaráto nodded. "Diamonds possibly and rubies. I have been examining the structure of different gems, whether found in the earth or created by us, and for some reason I keep returning to rubies, yet I cannot see the reason."

Aulë sat in contemplation for a moment or two, stroking his golden-red beard. "While the Noldor have been very good in creating certain kinds of gems — your Uncle Fëanáro excels in that art — not all of the gems and minerals were created by you. Rubies and diamonds are two that were created by us, or more specifically, by me."

"Do you know why I feel so drawn to studying rubies?" Findaráto asked respectfully.

"Possibly," Aulë admitted. "While diamonds are perhaps the hardest of the gemstones, rubies are by far the most powerful."

"How....?"

Aulë shook his head. "That is for you to discover, if you can," the Vala replied. "All I will say is that for any gem to be used as a power source it cannot be combined with other gems."

"So whatever energy is created would be monochromatic," Findaráto said with a nod.

"More than that, the energy must be tapped in such a way that the light which emanates from the gem is also coherent."

"Coherent? How do you mean?" Findaráto gave the Vala a puzzled look.

"Ah... now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?" Aulë answered with a laugh and refused to say anything more about it. "So, how are the wedding plans coming along?" he asked, changing the subject.

Findaráto grinned. "I only know that I am not involved and I have learned not to ask."

Aulë laughed again. "It is probably just as well. We Valar are a little less formal about such things," he added, "but we have enjoyed watching the Eldar develop their own ceremonies and traditions, though admittedly, some of them seem a bit convoluted."

"You must find us rather... young," Findaráto said somewhat shyly.

"And you are, in comparison to us," Aulë said solemnly. "You cannot comprehend the ages uncounted and forgotten that passed from the time we entered Eä until Arda itself was formed and then the long ages after before the Elves awoke at Cuiviénen. Although it has been many yéni since, you are still young in many ways and we delight in watching you discover the world around you."

"Which is why you won’t tell me what you mean by ‘coherent light’, isn’t it?" Findaráto asked with a wry smile.

"Exactly," Aulë replied with a wide grin. "It is better if you find the answers yourself rather than expecting us to give them to you."

For a moment or two silence fell between them as Findaráto contemplated the Vala’s words. Aulë, for his part, gave the ellon a shrewd look. "Have you thought more of what was discussed with Lord Manwë?"

Findaráto shook his head. "Not really. I promised myself that I would consider his request after the wedding. My family will be attending and I plan to discuss it with them and get their opinions. Frankly, though, I really do not know what Lord Manwë expects from me. Whatever my powers of persuasion, I am the least of the House of Finwë. I have no official standing either in my anatar’s court or in my uncle’s. I have no real authority. People are not going to listen to me."

"You underestimate yourself, child," Aulë said quietly. "You have a charm and charisma that is second to none, save perhaps Fëanáro. Your approach is less argumentative and more conciliatory, and so people are not immediately put on their guard around you. That is one of your strengths, whether you are aware of it or not."

"Still... I’m only one ellon," Findaráto protested.

"So is Fëanáro," Aulë pointed out and left it at that. "At any rate, continue your studies. I will be interested to see what you come up with." And then the meeting was over and Findaráto made his obeisance, allowing himself to be escorted from the mansion by Aulë’s Chief Maia, Auros.

He made his way onto the Landamallë Valion and on an impulse, turned right to walk down the avenue until he reached the Mindon Nyellion. The bells were softly ringing, but it was nearing the hour of the Second Mingling and Findaráto stood before the fountain in which the tower stood and watched in wonder as the bells all went silent, leaving just the music of the waters to be heard. Only when the bells resumed their play as the light of Laurelin continued to wax and Telperion’s light began to wane, did he resume his walk. He passed the mansion of Lord Námo and Lady Vairë, hardly giving it a glance, continuing on towards the western gate of silver and emerald that led to the Ezellohar and, beyond that, the Máhanaxar. He paused in awe at the sight of the Two Trees, staying well away from the mound and the vast pools of liquid light that surrounded it. They never ceased to amaze him and the story of their creation had been one of his favorites as an elfling. He remembered with a chuckle how he had constantly begged his parents to tell it to him again and again.

After a few moments in contemplation, he gave the Trees a deep reverence and then continued on to the Máhanaxar. He was not sure what drew him to the place. Until his Uncle Fëanáro’s trial he had only been there once before as an elfling. His parents had brought him there to formally present their first-born and heir to the Valar as was the custom among the royal families of the Noldor and Vanyar. Normally, such presentation took place at the mansion of the Elder King and the Elentári in Valmar, but for some reason, he had been brought to the Ring of Doom instead. Apparently, the Valar were meeting that particular day in Council and so he stood before the throne of Lord Manwë surrounded by the other Valar and their Maiar attendants. It had been an unnerving experience for the young ellon and he remembered with chagrin how he had cried, overwhelmed by it all. Lord Manwë had smiled gently at him and before he knew it he was sitting on the Elder King’s knees playing with a ruby pendant which Lord Manwë had been wearing. He remembered how fascinated he had been by the play of light, happily ignoring the adults around him, unaware of the indulgent smiles of the Valar and Maiar.

He grinned as he saw himself in his mind’s eye as an elfling refusing to let go of the pendant once the audience was over. His atto and ammë had been mortified, but Lord Manwë had merely laughed and allowed him to keep it. He still had the pendant, for when his parents had attempted to return it to the Elder King sometime later, they were assured that it was a gift to their son, a gift that, as he grew older and understood the significance of who the gift-giver was, he had come to cherish more and more.

Now he stood between the thrones of the Elder King and his Spouse and gazed across the circle at Lord Námo’s throne, wondering at the strange emblem carved on the back of it. Then his eyes wandered around the circle until his gaze fell upon the throne of Lord Aulë. He sighed, turning his head to once again look upon the Elder King’s throne.

"What do you want of me?" he asked in a whisper, almost pleadingly, but no answer was forthcoming and after a while he turned and went back through the west gate, making his way to Eldamas and the inn where he would spend the night before returning to Vanyamar.

He never knew that all the while he was being watched.

****

"Do you think he will do as we have asked him?" Námo asked Aulë as the two incarnated, each standing by their thrones, watching the retreating figure of the first-born son of Arafinwë.

Aulë’s eyes narrowed. "Hard to tell," he answered. "He feels inadequate to the task, I deem. At least, that is the impression I got from listening to his protests."

"He’s the best of them, though," Námo said. "The sons of Ñolofinwë, while personable in their own ways, are not as adept in the art of debate as Findaráto. Certainly his two brothers are not and Artanis is too froward in her manner."

Aulë grinned. "She is a little spitfire, isn’t she?"

Námo shrugged. "Her amillë named her well, I deem."

The Worldsmith nodded. "Her need to constantly compete against her older brothers and cousins has made her brash and somewhat haughty, though admittedly, she does have reason to be. Surrounded as she is by her brothers and cousins, she feels she needs to be as good or better than they in all things. I understand Artanis has even taken up the art of forging swords." His expression became darker as he contemplated the thought of any elleth forging weapons of destruction.

"At any rate," Námo said, "Findaráto is probably the only one who can successfully convince his people to turn aside from their discontent."

"Yet, while speaking with him," Aulë said, "I detected a whisper of discontent in his fëa as well, though it is still inchoate and hidden from him. We need first to still the disquiet in his own fëa before we can convince him to do the same for others."

"Yet how?" Námo demanded. "He will not be convinced by any arguments put forth by us."

"True," Aulë conceded. "We need to encourage others to do so, people whose good opinion of him matters and whom he respects."

Námo gave Aulë a searching look. "Anyone in particular you have in mind?"

"He is very close to the twins, I noticed, Ingwion especially, for all that they are several yéni older than he," Aulë said. "They are already learning from him the fine art of rhetoric. Perhaps it is time for our young prince to have a lesson of his own."

"We cannot interfere...." Námo started to say, but Aulë just flashed him a grin.

"We are already interfering, asking Findaráto to be our messenger to his people," his brother Vala stated. "What I have in mind is not so much interference as guidance. As I told Findaráto, the Eldar are still very young and the young are always in need of guidance, are they not?"

Námo stared at Aulë for some minutes before nodding. "Why don’t we speak with Manwë about this? I am sure he must have ideas of his own."

Aulë nodded. "I was planning to."

"What exactly is the lesson you are thinking to give our young prince?" Námo asked out of curiosity.

Aulë laughed and gave his fellow Vala a wink. "Now that would be telling, Little Brother."

Námo rolled his eyes and shook his head even as the two of them thought themselves to where Manwë was.

****

They found the Elder King with Oromë and Tulkas, sitting by a mountain tarn whose dark waters reflected the stars. It lay north of Taniquetil and was totally inaccessible to any mirroanwë. The three looked up as Námo and Aulë made their presence known. Manwë smiled at them. "I was about to send for you but you anticipated me."

"What is the matter?" Aulë asked.

"Tulkas was just telling us that, according to his Maiar, Ingwë went to Formenos."

"Ingwë!" Námo exclaimed. "Why did he do that?"

"To speak with Finwë, apparently," Tulkas answered, "though my Maiar politely made themselves scarce and gave them their privacy, so I have no idea of what they spoke."

"We know that Ingwë is not happy with our decision to allow Finwë and any Noldor who wished to follow Fëanáro into exile," Oromë said.

Tulkas gave them a wry look."Ingwë told Cassantur and Ramandur, and I quote: ‘For all that Finwë has chosen to follow his son into exile, he is still Noldóran and as such I wish to consult with my fellow ruler on matters concerning the state of affairs among the Eldar.’"

"Hmmm... well, that is a logical reason for him wanting to consult with Finwë," Námo said.

"Well, that is not the only thing that came to light from Ingwë’s meeting with Finwë," Manwë said. "It appears that Ingwë found a possible flaw in our security measures for Formenos." Aulë and Námo gave Manwë looks of surprise, but it was Tulkas who described the conversation that had occurred between Ramandur and Ingwë.

"We never thought that someone would actually attempt to communicate with those in Formenos," Námo averred. "That barrier is more for the sake of the elflings, to prevent them from wandering away and getting lost in the surrounding wilderness."

"Is there any proof, though, that such has actually happened?" Aulë asked.

"None," Manwë answered, "merely suspicions on Ingwë’s part. I believe that he thinks that his brother, Ingoldo, may be in communication with someone at Formenos."

Several eyebrows went up. "Ingoldo has always resented not being chosen as ambassador for the Vanyar," Oromë said.

"Was there any particular reason why you chose Ingwë over Ingoldo?" Námo asked. "In truth, I cannot imagine anyone leading the Vanyar other than Ingwë."

Oromë shrugged. "At the time, I followed the urging of my heart. There were several of the Children in each of the clans that I could have chosen, yet in the end I chose as I did."

"Or as Atar willed," Manwë added.

Oromë shrugged again. "It comes down to the same thing, as far as I am concerned."

"On the off chance that what Ingwë suspects is true," Námo said, "what should we do about it?"

"If such has happened, the damage is already done," Tulkas pointed out.

"Yet, it might be wise to make sure that it does not happen again," Námo insisted.

Manwë nodded. "Have your Maiar take shifts standing guard at Formenos itself, with the watches coinciding with the Minglings of the Trees. Make sure they remain unclad. Let us see what transpires."

They all nodded in agreement and Oromë said he would have his Maiar take the first two watches. Then Manwë turned to Aulë and Námo.

"You did not seek me out to discuss this particular matter," he said and the two Valar shook their heads.

"Actually, we came to discuss a matter concerning Findaráto," Námo explained.

"And what matter is that?" Manwë enquired mildly.

"Aulë thinks our princeling needs a lesson," Námo replied.

"Oh?" Manwë said. "Any lesson in particular?"

"I wouldn’t know," Námo said with a shrug. Then he turned to Aulë. "So, are you going to tell us or do we have to guess?"

Aulë barked a laugh and playfully swatted at Námo, who ducked, giving him a grin. Then the Smith of Arda proceeded to tell them his idea.

****

Mirroanwë: An incarnate as opposed to the Ainur who are spiritual creations.

Note: For those who may be scientifically-challenged, Aulë and Findaráto are discussing the properties of what we would call a laser, the earliest of which were powered by rubies, and which is defined as ‘a device that produces a nearly parallel, nearly monochromatic, and coherent beam of light by exciting atoms to a higher energy level and causing them to radiate their energy in phase’. The ruby is traditionally considered to be the most powerful gem in the universe.

26: Lessons for a Noldorin Prince

Findaráto was, of course, unaware of the plans the Valar were making for him. He continued his studies, determined to figure out what Lord Aulë had meant by ‘coherent light’. He also continued to help Valandur teach his cousins the finer points of debate, though, in truth, there was little more that he could teach them and they spent their time sitting with the loremaster and simply talking about their hopes and dreams for the future.

"What will you do when you return to Tirion?" Ingalaurë asked Findaráto at one point. "Will you take a position at the Academy?"

Findaráto shook his head. "Most unlikely," he replied, "though I intend to continue consulting with the loremasters there as I continue pursuing my own studies. With Anatar gone from Tirion, Atar is now helping my uncle with the running of the kingdom and I promised that once I returned, I would help in that regard as well."

"Doing what?" Ingwion asked.

Findaráto shrugged. "Whatever is required of me. My uncle has recruited everyone in the family to help him. Many of the government offices are bereft of leadership now so my cousins and my siblings are filling in for the time being until Uncle decides whether to appoint new heads or not."

"When the twelve years is up, I think those returning will find it difficult to resume their original posts if others have taken them over," Valandur stated. "There will be much conflict and resentment on both sides, I deem."

Findaráto nodded. "My atar has even suggested that instead of Uncle Ñolofinwë appointing new heads of departments that we just continue heading the offices ourselves until Anatar returns. I will be happy enough to relinquish my post when that day arrives and I think my siblings and my cousins are of like mind."

"That would certainly solve that particular problem," Valandur acknowledged, "yet, what of those who will be working under you? Will they not feel that they should be promoted and resent these appointments?"

"Frankly, from what I have seen, most of them are just relieved not to have to take over the positions left vacant by those who left," Findaráto replied. "They little like the idea of being promoted just so they could be demoted twelve years hence. Besides, Anatar is still Noldóran. Uncle Ñolofinwë is simply his regent and will not make any radical changes in the government’s structure just so they can be changed back again."

"Your uncle is in an unenviable position to be sure," Valandur said with a nod. Then he gave Findaráto a sly look. "So, do you know what post you will be filling when you return?"

Findaráto grinned. "With any luck, it’ll be the department in charge of keeping the butteries well stocked."

They all laughed at that.

****

Some days later, Findaráto was strolling through the streets of Vanyamar along with the twins. Ingwion and Ingalaurë had continued their habit of walking through the city and visiting with their people, asking after their families and listening to their stories. Findaráto had started to join them shortly after his arrival and the three soon became a familiar sight among the inhabitants of the city. They were traversing one of the larger market squares, idly stopping at one stall or another, chatting with the merchants and looking over their wares, though they had no real intention of buying anything. At one point they were sitting outside a tavern that was situated at one end of the square enjoying some wine and watching people go by. There were other patrons also sitting at tables nearby eating and drinking.

At one such table there were three ellyn with goblets of wine or mead before them. They were speaking somewhat loudly and Findaráto, idly glancing their way, wondered if they weren’t a little drunk, for there were several empty bottles at their table. Their conversation seemed to center around something that one of them had overheard recently. Findaráto was not paying much attention until he heard the name Ingoldo spoken and noticed that both Ingwion and Ingalaurë were taking an interest in the conversation.

"...Ingoldo says that with the division among the Noldor, there will be fewer markets for our wares and that new trade agreement is next to worthless."

The other two ellyn scowled. "I was depending on selling my wool in Tirion as usual," one of them said, "but I’ve since learned that my best buyer is now in Formenos and I will be unable to sell to him."

The third ellon nodded glumly. "With fewer people in Tirion, the markets will be scarcer, but I thought the trade agreement was approved before the Noldor went into exile."

The second ellon shook his head. "Nay, for the Noldorin delegate himself went to Formenos before the agreement could be ratified."

The first ellon nodded. "So Lord Ingoldo informed me," he said. "He told me that his nephews appointed Lord Intarion and the Noldorin prince to resume trade talks, but I doubt if they came up with anything suitable. Neither have any knowledge of trade or the intricacies of hammering out an agreement."

"What about Alqualondë?" the third ellon asked the second. "Could you not open new markets there?"

The ellon shook his head. "That is a stable market. There will be no call among the Teleri for more than what they already require and the Southern Fiefdoms are more or less self-sufficient so there’s no use looking for new markets there."

"If we cannot sell our wares, what will happen to us and our families?" the third ellon demanded, sounding more scared than angry. "Do we starve because of the damned Noldor and their constant unrest? We Vanyar left Tirion because we sensed the growing restlessness among the Noldor and wanted nothing to do with it."

"Yet, with Finwë’s marriage to Ingwë’s sister," the first ellon pointed out, "we saw more commerce between the two cities and both have benefitted."

The second ellon sighed. "I sometimes wish the Valar had never given Finwë permission to remarry. He should have been content with the son he had instead of desiring other children. We might not be in this situation if he had remained constant."

The first ellon shook his head. "Might as well wish that we had never come to Aman in the first place but remained in the Outer Lands. It is as it is and there is nothing we can do to change it."

There was a pause and then the third ellon gave the other two a searching look. "Do you ever regret making the Journey? Do you ever think about what might have been our lives had we, too, refused the Valar’s invitation?"

Both ellyn shrugged. "Are you thinking about what Melkor is supposed to have said about these Aftercomers and how the Valar always meant for us to abide here so they could supplant us in the Outer Lands?" the second ellon asked. "Foolishness. Would you truly want to give up the Light of the Trees forever?"

The third ellon shook his head. "Nay, but still, you have to wonder, don’t you?"

"I suppose," the first ellon averred. "If only the Valar had left Melkor to rot in Mandos."

"Or if the Noldor had been intelligent enough to see through his lies and rejected his teachings," the second ellon retorted with a snort, then drained his cup, standing. "Well, I’m off. If there is not the usual market to be had in Tirion, I will have to think of other means to provide for myself and my family during the next twelve years. Why we Vanyar should suffer because of the stupidity of the Noldor I do not know, but apparently no one, not even the Valar, cares that we do."

The other two ellyn nodded. "Lord Ingoldo seems to have some ideas about that," the first ellon said. "At least, he so intimated when I spoke with him about the lack of markets. Perhaps we should go to him and find out what he thinks."

"Should we not go to Ingwë instead?" the third ellon asked. "He is, after all, the High King and it is his responsibility to see to our welfare."

"He was more interested in running off to Tirion to help Ñolofinwë than he was to see to our well being," the first ellon retorted.

"Yet, he has since returned," the second ellon pointed out. "I think it would be only fair to approach him first."

The first ellon shrugged. "Perhaps." Then he, too rose and the third ellon rose with him. "At any rate, I needs must be returning to my shop." With that the three ellyn bade one another farewell and each went his separate way.

For some time the three cousins sat in silence, digesting the conversation they had overheard. Ingwion was the first to speak. "Uncle Ingoldo is intimating that the trade agreement between Vanyamar and Tirion is invalid. Yet, Atar approved it and I have no doubt Ñolofinwë will as well."

Ingalaurë scowled and addressed Findaráto. "That trade agreement you and Intarion put together is far superior and more equable to both parties than the one our aunt and uncle were working on with Lord Herucalmo. I know because I read both agreements just to see how different they were. You and Intarion did a far better job than Uncle Ingoldo ever did."

Findaráto shrugged. "Perhaps, but the question is, will you tell Uncle Ingwë about what we’ve just overheard?"

"Do you think we should?" Ingwion asked.

"I think it behooves us to tell the High King anything that may affect the Eldar," Findaráto replied, speaking in a solemn tone. "After all, are we not his Secret Council?"

The twins nodded. "After dinner," Ingwion said. "We’ll tell him then."

Ingalaurë and Findaráto agreed and then they decided to resume their perambulation, but Findaráto walked beside the twins in silence, mulling over the words of the overheard conversation, wondering how far the unrest of the Noldor had truly spread to the other clans. As they were wending their way back towards the palace, they passed a stall where woven baskets were being sold. Even as Findaráto idly glanced at the wares, an argument began to break out between the stall owner and a Noldo. The Noldorin prince was surprised to see the ellon, his darker features standing out amidst all the golden tresses and fairer complexions of the Vanyar. Yet, he was aware of the fact that there were some Noldor who lived in Vanyamar and certainly there might be those visiting the city from time to time.

"What do you mean, three silver coins!" the Noldo was exclaiming to the stall owner. "It’s not worth one and you sold the exact same basket to an elleth for a half silver piece just a moment ago."

"But she is a Vanya," the stall owner said in a reasonable tone of voice, "and you are a Noldo."

"What does that have to do with anything?" the ellon demanded, looking confused.

The stall owner shrugged. "Only that you Noldor are nothing but trouble. I had a ready and inexpensive supply of wood strips for my baskets through my brother-in-law, a Noldo who married my sister, but when he went to Formenos, taking my sister with him, that supply dried up. Now I have to buy from someone else and for twice what I was paying my brother-in-law."

"But I have nothing to do with that!" the Noldo insisted. "Nor have I been involved in any of the trouble in Tirion. Indeed, I have not lived there in a very long time. I live in Eldamas."

The basketmaker shrugged. "It’s all the same to me. Three silvers and not a penny less. Take it or leave it, Noldo."

Findaráto and the twins had listened to the exchange with increasing dismay, but they did not immediately step in. By now, a sizeable crowd had gathered to listen to the argument. The Noldo looked around in frustration, hoping to see a sympathetic face, but most of the bystanders were Vanyar and seemed in agreement with the stall owner. The ellon grimaced and turned away, not willing to pay the price demanded. When Findaráto saw the smug look on the face of the stall owner, though, he became incensed at the injustice and the deliberate maliciousness on the part of the basketmaker.

"How dare you," he demanded, stepping forward, his eyes flashing with anger. "You are deliberately flouting the laws set by the High King. The ellon is correct. That basket isn’t worth more than a half silver piece, if that."

"Why do you defend him?" the stall owner asked, actually looking surprised. "We Vanyar are suffering because of the Noldor, as well you know. You shouldn’t be defending him...."

"But I am not Vanya, but Noldo," Findaráto stated.

"You have the golden hair of the Vanyar," the other ellon insisted.

"And I have Telerin blood in me as well," Findaráto said with a nod, "but I am Noldo through and through. My uncle will not be pleased to hear what is going on here and when I tell him...."

"Tell him what?" the stall owner demanded with a snarl. "And just who is your precious uncle that he would even care what price I put on my wares?"

"He is the High King," Findaráto replied coldly, "and he will care very much."

"Hah!" the ellon said in disbelief, though many of the bystanders were nodding their heads, having recognized not only Findaráto, but the twin sons of Ingwë.

"It is true," Ingwion said, stepping forward. "My atar will not allow such an injustice."

"It’s not an injustice," someone in the crowd shouted. "Ever since the Noldor went to Formenos our markets have dried up. Those who remain in Tirion are not buying from us as much as before. We need to make up the shortfall or we starve."

Ingalaurë snorted as he turned to face the elleth who had spoken. She was the owner of one of the nearby stalls selling bolts of cloth. "So, you would beggar the Noldor who remain in Tirion or elsewhere, thus forcing them to starve instead? How is that not an injustice?"

There were uneasy glances among some of the bystanders at the prince’s words, but just as many merely shrugged. "They only brought it upon themselves," the basketmaker replied, "and I deem it will only get worse."

"And you giving one price for the Vanyar and another for the Noldor will make it all better, will it?" Findaráto could not help asking, his sarcasm and disgust not lost on anyone.

"It’s only what you Melkornossë deserve," one of the bystanders sneered.

There was a gasp from most of crowd surrounding them at the insult and Findaráto felt the blood drain from his face as fury overtook him. Before he could act, though, the Noldo who had tried to buy a basket launched himself at the person who had issued the insult, grabbing him by the placket of his tunic and shaking him. "How dare you!" he fairly screamed. "I was never a follower of Melkor. I am an Aulendur and have ever been loyal to the Valar."

Several people tried to pull the Noldo off the Vanya and someone turned on Findaráto. "Why don’t you damned Noldor go back to Tirion where you belong? We don’t want you here."

Ingwion and Ingalaurë now tried to push the irate Vanya away from their cousin and then somewhere someone threw a punch and a melee broke out as several Vanyar tried to attack the poor Noldorin ellon. Findaráto pushed himself away from the person who had heckled him and launched himself into the crowd now beating on the Noldo who had fallen to the ground, trying to protect himself as best he could. Now, the incensed crowd began attacking him as well, their anger and frustration making them reckless and unheeding. Before he knew it he, too, was on the ground.

"Findaráto! Findaráto!" he heard Ingwion scream but he was too busy defending himself to answer. His nose was bleeding where someone had punched him and then someone kicked him and he felt something snap. The pain was excruciating and he cried out. At that very moment there was a flashing of light above them and then Eönwë was among them, his sword of light drawn. The crowd hastily drew back, brought to sober silence in an instant.

"Sérë! Á lely’ ayanen," the Maia Herald of Manwë said in a voice that was cold and unforgiving, his eyes flashing with preternatural light and no one could look upon him directly.

Findaráto, still gasping from the pain of broken ribs, stared up into the implacable mien of the Maia, who looked upon him with dispassionate regard. The crowd quickly dispersed, shame on most of their faces as they realized what they had done. Ingwion and Ingalaurë, the latter sporting a black eye, came to kneel beside him. When Ingwion attempted to lift him up, though, the pain became overwhelming and he blacked out.

****

Manwë’s expression remained unreadable to the other Valar as they listened to Eönwë’s report. When the Maia was finished, the Elder King thanked him and then turned to Aulë with a wry look. "It seems the Eldar have done our work for us," he said. "I doubt we need put your plan for our Noldorin prince into action now."

"And it is probably for the best," Námo interjected, "that the lesson came from among the Eldar rather than from us."

The Valar all nodded. Then Aulë gave them a sly look. "And I was so looking forward to giving the elfling the lesson, too."

They burst out laughing but eventually sobered as they began to discuss the incident in the market square and how seriously the Sérë Valaron had been breached and what they should do about it. In the end, Manwë declared, "For the time being we will see how Ingwë handles the situation. It is best that we let the Children work this out for themselves rather than dictating to them, else they will begin to believe our Fallen Brother’s lies about being our thralls."

To that the other Valar agreed, though none were entirely happy with the decision, fearing that what happened in the market square was but a precursor of things to come.

****

Melkornossë: Kindred of Melkor. Cf. Aulenossë ‘Kindred of Aulë, which was what the Noldor who remained behind in Tirion after the Flight of the Noldor were called. [See Book of Lost Tales I, HoME I, ‘The Tale of the Sun and Moon’].

Aulendur: "‘Servant of Aulë’, 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].

Sérë! Á lely’ ayanen: ‘Peace! Go with reverence’ [aya ‘awe, reverence’ + -nen ‘singular instrumental case ending’].

27: Recovery

Findaráto woke, wondering why the ceiling of his bedroom looked different, then realized that he was lying in a strange bed. When he tried to sit up, pain lanced through him and he gasped.

"Easy now," came a voice and he looked to see an elleth leaning over him, helping him to lie back down. "That’s it. You’re not going anywhere fast, your Highness."

"Who...?" Findaráto gasped.

"My name is Calamírë, I’m a healer in the High King’s service," she answered.

"Where am I?" he asked.

"You are in the healing wing of the palace," Calamírë answered as she busied herself with pouring some water into a goblet. Then she turned back to Findaráto. "I will help you to sit up so you can have some water. Let me do the work."

Findaráto nodded and steeled himself for the pain that he knew would come. However, the healer sat him up slowly and the pain was not as much as he had feared. She handed him the goblet and he drank it eagerly, draining it in three gulps. Then she started fluffing the pillows so he could recline in a half-sitting position and his breathing became a little easier.

"You suffered some broken ribs," Calamírë answered his unspoken question, "and some minor contusions. You’ll be in bed for at least another day but it will be a week or so before you’re completely healed."

"How long have I been out?" he asked somewhat anxiously, trying to fit the pieces of his memory together. He remembered strolling through the market square with his cousins and the argument that had broken out between the basketmaker and the Noldo but the rest was a jumble of confused images, the most searing being the sight of Lord Manwë’s Herald standing over him with his sword of light drawn, staring down at him so dispassionately.

"It’s still the same day," Calamírë answered with a knowing smile. "We are still an hour from the Second Mingling. Do you feel up to having visitors?"

Findaráto nodded. "Though I wouldn’t mind a wash first. I feel grimy and I need to use the privy."

"I’ll have one of the other healers come and help you with all that while I go and inform the High King that you are awake."

With that she gave him a bow and left. A few minutes later an ellon came in, bearing a bowl of steaming water and some towels draped over his arm.

****

Just as the hour of the Second Mingling came, Findaráto was sitting up in bed, freshly washed and eating a light meal which Calamírë had ordered for him. There was a knock on his door but before he could call out it opened and in stepped Ingwë and Elindis with their children right behind them. Ingalaurë still sported a black eye, though the bruise was already turning yellow and most likely it would be completely faded in another day. He smiled broadly at Findaráto. Ingwion looked none the worse for wear, though his expression seemed haunted somehow. His eyes lit up with relief, though, when he saw Findaráto sitting up. Indil simply looked amused. Ingwë and Elindis both had parental looks of concern on their fair faces, which transmuted into smiles.

"Whatever were you thinking, yonya?" Ingwë asked, even as Elindis was bending down to give Findaráto a motherly kiss, stroking his hair.

"Hush, Ingwë," she admonished her husband. "Don’t scold him."

"I’m not scolding him, Elindis, I’m asking him a question." Ingwë gave his wife a scowl. "The same question I asked our sons, if you recall."

"What happened to the poor Noldo who just wanted to buy a basket?" Findaráto asked, deciding not to answer Ingwë’s question immediately. He needed time to think of a plausible answer and wondered what his cousins had told everyone.

"That poor Noldo, as you call him, is in the next room," Ingwë answered with a wry look. "He took a severe beating and is still unconscious. We have yet to ascertain who he is and where he was staying."

"Will he be all right?" Findaráto enquired. "He said he was an Aulendur. Perhaps you should ask Lord Aulë about him."

"The healers say he will recover," Elindis answered, sitting on the edge of the bed, buttering some bread for Findaráto and generally fussing over him, much to his embarrassment and the amusement of the others. She turned to look at Ingwë. "Findaráto is correct. We should ask Lord Aulë if he’s missing one of his people."

Ingwë snorted. "I have no doubt that all the Valar are well aware of what happened and who was involved. I have heard some interesting reports about a certain Maia appearing suddenly."

"He was...." Findaráto shook his head, his expression one of wonder mingled with fear. "I cannot describe how I felt when Lord Eönwë just appeared like that with his sword drawn. The wrath of the Valar must be terrible indeed if one of their Maiar can evoke such... awe-inspiring dread in a single dispassionate glance."

"Hmm... an interesting way of putting it," Ingwë replied, looking pensive. "Well, regardless, you still haven’t answered my original question."

Findaráto sighed. "The basketmaker was deliberately flouting your laws, Uncle. I saw the look of triumph on his face when the other ellon turned away, unwilling to pay such an exorbitant price for a simple basket." His expression darkened to fury and his fists clenched. "And then, when someone accused us of being Melkornossë...."

"Us?" Ingwë asked.

Findaráto nodded. "Us, as in, the Noldor," he replied. "I may have the blood of the Vanyar and the Teleri in my veins but my heart has ever belonged to the Noldor."

"And the Noldor are the ones who listened to Melkor’s lies," Ingwë pointed out somewhat coldly. He ignored the frown his wife gave him.

"Not all," Findaráto retorted.

"The ellon in the next room declared himself a loyal servant of Aulë and the other Valar," Ingwion interjected. "He doesn’t even live in Tirion, but in Eldamas, and has had nothing to do with the unrest that has plagued the Noldor of late."

"There are many such as he, even here in Vanyamar," Elindis added. "Naming all Noldor as Melkornossë is unfair...."

"Unfair or not," Ingwë insisted, "the fact remains that some of our people have labeled the Noldor as unwanted troublemakers. They are not interested in assigning blame only to the ones who are deserving of it. If what happened in the market is indicative of our people’s mood then I need to address it. The last thing we need is to have innocent Noldor attacked by irrate Vanyar. I very much doubt the Valar will send their Maiar to quell any riots again. Lord Eönwë appearing was a warning from the Valar that they are aware of what is going on. Hopefully, the people in the market got the same message but not everyone will."

"What will you do, then?" Findaráto asked. "You cannot issue an edict demanding that everyone play nicely or not at all." He gave his Uncle a sour grin. The twins chuckled while Indil and Elindis rolled their eyes. Ingwë’s mien lightened somewhat.

"No, unfortunately, I cannot," he answered. "At the moment, besides fining the basketmaker for price gouging and the others for disturbing the peace, I plan to issue a proclamation at the next court telling of my disappointment in the actions of my people. I am hoping that shaming them will do the trick."

"Or it may make them even more resentful towards the Noldor," Indil pointed out.

"There is no easy solution to this problem," Ingwë replied with a sigh. "If worse comes to worst, I will be forced to have all the Noldor in the city depart, but that will solve nothing in the long run. How does one determine if a child who is of mixed parentage is Noldorin or not?"

There was an uneasy silence for several minutes and then Findaráto sighed, suddenly feeling tired. "I’m sorry, Uncle. I should have handled the situation better."

"I do not blame you, Findaráto, for what happened," Ingwë said. "I don’t even really blame the ones who attacked you and the Aulendur. I blame Melkor for sowing these seeds of unrest amongst us. The Noldor may have been the ones who listened to his lies, but they do not live in isolation and the rest of us are being affected as well."

Elindis stroke Findaráto’s hair. "You should rest, dear. Time enough to dissect the day’s events later when you are feeling stronger."

"I am feeling fatigued," Findaráto admitted.

"Then we will leave you to your rest," Ingwë said. Then, unbending slightly, he smiled at his great nephew and leaned down to give him a kiss. "I am only sorry that you were hurt so badly, hinya, though I am grateful that it was no worse than a few broken ribs."

"So am I," Findaráto said fervently. The others made their farewells and soon they left with Indil taking the tray away, leaving Findaráto to his rest. One of the healers appeared shortly with some willow bark tea laced with a sleeping potion. He grimaced at the taste but dutifully drank it down and soon after he was fast asleep.

****

When he awoke again, Findaráto found he had another visitor.

"Lord Aulë!" he exclaimed, rising quickly, quite forgetting his broken ribs, and gasped as the pain overwhelmed him. He thought he might black out, but then a cool hand rested on his forehead and the darkness at the edge of his vision receded, along with the pain.

"Not a very smart move," Aulë said with a chuckle as he plumped the pillows and helped Findaráto to sit back. Then he poured some water into a goblet and handed it to the prince, giving him a searching look. "All those lessons in rhetoric apparently were a waste of time."

Findaráto blushed. "I suppose," he averred somewhat reluctantly, not daring to look the Vala in the eye.

"Hmph," was Aulë’s only reply. "Well, water under the bridge, as I think your Telerin kin would say."

"What about the Aulendur?" Findaráto asked.

"Urundil? He’s fine," Aulë answered. "He woke some time ago and we had a little chat." The smile on the Vala’s face was not exactly comforting. "Just like I’m about to have with you."

Findaráto cringed. Aulë settled back in the chair he’d been sitting in, waiting for the ellon to wake up, and gave him a steady look. "What lesson do you draw from this?" he asked.

Findaráto gave him a puzzled look. "Lesson?"

Aulë nodded. "All of life is a lesson. It is ours to draw what conclusions we may from our experiences. What did this most recent experience teach you?"

Findaráto frowned in thought. "They’re frightened," he finally said.

Aulë nodded. "And frightened people are unpredictable as to their actions. What else?"

The prince leaned back against the pillows and sighed. "I shouldn’t have interfered. I should have walked away and then reported what I had observed to the High King."

"Walking away in the face of injustice is very hard to do," Aulë said. "Is there anything else you could have done other than to voice your displeasure at what the basketmaker was doing?"

Findaráto thought for a moment or two, going over in his mind several possible scenarios. "I could have bought the basket," he finally said, speaking slowly, as if testing his words. "The basketmaker thought I was Vanyarin. He would have sold it to me for the half silver coin it was worth and then I could have given it to Urundil without asking for repayment."

"What do you think the reaction of the bystanders and the basketmaker would have been then?"

Findaráto shrugged. "I have no idea, but I don’t think the basketmaker would have been happy."

"No doubt," Aulë averred. "Most likely he would have protested you giving the basket to Urundil, but as he had sold it to you, you were now free to dispose of it as you pleased. Even if the bystanders did not approve of your giving the basket to Urundil, they would have had to admit that what you did with your property was your affair. The basketmaker might have groused, but none of the others would have felt the need to voice their opinions and Urundil would have walked away whole and with the desired basket. Then you could have reported the incident to Ingwë and let him deal with it."

Findaráto nodded slowly. "I was so furious when I saw the look of glee on the basketmaker’s face. The very injustice of it all just made me sick."

"Understandable," Aulë said, "but that is when you should have turned the tables on the basketmaker and bought the basket yourself. If he then learned that you, too, were Noldorin, his neighbors would probably have enjoyed the jest at his expense. Once Ingwë was apprised of the situation, he would have then contacted the guilds and explained certain things to them. The guildmasters would then have seen to it that their members traded fairly and the incident would have been kept quiet and local. Now, however, the entire city knows of it and opinions are running high on both sides of the issue. Ingwë will have to address the situation publicly rather than privately and in the end no one will be happy." He paused to let his words sink in and then added almost as an afterthought, "And Urundil is still without his basket."

Findaráto sighed and then grimaced. "Given my abysmal failure to think things through, I’m surprised you want me to speak to my people and turn them away from their discontent."

"The one has nothing to do with the other," Aulë pointed out. "However, this incident should point out the fact that the unrest of the Noldor is spreading to the other clans. Also, as you no doubt realized with Urundil, not all the Noldor have been affected by this unrest nor do they approve of what has happened, yet they are being labeled as troublemakers indiscriminately by others who have decided that whatever problems they are having can be laid at the feet of all the Noldor, whether they went to Formenos or not."

"Then it’s hopeless," Findaráto insisted. "The damage is already done. Nothing I say is going to change things."

"It is not hopeless," Aulë responded, "though, admittedly, the situation appears bleak at the moment. These next twelve years are critical, Findaráto. We need to bring calm to the people but we Valar cannot do it alone. Much of the work must come from those Eldar willing to put aside their personal feelings and work for the greater good of all." He paused for a moment, gauging the ellon’s physical and emotional condition. "Well, enough talk," he finally said, standing. "I will leave you to think things through." He allowed his visage to darken slightly and his voice turned cold. "The next time I see you, elfling, it had better not be in this room. You still have your studies to complete."

"Yes, lord," Findaráto said meekly enough, paling slightly. "Healer Calamírë said it would be a week or so before I’m completely healed. I imagine my uncle is not going to allow me to do aught but sit quietly and stay out of trouble anyway."

"That is well," Aulë said with a nod. "Come to Ilmarin the Valanya after next and you can tell me how your studies are going." With that, the Vala faded from view, leaving Findaráto much to think on.

****

The next day, Findaráto was allowed to leave the healing wing and return to his own apartments. Ingwion and Ingalaurë came to escort him. Findaráto had wanted to see Urundil, but was told that the ellon had been placed in healing sleep after Lord Aulë’s visit and would not awaken for another day. He had to be content with the promise that he would be informed when Urundil was awake and ready to receive visitors.

Ingwë and Elindis welcomed him back and assured him that they held him blameless for what had happened when he tried to apologize for all the trouble he had caused. When he told them of his talk with Lord Aulë and the conclusions he had drawn from the conversation, Ingwë nodded. "Certainly that would have been the best course of action. I had a similar discussion with my sons. Hopefully, the three of you learned something from this and if a similar incident arises in the future, you will know how to act in an appropriate manner. For now, though, it is past and we will speak of it no more."

The rest of the week went by quietly while Findaráto continued to heal. He spent most of the time sitting in one of the gardens either reading or speaking with his cousins and their friends about the upcoming nuptials. Elindis had ordered new clothes for everyone for the occasion and Findaráto was forced to endure several fittings while the tunic was being made.

Urundil came out of healing sleep and Findaráto was allowed to visit him for a time. They spent about an hour or so chatting amiably until one of the healers came in to shoo Findaráto away so Urundil could get some rest.

"Before you return to Eldamas," Findaráto said to Urundil as he was leaving, "you must dine with me and my cousins."

Urundil was reluctant to accept the invitation, but when Findaráto threatened to go to the High King and have him issue a direct order, he laughingly agreed and the matter was settled.

****

At the next Valanya, as ordered, Findaráto went up to Ilmarin along with Ingwë, Elindis, Indil and the twins. Nothing was said about what had happened, save that Lord Manwë asked after Findaráto’s health. Once assured that the ellon was completely healed, Manwë asked after Intarion and Lirulin and the rest of the time was spent in discussing the wedding, which was only another few weeks away.

At one point Aulë excused himself and Findaráto and the Vala led the prince into a rose garden where they strolled about. Findaráto, when asked, admitted that he had done little in the way of studying. "I found my mind wandering," he told Aulë. "I am afraid I just couldn’t concentrate on crystallography. It just didn’t seem important anymore and I still have no idea what you meant by ‘coherent light’."

"Your hröa is still recovering from your injuries and your fëa needs healing as well," Aulë averred, "for the attack was just as damaging to your spirit, if not more so. Besides, with the wedding coming up, I know you have little thought for anything else."

"I’ll be glad when it’s over," Findaráto said fervently. "I still have one more fitting to get through. I don’t know why I couldn’t have just worn my best court tunic."

"But that’s so old and your Aunt Elindis is having so much fun dressing you all up in new garb," Aulë said with a sly wink and Findaráto laughed. "At any rate, when you are ready to resume your studies, I would like you to come to Valmar for a time."

"Do you not want me to return to Tirion and speak to the Noldor?" Findaráto asked.

"Yes, but only if you wish to do so," Aulë said. "We will not force you to do it if you are truly reluctant. Speak with your atar and your Uncle Ñolofinwë when they come for the wedding and get their opinions. Regardless of what you ultimately decide to do, I still would like you to come to Valmar. I think it’s important that you complete your studies."

Findaráto nodded. "Then that is what I will do since you ask it of me, lord."

Aulë smiled and clapped the ellon on the shoulder. "Good, good. I know Urundil will be happy to see you again."

"I will be happy to see him again as well," Findaráto said. "We’ve become friends."

Aulë seemed pleased at that, smiling in satisfaction as he and Findaráto returned to the audience chamber. The Elves visited for another hour and then it was time to return to Vanyamar.

28: The Week Before the Wedding

The week before the wedding saw much activity in Vanyamar. Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë with their families arrived and even Olwë and his family came with a suitable escort of Telerin nobles. The arrival of the Teleri had all of Vanyamar agog. None of the younger Vanyar remembered ever seeing any of the Third Clan before but their elders greeted old friends from the time of the Great Migration.

Ingwë and Elindis stood at the front portico of the palace along with their children, Intarion, Lirulin and Findaráto to welcome their Noldorin and Telerin guests. Ingoldo and Tinwetariel asked to be excused from the welcoming party and Ingwë was happy to give his permission. As the Noldorin and Telerin royal families reached the palace, Ingwë stepped forward to formally greet Olwë and Ñolofinwë and their wives. Then, he and his family escorted them into the palace.

"So, who’s running your kingdoms while you are all here?" Ingwë asked with a laugh, for nearly all the members of the two royal families were there.

Olwë laughed. "Never fear. I’ve left Alqualondë in the capable hands of my steward, Eällindo. He’ll make sure it’s still there when we return."

They all laughed. Ingwë turned to Ñolofinwë. "Nerdanel would not come?"

The second son of Finwë shook his head. "We all pleaded with her to come but in the end she agreed to look after things while we are away. I think she will eventually return to her atar’s home while her husband and children are in Formenos."

Ingwë nodded, then turned to his sister, Indis. "I am glad you chose to come, nésanya."

"I almost didn’t, hanno," she said, "but how could I refuse to attend the wedding of my beloved nephew?" She gave Intarion, who blushed, a fond smile. Then she asked, "Yet, where are Ingoldo and Tinwetariel? Should they not have been here to greet us?"

Ingwë grimaced. "It’s a long story and I will explain later, but for now, let us just enjoy each other’s company. I have prepared a welcoming feast for you."

There were groans all around, for none of them were in the mood for such after traveling. Ingwë laughed. "Oh, don’t worry, this feast you will enjoy. Come. Let our servants escort you to your apartments so you may unpack and freshen up and then they will bring you to where the feast is to be held."

"And there’s no need to dress formally," Elindis added with a smile. "Save that for the wedding."

The others were naturally intrigued by this, for all such feasts were formal and formal garb was expected. Ingwë refused to explain when Olwë asked why no formal attire was required. "You’ll see," was all he said and they had to be content with that.

****

The reason why informal attire had been insisted on became clear when they were escorted, not to the feasting hall or even to the private dining room, but out into the gardens where, amidst splashing fountains, a large pavilion had been set up under which tables were placed. There were five tables forming a ‘U’. The middle table had settings for seventeen while the tables to the right as one entered the pavilion seated eighteen. Placecards were set before each setting inscribed with people’s names. Thus, at the middle table sat all the older Elves: Ingwë and Elindis, Indis, Olwë and Lirillë, Ñolofinwë and Anairë, Arafinwë and Eärwen, Findis and Valandur, Finwaina, Faniel and Salmar, as well as Lindarion and his two other younger siblings, Falmaron and Olwen. The tables to the left were laden with dishes, forming a buffet. Servants stood about to make sure that goblets were filled or to fetch whatever might be required, but Ingwë made it clear that everyone was to help themselves.

"You see, I told you you would like this particular welcoming feast," he said with a smirk and there was appreciative laughter among the guests. They formed two lines at the buffet and soon everyone was sitting down with their trenchers. A group of minstrels came and set themselves up just outside the pavilion, playing softly while the royals ate and visited with one another. At what was nominally considered the head table, Ingwë was explaining to Indis the absence of their brother and sister-in-law.

"They never approved of Lirulin or her family," Ingwë said with a sigh. "I made it very clear to both of them, though, that they will cooperate with the wedding in all its particulars. They have both been under house arrest in a sense, for I have forbidden them to leave the palace grounds unless I give them express permission to do so."

"Seems rather silly them acting that way," Olwë commented, "but then, Ingoldo has always been trouble. I remember during the March that he was always complaining. I often wondered why he even bothered to leave Cuiviénen."

Indis gave an unladylike snort. "I doubt any of the Avari would have put up with him." There were chuckles all around. Then Indis turned to her brother. "I have held aloof from all that is happening in Tirion among the Noldor since Finwë left, but even in my self-imposed reclusiveness it is impossible to ignore the unrest that plagues the people of Tirion. Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë are doing what they can to keep tempers calm, but I fear it is a losing battle."

"We have seen evidence of unrest among the Vanyar as well," Ingwë said, "particularly those who long have had dealings with the Noldor." He turned to Arafinwë and Eärwen. "Your son, I am afraid, became a victim of that unrest."

"What happened?" Arafinwë asked, casting a worried glance towards where Findaráto was seated, laughing at something his sister was telling him.

"There was trouble in the market some weeks ago," Ingwë explained. "Findaráto and my sons tried to intervene. Ingalaurë got a black eye for his trouble, but Findaráto suffered broken ribs."

There were gasps of dismay from everyone. "Why were we not informed?" Eärwen demanded.

"There was no point," Elindis said smoothly. "You were coming anyway and he’s fully recovered."

"Those responsible have been duly punished," Ingwë added. "The matter is closed as far as I and your son are concerned."

"The Vanyar are the beloved of Lord Manwë," Olwë said. "They, more than the rest of us, have the greatest contact with the Valar. I find it hard to believe that they are allowing what has happened among the Noldor to affect them this way."

Ingwë shrugged. "Since Indis married Finwë there has been greater interaction between our two clans and much intermarriage. I fear that that has fueled the unrest among us, for loyalties to clan and families are being tested and stretched to their limits."

"What do you plan to do to alleviate the unrest?" Arafinwë asked. "Ari and I are doing what we can among the Noldor, but as Ammë said, it seems as if we put one fire out only to have two others start up elsewhere."

"We are doing what we can," Valandur answered. "My people are keeping watch on all that happens here in Vanyamar as well as in Eldamas. Perhaps we should pool our resources."

"That might help," Ñolofinwë said and then Elindis changed the subject to the upcoming wedding and soon the various couples were comparing their own weddings with one another and there was much laughter between them.

At the other table, the topic of conversation was centered not so much around the upcoming nuptials as it was around possible future weddings among them. Besides the twins, Indil, Intarion and Findaráto, Tamurilon, Lirulin and Amarië were there, along with Angaráto and his wife, Eldalótë and their son, Artaher, who was still an elfling, as well as Turucáno and his wife Elenwë, Írissë, Aicanáro, Artanis, Aracáno and Findecáno.

"I am very glad to see you and Amarië together," Findecáno said. "I always thought you two would make a good match. Have you thought about announcing your betrothal or haven’t you gotten that far in your relationship yet?"

Everyone laughed, including Findaráto and Amarië, though the ellon looked somewhat embarrassed. "No. We haven’t discussed it yet," he muttered and there were knowing smirks all around.

"Amarië is rather annoyed at Findaráto at the moment," Intarion said with a smile.

They all looked at Amarië who nodded. "And why are you annoyed with our cousin?" Turucáno asked.

"And our brother," Artanis couldn’t help adding with a supercilious sniff. The Noldor all had indulgent smiles, for they knew how close the first-born and the last-born of Arafinwë and Eärwen were.

Amarië glowered at Findaráto who was finding his salad very interesting at that moment. "He nearly got himself killed not too long ago," she said.

"I did not!" Findaráto said a bit loudly and there were concerned stares from the other table. His brothers, sister and cousins all gave him surprised looks. "She’s exaggerating," he said, lowering his voice. "I suffered some broken ribs is all."

"Broken ribs?" Artanis exclaimed in a loud whisper. "How did you manage to do that?"

Findaráto sighed. "It’s a long story and this is too fine a repast to spoil it with a tale of my woes. Suffice to say that I am well and fully healed. The healers released me from their care a week ago."

"Fine," Artanis said with a sniff. "We’ll drop the subject for now, but don’t think you’re getting away with not telling us what happened." The others all nodded.

"I won’t," Findaráto promised. "As it is, I’m sure Atto and Uncle Ari will want to discuss what happened. Best to do it all at once."

With that they turned back to the original topic of conversation. Elenwë asked Indil if she and Tamurilon had come to an agreement yet.

Indil nodded. "Yes, but we’ve decided to wait to make the announcement until after Intarion and Lirulin have wed," she answered. "We didn’t want to detract from their special day."

"We tried to convince them to make it a double wedding," Lirulin put in, "but two royal weddings at once would have been quite a strain on the treasury, or so Indil claimed."

"It would certainly have put a strain on the cooks and the seamstresses and the florists and everyone else but the brides and grooms," Indil said with a laugh. "All we would have to do is show up."

There was laughter all around. They then went on to discuss the small doings of friends and acquaintances from both kingdoms. Once everyone was finished eating, the tables were cleared and pushed to the walls of the pavilion. The musicians began to play more spritely tunes and they danced and sang well past the time when Telperion came to full bloom. Thus the welcoming feast ended on a high note.

****

The Valanya before the wedding, all the royals made their way to Ilmarin to pay their respects to the Valar. Manwë and Varda welcomed them warmly. "It is a rare thing to have all three clans together on such a joyous occasion as this," Manwë said.

"Especially given the recent troubles," Varda added, then gave Ñolofinwë a concerned look. "How are you faring, child?" she asked solicitously.

Ñolofinwë blushed slightly. "I am doing as well as I can, lady," he answered. "Uncle Ingwë and Aunt Elindis were a great help to me, to us, and Arafinwë has been my right arm in all things. I thank thee for thy concern." He gave Manwë and Varda a deep bow.

"It is a concern that we all share," Aulë said. "I am especially grieved for the unrest among your people. The Noldor have always had a special place in my heart and it pains me to see you all in confusion."

"We are doing what we can to heal the breach among us," Arafinwë said, "but it’s only been a short time since Atar and our brother left. Emotions are still raw and running high. We are hoping that time will heal what soft words cannot."

"That is our hope as well," Manwë said. "But come. Enough talk of dark matters. This is a time of great joy and I only regret that Finwë has chosen not to attend the wedding. I sent word by way of Eönwë that if he wished to, he could leave Formenos for that purpose, but he said he would not leave Formenos until the twelve years were over unless specifically ordered to do so by me." The Elder King sighed. "Naturally, there is no point ordering him to attend a wedding, and so I have not insisted that he come."

"Perhaps it is just as well, lord," Ñolofinwë said. "I fear Atar’s presence might only inflame emotions amongst us." He cast a surreptitious glance at his amillë who deigned not to respond.

"No doubt," Manwë averred, well aware of what Ñolofinwë had meant. Then he turned his attention to Findaráto. "I am glad to see you fully healed, my son," he said. "We were much grieved to learn of the manner in which you were injured."

"The healers declared me fully healed a week or so ago, lord," Findaráto said with a bow. "I did not accompany Uncle Ingwë and the others to Ilmarin last week because Amarië’s parents had invited me to spend the day with them. We went to Golden Rainbow Falls for a picnic," he added, naming a popular spot in the Pelóri range where the Vanyar were wont to wander and picnic.

"Ah... a lovely spot," Varda said with a smile. "We hope that you and they had a pleasant time, then?"

Findaráto shrugged. "Lord Castamir spent most of the time studying a collection of poems by someone named Elemmírë." The Valar nodded, well familiar with the Vanyarin poet. Findaráto grinned. "He was comparing her works to Macalaurë’s."

"Oh?" Aulë said. "And what was his verdict?"

"He’s not too impressed with my cousin’s works," Findaráto replied, "but I think he’s just biased."

There were knowing grins from everyone. "And what about Lady Almáriel?" Yavanna asked.

"Oh, she spent the better part of the day going on about the wedding and dropping large hints that she would not be displeased if Amarië and I pledged our troth sooner rather than later." He gave a rueful sigh and there were many sympathetic looks on the faces of the Valar. "Amarië and I managed to escape by spending some time wandering closer to the falls." His grin became rather sly. "Lady Almáriel is not fond of shouting, so she did not accompany us."

There were many smiles, not just from the Valar but from the other Elves. "Speaking of the wedding," Ingwë then said, "will the Valar grace us with their presence?"

Manwë shook his head. "We will not be there," he replied, "but We have already sent word to Ingoldo and Tinwetariel that they should attend Us on Eärenya. We would speak with them before the wedding."

Ingwë was not the only Elf to raise an eyebrow at the Elder King’s use of the royal ‘We’. "It is odd that Intarion has not mentioned this."

"That is because the... um... invitation was to the parents alone," Manwë explained and everyone there understood that by ‘invitation’ the Elder King meant ‘command’. "If you would, though, you may tell Intarion and Lirulin that if they come to Ilmarin around the time of the Second Mingling on Eärenya we would be pleased to welcome them and give them our blessing."

Ingwë bowed. "It would be my pleasure to be thy herald, lord," he said. "Are they to come alone or should they have an escort?"

"Lirulin’s parents and brother should accompany them," Manwë replied, "and one of my People will meet them outside the north gate of the city."

Shortly thereafter, once the Valar had extended their blessing upon them, the Elves departed. As they were walking back down the mountain, Olwë commented to Ingwë, "I wonder how Ingoldo took the Elder King’s...uh... invitation?" He gave his fellow ruler a sly look.

Ingwë shrugged. "I have noticed that both he and Tinwetariel were more subdued than usual these last few days."

"Do you think Lord Manwë will be able to talk some sense into them?" Elindis enquired. "It would be nice if they just behaved themselves and that nothing untoward happens to ruin the day for Intarion and Lirulin."

"You mean, you hope Lord Manwë puts the fear of the Valar into them," Ingwë said, giving his wife a teasing smile. The others laughed.

"Well, one can only hope," Ingwion said fervently and to that the others could only agree.

****

Ingoldo and Tinwetariel were not pleased by the invitation, knowing it was indeed a summons, but neither one dared to protest. The Maia who had appeared to them had been rather abrupt, refusing to name himself, though from the sky-blue tabard with the eagle embroidered upon it, it was clear from whom he had come. His message was short and to the point and then he was gone, leaving Ingoldo standing there in a cold sweat while Tinwetariel looked about to faint.

Now it was Eärenya, the day before the wedding, and, as commanded, the two made their way towards Ilmarin. They were rather nonplused to find not one but two Maiar waiting to escort them once they passed the city gate. Neither Maia bothered to greet them or give their names. They simply began walking up the mountain, one leading, the other trailing behind the two Elves. They walked in silence and neither Ingoldo nor Tinwetariel looked well as they neared Ilmarin.

Once there, they found themselves facing Eönwë, who silently dismissed his fellow Maiar and led the two Elves to their audience with the Elder King. When they were announced, Ingoldo was glad to see that they would not be facing all of the Valar, but felt something twist inside of him when he saw that, beside the Elder King and Lady Varda, the Lord of Mandos was also there. Tinwetariel simply turned white and Ingoldo had to take her arm. "Don’t even think of fainting," he hissed to her, suddenly angry, and nearly dragged his wife along with him. They made their obeisance, though somewhat reluctantly under the cool stares of the three Valar.

Silence stretched uncomfortably between the two parties as the Valar continued to gaze dispassionately upon the two Vanyar. Ingoldo steeled himself not to twitch, but Tinwetariel could not keep her hands still and kept twisting them into the folds of her gown. Finally, though, Manwë nodded and spoke.

"I decided it was time you and I spoke, Ingoldo," he said mildly. "We have been watching the events unfolding in Vanyamar and are not happy with what we see."

"Are you accusing me...."

"We accuse no one," Námo interjected, his voice cold and forbidding. Both Elves shivered involuntarily. "We are, however, concerned that your son’s wedding is not ruined by, shall we say, any misfortune." Both Elves scowled.

"We expected those two children to have been wed long before this," Varda said.

"And why should that be a concern of the Valar?" Tinwetariel demanded, though her expression was one of doubt rather than belligerence.

"We have our reasons," Námo declared coldly, staring at them with his amaranthine eyes which looked beyond the present moment.

"Suffice to say that Intarion and Lirulin have our blessing to wed," Manwë said.

"I was unaware that we needed your permission to wed," Ingoldo retorted with a frown.

"Permission?" Manwë replied, raising an eyebrow. "No, you do not need our permission, but this union has long been awaited and not just by the Valar. Your refusal to accept Lirulin as your son’s beloved has puzzled us and others. She is a fine elleth."

"Her atar is a wine merchant!" Ingoldo nearly shouted, forgetting to whom he was speaking. "My son is of the royal line and...."

"Ah.... let us speak of that, then," Manwë said, interrupting Ingoldo’s tirade. "You have never forgiven our brother Oromë for passing you over for the ambassadorship to the Valar, have you?"

Ingoldo went red and refused to look at any of them. It was Tinwetariel who answered. "Ingoldo is no less worthy to be king than Ingwë."

"Perhaps," Manwë replied. "The fact remains, though, that Oromë saw some quality in your brother which he did not see in you, Ingoldo, a quality that is important in any ruler."

"And what quality would that be?" Ingoldo asked with a scowl.

"Compassion," Námo answered and both Elves stared at him in disbelief, not expecting such an answer and certainly not from this particular Vala.

"My brother is soft," Ingoldo retorted with disgust.

"Your brother is wise," Manwë corrected him. "A ruler without compassion is a tyrant."

There followed an uneasy silence. Ingoldo was not completely convinced by Manwë’s arguments. He should have been chosen as the ambassador for the Vanyar. He was no less worthy of the power that Ingwë enjoyed, power that he rarely used to good effect. If he had become king over the Vanyar....

"Tell me, Ingoldo," Manwë said suddenly, interrupting his train of thought. "Who would you rather have as the Elder King, me or my brother, Melkor?"

Ingoldo blanched at the coldness of the Vala’s expression and he could only stand there and stare at him, unable to formulate any coherent reply. Manwë merely nodded. "Something to think on, I deem. At any rate, we summoned you and Tinwetariel here to tell you that we do not want to hear reports of any... um... upsets at the wedding."

"You will not be there?" Tinwetariel asked.

"No," Varda answered, "though that is not to say we will not be unaware of what transpires." She gave them both a meaningful look and neither Elf could maintain eye contact with her or the other two Valar for long.

"So, any plans you might have had to ruin the day for Intarion and Lirulin, I trust will be forgotten," Manwë said mildly.

"We had no intention...." Tinwetariel started to protest.

"Good," Manwë said firmly. "Then we understand each other, do we not? Go now. Eönwë will see you out."

"Enjoy the wedding," Námo said with a faint smile as Ingoldo and Tinwetariel gave the Valar their obeisance. Both Elves looked askance at him.

"Oh, and Ingoldo," Manwë said mildly, almost as an afterthought, "if you plan to do any hunting in the future, might I suggest you don’t go north. There is nothing north for you to hunt."

Ingoldo bit his lips, startled at hearing his own words which he had spoken to Ingwë being thrown back at him. He nodded, then turned to follow the Maia out, ignoring Tinwetariel’s whispered demands to know what Lord Manwë had meant.

****

"Well, I don’t know if that did any good," Námo said once the Elves were gone, "but it was fun seeing them squirm like that."

"You have an odd idea of what constitutes fun," Manwë said with a faint smile. Námo just shrugged.

"Do you think Ingoldo got the message, though?" Varda asked, "And I don’t mean about the wedding."

"Hopefully," Manwë replied with a sigh. "Only time will tell."

"Well, Intarion and Lirulin and her family will be here soon enough," Námo said. "At least their audience will be more pleasant than this one."

"True enough," Manwë said. "Have you and Vairë decided on a gift for the happy couple yet?"

"I think Vairë is planning on giving them one of her tapestries," Námo said with a shrug. "I’m leaving the decision to her. She says she can’t trust my judgment about such things anyway." The other two snorted with amusement. "What are you giving them?"

"Ah... you’ll just have to wait and see," Manwë said with a sly smile.

"Fine. Keep your secrets," Námo retorted with a sniff. "I have plenty of my own."

"No doubt," Manwë averred, "but they’re not as interesting as mine." And then the Elder King of all of Arda stuck out his tongue at Námo and made a rude noise.

Námo’s only reaction to that unexpected behavior from Atar’s vice-gerent was a raised eyebrow while Varda sat there laughing.

****

Note: Elemmírë of the Vanyar will someday compose the Aldudénië ‘Lament for the Two Trees’, known to all the Eldar [Silmarillion, Chapter 8, ‘Of the Darkening of Valinor’].

29: iVeryanwë Lirulin Intarionyë

Intarion and Lirulin’s audience with the Valar proved much more enjoyable for the Valar. They were relaxed and joyful as they presented the couple with their gifts. Námo’s prediction that Vairë would gift them with a tapestry proved true. It was one of her smaller tapestries, yet no less exquisite in its crafting. It depicted Cuiviénen and the Awakening of the first Elves.

"This is a scene from your Beginnings," the Valië said. "May it be a symbol of the new beginning you are creating in wedding one another."

The couple thanked Vairë and Námo profusely and then Aulë and Yavanna presented their gift — a cradle made of cherry wood and intricately carved with grapevines and wheat sheaves entwined. Yavanna gave them a sly smile. "May this find much use in the coming years." Both Intarion and Lirulin blushed while everyone else, including Lirulin’s parents and brother, looked on with knowing smiles.

Ulmo and Nienna gave Lirulin an emerald and pearl necklace while Intarion was given a silver ring set with a single emerald cabochon and a leaf-shaped emerald and silver brooch. The couple promised to wear them at the wedding. Tulkas and Nessa gave Intarion a beautifully crafted lute while Lirulin was given an equally beautiful lap harp.

"So you may make beautiful music together," Nessa explained with a smile.

"If you put aside a time each day to play these instruments," Tulkas added in all seriousness, "it will help you to stay bonded. Never let a day go by that you do not stop to create something beautiful between you, whether it is music, a poem, a kind and loving word, or even a child." And then he laughed and the Elves could not help but laugh as well.

Irmo and Estë gave them two ëarrossë plants. "Plant one in your garden and bring the other inside," Estë said. "As long as they bloom they will be a symbol of your fidelity to one another."

"Also, the plant is good against evil dreams," Irmo added. "Later, when you have elflings, place the plant in their bedrooms so they may find the Path of Dreams with ease."

Oromë and Vána gave the couple two beautifully crafted headstalls with bells. "These are for the two horses that you will find waiting for you outside when you leave," Oromë said, smiling at the bemused expressions on both their faces.

"But, lord," Intarion protested, "we already have horses."

"One can never have enough horses," Oromë replied, "and these were specially bred and trained by me. I think you will find them a joy and delight to ride. I will leave it to you to name them."

"Then we thank you, lord, and you, lady, for your generosity," Intarion said with a bow and Lirulin added her own shy ‘thank you’.

Finally, it was Manwë and Varda’s turn to give their gift. Varda smiled at the couple warmly. "A wedding is very special, but it only marks the beginning of a relationship and is not an end in itself," she said. "Thus, this gift which my beloved and I bestow upon you is for the days that follow." She then brought forth with a thought two books beautifully bound in blue-dyed tooled leather with jewel-encrusted clasps. Both books had depictions of the Two Trees, one in gold leaf, the other done with silver leaf, their branches entwined. Varda handed each a book and they saw that a name had been inscribed above the Trees.

Intarion and Lirulin gave the Elentári puzzled looks. "I think you gave us the wrong books, lady," Intarion said, speaking for both of them. "This has Lirulin’s name on it." He held out the book in his hand.

Varda nodded. "And the book I gave Lirulin has your name inscribed on the front," she said. "I did not make a mistake, though. Open the books," she commanded.

Still looking puzzled, the two complied with the Valië’s command and found that the pages of the books were blank. "Here, on these pages," Varda explained, "you will each write the story of your lives together, recording all the little things that happen between you, both humorous and not so humorous. Record all the important events of your lives together and even the trivial things as you see fit. Do not show your spouse what you have written, but at a time of your choosing, perhaps on the anniversary of your wedding day, sit down together and share your books. Let your beloved read what you have written. I think you will be surprised by what you will find between the pages as you read your beloved’s words. I promise you that there will be much laughter but also tears. In the end, though, it is hoped that you will find a deeper love and appreciation for each other, recognizing the fact that, while you share your lives, each brings to the marriage something unique, some perspective on life the other does not possess."

Intarion and Lirulin shared shy looks before thanking the Valië, who smiled benignly upon them.

"I have something that properly belongs to you, Intarion," the Elder King then said. Manwë motioned to Eönwë who was standing in attendance to his lord and the other Valar and the Maia stepped forward holding a thin wooden case. He handed it to Intarion who softly thanked Eönwë and gave him and Manwë a bow.

"Will you not open the Elder King’s gift?" Telemnar asked, looking puzzled.

"It is not a gift, Telemnar," Manwë said mildly. "It is Intarion’s copy of the betrothal contract. Findaráto thought it might be safer with me than in Vanyamar."

Telemnar raised an eyebrow at that revelation and then sighed. "Prince Findaráto is most wise," he said.

"In some things," Manwë replied with a nod.

Then the audience came to a close and Manwë and Varda called for two of their People, Fionwë and Sáyandilmë, to help carry the gifts down the mountain. Before the Elves took their leave, the Valar each took turns blessing the couple, beginning with Manwë and Varda. The last was Námo, who gazed on them with great solemnity.

"There were many among the Valar and Maiar who wondered if Vairë and I would ever espouse," he said without preamble, "for, though it was obvious that we loved one another and it was Ilúvatar’s will that we so wed, there were...um... let us say, certain obstacles which we had to overcome before we were able to speak our vows to one another." He paused, turning to Vairë, the two of them sharing a smile. Then he turned his attention back to the Elves standing there, riveted by his words. "The joy that I felt when we were finally espoused cannot be described, and for a time I regretted that we had not been able to wed earlier. I resented the time lost or wasted that could have been ours had certain events not occurred. In time, though, I came to realize that the delay only made our present union the sweeter and the more joyful, never to be taken for granted. You, Intarion and Lirulin, have long awaited this day, as have we. Yet, do not think that the time of waiting has been a waste or in vain. Rather, look upon it as a test of your love for one another and rejoice in the knowledge that, in spite of everything, your love has remained true. Let this knowledge be a comfort to you and a reminder never to take your love for granted." He raised a hand in blessing and solemnly intoned, "Nai elen atta siluvat aurenna veryanwesto."

Both Intarion and Lirulin had thoughtful expressions as they bowed to the Lord of Mandos. Then the audience was over and after giving the Valar their obeisance, the Elves left, along with the two Maiar carrying the wedding gifts, with Intarion carefully carrying the betrothal contract.

"An interesting speech," Manwë said to Námo once the Valar were alone. "I was unaware that you ever felt any resentment for the delay in your union with Vairë."

Námo shrugged. "The resentment was rather short-lived," he said. "The joy of our bonding overwhelmed what bitterness I had towards Melkor and what he did to the two of us and I accepted the fact that the delay was simply a part of the whole of our lives together. We were finally espoused, in spite of Melkor, and in the end, that was all that really mattered."

"Intarion and Lirulin will hopefully remember your words," Oromë said, "when they look back over the time lost when they could have been married but were not."

"It is why I spoke them," Námo said.

"And so, these two Children will finally be wed," Yavanna then said with a sigh of satisfaction. "Now, I wonder if we can inspire a few others to become betrothed soon."

"You mean Findaráto and Amarië," Aulë said, gazing fondly on his wife.

"They make a lovely couple, don’t you think?" Yavanna asked coyly.

"We still need to get Indil and Tamurilon married, Yavanna," Varda said with a smile. "One couple at a time, please."

"But a double wedding...."

"One couple at a time," the Queen of Stars said firmly. "Do you think I can just call up wedding gifts out of thin air?"

"Didn’t you?" Námo retorted, giving her an innocent look that set the others laughing. Varda scowled at him at first, but the laughter of the others was infectious and she soon joined them.

****

Lirulin gave Intarion a loving kiss as they reached the gates of the city. They would not see one another until the wedding itself. Intarion stood and watched as she and her parents continued on their way, trailed by the two Maiar carrying the gifts. Passers-by gave them startled looks but, recognizing the family, they smiled and wished them joy. He sighed as they disappeared around a corner.

"You’ll be seeing her tomorrow," Telemnar said with a knowing smile. He had taken possession of the two white horses, a mare and a gelding, and would take them to the royal stables and get them settled in before returning home.

"I know it’s only a few hours away, but it seems like forever," Intarion replied as they made their way to the palace. "I’ve waited so long and now that it has finally arrived...."

"It was well worth the wait," Telemnar said. "You and Lirulin were meant for each other. Remember what Lord Námo said. Truly, I think his words must apply to all couples, not just to you. I have heard my own parents say that once they were married their only regret was in not marrying sooner."

Intarion nodded and bade farewell to his soon-to-be brother-in-law as they came to the palace grounds and Telemnar went with the horses to the stables while Intarion made his way to the royal apartments where he found Findaráto waiting for him.

"How did it go?" the Noldorin prince asked.

"It went very well," Intarion replied with a smile. "You should see the gifts the Valar gave us. Look. Lord Ulmo and Lady Nienna gave me these." He showed Findaráto the ring and brooch. "Lirulin has a necklace of emeralds and pearls. We promised to wear them tomorrow for the wedding."

"They are beautiful," Findaráto said with all sincerity. "The others have gone to sup," he explained. "I wasn’t in the mood to visit, so I’ve ordered something to be brought up. I had the feeling you might not wish to deal with family tonight, either, so I ordered enough for two. Care to join me?"

Intarion gave his cousin a grateful look. "Yes, thank you. The thought of having to sit and make conversation with people I barely know even if they are kin does not appeal to me right now. There’s too much on my mind."

"Oh?" Findaráto said, giving him an enquiring look as they made their way to Findaráto’s apartments. "I would think there would be only one thing on your mind, or rather, one person."

Intarion blushed. "That, too," he replied, not really looking at Findaráto and the Noldorin prince chuckled. They entered Findaráto’s sitting room to find dinner waiting for them. Findaráto gestured for Intarion to sit. "I’m surprised the twins and Indil are eating with the others, rather than joining us."

"They were all set to do just that," Findaráto said as he poured a light yellow wine into goblets, "but I persuaded them to eat with the rest of the family. I have spent more of my time with them than with you and tomorrow you will be happily wed. I thought this last night it would be nice for just the two of us to sit and get to know one another better."

"I have been very busy of late with all the wedding preparations," Intarion averred, "and I’ve regretted not being able to spend more time with you as well. So, you will be returning to Tirion after the wedding?"

Findaráto nodded. "I will leave with my parents. I’ve nearly completed my studies and will stop at Valmar to speak with Lord Aulë before I return to Tirion to take up my responsibilities."

"Do you have any idea what Ñolofinwë will ask you to do, yet?" Intarion asked.

Findaráto shook his head. "Not really. He said he would discuss it when we return to Tirion. I think he wants to leave all that behind for a few days and just enjoy himself with the wedding. He’s had a rough time of it since Anatar left. I was surprised he even came."

"So was I, and I would not have blamed him if he had elected to remain in Tirion," Intarion said. "But I am glad he and Anairë are here. They deserve some time for happiness."

Findaráto nodded. "So, what other gifts did the Valar give you?" he asked in idle curiosity.

Intarion chuckled. "They certainly are not the usual wedding gifts," he said and went on to describe the audience and what was said. Findaráto listened with great interest.

Later, when the dinner was over and he was ready to retire, Intarion handed the betrothal scroll to Findaráto. "You should hold on to this," he said.

"I’ll keep it safe," Findaráto promised, "and I will bring it to the ceremony." Then he wished his cousin fair dreams and saw him out the door before retiring himself.

****

The wedding took place, as did all weddings, at the Second Mingling. In the hours before that, there was much to-ing and fro-ing as the palace was transformed. The ceremony would be held in the gardens followed by the wedding feast, which would take place in the main feasting hall. While it was more common for the feast to precede the ceremony, at least among the Noldor and Teleri, some of the Vanyar, including the royal family, had begun to reverse the order when it suited them to do so. In Intarion and Lirulin’s case, it had been decided to have the wedding ceremony first.

"Just so we can get it over with," Lirulin said when she was explaining the change in the order to others. "I am going to be nervous enough as it is and I doubt I would be able to eat a single bite."

There were knowing smiles all around and no one voiced any objections.

In the meantime, Findaráto, Tamurilon and Valandur, who would act as Intarion’s witnesses, spent the time before the ceremony with Intarion, helping him to get ready. The poor ellon was a bundle of nerves.

"I didn’t sleep at all," he told them.

"And I very much doubt you’ll be getting sleep any time soon," Valandur said with a knowing smile and Findaráto grinned.

"Just take a deep breath, Cousin," Findaráto said. "All will be well."

"I just hope my parents behave," Intarion said with a grimace.

"They just have to be present for the actual ceremony," Valandur said, "to sign the wedding scroll, but there is nothing that says they must attend the feast afterwards, though I suspect Ingwë will insist that they do so for propriety’s sake."

Intarion sighed. "I just wish they could be happy for me."

"So do we," Findaráto said sympathetically. "At least take comfort that everyone else in the family is happy for you and Lirulin and we wish you nothing but joy in your union."

"Thank you," Intarion said fervently. "I’m glad we had the opportunity to get to know one another better."

"As am I," Findaráto said. Then, he picked up the betrothal contract and gave Intarion a smile. "Shall we?"

Intarion nodded, looking pale and nervous. "I hope I don’t do anything stupid like faint," he murmured.

Tamurilon took him by the shoulders and gave him a warm smile. "You’re going to be just fine. Leave the fainting for the ellith. They’ve made it into an art form."

The other three ellyn chuckled and then they made their way to the gardens where the rest of the family awaited them. Ingoldo and Tinwetariel stood to the right of the canopy of white sendal under which the couple would stand and speak their vows. Their expressions were stony and everyone pretty much ignored them. Ingwë and Elindis came to meet the four ellyn. Elindis smiled and gave her nephew a kiss.

"You look just fine, Intarion," she whispered. "That brooch and ring complement your wedding garb quite beautifully."

"They’re a gift from Lady Nienna and Lord Ulmo," Intarion replied shyly.

"Shall we?" Ingwë said, gesturing towards where the ceremony would take place. "The guests are all assembled and I think the bride is on her way."

Intarion nodded and they all returned to the canopy, with Intarion, Valandur, Tamurilon and Findaráto standing to the right while Elindis stood with her sons. Ingwë, as High King as well as Intarion’s uncle, stood with the bridegroom, for he would hear the vows and acknowledge them married. Then, in the distance, they heard music and the raising of voices in the traditional wedding song as the bride and her family and friends were approaching. Those waiting for them took up the song, welcoming the bridal party.

Intarion strained to see Lirulin coming and then she was there, riding the mare that had been given to her by Lord Oromë and Lady Vána, led by her brother with her parents walking behind them. Indil, Findis and Amarië, as Lirulin’s witnesses, were with them and Intarion vaguely noticed how Findaráto smiled at the sight of Amarië, but then his attention was drawn back to Lirulin, her ethereal beauty enhanced by the emerald and pearl necklace that graced her throat. Telemnar stopped the horse and helped his sister down, then uttered a soft word to the mare. The mare whinnied and bobbed her head before going with a groom back to the stables. Lirulin, meantime, continued walking towards the canopy with her family and Amarië. As they came abreast of the others waiting the song came to an end and Lirulin gave a curtsey to Elindis and then to Ingwë before joining Intarion under the canopy.

"We are gathered today as witnesses to the speaking of vows," Ingwë said with a smile. "Intarion Ingoldion and Lirulin Nolonduriel have consented to marry one with the other. They do not enter this union lightly nor frivolously, but with full knowledge of the consequences of becoming husband and wife. Yet, their knowledge is second hand and not based on personal experience, and so, I am here to remind you, Intarion and Lirulin, that marriage is more than sharing a bed. It is sharing one’s fëa and that can be both joyful and terrifying. You must remind yourselves each day that the bond between you works both ways and both must contribute to it to make it strong. But do not think that once wed you are on your own, for you are not. There will be times of trouble and sorrow and perhaps even anger, frustration and misunderstandings. That is a normal part of anyone’s life, married or not. Yet, when such times come upon you, remember that you have family who love you and support you and you should go to them for help if necessary. And now, let the betrothal contract be read one last time so that all may hear the terms of the marriage before you speak your vows."

Findaráto brought forth the scroll and in a clear voice read the contract. Then Ingwë spoke. "Are there any objections to the terms of the marriage?" he asked rhetorically, casting a surreptitious eye on Ingoldo and Tinwetariel, both of whom stared at nothing in particular, their expressions set. When no one voiced any objections, Ingwë continued. "Then let the terms of the marriage as agreed upon by both families stand. Á vala Manwë!"

"Á vala Manwë!" everyone echoed, thus signifying that the terms of the contract were ratified by the community at large of whom the guests attending the wedding were representatives, and not just by the families involved.

Findaráto then placed the scroll next to the copy which Nolondur had brought with him on a table where ink and quills were set beside a lit candle, sealing wax and seals. In the space that had been left at the bottom of the contracts Findaráto neatly appended the notation that the wedding had taken place on the appointed day before the following witnesses and that the terms of the marriage had been approved by the community at large. Valandur and Amarië signed both copies as the chief witnesses. Then the respective parents signed as well, Ingoldo and Tinwetariel somewhat reluctantly. Finally, Ingwë and Elindis, as Ingaran and Ingatári, signed, for Intarion was of the royal house of the Vanyar. The appropriate seals were then appended to the two copies, after which the couple exchanged the promise rings they had given one another when they became betrothed and placed them into the hands of their respective witnesses who in turn gave them the wedding rings that would be exchanged once the vows were said.

Intarion would speak first but for a time he merely stood there, gazing into Lirulin’s eyes. Valandur smiled indulgently and gave the ellon a slight nudge on his arm. There was gentle laughter from the guests as Intarion blushed. He turned to Ingwë with a somewhat helpless look. "I... I can’t seem to remember what I’m supposed to say." Now the laughter was louder and Lirulin giggled.

Ingwë smiled broadly and leaned over to whisper something in the ellon’s ear, then he straightened and Intarion turned back to gaze at his beloved. The guests settled down to hear the ellon’s vows. "Uncle Ingwë said to just speak what is in my heart," he began shyly. "Lirulin, I love you. I always have and always will. Nothing in Arda will ever come between me and my love for you. You are the very air I breathe and I will always be grateful that we found one another." Then he paused, swallowing nervously, turning to Ingwë. "I can’t think of anything else to say."

Findaráto rolled his eyes as everyone else snickered, though Ingoldo was seen to scowl and mutter something no one else heard; Tinwetariel just stood there, her expression unreadable. Ingwë smiled. "What you have said is sufficient to make the wedding legal," he said. "Let Lirulin speak now."

Lirulin gave her beloved a sly smile. "I’ll pretend I can’t remember the vows either," she said, "and speak what is in my heart."

At that Findaráto threw up his hands and raised his eyes heavenward. "So much for my input," he said just loud enough for everyone to hear and there was much laughter among those in attendance. Intarion stuck his tongue out at Findaráto and Lirulin just giggled. But when everyone had calmed down, Lirulin spoke with all sincerity. "Intarion, the first time I saw you I think I was about twenty-five. I thought you were the handsomest ellon in all of Aman and somehow I knew that we were meant for one another. I still do. I love you and always will. I want to spend the rest of the Ages of Arda with you. The Light of the Trees is as nothing to the light of your love for me and I will always be grateful that Eru brought us together."

Then the two exchanged wedding rings: plain bands of white gold carefully inscribed on the inside of each with their names. Ingwë took their hands, placing Lirulin’s in Intarion’s and smiled. "Intarion and Lirulin have plighted their troth one to the other and have exchanged rings and vows. Let them henceforth be known as ‘veru’ for all the Ages of Arda and beyond. Valar Valuvar!"

With that everyone began singing the ‘Lindë Veruo’, which had originally been composed by the Vanyarin minstrel Elemmírë in honor of Aulë and Yavanna, but over time it had become a traditional song sung at the end of the wedding ceremony as the newly married couple processed out along with their witnesses and families. As they sang, the guests scattered red, white and pink rose petals before the wedding party, petals which they had collected from their gardens and brought in small bags specially made for the purpose. Then they followed them to the feasting hall.

****

iVeryanwë Lirulin Intarionyë: ‘The Wedding of Lirulin and Intarion’. [-yë is a suffix meaning ‘and’ and is added to the second of a pair.]

Pearl: Symbolic of purity and innocence.

Emerald: Brings wisdom, growth, and patience and is considered symbolic of love and fidelity, as well as a symbol of faith and hope.

Eärrossë: The Rosemary plant. The name is from the Latin rosmarinus meaning, ‘dew of the sea’, which is the Quenya rendering. Besides being a symbol of remembrance, it is also symbolic of happy memories, fidelity, and love, thus, in some European cultures, it is considered a wedding plant. It is also said to be effective against evil spirits and bad dreams.

Nai elen atta siluvat aurenna veryanwesto: ‘May two stars shine upon the day of your wedding’. This is an attested phrase [see Vinyar Tengwar 49, ‘Five Late Quenya Volitive Inscriptions’].

Á vala Manwë!: ‘May Manwë order it!’; an attested phrase.

Veru: (dual noun) Husband and wife; married pair, spouses.

Lindë Veruo: Song of the Spouses.

Valar valuvar!: ‘The will of the Valar will be done’; an attested phrase.

Note: The rose has from time immemorial been a symbol of love. Certain colors of roses have specific meanings: red ‘I love you’; white ‘I am worthy of you’; and pink ‘joy and happiness’.

30: At the Wedding Feast

Intarion and Lirulin were escorted to the high table where Ingwë and Elindis presided over the feast. The table was crescent-shaped set on a dais one step up from the floor. Intarion’s parents sat on the other side of Elindis, while Lirulin’s parents were seated beside Ingwë. The six witnesses along with Ingwion, Ingalaurë, Indis and Telemnar were also seated at the high table with Ingwion at one end of the crescent and his twin at the other. Much to his chagrin, Findaráto found himself seated between his anamillë Indis and Tinwetariel, though he much preferred to be seated next to Amarië, but she was at the other end of the table, seated between Nolondur and Telemnar.

The Noldorin and Telerin royal families were seated at the two tables immediately below the high table. Findaráto happened to catch his ammë’s eyes as he gazed wistfully at his family gathered together. She saw where he was sitting and gave him a sympathetic smile. He couldn’t help smiling back and gave her a resigned shrug.

"Sit up straight, Findaráto," Indis said sharply. "Remember, you’re in public and...."

"You have to maintain a proper image," Findaráto muttered, echoing the very words his anammë was speaking, even as he straightened his spine. If she heard him, she deigned not to notice.

Tinwetariel, however, had. "An insolent child," she said with a smirk over his head at Indis.

Ingoldo, sitting on the other side of his wife, leaned over to speak. "Indeed he is, interfering where he has no business being."

Findaráto gave both of them a cool stare. "Intarion deserves to be happy, Ingoldo. That seems to be something neither of you wish for your own son, though I fail to see why. Do you truly hate him that much?"

The looks of shock on Ingoldo’s and Tinwetariel’s faces were real. "We do not hate our son," Tinwetariel hissed. "We do, however, think he could have done better." She stole a glance at the happy couple, scowling at Lirulin. "Wine merchant’s daughter, indeed."

"Nolondur is a noble, Tinwetariel," Indis said smoothly, "and he is not the only one to indulge himself in other more productive pursuits besides hunting and feasting and quarreling."

"And Lirulin is a respected musician and teacher at the Academy," Findaráto added. "I would not be surprised if Lord Manwë eventually admits her to his service. Having a Manwenduriën in one’s family can only be to your benefit."

"We are already in Lord Manwë’s service," Ingoldo stated categorically.

"Well, Ingwë certainly is," Indis said, "and his children to a certain degree, but I don’t recall that you were ever interested in learning anything Lord Manwë was willing to teach us. You’ve never accompanied Ingwë to Ilmarin for his weekly audience with the Valar. Indeed, until yesterday, I doubt either of you have stepped foot in Ilmarin since the Presentation ceremony for Intarion."

"That is neither here nor there, Sister," Ingoldo said with a scowl.

Indis gave them an elegant shrug, then turned her eyes on Findaráto who had remained quiet during this exchange. "And speaking of lessons, how are yours coming along, Indyo?"

"Lord Aulë is pleased with my progress," he said, realizing he had not actually answered his anamillë’s question but not wishing to go into any detail.

Indis gave him a shrewd look. "I understand there was some trouble in the market not long ago and you were somehow involved."

Findaráto blushed and busied himself with pushing his food around his plate, not wishing to discuss the incident.

Naturally, Tinwetariel had her own opinion about it all. "He practically instigated a riot, he and the twins," she said with a smirk.

"I was not the one who attacked Urundil," Findaráto retorted. "I was trying to help him."

"Regardless, it was disgraceful for you and the twins to be involved in a common brawl," Tinwetariel rejoined with a supercilious sniff. "After all, as a prince of Eldamar, you have a certain image to maintain."

"Is that all that matters to you, Tinwetariel, maintaining an image, whether it is beneficial to others or not?" Findaráto said, his expression shrewd. "Should we not rather be concerned with what is just and act accordingly and not worry about what others think? Is this why you and Ingoldo have been so against Intarion wedding Lirulin, because you think that others will now look down at you because your son has married a — how did you put it? — a wine merchant’s daughter?" Neither Tinwetariel nor Ingoldo answered. "Look around you, Tinwetariel," Findaráto continued. "Do you see anyone here who disparages the union and thinks less of your son, or you and Ingoldo, because he has married Lirulin?"

He gestured towards the center of the high table where several of Ingwë’s courtiers were gathered in front of the couple, speaking animatedly with them and the High King and Queen, offering the couple their congratulations. There was a spate of laughter from the group and they saw Lord Castamir reach over to kiss Lirulin’s hand before the courtiers returned to their seats. Castamir and Almáriel stopped before Nolondur and Yáviën to speak with them. The two couples exchanged glad greetings and it was obvious to those watching that they were friends. Yáviën rose from her seat and leaned over the table so that she and Almáriel could exchange kisses, while the two ellyn clasped hands warmly.

Then, Lady Lindórië and Lord Lassezel made their way towards Ingoldo and Tinwetariel. "A lovely wedding," Lindórië said sincerely.

"Indeed," Lassezel said. "You should be very proud of your son. He and Lirulin make a lovely couple and I am glad that Nolondur has agreed to return to Ingwë’s court. He has ever been wise in the ways of the people and I have missed his insights."

"Oh yes," Lindórië said with a nod. "Nolondur is one of the best of us and I look forward to working with him again."

Findaráto watched with grim amusement as Ingoldo and Tinwetariel muttered their thanks, though neither looked particularly happy. Tinwetariel’s expression was politely blank while Ingoldo’s was cooly impassive. "No doubt he will be an asset to Ingwë," he said stonily. Findaráto doubted Ingoldo was sincere in his utterance.

Lindórië then turned to Findaráto with a sly grin. "I am sorry all your efforts in composing the wedding vows were wasted, Prince Findaráto. Perhaps you can use them for your own wedding instead."

Findaráto laughed. "I’ll have to keep that in mind, my lady, or perhaps I can convince Indil and Tam to use it at their wedding." Lindórië laughed gaily and Lassezel smiled.

"Indis," Lassezel said, turning to Ingwë’s sister, who held out her hand for him to kiss. "I am glad to see you again. I only wish Finwë could be here to share in the joy."

"Thank you, Lassezel," Indis said regally. "I have been told that Lord Manwë gave my husband permission to attend the wedding if he so desired, but he apparently did not wish to." She gave them a shrug. "He has ever been a stubborn fool."

"A pity what happened," Lindórië commented with a shake of her head. "Fëanáro strikes me as being very arrogant. His may well be one of the outstanding minds among us, but he is not the only one."

"I suspect losing his amillë as he did and at such a young age unsettled his mind somewhat," Lassezel said.

"It’s no excuse for his accusations against Ari," Indis said. "The Valar know I did my best to befriend Fëanáro when I married Finwë, but he would have none of it and Finwë, I fear, indulged the ellon his every whim."

"The terms of the exile were rather on the harsh side, I think," Ingoldo interjected, joining the conversation for the first time. "I mean, nothing really happened, did it? Ñolofinwë was not injured, after all."

"It was more than that, Ingoldo," Findaráto said. "Fëanáro broke the Valar’s Peace. I think they were as shocked by the incident as we, perhaps more so. Exiling Fëanáro for a time was probably the only thing they could think of to punish him. Nothing like this has ever happened before, and let us hope it does not happen again."

"Yet, do you truly believe that exiling Fëanáro will solve anything?" Ingoldo said unctuously. "If anything, the level of unrest among the Eldar has risen of late, not the reverse."

"Well, I think rumors that the trade agreement between our two peoples is useless and that markets are now scarce does not help the situation," Findaráto stated blandly, not looking directly at Ingoldo.

"Do you accuse me....?" Ingoldo started to protest.

"I accuse no one," Findaráto retorted, his eyes lit with an inner fire. "Yet, the rumors are there and the people are fearful that they will be unable to feed their families because they cannot sell their wares. A baseless fear, for neither Ingwë nor Uncle Ñolofinwë will permit anyone to starve, and I suspect that those spreading these rumors are well aware of this, but for purposes of their own they have decided to lie, besmirching the High King’s honor."

There was a tense silence between them all for a moment or two and then Valandur, who was seated on the other side of Indis and had kept one ear on their conversation while listening to Indil and Ingwion as they made humorous comments about some of the wedding guests, leaned towards Indis and spoke in a gently reprimanding tone. "Perhaps this is a discussion for another time, my lords and ladies. We are, after all, celebrating a wedding."

Indis gave him a considering look while Lindórië and Lassezel both gave him apologetic smiles, then made their way back to their seats. Findaráto returned to his meal, though he was no longer hungry and ignored the others around him. When there was a lull between removes he excused himself, taking up his wine goblet and went to where his parents were sitting and joined them. Aicanáro and Artanis had left the table to speak with Intarion and Lirulin, so the others shifted their seats around to give him room.

"Your anammë giving you a hard time, yonya?" Arafinwë asked, giving him a sympathetic smile.

"She and Tinwetariel," Findaráto said with a sigh. "I refuse to return to the high table. I would rather sit here with you and visit. We haven’t had much time together since you arrived."

Arafinwë looked about and, spying a page, motioned her to approach. "Prince Findaráto prefers to eat the rest of the feast with us. Please bring him a trencher and another chair. We’ll make room somehow."

The page bowed and shortly thereafter, she returned with a clean plate and eating utensils while another page brought a high stool. "I could not find another chair, lord," the page said apologetically.

Findaráto smiled at him. "That’s quite all right. This will be just fine, thank you." He took the stool, dismissing the pages and sat between his parents. The stool was just high enough that he appeared to be sitting in a chair.

"Are you comfortable perched on that, Cousin?" Turucáno asked with a laugh.

Findaráto shrugged. "It does not matter, so long as I don’t have to sit between Anammë and Tinwetariel."

There were chuckles all around. "What were you discussing?" Eärwen asked. "Everyone seemed rather tense."

"Nothing important and nothing that should be discussed at a wedding feast," Findaráto answered. "I would rather talk about something else."

"And what would you like to discuss?" Arafinwë asked his eldest child, raising an eyebrow.

For an answer, Findaráto leaned over and called down the table. "Uncle Ari, when we get back to Tirion can I be in charge of stockpiling the butteries?"

Ñolofinwë gave a start of surprise at the unexpectedness of the question and then burst into laughter. "Only if I put a guard on you, you young rascal. You’re likely to insist on tasting everything that the cooks make, if I know you." There was knowing laughter from the rest of the table as Findaráto grinned unrepentantly.

Then the conversation shifted to other topics of interest to the Noldorin royal family and the rest of the feast continued pleasantly. At one point Findaráto happened to look up at the high table and was surprised to see that his sister was sitting between Indis and Tinwetariel. She caught his eye just then and gave him a mischievous smile and a nod. He smiled back, nodding in return. Artanis and he understood one another perfectly. Indis must have caught the exchange, for she turned her eyes on him and gave him a disapproving look. Findaráto lowered his gaze, turning his attention to something that his brother Angaráto’s wife, Eldalótë, was saying and promptly forgot about his anammë.

****

After the feast there was dancing and singing and mingling among the guests. Findaráto danced the obligatory dance with his ammë, his sister and Lirulin and then excused himself to join his atar and Ñolofinwë outside in the garden where they were holding court with Ingwë and Olwë. The older Elves greeted him warmly.

"A very successful wedding," Ingwë said, "even if we didn’t get to hear the vows you wrote for the happy couple."

There was gentle laughter all around. "Lady Lindórië suggested I use them at my own wedding," Findaráto said, "though I think Indil and Tam wouldn’t mind using them. Indil was quite impressed when I showed them to her."

"When do you anticipate them becoming officially betrothed?" Olwë asked Ingwë.

"I have no idea," Ingwë said honestly. "I believe they are going to wait for a while. One royal wedding a year is more than enough."

There were nods all around. Then Findaráto cleared his throat and the others looked at him expectantly. "I have had a request from Lord Manwë," he said, looking at Arafinwë. "I told him I would make no decision on it until after I’d consulted with you and Uncle Ari."

"What sort of request?" Arafinwë asked, looking suddenly wary.

"The Valar are rather concerned over the state of unrest among the Noldor," Findaráto explained. "They wish for me to address our people whenever the opportunity presents itself and counsel calm. They seem to think that my powers of persuasion rival Uncle Fëanáro’s." He gave them a self-deprecatory shrug.

Ñolofinwë frowned. "Why do they think you will succeed where others have failed?" he asked, sounding frustrated and annoyed. "Do they think I am doing nothing to help bring peace to Tirion? Do not get me wrong, Nephew. I would appreciate your help in this matter, but I find it strange that the Valar would specifically ask you to accomplish this."

"They will not force me to do it, if I truly do not wish to," Findaráto said, "but I get the impression that they are hoping I will acquiesce to their wishes. At any rate, I will abide by whatever you and Atar decide. Oh, and Lord Aulë wishes me to go to Valmar after the wedding for a time."

"Oh?" Arafinwë asked. "I thought you were finished with your studies?"

"I am, or nearly so," Findaráto said, "but he still wishes me to join him there. I can hardly say no, can I?" He gave them a sardonic grin and the others smiled.

"I think it best to table the discussion about what the Valar would like you to do for them until you return to Tirion," Ñolofinwë said. "After all, if you are in Valmar for an indefinite period of time, you’re not going to be roaming the streets of the city counseling calm to the people, are you?"

Findaráto shook his head, then gave his uncle a sly look. "I still want to be in charge of the butteries, though, so please don’t give that task to anyone else."

"But overseeing the butteries and keeping them sufficiently stocked is such a grave responsibility," Ñolofinwë said in feigned seriousness. "I can’t appoint just anyone to the position, you know."

Findaráto stuck his tongue out at his uncle and the others started laughing. Then, Ingwë asked Olwë how the Telerin fishing fleets were doing and the conversation drifted into other topics.

****

It was nearly the time of First Mingling and the wedding feast was still in progress, for most of the guests would remain to partake of the wedding breakfast that even now was being prepared. Intarion and Lirulin had retired some time before, though they would join their families for the breakfast feast.

A group of Vanyarin nobles were gathered together at one of the lower tables discussing various concerns of the kingdom, passing several bottles of wine around, which had been contributed by Nolondur. Lassezel, Castamir and Valandur were seated with him, along with Lords Súlimondil and Valacar, who happened to be cousins. Conversations throughout the feast hall were muted, so it was with some surprise when Valacar suddenly spoke up loudly enough for everyone in the hall to hear.

"I tell you, things are only going to get worse," he exclaimed. "The Valar should have exiled all the Noldor. They are nothing but trouble."

"Very true," Súlimondil replied just as loudly. "They are a plague on our people, bringing unrest among us. Ingwë should expel all Noldor from Vanyamar. Then we will be free from their taint."

Findaráto, seated with Amarië, the twins, Indil and Tamurilon, frowned and started to rise, but Ingalaurë grabbed him and pulled him down, shaking his head. All other conversations had ceased and Findaráto could see his Uncle Ñolofinwë sitting there with a pained expression on his face. His heart went out to his uncle, trying so hard to heal the breach that Fëanáro had caused and he felt anger towards the two Vanyarin nobles for their words. He looked around to see that a few of the Vanyarin guests were nodding in agreement and that angered him even more.

Ingwë spoke up at that point. "If We expel anyone from Vanyamar," he said coldly, speaking as High King, "it will be those who foment unrest among Our people with their lies and diatribes. We are aware of certain rumors being spread, rumors which are designed to bring fear to Our people. We will not countenance...."

"The Noldor walk around their city with... with... what was that word?... ah, shields," retorted Valacar, "and my sources tell me that they are forging weapons such as we used during the Great Journey to protect ourselves against wild beasts. Why do they need weapons here in Aman? Are we Vanyar a threat to them? Or the Teleri? Or the Valar?"

"And now with a goodly portion of the Noldor exiled to Formenos," Súlimondil added, "our markets are drying up, but you have forbidden us to raise our prices so we can recover our losses. Are we to starve for the next eleven years because of the damn Noldor?"

"No one is going to starve and you know it, Súlimondil," Valandur said. "That is pure foolishness. Ingwë will not allow it."

"True, I will not," Ingwë said sternly, his eyes narrowing in displeasure. "I do not appreciate others arrogating for themselves my prerogatives by spreading rumors about what I will or will not do. The people will have to learn to do without certain luxuries for a time, no doubt, but none will go hungry because they are unable to sell their products as they are used to."

"It would help matters if the Valar allowed even limited trade with those at Formenos," one of the other Vanyarin lords whom Findaráto did not know said in a reasonable tone. "They cannot be that self-sufficient and must lack certain essentials."

"True," Ingwë averred, "and I may address the issue at my next audience with Lord Manwë, but there is no guarantee that the Valar will allow this. Therefore, it behooves us to set an example for our people and treat everyone fairly and honorably and to dismiss the rumors that are designed only to foment further distress and unrest among us."

"That is easy for you to say, Ingwë," Valacar retorted with a snarl, standing to face the High King, swaying as he spoke, his words a little slurred. "I have to wonder where your loyalties lie. No sooner does Finwë leave Tirion than you are there at her gates instead of seeing to the needs of your own people, leaving children to run the kingdom in your stead. I’m surprised you didn’t simply declare yourself Noldóran and stay there."

The silence that followed Valacar’s diatribe was profound. It was obvious to many that the lord was more than a little drunk. Even his cousin, Súlimondil, looked distressed and attempted to pull him back down into his chair. Valacar resisted, swaying slightly. Findaráto stared dispassionately at the two lords. There was something not quite right about the whole scene, but he could not quite put his finger on it. Yet, he had a sense that somehow the entire episode had been orchestrated either by Valacar alone or with his cousin and he had to wonder at its purpose, beyond embarrassing Ingwë and the Noldor.

Ingwë sat there still as stone and all held their breaths, waiting for the explosion they knew must come. Then, without taking his eyes off Valacar, the High King spoke in a low tone devoid of any emotion. "Sérener," he said, calling to one of his chief guards, "remove Lord Valacar from Our presence and escort him to his home. Lord Súlimondil, perhaps it would be best if you accompanied your cousin and saw to his well-being."

Súlimondil went pale, his lips thinning with suppressed anger, but whether at Ingwë or his cousin, no one could say. He gave Ingwë a short bow and grabbed Valacar’s arm, practically dragging him away while the ellon protested.

"Keep your fool mouth shut, Cousin," Súlimondil snarled, "else you will find yourself in deeper trouble than you already are." Then they were gone and everyone started to breathe again.

Ingwë still did not move, his expression carved in stone, his eyes staring darkly at nothing in particular. Ñolofinwë stood and faced the High King, giving him a deep reverence. "Forgive me, Ingaran," he said. "I think perhaps our presence has only made things worse for you and the Vanyar. With your permission, we will leave as soon as possible."

Ingwë stirred, as if coming out of a deep reverie, and rose from his seat, coming down from the high table to stand before the young Noldo, embracing him. "There is naught to forgive, child," he said, giving Ñolofinwë a kiss on the brow, "and I do not give my permission for you and your family to depart earlier than was planned. You are welcome here, Ñolofinwë, you and all the Noldor. Áni hlarë Valar."

Ñolofinwë smiled. "Thank you, Uncle," he said fervently.

Ingwë nodded and then looked about him. "I am sorry you were a witness to this, my lords and ladies. Pray, think no further on it and return to your earlier merriment. I see that the cooks are already putting out the breakfast dishes. Let us enjoy this repast and forget our troubles for a time. Ah… I see that Intarion and Lirulin have joined us." He gave them both a smile as they entered, both looking immensely pleased with themselves. The others took their cue from Ingwë and welcomed the couple back and they made their way to the buffet.

Findaráto happened to be standing between Ingwion and Aicanáro who asked, "So, who were those two nobles Uncle Ingwë had removed?"

"Friends of Uncle Ingoldo," Ingwion said with a scowl.

"Speaking of which, where is he and Tinwetariel?" Findaráto asked, looking about.

"They both left some time ago," Ingwion answered with a shrug, not really caring.

"But not before Ingoldo spoke with Súlimondil and Valacar," Tamurilon, who was on Aicanáro’s other side, said. When Findaráto and Ingwion stared at the ellon in surprise, he nodded. "I saw them speaking together just before Ingoldo left. He seemed very pleased about something, at least I imagine, since he was smiling and I haven’t seen him smile in weeks."

Findaráto and Ingwion exchanged concerned looks and certain pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place for the Noldorin prince. "Tell your atar," he said firmly. "Did you ever speak to him about what we overheard at the tavern that day I was injured?"

Ingwion shook his head, looking chagrined. "In all the excitement and then the wedding... sorry."

"No need to apologize," the Noldorin prince said. "But don’t delay. Tell him today even if you must take him away from here to do it. Have Ingalaurë present to corroborate your story."

"Will you not come?" Ingwion asked.

Findaráto shook his head. "Coming from me it will sound to others as if I am purposely causing trouble, but coming from you...."

Ingwion nodded in understanding, then sighed. "I really hate this."

"We all do, Cousin," Findaráto said sympathetically. "Now, be a good ellon and move on down so I can get to the eggs."

Ingwion stuck his tongue out at him but he did move down the buffet, while Aicanáro and Tamurilon laughed.

****

Manwenduriën: (Female) Servant of Manwë, on the same order as the Aulenduri [see Chapter 26]. The masculine form would be Manwendur.

Indyo: Grandson.

Ingaran: Ingwë’s title as High King of All the Elves of Aman. When speaking only as King of the Vanyar, his title is then Vanyaran.

Áni hlarë Valar: ‘The Valar hear me’.

31: Findaráto in Valmar

The wedding guests from Tirion and Alqualondë remained in Vanyamar for another week. During that time, Ingwë held discussions with Olwë and Ñolofinwë behind closed doors. What was discussed was never learned by Findaráto or his cousins. Findaráto, in fact, spent most of his time making his farewells.

"We’re going to miss you," Ingwion said to him when he, Ingalaurë, and Indil were gathered together one evening in Findaráto’s sitting room visiting. "I’ve gotten used to having you around to offer sage advice. I want to thank you for all your help."

"You would have done well enough without me," Findaráto said with a smile.

"But not nearly as well as we did," Ingalaurë rejoined. "Especially where Uncle Ingoldo is concerned. I know Intarion and Lirulin are grateful for your... er... interference on their behalf."

Findaráto laughed. "I suppose," he averred. "At any rate, I rather enjoyed myself for the most part. Perhaps you can return the favor sometime and come visit me."

"Perhaps we will," Ingwion said. Ingalaurë and Indil both nodded.

"We’ll even bring Amarië with us," Indil said with a mischievous grin and Findaráto grinned back shyly while the twins snickered.

****

On the Valanya following the wedding, the Noldorin and Telerin royal families joined Ingwë and his family for a final audience with the Valar, for they would be leaving Vanyamar three days later.

"We have enjoyed your time among us," Lord Manwë told them. "It is unfortunate that distance prevents you from coming to us on a more regular basis, but we are grateful that Ingwë has graced us with his presence on a weekly basis and so we must be content with that."

"Grateful, lord?" Ingwë asked, looking mildly perplexed.

"Indeed," Manwë replied. "The Eldar are an endless source of delight and wonder to us and we are always happy when we are able to interact with you."

"You did not look particularly happy when you placed Fëanáro on trial," Findaráto couldn’t help saying, giving the Elder King a knowing smile.

Arafinwë shot him a disapproving look. "Findaráto! You forget yourself."

"Nay, Arafinwë," Manwë said, holding up his hand and smiling. "Do not chastise your son. He has the right of it. We were not particularly happy that day. In fact, we were all very troubled by what had happened and what is still happening. Yet, I spoke truly. We Valar are delighted when any of the Eldar seek us out for instruction or simply to visit."

"We are asambari after all, are we not?" Varda added. "It is only right that neighbors visit with one another and enjoy each other’s company."

"Yet, you have never actually visited any of us," Ñolofinwë pointed out.

"You have never invited us to do so," Manwë answered, sounding more amused than upset and the Elves all blushed at the unstated reprimand.

"An oversight that we will endeavor to correct," Ingwë said with a bow.

Then the Valar gave their blessing to the Elves, wishing them a good journey. At the end, the Elder King addressed Ñolofinwë.

"We know how difficult this time has been for you, my son," he said gravely, "yet we have every confidence that you will do well in ruling the Noldor in Tirion during Finwë’s absence. Do not hesitate, however, to call upon us if you feel the need. As my beloved pointed out, we are indeed neighbors, and should not neighbors help each other when there is need?"

Ñolofinwë bowed. "I thank thee for thy words, lord, and for thy support. Know that I am grateful for whatever aid thou dost deign to give me. There is much healing to be done among my people and between us and our fellow Elves. I fear it is not something that I can accomplish alone."

"Nor should you," Aulë stated. "You have the support of your family and kin as well as ours. You are not alone, child. All of us are here to aid you. You only need to reach out to us."

Ñolofinwë bowed again, his expression one of relief. As the Elves were making their way out, Aulë called out to Findaráto. "Remember, I will see you in Valmar. Come to my mansion on next Elenya at the third hour after First Mingling. One of my people will be there to escort you to me."

Findaráto gave the Vala a bow, then followed the others out.

****

Ingwë held a farewell feast for them all and Amarië and her parents were present as a matter of course. Yet, it was only at the very end of the feast that Findaráto asked her to join him in a walk through the same garden where they had often met one another. Neither said anything for a time, each reluctant to be the first to broach the subject of his leaving.

"Will you write more often?" Amarië suddenly asked.

"I will try," Findaráto said. "Will you come visit?" he asked.

"I will try," she responded with a smile and he grinned back.

"I will miss you," he said, stopping under an elm tree to take her hand and kiss it.

"As I will miss you," she said softly, leaning over to leave a kiss on his cheek. "Na mai, Findaráto. Márienna."

"Namárië, Amarië, vanimeldanya," Findaráto said and then she walked away, leaving him under the elm, watching her go. It was some time before he left the garden.

****

When they reached Eldamas, Olwë and Ñolofinwë decided to continue on to Tirion rather than break their journey there, so Findaráto took his leave of his family before the door of the Crown and Star Inn where he would be staying. Ñolofinwë gave him a brief hug. "I will keep the position of Supervisor to the Butteries open for you, Nephew," he said with a laugh, "but if you do not return to Tirion soon I will have to give it to another." He gave Findaráto a wink.

Findaráto laughed as well. "Hopefully, Lord Aulë will not keep me here too long."

His amillë gave him a kiss and a fond smile. "Try to stay out of trouble, beloved," she said softly and Findaráto nodded, not trusting himself to speak for the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.

Then Arafinwë was hugging him. "I expect nothing but high praise from Lord Aulë about you," he said, giving him a meaningful look, though Findaráto could tell that his atar was very proud of him. He smiled shyly and finally his family departed. Findaráto watched wistfully as they disappeared around a bend in the road. His last sight of them was of Artanis waving. He waved back, then sighed and entered the inn where a room was readied for him.

He spent the next two days wandering around Eldamas, familiarizing himself with the elven town which had been built along the north road out of Valmar. At first, it had consisted of only a few houses belonging to those Elves who had taken direct service with one of the Valar, but over time it had grown into a sizeable town with inns and shops catering not only to those who now made their home there but also to those visiting Valmar from Vanyamar or Tirion. It was rare for any of the Teleri to come there and, in fact, the last time Olwë had come to Valmar had been at the Unchaining of Melkor ninety years before.

On Valanya, he joined many of the other Elves of Eldamas in the Landamallë Valion to sing paeans of praise to the Valar as had become customary for them to do, their voices mingling sweetly with the bells of the Mindon Nyellion. As he played the harp that had been gifted to him by Lord Manwë and sang the popular hymn ‘A Manwë, Anyár’ aranion’ along with the other Elves there, Findaráto idly wondered if the Valar were even aware of their singing, knowing that they were most likely holding their usual audience with Ingwë and the twins. A sudden sharp pang of longing to be back in Vanyamar assailed him, surprising him by its intensity. He had not realized how much he had enjoyed his time there. His fingers slowed on the strings and his voice faltered as he forced away the tears that threatened to come. Then he shook his head and with an almost grim determination resumed his playing and singing.

Finally, though, it was Elenya and at the third hour after First Mingling he presented himself before the gates of Aulë and Yavanna’s mansion, where a Maia who introduced himself as Aiwendil, welcomed him. Oddly, though, the Maia was not wearing the golden-yellow surcoat with the hammer and anvil emblem of Aulë, but a light yellow-green surcoat with the cornucopia emblem of Yavanna.

"Lord Aulë is expecting you, Prince Findaráto, if you will come with me," Aiwendil said.

"Thank you," Findaráto replied and walked beside the Maia through a courtyard filled with flowers of many hues and trees giving shade. Aiwendil led him through an arcade of arched stonework that opened into a cloister where they found both Aulë and Yavanna waiting. They were seated at a table that stood in the cloister’s center. Findaráto gave them his obeisance and Aulë thanked Aiwendil, who bowed and retreated back down the arcade.

Aulë gestured to the ellon. "Come and join us, Findaráto." Findaráto complied and Aulë poured some wine into a goblet for him as he sat down. "We enjoyed your singing yesterday," the Vala said as he set the decanter of wine down, giving the ellon a smile.

Findaráto nearly choked on the wine. "You knew I was there?" he asked, startled.

Yavanna gave a light laugh. "But of course, child," she said. "We could not help but notice how well you played the harp and we delighted in the sweetness of your voice even in the midst of all the other Elves singing and playing for us."

Findaráto blushed. "I wondered if you even knew we were there, for I know you would have been gathered in Ilmarin for the weekly audience with Ingwë."

"True," Aulë said with a nod, "but we Valar have the ability to travel swiftly in thought, too swiftly for the Eldar to notice, and so we were there in Ilmarin, listening to Ingalaurë recite a poem about the recent wedding, and also we were here, listening to you and the others congregated in the Landamallë to offer us your praises."

"Oh," was all Findaráto could think to say while the two Valar gave him indulgent smiles.

"At any rate," Aulë continued, "let us discuss your purpose in being here." Findaráto gave him his full attention. "I am pleased with the progress you have made in your studies, especially in crystallography, though I know you are still working on determining the energy properties of certain gems."

Findaráto nodded. "I am beginning to get a glimmer of what you meant by ‘coherent light’ but I still need more time to figure it out."

"As I thought," the Vala said with a nod. "As it happens, you are not the only one who has become interested in that particular property of certain gems, so I think it would be of benefit to you if you were to meet with the other Aulendur who are also doing research in this particular field."

Findaráto felt a thrill of excitement at the thought and smiled. "I would like that, thank you, lord, but, if I may ask, for how long will you keep me here? Uncle Ñolofinwë needs the help of all his family and I promised...."

Aulë raised a hand to forestall him. "Your uncle has more than enough hands helping him, child. One more pair will make no real difference."

Findaráto nodded, trying not to sigh. He truly wished to return to Tirion and help his family rather than remain in Valmar as just another Aulendur among many doing research that had no immediate significance or purpose. The breach among the Noldor was growing wider and he felt he should be using his talents to help heal it. As if she had divined his thoughts, Yavanna spoke.

"You are not just another Aulendur, Findaráto," she said, "but a beloved son of our hearts. Aulë is correct when he says that Ñolofinwë has more than enough people helping him during these troubled times. We would like the pleasure of enjoying your company for a time."

"Indeed," Aulë said. "Your Uncle Fëanáro and his sons often dwelt with us, but since the exile...." He gave a small sad shrug. "Well, let us just say that we are feeling a bit lonely lately."

Findaráto raised an eyebrow at that admission, seeing these two Valar in a different light. He gave them a smile. "In that case, I will remain and relieve you of your loneliness for a time."

Aulë and Yavanna beamed at him, but secretly Findaráto wondered at the real purpose for his being there.

****

Aiwendil was summoned and given instructions to accompany Findaráto back to the inn where he was staying and help him with his luggage. "You’ll be staying here with us," Aulë told the Noldo, which did not please Findaráto but he kept his thoughts to himself. Aulë gave him a shrewd look. "You are not a prisoner, Findaráto. I just think it would be more convenient for you to live among the other Aulendur. They have an entire wing to themselves. Your friend, Urundil, is there. He’s looking forward to seeing you again."

"And I him," Findaráto said, feeling less troubled. He gave the Valar his obeisance and followed the Maia out.

Aiwendil gave him a bright smile. "Lord Aulë does not allow every Aulendur to live here, you know."

Findaráto gave him an enquiring look and the Maia nodded. "Most have residences in Eldamas. Only the very best of them are asked to reside here in Valmar. It’s a special honor. Your Uncle Fëanáro and your cousins often stayed here."

"I know," Findaráto said with a nod and his expression became thoughtful as the two made their way to the Crown and Star Inn and in a short space of time he found himself being shown into a suite of rooms consisting of a sitting room and bedroom which had its own bathing room and privy.

Aiwendil placed Findaráto’s two bags on the bed (Findaráto insisted on carrying his precious harp himself) and gave the prince a respectful bow. "I hope you enjoy your stay here, child," he said. "If you need anything, do not hesitate to call out. One of us will hear you and come."

Findaráto nodded as the Maia left. For a time he just stood there in the middle of the room staring at nothing in particular. Then, he gave himself a mental shake and went about unpacking.

****

He met the other Aulenduri at dinner, joyfully greeting Urundil. "I have something for you," he said to the ellon. "Come to my rooms after dinner if you will." Urundil nodded and then proceeded to introduce him to the others. There were about a dozen or so Elves, almost equally divided between ellyn and ellith. They greeted Findaráto courteously as befitted his rank, addressing him formally, but he insisted that they should forgo formality and treat him no differently than any other Aulendur as he was now one of their company.

"And the very least of you," he added, "for I am the newest member of your group."

At first, they were somewhat reluctant, but Findaráto soon put them all at ease with his openly friendly manner and by the end of the meal they were all using the familiar form of address with him.

After dinner, Urundil joined him at his suite and Findaráto came out of the bedroom bearing a basket dyed blue and green. In fact, it looked very much like the basket that Urundil had originally attempted to buy in the marketplace in Vanyamar. The ellon gave him a surprised look and Findaráto grinned.

"I thought you should have your basket," he said, "and seeing as how you never got the chance to purchase one...."

"Actually, it was meant to be a gift for my daughter," Urundil said with a shy smile. "She wanted something from Vanyamar and when I saw the basket, I thought to buy it for her. I liked the blue and yellow pattern and knew she would as well."

"You have a daughter?" Findaráto asked in surprise, for he did not recall Urundil introducing any of the ellith he had met earlier as his daughter.

Urundil nodded. "She lives with her ammë in Eldamas," he explained. "My wife, Valamírë, is an illuminator of manuscripts and has her own studio. Our daughter, Aulendilmë, is only twenty and so lives with her ammë. I see them every Valanya."

Findaráto nodded. "Well, I hope your daughter will like this," he said. "I’m sorry I could not find one that was blue and yellow. I went to a different basketmaker before I left Vanyamar and this was the closest one I could find."

"It’s perfect," Urundil assured him. "Aulendilmë will love it. Thank you."

"Good," Findaráto said in satisfaction. "Will you join me in some wine and you can tell me what your duties are so I have a better idea of what to expect."

Urundil agreed and soon the two ellyn were sitting together on the balcony of the sitting room overlooking an elaborate knotwork garden, sipping on yellow wine. Urundil told him about his work as an Aulendur.

"I am presently working on cataloguing the properties of various gems and crystals," Urundil told him. "I am fairly certain some of them could be harnessed as energy sources, though how or to what degree I have yet to determine. A couple of others whom you have not met are assisting me in my research."

Findaráto raised an eyebrow at the seeming coincidence, yet he felt a rising excitement as the loremaster in him came to the fore. "It just so happens, I have recently been studying the very same thing. I wonder if that is why Lord Aulë thought I would benefit by coming here?"

Urundil nodded. "Most likely. Would you tell me what you have learned to date?"

"Gladly would I share my findings with you," Findaráto said. "You wouldn’t happen to know what is meant by ‘coherent light’, would you?"

The other ellon gave him a surprised look. "How odd," he said. "Just the other day Lord Aulë used that very phrase but none of us know what it means."

Findaráto smiled. "Then perhaps together we can learn its meaning."

Urundil smiled back, nodding, and Findaráto poured more wine into their goblets. "So far, I’ve narrowed down the possibilities of which gems would work best in harnessing their inner fire, as I call it...."

****

"Do you think it will work?" Yavanna asked her husband as they sat together in an arbor just outside Aulë’s forge.

The Smith of the Valar gave a shrug. "Only time will tell, my love," he said, "but hopefully Findaráto and Urundil will forge a friendship that will be instrumental in calming our young prince’s spirit enough that he will then seek to calm the restless spirits of his fellow Noldor."

"Even so, it still may come to naught," Yavanna said pensively.

"I know," Aulë averred, leaning over to give his wife a husbandly kiss, "but if there’s even the remotest chance of it succeeding...."

Yavanna nodded and then concentrated on returning her husband’s kiss with one of her own and for a time they both forgot about the Noldor and the newest Aulendur who sat on a balcony elsewhere in the mansion, happily conversing with his new friend as they shared each other’s theories on the properties of gemstones.

****

Asambari: Plural of asambar: Neighbor.

Na mai, Findaráto. Márienna: ‘Be well, Findaráto. Farewell’. Márienna, used only as an expression of farewell, literally means, ‘to goodness’. It was an archaic form of namárië which can be used either as a greeting or for farewell (cf. ‘Aloha’ or ‘Shalom’). [See Parma Eldalamberon 17:162]

Namárië, Amarië, vanimeldanya: ‘Farewell, Amarië, my beautiful and beloved one’. Vanimelda, according to Tolkien, was said to be ‘the highest praise for beauty’ with two interpretations that were equally valid and simultaneously true: ‘beautiful and beloved’, i.e. ‘movingly lovely’ but also ‘elven fair’. [See Parma Eldalamberon 17:56]

Landamallë Valion: The Avenue of the Valar. Landamallë, literally means "wide street" [landa "wide" + mallë "street]. Vali is an alternative plural of Vala.

A Manwë, Anyár’ aranion: ‘O Manwë, Elder King’. Anyar’ aranion, literally, ‘most ancient of kings’; cf. the Sindarin cognate, Aran Einior.

32: Decisions

Findaráto remained in Valmar for over a year, returning periodically to Tirion to visit his family. During his time with the Aulenduri, he flourished and Aulë was pleased by this, for the ellon’s fëa seemed calmer, and Findaráto appeared to be more accepting of things. His friendship with Urundil and the other Aulenduri deepened and the Valar rejoiced, for it was their hope that Urundil’s influence would counteract the unrest which Melkor had instilled within the Noldorin prince. Unfortunately, whenever Findaráto returned from visiting his family, Aulë could sense the restlessness taking hold again and sighed. He was tempted to simply forbid the ellon from ever leaving Valmar, but, of course, that was not an option.

"When he is here," Aulë said to Manwë at one point as the Valar were in council, "he is too engaged in his research and in enjoying the camaraderie of his fellow Aulenduri to concern himself with the political turmoil in Tirion. It is only when he returns from there that he is once again troubled. Yet, how can I forbid him from going?"

"You cannot," Manwë stated. "There appears to be a small faction of Elves in Tirion who are loyal more to Fëanáro than to Finwë or Ñolofinwë. It is they who are fueling the unrest, insisting that Fëanáro’s banishment was unjust. They seem to have embraced our Fallen Brother’s lies more fully than others."

"Do you think Fëanáro is aware of what his... um... supporters are doing?" Varda asked.

"I do not know," Manwë said. "Whatever Fëanáro’s faults may be, he is yet honorable and I do not think these others act with his knowledge or his blessing. No, I see this as a further consequence of Melkor’s meddling in the affairs of the Noldor. Fëanáro was not the only Elf to listen to our brother’s honeyed words and to believe them."

"I have the impression that these particular Children are not so much interested in advancing Fëanáro’s suit as they are in fomenting unrest for their own purposes," Námo said, frowning. "They seem to be contentious for the sake of being contentious and for no other reason."

The other Valar nodded. "If we are aware of who is causing this unrest, should we not inform Ñolofinwë?" Oromë asked.

Manwë, however, shook his head. "There is a thin line between aiding and interfering," he stated. "For all that we called them ‘children’, and indeed, they are incredibly young, the Eldar are anything but and we must respect that. Should Ñolofinwë come to us seeking help, then, and only then, will we act. Until then, we must hope that they will resolve this conflict on their own."

"What of Ingwë?" Irmo asked. "As High King over all the Eldar, should he not act against these others?"

"Yes, and if he knew of it, he would," Manwë stated, "but he is more concerned with maintaining calm in his own city."

"You will not tell him," Varda said, giving her beloved an enquiring look.

Manwë shook his head. "It is not our place," he said. "Others must bring him the information, if they deem it needful. We will not interfere."

"You are concerned about Fëanáro’s accusations of the Eldar being our thralls, aren’t you?" Ulmo asked.

"Partly," Manwë averred, "but also, I deem it best to allow them to solve their problems on their own. If they do not seek our help or even our advice, then we should not force it upon them. It will not work anyway."

There was silence among them for a time as they each digested the Elder King’s words and then Aulë looked up. "So what do I do about Findaráto?"

"Has he indicated any real desire to return to Tirion or is he content to remain under your tutelage."

"He speaks at times of feeling guilty that he is not in Tirion helping his uncle," Aulë admitted, "but so far he has not formally asked for my leave to depart from my service."

"Then, until he does," Manwë suggested, "keep him in Valmar. Eventually, he must return to Tirion and resume his duties as a prince of the Noldor, but for now, let us see if we can keep him with us a little longer."

****

Findaráto sat on the balcony of his sitting room enjoying a glass of wine and reading the latest missive from Amarië describing the doings of the Vanyar. He smiled in amusement at her description of a garden party hosted by her ammë and how the ladies who were there had tried to outdo each other in sartorial splendour, but the smile fled as he read further along:

‘... and then Lord Valacar began complaining that even though the Valar have permitted trade with those in Formenos at the High King’s request, it was too limiting and restrictive. He wants to see more open trading with Formenos. Atto spoke up then and said that the Exiles were not in a position to trade for luxury goods and we should be grateful that the Valar permitted any trade with them at all. Someone, I don’t remember who, then wondered if after the banishment had been lifted if Formenos would then be deserted or would some of the Noldor remain there with Fëanáro ruling them while Finwë returned to Tirion. There seems to be a fear that if this happens, eventually the Noldor will come to dominate Eldamar and Ingwë will lose the High Kingship in favor of Finwë. A disturbing thought....’

Findaráto stopped reading, his thoughts darkening at the implication of what Amarië had written. Would his anatar encourage his first-born to remain in Formenos and rule the Noldor there while he returned to Tirion to resume the crown as Noldóran once again? It was a possibility, though he wondered if the Valar would permit it. And then, what of Uncle Ñolofinwë? Would his accomplishments of governing the Noldor in Tirion be dismissed out of hand? Findaráto felt sudden pity for his uncle who had never wanted to rule. Yet, in spite of this, in the two years since Fëanáro’s banishment, his uncle had governed the people of Tirion wisely and well. The city flourished in spite of pockets of unrest which never seemed to be quelled and it was mainly through Ñolofinwë’s efforts that it did so. To have his accomplishments go unacknowledged by Anatar seemed terribly unjust.

He sighed, taking a sip of wine, staring out into the garden without really seeing it. Lord Valacar’s fears of the Noldor dominating Eldamar were without merit, as far as he was concerned. The Noldor were no more numerous than the other clans. Anatar Finwë might be stubborn and wilful, but he wasn’t stupid, except where his first-born was concerned. He could not imagine Finwë seeking to overthrow Ingwë as High King of all the Elves. That, he knew, the Valar would not countenance and rightly so. He shook his head and resumed his reading:

‘At any rate, Lord Valacar’s views seem to be the minority opinion. Intarion and Lirulin are well and happy. They have finally decided to live in the Southern Fiefdoms permanently at Lord Nolondur’s estate. They do not look to be returning to Vanyamar any time soon. In Lirulin’s last letter, though, she intimated that they might make a journey to Tirion, perhaps before the year’s end. If so, please give them a kiss from me if you are there when they come.

‘And speaking of visiting, Ingwion and Ingalaurë have been discussing visiting Tirion but no real plans have been made as yet. I think they are waiting until you return to Tirion permanently....’

Findaráto sighed. He had been in Valmar for a year now and he had to admit that he was enjoying himself, working among the other Aulenduri, debating with the loremasters who resided there in Valmar. Yet, at the same time, he felt that he should be in Tirion helping his uncle. He shook his head, feeling torn, not sure what to do. Urundil and the other Noldor who lived in Eldamas obviously were not interested in anything but serving Lord Aulë or one of the other Valar as their temperaments dictated, and when he was with them, he felt that same desire to serve. It was only when he returned to Tirion that other desires would surface, desires for new vistas and new experiences that could not be had in Aman. He often found himself wondering what the Outer Lands were like and how it would be to live with only starlight to light his way rather than the Light of the Trees. He had even journeyed to Alqualondë with his ammë and had spent much time wandering the strands far north of the city, trying to imagine never seeing the Light of the Trees again. Yet, he need only turn his face southward to see that Light shining down the Calacirya and all thoughts of venturing into darkness would flee, but not entirely.

Well, he would have to come to a decision eventually as to whether to remain in Valmar or ask Lord Aulë to release him from his service so he could return to Tirion and take up his duties as a prince of the realm. At the moment, however, he was in no particular hurry. He glanced down at the letter and a thrill of foreboding flooded him as he continued to read:

‘Ingoldo resigned quite suddenly from Ingwë’s Privy Council only a few days ago as I write this. He gave no reason. When I met with the twins and Indil for dinner the other day, I asked Ingwion about it, but he was at a loss to explain. Ingalaurë, however, thinks it is because of Lord Nolondur, who now sits on the Privy Council. So far, Ingwë has not named another to fill Ingoldo’s seat. Ingwion thinks his atar is delaying making a choice because he fears that whoever he names will not be welcomed by some factions among the nobility. Ingalaurë then said that by rights either he or Ingwion should be chosen to take their uncle’s seat. Indil thinks her brother was merely jesting, for when Ingwion groaned at his suggestion, he laughed, but I am not so sure. There was an underlying sense of frustration in his voice and I have to wonder if he resents no longer being Ingwë’s regent. It is so very confusing....’

Findaráto put the letter aside and stood, feeling suddenly anxious. He remembered how resentful Ingalaurë had felt at the idea of giving up the regency and returning to his former duties. Findaráto had had the feeling at the time that the ellon enjoyed the sense of power his position had given him and when he had to give it up....

Ingwion, on the other hand, had been glad to give over his regency to Ingwë. Findaráto remembered how relieved the ellon had been and how the worry lines had lifted from his fair face. Findaráto had no doubt that Ingwion would make an excellent High King if Ingwë ever decided to abdicate, but he understood the reluctance which the ellon had felt in assuming such powers even on a limited basis. Uncle Ñolofinwë had been the same way.

Findaráto paced the length of the balcony, deep in thought. Ingoldo’s sudden resignation was suspicious to his mind, and the idea that he would resign because of Nolondur seemed, on the face of it, absurd. Both ellyn had been sitting on the Privy Council for the last year. He had gotten letters from Ingwion describing the monumental battle of words that had flared up between the two lords on occasion, but Findaráto had the impression from what Ingwion didn’t say that Ingoldo often started the arguments for the sake of arguing. The prince could not believe that Ingoldo would walk away from the one power base he possessed in Ingwë’s court. It just didn’t make sense. Something else had to be going on, but what it could mean, he could not guess.

He sighed and reached down to take up his goblet and the letter again. There was little more to the letter beyond Amarië’s hope that he would write to her soon. He folded it and tucked it inside his tunic to re-read later. Right now, he was expected for dinner at Urundil’s home in Eldamas. Over the past year, he had become acquainted with Urundil’s little family. His wife, Valamírë, was a lovely elleth and a gifted artist who had welcomed him from the very first. Their daughter, Aulendilmë, had practically adopted him, calling him Unca’ Finda, much to his and her parents’ amusement. He smiled at the thought as he made his way out of Lord Aulë’s mansion, giving a respectful nod to the Maia standing guard at the entrance.

Yet, even as he passed the north gate into Eldamas, he couldn’t help wondering whom Ingwë would appoint to take Ingoldo’s place on his Privy Council.

****

Ingwë waited several weeks before announcing his decision. Ingoldo had refused to give a reason for the resignation, stating only that he wished to devote more time to other pursuits. Ingwë had not pressed him, though he could not help wondering what his brother’s true motives were in resigning. He had listened to his sons’ report on what they had overheard on that fateful day when young Findaráto had been injured with some alarm. That, along with what had occurred during the wedding, had convinced Ingwë to go to Lord Manwë and ask to allow even limited trade with the Noldor in Formenos. The Elder King had agreed and some of the tensions in the city had eased. Still, he could not help wondering how much of the unrest could be laid at Ingoldo’s feet. Since the wedding his brother and sister-in-law had kept a low profile, fulfilling their duties to him but otherwise keeping much to themselves. In the end, Ingwë had agreed to Ingoldo’s request to resign and turned his attention to deciding who would fill the now vacant seat. He had weighed all the factors and had finally come to a decision, calling his family together to hear it, for it would affect them more than others.

Besides his wife and children, Findis and Valandur were also present, as was Tamurilon, representing, as it were, the rest of the Council. Notably absent were Ingoldo and Tinwetariel as the matter no longer concerned them. Only Elindis knew what he was planning and she sat there serenely, sending him her love through their bond, silently supporting him. He glanced at the expectant faces of the others and resisted a sigh. He was sure his decision would not find favor with everyone, but it was the only logical solution to the situation.

"I have decided whom I wish to appoint to your Uncle Ingoldo’s seat on the Privy Council," he said without preamble. "It has not been an easy decision to make."

The others nodded, though no one ventured to speak. Ingwë cleared his throat and continued. "I have decided to appoint Ingwion...."

"What!?" both Ingwion and Ingalaurë shouted, rising from their seats almost as one.

Ingwë raised his hand to stop their protests, his expression becoming stern. At that moment, he ceased to be their atar and became the High King. "Sit down," he said quietly and they obeyed instantly. "I will not allow another outburst from either of you. Is that clear?" The twins nodded, looking suitably chastised. "I have declared you both my heirs," he continued in a less forbidding tone, "but the truth of the matter is, Ingwion is the first-born...."

"By five minutes," Ingalaurë muttered, casting a dark look at his twin, who appeared shaken.

Elindis leaned over from where she was sitting and placed a comforting hand upon her secondborn son. "Would you feel this resentment if you had been born years or even yéni after Ingwion?"

Ingalaurë shrugged, not looking at anyone.

"It’s not as if I planned to be the first one to be born, you know," Ingwion said softly, not looking at his brother. Then he glanced at his atar. "Can I refuse the appointment?"

Ingwë did not answer immediately but allowed the silence to lengthen for a time. "If you mean, in favor of Ingalaurë, the answer is no. I would simply appoint someone else."

Both twins scowled at that and Ingwë resisted a sigh, casting a glance at Elindis, who gave him a shake of her head. "What your atar hasn’t told you...."

"Mainly because I haven’t been given a chance," Ingwë muttered, ignoring the amused expressions on the faces of Findis, Valandur and Tamurilon.

Elindis shot him an amused look of her own. "... is that Ingwion’s appointment is not permanent."

"What do you mean?" Ingwion asked, looking puzzled. Ingalaurë’s expression was more suspicious.

"I mean, that you and Ingil will share the seat between you," Ingwë replied. "You will sit on the Council for one year and then Ingil will take the seat the next year. You will continue alternating sitting on the Council until such time as I decide otherwise."

"Will the other Council members accept this, though?" Valandur asked, looking at Tamurilon for his response.

"Some may think it odd," the ellon averred, "but it’s an elegant solution. Having both your sons on the Council but not at the same time will prevent people from accusing you of favoritism. Perhaps you might consider letting Indil join as well, taking the seat in the third year." He cast an enquiring look at his beloved.

Indil shook her head. "I really have no desire to do so, but I will of course accept whatever decision you make, Atto. I would much rather remain as part of your secret council, though." She gave her atar a sly smile and he chuckled.

"You understand why I cannot have you both on the Council at the same time, don’t you?" he asked, looking at Ingalaurë. "As much as I would welcome it, it would cause too much resentment in certain quarters, and the times are troublesome enough without adding to it."

"Why not just appoint someone else, someone like Valandur, for instance?" Ingwion asked.

"Oh no, my prince," Valandur said with a laugh. "That is the last place I wish to be. I am more effective by not being a member of the High King’s Privy Council."

"You mean as Atto’s spymaster," Ingalaurë said, shooting the older ellon a sly smile.

"Exactly," Valandur said with another laugh. "Some things are best done while all eyes are elsewhere. Those on the Privy Council are public figures. I would not be able to do what I do best if I am constantly being importuned by others seeking favors or advice."

"So, do you accept my decision, my sons?" Ingwë asked.

Ingwion and Ingalaurë eyed one another for a moment and some silent communication passed between them. Then, Ingwion rose from his seat and faced his atar gravely. "Thou’rt our atar as well as our king," he said, speaking formally. "Thus, we are enjoined to obey thee twice over. I accept thy decision, my lord." He gave Ingwë a deep reverence, then looked at Ingalaurë who hesitated only for a second or two before rising.

"Ingwi speaks truly, Atto," he said less formally. "I also accept." He gave his atar a bow as well.

Ingwë took both ellyn into his embrace, giving them a kiss on their foreheads. "Thank you," he said sincerely, looking over their heads to Elindis, who sat there smiling at them in her typical serene manner.

33: Darkness Foreshadowed

Melkor stared down at Formenos from his vantage point along the south-western section of the hills ringing the valley, nearly opposite the valley’s entrance. He had managed to avoid detection from the various Maiar standing guard unseen by the valley’s inhabitants. The Vala, of course, knew where they were and paid them little heed. His attention was on the valley below and what lay there. His fingers ached with the need to hold those incredible jewels of light that were now hid inside the fortress, for it was indeed a fortress rather than a palace and apparently large enough to house most of the exiles at need, although it appeared that at least some of the valley’s inhabitants preferred to live outside its walls, for he could see a number of small houses spread along either side of it. He gazed at the strong walls and turrets and knew it was impregnable. Even from here he could sense the spells that lay upon its foundation and its gates.

With a single thought he shifted into his natural form, slipping effortlessly through the barrier that surrounded the valley. It was not meant to detect any of the Ainur and he supposed he could have crossed it while still in fana, but decided not to risk it. It had not been easy to evade the Maiar patrols along the southern Pelóri and he did not wish his fellow Valar to know of his return. Not yet, at any rate.

He had chosen his time well, for the Elves were resting from the labors of the day and there were none about, only two Elves who stood before the doors, apparently on guard duty. Melkor sneered at the thought. Standing before them he shifted into his fana, trying not to grimace, for he was finding it more and more difficult to shift his form with ease and there was some pain in the process that had not been present earlier. Instead, he forced himself to smile, amused at the guard’s expressions of startlement which mutated quickly into fear as they realized who stood before them.

"Go," he said in a soft voice, "and tell Fëanáro that I wish to speak with him."

Such was the force of his command that both ellyn abandoned their posts and fled into the hall, leaving the doors wide open. Melkor stood there patiently, silently rehearsing his words. Fëanáro had never held any converse with him before this nor had he taken any counsel from him as many of the other Noldor had. He had been driven by the fire of his own heart and preferred to work alone. When the Vala had attempted to offer his advice to the son of Finwë, Fëanáro had snubbed him. Melkor could never forgive the arrogant Elf for that. Still, he would feign friendship with the ellon and with cunning arguments he was sure that eventually he would be able to convince Fëanáro to hand the Silmarils to him. The very thought woke his lust and he had to school himself to remain outwardly calm.

Movement from within alerted him and he plastered a benign expression on his fair face. Fëanáro appeared and Melkor eyed him with some amusement. The ellon’s tunic was of homespun wool dyed a brownish-green and the shirt underneath was of undyed muslin. He looked anything but a prince of Eldamar, though he held himself with regal grace.

"Greetings, Finwion," Melkor exclaimed, giving the Elf a bow.

"What wouldst thou here, Vala?" Fëanáro demanded, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Ah, Finwion!" Melkor feigned distress. "Alas that thou’st fallen into such mean estate, thou who art a prince, puissant and wise. Indeed, thou’rt the greatest of thy race, greater than all who have come before thee and all who shall follow. I grieve that thou’st suffered so needlessly."

Fëanáro raised an eyebrow. "If thou’st come to offer me thy condolences at my misfortunes, Melkor, thou’rt two years too late. Now if thou wouldst excuse me, thou dost keep me from my meat." He made to shut the doors.

Melkor had to force himself not to grit his teeth, keeping his smile in place. "Yet wait! I would fain have thy friendship, Finwion, for have I not spoken truly, and behold! Thou art banished unjustly. But if the heart of Fëanáro is yet free and bold as were his words in Tirion, then I will aid him, and bring him far from this narrow land."

"And how wilt thou accomplish this?" Fëanáro demanded with a faint sneer. "Wilt thou also bring all the Noldor who wish to accompany me from this, as thou sayest, narrow land?"

"Am I not a Vala?" Melkor retorted haughtily. "Yea, and more than those who sit in pride in Valmar. I have ever been a friend of the Noldor, most skilled and most valiant of the people of Arda, and I would fain be thy friend as well, Finwion."

He paused and stared intently at the Elf before him, hiding a smile at the fear and doubt that lurked in the ellon’s eyes. He could sense that Fëanáro still felt bitterness at his humiliation and that bitterness warred with the doubt that he had towards Melkor’s good intentions. The Vala was sure that with just a little nudge, Fëanáro would accept his aid, for he could see that he was wavering.

"Here is a strong place," he said, gesturing at the edifice before him, "and well guarded; but think not that the Silmarils will lie safe in any treasury within the realm of the Valar!"

Almost as soon as the words were spoken, Melkor silently cursed himself. Something in the Elf’s eyes warned him that his words had touched too deep and had awakened a fire more fierce than he designed. He could sense Fëanáro piercing the cloaks of his mind, perceiving his lust for the Silmarils, a lust he had held within him since the day he had beheld them. The fear and doubt in Fëanáro’s expression transmuted into hatred and such was the fire in his eyes that it made Melkor take an involuntary step back.

"Get thee gone from my gate, thou jail-crow of Mandos!" Fëanáro shouted and before Melkor could respond, the ellon slammed the door in his face.

Melkor stood there in disbelief for a moment and then shame swept through him. He was the mightiest of all the dwellers in Eä, yet this upstart Elf dared to treat him as a beggar at the gate!? He wanted nothing more than to tear Formenos apart and listen to that arrogant Elf scream and beg for mercy, but he had overstayed his welcome. Even now, he sensed the Maiar guarding the valley coming for him. He shifted his form once again and thought himself away. No doubt Manwë, once he learned of his presence, would order a chase. Well, he would give them one and it would be amusing to see how predictably incompetent his brother and the other Valar would prove to be.

****

Fëanáro turned around to find his atar standing in the shadows, a look of concern and fear on his face. "You heard," he said, making it a statement rather than a question.

Finwë nodded. "The Valar must be told."

Fëanáro shrugged. "What is that to me, Atar? Let the Valar look to themselves. I will not aid them in this."

Finwë shook his head. "Thou speakest foolishness, yonya," he admonished his first-born. "Melkor is dangerous to all of us, Eldar and Valar alike. My heart warns me that we have not seen the last of him and at our next meeting things may well go ill for us. The Valar must be told."

"Then tell them yourself, Atar," Fëanáro snarled, gesturing in a contemptuous manner to the south. "Run all the way to Valmar if you wish." With that he brushed by Finwë and stalked down the hall, full of fury.

Finwë sighed and let him go. He was about to follow when there was a pounding on the door. Opening it, he found himself face-to-face with Ramandor and Manveru, both Maiar looking grim. "He was here," he told them. "Melkor. He was here. The Valar...."

"We will tell them, Finwë of the Noldor," Ramandor said, giving the king a short bow and then the two Maiar were gone. Finwë sighed and closed the door, leaning against it, his body trembling, though he was not sure why. He took in a deep centering breath to steady himself before going to join the others at the table, wondering where all this would lead in the end.

****

In the Máhanaxar the Valar sat discussing the deepening shadows that seemed to have darkened the spirits of many among the Eldar. Any Elf who happened by would have seen only a play of multi-colored lights veiling the thrones, but no Elf would have gotten close enough to notice, for he would have been gently steered away by one of the unclad Maiar guarding their masters’ privacy.

"Allowing trade with Formenos has eased some of the tensions among the Vanyar and Noldor," Aulë was saying, "but it by no means has eased all of them."

"Still, it is a start," Oromë suggested, "and hopefully in time resentment will fade and the Children will know peace within themselves once again."

"One can only hope," Manwë said.

"Is there aught else that we can do to help bring healing to the Children?" Yavanna asked. "It grieves me...."

Manwë held up his hand and Yavanna went silent. "Let them come," Manwë said and instantly two Maiar appeared before them, giving the Elder King their obeisance. "What is it, my children?" Manwë asked solicitously, noticing their troubled expressions. "What has upset you so?"

It was Manveru who spoke. "Melkor came to Formenos and spoke to Fëanáro," he said baldly.

"Though it appears that he got little joy in the conversation, for Finwion slammed the doors of Formenos in his face," Ramandor added with grim humor and several eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Tulkas gave a growl of disgust as he and Oromë stood. "We’ll go find him," he said but before either could think themselves away, another Maia appeared, looking grim.

"My lord," Olórin said with a bow, "Melkor has fled down the Calacirya. I was in Tirion when he passed in wrath. Many of the Elves saw him as well. I fear there is much panic in the city and Prince Ñolofinwë is hard-pressed to calm the people."

"Wither does he go?" Námo asked, frowning.

"North, my lord," came the answer as yet another Maia appeared. Salmar, Ulmo’s chief Maia, bowed to his lord. "Olwë and many of the Teleri saw him as a shadow passing over their fair city heading towards Araman," he reported. "The king summoned Ossë with the news and he relayed it to me."

"He means to return to Utumno then," Ulmo surmised, stroking his sea-green beard.

"Or more likely Angamando," Irmo corrected. "Remember, we never did find Aulendil’s bolt-hole."

Manwë nodded. "Oromë, Tulkas, go after him and bring him back."

The two Valar disappeared and Manwë thanked the Maiar for their timely reports, dismissing Manveru, Ramandor and Salmar back to their duties, but asking Olórin to remain.

"How panicked are the Children in Tirion?" he asked.

"Panicky enough, my lord, and angry," the Maia answered. "Many of them headed for the palace demanding answers of Ñolofinwë, as if he were responsible for Melkor’s sudden appearance." He gave them a sardonic smile and there was much shaking of heads among the Valar. "I summoned all the Maiar in the vicinity of the city to see that no one did anything... um... rash."

"Good," Manwë said. "Go and return to Tirion and walk among the Noldor. Lighten their fëar with fair visions. Help them awake from despair and put away the imaginations of darkness with promptings of wisdom."

Olórin bowed. "It will be as you say, lord," and then he was gone.

"How did Melkor evade the southern patrols?" Námo asked in the silence that followed Olórin’s departure. His tone was one of frustration and worry.

"We’ll have to wait and ask him," Manwë said mildly and Námo snorted in disgust.

They did not have to wait long. Oromë and Tulkas appeared, both with expressions of deep frustration. "We went almost to the Ice," Oromë reported, "but could find no trace or rumor of him."

"He is a Vala, after all," Námo pointed out, "and unfortunately the mightiest in power. He most likely went completely dark so that even on the electro-magnetic level we would not be able to detect him. Certainly none of the Maiar would have."

The other Valar all nodded. "Which may explain how he bypassed the southern watch," Aulë said with a grimace.

"Regardless," Manwë said with a sigh, "we must ensure that he does not trouble us again. Eönwë." At once the Maia was standing before the Elder King, giving him his obeisance. "It seems our Fallen Brother has fled to the Outer Lands. Double the watch to the north," he ordered, little knowing that it was a futile gesture.

Eönwë bowed and left. For a time silence reigned in the Máhanaxar and then Varda spoke. "Let us hope this is the last we will see of him."

But Námo shook his head. "My heart warns me otherwise."

"Yet, for now," Manwë said, "he is gone and perhaps the shadows that have plagued us will be lifted and the Light of the Trees will shine forth more brightly than before."

The others all nodded, all save Námo, whose expression remained doubtful. Vairë reached over and put a hand on his arm. He gave her an enquiring look. "It will be well, beloved," she said softly. "He can no longer hurt us."

He smiled sadly at her and shook his head. "It is not for us that I fear, my love, but for the Children. A doom approaches, one that I cannot see clearly, and the Children are at the heart of it, as is Melkor."

The others gave him troubled looks and when Manwë asked him to explain, he sighed. "I cannot. Ask me no further questions, my brother, for I will not answer them. Yet, this much I will say: Melkor has sown his seeds of darkness, finding fertile soil among many of the Noldor. It is for us to uproot those seeds as best we may. If we do not...." He left the rest unsaid, for the implications were clear to them all.

Manwë nodded. "Then let us seek to heal the evils that have been sown, especially among the Noldor. Let us sow our own seeds of light and peace and may Atar bless our endeavors."

"Let us even so," the others declared and they resumed their discussion of what to do to bring healing among the Children but Námo remained silent throughout the rest of their council and that silence and its implication was not lost on any of the others.

****

Note: Much of this chapter is based on Chapter 7 of the Silmarillion, though greatly expanded.

~ End of Part One ~

PART TWO: ALL LIGHT FLED

‘So the great darkness fell upon Valinor... The Light failed, but the Darkness that followed was more than loss of light.’ — Quenta Silmarillion VII

****

34: Darkness Rising

Year of the Trees 1493:

Arafinwë looked up from the tome he was perusing to see his brother standing at the doorway of his study, his expression grim. Ñolofinwë entered and sat in a nearby chair before Arafinwë could open his mouth.

"What is it?" he asked, pushing the book aside.

"It is happening again," Ñolofinwë replied shortly.

Arafinwë sighed. "Where?"

"Where else?" his brother retorted with a grimace. "This is the third time in the last several weeks that a near riot has broken out between various guilds."

"Which ones?" Arafinwë asked as he stood to go to a sideboard and pour some wine for them both.

"Oddly enough, the miners’ guild and the metalsmiths."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow as he returned to his seat, handing one of the cut crystal goblets to his brother. "Whatever for? Those two guilds work very closely with one another. And, as I recall, the last time there was a riot, they banded together against the carpenters’ guild when the master samno refused to allow any of his people to work on the metalworkers’ guildhouse, saying there was no need for expansion since half the guild went to Formenos."

Ñolofinwë nodded, taking a sip of the wine. "I know, I know. Yet, this time, the miners refused to increase their ore supply for much the same reason. Why bother when half the metalsmiths are in Formenos? There’s no trade between our two communities. We have to go through Vanyamar for that."

"I wish the Valar had given us permission to trade with Formenos," Arafinwë said with a shake of his head.

"Exile means exile," Ñolofinwë replied with a sardonic grin. "Though, mind you, I am beginning to think that it isn’t so much exile as it is relocation. I’ve gotten reports that indicate that our brother has built himself an imposing fortress and there is a sizeable village that has sprung up around it. The land may not be as conducive to farming as it is around Tirion or further south in the Fiefdoms, but they seem to be doing well enough."

"And it has only been three, almost four years now," Arafinwë stated. "I can well imagine that in the next eight, that village will grow into a city to rival Tirion or Vanyamar."

"Possibly," his brother averred, "but I do not think the Valar will allow that. When the time of exile is over, they will insist that the people return to their homes. Our brother and nephews may well remain there with a few others, but I think the rest will return with Atar. He will want his crown back and I will gladly return it."

"You are doing very well, Ari," Arafinwë said with an encouraging smile. "Better than I could, I assure you."

"Well, if we do not quell these outbreaks of violence, I fear there will not be a city for Atar to return to." He rubbed a hand over his eyes and sighed. "I wish I understood why these outbreaks occur as they do. I have the feeling that there is something more behind them than dissatisfaction over minor disputes between masters."

Arafinwë narrowed his eyes. "Do you think that someone is deliberately inciting these outbreaks?"

"Possibly," Ñolofinwë said. "There’s a pattern to it, I am sure of it, but I just cannot see it."

"Hmm.... as I recall, there was an outbreak of violence between the weavers’ guild and the mámandili. The dispute arose when the master lanyar accused the mámandili of supplying the weavers with inferior wool."

Ñolofinwë nodded. "Yes, and when I investigated it, it turned out to be a false accusation. The quality of the wool was the same as it had been the year before. What changed was the fact that the dyers’ guild was supplying the weavers with inferior dyes, causing them to bleed over and ruining the designs." He scowled.

Arafinwë nodded. "I was still in Alqualondë at the time so I only heard about it from others."

"It was because of that incident that I asked you and Eärwen to return even though I know you would have preferred to remain in Alqualondë."

Arafinwë shrugged. "My home is here, as are my people. I enjoyed our visit, but in truth, I welcomed your order to return. I did not like the idea of you having to deal with things on your own."

"Well, my children and Anairë helped," Ñolofinwë said with a wry smile.

"And speaking of children," Arafinwë said, "I received a missive from Findaráto. He has decided to formally ask Lord Aulë’s permission to leave his service."

"Oh? I thought he was happy in Valmar as an Aulendur," Ñolofinwë said.

Arafinwë nodded. "He is, but he feels he should be here helping us." He gave his brother a grin. "I think he’s feeling guilty that he is having so much fun while the rest of us are toiling away in misery."

Ñolofinwë barked a laugh at that, shaking his head. "What did Lord Aulë say? Has he given Findaráto permission to depart?"

"The missive did not say, only that he was going to ask. Frankly, I almost hope Lord Aulë will refuse his wish and keep him there."

"Why?" Ñolofinwë gave his brother a surprised look.

"I rejoice when he is here, don’t get me wrong," Arafinwë explained, "but I sense unhappiness within him, a discontent that seems to increase with every visit. In fact, I sent a private message to Lord Aulë about it."

"Indeed?" Ñolofinwë raised an eyebrow. "And what did he say?"

"Only that he had noticed the same unrest in my son’s fëa whenever Findaráto returned to Valmar, but that once he was engaged in his work with the other Aulenduri he seemed more content." Arafinwë paused, giving a sigh. "I know he is unhappy when he is here, and I would fain have him remain in Valmar where he seems to be content."

Ñolofinwë nodded, taking a sip of his wine. "I can understand that, though I would welcome his return, for he has a presence about him that increases calm in others. He was very helpful the last time he was here when Lords Pelendur and Rialcar nearly came to blows over that boundary dispute."

"Yes, he did very well there," Arafinwë admitted. "Well, Lord Aulë may well deny him and then the matter will be moot, but I know Eärwen misses him terribly and would be overjoyed to know that he is returning for good."

"In the meantime, we need to address the situation between the miners and the metalworkers," Ñolofinwë said with a sigh. "I have called for the masters of the two guilds to attend me at the next court and I’ve asked Turucáno to look into the incident and report back to me as soon as possible. I want to get this settled before the next outbreak occurs."

"You really think there will be more?" Arafinwë enquired, evincing surprise and doubt at the same time.

His brother nodded grimly. "Yes, I do. These outbreaks are occurring too regularly not to be orchestrated by someone. I only hope that in time we can find out who is responsible."

"What will you do if you do discover who is fomenting these outbreaks?" Arafinwë asked in curiosity.

Ñolofinwë gave him a mirthless grin. "Why, send them to Atar, of course."

Arafinwë stared at his brother for a second or two in disbelief and then threw back his head and laughed. Ñolofinwë merely sat there drinking his wine, a slight satisfied smile on his lips.

****

Findaráto stood nervously before the doors leading to the audience chamber where Lord Aulë and Lady Yavanna were holding court, conducting the business of running their demesne as well as dealing with concerns that were of interest only to the Valar. Urundil was standing next to him, having accompanied him as a friend. He gave the ellon a worried look.

"I wish you wouldn’t do this," he said. "We are so close to finding a solution to the energy flux and your help is invaluable. Please reconsider asking to leave us. Aulendilmë will miss you terribly."

"And you?" Findaráto asked with a slight smile. "Will you miss me as well?"

Urundil nodded. "Yes, and I am not the only one. You belong here, Findaráto, you know this. You are a true Aulendur."

Findaráto sighed, now looking uncertain. "I am also a prince of Eldamar and I have duties that I have neglected these last years while mine uncle and Atar are struggling to keep Tirion from erupting into flames. They need my help more than you do."

Urundil looked glum. "What will you do if Lord Aulë denies your request?"

Findaráto gave his friend a wry smile. "Do you mean, will I run away to Tirion?" He shook his head, chuckling slightly. "I am not that stupid or desperate."

Urundil was about to comment when the doors opened and Auros, Aulë’s Chief Maia, gestured for Findaráto to enter. "Lord Aulë will see you now, Prince Findaráto."

Urundil gave Findaráto a squeeze on the arm. "Good luck," he said softly. Findaráto nodded his thanks and followed the Maia into the audience chamber.

"Prince Findaráto," Auros announced and Findaráto stopped to give the two Valar his obeisance before advancing to where they were seated on thrones. The expressions on the Valar’s faces gave nothing away as to what they were thinking and Findaráto swallowed nervously, his palms suddenly sweaty.

"We know what you would ask of us," Aulë said without preamble. "What will you do if I deny your request."

Findaráto steeled himself for rejection. "I would, of course, abide by your decision, lord, little though I might like it."

There was a long stretch of silence as the Valar seemed to contemplate his answer. Findaráto forced himself not to look away from their gazes as much as he wanted to. There was a quality in the Valar’s eyes that always unnerved him, as if they could perceive the very core of his fëa and found it wanting.

Finally, Aulë stirred. "You have our permission to depart, Findaráto," he said gravely.

Findaráto resisted giving a sigh of relief, only bowing. "Thank you, lord."

"We are not sanguine in letting you go," Yavanna said, equally solemn, "we much prefer you with us, but we understand your need. It is hoped that when you have done your duty to your family, you will return to us."

"I would like that, lady," Findaráto replied. "This was not an easy decision to make, please believe me. I would fain remain here, but my family needs me, as do my people."

"Some of your people reside here in Eldamas and Valmar," Aulë pointed out.

"Yet, they are untroubled by what has happened," Findaráto countered. "It is in Tirion where the trouble lies and I would aid mine uncle in calming the city."

"We are aware of what is happening in Tirion," Yavanna said with a nod. "The Valar are troubled by the unrest that still exists among the Noldor. We had been aware of that unrest earlier but assumed, wrongly it seems, that Fëanáro was at the heart of it."

"Which is why we exiled him as we did," Aulë added, "believing that in removing Fëanáro from Tirion the unrest would settle."

"But it hasn’t," Findaráto pointed out.

"No, it has not," Aulë averred, his expression grave as he stroked his golden-red beard. "It is why I decided to grant your request. Perhaps you will exercise your talents of persuasion for the good of your people and for the good of all Eldamar."

"I am not mine Uncle Fëanáro to sway the hearts and minds of others with mere words," Findaráto protested.

"Yet, you have a gift of persuasion nonetheless," Yavanna retorted mildly. "Use it to the fullest."

Findaráto nodded. "When may I leave?" he asked.

"Soon, but not immediately," Aulë answered. "Continue as you have for a little while longer. I promise that you will see your family before the year is out."

Findaráto gave the Valar another bow. "Thank you," he said and with a nod of dismissal from Aulë he turned and left the chamber.

"Well?" Urundil asked him as soon as the door closed behind Findaráto leaving the two ellyn alone in the antechamber.

"I have their permission to depart, but not immediately," Findaráto replied, giving Urundil a grin. "So you are stuck with me for a little while longer."

Urundil gave him a broad smile and clapped him on the shoulder. "Good. Perhaps while we still have you with us we can solve the problem of that energy flux."

Findaráto nodded and together the two left to rejoin the other Aulenduri.

****

No sooner had Findaráto left the audience chamber than Aulë and Yavanna were joined by Manwë, Varda, Námo, Oromë, Nienna and Ulmo. These were the Máhanumaz, the eight chiefs of the Valar.

"So you decided to let him go," Oromë said as they all settled in chairs around Aulë and Yavanna.

Aulë shrugged. "I have no legitimate reason not to," he said. "He is not a prisoner and if I had kept him here simply because I do not wish him to leave, he would have eventually become resentful, perhaps even to the point of rebelling against my authority. Better to let him go in the hope that he will someday return of his own accord."

"There is no easy solution to this," Manwë said. "We will have to hope that Findaráto does not fall victim to the unrest in Tirion."

"Speaking of which," Nienna interjected, "how do you plan to address the situation there? We thought that with Fëanáro in exile the unrest would settle, but that has not happened."

"It is troubling, to be sure," Manwë averred with a sigh. "However, any direct intervention on our part may make matters worse. We are walking a thin line between aiding and interfering. Fëanáro’s accusations are still being voiced by others. If we are seen to intervene where we have not been invited to do so, they will perceive this as proof that we think of them as our thralls."

"Ñolofinwë does not seem eager to solicit our help," Námo said.

"He most likely feels that if he does he will be shown as unable to rule."

"He does not want to rule," Varda pointed out with a sardonic look.

"Yet, he is being conscientious about it and doing his best," Ulmo retorted. "But that is not to say he couldn’t do better." He turned to Aulë. "Before you let Findaráto leave, you might consider suggesting to him that we Valar would be happy to be of assistance if the situation warrants it. He has had the most contact with us in these last few years. He might be persuaded to convince Ñolofinwë to ask for our help rather than trying to do it on his own."

"It is a thought," Aulë said with a nod, "and I will certainly consider it."

"How much longer do you plan to keep him?" Námo asked Aulë.

"I promised him that he would be back in Tirion before the end of the year," Aulë answered.

"Let us hope that in the meantime Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë are able to calm the unrest among their people," Manwë said. "I am beginning to think that exiling Fëanáro in the hope that the unrest would disappear will prove futile in the long run, but I do not see what else we could have done, given what we knew or thought we knew about the situation."

"We will have to trust to Atar that all will work out as it must for the good of us all," Varda replied.

"Always," Manwë averred and the others nodded in agreement.

****

Samno: Carpenter.

Lanyar: Weaver, [lanya- ‘to weave’ + -r ‘gender-neutral agental suffix’].

Mámandili: Plural of mámandil: Shepherd, literally ‘sheep friend’.

Máhanumaz: (Valarin) ‘Authorities’. Quenya adopted and adapted this as Máhani, but usually it is translated as Aratar ‘the Supreme Ones’.

35: Family Disputes

"You won’t change your mind?" Ingoldo asked, scowling at his son as the two stood in Intarion’s sitting room in the royal palace of the Vanyar.

Intarion’s expression was set. "No. Lirulin and I have made a home in the Southern Fiefdoms. It is where we prefer to live now."

"Harvesting grapes and toiling like a common laborer," Ingoldo retorted with a grimace.

"Overseeing the production of the wine and arranging for its delivery," Intarion corrected. "Truly, Atar, there is no shame in what I do."

"What you should be doing is sitting on Ingwë’s Privy Council in my stead," Ingoldo snarled. "I resigned from it for that reason, letting my brother know that I favored you to take the seat. Instead, he has his sons sharing it."

"As is only proper," Intarion retorted, becoming angry. "And if you had meant for me to take your place on the Council, you should have consulted with me first. I would have told you not to bother. When Uncle Ingwë wrote to me, telling me what you had done, he did ask if I was interested in sitting on the Council. I told him no, just as I am telling you."

"Bah!" Ingoldo exclaimed. "You are a member of the royal family. It is your duty...."

"I know my duty, Atar," Intarion interrupted with some heat. "I told Ingwë that if he truly wished for me to sit on his Council then I would accept, but only if he commanded me as High King and not as the head of our family."

Tense silence reigned between father and son as they stood facing each other, neither willing to back down. Finally, though, Ingoldo grimaced. "When did you develop a backbone?" he muttered angrily, then stalked out of the room, leaving a nonplused Intarion behind.

He was not alone for long, for the door opened and Tinwetariel entered, her expression one of disgust. "So, you still refuse your atar’s wishes and mine."

"You wish for the wrong things, Amillë," Intarion said stiffly. "You wish for what will never be. My life is with Lirulin and I will not have her living here where you can poison our happiness with your disdain for her and her family." He gave her a sardonic smile. "Besides, I would think you and Atar are busy enough dealing with Nolondur now that he is on Uncle Ingwë’s Council."

Tinwetariel gave him a hateful look. "You are no son of mine," she snarled before turning and leaving, slamming the door behind her.

For a time Intarion simply stood there, his eyes closed at the sudden pain he felt from his amillë’s rejection. It was not the first time she had said something like that to him, and he should be used to it by now, but it still hurt. The argument with his atar was one they had had ever since the wedding nearly two years ago. Ingoldo always asked the same question and he always gave the same answer. He sighed, feeling that it would never end.

He heard the door softly opening and looked to see Indil there, an expression of concern on her fair face. "How fare you, Cousin?" she asked as Intarion gestured for her to take a seat.

He sighed, going to a sideboard to pour them some wine before sitting on the settee beside her. "Not very well," he admitted.

"They still won’t accept your decision," Indil said.

"It’s the same old argument," Intarion replied after taking a sip of the wine, one of Nolondur’s best reds.

"We miss you, you know," Indil said softly. "The twins and I and everyone else. We miss you both."

He gave her a rueful smile and put an arm around her shoulders to hug her. "I know, and we miss all of you as well, but I will not allow my parents to come near Lirulin. They would poison her with their contempt."

Indil shook her head. "It is so odd," she mused. "I have never known any of our people to act this way toward their own children. I really do not understand them."

"I gave up doing so a long time ago," Intarion said, grimacing into his goblet before taking a large gulp. "I think it has more to do with my atar and yours and their relationship. Atar has ever felt slighted because he was not chosen by Lord Oromë as our people’s ambassador."

"I know," Indil said with a nod. "But truly, do you think your atar would be any different than he is had he been chosen? I do not mean to disparage him in any way...." she hastened to add but Intarion shook his head.

"You do not," he replied. "I suspect that Atar was always like this to one degree or another. Perhaps Lord Oromë saw this, saw that if Atar were made ambassador that he would lord it over the rest of us." He paused for a second or two, and sighed. "I hate to say this, but it’s true: I do not think Atar would have made a very good High King. I think Lord Oromë chose wisely and well when he chose your atar to be our ambassador."

"I am sorry," Indil said sincerely. Intarion just shrugged. Then, wishing to change the subject, Indil forced herself to brighten. "I did not have a chance to tell you earlier, but we received a letter from Findaráto."

"Oh? And what does he have to say?" Intarion asked with a fond smile.

"Lord Aulë has given his permission for our cousin to return to Tirion permanently," she answered.

"Well, that is good news," Intarion said, looking more cheerful. "That means Lirulin and I will be able to visit him more often. When does he leave Valmar, did he say?"

Indil shook her head. "He only said that Lord Aulë promised he would be able to return before the year’s end."

"Hmmm.... well, I will make a point of stopping in Valmar to speak with him," Intarion said, pursing his lips. "I did not bother to do so on my way to Vanyamar because I knew Atto Nolondur needed me here sooner rather than later, but I can certainly stop on my way back to the Southern Fiefdoms. If you or anyone else would like to write to him, I would gladly act as courier."

Indil smiled. "That would be fine. I know Ingwion wished to write to him."

"And speaking of Ingwion, how is Ingalaurë?" Intarion asked.

Indil gave him a puzzled look, not sure what her cousin was implying, but then she caught the considering look he gave her and understood. "He has been grousing about having to turn over the Council seat to Ingwion."

Intarion frowned. "I noticed a slight coolness between them," he said. "It saddens me for I know how very close the two are."

Indil sighed. "I almost wish you had agreed to take the Council seat," she said. "It would have made things easier. Ingwion hates sitting on the Council and Ingil loves it too much, I fear."

"How does your atar feel about it?" Intarion asked. "I haven’t really had a chance to speak with him lately."

The daughter of the High King shrugged. "He has said very little either way, except to point out the fact that the twins had agreed to the arrangement. I think Ingwion would be happy to let Ingil remain on the Council and not be bothered by it, but I know Atar will not allow it."

"It seems that my atar’s decision to leave the Council has made things worse rather than better," Intarion opined.

"Perhaps that was his plan all along," Indil offered, looking a little hesitant as she spoke.

Intarion gave her a surprised look. "Do you think so?"

"It’s possible," she averred. "I think Uncle Ingoldo stepped down when he did knowing full well that you would not take his place unless directly ordered to by Atar and he knew Atar would never do that to you, or anyone, for that matter."

"Yet, it does not necessarily follow that your atar would have decided as he did," Intarion pointed out reasonably. "He could well have chosen one of the other nobles who was eligible to sit on the Council." He gave her a sly smile. "He could well have chosen you, you know."

Indil barked a laugh. "Hah! Atar knows better than to do something so foolish," she retorted and the two cousins broke out in laughter.

When they had calmed down a bit, Intarion sighed. "I am sorry, though, that Ingil is being difficult. Perhaps if I were to speak to him...."

"No, that wouldn’t work," Indil said. "You’re younger than he is, he’s not going to listen to anything you have to say and I’m even younger. No. We will just have to hope that Ingil sees reason and does not cause dissension in the Council."

"What about Tam?" Intarion asked. "He and the twins are close, I know. Would he be able to help?"

"I have thought to ask him what he thinks about it all," Indil admitted. "Perhaps he will be able to talk some sense to my brother."

"Well, I will be here for a few more days finishing up some business for Atto Nolondur," Intarion said. "Let me know if I can be of any help."

"I will, thank you," Indil replied, leaning over to give him a cousinly kiss, then stood, holding out her hands and smiling. "Now, why don’t we go see if we can find the twins and do something fun."

Intarion smiled back as he rose. "Like old times, heh?"

Indil nodded as they made their way to the door. "Like old times."

****

Ingwion glared at his twin. "Are you really that in love with power, Brother, that you resent having to give it up even temporarily?" The two of them were in the family’s private sitting room.

Ingalaurë glared back. "It has nothing to do with power," he retorted angrily.

"Then what?" Ingwion insisted.

Now Ingalaurë hesitated, looking both mulish and uncertain. "It’s... it’s the prestige."

Ingwion stared at his brother in surprise. "Prestige? Ingil, you’re the son of the Ingaran. How much prestige do you want?"

"I’m the younger son," Ingalaurë rejoined.

"You are Atto’s haryon along with me, in case you’ve forgotten," Ingwion insisted.

"How can we both be Atto’s heir?" his twin demanded. "If he ever decides to step down from the throne, what then? Do you think we’ll share the crown as well?" He gave his brother a sneer. "You know as well as I that you will be the one as the first-born to become the new Ingaran. At least being on the Privy Council gives me some status beyond being the younger son."

Ingwion shook his head in disbelief. "I cannot believe I am hearing this from you," he said. "You sound almost like Uncle Ingoldo."

Ingalaurë’s face paled with fury, his hands clenched in tight fists. "I am nothing like Uncle Ingoldo!" he nearly shouted. "You take that back!"

Now Ingwion became alarmed. The last time he had seen his twin in this state they had been elflings. "Ingil, what’s come over you? Calm down." He grabbed his twin’s shoulders to give him a shake but when Ingalaurë tried to push away, he simply wrapped his arms around him and hugged him close. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Of course you’re not like Uncle, but I just don’t understand why you resent having to step down from the Council seat. We agreed to this."

For a long moment there was only the sound of Ingalaurë’s harsh breathing as he attempted to get his emotions under control. Finally, in a small voice he said, "The whole time you were on the Council, people came to you to consult with you about policy or to ask for a favor. No one paid any attention to me, no one came to me. I might as well have been invisible. Then, when you stepped down and I took over, I thought, ‘Now people will come to me with their problems and I will be able to help them’. Only they didn’t, not at first. They kept coming to you."

"And I kept telling them that I was no longer on the Council and they would have to speak with you, instead," Ingwion rejoined gently.

Ingalaurë pushed himself out of his brother’s embrace, his expression still one of anger. "But don’t you see? You had to send them to me. They didn’t come to me on their own, not at first. They... they had to be reminded that I even existed and you were the one that had to tell them."

"Oh, Ingil, that’s not true," Ingwion insisted. "People get so used to things being one way that they have a hard time adjusting to new circumstances. Don’t you remember how often people still came to Uncle Ingoldo even after I was already on the Council? I didn’t get upset about it. In fact, I found it rather amusing watching Uncle fume about it. I think now that everyone has gotten used to the idea of the two of us sharing the Council seat they will come to both of us."

Ingalaurë sighed. "I suppose," he averred reluctantly, not looking at his brother. "I just wish I didn’t have to wait a whole year before... before people remember I’m even alive."

"Oh, Ingil, please don’t talk like that," Ingwion pleaded, giving his twin another fierce hug and a kiss on his brow. "I think having to endure those wretched meetings for a whole year is too long myself. I honestly don’t know how Atto puts up with it and he’s been doing this since forever!"

Ingalaurë chuckled at the hyperbole and Ingwion grinned, pleased that he had been able to diffuse his brother’s temper.

"I’ve been thinking of asking Atto if we can alternate every half year," he added. "I resent having to put aside my own interests for so long."

Ingalaurë gave him a measuring look. "You really hate it that much?" he asked suspiciously.

Ingwion nodded. "Yes, I do, though I do my best not to show it, especially to Atto. I know how much he depends on me, on both of us, in these troubling times."

"I suppose waiting a half a year wouldn’t be so bad," Ingalaurë admitted somewhat reluctantly.

"Why don’t we speak with Atto about it, then?" Ingwion suggested. "I don’t think he would object to the idea."

"Object to what?"

They turned to see Ingwë entering the room, giving them both a considering look.

"We were talking about asking you to reconsider us sharing the Council seat every other year," Ingwion explained. "We were thinking of doing it every half year. We both think a whole year is too long." Ingalaurë nodded in agreement.

Ingwë furrowed his brow in thought, taking in the paleness of the younger twin, recognizing the signs. "Hmm... I actually came looking for you both," he said, deciding not to respond to his sons’ pleas.

"Oh?" both twins said almost at the same time and Ingwë hid a smile.

"Yes," he said with a nod as he gestured for them to take a seat even as he sat himself. "I have been receiving reports about conditions in Tirion which do not seem to be improving. Ñolofinwë appears reluctant to ask for help, either from me or from Olwë or even the Valar."

"He probably feels that if he calls for help it means he is not fit to rule," Ingwion offered and Ingwë nodded.

"At any rate, I think it’s time I took a more active approach. I need someone in Tirion whom I can trust to tell me what is going on without hedging or embellishing the truth. The reports I am getting are conflicting and I am forced to sift through them to ascertain what is happening there."

"So, what are you thinking of doing?" Ingalaurë asked, looking a bit confused as to why his atar was telling them this. Ingwion’s own expression was also one of confusion.

"I have decided I want someone inside the Noldóran’s palace, to act as a liaison between me and Ñolofinwë," Ingwë answered. "I was wondering if either of you would be interested in the role."

The twins looked at each other then back at Ingwë. "What would this entail?" Ingwion asked.

"In a way, you would be acting as my ambassador to the court of the Noldóran, or rather, to Ñolowfinwë’s court as regent to Finwë. You will represent the interests of the Vanyar and in particular my interest as Ingaran. At the same time, you will be in a position to gather the information I need to act effectively as High King."

"You mean, be a spy?" Ingalaurë asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

"I mean, act as my ambassador," Ingwë reiterated firmly. "Part of an ambassador’s role is information gathering. Valandur has people in place in the palace, but they are low status people within the government and servants and they are not always privy to sensitive information. It is more likely that Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë will confide in you simply because you are kin, never mind being my ambassador." He paused for a moment to let the twins digest what he had said before continuing. "It is a heavy responsibility and I will understand if you have any reluctance in agreeing to it, which is why I am asking rather than appointing. I do not care which of you goes, for you both have my confidence."

"And what of the one who stays?" Ingalaurë asked. "What of him?"

"He will necessarily have to remain on my Privy Council more or less permanently, or at least until the time of exile is over and Finwë returns to Tirion. After that, we will have to see. Nothing is certain in these uncertain times."

Both twins nodded. "When do you need our answer?" Ingwion asked.

"I will give you time to think it over and discuss it between yourselves," Ingwë replied, "but I would like your answer by next Valanya. Intarion will be leaving the day after and I thought to send whichever of you agrees to accept the ambassadorial position with him."

"So soon!" Ingalaurë exclaimed. "That doesn’t give us much time."

"I know," Ingwë acknowledged, "but to delay in sending one of you is pointless, as I think you can agree." Both twins nodded.

"We will let you know before Valanya," Ingwion said.

"Thank you," Ingwë said with grave sincerity. He stood and the twins rose as well. Ingwë opened his arms and the two ellyn fell into his embrace. "I love you both and I am very proud of you both. Do not ever doubt my love or my pride in you, either of you." He kissed them on their foreheads, being careful to give Ingalaurë a kiss first, which seemed to mollify the ellon.

"Thank you, Atto," they said, almost at the same time as Ingwë released them from his embrace, giving them both fond smiles.

The door opened just then to reveal Indil and Intarion. "Are we interrupting?" Indil asked, eyeing her atar and the twins with some concern.

"No, Daughter," Ingwë said with a smile, "you are not. As it is, I have to go hunt down Valandur, so I will leave you children to your own devices."

"Why do you have to hunt down Valandur?" Intarion asked in confusion. "Shouldn’t you just be able to send for him? You are the king, after all."

Ingwë gave them a conspiratorial smile. "But what’s the fun of that?" he asked rhetorically, and exited the room, leaving the younger Elves standing there in bemusement.

After a moment, Ingwion spoke. "So, what are you two up to?"

Indil answered, "We came to find you and see about doing something fun. Intarion will be leaving soon, so...."

"Sounds like a good idea," Ingwion said with a nod. "I can do with something fun right about now. How about you, Ingil?"

The younger twin nodded. "Like old times?" he asked with a sly grin.

"Like old times," the other three echoed, laughing.

36: Fateful Decisions

"By rights, I should be acting as your ambassador to Tirion," Ingoldo exclaimed angrily to Ingwë as he and his brother, along with Tinwetariel and Elindis, were eating dinner later that same evening. It was just the four of them as their children were dining elsewhere with friends. Ingwë had decided to share his decision about sending one of his sons to Tirion as his ambassador.

Ingwë frowned at his brother as he broke apart some bread before dipping it into his soup. He stole a glance at Elindis sitting across from him. She gave him a gentle smile of support. "I am not sure I follow you," he finally said. "You resigned from my Privy Council stating that you wished to pursue other interests. I took that as meaning that you were not interested in having any more to do with government work."

"I am still a member of this family," Ingoldo insisted. "You could at least have consulted with me first."

"You were unavailable, as I recall," Ingwë said somewhat coldly. "In fact, you were not even in the city. Was I suppose to drop everything and go riding off in search of you to discuss a matter that frankly no longer concerns you?"

"Still...."

"And do you and Tinwetariel truly wish to leave Vanyamar and reside in Tirion for the next nine or so years?"

"We used to live in Tirion, don’t forget," Tinwetariel replied for her husband. "It’s not as if we would be living in... in Alqualondë." She spoke as if describing some exotic and primitive place where no sane Elf would go.

"Regardless," Ingwë retorted, "you both have been very reluctant to do much of anything except fritter away the hours in gossip or in the hunt." His brother and sister-in-law glared at him but did not contradict him. "Besides," he added, "I think it is high time my children take on more responsibilities. I plan on asking Indil to take a more active role in helping as well."

Both Ingoldo and Tinwetariel snorted. "That I would like to see," Ingoldo said with a sneer. "Your daughter is almost as useless as my son in that regard."

The temperature in the room dropped considerably as both Ingwë and Elindis stared at Ingoldo — Elindis in disbelief, Ingwë in rising fury. "Neither my daughter nor your son are useless, Ingoldo," he said between clenched teeth. "They are both a credit to our family, which is more than I can say for others."

The silence that followed was nearly absolute. After a moment, and refusing to apologize, Ingoldo stood. "I think we will dine elsewhere," he said, giving his wife a significant stare. Tinwetariel sighed but rose as well and the two walked out, leaving Ingwë and Elindis staring at one another in disbelief.

"He’s becoming impossible," Elindis finally said. "Are you sure he’s your brother?"

Ingwë snorted and returned to his soup, though in truth he had little appetite now. "I have ceased to understand Ingoldo or what drives him. He gives up the one power base he had for no real reason that I could ever fathom and now he’s insisting that the ambassador’s position is his by right."

"He and Tinwetariel have been thorns in your side ever since we left Cuiviénen," Elindis said with a sigh. "Sometimes I wish they had turned back or had refused to join in the Migration."

"I know," Ingwë said. "Sometimes I wish the same, but the sad reality is, they did not and we have to deal with them. I almost wish Ingoldo would do something rash so I can exile him somewhere, or have the Valar do it for me."

Elindis gave her husband a brief smile. "You mean, send him to Formenos to tend sheep? Now that would be something, wouldn’t it?"

Ingwë chuckled, his good humor restored. "An idle fancy, I admit, but there are times when the idea appeals to me."

"Well, perhaps someday you will get your wish," Elindis said, giving him a coy look and Ingwë burst out laughing.

****

"So what will you do?" Intarion asked the twins as they sat in the Crystal Cup, a popular tavern not far from the palace on a street known as Salma Mallë because of the number of shops where lyres and lutes and other musical instruments were made and sold. Indil was with them along with Tamurilon and Amarië. Ingwion had told them about their atar’s plan.

"We haven’t decided yet," Ingwion replied. "Atto has given us until Valanya to give him our answer. Whoever goes will be going with you, it seems."

Intarion raised an eyebrow at that. "Rather precipitous and with little time to pack," he commented. "Does Ñolofinwë know you’re coming?" He gave them a sly grin and everyone chuckled.

"I doubt it," Ingalaurë replied with his own grin. "I get the feeling that Atto made this decision very recently and there’s been no time to send a message to Ñolofinwë. He’s going to be very surprised when one of us shows up on his doorstep with bags in hand asking for a room."

They burst out laughing at the image the ellon’s words evoked.

"At any rate," Ingwion said once they had calmed down, "with one of us gone, I think Atto is going to ask Indil to be more active in helping out." He gave his sister a significant look.

Indil pouted. "There goes all my free time," she muttered and the others just snorted. Then her expression lightened. "In truth, I think you are correct, Brother, and I will do what I can. Actually, I have been helping Ammë with much of her own duties, as well you know."

Everyone nodded. "And I think Ammë appreciates it," Ingalaurë stated. "I overheard her telling Atto that she finds your common sense approach to problem-solving to be a pleasant change from the convoluted methods of others."

Indil beamed. "Did she really say that?"

Ingalaurë nodded. "She sounded very pleased when she did and Atto wondered from whom you might have gotten your common sense because no one else in the family ever seemed to have any."

There was a pause as Ingalaurë gave them all an innocent look and then they broke out in laughter again, Ingwion playfully swatting his brother, who ducked, all the while grinning.

"He never said that," Ingwion said. "You made that up."

"No, I didn’t," Ingalaurë insisted. "Well... maybe I did, but not what Ammë said about Indil. That was true enough."

"Well, thank you for telling me, Ingil," Indil said with sincerity. "I appreciate it."

"You are most welcome, Sister," Ingalaurë said with a warm smile for her.

"Well, getting back to who will go to Tirion," Intarion said then, "how will you decide? As long as I’ve known you two, you’ve never been separated from each other more than a few days. Will you be able to handle it?"

"Honestly, Intarion, we’re not elflings," Ingwion protested. "I am sure we will do just fine."

"Still, it is not an easy decision to make," Amarië interjected. "I am not sure I would want to leave Vanyamar for such a long time, myself."

"Why don’t you arm wrestle for the position?" Tamurilon suggested with a mischievous smile. "Loser goes to Tirion."

"Are you serious?" Ingwion asked, laughing.

Tamurilon shrugged. "I can think of worse ways of deciding an issue."

The twins gave them identical shakes of their heads. "I think we’ll find some other way to make the decision."

"I’m not sure there’s really anything to think about," Ingalaurë said somewhat diffidently, not looking at his twin. "You’ve been saying how much you hate sitting on the Privy Council. Do you really want to stay and endure it for the next nine years?"

"No, not really," Ingwion admitted, "but my likes or dislikes should have nothing to do with the decision. What is best for our people is the only criterion that matters here. If staying here is what is best, then stay here I will and I will do my utmost to fulfill my obligations as well as I can, no less than you."

"Still, Ingil has a point," Indil commented. "Doing something you hate for so long will not be a good thing for anyone. Eventually I think you would begin to resent your situation and then what?"

"Indil is correct," Amarië chimed in. "I think in this instance you should both do what your heart tells you, not what you think you should be doing. The people can take care of themselves."

"All things being equal," Intarion added with all seriousness, "which would you rather do, Ingwi?"

Ingwion sighed. "What I told Ingil is true. I really do hate sitting on the Privy Council. That first year dragged on forever and now I face the possibility of having to sit on the Council for the next nine years or longer. I don’t think I could do that and remain sane."

"And you, Ingil?" Intarion asked.

Ingalaurë hesitated for a second before answering. "I like the idea of being Atar’s ambassador to the court of Tirion, yet, I also enjoyed my time on the Privy Council. I would have no objections to staying if Ingwi truly hates the thought of doing so."

"Then I don’t see why you need to discuss it," Intarion said. "Ingwi should go to Tirion while Ingil remains on the Council. I think that is an equable arrangement, one that I think you both can live with. Or am I mistaken?"

"No," Ingwion averred with a shake of his head. "You are not." He gave his twin a significant look. "Are you fine with this, Brother?" he asked. "Do you wish to remain while I go?"

"It’s not that I wish to remain," Ingalaurë said slowly as if feeling out his words. "It’s that I think we would both be happier if I did stay here and help Atar out on the Council while you go to Tirion where you can help Atar in other ways, and I think being an ambassador will allow you to pursue your other interests as well."

Ingwion did not respond immediately, mulling over his twin’s words, weighing them for their sincerity. Finally, he nodded. "I think you are correct, Ingil. We will let Atar know our decision tomorrow at breakfast."

There were grins all around. "Well, now that that’s settled," Indil said, "let’s have a toast." She raised her wine goblet and the others followed suit. "Here’s to Ingwion and Ingalaurë, may they serve our people faithfully and well in whatever capacity they choose."

"To Ingwion and Ingalaurë, " Intarion, Tamurilon, and Amarië echoed while the twins looked on, giving one another shy looks.

****

"You are sure of this?" Ingwë asked his sons as they sat together for breakfast. He noticed Ingoldo glaring at them from across the room, but ignored him.

The twins nodded. "We talked it over with Indil, Intarion, Tam and Amarië and we realized that my going to Tirion would be best while Ingil stays here and helps you with the Council," Ingwion said.

Ingwë stole a glance at his daughter and nephew sitting on the other side of Elindis. Both nodded. "Tam suggested they arm wrestle to see who gets to go to Tirion," Indil said, "but the rest of us thought that wouldn’t be a good idea."

Ingwë found himself smiling. "Indeed," was his only comment, then he turned back to his sons. "Then I accept your decision, yonyar. Indeed, I suspected that you would decide as you have but left it to you to do so or not. Truly, I have no real preference as to who should go and who should stay. I know that in either case you will both do your very best for our people."

"Thank you," both ellyn muttered, looking embarrassed at the praise.

"We will tell Lord Manwë when we go to Ilmarin on Valanya," Ingwë said.

"Why?" Ingalaurë asked. All three of Ingwë’s children and Intarion had confused looks on their faces.

Ingwë raised an eyebrow, as if the answer should be obvious. "It is only polite," he said quietly. "After all, are they not our neighbors and do not neighbors share their news with one another?"

The expressions on the younger Elves’ faces mutated from confusion to something more thoughtful as they continued to eat. Ingoldo continued to glare at them, but no one paid him any heed.

****

Lord Manwë gave Ingwion a steady look. "So, you will go to Tirion to act as your atar’s ambassador. A heavy responsibility, but one I think you will shoulder with your usual aplomb." Then he turned his attention to Ingalaurë, giving him a smile. "I am glad that you will be staying behind, hinya, for that means we will have more time to listen to your lovely poems. You show great promise as a bard. I think you might do well to apprentice yourself to Elemmírë for a time."

"Truly?" Ingalaurë exclaimed, grinning broadly. "She is the very best bard we have."

"I have taken the liberty of showing her one or two of my particular favorites of yours," Manwë said, "and it was she who suggested that you apprentice with her. Of course, your duty to your atar and your responsibilities on the Privy Council come first, but perhaps something can be arranged."

Ingwë gave the Elder King a bow. "Thank you, lord. It pleases me to know that someone like Lady Elemmírë recognizes Ingil’s talents."

"His way with words is quite sublime," Varda interjected. "It would be a pity not to develop that talent to its fullest."

Ingwë turned to Ingalaurë. "What say you, my son? Is this something you would like to do?"

Ingalaurë nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yes. It is something I’ve always dreamt of but never thought it would come true."

"Then it is settled," Manwë said with a smile. "We will have you meet with Elemmírë and make the appropriate arrangements. In the meantime, let us discuss your new role, Ingwion." He turned to the elder twin, his posture more sober and solemn. "A heavy responsibility, as I said, but one I know you can handle. Still, do you understand what the duties of an ambassador are?"

"I’m to be Atto’s spy," Ingwion replied with a nod.

Ingwë rolled his eyes. "You are not a spy!" he insisted.

"Well, I think it’s much more interesting to say that I’m the Ingaran’s spy than to say that I’m just your representative to the court of Tirion," Ingwion retorted.

There were amused chuckles from among the Valar, for they could see that the ellon was merely jesting. "Be that as it may," Manwë said, hiding a smile, "spying is not the most important role of an ambassador. The most important role is speaking for your atar when he cannot be there in person. That may prove problematic if you have one opinion about how things should go and he has another, yet, in the end, because you will be representing your atar, you will have to put aside your personal opinions. Whether you agree with your atar on any particular matter or not is immaterial; what is, is that you stand for your atar before all the Noldor. You are his voice more than you are his eyes or ears. The Noldor may not particularly care to hear what you have to say, but as Ingwë’s representative, you must be prepared to speak boldly and without hesitation, even if what you say proves unpopular."

Ingwion nodded, looking thoughtful. "I know," he replied. "I only hope that, as close kin to the Noldorin royal family, I do not encounter too many conflicts of interest."

"That is something none can predict," Manwë averred, "but regardless, in the end, all that is important for any to see is that you stand before them as the High King’s emissary. Your personal feelings cannot enter into it."

Ingwion gave the Elder King a bow. "I will keep your words in my heart, lord," he said solemnly.

"That is well," Manwë said and then he and the other Valar gave their blessings on both ellyn before the Elves departed for Vanyamar.

When Ingwë and his sons were gone, Manwë turned to Námo. "You were very quiet and your blessing was, shall we say, somewhat perfunctory and even distant."

Námo shook his head. "I am not sanguine about Ingwë’s decision to send one of his sons to Tirion," he answered.

"Have you seen something about which we should know?" Manwë asked.

"Nothing concrete," Námo replied, his expression somber, deciding not to mention what he had ‘seen’ when he had had his conversation with the twins in the conservatory. Some things, he instinctively knew, could not be spoken of to others however much he might desire to do so. His visions were not always easy to bear, yet somehow he always found the strength of will to do so. "It is why I have not spoken of it but I think Ingwion going to Tirion may be a mistake. It would be better if Ingalaurë were to go, or even Ingoldo."

"Indeed," Manwë said, raising an eyebrow. "Yet, it is their decision to make, not ours."

"Unfortunately," Námo retorted, looking troubled.

Vairë laid a solicitous hand on his arm, giving him a warm, caring look. "It’s young Ingil, isn’t it? You fear for him for some reason."

"Yes," Námo said. "I fear for them all."

"Why?" Manwë asked as gently as he could. Námo’s gift of foresight sometimes proved problematic for his fellow Valar, for it was not always easy to accept that what will be must be.

"I have seen further into Arda’s history than all others yet I have not seen all for much still lies in the freedom of Atar’s will. There is a darkness coming, yet what form it will take, I have not seen, but the Children are at the heart of it."

"You mean they will be the cause of this darkness?" Varda asked with a frown.

Námo shook his head. "No, but they will be affected by it more than we and I think some will not survive it."

There was silence among them for a time. Manwë cast a sympathetic look at Námo still standing there looking troubled, indeed, looking almost embarrassed. He recalled earlier times when they had been new-come to Eä. Námo’s sudden pronouncements had often been disturbing and his fellow Valar had, to some degree, distanced themselves from him, leaving him feeling lonely and unappreciated, feeling that he was somehow less than the others. It had been a mistake on their part, for it had left him open to Melkor’s attempts at seduction with near disastrous results. It had taken some of them time to accept and cherish their brother and his gifts. Manwë, however, had recognized Námo’s true worth from the very beginning, and had always encouraged him and had let him know that he was valued for himself as their brother in Atar’s Thought and for no other reason.

"When?" he asked.

"Soon," Námo replied shortly.

"But, we call all times soon, Brother," Oromë said with a quirk of his lips. "Could you be a little more specific?"

Námo raised an eyebrow at his closest friend among the Valar, and they could see a glint of mischief in his eyes in spite of the somberness of their conversation. "Sometime before the end of Arda," he replied.

"Ah," Oromë said with a look of satisfaction that they all knew was feigned, "that narrows it down a bit."

In spite of themselves, they could not help laughing and even Námo’s mien lightened a bit. Manwë then steered the conversation to less somber topics and the Valar put aside the future for the time being, knowing that all would be as Atar willed and in the end all would work out as it must.

****

Salma Mallë: Lyre Street.

37: The Ingaran’s Ambassador

Ingwion and Intarion left the next day with much ceremony, for Ingwë insisted on holding a special court announcing Ingwion’s new role as his ambassador to the court of Tirion as well as confirming Ingalaurë’s more permanent appointment to the Privy Council. Afterwards, as they were seeing the two ellyn on their way, Ingwë gave his first-born a warm hug.

"You need not worry about surprising Ñolofinwë by showing up unexpectedly," he told him. "As soon as you told me your decision I had a courier sent. He will be in Tirion by now, so Ñolofinwë will be prepared for your arrival."

"Oh," Ingwion said, feigning disappointment, "and here I was all set to show up with bags in hand asking for a room."

Ingwë laughed and hugged his son again, more fiercely, almost as if he feared to let him go. He kissed him on his brow and smiled into his eyes. "You are my beloved son of whom I am well pleased. You and your brother have grown in many ways these last few years. Your ammë and I are very proud of you, of both of you."

"Thank you," Ingwion said around a sudden lump in his throat. Then he leaned over to whisper into Ingwë’s ear. "Don’t forget to tell Ingil the same thing."

Ingwë gave him a considering look and nodded. "I intended to, yonya. Do not think I do not see the resentment your brother sometimes shows at not having been born first. It is a concern for both your ammë and me. Perhaps this time of separation will do you both good. Ingil will come into his own without being in your shadow."

"That is my hope as well," Ingwion said with a nod and then it was time to leave. He mounted his horse and joined Intarion at the front of the small escort that was only proper for one who was not only the Ingaran’s ambassador but also his heir and with a cheery wave they set off. Besides the guards, the escort included three Elves who would act as Ingwion’s staff while he was in Tirion.

"You didn’t farewell your brother," Elindis said to Ingalaurë, mildly reproving him as they stood there watching Ingwion and Intarion leaving.

"We said our farewells in private, ammë," her younger son replied. "We thought it would be... less emotional. Indil’s crying enough for all of us." He glanced at his sister, still waving at the cavalcade that was disappearing around a bend with one hand while wiping her eyes with a rather soggy handkerchief with the other. Then he glanced at his ammë and they shared a smile before following Ingwë back into the palace.

****

When they arrived in Eldamas, Ingwion, on Intarion’s suggestion, ordered the escort to continue on to the other side of Valmar and make for the Crown and Stars Inn, situated on the road to Tirion, where they would stay the night. "Prince Intarion and I will join you once we have visited with our cousin." The escort captain did not look particularly happy about it and insisted that one of the guards remain with the princes as a matter of propriety. Ingwion agreed and they parted company with the two princes and their guard heading towards the mansion of Lord Aulë and Lady Yavanna. Before the gates of the mansion they encountered a Maia and when Ingwion identified themselves and their purpose, the Maia, who named herself Cemendillë of the People of Yavanna, bowed to them.

"I will inform Lord Aulë as to your request," she told them. "It will be his decision to allow you to see Prince Findaráto. It may be that your cousin is in the middle of important research and would not be able to leave his work at this time. If that is the case, I have no doubt that my lord will instruct you as to when you may see him."

"Thank you," Ingwion said. "Please tell Lord Aulë that we are staying at the Crown and Stars Inn. Perhaps, if we are unable to see Findaráto at this time, he might be able to join us for dinner."

Cemendillë nodded. "I will inform him. In the meantime, you may take your ease in the garden to your right." With that she left them and the three ellyn entered the garden and strolled about, the guard three paces behind the two princes who walked side-by-side softly commenting on the garden. They were admiring a particular fountain when Cemendillë returned. "It is as I thought," she said. "Prince Findaráto and the other Aulenduri are deep in the middle of a project that they have been working on for some time. Lord Aulë feels that they should not be disturbed. He has instructed me to tell you that he will send Findaráto to the inn." She gave them a wry smile. "It will be a good excuse to get him out of the mansion for a time."

The two princes grinned. Ingwion then gave the Maia a bow. "Thank you. We will go now and await our cousin’s arrival, say, an hour after Second Mingling?"

Cemendillë nodded. "I will inform Lord Aulë."

With that, she escorted them to the entrance and they were on their way to the eastern gate of Valmar, making for the Crown and Stars Inn.

****

Ingwion reserved a private parlor for them and their cousin and at the appointed hour, Findaráto entered the inn with Urundil in tow.

"I hope you don’t mind," he said as he gave Ingwion a warm hug, "but I invited Urundil to dine with us. Do you remember him?"

"Of course," Ingwion said warmly, "and I don’t mind at all. Intarion, this is Urundil who is a loyal Aulendur living here in Valmar. I believe you have a wife and daughter if memory serves."

"Yes, Highness," Urundil answered. "They live in Eldamas while I reside with the other Aulenduri in Lord Aulë’s mansion."

"Oh, you’re the ellon who got Findaráto into so much trouble," Intarion said brightly. "I heard all about that."

"Urundil did not get me into trouble," Findaráto protested laughingly when he noticed Urundil’s expression of dismay. "Pay no attention to the ellon, Urundil. Intarion is always jesting."

At Urundil’s continued look of confusion and dismay, Intarion held out his hand. "What Findaráto says is true, Urundil. I am merely jesting. Welcome and please, let us sit. I will order another setting." He went to the door and, opening it, called out and when one of the serving ellith showed up he asked for another setting and soon the four ellyn were seated enjoying the repast while catching up on all the news.

"I was surprised to hear you were here," Findaráto said to Ingwion. "I was expecting Intarion, for he left a message for me when he came through on the way to Vanyamar telling me he would see me on his way back. How is it you are here with him?"

Ingwion explained and Findaráto raised an eyebrow. "Well. Uncle Ingwë is getting mighty devious. He must be taking lessons from the Valar."

They all laughed at that. "Probably truer than you say, Cousin," Ingwion replied after they had calmed a bit. "So, do you know when you will be returning to Tirion?"

Findaráto shook his head. "Only that it will be before the end of the year, but the exact date has not been determined. Urundil and I are rather involved in a project that we’ve been working on almost since I came here. We’re very close to solving certain problems related to it and I would like to see it completed before I leave."

"But you do intend to leave," Intarion said.

Findaráto nodded. "Yes. It is time I took up my duties to my family and my people once again. Uncle Ñolofinwë needs me more than Lord Aulë does."

"I disagree," Urundil stated, "but I understand how you feel. I think if my wife, Valamírë, and my daughter, Aulendilmë, were not living here in Eldamas, I would forsake my position as an Aulendur to be with them. Family is very important."

The others nodded in agreement. "Which is why I asked Lord Aulë for permission to return to Tirion," Findaráto said, "although I sensed a reluctance on his part to grant it. I am not sure why."

"Perhaps he will simply miss you," Urundil replied quietly, "as will I and the others."

"And I will miss you as well," Findaráto returned, "but we will see one another again, I have no doubt." Then deciding they had spoken enough about him, he said, "So tell us what’s been happening in your lives."

The rest of the evening was spent in regaling one another with tales of the little (and not so little) doings of family and friends and they parted in high spirits.

"I am glad that when I finally return to Tirion that you will be there," Findaráto said to Ingwion as he and Urundil were leaving. Ingwion merely nodded. "And Intarion," Findaráto continued, turning to his other cousin, "you and Lirulin must plan to come and visit once I am there."

"We will, Findaráto," Intarion promised. "Send word when you are leaving Valmar and Lirulin and I will come to Tirion to greet you."

Findaráto nodded and then he and Urundil left the inn to return to Valmar.

****

As predicted, Ñolofinwë was waiting for them on the front portico of the palace when they arrived. Accompanying him were Arafinwë and Indis and the rest of the royal family. There was little ceremony, for they were all kin and there was much joy in their greetings.

"We will reserve the formalities for later," Ñolofinwë said as he led them back into the palace and towards the royal apartments. The guards and Ingwion’s staff were led away to the suite of rooms reserved for them with assurances from Ñolofinwë that his people would see to their needs while Ingwion and Intarion visited with the family."So, how is everyone in Vanyamar?"

"And did you see Findaráto?" Arafinwë asked. "How fares he?"

Ingwion and Intarion assured them that Ingwë and the rest of the family were doing well and that Findaráto was looking forward to returning home soon. "He did not know exactly when," Ingwion told them, "but assured us that it would be by year’s end if not sooner."

"Good," Aicanáro said with some feeling. "He’s the only one who can keep Artanis in line. She never listens to me or Angaráto."

"That’s because you have nothing interesting to say," the elleth retorted primly and there were knowing smiles all around.

"How long can you stay, Intarion?" Anairë asked.

"For a few days," he answered. "I finished my business earlier than I thought so Lirulin is not expecting me back until the middle of next week."

"It’s a pity she did not accompany you at least to Tirion," Anairë commented. "We would have loved to have had her here until your return."

"She was busy overseeing the harvest," Intarion replied. "I told Findaráto that when he returned to Tirion, Lirulin and I would come for a long visit."

"That would be splendid," Artanis exclaimed. "I have been working on a piece of music for some time now and would like Lirulin’s opinion."

Intarion smiled at the elleth. "I will tell her. She quite admired your talent in that regard, especially your harp-playing. You and Findaráto both seem to have a gift for that particular instrument."

Artanis beamed at the praise.

As the family gathered in one of the larger sitting rooms, Ñolofinwë gave Ingwion a measuring look. "I was rather surprised to receive your atar’s missive telling me of your pending arrival. I am not sure I understand why you are here and in what capacity."

"I am here as the Ingaran’s emissary," Ingwion replied, speaking somewhat formally. There were several raised eyebrows at his speaking of Ingwë as the High King and not as his atar. "I am here to speak for the High King in matters that concern him."

"But why?" Ñolofinwë demanded, looking frustrated and confused at the same time.

"Atto has been receiving reports from people describing the continuing unrest here in Tirion," Ingwion said, reverting to a more intimate style of address. "He was disappointed that you did not come to him for advice or aid."

"We can handle it," Ñolofinwë snarled, now looking affronted.

"Can you? Are you?" Ingwion demanded. "Ari, I know you and Arafinwë and the rest of you are doing your best, but it may not be enough. I spent hours with Atto and Valandur pouring over notes on what is happening here. Valandur thinks that not all of Fëanáro’s sympathizers went with him to Formenos, but remained behind to foment discord among the Noldor and to discredit you in the eyes of your people and the High King. Can you deny this?"

For a moment Ñolofinwë did not answer, his expression dark with anger. The tension in the room was palpable and no one dared to break the silence that had settled over them. Finally, though, Ñolofinwë sighed, looking more rueful. "No, I cannot deny anything that you’ve said," he replied in a small voice.

Ingwion leaned over to place a comforting hand on the ellon’s knee. "Ari, there is no shame in admitting you need help and that’s what Atto wants to do, help, but unless you ask, his hands are tied."

"Then why are you here?" Arafinwë asked. "You say you are the Ingaran’s emissary. Just what does that entail?"

"I am Atto’s voice," Ingwion said. "I am here to speak on Atto’s behalf on matters that concern him as Ingaran."

"Hmph," Indis snorted in disdain. "I am not sure I believe you when you say you are only here as my brother’s representative to the court of Tirion. I think there is more than that going on."

Ingwion gave his aunt a cool stare. "Would it make things easier for you if I say that I’m Atto’s spy?"

"Are you really?" Írissë, the youngest of them, exclaimed. "How exciting."

"Please, Daughter," Ñolofinwë admonished, looking less than amused, "this is neither the time nor place for such things. Ingwi is not a spy."

"Pity," the elleth said with a sigh. "I was all ready to send him secret messages."

"Yes, messages about her latest love," Aracáno said with a sneer at his sister who was about to retaliate with a scathing remark but their amillë stopped them with a cold look.

"Enough," Anairë cautioned her children and the two subsided.

"All I am saying is that Atto is concerned, not only as Ingaran, but more importantly, as the head of our family."

"Finwë is the head of our family," Indis said coldly.

"Finwë is the head of the Noldorin royal family," Ingwion retorted, "but Atto is the head of our family." He stressed the possessive.

There was a brief silence before anyone ventured to speak. "Well, be that as it may," Arafinwë said, casting a glance at his brother, "I, for one, am glad you are here, Ingwion. I am hoping that as an outsider you might have a different perspective on what is happening and offer us some ideas of how to address the problems we face, not as Uncle Ingwë’s emissary, but as one of the family."

"I would like that," Ingwion said sincerely.

"Good," Ñolofinwë said. "We will have a formal presentation at court tomorrow, but for now why don’t we just forget about all this and enjoy ourselves. I know you and Intarion would like to freshen up from the road. So, why don’t you go and unpack and settle in and I will send Findecáno to fetch you for dinner. We’ve put you and your people in the same wing that Uncle Ingwë and Aunti Elindis were in."

Ingwion and Intarion agreed to the idea and soon they all dispersed to attend to their own affairs.

****

The court the next day was stiff and formal, but mercifully short. Ingwion was careful to wear his finest court garb, making sure that every fold was correct and not a jewel was out of place. The rest of the family dressed accordingly. Ñolofinwë sat regally on the throne, though when Ingwion was announced he rose to greet him as was only proper. Ingwion bowed to him, though he was careful not to bow too low, for his status as haryon to the Ingaran made him of higher rank than Ñolofinwë, acting merely as Finwë’s regent. Ingwion handed his letters patent to his cousin who accepted them graciously, welcoming him to the court.

"We hope that thou and thy people will enjoy your stay with us," Ñolofinwë said.

"Thank you," Ingwion said with a nod of his head. "Permit me to introduce my staff." At Ñolofinwë’s nod, he introduced the one who would act as his secretary and his two assistants. Then he introduced the captain of his guard.

Ñolofinwë welcomed them to Tirion and then the court was over, much to everyone’s relief. A welcoming feast followed shortly afterwards where Ingwion spent the time being introduced to other members of Ñolofinwë’s court, though by both Ñolofinwë’s and Ingwion’s insistence, the conversations were kept to generalities and no talk of politics was permitted.

****

Three days later, Intarion said his farewells to the Noldorin royal family and to Ingwion. During the intervening days the two ellyn had spent much time together, two Vanyar against all the Noldor, or so Ingwion put it. Ingwion valued Intarion’s insights as a loremaster in his own right and the two spent much of the time discussing the situation in Tirion and elsewhere. When it came time for Intarion to leave, Ingwion was less than happy about it.

"I did not realize that I would be alone even among those who are my kin when I accepted this position," he commented to Intarion as the two made their way to the front portico where Intarion’s horse awaited him. The rest of the family had already made their farewells and Ingwion had said he would escort Intarion to the door.

"I know," Intarion said sympathetically, "but Findaráto will be here soon and he will support you. You are more than cousins, you are otornor. He will be your ally here."

"I certainly hope so," Ingwion said fervently. "Well, safe journey, Cousin, and give Lirulin my love. As soon as I know when Findaráto will be returning, I will send you word."

The two embraced and then Intarion was riding off, waving as he did so. Ingwion waved back and then Intarion disappeared behind a colonnade and Ingwion was alone.

****

Otornor: Plural of otorno: Sworn brother.

38: First Impressions

Ingwion was somewhat at a loss. He had decided that a suite of rooms on the ground floor looking out upon a small shade garden would be suitable as offices and the palace staff was busy remodeling the rooms, removing the bedroom and sitting room furniture and replacing them with desks and bookshelves and the like. His secretary, a capable ellon named Eccaldamos, oversaw most of the renovations, leaving Ingwion at loose ends.

"I really do not know what I’m supposed to do," he confided to Eccaldamos at one point. "I’ve never been an ambassador before."

His secretary smiled. "Why don’t you take a stroll through the city, Highness, and see what the mood of the people is?" the ellon suggested. "You can take Marilla and Tulcafindil with you," naming his two young assistants. "They have never been here and it would be good for them to acquaint themselves with the city."

Ingwion nodded, looking relieved. "I will do that. Perhaps I can speak to some of the people and see what they have to say. I feared my first report to Atto would consist of one sentence: ‘Have arrived safely and will write more later’."

Eccaldamos chuckled. "I am sure you can come up with something more original than that, Highness. Be sure to take at least one of the guards with you, though. If you encounter any trouble, Marilla and Tulcafindil are not equipped to defend themselves."

Ingwion was grateful that Eccaldamos had not included him in that statement, though he suspected the ellon had done so silently. He appreciated his secretary’s tact and now understood his atar’s decision to include him in their group. Eccaldamos had been one of those overseeing the royal archives and Ingwion had thought him somewhat staid and a bit dull at first. He was coming to admire the ellon’s quick mind and easy manner and he thought the two might eventually become friends.

"I will do that," he said. "In fact, I think I will ask for the loan of one of my cousins to accompany us."

"Hmmm.... if I might suggest, Highness, I would ask Lady Artanis to accompany you."

"Oh? Why her and not one of the others?" Ingwion asked, intrigued.

"Because she is the youngest child of the youngest son of the Noldóran," Eccaldamos replied, stressing the word ‘youngest’ twice, and giving Ingwion a meaningful look.

It took Ingwion a moment to figure out what Eccaldamos was saying and then he nodded. "Yes, I see what you mean. Thank you."

Eccaldamos gave his prince a nod of his head. "Enjoy your walk, Highness, and do try to stay out of trouble. I do not wish my first report to your atar to be: ‘Have arrived but not safely. Will write more when I can’."

Ingwion burst out laughing as he left the ellon to hunt down Arafinwë to ask his permission to allow Artanis to accompany him on his tour of the city. Arafinwë was surprised when he heard Ingwion’s request.

"You need not my permission, Ingwion," he said. "Artanis is certainly of age."

"But you are her atar and these are troubling times," Ingwion pointed out.

"Then I appreciate you coming to me," Arafinwë said with a smile. "I believe my daughter is in the laniesambë."

Ingwion thanked him and made his way out through one of the gardens towards a low building that was set up as a weaving room for the ellith of the palace. He was well aware of Artanis’ skill at weaving and had often admired her work. He thought he might ask her for one of her smaller tapestries to grace his own apartments.

Even before he reached the building he could hear the clack-clack of shuttles moving back and forth. Entering, he let his eyes adjust to the lesser light inside and saw that there were three other ellith besides Artanis all working away on looms. As he made his way to where Artanis was seated she looked up and smiled.

"Ingwi, what a surprise," she exclaimed without stopping her work.

"I came to ask a favor, two, in fact," he said with a smile.

The elleth stilled the loom and gave him an enquiring look.

"I was planning to wander through the city and reacquaint myself with it as it’s been some time since I was last here," he stated. "I am taking Marilla and Tulcafindil with me for they have never been here and I was wondering if you would care to join us. You probably know the city better than I and I am sure there have been changes since I last resided here."

"Not as many as you might think," Artanis said, "but perhaps there are a few. I would be happy to accompany you. When do you wish to go?"

"Perhaps after breakfast tomorrow?" Ingwion suggested.

Artanis nodded. "That will be fine." Then she gave him an arch look. "You mentioned two favors."

Ingwion smiled broadly. "I have always admired your skill as a weaver and wondered if I might purchase one of your smaller tapestries for myself."

The elleth widened her eyes in surprise and then gave him a wide smile. "Truly?" she asked excitedly. At Ingwion’s nod, she pursed her lips. "I think I might have one that will suit and do not even think of offering me payment. It will be my gift to you, cousin to cousin."

"Are you sure?" Ingwion asked reluctantly. "I am willing to pay...."

Artanis waved a hand in dismissal. "Yes, I am sure and no, you are not paying me. Consider it a... a begetting day gift."

Ingwion gave her a snort of amusement. "You’ve never given me a begetting day gift before," he pointed out

"Then this will make up for all those that I’ve missed," she retorted with a sniff.

Ingwion laughed and bent down to give his cousin a warm kiss on her cheek. "Then I thank you for your gift," he said softly and she smiled, obviously pleased with herself as he gave her and the other ellith a bow and left.

****

Marilla and Tulcafindil were shy and obviously feeling uncomfortable as they accompanied the two royals on their tour of Tirion. Neither was much older than five or six yéni. Artanis, however, was quick to befriend them, asking about their families and interests. Marilla shyly spoke of her painting and her hope of one day being admitted into the painters’ guild.

"Once I’ve improved my technique," she added.

"Perhaps while you are here you can show us some of your work," Artanis suggested. "I can take you to the guildhouse where you can purchase the finest paints and brushes."

"I fear that would be too rich for me, lady," Marilla replied. "Perhaps there is a shop that sells such items more cheaply."

"Bah!" Artanis retorted. "You are a member of the Vanyarin embassage, my dear. You can afford anything you wish. I am sure my cousin would have no objections to paying." She gave Ingwion an impish smile.

Ingwion merely raised an eyebrow. "My cousin is correct, Marilla. If you or Tulcafindil require anything, you must tell me or Eccaldamos."

"Thank you, Highness," the elleth said, looking both mortified and pleased at the same time.

"And you, Tulcafindil?" Artanis enquired with a grin. "What interests do you have that will require my good cousin to dig a little deeper into the Vanyarin royal treasury?"

Tulcafindil blushed. "Nothing, lady, that requires much in the way of materials," he answered. "I like writing poetry and ballads. I play the lute."

"Ah, then you must be sure to join us whenever we have a night of poetry recitation, singing and storytelling. Our family usually gathers around for such at least once every few weeks and you and Marilla are welcome to join us. Do you sing or play an instrument, Marilla?"

"I play the flute, lady," the elleth answered.

"Oh, then you and Ingwion must get together, for he, too, plays the flute and has composed several concertos. In fact, I think we could possibly form a group between us and give a little concert for the family some time."

Both assistants looked a bit nonplused at the suggestion, but Ingwion nodded. "I have a concerto that I can easily rewrite for two flutes, a lute and harp."

"Splendid!" Artanis said, clapping her hands in delight. "Now, come and let me show you Ingwë’s Tower and the White Tree that the Valar gifted us. From there I think we can take the Malta Landamallë, which is one of the main avenues. We can stop at one of the inns for lunch...."

****

The tour proved interesting on one level but depressing on another, at least for Ingwion, and he saw that his two young companions seemed equally depressed by the sight of so many houses standing empty and forlorn. If Artanis had any feelings about it, she kept them to herself. Still, he could not help but admire the city’s graceful architecture and the pleasant gardens and squares, taking pride in the fact that his own atar had had a hand in designing the city. The mood of those whom they encountered as they wandered through the city was subdued. There was no sense of hostility, but the faces of the Noldor were guarded, though they greeted their princess politely enough, some of them with obvious warmth and regard for Arafinwë’s youngest child. Artanis seemed to know most of those whom they met and introduced Ingwion and the other two Vanyar, being careful to stress the fact that Ingwion was her cousin visiting for a time and leaving out the fact that he was the head of the Vanyarin embassy. Marilla and Tulcafindil were introduced as Artanis’ friends, implying that she might have met them the last time she visited Vanyamar. The two younger Vanyar looked a bit bemused when Artanis introduced them in that fashion but Ingwion understood what she was doing and approved.

"They seem... dispirited," Ingwion said quietly to his cousin as they parted from one such group of people.

Artanis gave him a shrewd look. "They have every reason to be," she retorted somewhat sharply. "Nothing has been right since Uncle Fëanáro was exiled."

"Do you disapprove of the Valar’s decision?" Ingwion asked, curious as to what his cousin thought of the whole situation.

"Disapprove?" Artanis repeated, looking surprised. "On the contrary. I never liked mine uncle. There is something about him that makes me wary. I have the gift of reading other people’s hearts and his... his is less than pure." She paused, looking troubled. "Three times he accosted me, begging for a tress of my hair. I refused to give him even a single strand. I found him froward to the extreme. He has never forgiven me my refusal and we have been unfriends ever since."

"I am sorry to hear that," Ingwion said sincerely. "It is hard when family cannot live in peace with one another."

She gave him another shrewd look. "You mean your Uncle Ingoldo, don’t you?"

He smiled wanly. "It looks as if we both have trouble with uncles."

She laughed at that, though it was short-lived. "At any rate, nothing has been the same here since Uncle was exiled. Atto and Uncle Ñolofinwë are doing their best to make things right, but it has not been easy." Then she gave herself a shake. "This is much too depressing. Come. Let us take our ease at the Golden Tree tavern. I understand they serve an excellent venison pie."

Ingwion agreed and they made their way to the inn which was in the lower section of the city, overlooking the eastern wall where a park spread out before them.

"It’s called Tarwa Finweva," Artanis explained to Marilla and Tulcafindil as they took a table in the courtyard that looked out onto the park. "Anatar created it. It is a favorite place for picnics and some of the nobles like to go there with their falcons and hunt. If you like, after lunch we can take a stroll."

They all agreed to this idea and then eagerly ate the venison pie that they had ordered on Artanis’ recommendation. It was accompanied with frumenty and a red wine that Ingwion recognized as coming from Nolondur’s vineyard. By mutual consent, they kept their conversation light with Artanis describing a hunting incident involving her brother Findaráto and their cousins, Nelyafinwë and Macalaurë, and one irate twelve-point buck that had the three Vanyar practically falling out of their seats in laughter. Ingwion then regaled them with a story of when he and his brother snuck away from Vanyamar to climb Taniquetil to see the Valar and managed to lose their way and had to be rescued by one of Lord Manwë’s Maiar.

"It was most embarrassing," Ingwion ended with a laugh.

"How old were you?" Artanis asked.

"Oh, I don’t think we were much older than twelve or fourteen at the time. Much too young to be wandering alone."

"However did you manage to sneak away from your minders?" Tulcafindil asked.

Ingwion gave them a smug smirk. "Oh, we managed," was all he said and the others chuckled. "Of course, after that," he amended, "We were watched like hawks. Atto even asked the loan of a Maia from Lord Manwë whose sole duty was to keep us from wandering off the palace grounds. Ingil and I got very creative trying to find ways to elude Nornoros. I think he rather enjoyed it, as we sort of turned it into a game. We were always caught, of course, but Nornoros was very good with us and never got angry. In fact, he sometimes would tell us what we had done wrong and how we should have done it. Atto was not amused when he found out, but Nornoros merely laughed. I think he was rather sad to leave us when it was decided we had grown up enough that he was no longer needed. Ingil and I were most upset at his leaving but eventually we got over it."

"Did you ever see him again?" Marilla asked shyly.

Ingwion shook his head. "Oddly enough, no. I think perhaps it was decided that it would be better if we did not meet again, at least while we were young. I like to think, though, that Nornoros looked in on us from time to time to see how we were faring."

"Strange though that even after you were no longer elflings you never saw him," Artanis said.

Ingwion shrugged. "I have no answer for you, Cousin. In truth, I had forgotten about Nornoros until something you said sparked the memory. Perhaps the next time I visit Lord Manwë I will ask after him. It may be that the Elder King has only been waiting for Ingil or me to ask about Nornoros before letting us see him again. I don’t know."

"Well, I hope you do ask," Artanis said, "and you must let me know what happens. I am surprised, looking back on my own elflinghood, that my parents did not ask for a Maia or three to keep an eye on me as well." She gave them an impish look. "I understand I was a regular terror. Even Findaráto has said so."

Ingwion laughed. "Perhaps they did and every Maia politely refused the assignment."

Artanis stuck her tongue out at him and even Marilla and Tulcafindil laughed.

"Well, if we are finished, why don’t we go to the park?" Artanis said. "We will return to the palace by way of an arbor that was constructed for the sole use of the royal family."

They quickly settled the bill and went across the street to the park entrance, the ubiquitous guards following. It was a pleasant park, and Ingwion smiled at memories of earlier times when he and his siblings had picnicked here with their Noldorin cousins or had gone hawking. Marilla and Tulcafindil both admired the layout of the park and they began to visibly relax, for they had been somewhat tense during the earlier part of the tour.

"The arbor is just this way along the wall," Artanis told them, leading them to a gate. "It’s actually a tunnel constructed of tightly woven trees and was designed so that people from the palace could come to the park without the entire city knowing about it. The other end opens up into one of the lower gardens."

She unlatched the gate and ushered the others in before entering herself, closing the gate. They found themselves in a tunnel filled with green light, dim in comparison to outside but they could see well enough. Tulcafindil gave Artanis a puzzled look. "Do the people of Tirion never use this tunnel?"

She gave them a grin. "The gate at this end is spelled," she explained. "Only one of Anatar’s blood-kin can open it. Not even those who have married into the family, such as my own ammë, can do so."

The two younger Vanyar looked nonplused at that and Ingwion could not help but smile at their bemusement. He turned to his cousin, giving her a courtly bow. "Thank you for the tour, Artanis. I am grateful that you made the time for us."

"The pleasure was mine, Ingwion," Artanis said politely. "If ever you wish to wander through the city again, please let me know and I will accompany you."

Ingwion nodded and then they made their way up the tunnel, remaining silent, each with his own thoughts. When they reached the other end, Ingwion thanked Artanis again and dismissed the guards, steering Marilla and Tulcafindil back to the north wing where they found Eccaldamos sitting at a desk writing something out. It appeared to be a list from what Ingwion could see and he suspected the ellon was making note of supplies and such that were still needed for their offices. Eccaldamos looked up as they entered and stood.

"A pleasant tour?" he asked.

Marilla started to answer but Ingwion shook his head. "My sitting room in fifteen minutes," was all he said, including them all in his gaze, before exiting. He made his way to his own suite of rooms, removing his tunic so he could freshen up a bit, replacing it with one that was more formal in preparation for dinner which would be in a few hours. He was coming out of his bedroom when there was a knock at the sitting room door and went to open it, ushering the three Vanyar in. Without a word he gestured for them to find seats and went to a sideboard to pour some wine for them all before joining them.

Eccaldamos appeared relaxed, if a little bemused, but his assistants were obviously uncomfortable, both wondering if they had done or said something during the tour to upset their lord. The fact that Ingwion was solemn and unsmiling made them think that perhaps that was the case, so they were both surprised when the prince addressed them, his tone conversational. "Tell us what your impressions are of Tirion and her people," he said, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of the wine.

For a moment the two stared at one another as if trying to decide who would speak first. Finally, Tulcafindil licked his lips and said, "The city is very beautiful, but...."

"Go on," Ingwion commanded softly. "I would hear your thoughts. Do not hesitate to speak what you truly feel. I wish to know if we share similar impressions. I do not necessarily trust my own feelings about the city. I have memories of happier times here, but neither one of you have ever been here before, so your impressions, I think, will be more... honest."

Eccaldamos nodded in approval. "Which is why I suggested that they accompany you, Highness," he said. "Unlike you or me, they have no preconceived notions of what to expect."

"So, please, tell us what you think," Ingwion pleaded.

Tulcafindil nodded. "It’s a beautiful city, as I said, or at least, I can see how it was once beautiful, but so many houses stand empty, their gardens neglected. It made me feel... uncomfortable."

"And sad," Marilla interjected. When Ingwion nodded encouragement, she continued. "The people were pleasant enough, I suppose, but there was no joy in their eyes, only... um... sorrow and... er... discontent?" It was obvious to the listeners that she was groping for words that were not normally a part of her vocabulary.

Ingwion nodded but did not say anything, merely letting it be known from his expression that they were still free to speak as they would. Tulcafindil spoke again, looking troubled. "If I might ask, Highness... why did Lady Artanis introduce Marilla and me as old friends of hers? I do not understand...."

Eccaldamos gave Ingwion a startled look. "Did she now?" he asked.

Ingwion gave his secretary a sardonic look. "Not something you expected, was it?"

The ellon merely shook his head. "Lady Artanis is full of surprises. I think I may have underestimated her to some extent. I will not make that mistake again."

Ingwion raised an eyebrow at the implications of those words, but let it go. He turned to Tulcafindil and Marilla, giving them a warm smile. "My cousin was merely ensuring your safety," he said and both assistants looked nonplused at that admission. "By introducing you as her friends, she was letting the people of Tirion know that you were under her protection."

"But are we not protected by law and custom as members of an embassy?" Marilla asked in confusion.

"Yes, we are, but Artanis was making it known that any harm that came to you she would consider a personal affront against her. You do not know my cousin, so you are unaware that when Artanis is affronted no one is safe." He chuckled as he recalled the last time he had seen his fair cousin that way. Even Findaráto had stayed out of her path.

"When we were at the inn," Tulcafindil offered, looking troubled, "I noticed how everyone glared at us while we were eating. Even the tavernkeeper did not appear happy to see us, though as soon as he recognized Lady Artanis, his posture changed."

Ingwion nodded. "I noticed that as well. It is a similar reaction that the few Noldor in Vanyamar receive from some of our own people."

"I don’t understand," Marilla said, looking both confused and worried. "Why would they look upon us with such distrust. We didn’t cause the problem."

"No, but I have no doubt that the Noldor who have been to Vanyamar and have seen how they have been treated by some of us have returned with tales painting the Vanyar in a dim light. These people are hurting and they do not appreciate others exacerbating the situation with their own prejudices."

Eccaldamos nodded. "I suspect you are correct, Highness." Then he turned to his assistants, giving them a hard stare. "That is why you are not to leave these grounds unless either I or Prince Ingwion give you permission and you are accompanied by guards. The situation here is volatile and there is no knowing what might happen. Noldor are attacking Noldor and they will not stop at attacking any Vanyar who happen by."

The two younger Vanyar nodded, looking suitably subdued at the implications of Eccaldamos’ words. Ingwion gave the ellon a look of approval and stood, the others rising as well.

"Marilla, Tulcafindil, I want you to write down every impression — good, bad or indifferent — that you have about Tirion, the people, even the conversation we had among us as we toured the city. Anything and everything, leave no detail out, however insignificant you might think it to be. I want your reports by the fourth hour of Laurelin’s blooming." He indicated with a slight nod of his head that they had his leave to depart.

Marilla and Tulcafindil gave him their obeisance and left. Ingwion motioned for Eccaldamos to remain and resumed his seat. Eccaldamos took the liberty to go to the sideboard and return with the decanter of wine and refreshed their drinks before sitting again. Ingwion’s expression was thoughtful as he took a sip of his wine.

"Artanis approves of Fëanáro’s exile," he said without preamble.

"Indeed?" was the secretary’s only comment.

"I thought you should know," Ingwion said, giving the ellon a measuring look. He had a feeling that there was more to Eccaldamos than met the eye. He suspected that perhaps the ellon was one of Valandur’s ‘eyes and ears’. He didn’t care. Eccaldamos was proving valuable and he appreciated again the ellon’s inclusion into the embassage. "According to my cousin, Fëanáro accosted her —her word by the way — three times asking for a tress of her hair."

Eccaldamos’ expression went completely unreadable to Ingwion. "And what did she do?" he asked softly.

"Refused him," Ingwion answered. "She claims that she can read the hearts of others and that Fëanáro’s heart was less than pure. Her word again," he added when Eccaldamos raised an eyebrow.

"A most interesting elleth," Eccaldamos commented. "I wonder if anyone in the family recognizes her... talent."

Ingwion shrugged. "I have no idea. Until today, I did not know myself, and I’ve known Artanis since she was born. I will have to remember to ask Findaráto about it. He is the closest to her of all the siblings."

"It would be interesting to know if Prince Findaráto is aware of his sister’s gift," Eccaldamos acknowledged. "I have only met his Highness one or two times, but he struck me as being particularly discerning of the hearts and minds and motives of others. It would not surprise me to learn that he, too, has this particular talent."

"Though I think Artanis’ gift may be the stronger," Ingwion said. "Unlike Findaráto, she has an obvious dislike and distrust of Fëanáro. I did not detect this attitude in Findaráto, merely a sense of disgust at his uncle’s attack on Ñolofinwë. In some ways, I think Findaráto may even admire Fëanáro, something that Artanis does not. She actually said that they were unfriends. Not even Findaráto has gone that far."

"Hmmm.... that is something to consider," Eccaldamos said with a frown.

"At any rate," Ingwion said with a sigh, "I wished for you to know this."

"And I appreciate you telling me, Highness," Eccaldamos said with sincerity. "And now, if you will excuse me, I still have things I must do before the dinner hour."

Ingwion nodded as Eccaldamos rose. "I will see you at dinner then," he said and his secretary bowed, exiting the room, leaving Ingwion alone with his thoughts. After a few moments he sighed, rose and went to the desk that overlooked the shade garden, pulling out a sheet of vellum and sharpening a quill. Then he set about writing down his own impressions of the tour while they were fresh in his mind, meaning to include it in his first report to his atar.

****

Laniesambë: Weaving room.

Malta Landamallë: Gold Avenue.

Tarwa Finweva: Finwë Park, literally, ‘the garden/enclosure belonging to Finwë’.

Note: Artanis’ mention of Fëanáro asking for a tress of her hair and her refusal to give him a single strand is taken from ‘The History of Galadriel and Celeborn’, Unfinished Tales.

39: At the Court of Tirion

Weeks went by and Ingwion and his people settled in. Ingwion was invited by Ñolofinwë to sit in on some of the council meetings as an interested observer and to attend court whenever his other duties allowed, for once knowledge of the embassy became more broadly known in Tirion, Ingwion found himself having to deal with those few Vanyar living in Tirion coming to him with complaints against the Noldor. Eccaldamos proved himself an excellent secretary, screening visitors and allowing only those with legitimate complaints to speak with Ingwion, who listened very carefully to what was being said (and even what was not being said), promising that he would bring their plight to the attention of Prince Ñolofinwë.

At first, Ingwion was somewhat puzzled by these visits and mentioned it to Eccaldamos. "Why do they not simply go to my cousin with their complaints? I have no power to redress their wrongs. Only Ñolofinwë can do that. And if they are that unhappy about their situation, why do they not return to Vanyamar?"

Eccaldamos took a moment before responding. "As to your first question, Highness, I suspect many do not think they would get a fair hearing among the Noldor, whether they bring their complaint to a city magistrate or petition Prince Ñolofinwë directly."

"That’s absurd," Ingwion protested. "I cannot speak for these magistrates, but my cousin is honorable and fair-minded and would listen to them without prejudice and if they have a legitimate claim for redress, he would see it done."

"Indeed," Eccaldamos said with a nod, "but I am simply explaining how these people see the situation. They are few and the Noldor are many. As for your second question, I deem that the Vanyar who live here do so by choice, most likely out of love, having taken a spouse among the Noldor. It cannot be an easy decision to simply leave one’s home."

"That didn’t seem to be a problem for nearly a third of the population who followed Fëanáro into exile," Ingwion retorted with a snort.

"Be that as it may, Highness," Eccaldamos said in a tone of mild rebuke, "these people have come to you to find succor for their problems."

"And I will speak with my cousin about them and see what can be done," Ingwion replied, accepting the reproof with equanimity. "Some of these complaints, while certainly legitimate, could easily be resolved in the city courts or with a disinterested third party mediating between the two parties, but there are a few I believe should be brought to Ñolofinwë’s attention for him to deal with if he will."

It was some time, however, before Ingwion found the opportunity to speak to Ñolofinwë about it. He had thought to speak to him in private, cousin to cousin, but decided that it would be better to speak more publicly, ambassador to regent. Nor did he wish to be the one to broach the subject, since it could be construed by the Noldor as interference on his part. Thus, he bided his time.

Sitting in on a council meeting a few weeks after his conversation with Eccaldamos, Ingwion was trying not to look bored as one of the nobles droned on about something to do with drains. Ingwion had tuned the ellon out some time before and was thinking of his family, wondering what his twin and Indil were up to. In fact, he had ceased to pay any attention to the flow of the discussion until he heard the word ‘Vanya’ mentioned. He quickly brought himself back to the present moment, silently cursing himself for his inattentiveness.

"....my people, a Vanya, was accosted the other day," he heard a Lord Herencáno say. "Sorondur is my chief falconer and I had given him permission to purchase a peregrine that he has had his eye on for some time which he hoped to breed with one of my other falcons."

"What happened?" Ñolofinwë asked and there was a weariness in the ellon’s tone, a sense of resignation, that surprised Ingwion.

"The person from whom he wished to buy the bird is one with whom he has had dealings before," Herencáno explained. "Sorondur knows what a bird is worth and he is a capable falconer. It is why I convinced him to remain in Tirion after Ingwë led the Vanyar to Taniquetil. He’s married to one of my estate managers and she was reluctant to leave her home. When he went to purchase the falcon, the buyer offered a price that was three times what the bird is worth."

"Perhaps he wished to haggle for the price," someone suggested.

Herencáno nodded. "And so I assumed when Sorondur came to me with the complaint, until I learned that the ellon refused to bargain. He and Sorondur are friends of a sort but that day their friendship proved vain, for the ellon refused to come down on the price. And when Sorondur protested, others who were there in the market reviled him and someone even threw fruit at him and he was forced to retreat." Herencáno gave a disgusted snort. "Never mind the insult to me in having one of my people assaulted in such a manner, but Sorondur is also a Manwendur and the Elder King’s emblem is clearly stitched on his jerkin for all to see."

There was a stir among the councillors and they exchanged uneasy glances. "If the Valar were to learn of this...." one of them started to say, then stopped, as if afraid to voice what everyone was thinking.

Before anyone else could respond, Ingwion saw his chance and spoke up. "Lord Herencáno’s falconer is not the only one who has suffered at the hands of the Noldor simply because they happened to be Vanyar."

All eyes turned to him and Ñolofinwë frowned, though more likely at Ingwion’s interjection than at what he had actually said. "You know this for a fact?" Arafinwë asked.

Ingwion nodded. "Since my arrival several Vanyar who make their home here have come to me to voice their complaints," he told them. "My secretary, Eccaldamos, has screened them and has made sure that the complaints were legitimate before allowing the complainants access to me. In many cases the complaint centers around unfair pricing and a refusal to bargain. In a few, there have been outright attacks. No one has been unduly harmed, but these people are fearful for their children, who are of mixed Noldorin and Vanyarin heritage."

Arafinwë nodded, stealing a glance at his brother who remained silent. "Price gouging seems to be endemic," he admitted. "I believe it is happening in Vanyamar as well with the Noldor being penalized by having to pay higher prices for the same goods."

Ingwion shook his head. "The High King put a stop to that practice as soon as he learned of it." He gave them a mirthless smile. "In fact, your own son was inadvertently instrumental in forcing Atto’s hand in the matter."

There were many raised eyebrows at that, and not a few skeptical looks. Arafinwë simply grimaced. "So I have heard," he muttered.

"What exactly did Ingwë do?" Ñolofinwë asked.

"Besides exacting a rather stiff fine on the people known to be price gouging, Atto came down rather hard on the guilds and let it be known that he would not tolerate such practices," Ingwion explained. "He said he would disband the guilds first before letting it go on. You can imagine how the guildmasters felt about that!"

There were knowing nods from everyone. Then Herencáno spoke. "It seems to me that we need to make as strong a statement as Ingwë has against this. My falconer is not responsible for what has happened in Tirion and for him and others to be discriminated against and reviled simply because they are Vanyar and not Noldor is an injustice that needs to be redressed."

Ñolofinwë sighed and nodded. "I am aware of all this. I had meant to speak with the guilds to see what they had to say about it first before taking any direct action. That there are those who fear for the safety of their children because they happen to have Vanyarin blood is troubling. No one should have to fear for their child. That is against everything we Eldar stand for."

"Perhaps," Ingwion averred, "but the sad truth is, people are acting irrationally out of fear which is slowly turning to anger. It may, if it is not addressed immediately, turn to actual hatred and then we are going to have an unholy mess on our hands."

There were nods all around. Ñolofinwë gave Ingwion a measuring look and the ellon returned it with one of his own. For all that Ñolofinwë was regent, Ingwion was several yéni older than his cousin and his status as haryon to the Ingaran gave him the greater rank. "Can you give Arafinwë the information you have gathered about this?" Ñolofinwë asked.

"I will have Eccaldamos send him a copy of the report that I have sent to the Ingaran," Ingwion replied and the implications of that statement were not lost on any of them.

Ñolofinwë, to his credit, did not flinch or grimace, but simply nodded. "You have our thanks," he said formally. "If to the report you could append exactly what measures the High King took when confronted with a similar situation, I would appreciate it."

"You will have it before Second Mingling," Ingwion promised and then added, "and I thank you for listening to me. I know I was out of turn to speak but I felt you should have as much information as you needed to come to a just decision. What happened to Lord Herencáno’s falconer might be viewed by some as an isolated incident and thus easily dismissed. I did not wish for that to happen. Sorondur deserves better than that if only because he is a fellow Elf, never mind having the Elder King’s favor."

To that there was no disagreement among the councillors. Shortly thereafter the meeting adjourned and the councillors began to leave, though Ñolofinwë indicated that Ingwion and Arafinwë should remain, for he wished to speak with them privately. Herencáno stopped before Ingwion’s seat and gave him a bow. "Thank you, Highness. I feared that my complaint would fall on deaf ears. That you were able to corroborate what is happening heartens me. Sorondur is dear to me both as a trusted servant and as a friend and I am grateful for your words on his behalf."

"I am glad to have been of assistance, my lord," Ingwion said graciously. "Perhaps someday I will have the honor of meeting Sorondur. I have not hunted with falcons for some time now and miss it."

"Do you have your own bird?" Herencáno asked.

"Yes. I brought Mercalindë with me," Ingwion replied, "though, in truth, I have had little opportunity to hunt with her."

"Perhaps we can arrange something in the near future," Herencáno suggested.

"Thank you, I would like that," Ingwion said and Herencáno gave him another bow before exiting the council chamber.

Ñolofinwë waited until the doors had closed behind the last councillor before speaking. "I wish you had come to me in private about this, Cousin," he said softly to Ingwion, not actually looking at him.

"I had thought to do so," Ingwion replied, "but decided against it."

"Why?" Now Ñolofinwë raised his eyes to look at him directly, his expression clearly puzzled.

"Because by speaking publicly on the issue, even if only before your Privy Council, it makes the complaint official," Ingwion explained somewhat coldly. "If I had come to you in private, it would have been as your cousin and you could have safely ignored anything I said to you. But by speaking as I have here in this council chamber I speak as the Ingaran’s ambassador and you cannot ignore what I have said however much you might wish to."

"Even so...."

"Even so, I waited weeks before speaking," Ingwion interrupted. "Give me credit for that much, Cousin. I did not broach the subject on my own. I did not come whining to you about how unfairly you Noldor are treating us Vanyar." Both Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë flinched at that, but did not interrupt as Ingwion continued. "When Herencáno spoke of what happened to his falconer, then and only then did I speak of others suffering similarly. And I did so because I could see from the expressions on the faces of some of your councillors that they were ready to dismiss the incident as isolated and minor and of no real importance. You yourself said you were aware of what is going on. Can you truly fault me for voicing my own concerns? You are half Vanyarin. I would think you would have some compassion towards your amillë’s people."

Ñolofinwë bristled at that and his eyes flashed with anger. "How dare you?"

"I dare because it is the truth," Ingwion shot back. "You say you were meaning to speak to the guilds about this. Why haven’t you?"

"There’s been no time...." Ñolofinwë started to explain.

"Nonsense, Brother," Arafinwë interjected. "You’ve been dithering back and forth over this issue for the last five weeks. I told you two weeks ago to go to the guilds, but you have not done so. I know you have been reluctant to act for fear of what Atar will do when he returns, but I think if you do not act soon, there will not be much of a city for Atar to return to."

"Arafinwë is correct," Ingwion said in a more conciliatory tone. "I know you never wanted to rule, that you were content to be the younger son of the Noldóran, but the truth of the matter is that for the next eight or so years you are, for all intents and purposes, the king. Finwë is Noldóran in name only while he remains in exile with Fëanáro. You need to show your people, indeed all of Eldamar, that you are capable of leading the Noldor in these troubling times. Be the king they need, Cousin."

"But I am not king, only regent," Ñolofinwë protested.

"You are splitting semantic hairs," Arafinwë said. "King or regent, it matters not the title. What matters is that you act and act decisively. Do not worry about what Atar may or may not do eight years hence. Concentrate on the here and now and the plight of our people, of all the people of Tirion, whether Noldor, Vanyar or of mixed heritage. The fact that Ingwion has spoken with those who fear for the safety of their own children because they are not pure-blooded Noldor makes my blood run cold. Such fears cannot be dismissed as idle fancy. Ingwion is correct when he says that the fear and anger that is felt now can easily turn to hatred. Our brother raised steel against you, forcing the Valar to act as they did. I dread to think what might happen if elflings are threatened in a similar manner."

Ingwion suppressed a shudder at that thought and felt his stomach roil. Ñolofinwë’s expression was grim. "You are both correct," he said softly. "I have been...afraid." He turned his attention to Ingwion. "It is why I have hesitated to go to Ingwë for help. I feared I would be seen as weak and unfit to rule if I have to go running to others."

"Atar suspected that might be the case," Ingwion replied. "It is one reason why he sent me, hoping that you might confide in me and let me help in whatever manner I can, even to sending queries to Atar asking for suggestions."

"You mean, you would be willing to act as a conduit between us and Uncle Ingwë so that others would not be aware of the fact that we are seeking his help?" Arafinwë asked.

Ingwion nodded. "Yes, that is exactly what I mean. Atar will not dictate to you, but he is willing to offer suggestions and advice, if you are willing to use me to relay your concerns to him."

The brothers glanced at each other and some sort of communication passed between them. Ingwion sat still, patiently awaiting their response. It was not long in coming.

"If I give you a list of my concerns, will you see that Uncle Ingwë gets them?" Ñolofinwë asked in a small, hesitant voice.

Ingwion smiled. "Yes, I will," he said simply and for the first time since coming to Tirion he saw the two brothers visibly relax.

****

When he reported what had happened in the council chamber to Eccaldamos later that day, the ellon smiled. "Ah, so you have figured out what your more... covert mission is, have you?"

Ingwion gave him a considering look. "You knew that is the real reason why my atar sent me here," he said, making it a statement.

Eccaldamos nodded. "That is what Lord Valandur told me. He also told me that you needed to come to that conclusion on your own."

"Why didn’t my atar tell me himself?" Ingwion demanded, clearly puzzled and not a little hurt. "Why pretend that he wanted me to be his ambassador...."

"That is not a pretense, Highness," Eccaldamos interjected. "You are the Ingaran’s ambassador, but you are more than that. You are his means of helping Prince Ñolofinwë without anyone being the wiser. I do not know why you were not told this. I only know what I was told and that was that you were to come to this realization on your own." He gave a shrug.

"And if I never did?" Ingwion asked, still looking hurt and confused.

Eccaldamos smiled gently. "You have a quick mind, Highness, and a compassionate heart. I think you would have eventually offered yourself to Prince Ñolofinwë out of pity for the untenable situation he is in, knowing that the High King would gladly help, even in this manner."

Ingwion sighed, somewhat mollified by his secretary’s words. "Perhaps you are right," he averred, "but I think in my next missive to Atto, I’m going to ask him about it."

Eccaldamos’ only reaction was a smile as Ingwion excused himself to dress for dinner.

****

At both Arafinwë’s and Ingwion’s suggestion, Ñolofinwë held an open assembly in the Paca Ñaltatilion, inviting the guildmasters as well as all the nobles to attend. Ordinary citizens were also encouraged to come, for what the Regent would say would affect them as well. Ñolofinwë dressed in his most formal court garb, as did Arafinwë, who stood on his brother’s right as Ñolofinwë sat on the throne that had been brought out to the courtyard and set upon a dais beneath the White Tree so all could see him. The rest of the royal family also were in attendance, dressed appropriately and ranged around the dais. Ingwion also was there, but as an interested observer, not officially as Ingwë’s ambassador. Thus, he eschewed wearing his most formal court garb for something less ostentatious, keeping to the background, standing among the other nobles and courtiers with Eccaldamos beside him.

When all were assembled, Ñolofinwë spoke. "It has come to Our attention that some of the residents of this fair city are being treated unfairly by others. Vanyar who have resided amongst us in peace these many yéni are now being reviled and forced to pay higher prices for goods and services. We have received several reports from different sources detailing these unfair practices and We are sorely disappointed that any of the Noldor, who pride themselves for their nobleness of heart, are acting in ways contrary to custom. The Vanyar are not to blame for our troubles, which, frankly, we have brought upon ourselves. We therefore direct the guilds to be more vigilant against price gouging and other unfair practices. Failure to do so will result in disbandment of the guild in question."

There was a stir among the crowd at that pronouncement. Ñolofinwë waited for it to die down somewhat before continuing.

"We are also cognizant of the attempts of certain people to incite others to violence for the sole purpose of sowing discord among fellow Elves. This is reprehensible and cowardly. We ask that when rumors begin to spread and tempers begin to flare that ye take a moment to reflect on the veracity of the rumors before acting. Calm is the watchword of the day. The Valar’s Peace has already been broken once and they showed great restraint in how they dealt with the issue, but We doubt that they will continue to show such restraint in the future. Remember who ye are and whence ye come, my people. Remember that we are Noldor and of noble lineage. Let us show our fellow Elves and the Valar that we have not forgotten this regardless of the circumstances."

There was a long pause as the assembly digested the prince’s words. Then one of the lesser nobles whom Ingwion did not know stood forth, his expression one of distaste. "How much of what you have said is your own words, Ñolofinwë, and how much is but the words of the Vanyaran through his mouthpiece?" He cast a disparaging look at Ingwion who bristled at the implied insult to his atar but did not otherwise respond, letting his cousin speak for him.

Ñolofinwë’s expression went dark. "The words are mine, Morcocáno," he said through gritted teeth. "The Ingaran’s ambassador has nothing to do with it," he added, stressing both Ingwë’s title as High King of all the Elves and Ingwion’s status as his ambassador.

"Indeed," Morcocáno said with a sneer. "I find it hard to believe."

"Believe what you will," Herencáno said, stepping forth to confront his fellow noble. "I know for a fact that his Highness has been aware of what has been happening in our city and has planned this assembly for some time. Prince Ingwion’s role in all this has been minimal. He merely confirmed what others had already reported to the Regent, including, I might add, myself."

Ingwion had to admire the noble spouting lies and half-lies as truths. He wondered if the other councillors would counter his claims, but apparently none of them were willing to contradict Herencáno.

Morcocáno, however, did not back down. "I have heard differently...."

"Then you have heard wrong," Herencáno retorted coldly. "The Regent has spoken. It behooves us to obey him."

"You are only saying this because you have a Vanya in your employ," Morcocáno stated.

"I am saying this because it is the truth," Herencáno came back, his temper barely under control at the obstinacy of his fellow noble. Then he gave the other ellon a considering look. "As I recall, you are a patron of the miners’ guild, are you not?"

Morcocáno gave him a surprised look. "What has that to do with anything?"

"Only that the last outbreak of violence we had was between the miners’ guild and the metalsmiths," Herencáno stated. "I have read the reports and often wondered whose idea it was for the miners not to increase their ore production as the metalsmiths asked."

Morcocáno’s expression turned angry. "What are you saying?" he hissed. "Are you accusing me...."

"I haven’t accused anyone... yet," Herencáno rejoined, leaving the implications of his words hanging.

"Why you! How dare you!" Morcocáno yelled, his expression turning to white fury, and before anyone could react, he rushed towards Herencáno, pulling out the knife hanging on his belt as he did so. At once pandemonium reigned as people screamed and some rushed to stop the maddened noble. Arafinwë pulled his brother off the throne, intending to protect him with his own body if necessary. Ingwion found Eccaldamos pushing him back out of the way. Herencáno, taken by surprise, was a fraction too late in attempting to avoid the blade, but before it could touch him, strong arms pulled him away so that Morcocáno overstepped his balance and landed sprawled on the pavement, grunting with pain, the knife still in his grasp.

Herencáno looked around to see who had rescued him and found himself staring into the grinning face of the last person he expected to see: Findaráto. "M-my lord?" the noble stammered in disbelief.

Findaráto released him, patting him on the shoulder. "You are unharmed?" he asked and at Herencáno’s nod, he stepped forward to stand before the still sprawled Morcocáno who was gasping for breath. With studied calm, Findaráto bent down and took the knife out of the ellon’s hand, giving it a disgusted look before tossing it away. It skittered across the flagged pavement to land in front of the dais. Silence reigned across the courtyard as Findaráto stood there. He cast a sardonic glance at Ingwion, who returned it with a grim smile, before turning his attention to Ñolofinwë and his atar, the two standing there beside the throne, staring at him in disbelief.

"So," Findaráto said in a conversational tone, "now that the excitement is over, what’s for dinner?"

****

Manwendur: Servant of Manwë, particularly, one who was devoted to that Vala. It was applied especially to those persons, or families, among the Vanyar who actually entered Manwë’s service and in return received instruction from him; cf. the attested word Aulendur ‘Servant of Aulë’, given to those persons, or families, among the Noldor who entered Aulë’s service [See ‘The Shibboleth of Fëanor’, (Note 61), Peoples of Middle-earth, HoME XII].

Mercalindë: Wild-Song.

Vanyaran: King of the Vanyar. Ingwë’s title when he is not acting as High King. An attested word.

Paca Ñaltatilion: The Court of the Silver-white Tree. Ñaltatilion is the Quenya equivalent of the Sindarin Galathilion, the name given to the Silver-white Tree that was an image (a living tree not giving light of its own) of Telperion that Yavanna gifted to the Elves of Tirion. Galathilion is the name given in The Silmarillion. The White Tree of Gondor is a descendant of this tree. The name means "Radiance of Tilion".

40: The Prince Returns

Arafinwë was the first to recover from his shock. "Yonya," he said in a voice that was barely above a whisper, "what are you doing here?"

Findaráto raised an eyebrow. "Last time I looked, Atto," he said with a wry smile on his lips, "I live here. What? Did you give my rooms to Ingwion?" He cast his older cousin a merry look.

Ingwion was tempted to offer a retort just then, but he realized that for all Findaráto’s light-hearted manner, there was an undertone of steel in his voice that discouraged levity from others.

Arafinwë shook his head. "Findaráto," was all he said but the tone was enough.

Findaráto’s mien became more sober. "Lord Aulë released me from his service three days ago," he replied. "He said I was needed here and I could leave after breaking my fast. He gave me an escort of one of his Maiar."

"Only one?" Artanis couldn’t help asking, drawing frowns from both her parents.

Findaráto’s expression lightened. "Sister, one Maia can level this city with but a single thought," he said, ignoring the murmurs from the crowd. "I was safe enough, I assure you." Then he looked down at Morcocáno, who was slowly beginning to rise to his knees, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Perhaps we should take this to a more private venue," he suggested as he stooped down to lift the ellon up, nodding as Calandil and another guard came forward to take custody of the noble.

Ñolofinwë, however, shook his head and made his way back to his throne and resumed it. "No. I think we should deal with this here and now. Calandil, bring the prisoner forward."

Calandil complied with the Regent’s command and Ñolofinwë looked coldly down on the ellon. "Thou darest to pull steel on another, Lord Morcocáno? Didst thou learn nothing of my brother’s fate before the Valar? What possessed thee towards such madness? Speak! I would hear thine excuse before I pass judgment upon thee."

Morcocáno had the grace to look abashed. "I have no excuse, my lord," he said softly, not looking at anyone. "I fear I allowed my anger to take over. I apologize to Lord Herencáno for mine actions."

"If my nephew had not intervened, thou mayest well have brought grievous harm to Lord Herencáno," Ñolofinwë said, refusing to bend.

"Yet, I am unharmed," Herencáno offered, "and so I forgive Lord Morcocáno for his actions. I did not mean to impugn his honor in any way, but was merely making an observation."

"An observation that We Ourselves have wondered at," Ñolofinwë said, "for my brother and I have been keeping an eye on the various guilds and who their patrons are. It seems, Morcocáno, that in the last two incidents involving the miners, thou wert in the middle of the fray."

"I was merely protecting my interests," Morcocáno replied with a shrug.

"No doubt," Ñolofinwë said, then paused, giving Arafinwë a resigned look, before returning his attention to Morcocáno. "The Valar exiled my brother for pulling live steel on me," he said. "I think a similar punishment is meet here, therefore, I banish thee, Lord Morcocáno, to Formenos. There thou shalt remain until the time of my brother’s exile is lifted. Thou mayest have whoever in thy household accompany thee if they will. Calandil, escort Lord Morcocáno to his house and see that he begins packing. I want him out of Tirion by the next First Mingling."

Morcocáno looked stunned, as did many others. "You can’t do that!" he protested, even as Calandil and the other guard placed their hands on him to lead him away.

Ñolofinwë’s expression was unforgiving. "As Regent, I can and I will. Please feel free to appeal my ruling to my atar when thou seest him." He nodded and Calandil drew the still protesting ellon away. It was some time before silence reigned in the Court of the White Tree. When Morcocáno’s voice had died away in the distance, Ñolofinwë spoke again to the assembly. "Understand this: We will not tolerate these disturbances and outbreaks of violence. If any are caught inciting others to violence or if We have evidence that certain people are fomenting discord amongst us for their own purposes, they will be summarily exiled to Formenos. Anyone found causing physical harm to another will be sent directly to the Valar for them to deal with. Pay heed to Our words, for this is your only warning."

With that he stood and, nodding to the other members of the royal family, stepped down from the dais with Arafinwë beside him. Without being asked, Findaráto joined them and with a gesture to Ingwion, invited him to walk beside him while the rest of the family followed, the crowd parting silently to let them pass. Once inside the palace, Ñolofinwë led them all to the family dining room where servants were already setting out a light collation which Anairë had ordered ahead of time. Ñolofinwë sat heavily in his seat and threw his coronet on the table with a sigh. Everyone else quietly took their own seats, none venturing to speak. A quiet word from Arafinwë dismissed the servants and then the family was alone.

After several uncomfortable minutes, Ñolofinwë shook his head, as if clearing it of his thoughts, looking up at the concerned faces of the others, giving them a rueful smile. "Not exactly how I had planned it," he said and there were chuckles throughout the room and the tension they were all feeling relaxed somewhat.

"You were splendid, Atto," Írissë said, her eyes glowing with pride.

"Indeed you were, my love," Anairë added, leaning over to give her husband a kiss. "I was very proud of you." She gave him a smile that she reserved only for him.

Ñolofinwë returned her smile with one of his own. "Thank you, meldanya."

"We were all proud of you, Ari," Indis said. "You handled the situation very well." Then she turned her attention to her grandson, Findaráto, her expression shrewd. "So, Lord Aulë said you were needed here, did he?"

Findaráto nodded. "I thought it rather odd that he would say something like that considering how reluctant he has been to release me from his service. I was quite surprised when he summoned me just after I had finished dinner with the news. Luckily, I have been anticipating his releasing me as he promised, so I was already mostly packed."

"Did Lord Aulë say why you were needed?" Arafinwë asked.

His son shook his head. "Only that I was needed and I should leave as soon as possible. I cannot imagine that he knew that Lord Morcocáno would attack Lord Herencáno and that only I could save the latter from the former. It was just fortuitous that I was there. So, it must be something else."

"When did you arrive?" Ñolofinwë asked. "How much did you see and hear?"

"I arrived just after you began speaking, Uncle," Findaráto answered. "I came to the gates and found the city curiously empty. Aiwendil, my Maia escort, told me to make for the Court of the White Tree, for there was where I would find you."

"Curious," Ingwion said, frowning. "You are correct that it is doubtful that Lord Aulë knew that Lord Morcocáno would do what he did, yet certainly he seems to have anticipated some sort of trouble today and that you would be needed."

"It is said that Lord Námo sees further into Arda’s history than any other," Findecáno offered. "Perhaps he saw something and spoke with Lord Aulë."

Findaráto shrugged. "I have no answers," he said. "I only know what I was told. Now, do you think we might put aside our speculations long enough to eat? I would hate to see this fine collation go to waste."

"You and your stomach," Eärwen said with a smile at her first-born as the others laughed lightly. At Ñolofinwë’s nod they rose to go to the sideboards and make their selections before returning to their seats. For a time there was little talking as each concentrated on their plate, but eventually, even Findaráto felt replete. Pouring some wine into his goblet, he looked at his uncle.

"So, what exactly have I missed since my last visit?" he asked. "Your speech sounded rather familiar." He cast a surreptitious look at Ingwion sitting beside him.

"If you mean, it sounded like the same speech Atto gave to the guilds in Vanyamar," Ingwion said with a smile, "you are correct."

"So you are finally consulting with Uncle Ingwë?" Findaráto enquired.

"Ingwion relayed some of my concerns to our uncle and he has graciously given his advice," Ñolofinwë replied.

"Ah," Findaráto said. "I wondered if you would take advantage of Ingwion’s presence in that regard. Who approached whom with the idea?"

"I did," Ingwion said. "It took me some time to realize that that is why Atto sent me here, to act as a conduit between him and Ari with no one else being the wiser."

"And yet, Morcocáno guessed the truth," Findaráto pointed out.

"And others might also guess," Ñolofinwë averred with a nod, "but that is all they can do. Ingwion and I have been very careful. Indeed, I have only consulted with Uncle Ingwë once."

"I wonder, though, how much the Valar are aware of what is happening here," Ingwion said. "Today’s incident, while unexpected, certainly would have warranted an immediate response by the Valar. Atto is certain that since the incident with Fëanáro drawing steel on Ari, they have been more vigilant."

"You mean they’re spying on us?" Artanis exclaimed.

"Not in the way you mean, nésanya," Findaráto answered for Ingwion. "Rather, they are keeping a closer watch on what we do."

"Do you think they will allow you to exile Morcocáno as you have, though, Atto?" Turucáno asked. "I mean, without their holding their own trial first?"

"We will see, yonya," Ñolofinwë replied with a sigh. "In truth, I have no idea what to do with him otherwise. Sending him to Formenos seemed the safest course."

"It should send the right message to others, at any rate," Arafinwë added. "People might stop and think before acting rashly if they know that they, too, might suffer exile."

"One can only hope," Ñolofinwë said with a sigh. Then he looked at Findaráto and for the first time that day, he smiled. "At any rate, Nephew, we are happy to see you back where you belong. We’ve all missed you."

"And I am glad to be back," Findaráto said. "I’ve missed all of you as well."

"It’s a pity we weren’t given more notice, though," Eärwen said, "else we could have given you a proper welcome."

Findaráto shrugged. "It matters not. The important thing is that I am back for good. I will miss my time with Urundil and the other Aulenduri, of course, but I know my true place is here with my family."

"And we are glad that you are here, Nephew," Ñolofinwë said, giving him a mischievous smile. "I’m still looking for someone to oversee the butteries. No one else seems interested."

"That’s because we knew Finda would never forgive us if any of us had taken the position," Angaráto said, sticking his tongue out at his older brother.

Findaráto laughed. "Yes, indeed. I would have been very wroth with you all." But it was clear that he was only jesting and everyone smiled.

****

The Valar’s response to what happened became apparent when two Maiar wearing the eagle emblem of the Elder King showed up later that day to inform Ñolofinwë that they would see that Morcocáno arrived in Formenos.

"Lord Manwë wishes you to know that you made the right decision to exile Lord Morcocáno," one of the Maiar said and Ñolofinwë’s expression was one of relief. "He also wishes you to know that he is aware of the problems you are having and he has every confidence that you will be able to handle them. You have his trust and his favor. Do not hesitate to call upon him if ever there is need."

"Thank you," Ñolofinwë said gratefully. "Please extend my thanks to Lord Manwë. I am grateful for his support."

The Maiar bowed and then went to collect the prisoner, who, it turned out, would be leaving without his family, for his parents and younger brother adamantly refused to follow him into exile and his atar would not allow him to take even one retainer. In fact, Lord Morcocallo came to Ñolofinwë and offered him his sincerest apologies for his son’s behavior.

"He has always had a temper," the ellon said, "but I never thought he would do what he did."

"Perhaps these next few years in exile will teach him to control his temper more," Ñolofinwë said and insisted that no further action would be taken against the family, much to everyone’s relief.

****

Findaráto, meanwhile, began settling in. "I must send word to Intarion and Lirulin that I am back home," he said to Ingwion as the two were together in Findaráto’s rooms a couple of days later, enjoying a glass of mellow yellow wine after the noon meal.

"No need," Ingwion said. "I sent a message to them the day you arrived."

"Thank you," Findaráto said, then gave his cousin a shrewd look. "Did you also send a message to your atar?"

Ingwion nodded. "I wrote the report up directly after I left you to unpack and had it on its way within an hour."

Findaráto nodded, not too surprised. "I suspected you would. I hope you downplayed my own part in the incident."

Ingwion gave him a mischievous smile. "Actually, I embellished your part quite a bit and made you the hero of the day."

"Thank you so much," Findaráto rejoined with a feigned grimace. "Well, at any rate, we know that the Valar are aware of what happened and approved Uncle Ñolofinwë’s decision. I had wondered if they would demand that Morcocáno be brought before them as Fëanáro was. In a way, I am glad that he was not."

"Why is that?" Ingwion asked as he took a sip of his wine and reached over to the plate of cheese and fruit sitting on the table between them, choosing a grape.

"It means that they are willing to let us handle these situations from now on rather than taking over. Fëanáro, I think, was a special case considering the circumstances. The Valar were caught off-guard then, but not anymore."

"Makes sense," Ingwion averred. "So what are your plans now that you are back home?"

"You mean besides seeing that the butteries are well stocked?" Findaráto replied with a laugh and Ingwion joined him. "Truth to tell, I have no idea. All the time I was in Valmar I kept thinking I was needed here, that somehow without my presence nothing would get done. Pure foolishness and highly conceited, of course, but that is how I felt. Now that I am here, though, I find myself pining for Valmar and the company of the Aulenduri." He shook his head. "Never satisfied, I guess."

"Perhaps something will come up that will require your special talents," Ingwion suggested.

"Hopefully," Findaráto said with a sigh as he took a piece of cheese and popped it into his mouth, washing it down with the wine. "So how have you been faring?"

"Well enough," Ingwion answered. "I have mostly been observing the way Ñolofinwë has been governing your people. In spite of his misgivings, he is a good leader and I think he has the regard of the people."

"He is certainly in an untenable position," Findaráto averred. "I am glad I am not in his shoes."

"Me, too," Ingwion responded. "Now that Ñolofinwë is asking Atto for advice, though, I think his confidence is growing. I have no doubt that he will prove a better ruler than Fëanáro could ever be, perhaps even better than Finwë."

Findaráto shrugged. "I have no opinion about that either way," he said, "but I am glad to see that he and Atto are working together."

"That’s what family is for, is it not?" Ingwion rejoined.

Findaráto nodded. "Speaking of which, what news of your family? How is Ingil handling his responsibilities without you?"

"Well, he hasn’t written much lately," Ingwion said, "but in Indil’s last letter she mentioned that he and Uncle Ingoldo seem to be spending time together."

"That cannot be a good thing, surely!" Findaráto exclaimed.

Ingwion shrugged. "Indil seems to think that our brother is actually being a good influence on our uncle. Uncle Ingoldo appears to be less belligerent lately and is being more cooperative."

"Still, this is Ingoldo we’re talking about," Findaráto said skeptically. "I do not think anything good can come of Ingil befriending him."

"I know," Ingwion said with a sigh, "but there’s not much I can do about it with me here and Ingil there. I can only hope that Atto is keeping a close watch on Uncle Ingoldo and will intervene if he thinks he is unduly influencing my brother."

"I suppose that is all we can do," Findaráto said. "In the meantime, I would like you to arrange a meeting between me and those Vanyar whom you mentioned have come to you with complaints."

"I can have Eccaldamos arrange it," Ingwion said. "Is there a reason why you wish to speak with them?"

"I want to hear their stories for myself," the Noldorin prince replied. "Living in Valmar I heard only rumors from visitors passing through between Tirion and Vanyamar. I need facts, not rumors, before I can offer any suggestions to Uncle Ñolofinwë."

Ingwion nodded. "Most of the complaints have been properly resolved in the city courts, but there were a couple that I felt should come to the attention of the Regent. I will have you speak with them. Their cases have yet to be heard, so perhaps you will be able to offer your opinion about them. You are qualified to sit in judgment, are you not?"

"Just barely," Findaráto admitted. "But yes, I could certainly do so if mine uncle would rather not. Certainly I can act as an advocate if necessary."

"Then I will see to it at once," Ingwion said, standing and draining his glass. "I would like these cases resolved sooner rather than later for all our sakes. Until they are resolved there is always the chance that emotions that are already running high will explode into violence and we want to avoid that at all cost."

"Indeed," Findaráto agreed, rising as well.

"Thank you," Ingwion said. "I am glad you are willing to help me with this."

Findaráto wrapped his arms around Ingwion and gave him a quick hug. "What is family for, after all?" he asked with a smile and then he let Ingwion go. Once his cousin was gone, he resumed his seat, pouring more wine into his glass, contemplating many things, not the least being the news about Ingalaurë and Ingoldo. That disturbed him on some inchoate level and he did not know why, only that no good could possibly come of it.

****

Meldanya: My beloved.

Nésanya: My sister.

41: Amilessi

Ingalaurë sat in his Uncle Ingoldo’s sitting room sipping on some rather inferior wine wondering what he was doing there. It was not something he had planned; it just happened. The weeks following Ingwion’s departure had been busy ones for him as he took up his role as a member of his atar’s Privy Council more enthusiastically. He had been lax in his duties for a time, believing that he would be giving up the seat for his brother, so he had not paid particular attention to anything. Once it was clear that he would be sitting on the Council for an extended period of time, he became more attentive.

What he discovered, though, was that there were some aspects of government and the laws and customs of the Elves the understanding of which still eluded him. Before, he and Ingwion would explore these situations together and come to conclusions about them, but now he was alone. Thus, he was forced to seek out aid from others, Valandur especially. Unfortunately, he could not always be found, for he had his own duties, nor was his atar always available. It never occurred to him to ask either Indil or his ammë, for he was sure that they would either be uninterested in helping him or simply would not know the answers to his questions. That left Uncle Ingoldo. At first, he had been reluctant to seek him out, yet he was conscientious enough about his responsibilities that he knew he needed help in understanding the workings of government better. And so, he finally found the courage to go to his uncle one day when neither Ingwë nor Valandur were around and asked if he could help him.

"I know you are no longer interested in that sort of thing," he said to Ingoldo, "but I really want to understand what is going on so I can be a good councillor to Atto."

Ingoldo gave him a long considering look before answering. "What do you not understand?"

Ingalaurë breathed a silent sigh of relief and quickly explained his confusion. Ingoldo actually proved quite helpful and was very patient, going over everything at least twice until Ingalaurë understood all of the ramifications of the situation that had confused him. When next he sat at the Council and spoke confidently on the subject, even Ingwë showed surprise.

"I did not expect you to have such a firm grasp of the situation, yonya," he said to Ingalaurë later.

"I didn’t," the ellon admitted. "I... I ended up going to Uncle Ingoldo and asked him to help me to understand. Neither you nor Valandur were available," he hastened to add when his atar gave him a disbelieving look, "and I was desperate. I didn’t want you to think I was shirking my duties or that I was too stupid to...."

"Yonya," Ingwë interrupted, pulling him into a warm embrace. "I would never think anything of the sort. And as much as I hate to admit it, for all your uncle’s faults, he is quite knowledgeable about these matters. I am glad that he was willing to tutor you."

"Then you... you wouldn’t mind if sometimes I... I went to him for help if I can’t find you or Valandur?" Ingalaurë asked.

"No, I would not mind," Ingwë replied with a smile. "Perhaps if Ingoldo is working with you he will be less prone to cause trouble elsewhere."

And so, there he was, sitting in his uncle’s study, listening to him explain a point of law that frankly Ingalaurë was having trouble understanding. In spite of his own feelings towards his uncle, and he continued to be wary of him for the most part, he had to admit that Ingoldo was a very good teacher. Perhaps that was what he had wanted all along, Ingalaurë thought to himself. Perhaps he had wanted to do this with his own son but had been frustrated by Intarion’s lack of interest.

"So, there you have it," Ingoldo said. "Does that make things clearer for you, Nephew?"

"Yes, it does. Thank you," Ingalaurë replied and he meant it. It had been an obscure point of law and he had puzzled over it for the longest time without making any sense of it and then Ingoldo was able to clarify it in a matter of minutes so that even an elfling could understand.

"You are most welcome," Ingoldo said with a faint smile. "Any news from your brother?"

"Not much," Ingalaurë answered. "His last missive was rather vague but apparently Findaráto has returned to Tirion for good. The day he arrived, one of the Noldorin nobles got himself exiled to Formenos for causing some sort of disturbance."

Ingoldo raised an eyebrow. "Indeed! How strange. Did Ingwion mention the noble’s name? Perhaps I know him."

Ingalaurë shrugged. "I don’t really recall," he said somewhat diffidently. "He was a minor noble, no one really important."

"And yet, he ends up being exiled," Ingoldo rejoined. "I wonder what he did to warrant it?"

"Ingwi didn’t really say," Ingalaurë replied. "At least not to me. He might have written a report to Atto. He was more interested in telling me about Findaráto and Intarion and...."

At the mention of his son’s name, Ingoldo’s expression darkened and Ingalaurë remembered too late that Intarion was a sore point with his uncle and aunt and no one spoke his name in their presence.

"Ah, well, anyway, it... it was mostly about Findaráto," he stammered, now wishing he had kept his mouth shut or, better yet, that he was anywhere but where he was.

Ingoldo seemed to collect himself. "Never mind," he said. "It matters not."

But Ingalaurë could see that it mattered a great deal to his uncle and decided it was time to leave. He stood up and placed his goblet on the table. "I have to go," he said. "Thank you again for your help."

He was nearly at the door when Ingoldo called to him. "If you have any further questions, don’t hesitate to ask."

"I won’t," Ingalaurë said without bothering to look back, merely opening the door and letting himself out, vowing to himself that seeking his uncle out for help would be the last thing he would do. He had not liked the way Ingoldo had looked there at the last. In fact, his uncle’s expression had frightened him. He breathed a sigh of relief once he was out of the room and wondered that he was trembling. Shaking his head, he forced himself to move and after a moment or two his equilibrium returned and he was feeling less queasy.

****

It was actually Ingoldo who approached Ingalaurë some days later to apologize, which surprised the ellon.

"I am afraid I let my disappointment in my son rule my feelings too long," his uncle said to him. "I apologize for making you uncomfortable. I do hope you will continue to consult with me whenever you need help. I am enjoying our time together."

"I... I will keep that in mind, thank you," Ingalaurë replied, still feeling chary of his uncle but wanting to be polite without committing himself fully.

Ingoldo seemed to accept his words at face value and nodded. "Do not hesitate to call on me, then. My door is always open to you, Nephew."

Ingalaurë nodded as Ingoldo moved away. He was still not sure in his own mind if he really trusted his uncle, yet he could not deny that he had been very helpful. Ingalaurë’s own knowledge of law and the workings of government were developing to the point where even Valandur was impressed with his ability to speak on arcane points of law and expound on ancient customs that most Elves were unaware even existed yet which ruled their lives nonetheless. The feeling of satisfaction at the approbation of people like Valandur and his atar as well as the other councillors was a good one and he basked in their praise.

For the first time in his life he felt he was coming into his own without Ingwion overshadowing him and he decided he liked the way it made him feel and hoped that his brother would stay away for a good long while. That made him feel a bit guilty, for he loved his twin above all others, but he could not deny that he had always felt somewhat inferior to him in certain respects. Now, however, he was his own Elf and others were finally seeing him as more than just ‘the other twin’.

For a time, though, it appeared he would not need to go to his uncle for tutoring. The one time he became stumped on a point of law during the next several weeks, Valandur was available and he went to him.

"I almost hate to admit this, Ingil, but your uncle has been a very good tutor," Valandur said when he quizzed Ingalaurë on certain matters not necessarily related to the issue in question. "Once something is explained to you, you seem to have an intuitive grasp of its implications beyond what is there on the surface."

Ingalaurë found himself beaming. "Thank you, Valandur. Coming from you, that is very high praise."

"And well deserved, do not doubt it," Valandur replied with a smile. "In fact, I think you have an understanding of the subtleties of law that Ingwion never really mastered."

"Do you really think so?" the younger ellon asked in delight. "I always thought Ingwi was much smarter than I in that regard."

"You do yourself a disservice, hinya," Valandur said gently. "You are no less intelligent than Ingwion, but your talents lie in a different direction from his, and why not? Twins you may be, but you are not identical, and even if you were, you would still be separate beings, your fëar your own and not shared between you. Do not disparage your gifts, child. They are no less worthy than those which your brother has."

Ingalaurë nodded, beginning to feel that perhaps what Valandur (and his atar and ammë) was saying was actually true and for that reason he was glad that Ingwion was not there overshadowing him. There were times, of course, when he missed his twin terribly and wished Ingwion were there to share in his triumphs. It wasn’t quite the same writing about it in a letter though it was nice to have Ingwion praise him when his own letter came.

Yet, it was not just the praises of other Elves that warmed Ingalaurë, but those of the Valar. He continued to join his atar in his weekly visit to Lord Manwë. Most times, Ingalaurë sat quietly listening to the conversation and contributing little, though Lord Manwë always made a point to ask if he had a new poem to share with them. Occasionally, when a topic of conversation came up to which he felt he could contribute something he would shyly venture his opinion. The Valar always listened to him with a gravity that surprised him, as if what he had to say was of the greatest importance to them. Lord Manwë always thanked him and would comment on the clarity of his thought and succinctness of his words. This would bring a blush to Ingalaurë’s face, for he was unused to high praise from any but his parents.

On the Valanya after his talk with Valandur, Ingalaurë accompanied his atar to Ilmarin as usual, clutching a sheet of parchment on which he had written his latest poem. He was not sure how good it was, but hoped it would be well received by Lord Manwë and the rest of the Valar.

"It’s a lovely poem," Ingwë assured him as they made their way up the mountain. "I think it’s one of your best."

"You always say that, Atto," Ingalaurë retorted with a sigh.

"And I always mean it," Ingwë replied with a laugh, giving his son a brief hug. "What did Elemmírë have to say about it?"

"I haven’t shown it to her yet," Ingalaurë answered somewhat shyly. "I really wasn’t sure...."

"And yet, you plan to recite it to Lord Manwë," his atar interjected.

"He’s always very... encouraging," the ellon said. "I’m sure that half my poems don’t even come near the standards which the Valar have with regards to such things, but Lord Manwë always seems to enjoy them however inferior they may be."

"I have never known the Elder King or any of the Valar to feign their delight in our efforts," Ingwë said, "however much we ourselves may belittle them. You have nothing to be ashamed of, yonya. Your poetry is pure and unaffected and comes from your heart."

Ingalaurë nodded dutifully but secretly was not convinced. He had heard Elemmírë recite her poems and felt his own efforts paltry in comparison. Yet, there was something within him that would not allow him to stop composing them. They were a source of comfort to him, allowing him to express his emotions in a safe and appropriate manner.

When they arrived and had been greeted, Lord Manwë spoke directly to Ingalaurë, which shocked him, for always the Elder King had spoken first to Ingwë as they shared the latest news about the various Eldarin kingdoms and their common concerns.

"Elemmírë tells me that you have not been to see her lately," Manwë said without preamble. "She has missed your visits."

"I’ve been very busy," Ingalaurë replied, looking a bit nonplused, "and I did not want to intrude on her time."

"It is no intrusion, I assure you," Manwë said with a smile. "I hope you are not intimidated by her."

Ingalaurë gave him a surprised look and shook his head. "No, not really." Then he sighed, unconsciously clutching the piece of parchment tighter. "I sometimes feel my poetry doesn’t meet with her standards and I do not like to inflict them on her."

"Hmmm.... curious," Manwë said, "considering the fact that Elemmírë told me just the opposite, that she is glad to have found someone with a natural flair for the poetic arts and has to be taught very little. Her exact words were: ‘With a little more encouragement, I think his Highness will be one of the best poets we Eldar have ever produced’."

Ingalaurë was stunned. "She... she actually said that?"

Lord Manwë nodded, then glanced down at the parchment Ingalaurë was still clutching. "Perhaps you would care to share your latest poem with us," he said.

Ingalaurë nodded. "I am not sure how good it is...."

"That you have composed it, child, speaking from the depths of your fëa, is all that matters," Manwë said. "We Valar delight in all the efforts of the Eldar. You see the world around you in ways we cannot and that different viewpoint is both a delight and a wonder to us." He gave Ingalaurë a gentle smile. "The lisping of a ten-year-old elfling explaining to us with all solemnity how the Trees came to be created is as much a delight for us as hearing the most talented of storytellers relate a tale out of his own imagination."

Ingalaurë blushed, suddenly reminded of that day. He now recalled that the Valar had listened to him with the same grave attention as they did when he recited his poems or ventured an opinion on some matter. He saw then that these Powers treated him and the other Eldar with a level of respect that few Elves showed to their own kind. It was an illuminating thought and he unfolded the parchment and began reading his poem with new understanding of the Valar and their relationship with the Eldar.

          "I saw my brother standing on a precipice

          overlooking a dark land lit only by starlight,

          and I wondered at the tears running down his cheeks...."

When he was finished, there was a long pause and he thought that perhaps this time the Valar would tell him that it was a most inferior poem. In truth, it was like nothing he had composed before. In fact, it was based on a dream he had had recently, one that disturbed him though he did not understand why. It would not let him go and had haunted even his waking moments until at last he had written the poem, exorcizing the dream from his mind.

"Mahalmacundo."

Ingalaurë started, glancing fearfully up at Lord Námo, standing to one side of the throne dais where the Elder King and his Spouse sat. It was he who had spoken his amilessë, a name by which he had never known anyone to address him, not even his ammë. The Lord of Mandos looked graver than Ingalaurë had ever remembered seeing him and he could feel his heart racing, yet what did he have to fear?

"Why did you write this poem?" Lord Námo asked.

Ingalaurë swallowed nervously, his mouth suddenly dry. "It was a dream, lord," he answered quietly, wanting to look away but finding that he could not. Lord Námo’s amaranthine eyes held his and he thought he would fall endlessly into them. Then, to his relief, the Vala’s gaze flicked towards his own brother, Lord Irmo, whose expression was unreadable, and Ingalaurë found he could actually breathe again. His atar put an arm around his shoulders and that steadied him.

"Would you like to tell me what has upset you so, my Lord Námo?" Ingwë asked. "I thought Ingil’s poem, while certainly different from what he usually composes, was quite good, perhaps one of his best."

Námo gave the two Elves a considering look and did not immediately answer Ingwë. Ingalaurë suspected that the Valar were holding their own silent conversation. He glanced about and noticed that even Lord Manwë’s expression was distant. Now he wished he had never brought the stupid poem with him. He definitely was not going to show it to Elemmírë.

Then Námo seemed to come back to himself and he shook his head, addressing Ingwë. "Your son’s poem may be more than a versification of a dream. The dream itself...." He paused and glanced again at Irmo who nodded.

"What my brother is trying to say," the Lord of Lórien told them, "is that your dream, child, might be significant. While foresight among the Eldar is rare, it does occur."

"Do you mean that Ingil has foreseen this?" Ingwë asked in an astounded voice. "Yet, how can it be? I simply assumed it was his attempt to put down his feelings of being separated from his twin in poetic form."

"And on the surface, it may well be that," Námo said, "but there may be deeper implications."

"Wh-why did you call me by my amilessë, lord?" Ingalaurë ventured.

"Is it, too, not your name?" Námo countered. "It is as much a part of your identity as your ataressë."

Ingalaurë felt there was more to it than that, but did not feel brave enough to pursue the subject further. At any rate, Lord Manwë was speaking.

"Your atar is correct, child. It is perhaps one of your finest works. The depth of emotions is quite extraordinary and you have a fine sense of the dramatic."

"Thank you, lord," Ingalaurë said quietly, but the Elder King’s words did not appease him. Somehow his poem had shocked the Valar and all this talk of foresight unnerved him. He had never had any experience of it before and he did not much like it. If his dream was real....

"It may only be a dream," Irmo said suddenly, breaking the silence that had settled over them, and Ingalaurë wondered if the Valar could actually read minds; they always seemed to know what he was thinking. "I would not be overly concerned, child. You have only dreamt of this once, is that not so?"

Ingalaurë nodded. "Yet, unlike other dreams, this one would not fade away. It haunted my waking moments and I could not get it out of my mind. It is why I wrote the poem, thinking that if I wrote it down in some form or another it would finally leave me."

"Yet, why a poem?" Varda asked. "Why not simply write the dream out?"

Ingalaurë shrugged. "I guess I am so used to committing my thoughts and emotions to poetic form that it just seemed natural for me to do so here."

There were nods all around and then to Ingalaurë’s relief Lord Manwë turned to his atar and asked a question concerning certain renovations which were being made on one of the palace gardens and the conversation drifted to other topics. Ingalaurë remained silent, stealing glances at the Lord of Mandos who apparently had ceased to remember that he was there, for his entire attention was on the conversation between Lord Manwë and Atto. Yet, there was now a sense of disquiet within him and he was relieved when the audience came to an end. He was never so glad to be returning to Vanyamar as he was that day. His atar gave him a warm smile as they walked side-by-side down the mountain.

"I think you surprised them with your poem, yonya," he said.

"Shocked them, I would say," Ingalaurë retorted ruefully, then gave his atar a puzzled look. "Why did Lord Námo call me by my amilessë?"

"I do not know, Ingil," Ingwë replied, looking more sober. "Sometimes the Valar do things that are incomprehensible to us, but there is always a reason for what they do. I have learned that much since coming to Valinor."

His atar’s words did not quiet his misgivings. "I wish I had never brought the stupid poem," he finally said with a low snarl.

Ingwë’s only response was to put his arm around his son’s shoulders and give him a hug and a kiss on the brow.

****

When the Valar were once again alone, Manwë turned to Námo with an enquiring look. "Do you wish to explain why you addressed young Ingalaurë by his amilessë?"

"I wished to see his reaction," Námo said somewhat unhelpfully.

"That doesn’t explain why you felt the need to so address him," Irmo retorted. "Come, Brother. Let us be less mysterious and tell us your thoughts. You know as well as I that his dream was prophetic, or could be so interpreted."

"His dream... yes. Let us look at that for a moment," Námo said. "Ingwion standing on a precipice overlooking a land lit only by starlight. One would suppose that the land in question is Endórë but the description is closer to that of the Plains of Valinor, do you not agree?"

They all nodded. "And there was a time when this land was lit only by starlight," Oromë pointed out.

"No. This is different," Námo insisted. "Ingalaurë’s dream was not of the past but of the future, or perhaps it is best to say, a future. Many things can happen to change it. The Children are unpredictable at the best of times."

"Agreed," Manwë said, "and this dream or vision will need careful consideration, but I am still curious to know why you called him Mahalmacundo."

Námo’s eyes went dark with foreboding. "There may come a time when the guardian fails in his task and Ingwë’s throne is lost."

"Yet, if the twins’ amilessi are indeed prophetic," Varda pointed out, "Ingwion will redeem the throne, for he was named Mahalmarunando."

"Assuming he lives to do so," Námo replied darkly. "Remember the poem. Ingwion falls from the precipice."

"And when Ingalaurë reaches his brother’s body he finds his own face staring back at him and not his brother’s," Manwë said with a nod. "Yes. One has to wonder at the significance of this, if it is indeed prophetic or merely a metaphor for the separation from one another which the twins are experiencing. Unfortunately, none of us have any answers at this time. This will bear careful watching. In the meantime, I believe we were planning to spend the rest of the day at Nienna’s." He cast the Valië a warm smile which she returned with one of her own.

"Everything is ready for your arrival," she told them and then with a single thought they faded from the audience chamber to reappear in the cloister of Nienna’s mansion, her Maiar bowing to them, ready to serve.

****

The next day, Ingalaurë found himself sitting in his uncle’s study going over a contract with him. A dispute between two landowners had arisen and Ingwë would be adjudicating the case at court the next morning. Ingalaurë was curious enough about the case to want to understand why there was even a dispute. As it happened, neither his atar nor Valandur were available. Both were taking the day away from their duties to go hunting with falcons. Ingalaurë had been invited to accompany them, and under other circumstances he would have been glad to do so, but not today. Today, he wished only to understand a troublesome contract. He would go hunting another time.

So, while Ingwë and Valandur and several other members of the court were riding across the Plains of Valinor in pursuit of game, Ingalaurë was sitting with Ingoldo going over the contract. Ingoldo seemed very relaxed and any misgivings on Ingalaurë’s part were shunted aside for a time. As they were working through the contract together, however, Ingalaurë found his thoughts drifting back to the visit to the Valar and the disturbing reaction to his poem. He glanced at his uncle, who was expounding on some point of law or other, and without thinking, blurted out, "What’s your amilessë, Uncle? I don’t think I have ever heard it."

Ingoldo gave his nephew a startled look. "And you would not, for I do not have one," he answered. "I am of the first generation of those who awoke at Cuiviénen, as is your atar and ammë and your Aunt Indis. The practice of mother-names came much later."

"I have wondered how anyone knew then that they were brothers and sisters," Ingalaurë said.

Ingoldo shrugged. "It seems we had that knowledge from the beginning even before we had the words to describe the relationships. Somehow I knew that Ingwë and Indis were my siblings and that we were a family. I can only think that this knowledge was planted within us by Eru." He gave his nephew a considering look. "Why this interest all of a sudden in people’s amilessi?"

Ingalaurë frowned. "When Atto and I were at Ilmarin yesterday, Lord Námo addressed me using my amilessë. It’s the first time I have ever heard anyone address me by that name."

"I recall Ingwë being rather upset when Elindis named you and your brother."

"Why?"

Ingoldo shrugged. "I do not know precisely, but certainly your names are unusual: Mahalmacundo and Mahalmarunando."

"They are rather awkward sounding, aren’t they?" Ingalaurë couldn’t help grinning as he said this.

Ingoldo’s reaction was to narrow his eyes. "They have the sound of prophesy to them, in my opinion, though in what manner you are meant to guard the throne and in what manner your brother is meant to redeem it escapes me. And I had always wondered whose throne? Everyone assumes it is your atar’s but there are two other thrones in Eldamar, not to mention the thrones of the Valar."

"I suppose we will find out someday," Ingalaurë ventured with a shrug, not really caring at this point. "At any rate, I just thought it strange for Lord Námo to call me by my amilessë rather than calling me Ingalaurë."

"Yes, curious," Ingoldo replied, his expression thoughtful. "Very curious indeed."

And then the matter was dropped as they went back to examining the contract.

****

Amilessi: Plural of amilessë: Mother-name; the name given to a child by its mother, sometimes with prophetic implications; also known as amilessi tercenyë ‘mother-names of insight’.

Ataressë: Father-name.

Mahalmacundo: ‘Throne-Guardian’; Ingalaurë’s mother name.

Mahalmarunando: ‘Throne-Redeemer’; Ingwion’s mother-name.

42: Of Births and Betrothals

The next year, the fourth since Fëanáro’s exile, was nearly over when news of great import reached Vanyamar as Ingwë and Elindis sat in court listening to petitions. A herald entered the audience chamber as Ingwë was addressing one of the petitioners and whispered something in the High King’s ear which Ingalaurë, standing between his parents’ thrones did not hear. Ingwë’s expression was one of surprise at whatever the herald was saying and then he nodded, turning to the petitioner.

"Pray excuse this interruption," he said, "but there is a messenger from Tirion whom We desire to greet at this time. We will resume your petition once We have heard the news from Tirion."

The petitioner bowed and stepped aside, not looking at all pleased by the interruption but having no choice in the matter. Then Ingwë nodded to the herald who then announced the Noldorin messenger who, when he entered, turned out to be no less a personage than Prince Findaráto.

"Nephew!" Ingwë exclaimed as he and Elindis rose to greet him. "Why didn’t you say you were coming?"

Findaráto gave the High King and Queen his obeisance and then allowed them to embrace him as kin. He laughed. "I wished to surprise you and the message I bear I felt should be one that it was meet for a family member to bring."

"And what news is that?" Elindis asked, though from the brightness of her eyes and her knowing smile, it was apparent that she knew or at least guessed.

For an answer, Findaráto turned to address the entire court. "Rejoice, O People of Vanyamar, for I bring tidings of great joy: my beloved cousin, Prince Turucáno and his wife, the Lady Elenwë, have been blessed with the birth of their first-born child, an elleth, whom they have named Itarildë."

"Yé mána!" Elindis exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight.

"A blessing indeed," Ingwë said with a wide grin and there was much cheering among the court, for the birth of a child was seen as a great boon bestowed upon all the Eldar and not just on the immediate family. "Thank you for bringing such joyous news to us, Nephew," he said once the cheering had died down. "In honor of this happy event, I declare a holiday for the rest of the week. Let all rejoice and make merry. We will resume this court on Elenya."

With that, he signaled the chamberlain to dismiss the court as he and Elindis took Findaráto by the hands and led him away with Ingalaurë and Indil right behind them. When they reached the royal apartments, Ingwë called for wine and everyone gathered around to toast the new elfling. Even Ingoldo and Tinwetariel made an appearance and expressed their congratulations.

"I was surprised when I heard that Elenwë had conceived," Ingoldo said to Findaráto as he sipped his wine. "I did not think they would wish to bring a child into these troubling times."

Findaráto nodded. "Turco and Elenwë consulted with the whole family before deciding," he answered. "I think it was something we needed, a sign of hope that, in spite of our troubles, life does go on."

There were nods all around. Then Valandur gave Ingwë a sly look. "Declaring a three-day holiday. Isn’t that a bit much?"

Ingwë shook his head. "No. I think it is what we need. There has been little to rejoice about these last few years and this is an excuse to celebrate something joyous." He turned to Findaráto. "I am assuming the Valar have been told."

"Yes, and a messenger went to Alqualondë as well," the Noldorin prince answered. "I have also been commanded to invite all of you to the naming ceremony. It has been purposely delayed so as many of the family can attend as possible."

Ingwë nodded. "Indeed, I think that is an excellent idea. For when has the ceremony been set?"

"Six weeks from last Alduya, which is when the little elleth made her grand appearance," Findaráto replied with a smile and there was much laughter from the rest.

"Then you may so inform Ñolofinwë that we will come," Ingwë announced, "though naturally, not all of us will be able to attend as I must leave someone to act as regent during our absence."

"Will you return immediately, dear?" Elindis asked Findaráto.

"No, Aunt," he replied. "I would like to spend a few days here before going back. I made a rather rushed journey to get here as quickly as possible and I wish to give my poor horse a good long rest before we start back."

"Then plan to stay through Valanya," Ingwë suggested, "and enjoy this holiday with us."

"I would like that, thank you," Findaráto said and so it was decided.

****

Ingwë spent some time after Findaráto left for Tirion pondering who should remain behind as his regent, but he was at a loss as to how to choose. He spoke of his concerns with Elindis but with no one else. As usual, she merely said that she would support whatever decision he made.

"You know better than any what needs to be done," she said. "It will not be for very long, either, for I do not think we will remain more than a week after the ceremony."

"No, I do not wish to linger there either," Ingwë agreed. "Well, we will call the family together after dinner and I will ask them who they think should be regent. Perhaps someone will volunteer." He gave her a wry smile and she returned it with an arch look, then broke out in laughter and he joined her.

When the family was gathered together, Ingwë came right to the point. "I know most of you are eager to go to Tirion for the naming ceremony and to see our families. Findis, of course, will wish to see her amillë and siblings and their children and I know that Indil and Ingil are looking forward to seeing Ingwi. Yet, someone has to remain behind and I am loath to name any unless they are willing to do so."

There was a moment of silence as they all looked at one another, as if trying to gauge what everyone else was thinking. Finally, though, Ingoldo spoke up. "I have no real desire to travel to Tirion. If you are willing to trust me with the regency for the time you are gone, I will gladly take up the role."

Ingalaurë was unsurprised at his uncle’s offer, though he could see that others were taken aback, Indil especially. His atar’s expression was carefully neutral. "When last I went to Tirion I left my sons as regent," he said slowly, as if feeling out his words before committing to them, "and you made some effort to undermine their authority. I would almost be willing to hand the regency to you, Brother, save for your earlier actions. Also, you resigned from government service and I wonder that you would want to take up such duties again."

"Perhaps I was over hasty in resigning," Ingoldo replied with equanimity, "yet, I am willing to help in this matter. I know that normally you would appoint Ingil or even Indil as your regent, but it would be highly unfair to either of them if they could not go to Tirion and see their brother and visit with their cousins. I believe that they have spoken about making an extended visit to Tirion for some time now."

Indil nodded. "Yes, we promised Findaráto that Ingil and I would go with Tam and Amarië to visit him for a time. We were waiting for a time when Tam’s duties would permit him to leave Vanyamar and of course Amarië is busy at the Academy teaching."

"Well, this would certainly be a good time for you all to go," Tinwetariel offered. "My husband speaks for me as well, for I have no desire to leave Vanyamar. There does not seem to be any point in having anyone remain behind who would rather go. That would be unfair."

Ingwë nodded. "I agree. It would be unfair to deprive anyone of the opportunity to visit with our family in Tirion who truly wished to do so." He gave a sigh. "Very well. I will appoint you as regent, Brother. Do not make me regret it."

"You will not," Ingoldo stated firmly, "and I thank you for your trust in me."

"It is not trust," Ingwë retorted. "Say, rather, it is a second chance."

Ingoldo bowed his head in acknowledgment of Ingwë’s implied warning. Ingalaurë, however, was not entirely convinced by his uncle’s motives and before he could think it through he blurted out, "If you will, Atto, perhaps I will stay behind and help Uncle Ingoldo."

There was a surprised silence from them all and even Ingoldo looked a bit nonplused at the ellon’s offer. "But yonya," Elindis protested, "you have been looking forward to seeing Ingwion for so long."

"And I will see him," Ingalaurë assured her, "but just not immediately. You will be gone for only a couple of weeks, is that not so?" He looked at Ingwë when he spoke and his atar nodded. "Then I will travel to Tirion and join Indil and the others when you return."

Ingwë stared at his son for some time, his expression unreadable, then turned to Ingoldo. "What say you, Brother? Will you be willing to share the regency with Ingil? As the elder you would have final say on any matter that arises, but I do not think that in such a short time there will be anything of major import."

For a long moment Ingoldo did not answer, merely gazing at Ingalaurë who kept his own eyes on Ingwë. Then, he turned to the High King. "I would welcome my nephew’s aid while you are away, Ingwë."

"You are sure that this is what you wish to do, yonya?" Ingwë asked Ingalaurë, clearly unconvinced.

Ingalaurë nodded. "Yes, Atto. I am sure."

"Well, we will not be leaving for another two weeks," Ingwë said, " so if at any time before that you change your mind, we would be happy to have you travel with us."

Ingalaurë nodded again but in his heart he knew he would not change his mind. He did not look forward to being alone with his uncle yet something had driven him to make the offer and he would not back down now. He did not entirely trust Ingoldo and thought that someone should remain behind to see that he did not do any harm while his parents were away. It would only be for a couple of weeks after all and he did not think that even Ingoldo could get into that much trouble in so short a time. What his uncle truly thought about it was anyone’s guess.

****

The ceremony handing over the regency to Ingoldo and Ingalaurë was brief and to the point and there was little fanfare. Then the High King and the rest of the family left for Tirion. Both Ingwë and Elindis had some misgivings about leaving their son behind but, as Valandur pointed out, Ingalaurë was not an elfling.

"That is not quite the point," Ingwë retorted as they rode along the southern road towards Valmar. "It’s the fact that he is alone with Ingoldo. That is what worries me."

"Then why did you allow it?" Valandur asked.

"Because, as you pointed out, Ingil is not an elfling and it’s high time I started treating him as the adult he truly is. I fear Elindis and I have been somewhat remiss in the upbringing of our children, not giving them responsibilities commensurate with their status as our offspring."

Valandur shook his head. "It is understandable considering what our childhood was like," he said.

Ingwë gave him a sardonic look. "Some of us did not have a childhood."

"Not in the ordinary sense of the word, no," Valandur admitted, "but there was a period of time, I think, when you who woke first by the shores of Cuiviénen were as children in your understanding of the world around you."

"True, we were," Ingwë averred.

"And those who were of the following generations and those who were elflings at the time of the Great Migration sometimes suffered. Surely you have not forgotten the Dark Rider who stole some of our kin away? One of my own playmates disappeared and was never seen again."

"No, I have not forgotten, and now I think I know who that might have been."

"You mean, Melkor," Valandur replied darkly.

Ingwë nodded. "He or one of his minions."

Valandur sighed, now looking suddenly sad. "I wonder what he did with my playmate."

Ingwë had no words to comfort his friend, for there was none to be had and they continued to ride in silence for some time.

****

They arrived in Tirion in good time and were warmly greeted. Findaráto received a pleasant surprise when he saw that Amarië had accompanied the High King and his family. It had been a last minute decision. Tamurilon was also with them, for Ingwë had given him his permission to come and remain for a time as he had planned to do with Indil and the twins. Intarion and Lirulin were also on hand and so the gathering was joyous, though somewhat marred for Ingwion when he saw that his twin was not with them. When Ingwë explained, he felt himself grow pale.

"You left him alone with Uncle Ingoldo?" he asked in disbelief. "He’s afraid of Uncle Ingoldo. He’s told me so many times."

"Yet, things have changed since you left, yonya," Ingwë replied. "Come. Your brother will be joining you in a couple of weeks once we have returned home. I truly do not fear that either he or Ingoldo will get into any trouble in such a short span of time."

Ingwion was unconvinced but as he could do nothing about it he let it go.

****

The naming ceremony took place, as all such ceremonies did, at First Mingling. Everyone gathered in the Court of the White Tree bearing sprigs of linden blossoms and oak leaves. Only the family and nobles of the court were present along with representatives of the guilds, who would act as witnesses for the rest of the populace. Besides the royals from Vanyamar, representing the Teleri were Falmaron and his brother Salmar. His wife, Faniel, glowed with the new life within her, though she was not yet showing. When all were gathered, Turucáno and Elenwë stepped forward from the midst of their family, with Turucáno holding his daughter. His expression was one of mingled pride, joy and bemusement, as if he could not believe in his good fortune. Every time he glanced down at the squirming bundle in his arms his eyes brightened with unalloyed delight and there were indulgent smiles among those in attendance. When he spoke, though, it was with a clear, ringing voice, both solemn and glad at the same time.

"We are gathered together at this hour to officially name our daughter and to welcome her into our family as well as into the community into which she has deigned to be born." He held up the child in both hands so all could see her. "Here is our beloved child, our daughter, whom I, her atar, have named Itarildë."

"Welcome, Itarildë," everyone exclaimed, waving the linden blossoms and oak leaves. "Welcome to Life and to Love. Mayest thou be a joy to thy family and a delight unto us with whom thou wilt dwell. The Valar’s blessing and Eru’s grace be upon thee now and for all the Ages of Arda."

Turucáno then placed his daughter in a cradle that had been set before him earlier. At the same time, Findaráto began plucking on his harp which he had brought with him and began singing the traditional song of welcome for a newborn. All the others joined in while one by one people stepped forward and plucked a single linden blossom from their sprigs, placing it inside the cradle along with an oak leaf until the child was blanketed in yellow and green, happily cooing. When the song came to an end, Turucáno lifted the cradle, making funny faces at his daughter which set the others laughing as they made their way back into the palace to the feasting hall where a repast had been prepared for all those who were present for the ceremony. Turucáno and Elenwë sat at the high table with their daughter between them still in her cradle. As the feast progressed various people would approach the couple with a small gift for their child. The gifts were placed on a table behind them and would be opened later in private.

Findaráto sat at one of the lower tables along with his cousins, Amarië and Tamurilon. He and Amarië were quietly holding hands under the table and stealing shy glances at one another, much to everyone else’s amusement.

"A lovely ceremony," Indil said at one point. Everyone nodded. "It’s been some time since there’s been a royal naming ceremony and now I see that Faniel and Salmar are expecting. That is good news."

"Indeed," Falmaron, who was sitting with them, said with a laugh. "No one was more pleased by the announcement than Atar. He was absolutely ecstatic and made such a fuss that Emmë finally had to scold him." The others laughed.

"It’s a pity Ingalaurë could not be here," Findaráto said.

"Yes. I was rather upset to find that he remained behind," Ingwion replied, "but Atto assured me that he will be coming in a couple of weeks."

"Then we will have to plan to have a picnic or something when he does," Artanis suggested. "Perhaps we can even travel to Lord Oromë’s Forest."

The others thought that was a splendid idea and they spent the rest of the feast making plans both simple and elaborate for when Ingalaurë would be there.

****

During the week that Ingwë and the others remained in Tirion, Prince Findaráto was seen in nearly constant attendance to Lady Amarië, the two often found walking through the palace gardens or riding in Finwë Park. The others left them alone on Arafinwë’s orders. Only their guards were present and they were instructed by Arafinwë to give the couple as much space for privacy as could reasonably be allowed.

Thus, it came to no one’s surprise and everyone’s great delight that at the farewell feast for the royal visitors who would be leaving the next day, Findaráto stood up just before the last remove, asking Ñolofinwë’s permission to speak, which permission was gladly granted. The hall quieted in expectation, nor were they disappointed.

Findaráto appeared unusually shy at that moment but his voice was strong and carried throughout the hall. "My family and friends, before you must depart for your own homes, I wish to inform you that yesterday I asked Lady Amarië to be my wife and she has so consented."

He got no further for suddenly the hall burst out in applause and cheers. "About bloody time!" Ingwion was heard to shout and there was a great deal of laughter among them while Findaráto and Amarië blushed bright red. Then Arafinwë and Eärwen rose and went to Amarië, giving her loving embraces and kisses and formally welcoming her to their family. Ñolofinwë then ordered that all charge their goblets and toast the newly betrothed couple and there were many who came to the table to offer their personal congratulations to the happy couple.

"When will the betrothal dinner be held and where?" Indil asked when everyone had resumed their seats and were eating the subtlety that had been brought out in the meantime.

"We have to inform Amarië’s parents first," Findaráto said, "but we’ve decided the dinner will be held here, so you will all be able to attend. We will wait for Amarië’s parents and Ingil to join us."

Intarion then lifted his goblet. "To Findaráto and Amarië. May you know only joy and..." here he gave them a wicked grin, "I am so glad that I do not have to wait another yén to see you two finally married."

Findaráto stuck his tongue out at him and everyone else at the table laughed even as they lifted their goblets. "To Findaráto and Amarië," they intoned before drinking while the couple sat there, both looking shyly pleased with themselves, their hands entwined.

****

Yé mána!: ‘What a blessing!’; an attested phrase.

Notes:

1. At this time, approximately 38 solar years have passed since Fëanáro was tried before the Valar and exiled.

2. Turco is an attested short form of Turucáno.

3. The linden tree was a symbol of conjugal love in ancient Greece, which is often manifested by the birth of children. In medieval Germany, linden trees were often planted when a (male) child was born, the growth of the tree paralleling the growth of the child. This analogy was extended to families and even to whole villages, so that every village had its linden tree planted in the main square, the fate of the village tied with the fate of the tree. Here, the linden sprigs represent the hope for the continued growth of the family and the child as well as symbolizing the love between the child’s parents which brought her into existence. The oak tree was a symbol of hospitality in ancient Greece and thus a sign of welcome. Here, it represents the welcoming of the child by the community at large.

43: Seeds of Betrayal

Ingalaurë watched his parents and the others going to Tirion disappear through the south gates of the city and had a sudden desire to rush after them, saying he had changed his mind and wished to go with them, but he squashed the impulse almost immediately.

“Don’t be such an elfling,” he scolded himself as he followed Ingoldo and Tinwetariel back into the palace with everyone else who had been on hand to wish the travelers farewell. He and his uncle and aunt made their way to the royal apartments where the three sat in the main sitting room drinking some wine.

“Well, they’re away,” Ingoldo said and Ingalaurë could not tell if he was happy or sad about it.

“What will you do?” Tinwetariel asked her husband. “Will you convene the Privy Council?”

“Not much point in doing so,” Ingoldo replied, “with Tamurilon, Nolondur and Lindórië gone as well.” Lindórië, in fact, had decided to travel with the royal party as far as Eldamas to visit with her sister who, along with her husband, served Lady Vána and Lord Oromë, while Nolondur and his wife had decided to go to Tirion to see their daughter and son-in-law whom they knew would be there for the naming ceremony. He glanced at Ingalaurë and gave him a slight grin. “I am afraid that it’s going to be a very dull two weeks.”

Ingalaurë shrugged. “I am sure I can find something to amuse myself,” he said.

“You really should have gone with the rest of the family, Nephew,” Ingoldo said, his expression turning towards annoyance. “I do not require watching.”

“The very idea is insulting,” Tinwetariel exclaimed with a huff.

Ingalaurë shrugged again, trying to evince an unconcerned look. “I felt it prudent, given the times, that more than one of the royal family be present in Vanyamar, but I promise to stay as much out of your way as I can.” With that, he drained his goblet and stood, giving his aunt and uncle a perfunctory bow before exiting.

Ingalaurë kept his promise to some extent over the next several days, but unfortunately he still needed to interact with his uncle in overseeing the running of the government. In public, they were cooly polite to one another; in private, they barely spoke to one another and usually only through Tinwetariel who lost her temper on the third day and told them to both grow up before storming out of the room in high dudgeon. Then, an incident arose among two nobles, a dispute over land rights, which brought uncle and nephew together to adjudicate the case, for neither noble was willing to wait for the High King’s return before having the issue resolved. The original contract was examined by them both with great care and Ingoldo found himself quizzing Ingalaurë about certain points of law concerning property as he had done in earlier times. Ingalaurë responded readily enough and the two actually found themselves arguing both sides of the issue with one another, with Ingalaurë taking Lord Lassezel’s side and Ingoldo taking Lord Súlimondil’s.

“Will there not be a conflict of interest considering that you and Lord Súlimondil are friends?” Ingalaurë asked at one point.

Ingoldo shook his head. “It would be no more a conflict of interest if my brother were here to sit in judgment, since Lassezel is a friend of his. One has to divorce one’s personal feelings towards those who come before you and see the situation as objectively as possible. For instance, Súlimondil’s case is very strong for the most part, yet, see here where this clause is used in the contract.” He pointed to a particular section and Ingalaurë leaned over to re-read it. “This was a foolish clause to put into the contract, for it gives Lassezel the better claim under the circumstances. Súlimondil should have objected to its inclusion.”

“According to my notes here, though, he was the one who insisted the clause be put in even though Lassezel says he tried to convince Súlimondil against it,” Ingalaurë stated.

“My point exactly,” Ingoldo replied. “Súlimondil’s case would be much stronger if it were not for this particular clause, so it appears that I will have to decide for Lassezel in this instance.”

“Súlimondil will not like that,” Ingalaurë commented shrewdly.

Ingoldo shrugged. “That is neither here nor there,” he retorted. “I think Súlimondil insisted the case be brought to me instead of to Ingwë believing that I would allow our friendship to sway me in favor of him in my ruling.”

“And would you?” Ingalaurë asked.

“Perhaps,” Ingoldo admitted, “but I know for a fact that any adjudication on my part will be reviewed by your atar and given what we know of the situation, he would overrule me in favor of Lassezel.”

Ingalaurë frowned. “Knowing that Lassezel and Atto are friends, though, would not Atto’s objectivity be called into question if he were to rule in favor of Lassezel instead of Súlimondil?”

“Except that your atar is well known for his objectivity even when it comes to those who can be called his friends. He has often had to put aside his own feelings about a certain party and rule against them. His reputation for fairness is well established and no one questions it. I, on the other hand, cannot be said to have the same reputation, for I have normally not sat in judgment, so I must be very careful, even as you and your brother were, in how I rule on a particular case.”

Ingalaurë nodded. “I know. There were a couple of times when we really wanted to rule one way because the person was someone we knew or felt to be more deserving, but we couldn’t, knowing that Atto would reverse our ruling. It was very hard at times.”

“Súlimondil will most likely be very unhappy with me for a time,” Ingoldo said with a sardonic twist of his lips, “but I think I can live with it.”

Ingalaurë grinned and it seemed that some of the tension between uncle and nephew eased and they were on friendlier terms after that.

****

A few days before Ingwë and Elindis were expected back, Ingoldo, Tinwetariel and Ingalaurë were in the family sitting room after dinner, relaxing. Tinwetariel was working on some embroidery while Ingoldo was reading. Ingalaurë was at the writing desk ostensibly writing a poem but his thoughts were wandering and he was more doodling than writing. At one point, Ingoldo, realizing his goblet was empty, stood to go to the sideboard to get more wine and passed by the writing table. He idly glanced at the scrap of parchment Ingalaurë was supposedly working on.

“Mahalmacundo,” he muttered, reaching the sideboard.

Ingalaurë startled and looked up at his uncle in shock. “Wha...!?”

“You’ve written your amilessë,” Ingoldo said as he poured the wine. “Are you planning on writing a poem about your amilessë?”

Ingalaurë glanced down at the scrap of parchment in bemusement. In truth, he had not paid any attention to what he was doing and was surprised to see the name scrawled across the page. Tinwetariel snorted from where she was sitting, working some elf-knots into the design.

“Ridiculous names,” she exclaimed. “I cannot imagine what Elindis was thinking when she gave you and your brother those names. I told your amillë that the names were longer than you were, you were both such tiny things, all red and wrinkled. It was hard to tell you apart at first until you grew a little older.”

“You know,” Ingoldo said in an idle manner as he resumed his seat, “I always wondered if your parents didn’t get you two mixed up.”

“How do you mean?” Ingalaurë asked.

Ingoldo shrugged. “There was a lot of confusion when you were born,” he said, “especially since very little time passed between the two births. I often wondered, with all that was happening if, inadvertently mind you, the wrong twin was given the little bracelet of beaten gold put on his wrist so they would know who was the elder.”

“I... I am sure that Atto and Ammë would know which was which,” Ingalaurë said, though he didn’t sound convinced even to himself.

“Oh, I have no doubt,” Ingoldo replied, taking a sip of wine and picking up his book to resume reading. “As I said, it was just a thought I had at the time. Pay no heed to it.”

Silence stretched between the three Elves and then Ingalaurë stood and excused himself, finding that he needed to get away, for it seemed to him as if the room had closed in on him and he could no longer breathe. He made his way out into the gardens and spent the rest of the time in which Laurelin was blooming wandering through them in deep thought. Try as he might, he could not dismiss Ingoldo’s words. Something within him felt that perhaps his uncle was correct, that perhaps, just perhaps, he was the true first-born, not Ingwion. If that were true... but no, his parents would not have deliberately denied him his birthright. Yet... and yet....

Of course, there was no way to prove his uncle was telling the truth and he was not about to confront his parents about it. They would just deny it, for to do otherwise would bring great confusion upon them all. He shook his head, trying to clear it of such dark thoughts. Ingoldo’s words were not true, could not be. This was his uncle, after all. He could never fully trust him. He knew that, and yet....

Sighing, he returned to his own suite and readied himself for sleep, but it was a long time coming and when he did finally succumb, his dreams were troubled....

He found himself as a babe looking up at two who he somehow knew were his parents.

“So, which one is which?” his atto was saying and he was unsurprised that even as a babe he was able to understand speech.

“I am fairly sure this is the older twin,” his ammë said, pointing at him, and he felt immeasurably happy at that.

His atto shook his head. “That may be so, but I think the other should be declared my first-born, for he is more fair to look upon and appears to be more intelligent looking.”

“Perhaps you are right,” his ammë said with a sigh, and to Ingalaurë’s great dismay he watched as she placed a thin gold bracelet around his twin’s wrist and he wanted to tell them that he was the older twin and he was just as fair to look upon and just as intelligent as his brother, but he could not speak for he was but a newborn babe. All he could do was cry, great racking sobs which his parents ignored as they cooed and fussed over his brother....

Ingalaurë woke suddenly, wondering what the strange sound was and then realized to his horror that it was coming from him, that he had been crying. He hunched himself up into a ball of misery, wondering if the dream had been a true memory or just a manifestation of his fears and doubts. There was no way to know. It was a long time before he fell asleep again.

****

When his parents returned, his greeting was less enthusiastic than theirs and he had a hard time pretending that he was happy to see them. The doubts about his heritage lingered and he could not shake them. He thought of asking his parents about it when they were alone, but there never seemed to be any opportunity, especially when he was due to leave in two-days’ time himself.

“Your cousin Findaráto finally became betrothed,” Elindis told him. “You will be traveling with Almáriel and Castamir for the betrothal dinner. Your atto has already sent them the news.”

“That is good news,” Ingalaurë exclaimed with a smile that was unfeigned, for he was very fond of Findaráto and Amarië both. “Something to look forward to for next year.”

He did manage to corner Valandur, who had been present at the twins’ birth, and asked him if there was any possibility that there could have been a mix-up between the twins as to who was the first-born. He tried to make it sound as if he was only idly curious about it, but was not sure how convincing he was.

“What brought this on?” Valandur asked with narrowed eyes.

“Oh, just something Uncle Ingoldo said,” Ingalaurë answered with as much diffidence as he could muster. “He said he often wondered in all the confusion of our births if the wrong twin was designated as the first-born. I’m sure it is nothing, but it got me wondering and I thought....”

“Put your mind at ease, Ingil,” Valandur said. “There was no mix-up, I assure you.”

“Do you think that perhaps Atto and Ammë just decided Ingwi should be the first-born even if he wasn’t?” Ingalaurë ventured, feeling something twisting inside him at Valandur’s pronouncement.

“Whyever would they do such a thing?” Valandur demanded in surprise.

“Oh, you know,” Ingalaurë muttered. “Ingwi’s always been the one everyone looks up to. I just thought....”

“Oh, child,” the loremaster said, taking the ellon into his embrace and hugging him fiercely. “I know you often resent that you are the second-born twin, but I assure you that there was no attempt by any to rob you of your birthright. Ingwion was the first-born. I would swear to that before the Valar themselves, standing in the Máhanaxar. But do not think that because you came second that you come second in your parents’ love or in the regard of those of us who know you both and love you both equally. You are no less worthy than Ingwion and I am surprised that you would even consider that what Ingoldo said could be true. Have I not taught you to always consider the source of any information you are given? Whom do you trust more, me or Ingoldo?”

“That’s a silly question,” Ingalaurë replied.

“Not so silly if you truly believe what Ingoldo has told you,” Valandur said, pulling the ellon away from him to give him a considering look. “Believe me, Ingil. There was no mix-up nor was there any conspiracy to rob you of your heritage. If you had been born years after Ingwion, would you feel the way you do?”

“I don’t know,” Ingalaurë said with a sigh. “Just five minutes. It was just five minutes.”

“And unfortunately, that five minutes makes all the difference, doesn’t it?”

Ingalaurë nodded glumly. Valandur gave him a sympathetic smile. “Your atar and amillë declared you both as their heirs. By law, of course, Ingwion is the one who will sit on the throne if Ingwë ever decides to step down, something I truly doubt will ever happen, but, if it does Ingwion is free to abdicate in your favor if he so desires. Until then, you both share the responsibilities of being haryon and you should be content with that and not worry about the rest.”

Ingalaurë sighed, then he gave Valandur a measuring look. “Did you ever wonder why Ammë named us as she did? Why am I the ‘Throne-guardian’ but Ingwi is the ‘Throne-redeemer’?”

“I do not know, child,” Valandur said with a shake of his head. “I know your atar was somewhat taken aback when Elindis so named you, but in truth, I have given it little thought. Have you considered asking your amillë about it? She, after all, was the one to name you and she may have seen something of the future concerning you and your brother. Yet, remember this: even the Valar cannot see all things that will come to pass. The future is not fixed and many things can happen to prevent something from occurring, not the least is our own free will given to us by Eru.”

“I know,” Ingalaurë replied, “and yes, I have thought to ask Ammë about it, but I guess I will have to wait until I return from Tirion.” He gave Valandur a rueful smile. “There’s really no time to ask her now.”

“My advice, for what it is worth, is to forget about it,” Valandur suggested. “Go to Tirion and enjoy yourself with your brother and your friends. I can tell you that Ingwion was very upset to learn that you were not with us and only your atar’s promise that you would be joining him in a few weeks stopped him from taking to horse immediately and rushing here to haul you back to Tirion.”’

Ingalaurë couldn’t help snorting in amusement as Valandur gave him a grin. “He would, too,” he said. “Very well. I will do as you say. Now that I think about it, I wouldn’t be surprised if Uncle said what he did just out of mischief.”

“No doubt,” Valandur agreed. “Go and enjoy your time with Ingwion. He misses you terribly, as I know you miss him.”

Thus, Ingalaurë put aside his doubts and fears for the time being and concentrated on getting ready to leave. Lady Almáriel was beside herself with joy that her daughter was finally betrothed and long before they reached Eldamas, Ingalaurë was heartily tired of listening to her prattle on about wedding plans. Lord Castamir had long tuned his wife out, content to read some volume of poetry written by someone Ingalaurë had never heard of as they rode along. Ingalaurë was never so glad as when the towers of Tirion came into sight and he breathed a sigh of relief.

The meeting with his brother and everyone else was a joyous one for the most part but watching his twin interact with their Noldorin cousins and Ñolofinwë’s courtiers, Ingalaurë could not help wondering if what Valandur had told him was the truth.

That night the same disturbing dream of being a newborn came to him, though he did not cry himself awake. Instead, the dream mutated to the one where he saw his brother standing on a precipice overlooking a land that appeared familiar even though it was lit only by stars and not by the Light of the Trees. He watched helplessly as his brother struggled with someone he could not see clearly and then fall. When Ingalaurë reached him he found himself staring down at his own face. The first time, he had woken in a cold sweat at this point, but now the dream continued. Still staring down at his own face, he felt someone come up beside him. Turning, he stepped back in surprise, for it was Ingoldo staring down at the body, ignoring him altogether. The expression on his uncle’s face was one that Ingalaurë could put no name to and it frightened him beyond all reason and he began screaming.

“Ingil! Ingil!”

He heard someone calling his name and then someone was shaking him. That brought him fully awake and he found himself in his twin’s arms, Ingwion’s expression one of deep concern and even fear. Ingalaurë shuddered and gasped, trying to divorce dream from reality.

“I’m all right, I’m all right,” he said, drawing in deep breaths to calm himself. “It was just a dream, just a dream.”

“A nightmare, from the way you were thrashing about,” Ingwion said, holding him close and rocking him slightly to give him some comfort. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Ingalaurë shook his head. “No. It was nothing. Probably that spiced venison I had at dinner. I shouldn’t have had a second helping.”

“Are you sure?” Ingwion asked as he pulled his brother back to look at him, still concerned.

Ingalaurë forced a smile. “Yes, of course. Now please don’t fuss. I’m sorry I woke you.”

Ingwion nodded, looking somewhat doubtful but to Ingalaurë’s relief he did not press. “Well, then, if you’re sure....”

“I am, I promise.”

His brother patted him on the shoulder and then rose to return to his own bed, for Ingalaurë was sharing his suite and he had had the original bed replaced with two narrower ones. “Just like when we were elflings,” he had said when he showed Ingalaurë the sleeping arrangements.

Ingalaurë settled himself back down, pulling the coverlet over him. In minutes he heard the slow even breathing of Ingwion fast asleep, but it was some time before he was able to join him in slumber.

44: Further Discussions Among the Valar

They were gathered together in the mansion of Oromë and Vána this time. The regular Valanya audience with Ingwë had been completed and now the Valar were taking their ease as was their custom. Alatar and Arien, Oromë’s and Vána’s Chief Maiar, respectively, were in attendance, though no other Maiar were present.

“Ingwë seemed a little distracted today,” Varda commented as she accepted a goblet of miruvórë from Arien with a smile of thanks.

“I think he is concerned for Ingwion being in Tirion while there is still so much unrest there,” Oromë replied. “I suspect that he is ready to recall him and his embassy.”

“Which might be construed as the High King removing his support of Ñolofinwë,” Manwë said. “No, for many reasons, Ingwë will not order Ingwion to return just yet however worried he might be for his son’s safety and the safety of those who went with him.”

“You would think after all this time that there would be peace,” Yavanna said with a disgusted snort. “Fëanáro is in Formenos and all those who wished were allowed to go with him and Finwë, though now I am thinking that perhaps that was a mistake on our part.”

“And not all who are in sympathy with Fëanáro went with him,” Aulë pointed out with a shake of his head.

“Ñolofinwë exiling Morcocáno for his attack on Herencáno seems to have inflamed the hearts of certain people,” Námo ventured. “Morcocáno was clearly in the wrong, but he has many friends among the younger Eldar and Morcocallo practically disowning his son did not sit well with many of the nobles.”

“It seems that no matter what Ñolofinwë does, he is unable to appease all parties,” Oromë said with a frown. “He is in an untenable position.”

“It does not help that Finwë sided with Morcocáno and rescinded Ñolofinwë’s judgment,” Námo responded. “The fact that we confirmed the judgment apparently did not impress the Noldóran.”

“It was rather amusing to see the expression on Morcocáno’s face when he tried to leave the valley believing that Finwë’s ruling absolved him,” Tulkas said with a booming laugh.

The others smiled indulgently and there were many nods among them.

“I suspect there are political reasons why Finwë did as he did,” Manwë replied. “That we refused to allow Morcocáno to leave Formenos even though Finwë overrode his son’s decree did not make matters any better between us and Finwë.”

“He has never accepted our judgment against Fëanáro,” Varda offered, “so it stands to reason that he would be just as unaccepting of Morcocáno’s sentence.”

“Finwë has yet to learn that when he followed his son to Formenos, he gave up all rights as Noldóran,” Manwë said. “How he governs his people within that valley is his concern, but we rule the border and he needs to understand that.”

“We need to do something to bring peace to our lands again,” Oromë said with a sigh. “This unrest is like a canker and it’s spreading to other parts of Eldamar. Ingwë has every reason to be distracted and upset by what is happening. I have the feeling that, High King of all the Eldar though he be, he is at a loss as to what to do about it.”

“And then there is Ingalaurë to consider as well,” Irmo said.

The others gave him surprised looks. “Explain,” Manwë demanded.

“Ever since he returned from Tirion his dreams have been troubled and did you notice that he has not composed a poem for many weeks now?”

Manwë nodded, looking sad. “Yes, I had noticed and I must say that I have missed his recitations. He truly has a gift for verse and I was sorry to hear that he has stopped seeing Elemmírë as well. He told her that he was too busy helping Ingwë, but I suspect that there is more to it than that. Ingoldo, I fear, is part of the problem, but I have no real proof of that.”

“He has been spending a lot of time with Ingoldo from what Ingwë has said,” commented Varda.

“Ingwë did not seem unduly upset by that though,” Nessa said.

“I think he feels that if Ingoldo is tutoring Ingalaurë in the fine art of government, he will be too occupied to cause trouble elsewhere,” Nienna offered, though her expression was one of disbelief. “I am beginning to believe you were right, Brother,” she added, turning to Námo. “I think it would have been wiser if Ingalaurë had gone to Tirion or if Ingoldo had.”

Námo said nothing to that, only nodding his head once in acknowledgment of his sister’s words. Then, he turned to Irmo. “In what way are his dreams troubled?”

The Lord of Lórien pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. “He has the same recurring nightmare,” he explained. “I do not know the details for I never pry too deeply into the Children’s inner thoughts when they are on the Path of Dreams; I only maintain a surface watch.” The others nodded, knowing full well what Irmo meant. “At any rate,” he continued, “part of the nightmare seems to be about being a newborn and then the dream switches to that vision he had of Ingwion falling from a high precipice.”

“What connection is there between the two?” Námo asked.

“I do not know,” Irmo admitted. “As I said, I only maintain a surface watch, or rather, my Maiar do. They have been instructed not to interfere with the Children’s dreams in any way or to probe too deeply into the details. Their task is to maintain a watch on the Path itself, to ensure that no evil spirit makes its way there.”

“Yet, the Children do suffer from nightmares from time to time,” Nienna said.

“An inevitable consequence of being mirroanwi,” Irmo replied. “Their hröar are of Arda and unfortunately Melkor’s taint has corrupted the matter of Arda from which the Children are born. Still, most of them seem able to dismiss their darker dreams readily enough, but Ingalaurë continues to be plagued by his.”

“He is obviously worried about something then,” Manwë said with a slight frown. “I wish I could speak to him alone and help him but he will not come here willingly except in the presence of Ingwë or others and I do not wish to command him to come. That will only make matters worse, I deem.” He paused for a moment, obviously in deep thought and the others remained silent. Then he turned to Irmo. “Continue having your Maiar monitor him and if you can learn more details of his nightmare then perhaps we can see what we can do to help him. I do not wish his bright spirit to be darkened any more than it needs to be.”

“I will have Olóremmárië keep a watch on him,” Irmo said, naming one of his Maiar. “She is one of my better watchers.”

“That is well,” Manwë said, then turned to another matter. “Oromë is correct when he said we must do something to restore our Peace among the Eldar.”

“What do you propose?” Varda asked him.

“I have been thinking that it is time that we intervene somewhat in the affairs of the Children,” Manwë replied. “It has been five years now since Fëanáro was exiled and still our Peace is disturbed. I think it would be wise to see if we cannot attempt a reconciliation among the Princes of the House of Finwë.”

“That may be harder than we think,” Aulë opined. “Fëanáro is stubborn and believes he is in the right.”

“Yet, if we do nothing, this canker, as Oromë puts it, will only grow and worse things may happen,” Yavanna replied. “I, for one, would at least see us try. It may come to nothing, or it may lead to peace between these two brothers. I know Ñolofinwë would welcome such a reconciliation.”

“Finwë will be the hardest to convince, I deem,” Námo said.

“Why do you say that?” Vairë asked him.

He gave her a wry smile. “If Fëanáro is stubborn it is because he comes by it honestly. Finwë is twice as stubborn as his son.”

“We are somewhat overdue for a feast as has been our custom,” Vána said. “Also, if you recall, the last Feast of Double Mirth was supposed to have been celebrated five years ago, but the incident with Fëanáro put all our plans awry. Perhaps we can combine that with the Feast of First Fruits, which we have also neglected these last five years with all that has been happening.”

“You are correct, Vána,” Manwë said. “We have been neglectful of our duty to Atar and in doing so we have caused the Children to be neglectful as well. Perhaps, though, we should just declare this a Feast of Thanksgiving for the First Fruits and leave it at that. The primary goal is to bring reconciliation and healing to the Children.”

“Fëanáro is still under ban, though,” Námo reminded them. “You will have to command him to attend, else I doubt he will come voluntarily.”

“I know, and it grieves me that I must so command him,” Manwë averred. “All others, though, whether in Formenos or Tirion, we will not command but invite. I know Ingwë and the Vanyar will welcome the festival and perhaps we can convince Olwë to at least send a token group so that all the Children may be represented.”

“And now that we have decided on this course of action,” Ulmo said, speaking for the first time, “when should we hold the festival?”

“We shall hold it in the three hundred and fiftieth week,” Manwë answered, “at the mid-year and like the Feast of Double Mirth, it will last for the entire week, one day for each of the other four festivals of Thanksgiving that we have missed plus this year’s feast. Does that meet with your approval?”

There were nods all around. “Let us hope this works,” Tulkas said, “else our efforts at reconciliation will be for naught.”

To that, the others could only agree and many held a slim hope that all would work out for the better, but Manwë noticed that Námo’s expression was unreadable and wondered.

****

Note: The Feast of Double Mirth, which lasted a week, was held every twenty-one years in honor of the arrival of the Eldar in Aman. [See Book of Lost Tales I, ‘The Theft of Melko and the Darkening of Valinor’.]

45: Invitations and Reactions

Ingwë was holding court when the Maia was announced. Eonwë entered the audience chamber, and every Elf bowed to him as he strode up the center aisle. Ingwë and Elindis rose from their thrones to greet him.

“My lord Eönwë. To what do we owe the pleasure?” Ingwë said with a smile.

Eönwë stopped just three feet from the royal couple and gave them a bow. “I come at the behest of the Elder King,” he said.

“And what does my Lord Manwë require of us?” Ingwë asked.

“Only that you and all of Vanyamar join with the Valar in a Feast of Thanksgiving as has been the custom,” the Maia replied. “My Lord hath decreed that the three hundred and fiftieth week of this year will be a time of festival. He was reminded that due to the troubles of the last few years we have not held this feast as we ought and so we will make up for it with a week long celebration in honor of Eru Ilúvatar.”

Murmurs of surprise ran through the court and there was much excited whispering among the courtiers. Ingwë smiled and Elindis clapped her hands. “Oh, that is welcome news, my lord,” she said. “Long have I hoped that the Elder King would declare a time of festival. It is indeed long overdue.”

“My beloved speaks truly,” Ingwë said. “Please extend to my Lord Manwë our sincerest gratitude for this news. We will endeavor to make such merriment as has never before been seen on these shores.”

Eönwë bowed. “It is hoped that this festival will bring healing to all the peoples of Aman and that the Peace of the Valar will once again flow through the lands.” With that, he simply disappeared, leaving a faint trace of lavender and lovage behind.

When the Maia had gone, Ingalaurë, standing on Ingwë’s right, turned to his atar, looking excited. “A week long celebration! Do you think Ingwi will come to it?”

Ingwë smiled at his son. “Oh, I have no doubt that everyone will be invited to this festival,” he said. “It sounds as if Lord Manwë is hoping for a reconciliation between the Valar and us.”

“Reconciliation?” Ingalaurë exclaimed in surprise. “Why do we need to be reconciled to the Valar? We’ve done nothing wrong.”

“We have allowed the unrest that first manifested itself among our Noldorin kin to spread among our own people,” Ingwë answered. “I think it behooves us all to remember that the Valar invited us to dwell among them. This was their home before it ever became ours.” Then he turned to the court and in a ringing voice announced, “Let the news go forth throughout the city that the Valar have decreed a time of festival in honor of Eru Ilúvatar that will commence in the three hundred and fiftieth week of this year.”

“Valar nár laitanë!” someone cried out and the phrase was picked up by all and repeated several times. The acclaim of the court echoed through the hall and into the streets where ordinary citizens passing by stopped in wonder at its portent.

****

Ñolofinwë and the rest of the Noldorin royal family, along with Ingwion, were picnicking in Finwë Park when Cemendillë, Chief Maia of Yavanna, appeared before them. Immediately, people began to rise but the Maia waved them back down.

“Nay! Stand not on my account,” she said.

Everyone resumed their seats on the blankets spread out under an elm except Ñolofinwë, who gave the Maia a respectful bow. “Lady, you lend us grace with your presence. How may we serve you?”

“I am Cemendillë of the People of Yavanna,” the Maia said, “and I have come to you at the behest of the Elder King to tell you that, being mindful of our many blessings, and the fact that in these last years we have failed to do honor unto Eru Ilúvatar as is meet for his Children, the Elder King hath decreed a time of festival to last five days during the three hundred and fiftieth week of this year. We will again hold a Feast of Thanksgiving for the First Fruits as hath been the custom in previous times and all are invited to attend.”

“A... a festival? Now?” Ñolofinwë asked, giving Cemendillë an uncertain look.

The Maia nodded, her expression one of amusement at the nonplused reaction of the second son of Finwë. “Yes. A festival,” she replied, “but not immediately. Thou still hast some weeks to prepare.”

Anairë rose then and placed a hand on her husband’s arm while addressing the Maia. “We are pleased by this news, never doubt it, lady,” she said, “it’s just that... with all that has been happening... it’s the last thing we expected.” She stole a glance at her husband, her expression somewhat worried.

“Lord Manwë realizes this,” Cemendillë answered. “Yet, it cannot be denied that we have been neglectful of our duty to Eru Ilúvatar in giving thanks for the first fruits of the land... and of the hröa.” She smiled indulgently at little Itarildë sitting in her atar’s loving embrace with wide eyes and open mouth at the Maia. Both her parents blushed for no particular reason.

Ñolofinwë then bowed to the Maia again. “We thank you for this news, lady,” he said. “If our response to your message is less than joyful, please understand....”

“Child,” Cemendillë said with gentle a smile, “thou hast no need to explain.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving behind the scent of lemonbalm and basil.

There was a brief moment of silence and then everyone started talking at once.

“A festival!” Írissë exclaimed to her cousin Artanis. “It has been some time since we last had one, hasn’t it?”

Artanis nodded enthusiastically. “I have missed going to Valmar and singing and dancing before the Valar. Why don’t we plan our garb for the festival so that they match?”

“But I will want to wear white, as I always do,” Írissë protested, “and you look awful in white. Blue is your color.”

“Then we will each wear the color that suits us best, but let us make the dresses identical in style.”

Írissë nodded. “Perhaps we can convince our amilli and Elenwë and Eldalótë and Aunt Finwaina to do the same.” Artanis liked that idea and the two ellith sat giggling together discussing fabrics and the latest styles.

Meanwhile, Artanis’ brothers, Aicanáro and Angaráto, along with Findecáno, Aracáno, and Angaráto’s son, Artaher, were discussing the games of sport that would be held during the festival.

“There will be races and competitions in gymnastics and wrestling,” Angaráto was explaining to his son. “You are too young to remember the last time there was such a festival as this. We should have had a Feast of Double Mirth five years ago but with Fëanáro’s trial and all that followed after it just didn’t seem proper.”

“You better make sure Artanis doesn’t compete though,” Findecáno said with a laugh. “You know she can outrace all of us.”

Aicannáro sighed. “Sometimes I have to wonder why she was born an elleth. Ammë truly named her well when she named her Nerwen.”

“Well, let’s forget about our sister for the nonce,” Angaráto said, then turned his attention to Aracáno. “Do you think you will compete in the wrestling matches as you did last time?” he asked and the ellyn spent some time discussing the various competitions and which ones they thought to compete in.

Ñolofinwë and Anairë had resumed their seats on the blankets beside Arafinwë and Eärwen. The youngest son of Finwë gave his brother a shrewd look. “You don’t seem particularly happy about the news.”

Ñolofinwë shook his head. “It is not that I am unhappy,” he replied, “it is more that I have to wonder at the motives of the Valar in decreeing this festival now.”

Arafinwë snorted. “I am the one who is usually skeptical about such things,” he declared with a grin. “When did you learn to be so suspicious?”

“Since becoming regent,” Ñolofinwë replied with a grimace and then sighed when he saw the expressions of concern on the faces of the others. “No, it is well. The Maia was correct. We have been neglectful of our duty towards Eru Ilúvatar. Perhaps that has been part of our problem of late. Perhaps this festival will remind us all what our lives are about.” He turned to his son, Turucáno, sitting nearby and listening to the conversation and smiled. “And this will be a perfect opportunity for you and Elenwë to present Itarildë to the Valar.”

“It is true we have been meaning to travel to Valmar to present our daughter to the Valar as is the custom,” Turucáno said, “but there never seemed to be a right time for it.”

“Then this is the perfect opportunity, would you not say?” Anairë retorted gently and both Turucáno and Elenwë nodded.

“So now I must make an announcement to the rest of the city,” Ñolofinwë said with a sigh.

“Are you really that set against the festival?” his brother asked with a frown.

“No, it’s not that,” Ñolofinwë replied. “I was wondering if our kin in Formenos will be invited to attend as well and what will happen when we all meet before the Valar.”

“Perhaps that is their intent,” Findaráto interjected. He and Ingwion had been listening to the conversation.

“What do you mean?” Arafinwë asked.

“Only that part of the unrest that we have experienced these last few years can be traced back to the split among the Noldor with some remaining here and others going to Formenos. Our family is not the only one which has suffered; other families also are bereft of atari and amilli, yondor and yendi, hánor and nésar. Perhaps the Valar believe that all families should be reconciled one to the other, coming together in peace and thanksgiving.”

“Your son speaks wisely,” Ñolofinwë said to his brother. “I had not looked at it in quite that way. Thank you, Findaráto.”

Findaráto gave his uncle a nod in acknowledgment, then turned to Ingwion while Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë discussed the wording for the announcement to the citizens of Tirion. “So, I imagine you will be returning to Vanyamar to be with your family when they go to Taniquetil for the festival.”

“Most likely,” Ingwion said. “I know that Eccaldamos, Tulcafindil and Marilla will want to go back home to help their families with preparations.”

“Which is only proper,” Findaráto said with a nod. “But we will see one another there and then you will come back to Tirion unless Uncle Ingwë has other plans for you.”

“He has not indicated that he does,” Ingwion replied. “I think he means for me to remain here as his eyes and ears and spokesman at least until Fëanáro’s exile has been lifted. After that, we will see.”

“When will you leave?” Ñolofinwë suddenly asked, interrupting the cousins’ conversation.

“The festival is almost fifty weeks away,” Ingwion said with a smile. “I do not intend to pack today.”

There was laughter all around and then Eärwen suggested they put aside the topic of the upcoming festival for a time and continue enjoying their picnic and to that no one had any objections.

****

Salmar, Chief Maia of the Lord of Waters, made an appearance in Alqualondë, rising out of the sea and passing under the arch of living searock that marked the entrance to the Haven. By the time he reached the quays his form was more that of the Children. The Teleri on the wharves stopped and stared in surprise at the sight of the Maia making his way through the city towards Olwë’s palace. Guards before the palace gates, alerted by others of the Maia’s approach, quickly informed the king who came forth along with Lirillë, Lindarion, Falmaron, Olwen, Salmar, and his wife, Faniel, all of them gaping a bit at the sight of Ulmo’s Chief Maia. Ossë and Uinen they were used to seeing but even Olwë had difficulty recalling the last time this particular Maia had deigned to visit Alqualondë.

“My Lord Salmar,” Olwë called in greeting, giving the Maia a respectful bow which was echoed by the others. “Welcome to Alqualondë. How may we serve you?”

Salmar gazed fondly on the Lindaran and his family, especially his namesake. “My greetings to you, Olwë of Alqualondë, from my Lord Ulmo and my Lord Manwë. The Elder King, mindful that we of Aman, having been beset with troubles lately and therefore neglectful of our duty towards Eru Ilúvatar, hath decreed that in the three hundred and fiftieth week of this year a festival of Thanksgiving will be held as hath been our custom and he wisheth to extend the invitation for you to attend.”

Olwë nodded. “I thank you for your message, lord,” he said, “but I do not think any of my people will bother to attend. We have never done so in the past unless specifically commanded by Lord Manwë and always it has been for a particular reason. Doth he command us this time?”

“Nay, Olwë, he doth not, but he hopeth that thou wilt consider sending a token delegation to represent the Lindar. This is more than a feast of Thanksgiving; it is also, so it is hoped, a time for reconciliation, especially among the Noldor.”

“Well, there is time enough to decide,” Olwë said. “I will consider sending a small delegation, perhaps headed by my own son and your namesake, for I have no doubt that Faniel will want to be there with her family, as is only proper.”

“Thank you, Atar Olwë,” Faniel said shyly. “I would indeed wish to be with my family for the festival.”

“Then that at least is decided,” Olwë said with a smile. “Others may join you but we will discuss it in greater detail later.” Then he bowed to the Maia again. “Will you join us for refreshments, my Lord Salmar?”

“I thank thee, but I have other duties to attend to and so I will depart now.” With that, he simply disappeared, leaving the fresh scent of peaches behind.

For a moment the Elves simply stood there in bemusement, digesting the news. Lirillë turned to Olwë with a quizzical look. “Your reaction to the announcement was not very enthusiastic.”

“And why should it be?” Olwë countered. “The affairs of the Noldor and the Vanyar, even those of the Valar, have rarely touched our lands. If Lord Manwë wishes to see the Noldor reconciled one to another, what is that to us?”

“Would you not like to see Finwë again?” Lirillë asked, giving him a shrewd look.

“Yes, I would,” Olwë averred, “but I will wait until he returns from his self-imposed exile. It’s not as if either of us is going anywhere and there are only seven more years before he returns to Tirion. When he does, you and I will go and greet him and welcome him back to his home.”

“But in the meantime, who else is willing to accompany Faniel and me to Taniquetil?” the youngest son of Olwë asked. “What about you, Lindarion, or you, Falmaron? Would either of you like to go?”

“Perhaps,” the heir of the Lindaran replied, his tone noncommital. Falmaron merely shrugged.

“And don’t forget me,” Olwen piped up, looking disgruntled. “You always forget me.”

“Never, nésanya,” Salmar said with a smile, giving her a quick hug.

“Why don’t we go back inside and resume our lunch and talk about it?” Faniel suggested.

The others agreed to this and the discussion continued long after the meal was concluded, though no final decisions were actually made.

****

Fëanáro was caressing one of the Silmarils when a knock came on the door of his inner sanctum. He started at the sound of the rap and muttered a curse at the interruption, but realized that it must be important, for none would dare to interrupt him when he was here in this particular room.

“Who is it?” he called out even as he stowed the Silmaril back into the cast-iron safe and closed the door, locking it.

“It is I, Atar, Nelyo,” his first-born called out.

Fëanáro went to the door and opened it. “What is so important, yonya, that you would interrupt me?”

The oldest son of Fëanáro had a strange expression on his face that Fëanáro could not interpret. “Anatar sent me,” Nelyafinwë explained. “He says you must come.”

“Come? Come where?” Fëanáro frowned, wondering what his atar was playing at.

“The main audience hall,” his son answered. “There... there is someone who wishes to speak with you.” His hesitation intrigued Fëanáro enough that he simply nodded, closing and locking the door behind him and strode down the corridor to the main hall with Nelyafinwë beside him.

When they entered the hall Fëanáro stopped in surprise, for not only was Finwë there but all of his own sons and one other.

“Lord Eönwë,” Fëanáro said with a stiff bow to the Herald of Manwë.

“Prince Fëanáro,” the Maia replied with a slight bow of his own.

“Lord Eönwë was about to deliver us a message from Lord Manwë,” Finwë said, gesturing for his son to join him on the throne dais where he was standing.

“What message would that be?” Fëanáro asked suspiciously.

“The Elder King hath declared a time of festival in Thanksgiving to Eru Ilúvatar,” the Maia replied, “to commence in the three hundred and fiftieth week of this year and to last for five days. My Master hopes that thou, Finwë, and all who dwell here in Formenos, will join your kin in giving thanks to Eru as hath been our custom in times past.”

“Is this an invitation or a command?” Finwë asked, giving the Maia a cold look.

“It is an invitation to all,” Eönwë said, “save for Fëanáro. Him alone doth the Elder King command that he attend upon my Lord Manwë at the time of festival and hath entrusted me with a personal message: ‘Fëanáro Finwion, come and do not deny my bidding! In my love thou remainest and wilt be honoured in my hall’.”

Fëanáro gave the Maia a wintry smile and an even stiffer bow than before. “You may tell Lord Manwë that I will come as he hath commanded me, but I pray that I will be excused from attending the entire time.”

“My Lord anticipated thy reluctance,” Eönwë replied with a faintly amused smile, “and bid me to say that thou art to come on the third day of the festival unto Ilmarin.”

“Then I shall be there, though I doubt me that Lord Manwë will have any joy from my presence.” His expression was sardonic.

“As to that, Child,” Eönwë said, “thou must decide for thyself how thou wilt present thyself unto the Valar.” Then he turned to Finwë. “It is hoped that thou shalt accompany thy son, thou and thy grandsons as well.”

But Finwë shook his head. “While the ban lasts upon my son, that he may not go to Tirion, I hold myself unkinged, and I will not meet my people.”

If Eönwë was upset by Finwë’s response, he gave no indication, merely bowing courteously to them all before fading from view, leaving a faint trace of lavender and lovage to linger in the air.

“Will you forbid any others from going?” Fëanáro asked his atar.

“Nay, I will not,” Finwë replied, “but I think, at any rate, none will bother to go. Certainly Morcocáno will not if he knows that afterwards he must return here.”

“What about you, my sons?” Fëanáro asked. “Will ye accompany me to Taniquetil?”

“By your leave, Atar, we will not,” Curufinwë answered, apparently speaking for them all, though Fëanáro detected a look of wistfulness on Nelyo’s face and knew that this one at least had thought to meet with his cousin and best friend, Findecáno. “We consider ourselves to be in exile no less than you, and since we have not been specifically commanded to attend this festival, we will remain here with Anatar.”

Fëanáro nodded, not at all surprised at his favorite son’s words. “So be it,” he pronounced. “If any wish to accompany me when I go, I will welcome them, but otherwise, I will go alone as has been commanded of me, though I will go on my own terms, not the Valar’s.” He gave them a sour grin and without another word strode from the hall, making his way back to his inner sanctum and his treasures. He suspected that the Valar were hoping he would bring the Silmarils with him. Well, they were in for a great disappointment, he thought grimly to himself. They and everyone else.

****

In Valmar and Eldamas word of the upcoming festival spread informally from Vala to Maia to Elda and it was not long before all the Elves residing there learned of it and there was much excitement and joy among them, whether Noldor or Vanyar. Even the very few Teleri who served Lord Ulmo in Valmar went about with wide grins on their faces. When, singly or in groups, people began spontaneously singing hymns of praise and thanksgiving, the Valar smiled among themselves, sure that their plan to bring peace and reconciliation to Aman was already working.

****

Valar nár laitanë!: ‘The Valar be praised!’

Atari: Plural of atar: Father.

Amilli: Plural of amillë: Mother.

Yondor: Plural of yondo: Son.

Yendi: Plural of yendë: Daughter.

Hánor: Plural of háno: Brother.

Nésar: Plural of nésa: Sister.

Lindaran: King of the Lindar, the name by which the Teleri (a Noldorin name for them) call themselves. Cf. the attested titles Noldóran (King of the Noldor) and Ingaran (High King).

46: Melkor in Avathar

Melkor surveyed the darkness and shadows which covered this part of Avathar. They seemed even darker than elsewhere south of the Pelóri. During his previous sojourn in the South, when he had first fled the Valar, he had wandered aimlessly for a time. He was surprised to find some of his former servants there skulking in the ever present darkness, snarling at Varda’s stars that blazed overhead. Melkor thought to use them, but in the intervening ages since his imprisonment, these Úmaiar had sunk into a state of forgetfulness. Many, taking on the physical characteristics of the wild creatures that roamed these lands, had mated with them and were now more animal than ainu in spirit. Most refused to acknowledge him as their former Master and he had turned away from them in disgust. Those few who remembered their allegiance to him agreed to make their way secretly across the Sea to Angamando and there prepare the way for his return, for Melkor had no doubt that at some point he would indeed return to reclaim Endórë for his own.

And now, here he was once again skulking through the shadows, having eluded the watch that the Valar had set upon the mountains. He sneered at the thought. Pathetic fools and most of the guard was now to the North. He laughed and thought it good sport that he had beguiled Manwë so easily. His brother had no right to hold the title of Elder King, as far as he was concerned.

“Elder Fool is what he is,” Melkor muttered as he made his way along a mountain ridge. During his previous visit to the South he had heard rumors that one of his former servants, one whom he had seduced from the Light and had made his mistress, though she had later disowned him as her Master, still lurked somewhere in the deepest shadows of Avathar. She went by a different name now, but there could be no doubt as to who she was and had been. Those who spoke of her did so in whispers and that alone intrigued Melkor. All any could say was that she haunted a ravine where the mountains came closest to the Sea.

He surveyed the area, taking note of one particular cleft that seemed darker than all the others. But no, it wasn’t so much darker but rather there was simply no light which penetrated that particular ravine. It was as if the darkness was a physical thing. Melkor paused and pondered his options. He needed to be wary of this one. She was not a fool but he remembered her lusts and thought to play on them. He smiled and wove himself a fana, though it was slow to form and there was a great deal of pain involved. He ignored the pain and concentrated on his form: a Dark Lord, tall and terrible, the very form he had held while he ruled Utumno.

Looking down upon himself he thought perhaps he would be unable to go incorporeal ever again. The process was becoming too painful. So be it. And truly, he preferred this form anyway, though now he would have to be extra careful if he wished to re-enter Aman, but that was where she came in. He smiled again, calling into existence a black spear, much like the one he had had when he ruled in Utumno, lost now in its ruins. Then he made his careful way towards the ravine. Now that he was closer he could see the dark webs that spanned the cleft, blocking out all light, even the light of the stars. Somewhere in the midst of the gloom that was more than just an absence of light lay his quarry. His eyes pierced the darkness and he could see her, a hideous spider’s shape though he recognized her spirit, and for a brief second Melkor mourned the beautiful Maia that she once had been.

“Acairis,” he purred. “It hath been a long time, hath it not, my pet?” He watched in amusement as the úmaia attempted to hide even further in the gloom. He could see that in spite of her bloated body she was starved and her powers waning.

“Come forth!” he called. “Thrice fool: to leave me first, to dwell here languishing within reach of feasts untold, and now to shun me, Giver of Gifts, thy only hope! Come forth and see! I have brought thee an earnest of greater bounty to follow.”

But Acairis did not answer, merely scuttling back further into the cloven rock. Suddenly Melkor felt himself growing angry at his former mistress’s intransigence.

“Come out, Acairis! I have need of thee and will not be denied. Either thou wilt serve me, or I will bury thee here and under black stone thou shalt wither into naught.” He then held up in his hands two shining green gems which, along with some others, he had stolen during his foray into Aman.

“My name is not Acairis,” came a hideous voice from the darkness. “She is dead, dead... yes, she died a long time ago.” There was a lustful hunger in her tone and Melkor hid a grin.

“I care naught for thy name, Acairis....”

“Ungoliantë,” the spider shape said. “Ungoliantë. That is my name.”

Melkor resisted a sigh. He really needed this one and as impatient as he was to get on with his plans against Manwë he schooled himself to remain calm. Slowly he held up the two gems again, their lights glowing, casting all in a sickly green shadow, though he noticed with detached interest that the webs before him reflected nothing. Slowly she who had once been Acairis, Chief Maia of Lady Vairë, betrayer and seductress, came forth; but as she drew near Melkor withheld the lure.

“Nay, nay,” he said with amusement at the sound of her anguish as he hid the gems from her. “I do not bring thee these Elvish sweets in love or in pity; they are to strengthen thee, when thou hast agreed to do my bidding.”

For a long eternal moment she gave no answer and Melkor was ready to leave her when she finally spoke. “What is your bidding... Master?” she whispered with something like defeat in her voice yet also a slavering hunger, a lust that nearly overwhelmed her.

And Melkor smiled.

He spoke then of his plans of revenge against Manwë, explaining her part in it. She suddenly scuttled back into her dark hole and there was fear in her voice, fear that warred with her lust. “I dare not the perils of Aman,” she whined, “or the power of the dreadful Lords, without a great reward.”

“Pah!” Melkor exclaimed in disgust. “Fear rather my wrath if thou dost not my bidding.”

“I fear the bright eyes of Manwë and Varda more than I fear your wrath, Melkor,” Ungoliantë snarled and for a brief second it was as if it were Acairis standing before him, defying him, and not this bloated spider full of lust and venom.

“Do as I bid,” he said in a wheedling tone, “and if thou art still hungry when we meet again, then, I vow, I will give to thee whatsoever thy lust may demand. Yea, with both hands!” Not that he meant it, of course, and he laughed silently to himself. Oaths were lightly given and broken and their only purpose was to lure weaker spirits to his side with promises that he had no intention of ever keeping. “Come then!” he said more forcibly. “Here is the earnest!” He held out the two green gems and several others, placing them on the ground before him and stepping back.

For one terrible second Ungoliantë did not move and then, in spite of her bloated body, she was upon him, hungrily consuming the light of the gems. Melkor watched her feed and saw how swiftly she began to grow and find new strength, weaving her webs of unlight. As the last gem was consumed she gazed on him, her hunger unappeased.

“More,” she demanded in a harsh whisper. “More.”

“Soon,” Melkor said soothingly. “I promise.”

Ungoliantë snorted. “I remember how well you kept your promises, Melkor,” she said and again it was the Acairis of old who spoke.

Melkor shrugged. “That was then,” he said. “This is now. Weave thy dark webs, Acairis or Ungoliantë, howsoever thou dost name thyself. Weave and spin and meet me on Mount Hyarmentir.”

“Where do you go, Melkor?” Ungoliantë demanded, her voice full of suspicion.

“On an errand that concerneth thee not,” Melkor replied and his tone was frigid and unforgiving and Ungoliantë scuttled back in fear. Melkor kept his baleful gaze upon her for a moment or two more until he was satisfied that she was sufficiently cowed. Then, he nodded. “Thou hast thine orders. I will meet thee on Mount Hyarmentir.”

Without another word, he turned and strode away to the east and the Sea, his mind bent on one thing now: his hatred for Ulmo. He reached the dark shore and stood for some time, watching the cold water lap the black sand at his feet. He snarled, his hatred for Ulmo only second to his hatred of Manwë. “Slime of Ulmo!” he suddenly cried out in contempt. “I will conquer thee yet, shrivel thee to a stinking ooze. Yea, ere long Ulmo and Ossë shall wither, and Uinen shall crawl as a mud-worm at my feet!”

And then he spat at the waters, though he knew it was a foolish, indeed vain, gesture on his part. The Sea did not care and pretty much ignored him and he so hated being ignored. With a snarled oath he turned away and headed west towards Mount Hyarmentir, the highest mountain in that region of the world, though Taniquetil was greater still. He knew, though, that the Valar’s vigilance was less in this part of Valinor, which is why he had chosen it as his point of entry into Aman. He strode with great purpose, climbing the slopes of the mountain, using Ungoliantë’s ropes of unlight as a guide. He found her lying on a horn of rock overlooking Aman, resting. Her eyes were faint from her labors but even as he came to her he could see her eyes waken with an evil glow and he knew that her lust would soon overcome her fear.

Melkor gazed down onto the Blessed Realm. There below him were the woods of Oromë and beyond, the rich land of the Southern Fiefdoms, blessed by Yavanna and ripe with grain and vine and fruit. Further to the north, he could make out the white city of Tirion on Túna, the Mindon Eldaliéva glowing in the Light of the Trees. And further still he saw Valmar and the Máhanaxar and the Trees. He pointed at the Ezellohar.

“That is our goal,” he said with an evil smile. He could barely contain his glee at the thought that soon, soon he would have his revenge against his hated brother. Manwë would rue the day he ever believed a single word Melkor had ever uttered. He laughed and the sound of his laughter echoed through the mountain range.

“Come, my pet,” he then said. “It is time to feed.” He leapt swiftly down the western slopes of the mountain with Ungoliantë at his side.

Her darkness covered them both.

****

Úmaiar: Those Maiar who followed Melkor.

Ainu: Literally, Holy One, but in this context, meaning ‘spiritual being’ as opposed to the Mirroanwi, i.e. Elves and Men.

Angamando: Angband. 

Note: The conversation between Melkor and Ungoliante and what follows is based on Tolkien’s depiction of this meeting found in Morgoth’s Ring. See ‘The Later Quenta Silmarillion: The Second Phase: Of the Silmarils and the Darkening of Valinor’.

47: The Feast of Thanksgiving Commences

The Vanyar, led by Ingwë and Elindis, were the first to arrive in Valmar, stopping at the northern gate of the city, having passed through Eldamas. Those Elves who lived there joined the throng. Harps and viols, lutes and flutes, hornpipes and drums were carried by many. Ingwë gazed through the closed gate towards the Landamallë Valion where he could see one of Lord Manwë’s Maiar standing. The High King was waiting for a signal from him that the Noldor had arrived at the eastern gate. He had sent messages to Valmar, Tirion and Alqualondë, attempting to coordinate the arrival of all the Eldar so that they would come at the same time, just before First Mingling.

The silver and gold lights of the Trees were blending and the bells of the Mindon Nyellion were falling silent when the Maia looked towards Ingwë with a nod and then turned to face east and nodded again, presumably at Ñolofinwë and the Noldor and perhaps whichever of the Teleri had deigned to accompany them. Ingwë turned to Elemmírë who was standing just behind him.

“Begin,” he ordered softly.

The Elder King’s Chief Bard among the Elves gave him a nod and then began singing the Calalindë. It was immediately taken up by all and Ingwë smiled as he heard voices from the other side of the Avenue join in. As he sang along with the others, he thought about the one who had composed it. Surprisingly, or perhaps not so surprising, it had been Lirillo of the People of Ulmo who had written it and taught it to the Elves for the first Feast of Thanksgiving that was held after their arrival. It told of the longing of the Elves for light, of their dread journey through the dark led by the desire of the Two Trees. The song climaxed into a paean of utmost joy as it described the Elves beholding the faces of the Valar and their renewed desire once more to enter Valmar and tread the Valar’s courts.

As the final chords of the song faded away the gates of the city opened of themselves and the Eldar stepped through. Ingwë espied Ñolofinwë coming towards him and smiled, holding out his arms in greeting. The two met just before the gates of the mansion belonging to the Elder King and the Elentári and embraced, giving one another the kisses as between close kin and then the other members of both royal families greeted one another as their people spread out along the Avenue to greet old friends and make new acquaintances.

As the royal families mingled, Ingwë was pleased to see Olwë and Lirillë’s youngest son there. “I did not think any from Alqualondë would come,” he said to Salmar, giving Faniel a fond embrace before allowing Elindis to greet her.

“Well, I would have come regardless for Faniel’s sake,” Salmar said. “I tried to convince my brothers and Olwen to join us, but they decided not to.” He shrugged, giving them an apologetic look. “We Lindar reck little of seasons or times and most of our people give no thought to the cares of the Rulers of Arda.”

Ingwë nodded. “Yes, I know, but I was hoping that this time perhaps.... Well, it matters not. You and Eärwen will represent your people just fine.”

Then there was a shimmering of lights and all went silent as Lord Manwë and Lady Varda, and indeed all the Valar in their majesty, appeared, each before the gates of their own mansions, along with a host of the Maiar. The Eldar all gave their obeisance to the Elder King who smiled upon them with fond benevolence, though it was the Elentári who spoke.

“Welcome, Children, to Valmar on this first day of the festival of Thanksgiving. The great halls of the Valar are open to you. Go and enjoy the feast which has been prepared for you. Abide here in Valmar this day and the next, but on Aldúya come to Ilmarin that we may continue to make merry.”

Then all the gates of the Valar were opened and people began moving to one or the other, greeting the Valar and the Maiar with due reverence, though many, especially among the Noldor were shy in their demeanor. Yet, they were greeted warmly, even by Aulë, and soon the Noldor were as gay and joyful as the Vanyar.

“Atar did not come?” Ñolofinwë asked Ingwë, for had any from Formenos come to Valmar they would have met up with the Vanyar along the way. The members of the royal families were making their way along the Avenue as a group, for they would stop at each of the mansions and pay their respects to the Valar individually before splitting up to go to one hall or another to feast as their fancies took them. Ingwë, Elindis, Ñolofinwë and Anairë would, of course, dine with Lord Manwë and Lady Varda, but the others would scatter and join their friends.

Ingwë shook his head. “The invitation was sent,” he said, giving the younger ellon a sympathetic look as they made their way towards Lord Ulmo’s mansion, “but Finwë declared that so long as his son was forbidden to go to Tirion he would consider himself unkinged and would not meet his people.”

Ñolofinwë sighed, and even Arafinwë looked upset. “Unkinged? He said just that?” the youngest son of Finwë asked.

Ingwë nodded. “Apparently, from what I was told by Lord Manwë who sent no lesser herald than Lord Eönwë to Formenos.”

“But how can he be unkinged?” Arafinwë demanded angrily. “None took the crown from him or forced him to give it up. He went to Formenos willingly, yet gave Ari only the regency and precious little power at that.”

“I can only tell you what I have heard, child,” Ingwë said soothingly. “Finwë has ever been a stubborn ellon.”

“Stubborn fool, more likely,” Indis said with a sneer. “My husband has never been one to listen to reason when it suits his purpose not to. That he spoke as he has does not surprise me. No doubt Fëanáro and his sons took their cue from Finwë and declined the invitation as well.”

“From what I have been told,” Ingwë replied, “Lord Manwë has commanded Fëanáro to come to Ilmarin on Aldúya. He alone of all those residing in Formenos has been enjoined to attend the festival, at least for that day.”

“Hmph. Well we will see how that goes,” Indis said with a snort.

“Until then, let us forget about Fëanáro and concentrate on enjoying ourselves,” Elindis suggested and they all agreed.

By now they had reached Lord Ulmo’s mansion, which was surrounded by a lake. One reached the mansion by way of stepping stones. When they were all assembled in the front courtyard, Lord Ulmo greeted them warmly and spoke for several minutes to them, smiling fondly at little Itarildë who became suddenly shy, refusing to leave her atto’s arms.

“We look forward to her Presentation tomorrow,” Ulmo told Turucáno and Elenwë. “Hopefully she will be better behaved than some of you were when you were presented to us.” He cast a sly look at Ingwion and Findaráto and the others grinned as the two ellyn blushed.

Then they were making their way back to the Landamallë Valion and heading towards the mansion of Oromë and Vána, their next stop. Eventually they would make a circuit through Valmar ending back at Manwë and Varda’s mansion. They had finished paying their respects to Lord Irmo and Lady Estë and were crossing the Hyarmenya Tëa, stopping before the gates of the mansion belonging to Lord Námo and Lady Vairë. Findaráto noticed that while several Elves before them were careful to make their obeisance to the two Valar as they passed their gate, they did not bother to enter. He could see that the gardens fronting the mansion and on either side were set up with pavilions under which were tables laden with food, but as yet, none had entered to eat, though elsewhere the Elves were feasting in the halls of the other Valar.

There was no hesitation on Ingwë’s part as he led everyone inside the gate. Findaráto entered hand-in-hand with Amarië just behind his atar and ammë and noticed with surprise that Lord Námo’s eyes brightened with delight at the sight of them entering his demense. The Maiar who had been standing around looking a little bored also brightened and Findaráto felt sudden pity for them, for their brethren elsewhere were busy serving the Elves who dined at their Masters’ tables while these stood idle. He feared that in spite of their best efforts to make the place inviting, all would go to waste.

Ingwë and Elindis bowed to Lord Námo and Lady Vairë and they spoke quietly for a few minutes among themselves. Then Námo turned to Turucáno and Elenwë and smiled at their elfling daughter now nestled in her ammë’s arms fast asleep.

“A beautiful child,” Námo said.

“Th-thank you, lord,” Turucáno stuttered, somewhat taken aback. “We think so,” he added giving them a foolish grin and then blushing at sounding so besotted of his daughter.

Námo turned to Ingwë and Findaráto was sure there was the light of mischief in his amaranthine eyes. “Do you remember the first elfling born here?”

“Do I?” Ingwë said with a laugh. “I never saw a more besotted bunch of people as you Valar were that day.”

Vairë laughed and even Námo turned a surprising shade of red. “We were indeed besotted and overwhelmed.”

“Except for Oromë, none of us had ever seen an elfling before and certainly not a newborn,” Námo said for the benefit of the younger Elves. “It was a very unique experience to hold that small squirming bundle of life in our hands.”

“It still is, even for us,” Elindis said with a smile. “A newborn never fails to bring us to a halt in awe at the marvelous gift which Eru has given to us in our children.”

They spoke for a few more minutes and then everyone made their obeisance before heading for Lady Nienna’s mansion. For a second, looking back, Findaráto thought he detected a look of wistfulness on the Lord of Mandos’ face and he wondered.

Eventually they made their way back to Manwë and Varda. Once they had made their obeisance and had been greeted by the Elder King and the Elentári, those not planning to dine with them started to scatter, looking for friends and deciding whose mansion they would go back to and join in the feast. Findaráto did not join in the discussion but stood in contemplation, remembering the wistful look on Lord Námo’s face and the Maiar pretending they weren’t upset that none would come and feast with them. When he suddenly felt several eyes on him he realized that someone had asked him a question.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I was thinking. What were you saying?”

It was Ingwion who spoke. “We were wondering where you intended to join the feasting. Your brothers plan to go to Lord Aulë’s and I know you have friends there....”

“I think I will go back to Lord Námo and Lady Vairë,” Findaráto announced, interrupting Ingwion. His brothers, sister, cousins and some of their friends, gathered around him, just stared at him in shock.

“Whyever for?” Artanis demanded.

Findaráto shrugged. “I liked the way the tables were set up,” he answered and before anyone else could comment, he started back down the Landamallë. He only went about ten steps before turning around to grin at the others still standing there in shock. “So, who’s willing to join me?” He held out his hand to Amarië. She hesitated for a moment, staring into her betrothed’s eyes and seeing the love there stepped forward in trust, taking his hand.

“You’re daft!” Angaráto exclaimed. “Come on. Let’s leave our brother to his foolishness.” He turned away and Aicanáro and Artanis joined him along with Findecáno, Aracáno and Írissë. Turucáno and Elenwë had already gone with Faniel, Salmar, and Finwaina to Lord Ulmo’s at Salmar and Faniel’s invitation.

Findaráto did not give those who left a glance, but gave his attention to those still standing there. “We will go alone, if we must,” he said, indicating Amarië with a nod of his chin, “but it would be more fun as a group.”

“Well, I’m game.” Out stepped an ellon with golden hair and a glint of mischief in his grey eyes whom Findaráto vaguely remembered seeing playing with his sister and Írissë when they were elflings. He was part of a group of younger ellyn who had been standing nearby, sons of Noldorin nobility though not necessarily part of the Noldóran’s (and now Ñolofinwë’s) court. The ellon gave Findaráto a short bow. “You will not remember me, Highness,” he said. “I am Laurefindil. I am attached to Prince Turucáno’s retinue.”

“Yes, of course,” Findaráto said. “I believe you used to play with Artanis when you were younger.”

The ellon laughed, looking somewhat embarrassed. “A long time ago.” Then he turned to a dark-haired ellon with a serious mien who was standing next to him, giving him a mischievous grin. “What do you say, Cehtelion? A wonderful lark, wouldn’t you agree?”

Cehtelion gave his friend a sour look. “You and your larks, Laurefindil, will someday get us both into serious trouble.”

Laurefindil merely laughed loudly, clapping his friend on the shoulder, turning to Findaráto. “Well, that’s two.”

Findaráto chuckled. “And we welcome you.” Then he turned to his cousins. “Come, Ingwi, Ingil, and join us. It’s not as if you have never spoken with Lord Námo before.”

“You’re right, Finda,” Ingwion said firmly and stepped forward, dragging Ingalaurë with him. His twin uttered a slight protest, mainly at being dragged, but came readily enough. “So that’s two more,” Ingwion said with a grin.

“If it pleases your Highness, I would like to make it three.” Eccaldamos, who had been a part of Ingwion’s cadre of hangers-on stepped forward with a bow.

Ingwion nodded and gestured for the ellon to join them. Intarion gave Lirulin an enquiring glance and the elleth nodded and together they joined Findaráto. Indil and Tamurilon were not far behind and, surprisingly, Valandur and Findis also came along. Then three other ellyn who introduced themselves as Laurendil, Hallatiro and Elemmacar, all younger sons of the nobility, asked to be allowed to join them and Findaráto welcomed them. Everyone else who was there just shook their heads and drifted away.

Findaráto looked to the others. “Well, let us go.” With that, he and Amarië led them down the Avenue, passing the Mindon Nyellion where the bells were merrily ringing.

“So why do you really want to go to Lord Námo’s mansion?” Ingwion asked.

Findaráto stopped and the others gathered around him and some there were surprised to see a look of compassion on the prince’s face as he addressed Ingwion. “Did you not see how Lord Námo brightened at the sight of your atar and the rest of us entering his gate? Did you not see how the Maiar there were pretending that they were not feeling hurt that none would honor their lord and lady by entering and joining them at the tables? Look about you,” he commanded, gesturing with his free hand, the other still firmly in Amarië’s. “See how people throng to the mansions of all the Valar, even Lady Nienna’s, yet Lord Námo and Lady Vairë’s gardens stand empty.” He paused to give them time to reflect for a moment and then added. “I... I guess I just felt pity for the lord and lady whose tables are no less fine than any others. This is supposed to be a festival of Thanksgiving and I think also it is meant to be a time of reconciliation between us and the Valar. Are not Lord Námo and Lady Vairë Valar? Should they not enjoy our presence any less than the other Valar?”

There was a long pause and then Valandur nodded. “I saw that as well, Findaráto. Your compassion is commendable. Would that we all had such compassion even for those whom we consider our betters. Come, then, let us not keep Lord Námo and Lady Vairë waiting.”

With that, they continued on their way. When they reached the carnelian gate leading into Námo and Vairë’s demesne, they noticed a handful of Elves were already there, both Noldor and Vanyar. By their dress they could tell that they were commoners, and since they were speaking more to Lady Vairë than to Lord Námo, who stood listening to the conversation but did not join in it, they guessed that these might be members of the Weavers’ Guild.

Lord Námo glanced up as Findaráto and the others entered and the ellon thought he saw a look of surprise, quickly suppressed, on the Vala’s face at the sight of them.

“Back so soon?” Námo asked in a bland voice.

Findaráto couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw Lady Vairë poke her spouse in the ribs with her elbow. He gave the Valar his obeisance, but now that he was there, he felt some hesitation as to how to answer the Lord of Mandos. ‘I felt sorry for you’ did not seem an appropriate thing to say. However, he was saved from explaining anything when Ingwion spoke up.

“Finda said he liked the way your tables looked,” the ellon said with a straight face.

“So we figured he could have one and the rest of us will share,” Ingalaurë added.

Both Valar’s expressions were inscrutable though one or two of the Maiar had their hands in front of their mouths as if hiding grins.

Findaráto rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “What my cousins mean is that we would be honored to join you in this fine feast that has been laid out, that is....”

“The honor, child,” Námo said with solemn joy, “is ours. Please, all of you be welcome. Perhaps, Findaráto, you would introduce us to your companions whom we have not had the pleasure of meeting.”

Findaráto did just that as everyone found a place to sit, the Maiar scurrying about to see that trenchers and goblets were filled. The weavers, who initially had only intended to make a courtesy call on their patron, Lady Vairë, ended up staying as well. They were shy in the presence of the nobles at first but Findaráto and the others soon put them at their ease. Some few other Elves, still wandering along the Avenue, undecided as to where they would join the feast, spied the party in Lord Námo and Lady Vairë’s gardens and stopped in wonder. Seeing their enjoyment, they gave one another shrugs, hesitating before the gate. One of the Maiar graciously and warmly invited them to join the feasters and soon they were seated among the weavers and a few of the nobles, gladly helping themselves to the fine repast.

Findaráto looked up in surprise at one point to see Lord Námo himself pouring wine into his goblet. The Vala bent down to whisper in his ear. “Thank you,” was all he said before moving on to fill someone else’s goblet. Findaráto stared after him, his expression thoughtful, until Indil asked him a question and he turned to her to respond.

And elsewhere in Valmar all the other Valar smiled as they felt the utter joy that their brother Námo was feeling in being able to serve the Children, even if it were just to pour wine into someone’s goblet, and they rejoiced.

****

Calalindë: Song of Light.

Hyarmenya Tëa: Southern Road, which lies between the mansions of Irmo/Estë and Námo/Vairë.

Note: Laurefindil, of course, is Glorfindel. Cehtelion will someday be known as Ecthelion of the Fountain. Laurendil, Hallatiro and Elemmacar will be known in Beleriand as Glorendil, Haldir and Gilvagor, respectively.

48: The Last Days of Light

The second day of the festival was devoted to games and physical competitions in gymnastics, wrestling, and various types of races. On the third day, Aldúya, the Elves would process to Ilmarin, where they would dance and sing on the lower slopes of Taniquetil in honor of the Valar and make merry. It was Manwë’s intention that some kind of reconciliation would also be effected between Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë on that day. The fourth day would be devoted to other types of competitions in the arts: singing, dancing and the playing of instruments. Findaráto planned on competing against other harpists, playing the harp given to him by Lord Manwë. Ingwion, Ingalaurë and Indil were planning to enter as a group. Ingwion would play his flute while Indil would play her lute. She and Ingalaurë would sing a duet in honor of the Trees which Ingalaurë had composed and Ingwion had set to music. Ingalaurë would take the part of Telperion while Indil would be Laurelin. On the fifth and final day of the festival there would be a grand feast in Ilmarin in which the Valar themselves would sit among the Elves, eating and drinking in their presence, in honor of the first fruits of the land and in thanksgiving to Eru.

Soon after First Mingling on the second day, the Noldorin royal family, along with Ingwë and his family, went to the mansion of the Elder King and the Elentári for the Presentation of Itarildë to the Valar. They were gaily attired with flower wreaths in their hair and as they made their way into the mansion they sang the traditional hymn Vëasselindë, welcoming a new life. They came into the main audience chamber of the Elder King to find all the Valar there arrayed in majestic splendor, their own heads bound with flower wreaths, all except Varda, who had her crown of living stars. They, too, were singing the hymn and when the final verse was sung the Elves made their obeisance to Lord Manwë and Lady Varda. Then Turucáno and Elenwë stepped forth, holding their daughter by the hand to present her to the Valar.

“My Lord Manwë,” Turucáno said proudly, “allow us to present Itarildë, our first-born daughter, both of our hröar and our fëar.”

“She is our hearts’ desire and our joy,” Elenwë said, smiling lovingly upon both husband and daughter.

“We thank you, My Children, for presenting your daughter to us,” Manwë replied, opening his arms to receive the child, setting her on his knees and giving her a kiss. “May Eru bless thee, my child, and mayest thou be a joy and delight to thy parents.”

Then he gave her to Varda who also kissed her. “Be welcome, my child, to thy family, and to the community in which thou hast been born.”

Varda returned Itarildë to her parents and, beginning with Aulë and Yavanna, they went to each of the other Valar so that their daughter could receive their blessing. As was tradition, they came last to Lord Námo. All along Itarildë had been amenable to being held by these strange people and fawned over, as was only her due, but when her atto and ammë brought her before the Lord of Mandos, she became suddenly shy and would not leave her atto’s arms, burying her head into his shoulders. Turucáno whispered something in his daughter’s ear but she just shook her head and refused to look up. He gave Námo an apologetic look and Elenwë appeared embarrassed.

Námo had the ghost of a smile on his face, not at all upset by the child’s reaction, for it was typical. It was the rare child who did not instinctively shrink from his presence. He gently placed a hand on her head and felt her trembling slightly at the touch. Normally, he would give the same blessing as all the other Valar had given, though occasionally some foresight into the child’s destiny would impinge upon his consciousness and he might speak of that. He was always careful, however, to keep his words vague, not wishing to unduly influence the parents who might try to force or prevent the foreseeing from occurring.

As he stroked the elleth’s hair, sending soothing thoughts to still her trembling, he started to speak the blessing that was expected but suddenly he saw Itarildë: she was an adult and beside her stood one who was like yet unlike one of the Firstborn and Námo felt a frisson of awe as he beheld for the first time in a vision one of the Secondborn Children of Eru. In the Man’s arms he held a babe and both he and Itarildë were presenting the child to Turucáno, a Turucáno who was graver and somehow more careworn than the smiling young atar standing before him. It was obvious to Námo that he was seeing a future Presentation of the Heir and that the child was the offspring of the Mortal with Itarildë. He heard the Mortal say, “....our son, Eärendil...” and then the vision faded.

He glanced down at the elleth still nestled in her atar’s arms and only his fellow Valar knew that something of import had occurred. Námo forced himself to smile for the benefit of the Elves in attendance. “Thou, Itarildë, art beloved of Eru Ilúvatar and hast His favor,” he said. “Nai calambar nauvalyë ter coivierlya.” He withdrew his hand from the child’s head.

Turucáno and Elenwë had pleased looks on their faces as they made their obeisance to the Lord of Mandos. “Thank you, my lord, for your blessing,” Turucáno said and Elenwë murmured her own thanks before they returned to stand before Manwë with the rest of the family. Manwë turned to Findaráto and Amarië with a smile.

“Your own special day is coming soon, is it not?” he asked them.

Findaráto and Amarië smiled at one another before the ellon turned his attention to the Elder King. “Yes, in twelve weeks,” he said as he took Amarië’s hand. “And frankly, it cannot come soon enough for either of us.” Amarië nodded but did not otherwise speak.

“May you both know joy,” Manwë replied and then he gave them his blessing. “But you should not linger here, My Children,” he then said. “The games will begin shortly, and I know some here wish to compete. Go now and enjoy the day.”

They all gave him their obeisance and then Ingwë smiled at Ñolofinwë as the families began to leave. “Your granddaughter is much better behaved than our own children were when they were presented to the Valar for the first time.”

Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë and their wives laughed. “Indeed,” Ñolofinwë replied, then turned to Turucáno. “Tell me, yonya, how have you managed to produce such a biddable child when you were a holy terror the day we presented you to Lord Manwë?”

“That was easy, Atar,” Turucáno answered with a smirk. “I told her that if she behaved herself she would get an extra helping of sweets at the feast.”

“Now why didn’t we think of that?” Arafinwë commented to Eärwen and everyone started laughing.

When the Elves were gone, silence reigned in the throne room for a moment or two and then Manwë turned to Námo. “What did you see?” he asked.

“The child, but an elleth grown,” he answered readily enough, knowing that this was needful. “She was presenting her own child, a son, to Turucáno along with one who will be her husband.”

“An interesting vision,” Manwë said, “but I fail to see its significance.”

Námo hesitated for a second before answering. “Itarildë’s husband will not be one of the Firstborn,” he said quietly, not quite looking at Manwë as he spoke.

There was a brief silence while the others tried to understand what their brother was not saying. Then Manwë’s eyes brightened. “You mean he will be one of the Secondborn.”

“Yes,” Námo replied, “and the son’s name will be Eärendil. I deem he will prove to be important to us all, though in what manner I have not seen.”

“A Mortal!” Nessa exclaimed. “But how? Will the Younger Children be permitted to dwell in Aman, for how else would this Mortal Man and Itarildë meet?”

Námo shook his head. “I do not know, sister,” he said. “I only know what I have been given to see.”

“And we are grateful for you sharing the vision with us,” Manwë said with a nod. “But come, let us put aside the future for the present and join the Children in watching the competitions. Would anyone care to wager against Turucáno winning the wrestling match?”

There were chuckles all around. “I would rather wager on how many ellyn will drop out of the races when Arafinwë’s daughter decides to compete,” Námo replied and now there was genuine laughter as the Valar thought themselves to the fields to the south of the city where the games were being held.

****

Turucáno did indeed win his wrestling matches but only one ellon dropped out of the races when he learned that Lady Artanis intended to compete, so no one won that bet. The competitions were friendly and there was much applause for all the competitors from the spectators and it seemed that it mattered not if a Vanya won a particular match or a Noldo. All rejoiced in the winning. When the final competition ended, the Elves remained where they were, sitting in small groups of families and friends and picnicking while elflings ran about in play. Itarildë did indeed get an extra helping of sweets, much to her delight and the amusement of her family.

Soon after the picnic ended, many of the Elves, mostly Vanyar, began packing up and heading back to Vanyamar to prepare for the next day’s festivities. The Noldor and those who lived in Eldamas would remain in Valmar until First Mingling when they would then head for Taniquetil, arriving there before Second Mingling. Manwë had already warned Ñolofinwë of his command to Fëanáro to appear before the Valar in Ilmarin at that time.

“For I would see you both reconciled one to another,” he told the ellon.

Ñolofinwë nodded. “As would I,” he said.

And so, as the Trees blended their silver and gold lights and the bells of the Mindon Nyellion went silent, the Elves went forth from Valmar, dressed in white and blue, singing praises to the Valar and to Eru. Ingwë and Elindis led the procession along with the other members of the Vanyarin and Noldorin royal families. Maiar were also there, mingling with the Elves and joining in the singing. And though the music was joyful, yet the voices and instruments of the Noldor held notes that were more sweetly sad than had ever been heard before, for they mourned the fact that their kin residing in Formenos had deigned not to come and thus there was no chance for full reconciliation between the two groups.

Yet, in spite of this, the procession was merry and they did not hurry. They stopped at times to allow the elflings to rest while the Maiar went about providing them with food and drink. Eventually, when Telperion was at the height of his radiance, they reached the outskirts of Vanyamar and were then joined by those awaiting them there. Then all ascended the mountain, though here and there small groups broke away to sing and dance on the green slopes facing the Trees while the rest continued to Ilmarin. Still, the vast majority of the Noldor, along with the royal families, came into the central courtyard of Ilmarin to be greeted by Eönwë and his sister, Ilmarë. Both Maiar bowed to the Elves in greeting and welcomed them. Turucáno, however, noticing his daughter becoming fractious, asked that he and Elenwë be excused from meeting with the Valar and Ñolofinwë readily gave his permission.

“She is both hungry and tired,” he said, giving his granddaughter a fond smile and ruffling her hair. “It has been too long a day for her. Go and we will join you once the audience with the Valar is ended.”

Ilmarë smiled at the child, placing a gentle hand on Itarildë’s head. “I will show you where pavilions have been set up for the feast while my brother escorts the others,” she said and both parents gave her grateful looks as they followed her through an arch leading into another courtyard while the rest continued on.

The Herald of Manwë led them into the main throne room where they were warmly greeted by the Valar. Manwë gestured for Ñolofinwë to approach. “Thy brother hath come,” he said, “and awaiteth our pleasure.” He signaled to Eönwë who went to another door leading to one of the antechambers off the throne room. In a moment, Fëanáro appeared, coming to stand before Manwë’s throne. He did not bother to offer the Elder King his obeisance, but stared almost defiantly at Ñolofinwë, who returned his gaze with a look of dismay, for Fëanáro was not dressed in any festival finery, but rather in a plain linen tunic of dark grey with only the barest of embroidery. He wore no ornamentation, neither silver nor gold, neither did he have with him the Silmarils, denying the sight of them to the Valar and Eldar, much to the disappointment of many who had hoped to see them.

What the Valar thought of Fëanáro’s appearance, none of the Eldar could say, for they all sat on their thrones with unreadable expressions. An uncomfortable silence settled on those assembled there until Manwë finally spoke, addressing them all, though his eyes were ever on Fëanáro who continued to glare at Ñolofinwë.

“Behold, O My Children, my heart is sad towards you, for I fear that Melkor’s poison has lodged in your hearts and you are full of discontent, becoming covetous in your dealings with one another. Yet, without the Valar who brought you to the light and gave you all the materials of your craft, teaching your first ignorance, none of the fair things you love now so well ever would have been... including the Silmarils.” He paused for a moment, gazing intently at Fëanáro as if to gauge his reaction, but the ellon’s gaze had shifted to his feet and he never looked up. “But of more worth than all the glory of Valinor and all the grace and beauty of Tirion is peace and happiness and wisdom,” he continued in a commanding voice, speaking now more directly to the assembly of Elves, “and these once lost are harder to recapture. I have brought you together in the hope that we might put this unrest behind us. I implore you, My Children, cease this murmuring against us and each other. Do not attempt to set yourselves in your hearts as equals to our majesty. Rather repent you of your discontent, knowing full well that Melkor has wrought this evil against you, and that it is because you harkened to him these things have come to pass. Trust not in any who whisper secret words of discord among you, for its fruit is humiliation and dismay.”

He stopped and sighed and it was as if all Arda sighed with him. The Elves stirred and there were guilty looks on some of their faces while others appeared more thoughtful. Then Manwë addressed Fëanáro directly. “It grieves me greatly that your atar and those who abide in Formenos refused our invitation to join us in these festivities. I know, too, that their absence is a grief to the Noldor of Tirion who hoped to look once again upon kith and kin.”

“It is, lord,” Ñolofinwë said, “and I especially am grieved that my atar and my nephews refused thine invitation. Yet, glad I am that at least Fëanáro is here that we may reconcile with one another.”

“I am here not of my own free will,” Fëanáro said, finally looking up, glaring at Manwë. “Nor do I come to make merry and act as if naught has happened between us.”

“Yet thou art here,” Manwë pointed out, “and it is time that you two princes of Eldamar put aside your feud.”

“There was no feud, as far as I am concerned,” Ñolofinwë said. “I never sought to supplant thee in our atar’s love, Fëanáro, nor rob thee of thy birthright.”

“So thou sayest,” Fëanáro replied, his tone one of disbelief.

Ñolofinwë nodded. “So I say, and the Valar hear me that I speak the truth. As I promised, I release thee and remember no grievance.” He took a step forward and held out his hand.

Fëanáro just stood there, staring at Ñolofinwë’s outstretched hand. Ingwë stepped forward then, placing a hand on Fëanáro’s shoulder to get his attention. “Wouldst thou hold on to thine anger for all the ages of Arda, child?” he asked, his tone gentle. “Come. Be at peace with thy brother. This grudge against him does thee no credit but rather reflects badly on all the Noldor.” He paused for a moment and looked about him, noticing the soft light that filtered through the embrasures of the throne room. “The Lights of the Trees are beginning to mingle,” he said with a smile. “Let them be thy guide, Fëanáro. Just as Telperion and Laurelin blend their lights together in harmony, let thou and Ñolofinwë be true brothers, mingling your spirits in love as is proper among kin. Let all of Eldamar behold the sons of Finwë standing together during these troubled times.”

For several tense minutes Fëanáro did not respond, but slowly he reached out and took Ñolofinwë’s hand, though he spoke not. Sighs of relief could be heard among the listeners and it was obvious that many had been holding their breaths wondering what Fëanáro would do. Then Ñolofinwë spoke.

“Half-brother in blood, full brother in heart will I be. Thou shalt lead and I will follow. Let no new grief divide us.”

Fëanáro stared intently at his half-brother for a moment before nodding. “I hear thee,” he said. “So be it.”

And at that moment the light flickered and all looked about in amazement. “Wh-what has happened?” one of the Elves cried out in dismay, but before anyone could answer, the light flickered again, more violently than before, and then abruptly ceased to exist, plunging all into utter darkness, save for the light from Varda’s crown of stars.

And then someone screamed.

****

Vëasselindë: Song of New Life.

Nai calambar nauvalyë ter coivierlya: ‘Mayest thou be light-fated throughout thy life’. This is modeled on the attested phrase, Nai calambar onnalda ter coiverya ‘May your (pl.) child be light-fated throughout his/her life’. [See Vinyar Tengwar 49:41]

Note: Manwë’s speech is loosely based on his words recorded in Book of Lost Tales I, ‘The Theft of Melko and the Darkening of Valinor’.

49: iMaptalë Cálëo

Melkor had timed his revenge against Manwë to a nicety. He had learned of his brother’s decree to hold a festival of thanksgiving when he had dared to come close to the border of Aman at one point hoping to hear news of what was occuring and happened to overhear some Maiar who were still on guard there speaking of it. Thus, he knew that all of Valmar would empty out on the third day of the festival, for even the Maiar would congregate on Taniquetil. Only the Maiar of Mandos would be at their posts, keeping watch over those elven fëar residing there. He and Ungoliantë had avoided that part of Aman so as not to alert them, slipping around to the east when they had reached the plains below Hyarmentir, skirting Oromë’s forest and coming upon the Ezellohar from the southwest, thereby avoiding the Southern Fiefdoms altogether, for he could not risk being sighted by any Elf who had remained behind to tend to the farm animals. He had paused momentarily when they reached the Máhanaxar and he had thought perhaps to throw down the thrones and defile Manwë’s seat of judgment, but Ungoliantë, now that she was almost at the source of the Holy Light, whined and threatened so that he had to content himself with merely spitting on Manwë’s seat in contempt before following the úmaia to the Trees.

Leaping up onto the Mound, he drove his black spear into the very heart of the Trees, Telperion first and then Laurelin, and heard their screams of agony as their sap poured out of the wounds like blood. He laughed and did not mind Ungoliantë shoving him aside so she could more easily reach the sap, thrusting her black beak into the wounds and sucking it up greedily. Melkor watched the Trees die, the roots withering, the branches becoming brittle and the leaves shriveling to nothing until all that was left were blackened husks. All the while the light flickered and faded, though enough of it remained in the Wells of Varda that the stars were still invisible. Melkor did not care. The Trees were dead, which was all he desired. Even if the Valar combined their powers he doubted they would be able to restore the Trees. Let them have what little light remained in the Wells.

When he saw that Ungoliantë had sucked up the last drops of sap from Laurelin’s trunk, he started to tell her that it was time to move on, for he had one more destination in mind before fleeing Valinor forever and he did not wish to be caught, but she ignored him.

“I still thirst,” she rasped and before he could stop her she was scuttling away towards the first of the Wells, belching vapors of unlight as she drank dry first one Well and then another, growing to such a size that for the first time Melkor grew afraid and wondered at the wisdom of seeking the úmaia out.

“We are wasting time, Acairis,” he said angrily to hide his fear from her. “The Valar will be here soon. Do you wish to confront Manwë’s warriors or Tulkas, himself? Come. We must away and quickly.”

“Just this last Well,” Ungoliantë demanded and in seconds the last of the Holy Light in Aman was gone and Darkness covered the land. For the first time since the creation of the Trees, stars appeared overhead, shining brilliantly in that first Night, a night that would perhaps last forever.

And in the Darkness that was more than loss of Light, Melkor and Ungoliantë fled northward, heading for the Fallen Vala’s next destination, for now that he had had his revenge on Manwë, there was still one other upon whom his vengeance would fall. Fëanáro would rue the day he had slammed the door of Formenos in Melkor’s face.

****

In the throne room of the Valar the Elves huddled together in terror and distress, especially the younger ones who had never known true darkness before unless they had traveled down the Calacirya to gaze upon the starlit Sea. The room was lit only by Varda’s crown, but the shadows seemed long and impenetrable and there was much stumbling about. Some Elves were weeping and there was a babble of voices demanding answers or action, though what they thought they should do was anyone’s guess. Even Fëanáro looked nonplused at first, but then his leadership qualities came to the fore and together with Ñolofinwë and Ingwë, he sought to calm the others while the Valar took council. Varda ordered torches to be made for the benefit of the Children while Manwë and the other Valar rose, stepping out onto the balcony that faced west.

“Do you see aught?” Ulmo asked Manwë, for the Elder King’s sight was the keenest among them and it seemed that the Darkness was as a living thing in its own right and the other Valar could not penetrate it. Manwë nodded and what he saw dismayed him, but he kept his voice calm as he gave his orders.

“It is Melkor,” he said, and only the other Valar knew how angry he was at that moment, angry and hurt. “Oromë, Tulkas, after him. He is heading north. Be wary, though, for I do not think he is alone.”

The two Valar gave one another grim looks before calling for their Maiar to attend them and they were gone. By now the Elves were calming down and with the aid of torches they were making their way outside where Maiar were attempting to keep the Children who were ranged upon the mountain slopes from panicking. Findaráto stepped out to the courtyard with the rest of the Elves, still holding Amarië’s hand. His eyes had rapidly adjusted to the dark, as they always did whenever he went to Alqualondë. He, at least, was used to the sight of the stars, but many, Amarië included, stood looking up in stunned amazement at the sight of Varda’s handiwork and there was much milling about and pointing to one star group or another.

“Itarildë! Itarildë!”

Findaráto turned to see Elenwë standing nearby screaming her daughter’s name, looking frantic. He called to Ingwion who was just ahead of him. “Take Amarië. I will help Elenwë.” Not giving Ingwion time to answer, he strode over to where the elleth was still calling for her child. “Elenwë,” he called. “I will find her. Where is Turo?”

Elenwë shook her head. “I do not know,” she replied. “I... I think he went that way.” She pointed in the direction of the front gates.

“Then you should go as well,” Findaráto said, looking about, hoping to find someone he knew who would see to Elenwë while he searched for Itarildë. “Look! There’s my friend Urundil. Urundil!” He waved to his friend who turned around and saw him, giving him a nod as he made his way through the press of people. “This is my cousin Turucáno’s wife, Elenwë,” he said to the Aulendur. “Will you escort her while I look for her daughter? We think my cousin is somewhere ahead.”

“Of course,” Urundil said and gave Elenwë a bow. “My lady, it will be my honor to escort you.”

“But....”

“No, Elenwë,” Findaráto said forcibly. “Go with Urundil. I will find Itarildë and bring her to you. I promise. Where was the last place you saw her?”

Elenwë pointed towards a fountain. “She was playing with some other elflings,” she said, “but when it suddenly went dark everyone panicked and I couldn’t find her.” She was in tears now and Findaráto gave her a hug.

“I will find her, Elenwë. Trust me.” With that he gave Urundil a nod and was already turning away in search of the child before Elenwë could speak another word.

Most of the crowd was dissipating as everyone filed out of the main courtyard and headed down the mountain. The Valar were already gone, leaving their Maiar to deal with the Elves. Eönwë led them, striding with measured steps, a torch held high for all to see. On his left walked Fëanáro while on his right was Ñolofinwë. Ingwë and Arafinwë were in the midst of the Elves, urging them to remain calm and to follow Lord Eönwë. Findaráto ignored them as he searched the portico, finally spying the little elleth hugging a pillar, her gaze transfixed on the starry heavens. He went to her and picked her up. “Stay with me, Little One,” he said quietly.

“Fi-finda! What has happened? Why is the Light gone? Wh-what are those?” She pointed upwards into the night sky.

In spite of the gravity of the situation, Findaráto could not help chuckling at the elfling’s spate of questions, especially the last.

“Those are stars, Little One,” he said, glancing up in wonder and trepidation, for he was as much at a loss to know what had happened as any of them.

“Stars,” the child said, her voice full of wonder. Then apparently another thought came to her for she was squirming in his embrace, obviously looking for someone.“Where are ammë and atto?” she asked. By now they had left Ilmarin altogether and were making their way down the mountain more or less at the end of the line, though as they wended their way down, Maiar gathered those who had stayed on the mountain slopes to celebrate, urging them to join the procession. More torches were produced though a number of the older Elves insisted that they could see quite well without them, recalling the early days of their existence before coming to Aman.

“I do not know,” Findaráto answered the child as calmly as he could, “but they are well, never fear. We will find them soon.”

Itarildë snuggled further into her cousin’s embrace. Findaráto glanced at her and saw the contented look in her face and the smile on her lips as she gazed at the stars glittering above them, apparently no longer afraid. He sighed as he shifted her weight a bit so it was more comfortable for him, thinking that perhaps his cousin’s little daughter was the only person in all of Aman who was glad that the Light had died.

****

Nelyafinwë was riding patrol along the perimeter of the valley and wishing he were back in Formenos where his anatar was residing over a feast. Atar had left earlier, escorted by one of Lord Manwë’s Maiar. He went alone, for the other exiles followed the royal family’s lead and decided not to accept the Valar’s invitation. Nelyafinwë suspected though that not a few wished they had gone anyway so they could once again see their kin whom they had left behind in Tirion. The first-born son of Fëanáro had to admit to himself that he would have liked to have seen Findecáno again and wondered if his ammë had gone as well.

His anatar had decided to hold his own feast on the day that his son left for Taniquetil to be held at Second Mingling after the day’s chores were done. But all day Finwë had felt uneasy and that unease grew as the hour of Second Mingling approached. After speaking to Nelyafinwë and Macalaurë about it, the two had volunteered to patrol the valley to ensure that all was well.

They left with a small group of men, with Nelyafinwë making a sweep to the west while Macalaurë went along the road leading out of the valley with the intention of then turning west to meet up with his brother. Together they would then head north across the fields and back to Formenos. Nelyafinwë hoped that they would be able to report to Finwë that there was nothing amiss.

As he and his men rode along the southern flank of the valley he glanced idly at the stone pillars that stood sentinel above them and could not help smiling at the thought that for all their wisdom the Valar had failed to take into account the cleverness of the Noldor. His thoughts were interrupted when one of the ellon called out. “Look! There is Prince Macalaurë.”

Nelyafinwë turned his attention from the pillars and waved as he saw his brother and almost at the same time the two set their horses to a gallop and they laughed as they met. “Beat you!” Macalaurë cried as they came together.

“Unlikely,” Nelyafinwë retorted with a fond smile. “Anything?”

The second son of Fëanáro shook his head. “Nothing. I even went to the crest of the road and looked out onto the plains below and there was nothing. What about you?”

Nelyafinwë shook his head. “All is quiet as far as I can tell. I am not sure why Anatar was feeling uneasy.” He gave his brother a shrug. “Well, let us return to Formenos before the twins eat everything up.”

Macalaurë laughed and was about to comment when the light around them, soft with gold and silver, for it was now Second Mingling, flickered and started to fade. They looked about in amazement and not a little fear. “What is happening?” Macalaurë asked, his eyes clouded with confusion as he gazed up at the sky which was turning dark. He gasped as stars began to appear and he was not the only one.

Nelyafinwë dismounted. “Stay here,” he commanded and ran up the hill, careful not to pass or even touch the stone pillar at the crest. He gazed southward and a frisson of fear swept through his fëa and he turned swiftly to run back down the hill. “Ride!” he cried out. “Ride to Formenos!”

“Nelyo, what...?” his brother started to say but Nelyafinwë cut him off.

“Ride!” he screamed, leaping upon his horse, and without looking to see if he was being obeyed, he urged his steed to as fast a gallop as he dared now that all lay in darkness with only the stars to guide them. The others, thankfully, were right behind him.

Across the valley they rode in great haste and Nelyafinwë prayed they would reach Formenos in time before what he saw coming towards them arrived. As they came to the village surrounding the keep, they saw a great commotion as people poured out of the gates to stare about in wonder and fear. Nelyafinwë saw his anatar standing in the courtyard with a torch in his hand, his expression grim. His other grandsons stood around him. Nelyafinwë and Macalaurë dismounted and went to them.

“We need to get everyone back inside,” Nelyafinwë said without preamble, his tone urgent.

“What did you see?” Finwë asked calmly.

“Darkness that moved with great speed heading this way,” Nelyafinwë answered.

For a moment, Finwë hesitated, but the look of fear in his grandson’s eyes convinced him of the sincerity of the ellon’s words. He nodded and headed back inside with his grandsons following. “Get everyone to the Third Hall,” he commanded. “Turco, you and your other brothers gather all our treasures and secure them in our deepest vaults. Cáno, the elflings are going to be terrified. Perhaps you can calm them with your singing.”

Macalaurë nodded and called for one of the servants to fetch his harp even as he made his way towards the Third Hall.

“What about the tunnel?” Nelyafinwë asked. “Should we not send our people through? I fear that whatever is coming will not be deterred by bolts and locks.”

Finwë nodded. “Which is why I want everyone gathered in the Third Hall. It is the closest to the tunnel’s entrance. Start sending the ellith and elflings through but caution them not to wander too far from the entrance at the other side. In this darkness it will be easy for them to stray and be lost.”

“What about you, Anatto?” Nelyafinwë asked, looking concerned as the others scattered to do Finwë’s bidding.

“I will be right behind you,” Finwë lied. “Go now while I seal the doors.”

When his oldest grandson hesitated, he took him in his embrace and kissed him. “Go,” he commanded softly.

Nelyafinwë nodded. “We will keep the tunnel door unbarred for you,” he said and then he left.

Finwë waited until his grandson was out of sight before turning to the guards that were still manning the doors. He gestured to one of them. “Fetch my sword,” he commanded and the ellon ran to do his lord’s bidding. Finwë, meanwhile went back outside and gazed southward. Above him Varda’s stars, the very stars under which he had led his people to Aman, glittered with cold indifferent brilliance to the drama unfolding below them, but to the south the stars were disappearing behind a black cloud.

There was the sound of the guard approaching and Finwë turned to see the ellon clutching his sword, his eyes wide with terror. He forced himself to smile as he addressed the remaining guards. “Go, all of you, and seal the doors behind you.”

“But my lord....” one of them began to protest but Finwë shook his head as he drew his sword from its sheath.

“Do as I have commanded,” he ordered brusquely, turning back to face the oncoming Darkness. “And... and tell my son... my children... that I love them.” With that, he strode away from the doors and stood in the center of the courtyard. He heard the doors slam shut behind him and the bolts being secured. He felt a brief pang of sorrow for them all and then straightened his spine, holding his sword before him.

The Darkness settled before him. He gasped and took an involuntary step back as he saw Melkor and some hideous multi-legged creature step forth from the noxious cloud. Then he tightened the grip on his sword, and forced himself to advance, knowing himself to be doomed. “Míriel,” he whispered as he raised his sword, “I am coming, beloved.”

****

Olwë and Lirillë, along with Lindarion, Falmaron and Olwen, were on the royal ship picnicking and listening to the music drifting on the air about them. It had been Lirillë’s idea. “No reason why we can’t have our own little feast,” she had said and the others readily fell in with her plans. They were sipping on a mellow yellow wine and speaking of inconsequential things, laughing at one of Olwen’s jokes, as the ship sailed around the still waters of the Haven, when the music faltered and then simply died. Olwë rose to his feet and stepped out from the small pavilion that had been set up on the upper deck for their use and looked about in consternation. The others followed him.

“Why has the music stopped?” Olwen asked and then gasped as she moved around the pavilion so that she happened to be facing south. “Where is the light?” she exclaimed and everyone made their way to the rails. Their view of the south and the opening of the Calacirya was blocked by the seawall but there was always a halo of light in the southern skies. Now, though, it was dark.

“What does it mean, Atto?” Olwen implored, clutching Olwë’s hand.

He wrapped his arms around her to give her comfort, though he was suddenly afraid himself. “I do not know, Daughter,” he said quietly. Then he turned to see the ship’s captain making his way to them. “Return to the city. Now.”

The captain nodded, issuing orders to the crew, and there was a sudden scramble to comply. The royal family remained where they were, staring intently to the south, none of them daring to voice what they all feared. When the ship reached the wharfs and was safely berthed, Olwë told the captain to keep the ship in readiness for his imminent return.

“What do you mean to do?” Lirillë asked as they made their way through the city towards the palace.

“I am going to Valmar,” Olwë announced. His subjects were gathering all around, seeing their king, calling out for an explanation, but Olwë ignored them, for he had no answers to give them.

“Is that wise?” Lirillë asked with concern. “We do not know what catastrophe has struck Aman. Send a messenger....”

“No!” Olwë exclaimed. “I will go to Valmar.”

“Then let us go with you, Atar,” Falmaron begged.

“No,” Olwë replied. “I want you to stay here and help your ammë keep the city calm.”

“And how do we do that, Atar?” Lindarion demanded with a scowl. “What answers do we give them when they come demanding them?”

“Tell them that I have gone personally to discover what has happened,” Olwë replied. “That should satisfy them until I return.”

“It does not satisfy me,” Lirillë said angrily.

Olwë stopped and held her, giving her a kiss. “I know,” he said, “but I will send no lesser herald to the Valar. Something grave and terrible has happened. I know this in my heart. And more, there is a heavy sorrow within me that has naught to do with the Light failing. I fear some personal calamity and I would know what it means. No, my love. I and I alone will go.”

They continued on to the palace where Olwë’s steward awaited them. Before the ellon had time to speak, Olwë was issuing orders. “Eällindo, I am going to Valmar. Have my horse brought to the royal ship and have Elennen meet me there with an honor guard.” He dismissed the steward and went to the royal apartments where he changed out of his clothes to don his riding leathers while Lirillë, apparently resigned to her husband’s going, began packing extra clothes and personal items in a bag for him.

Then he was kissing her good-bye with a fervency that surprised her. He hugged and kissed his children and then he was gone, leaving by a secret way that led directly to the royal wharf so that he would not be hindered by his subjects who were already crowding the front portico of the palace looking for answers, answers that no one could give.

He only hoped that when he reached Valmar, those answers would be forthcoming. Even so, he dreaded what he would find when he got there.

****

“Any sign?” Oromë asked Tulkas as he brought Nahar to a halt beside the golden-haired Vala.

Tulkas had leapt ahead, surefooted in the dark while Oromë had had to caution Nahar not to rush headlong in the gathering night. Now, however, he had stopped, shaking his head and scowling in frustration. Oromë looked about him. They were now far north of Formenos, not even bothering to stop there to ask of the Noldor for tidings, for there were signs that Melkor had already sped past that particular valley and was now heading towards the Helcaraxë.

“This time he truly means to go north,” Oromë muttered.

Tulkas was about to reply when Roimendil, one of Oromë’s Maiar, who had ranged ahead, gave a shout. “There, my lords!” he cried, pointing. “That cloud there is moving northerly.”

Oromë raised the Valaróma to his lips to sound the call to the Hunt and the two Valar with their Maiar gave chase. It was not long before they came upon the black cloud that hid their quarry. Suddenly, though, they found themselves blinded and dismayed, lost in the Darkness of the cloud that seemed to them to be almost a living being. Oromë sounded the Valaróma again, but its notes faltered and died away to nothing, swallowed up by the Darkness. Somewhere in that cloud he could hear Tulkas shouting imprecations and there were shouts of alarm from the Maiar who were floundering about.

And then within the cloud there came the sound of mocking laughter, evil and full of spite, which faded into the distance even as the dark vapors dissipated, leaving the two Valar and their Maiar standing there, impotent in their fury.

Melkor had escaped them once again.

****

iMaptalë Cálëo: ‘The Ravishment of Light’.

Author’s Notes:

1. Turo is Turucáno (Turgon), Cáno is Canafinwë/Macalaurë (Maglor) and Turco is Turcafinwë (Celegorm).

2. I would like to thank Rhyselle for allowing me to use features of Formenos described in her ficlet, ‘Death in Darkness’.

50: Grief Unbound

If the journey from Valmar to Ilmarin had been long but pleasant, the journey back was an absolute nightmare. Elflings cried and would not be comforted and among their elders questions flew back and forth and there was much speculation as to what could have happened, but there were no answers. The Maiar who were escorting them remained taciturn, their faces set, their eyes glowing with a fire that was now more clearly visible in the dark.

Ingwë and Arafinwë eventually joined Ñolofinwë and Fëanáro at the front of the procession once they were off the mountain and were on the road to Valmar. The High King gave Eönwë a concerned look. “Do you know what has happened, lord?” he asked quietly.

Eönwë did not look at him as he spoke but kept his gaze ever before him. “I have my guesses, Ingwë, but until we reach Valmar all is mere speculation,” he replied in a soft voice. “My Masters are there assessing the situation and mayhap by the time we arrive the Trees will be shining again.” But Ingwë and the others could hear the doubt in the Maia’s voice.

“And if the light never returns?” Ingwë asked, voicing the one question that was on everyone’s mind.

Now Eönwë turned his gaze upon the High King and his expression was almost too terrible to behold. “I do not know, Child,” the Herald of Manwë said. “I only know that the Light can never be truly conquered by the Dark. It will always return, though not necessarily in the same form as before.”

After that, no one bothered to speak and the rest of the wearying journey was made in silence, save for the weeping of the children and the occasional curse as someone stumbled over a rock unseen in the dark. The Maiar divided their attention between keeping a watch on the Children to ensure that none strayed in the dark and listening in on the conversation between the Valar as they assessed the damage to the Trees. What they heard made them weep though none of the Elves saw their tears.

****

Olwë and his guards made their way slowly up the Calacirya. It was an eerie ride, for the cleft should have been bathed in light but now sea mist was shrouding it and the air was turning frigid. Olwë remembered how eager he had been to listen to Elwë’s tales of the Trees and their Lights and he had longed to see them, but when he finally arrived on these shores, like all the Lindar, he found that his fëa cleaved more closely to the Sea and the stars than to the Light, so he felt no need to join Finwë and Ingwë further in Aman; Alqualondë was as close as he cared to be. Yet, in the long years of their habitation, the light streaming down the Calacirya had been a comforting sight, a promise of warmth and welcome for any of the Lindar who bothered to leave Alqualondë and venture into the heart of the Valar’s realm.

Now, all was dark and misty and he feared what he would find when he finally reached the city of the Powers. Tirion would be empty of people, he knew, and so he would not bother going there, but moved northwest around the hill of Túna to rejoin the road on the other side.

“What could have happened?” Elennen asked his lord as they rode side-by-side, the rest of the honor guard behind them.

Olwë shook his head. “I have no idea, save that some grave disaster has struck.”

“I deem that this is Melkor’s doing,” the chief of Olwë’s guards said darkly.

“I deem that you are correct,” Olwë averred, then cautioned his horse with a softly spoken word to step carefully in the dark. Everything within him screamed for them to ride as quickly as possible before it was too late, but he knew that no matter if they could be in Valmar that very instant, it was already too late, too late for them all. He forced himself to keep to a steady pace. Even so, he knew that Valmar was too far away to make it in a single day. “In the meantime,” he added, “let us find a suitable place to camp and rest the horses for a time before moving on. I would arrive in Valmar sooner rather than later but our horses are in need of rest and I would not risk them being injured by rushing headlong to the city. Even at our fastest gallop Valmar is at least two days away.”

Elennen nodded and issued an order for one of the guards to range ahead and check for a place where they might hole up for a time.

****

Oromë and Tulkas, along with their Maiar appeared on the Mound of the Trees, giving Manwë grimaces. “He eluded us,” Oromë said before anyone could ask. “And he is traveling with another, one of the Úmaiar. It belched clouds of darkness that blinded us.”

“I could see nothing nor could I move,” Tulkas snarled. “I could only beat the air futilely until the vapors dissipated.”

“And then we were busy collecting our Maiar who ended up wandering hither and yon in the cloud, bewildered and dismayed,” Oromë added with a shake of his head. “I have never known anything that could do that to us.”

Manwë sighed. “It matters not,” he said. “He is gone then, back to Endórë?”

The two Valar nodded. “The cloud moved ever northward and we kept watch to see if it would double back but it never did,” Oromë replied. “By now he must be at the Helcaraxë.”

“Then let us put our Fallen Brother from our minds for a time,” Manwë suggested. “We have more pressing problems with which we must deal.”

Oromë and Tulkas turned their attention to the Trees, dark and dead. “Is there any hope of renewing them?” Tulkas asked quietly as he went to Nessa, wrapping an arm around her waist as he stared up into the withered branches of Laurelin.

“That is what Yavanna is trying to determine,” his spouse answered softly.

Yavanna was even then bending down to examine Telperion’s roots and the other Valar remained silent, waiting for her diagnosis. She straightened and reached for a low hanging branch, which snapped off and crumbled into dust at her feet. She stared at the remains of the branch for a long moment, then sighed, looking up.

“Foresighted was Fëanáro Finwion in the crafting of the Silmarils,” she said. “Even we who are the mightiest under Ilúvatar might only create a work once, and only once.” She closed her eyes and sighed before continuing.

“It may be that if I have but a little of the light that resides within one of the Silmarils, I may be able to revive the Trees, ere their roots decay completely.”

“A pity Finwion did not bring the Silmarils with him,” Aulë ventured, “for it would save time.”

“If necessary we can retrieve them ourselves,” Irmo said and the implications of his words were not lost on any of them.

“But only if Fëanáro consents,” Manwë said sharply and Irmo bowed in acquiescence. Then the Elder King sighed. “He will be here soon enough, along with the other Children. We will have to see what he has to say. Come. Let us await them at the Máhanaxar.”

It seemed even to the Valar an eternity of years as they sat on their thrones in the dark before they spied the torches borne by the Maiar bringing the Eldar to Valmar. Eönwë brought them to the foot of the Mound and the Elves slowed their walk, gaping in dismay at the blackened husks of the Trees until Eönwë and the other Maiar urged them on to the Ring of Doom. There, Eönwë gestured for Ingwë, Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë to accompany him inside the Ring. The three Elves hesitated for a moment before Ingwë took the lead and the other two followed, while all the other Elves moved about to stand between the thrones.

Eönwë bowed to Manwë and then, with a nod from his lord, he took his place between the thrones of the Elder King and Varda. The other Maiar ranged themselves in a protective circle around the entire assembly, keeping watch for any further evil. The Elves just stood there, quite forgetting to give their obeisance, and at a loss. Ingwë kept glancing beyond Lord Manwë’s throne to the Trees rising above the Máhanaxar, tears running heedlessly down his cheeks, thinking of the first time he had beheld these wondrous creations, the absolute joy and delight and awe he had felt when he had touched the trunk of the Trees and had felt the life flowing through them. Even without touching them now he could tell that no life existed with them and his sorrow knew no bounds.

Ñolofinwë was remembering when he was an elfling and had been brought to Valmar to be presented to the Valar for the first time and how his parents had led him to the Trees and told him the story of their creation. His atto had described his reaction upon climbing through the pass where now the Calacirya was and beholding the Holy Light for the first time and how overwhelmed he had been. Little Ari had stood there mesmerized as much by his atto’s words as he was by the sight of the Trees shining before him. Now he stood there and openly wept unashamedly, feeling totally bereft. Then he felt someone placing an arm around his shoulders and, looking up, saw Lady Nienna there and her tears were as bright jewels glittering in the starlight.

Fëanáro stood there and felt something in him die, and in its place there woke a smoldering anger as he silently cursed Melkor for his crimes. Then Manwë was speaking to him and he tore his eyes from the dead branches of Laurelin to attend to the Elder King’s words.

“My son,” Manwë said softly, “Yavanna has a thing she would ask of thee, if thou wouldst hear her.”

Fëanáro looked to the Kementári and felt a foreboding come upon him but he nodded to her. “Speak, lady. What wouldst thou ask of me?”

“The Light of the Trees I brought into being,” she said, “and within Eä I can never do so again. Yet, with thy help, Fëanáro, I can recall life to Telperion and Laurelin.”

“How?” Fëanáro asked but he had a dreadful feeling he already knew what her answer would be.

“The Light of the Trees has passed away and lives now only in thy Silmarils, Child,” she said gently. “If I have but a little of that light there is a chance that the Trees can be saved but it must be soon for once the roots have decayed then nothing will save them.”

Then Manwë spoke. “Hearest thou, Fëanáro Finwion, the words of Yavanna? Wilt thou grant what she would ask, my son?”

Silence reigned in the Ring of Doom and Fëanáro stood there, feeling the eyes of all upon him and sensing the expectation of hope rising amongst the Elves. He gazed around him. The Valar sat impassively waiting for his answer. His half-brother gave him a nod, but Fëanáro was unsure what the meaning behind it was. Ingwë simply gazed on him with an unreadable expression worthy of the Valar and he had an urge to ask this eldest of the Eldar what he should do, as if he were an elfling needing council. He wished his atar were there to guide him.

The continuing silence was apparently too much for Lord Tulkas, for the golden-haired Vala suddenly uttered an oath that Fëanáro did not understand, save only that it was in Valarin. “Speak, O Noldo, yea or nay!” he cried. “But who shall deny Yavanna? After all, did not the light of the Silmarils come from her work in the beginning?”

Before Fëanáro could respond, Aulë spoke up, admonishing Tulkas. “Be not hasty! We ask a greater thing than thou knowest, Brother. Let him have peace for a while longer.”

Fëanáro shook his head. “For the less even as for the greater there is some deed that he may accomplish but once only; and in that deed his heart shall rest. It may be that I can unlock my jewels, but never again shall I make their like.” He paused, staring at his feet and when he spoke again it was barely above a whisper and full of pain. “If I must break them, I shall break my heart, and I shall be slain, first of all the Eldar of Aman.”

For a heartbeat no one spoke and then Námo shook his head. “Not the first,” he said darkly and many looked upon him in wonder and not a little fear, not understanding his words.

Fëanáro, however, did not seem to have heard the Vala’s words, for he suddenly cried out, “This thing I will not do of free will. But if the Valar constrain me, then shall I know indeed that Melkor is of their kindred.”

There was a sigh that was nowhere and everywhere. “Thou hast spoken,” Námo intoned and many of the listening Elves blanched at the coldness of his tone and they were filled with a nameless dread that something terrible, more terrible than the death of the Trees, would follow those words.

Then again there was silence, and thought was stilled. After a while, though, Nienna rose from her throne and moved out of the Ring, the Elves giving her space as she made her way to the Mound which she climbed. She threw back her grey hood and wept, her eyes shining like stars in the rain as she washed away the defilements of the monster that had destroyed the Light. As her tears abated, she began to sing in mourning for the bitterness of the world and all the hurts of the Marring of Arda. No one there was unmoved by her song, not even Fëanáro, though he struggled not to show it. Even as the song ended, though, there was a shout from the midst of the Maiar standing guard and they heard the sound of several riders approaching in great haste.

“Let them through!” Manwë ordered.

There was a confused flurry of activity and then seven ellyn strode into the center of the Ring. “My sons!” Fëanáro exclaimed. “What is amiss? Why have you come?”

Before any of them could answer, Manwë chuckled. The sound was so incongruous under the circumstances that they all stopped and stared at him in surprise. Manwë merely raised an eyebrow, the faintest of smiles on his lips. “I must assume you finally completed the tunnel leading from the Third Hall?” he enquired, giving the Noldor a knowing look. “The one that goes under the hills and thus avoids the barrier above?”

Even Fëanáro seemed to be blushing as they realized they had not been as clever as they had thought or hoped, though in the uncertain flicker of the torches, it was hard to tell.

“But enough,” the Elder King continued, more solemnly. “Tell us your news, child.” He addressed Nelyafinwë directly.

The eldest son of Fëanáro shuddered. “Blood and darkness, my lord!” he cried and in the torchlight he was pale and obviously distraught. “Anatar was heavy with grief at the departure of our atar, and a foreboding was on him. Macalaurë and I agreed to ride a sweep through the valley, believing that Anatar was only concerned for Atar and so we thought to still his worries. There was naught amiss in the valley and we were about to return to the keep but suddenly we were aware that all was growing dim. The Light was failing.” He paused and swallowed noisily and Macalaurë had to steady him. “I... I climbed a nearby hill to see what was happening and saw a darkness swallowing the stars to the south and heading our way. In dread we turned and rode back in haste to warn Anatar, who ordered us to seal our treasuries and go to the Third Hall and begin sending the ellith and elflings out of the tunnel.”

“Where is Atar?” Fëanáro asked in a whisper. “Is he well?”

Nelyafinwë sobbed, covering his face with his hands as he spoke, his words broken and hard to understand at times. “Even from the Third Hall we heard the sound of great blows struck... and the earth shook with them. And then... and then there was one piercing cry.” He stopped, choking with grief. Macalaurë took up the tale.

“We wanted to rush to see what had befallen Anatar,” he said in a whisper that nevertheless could be heard by all present, “but it was as if we were frozen and could not move, however much we desired to, for it seemed that some black power had entered the keep and we were all robbed of wit and will. Then we heard the hideous sound of evil laughter and a shout of triumph the reason for which we did not understand. It was only as the laughter faded that we found that we could move again. It was as if a cloud were lifted from our hearts and minds and we knew ourselves again.”

Fëanáro, all this time was growing paler and paler and he grabbed his eldest son by the shoulders. “What of Finwë!” he fairly shouted, shaking him. “What happened to my atar?”

“Darkness and blood, Atto!” Nelyafinwë cried, pushing Fëanáro from him, his face wet with tears, his eyes filled with a grief that was too terrifying for any to behold. “We... we found the king slain at the door. His body was... was black and burnt and his expression....” He paused, swallowing noisily, trying to get himself under control. Finally he went on. “His sword lay beside him, twisted and untempered as if by lightning-stroke. All the house was broken and ravaged. Naught is left. The treasuries are empty. The chamber of iron is torn apart. The Silmarils are taken!”

“NO!!” Fëanáro screamed, falling upon his face and lying as one dead.

Instantly, Estë was kneeling beside him to succor him, but he suddenly rose, brushing her aside. He clenched his fist and shook it at Manwë. “Curse the day I listened to thy summons and the hour in which I came to Ilmarin, O Manwë Súlimo. And cursed be Melkor for all time. No longer will we name him thus. Moringotto will he be forever known among the Eldar.”

Then with a wail of grief he ran from the Máhanaxar and fled into the night, distraught. Nelyafinwë called to him and without taking proper leave of the Valar he rushed after his atar with his brothers behind him, all fearing that in his grief at the news of his atar’s death he might slay himself.

The two younger sons of Finwë had remained silent during the recitation of their atar’s death but now Ñolofinwë gave a great cry. “Atto! My atto is dead!” and he collapsed to his knees and he was inconsolable. Ingwë knelt beside him, wrapping his arms around him and rocking him. Arafinwë just stood there in shock, his expression blank and his eyes unseeing. Estë went to him and held him close, rubbing his back as if he were an elfling.

“Let it out, child,” she whispered. “Do not hold it within you.”

For a second or two he just stood there unresponsive and then, as if her words were a floodgate opening into his soul he burst into tears. Estë held him even tighter, crooning a wordless lullaby. The other Noldor gathered there began a great lamentation and none stayed them in their first grief. Finally, though, tears abated and silence settled upon them. Then, and only then, did Manwë speak, addressing all the Eldar.

“Go, my Children. Return to your homes, each to his own place. Take what comfort you may with one another.”

“And thou, lord,” Ingwë said where he still knelt beside Ñolofinwë. “What wilt thou do?”

Manwë sighed and it was as if all of Arda, indeed all of Eä, sighed with him. “What we can, child, what we can.”

And then the Elves, Vanyar and Noldor alike, gave the Valar their obeisance and melted away into the darkness, with Maiar keeping a silent watch, leaving the Valar alone, sitting on their thrones. Only when the last of the Children were gone, lost in the darkness, did the Valar weep.

****

Olwë heard the sound of lamentation before he saw the dark mass of people moving slowly down the road towards him and his guards. He motioned for them to halt and he dismounted, watching the wavering flames of torches casting odd shadows. Even in the darkness he could see that Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë led the procession with their wives and children behind them. When Ñolofinwë saw him, he raised a hand, signaling a halt. Then he and Arafinwë came to him. Olwë could see tear streaks on their cheeks and the looks of despair in their eyes and knew that something very dreadful had happened.

“Oh, children,” he said softly. “What has happened?”

It was Arafinwë who answered. “At...atto is dead,” he sobbed, “and so are the Trees.”

And then both ellyn were weeping and Olwë felt his heart nearly breaking with the grief of their news. He opened his arms to them and they fell into his embrace. He rocked them gently, as if they were elflings. “Oh, Valar, save us all,” he whispered and then he, too, was weeping and he feared that in the anguish of his fëa he would never be able to stop.

****

Moringotto: Black Foe. The earliest form of the name is given as Moriñgotho. In Sindarin this became Morgoth.

Note: Melkor’s attack on Formenos as described by Nelyafinwë and Macalaurë is derived primarily from Morgoth’s Ring, ‘The Annals of Aman’, HoME X. 

~ End of Part Two ~

BOOK THREE: HEARTS OF DARKNESS

‘Thus [the Valar] held vigil in the night of Valinor and their thought passed back beyond Eä and forth to the End; yet neither power nor wisdom assuaged their grief, and the knowing of evil in the hour of its being.’ — Quenta Silmarilion XII

****

51: First Sorrow

Fëanáro ran through the darkness along the road to Formenos, tears blinding him and he stumbled. His sons caught up with him soon enough on their horses, though, and Nelyafinwë offered him his hand, pulling him up behind him. Thus, they reached Formenos in good time.

“Continue along the road,” Fëanáro instructed them. “Do not bother to go around the hills.”

Nelyafinwë turned his head to look at his atar. “The Maiar will....”

“Damn the Maiar!” Fëanáro shouted. “They know we are coming this way. Do as I have instructed.”

His eldest son nodded, returning his eyes to the front. Soon, they were racing up the hill and then over the crest. No Maiar appeared as they went down the slope and Fëanáro could not help but smile in grim satisfaction.

“They know we can leave this valley at any time through the tunnel,” he said, “and at the moment, I think they have other concerns.”

His sons merely nodded as they continued north, coming into the main courtyard with a loud clatter. Fëanáro noted with approval the many torches illuminating the fortress and the guards who greeted them.

“Where is my atar?” he demanded of the guards as he dismounted from the horse. “Where have you placed him?”

“Your Majesty....” one of the guards started to say, then stopped at Fëanáro’s expression.

In truth, he felt confused for a second, for, until that moment, he had not thought about the consequences of Finwë’s death. Confusion was replaced by anger, though it was not directed at the hapless guard, but at the one who had robbed him of his beloved atar and king.

“You are Noldóran now, Atar,” Nelyafinwë whispered to him, interpreting Fëanáro’s expression and state of mind correctly.

Fëanáro merely nodded. “Show me,” he said in a harsh whisper and his oldest son took him by the arm and led him into the keep, his other sons trailing.

“We placed him in his room,” Nelyafinwë said quietly. “He was... Atto....” Only now did he break down and Fëanáro stopped and embraced his first-born, his other sons standing around looking as bereft as he felt. He knew he needed to be strong for them.

“It’s all right, hinya,” he whispered. “It’s all right.” Nelyafinwë nodded and brought himself under control. “Come, let us go see your anatar.” They continued on towards the royal apartments. The keep was curiously empty of people and Fëanáro wondered at that but put it aside for the moment. Climbing the stairs, they came to Finwë’s bedroom where two ellyn stood guard. They gave them their salute and stepped aside to let them enter.

The room was dark, lit only by a single fat candle sitting on the small table beside the bed. There was the sickening sweet scent of decay and burnt flesh that made Fëanáro want to gag, but he steeled himself as he moved towards the bed, his sons remaining by the door. The curtains were drawn and he had to swallow once or twice before he could find the courage to pull them back and view what lay behind them. It was difficult to see clearly and Fëanáro turned to pick up the candle so as to get a closer look.

The sight of the body caused him to hiss in shock and he actually took a step back before forcing himself to stand still. It was not his atto lying there, of that he was sure. The hröa was blackened as if from fire, the hair nearly burnt away. But it was the expression on his atto’s face that nearly unnerved him. It was one of absolute horror. His atto did not die cleanly, of that he was sure, and that knowledge only fueled his anger even more.

“I should have been here, Atto,” he whispered forlornly. “I should never have left.” He took one last look at what remained of his atar and his king, only noticing at the last moment the sword that someone had placed beside the corpse. He leaned over and carefully took it in his hands. “Thou wilt have thy revenge, Atto. I swear it.”

Then he straightened and let the curtains fall to hide the hideous sight from their eyes. He turned and eyed his sons with something akin to sympathy, for they had loved Finwë and he had doted on each one of them. “There is much we must do,” he said at last. “Let us first see to the Noldóran and then to ourselves. But first, where is everyone? Why were not the people there to greet us?”

It was Macalaurë who answered. “They are still in the Third Hall, Atto,” he answered. “We told them to stay there for safety’s sake, though, in truth there is no safe place in Aman anymore, I deem.”

Fëanáro nodded. “We need to construct a litter to transport the hröa.”

“Transport it where?” Telufinwë, the youngest of them, asked in puzzlement.

“Anatar cannot remain here, little brother,” Macalaurë said, not unkindly. “Already the stink of decay is becoming noticeable.”

“But where will we take him?” Telufinwë insisted. “What will we do with him? Leave him to the birds and beasts....?”

“No!” Fëanáro cried. “We will see to it that he is properly covered so nothing will disturb him. Now, enough talk. Have a litter made and cover it with samite. Meanwhile, I think we will place him in the courtyard. He sought to protect his people, never flinching from his duty to us all. Let him continue to act as Formenos’ protector for all the ages of Arda. Go now and prepare your anatar’s final resting place.”

“What are you going to do?” Nelyafinwë asked.

Fëanáro glanced back at the curtained bed and grimaced before addressing his sons. “I am going to make your anatar presentable.”

For a moment there was only silence and a rising sense of horror at the implication of their atar’s words and then, as if coming abruptly awake, Nelyafinwë shook his head, gave his atar a bow and ushered his brothers out of the room, giving orders. “Cáno, find a suitable place in the forecourt where we may lay Anatar, then the rest of you help to gather stones to cover him while I see about getting a litter made and....”

The door closed behind them, leaving Fëanáro alone with his atar’s body. He returned to the bed, throwing back the curtains. There was little he could do to erase the mask of horror on Finwë’s face, but he had already decided the body would be shrouded. Still, it was not meet for the Noldóran to go to his grave in tattered clothing. Drawing a knife, he proceeded with the grim task of removing what was left of the king’s clothes from the body.

****

Time no longer had any meaning for any of them. Fëanáro could not decide if hours or days had passed since he first heard news of his atar’s death. It hardly mattered, though. Alone with his atar, he washed and dressed him, though that last proved somewhat difficult, for the body was stiffening and at last he was forced to have one of the ellyn guarding the door to come and help him. He had chosen one of Finwë’s more sumptuous outfits: an ankle length tunic of dark blue velvet with his House emblem of a star of twelve points embroidered on the front in gold and silver threads. The sleeves were full and tight to the wrist, the neck high. Over this he wore a sleeveless outer robe of a matching dark blue heavy silk, shot with gold thread and open in the front. What was left of his dark hair was carefully combed and bound with his crown, for Fëanáro refused to take it. As far as he was concerned, Finwë was and always would be Noldóran. At last, though, it was finished and when Nelyafinwë returned with the requested litter — a simple affair of one long and wide plank of nessamalda wood set between two poles and covered with white samite — Fëanáro was ready.

Gently father and son lifted the body and placed it on the litter, folding Finwë’s hands on his chest. “It should have a different name,” Fëanáro muttered, “for the purpose for which we use it today.”

“What name would you give it?” his son asked.

“Tulma,” came the answer with only the slightest hesitation. “Yes... tulma sounds right, don’t you think?”

Nelyafinwë shrugged and gave his atar a wry grin. “You are the loremaster, Atto,” he said. “I bow to your expertise.”

Fëanáro snorted at that, but did not comment. He went to a clothespress and opening it, pulled out a long piece of diaphanous cloth. “Your anammë wove this,” he said, “long before I was even born.”

“What is its purpose?” his son asked. “It seems too sheer and light to be of any use as clothing.”

Fëanáro nodded. “So I said to my atar when he showed it to me once. His reply was: some things have no other purpose than to be. I don’t think I ever truly understood what he was saying. At any rate, I think this will do to cover him. I do not want the ellith and elflings getting too close a look at what was done to him.”

Nelyafinwë nodded. “We cleared an area just to the left of the entrance to the forecourt,” he said. “Stones have been quarried and I think it would be good that everyone have an opportunity to lay a stone down as a way of... of farewelling Anatto.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Fëanáro said. “Go and gather everyone in the forecourt, then come back with your brothers to help carry the tulma to the... hahta.”

Nelyafinwë gave him an odd look. “I don’t understand....”

“Hahta,” Fëanáro repeated somewhat impatiently. “I think the word will serve well enough to describe what will be your anatar’s last resting placing. We will indeed pile stones upon him, and so ‘hahta’ is a fitting word for it.”

Nelyafinwë nodded. “I’ll go find the others,” he said and left.

****

Fëanáro decided that the four youngest sons would carry the bier while Nelyo, Cáno and Turco followed behind. He, himself, would lead the procession, carrying his atar’s ruined sword. The two guards led the way with torches, down to the First Hall and out to the courtyard. All along the way the people of Formenos were lined up on either side in silence. The expressions on their faces were ones of shock and disbelief, and there were many who stood unashamedly in tears. Ellyn saluted and ellith curtsied as the procession went by and all was done in silence.

Fëanáro noticed with approval that his sons had taken upon themselves to construct a platform of stone that stood about three feet off the ground. A mass of stone and dirt had already been placed around it so that only his atar’s bier would have to be covered. They placed the bier on the platform and then stood there silently in the light of the flickering torches, none of them, not even Fëanáro, quite sure what to do next. Finally, though, before the silence became too unbearable, Fëanáro began to speak, his words soft and emotionless as he stared at the remains of what had been his beloved atar and king.

“As cowards have the Valar become; but the hearts of the Eldar are not weak. My atar stood firm against the Fallen One though he died while the Valar sat around their thrones wringing their hands. Our greatest treasure has been stolen from us and we will win it back and thus avenge this ill done to us. There shall be war between the Children of Ilúvatar and Melkor, whom I have forever named Moringotto. What if we perish in our quest? The dark halls of Mandos be little worse than this bright prison.”

“Dost thou mean to follow Mel... er... Moringotto to the Outer Lands then, Atar?” Nelyafinwë asked hesitantly.

“Yes, eventually,” Fëanáro replied in a distracted manner, his eyes never leaving the shrouded shape of Finwë. “First, though, we must see to the king and ensure that nothing disturbs him.” With that he picked up one of the stones that were piled about them and placed it at the foot of the bier. One by one, beginning with his sons, all the people of Formenos came forward and placed a stone on the mound until finally the king was completely covered. Then, Fëanáro knelt before the mound, and with a single thrust drove the sword into the ground so that it stood upright.

“Be thou our guard, Atar, now and always,” he whispered and then stood and spoke more loudly to the assembly.

“Hahta iMinya Nyérëo I name this, for I deem that this will be only the first of many sorrows which the Noldor will know. Farewell, Atar. Thou wert our king and thou shalt always be our king.” Then he turned to the people standing there in silence. “Gather your belongings, those most precious to you. Leave behind the cattle and the sheep, for we will not need them.”

“What dost thou mean, lord?” someone asked. “Where do we go?”

“We go back to Tirion,” Fëanáro replied and there was much murmuring among the populace.

“Thy term of exile has not been lifted,” Macalaurë pointed out. “If thou goest to Tirion, thou wilt be in rebellion against the Valar and their authority.”

“Dost thou think I care aught for the Valar or their authority?” Fëanáro retorted with a snarl. “Will ye remain as house-thralls to them? Then stay here, if ye so desire. As for myself, I will go to Tirion. There is something that I must do ere we go after Moringotto.”

“What is that?” Nelyafinwë asked.

Fëanáro gave them a grim smile. “Reclaim the throne,” he answered. “Go now, all of you and ready yourselves for the long journey. Tirion is but the first stop; it will not be our last. We leave in two hours.”

For a moment no one moved, but then Nelyafinwë nodded. “We will be ready... Sire.” He gave his atar a deep reverence as did everyone else before departing from the gravesite.

Fëanáro forced himself not to flinch at either the title or the obeisance, both of which he felt belonged to Finwë only and to no other. Instead, he simply nodded, remaining still before the mound. Only when he felt himself alone did he allow himself to fall to his knees and weep.

****

Tulma: Bier.

Hahta: Literally, ‘pile, mound’, and by extension, ‘grave, burial mound’; cf. the Sindarin haudh ‘(burial) mound, grave, tomb’, derived from the same root KHAG- [see The Lost Road, ‘The Etymologies’, HoME V].

Hahta iMinya Nyérëo: Mound of the First Sorrow.

Note: Fëanáro’s speech before Finwë’s tomb is derived from The Book of Lost Tales 1,‘The Theft of Melko and the Darkening of Valinor’, HoME I.

52: At the Máhanaxar

Ingwë stood silently between the thrones of Lord Manwë and Lady Varda, while the Vanyar ranged about the Máhanaxar, some of them weeping quietly. Unlike the Noldor, the Vanyar did not return to Vanyamar but remained in Valmar, for Ingwë refused to leave. He had realized the reason Lord Manwë had dismissed the Eldar, knowing that the Valar needed to grieve as well as they but they would not do so publicly. He had waited for a time that once had been measured by the waxing and waning of the Light of the Trees and now could only be measured by the slow movement of the stars as they crossed the heavens above them before going back to the Máhanaxar where the Valar still sat in council. Ingwë was sure that they would be stopped by the Maiar and sent on their way, but that did not happen. In fact, they were pretty much ignored and so the Vanyar stood between the thrones and the surrounding area, waiting for they knew not what, hoping for some miracle and fearing that none would be forthcoming.

The Valar and the Maiar, Ingwë noticed, never moved, not even their eyes, and he wondered if they were even aware of their surroundings. They could have been statues for all the movement they made. He suppressed a shudder when he caught Eönwë’s eyes. The Maia’s expression was one of deep pain, a pain that went beyond words, the emotions held within his eyes too deep, too eternal and too terrible for the Elda to comprehend except on a visceral level. For the first time in his life, Ingwë, High King of the Eldar, felt fear where before he had only felt awe in the presence of the Valar and the Maiar. He reached out for Elindis’ hand and was not surprised at how tightly she held on to his.

"Why don’t they say something?" Ingalaurë whispered to his twin, but Ingwion just shook his head, having no answer.

"How long do you intend to stand here, Brother?" Ingoldo hissed into Ingwë’s ear.

"For as long as necessary," Ingwë replied evenly, "but feel free to leave any time, Brother."

"Bah!" Ingoldo muttered, but he did not leave.

And all the while, the Valar and the Maiar never moved.

****

*Without the Silmarils, there is no hope of reviving the Trees,* Yavanna told them as they sat in council. *Even now it is probably too late, for the roots are decaying rapidly.*

*It is a moot point,* Aulë said, *for the Silmarils are beyond our reach.*

*Do we know that?* Tulkas asked. *Should we not go after Melkor?*

*Not by my counsel,* Oromë replied. *If we do, there will be war and this planet could well end up being destroyed. Remember the devastation the last time we went after our Fallen Brother?*

*He will have reached the Outer Lands by now and will no doubt be holing up in one of his old fortresses,* Ulmo opined. *And we never did discover the whereabouts of Aulendil. He’s still out there somewhere, waiting for his Master to return.*

*War at this time is out of the question,* Manwë finally spoke. *What is needful now is to preserve what we can and see to the Children. They are in shock, most of them having never known anything but the Light of the Trees. We need to attend to them first.*

*The Teleri will be the least affected by this calamity,* Ulmo said. *The Vanyar, I deem, will be the most affected, for many of them, more so than even the Noldor, abide here in Valmar and the loss of the Light will be most devastating for them.*

*What of Fëanáro?* Vána asked. *If Finwë is dead, then he is Noldóran. Do we lift his exile so he might take the throne?*

*No,* Manwë replied. *Fëanáro’s term of exile stands for now. Ñolofinwë will continue to rule in Tirion.*

*Those of Formenos can leave at any time through their tunnel,* Námo pointed out. *Should we not put guards there to keep them from leaving?*

*There’s really no point, is there?* Varda said somewhat acerbically. *And now with Finwë dead, do you seriously think his son will keep to the terms of exile? He will blame us for his atar’s death and will no longer allow himself to be ruled by us. I have no doubt that once his initial grief is assuaged he will make for Tirion to claim the Noldóran’s crown.*

*Should we not stop him, then?* Estë asked. *Should we allow him or any of them to defy our authority?*

*And have the accusation of keeping them here as thralls thrown in our faces once again?* Námo retorted with a snort of disgust which none of the Elves standing about the Máhanaxar ever heard.

*Fëanáro is not our main concern at the moment,* Manwë said. *We need to address the problem of keeping Aman viable.*

*The force field that has kept Atháraphelun viable is still in place,* Varda assured them. *My people will strengthen it.* Then she addressed Námo. *Is this the time that you saw, Námo? Is this the time of the Great Lights?*

Námo mentally shrugged. *I do not know, Varda,* he admitted. *I think perhaps it may be, but I still do not know how these Great Lights will come into existence.*

*Perhaps it is time for you to create a star for this system,* Nessa suggested to Varda. *Surely Atar’s Second Children are due to awaken.*

*Yes, my heart feels, and my wisdom tells me,* Manwë said, *that no great age of time will now elapse ere the Second Children come into the world. Very well, then. Yavanna and Nienna, examine the Trees again to see if anything of them can be salvaged. Varda, perhaps it is time for you to think about creating a star for us. This world has been in darkness long enough. In the meantime, I think we need to see to the welfare of Ingwë’s people. They cannot remain here indefinitely while we hold council.* He turned his head, amused at the startled looks on the faces of the Elves and addressed them verbally.

"Ingwë, my son, thou and thy people should not remain here," he said gently. "Go now and return to your homes even as your Noldorin brethren have done. There is naught any of you can do here."

"I would remain though, lord," Ingwë said with a bow, "to be a witness for my people of the decisions of the Valar. You are correct, though, about everyone else." He raised his voice to address the other Vanyar. "Go, my people, return to your homes. There is naught you can do here either for good or for evil. I will remain to consult with the Elder King."

"And that goes for you who abide in Eldamas," Manwë added. "Go, see to your own welfare. If any of us have need of you, we will send word."

Slowly, reluctantly, the Elves began to disperse, speaking softly to one another, continually glancing back at the still silent and unmoving Valar.

Meanwhile, Ingwë was speaking softly to Elindis. "Go, beloved, and lead our people until I return." He glanced at his children and his brother. "I think the rest of you should go as well."

"If it’s all right with you, Atto, I will remain here," Ingwion said. "As it is, I should have returned to Tirion with Ñolofinwë."

Ingwë shook his head. "No. I think the embassy has served its purpose, but you may stay with me if you desire. Ingil, Indil, help your ammë until I return."

The others nodded and Elindis gave her husband and son a brief kiss before giving her obeisance to Manwë and Varda. Then she took hold of a torch one of their guards was carrying and set off, her head held high. Indil and Ingalaurë kissed their atar and Ingwion as well before following their ammë. Ingoldo started after with Tinwetariel but Ingwë held him back.

"I know you and I do not agree on many things, but for now, please put aside your animosity towards me and help Elindis until I return. Our people need us to be strong and showing a united front against this calamity."

Ingoldo did not speak but after a brief moment he nodded and Ingwë let him go. He turned his attention back to the Valar, who still had not moved. He gave Ingwion a rueful look and sighed, wondering what decisions were being made.

****

*Eönwë,* Manwë ordered, *I want Maiar stationed everywhere where the Children live. I want to know immediately if there is any outbreak of violence or unusual behavior. Fear is the predominant emotion right now and there is no telling what they might do in that state.*

*It is done, lord,* Eönwë said. *I have assigned Fionwë to watch over Vanyamar, while Olórin is keeping an eye on Tirion. Salmar has agreed to watch over the Teleri. Manveru and Erunáro are strengthening the northern watch in case Melkor or his new ally try to return. I have other Maiar stationed at Formenos, Eldamas and in the Southern Fiefdoms and have received reports that those Elves who remained there to tend to the livestock have had a difficult time calming the animals. Perhaps Lady Nessa or Lord Oromë could see to that.*

Manwë turned to Oromë and Nessa. *Will you send your people throughout Aman to calm the animals, both domestic and wild? The last thing we need is to have stampedes of frightened beasts rampaging through the land.*

Both Oromë and Nessa nodded. *We will see to it immediately. I’ve already dispatched most of our Maiar for the task.*

*Good,* Manwë said. *We also need to ascertain how to protect their crops.*

*The crops will continue to flourish,* Yavanna said, *though not in the same abundance as before. I will have Vána oversee that with her Maiar to make sure that the Children do not starve. I do not know how long it will take you to create a star for this system, Varda, but the sooner, the better for us all.*

*Yes,* Varda said. *Let me know what you find about the Trees, if any of their fruit can be salvaged. It would help me to have some of that light to create the star.*

*Would you use the fruit of both Trees for the star, assuming something can be salvaged?* Aulë asked.

*Why do you ask?* Varda enquired.

*Correct me if I am wrong but I believe that Námo mentioned ‘great lights’, which presupposes more than one light source.*

The Valar remained silent for a time before Manwë spoke. *The light of Telperion was ever softer than that of Laurelin. Perhaps we might create a satellite for this world from that light and save Laurelin’s light for the star.*

Varda nodded. *I will think on that. First though, we need to know if we can salvage any fruit from the Trees. If not, I will have to start from scratch and frankly, I’m in no mood to do so.*

Manwë mentally grinned. *Yavanna, Nienna, see to the Trees. That needs to be our first priority.*

****

Both Ingwë and Ingwion started when Lady Yavanna and Lady Nienna suddenly rose and walked out of the Ring toward the Mound. The two Elves gave each other uneasy glances, not sure what was happening. There was no other movement or sound among the Valar or their Maiar attendants. The only light was that of the stars and the guttering torches held by the two guards that propriety demanded remain with them. Ingwë glanced up at the sky, remembering waking for the first time under the stars, hearing a song of welcome that was nowhere and everywhere, awed by the absolutely terrifying beauty of his Awakening. He suppressed a shiver and moved his eyes earthward, turning to see what the two Valier were doing with the Trees.

Ingwion, seeing his atar’s gaze move upward, followed suit and wondered if he would ever get used to the sight of all those stars constantly shining down upon them. He had heard the tales from his parents and others who had made the perilous journey to Aman and he had traveled down the Calacirya once to see the stars, but it was not the same as experiencing the fullness of their glory in such a sudden manner. He felt a crick in his neck as he continued to stare upward and wanted to lie on his back so he could continue to watch the heavens in greater comfort, but knew how foolish that was. He would have to wait until he was alone to do that. Perhaps he and his siblings and their friends could find a place on the mountainside to watch the stars. The longer he looked the more convinced he was that some of the stars formed definite patterns, but perhaps it was just his imagination.

When the crick in his neck became too bothersome he lowered his gaze and turned with his atar to see what was happening on the Mound.

****

*Anything?* Manwë asked Yavanna and Nienna.

*Nienna has washed the filth of the poison from the Trees,* Yavanna replied. *We’re looking at the roots now, but it does not seem as if there is any chance that any part of the Trees still lives.*

They all ‘heard’ her sigh of frustration and grief. Nienna came and wrapped her arms around Yavanna and rocked her gently as the two wept quietly.

*Perhaps they need some time to recover from the poison,* Vána suggested, though there was a sense of doubt to her thoughts.

*Perhaps,* Yavanna replied, *but for the moment we must assume that Varda will not be able to use anything of the Trees’ lights for her star-making.*

*How long will it take you to create a star without the Light of Laurelin to aid you?* Manwë asked his spouse.

*It is true that having something of Laurelin’s fruit would make things easier,* Varda replied, *but I can take one of the stars from a nearby nursery to use. The main problem is replacing the black hole with the star in such a way as not to cause any major disturbances in the system. The mathematics will have to be very precise.*

*Ulmo and Aulë can help you there,* Manwë said. *I am not sure about simply picking any star from the nursery to be Atháraphelun’s star. It may be best to create a new star from scratch.*

*That will take a little longer,* Varda said, *but I can do it. I will need to calculate the exact parameters of stellar output to ensure that this world receives just enough light and heat for viability.*

*We may need to change the planet’s obliquity,* Ulmo added. *At the moment we have been maintaining it at zero-degrees, but once we have a star in this system, there should be distinct seasons in the temperate zones for better crop production.*

*What do you suggest?* Aulë asked.

*We can change the spin so that there is a tilt between twenty-two and twenty-four and a half degrees,* Ulmo said. *Anything beyond that range will make the planet uninhabitable. The change from minimum to maximum obliquity will occur over a period of forty-three hundred years or so.*

*That will be long enough that none of the Second Children will be aware of the shift and even the Eldar will most likely not take any real note of it,* Varda said.

*Very well,* Manwë said. *Let’s keep that in mind for when we replace the black hole with the star. No matter how carefully we do it, there is going to be some turmoil in the system. We will need to have our Maiar stationed at the various planets to make sure they stay where they are. We will figure out the logistics when Varda is closer to creating the star itself. In the meantime....*

*Lord!* Eönwë interrupted. *Forgive me, but Roimendil has just informed me that Fëanáro is leading all the people of Formenos out.*

*By way of the tunnel?* Manwë asked.

*Nay, lord,* Eönwë answered. *They are leaving by the road and....* He paused for a moment as if listening. *They are singing!*

*Singing!* cried more than one Vala in surprise. *Of what could they be singing?* came the query from more than one mind and they all stretched their senses toward Formenos and watched in dismay as the Noldor marched along the road, their voices loud in defiance as they sang of their grief and anger. It surprised none of them that Fëanáro’s voice could be heard clearly above all the others.

Manwë nodded grimly at the scene.

*Do we stop them, lord?* Eönwë asked.

*No. Let us see what the new king of the Noldor would do,* the Elder King replied and then turned to Ingwë who gazed back at him in puzzlement.

"Lord, forgive me," Ingwë said, "but what is happening? Can the Trees be saved?"

"Forgive me, Ingwë, and thou also, Ingwion, for seeming to ignore you both," Manwë said, "but we were discussing certain contingency plans in the event that the Trees are truly dead. We are making plans to provide light again, not only to Aman but to all of Arda. In the meantime, we have a slightly different problem."

"What is that, lord?" Ingwë asked.

"It seems that Fëanáro has decided to defy our authority," Manwë replied with a sigh. "Even now he leads the people of Formenos from there. He is heading for Tirion, I deem, there to claim the crown as Noldóran."

"And you will allow this?" Ingwë demanded in surprise. "You will lift his banishment?"

Manwë shook his head. "We will not, but neither will we stay him in his course. Unless he can be convinced to return to Formenos he will be in defiance, both he and Morcocáno, actually, since he, too, has not had his exile lifted by Ñolofinwë. The others, including Fëanáro’s sons, may remain in Tirion or return to Formenos as they wish."

"Perhaps I can go to Tirion and speak with Ñolofinwë, Atar," Ingwion suggested. "It would be best if he is apprised of what is happening and not be taken by surprise."

Manwë nodded. "That is an excellent idea, my son. Ye should both go to Tirion. Thou, Ingwë, art the High King. Finwë acknowledged it and Fëanáro must as well. It may be thou mayest persuade Finwion to return to Formenos."

"And if I cannot," Ingwë asked.

Manwë gave him an elegant shrug. "Then thou canst not, but at least thou wilt have tried and that is all we ask of thee."

"Then I will go, lord, and see if I cannot persuade this most stubborn ellon to see reason," Ingwë said with a bow. "I have no doubt that the child blames thee for this calamity, not for the death of the Trees, but for the death of his atar and the loss of the Silmarils."

"I have no doubt either," Manwë said sadly.

"He has to come through Valmar to reach Tirion, though," Ingwion pointed out. "Should we not confront him here instead?"

"No," Manwë answered. "We will not allow them to enter our city. Indeed, they will be forced off the road before they reach Eldamas and will have to travel east and then south through wilderness ere they come to the road to Tirion further on."

"Their march will necessarily be slower, then, and that will give me more time to speak with Ñolofinwë," Ingwë said with no little satisfaction.

Manwë nodded. "Go then, my children, and do what you can. Horses and provisions will be waiting for you at the eastern gate. We will continue to hold council here, for there is much that we must decide for the welfare of us all."

Ingwë and Ingwion gave the Valar their obeisance and soon they and their guards were making their way back through Valmar to take the eastern road to Tirion.

*Let us hope Ingwë succeeds in turning Fëanáro back,* Námo said.

*We will have to see,* Manwë acknowledged, *but in the meantime, let us turn our attention to what to do about our Fallen Brother. Melyanna’s realm will be threatened now that Melkor has returned to the Outer Lands. War, as I said earlier, is out of the question, but perhaps we can lay siege to his fortress and keep him contained....*

****

Atháraphelun: (Valarin) ‘Appointed Dwelling’, the original name for our world and by extension the solar system as a whole.

Note: Obliquity is the degree of tilt that a planet has relative to its plane of orbit around the sun. Because the earth wobbles like a top on its axis the obliquity changes over time. Thus, at the present time, it is at 23° 27' (about 23.5°), but in 8700 BCE it was 24° 21'. The period of time for the obliquity to move from minimum (22.1°) to maximum (24.5°) is approximately 42,000 years (4384.7 Valian years).

53: A Conspiracy Suspected

Valandur closed the door to his office and locked it, grimacing at the necessity. He turned and went to his desk and sat heavily in the chair, lighting an additional candle. In spite of having been born by the shores of Cuiviénen under the light of the stars, in spite of having spent nearly thirty years traversing the wilds of Endórë under those same stars during the Great Migration, he had been too long in the Light of the Trees and now the ever present darkness which enshrouded them weighed heavily upon his fëa. Not for the first time did he silently curse Melkor. He stared morosely at the candle flame, wondering if he was just imagining things or if there was a real and present danger of Ingoldo usurping Ingwë’s throne.

He snarled another curse, directed at himself and his own ineptitude. The shock of the loss of the Light, coupled with the uncertainty of the Valar’s actions and Ingwë’s absence had clouded his mind, for he had to admit to himself, however much he wished to deny it, that he was still grieving for all that had been lost, perhaps forever. He felt numb, unable to think clearly and unwilling to do anything except sit here in the dark. It was only a chance remark by Ingalaurë that had brought him out of his lethargy.

"Uncle Ingoldo looks rather pleased with himself," the prince had said off-handedly as he sat in Valandur’s office idly sipping on some red wine from Valandur’s private stock. The ellon had come to see how he was faring and Valandur had stirred himself enough to light a couple of candles and offer the prince some wine.

"What do you mean?" Valandur asked, startled. He silently chided himself for being so wrapped up in his own misery that he had not paid attention to anyone else, especially Ingoldo.

Ingalaurë shrugged. "I don’t know, but I noticed that he is the only person around here who isn’t weeping or sighing or sitting morosely in a corner." Ingalaurë cast him a shrewd look.

"Including you?" Valandur enquired, refusing to take the bait.

"And you," Ingalaurë came back with a defiant grin.

Valandur nodded. "Too true," he admitted with a rueful smile. "So, tell me what struck you about your uncle."

"Oh, you know, everyone else is sitting around doing much of nothing. Ammë can barely stir herself from her... um... I don’t even have a word for what she and others are doing," he ended with a snort of frustration.

"Neirê."

"What?"

"Neirê," Valandur repeated. "Or, at least, that is the word we had to describe the feeling of loss when someone disappeared into the darkness, taken by the Great Rider and never seen again."

"Neirê," Ingalaurë said, trying the word out. "It sounds a bit strange, not really Quenya."

Valandur nodded. "It is a word from the Before Time."

"Before Time? I’ve never heard of that."

"Oh well, few speak of it these days," Valandur explained. "Whenever you hear an Elf speak of the Before Time they usually mean before Lord Oromë found us, when we were still innocent of the wide world and we had not yet left Cuiviénen. Our language has evolved over the yéni since those days. Neirê is Common Eldarin, the language we spoke before the Great Migration. I’ve not heard that word spoken in all the time we’ve lived in Aman. I’m surprised I even remember it."

"Still sounds a bit strange, though," Ingalaurë said again, though he was smiling when he said it.

Valandur snorted. "If you want to render it into a more modern mode, I suppose nyérë would do."

Ingalaurë nodded. "Anyway, what I was going to say, is that Uncle Ingoldo seems to be less affected by... by grief than the rest of us. He seems almost... happy."

Valandur felt something cold steal over him at the ellon’s words. Ingoldo happy was not necessarily a good thing. Ingoldo in a towering rage or simply frustrated was much easier to handle. "Do you know the cause of his happiness?" he asked as nonchalantly as possible.

The younger son of Ingwë shrugged.

Valandur spent a couple of minutes contemplating the ellon’s words, trying to remember if he’d even seen Ingoldo since the Vanyar had returned home. In truth, he could not honestly say that he had and that disturbed him almost as much as Ingalaurë’s words did. He had obviously been neglecting his duties to Ingwë while the High King was away. He resisted a sigh, wondering when Ingwë would be returning. They had heard nothing from him and the Loremaster wondered if he and Ingwion were still in Valmar consulting with the Valar over this present calamity.

"Well, it is probably nothing," Valandur said, keeping his inner turmoil to himself. He forced himself to give the younger ellon a warm smile, "but I thank you for pointing it out to me. How are you handling all of this?"

Ingalaurë sighed. "I wish Atto were here, and Ingwion. I would feel a whole lot safer." Before Valandur could comment on that, Ingalaurë drained his cup and rose. "I had best see how Ammë and Indis are doing. I’m glad Findis is with them. She’s been a great comfort." Valandur nodded as he stood to see the ellon to the door.

"If you notice anything else concerning Ingoldo, please let me know," he said to the prince and Ingalaurë nodded, thanking him for the wine before heading away.

And now here he sat, going over the conversation with Ingalaurë, wondering what he should do, if anything. He hadn’t really been as attentive as he should have been. That last remark of Ingalaurë’s about Findis being a comfort to the queen reminded him that he had not seen his wife for some time now and, indeed, had not given her much thought as he struggled to come to terms with all that had happened of late. Some husband he was! He sighed, shaking his head. He would have to make an effort to seek her out, but first...

"Olórin," he said just above a whisper.

The scent of asëa aranion and rosemary filled the room and the Maia appeared before him, his expression graver than Valandur had ever seen it.

"This is not a good time, my friend," Olórin said before Valandur could properly greet him.

"No, it is not," Valandur said with a stiff nod, "but I am sitting here in the dark, and I need answers."

Olórin raised an eyebrow. "It doesn’t look too dark here, Valandur," he said nodding towards the various candles lighting the room.

"There is more than one kind of darkness," Valandur retorted, not in the mood for the Maia’s brand of levity. "Where is Ingwë? Why hasn’t he returned to Vanyamar where he belongs? I can appreciate him wanting to be with the Valar at this time but we need him here and we need him now."

"Peace, Valandur," Olórin said calmly. "Ingwë and Ingwion have gone to Tirion."

"Why, by all that’s holy, are they in Tirion!?" Valandur demanded angrily, throwing up his hands in disbelief. "He has a duty to his own people. Let the Noldor fend for themselves."

"Fëanáro has left Formenos and means to claim his atar’s crown," the Maia explained. "Ingwë went to Tirion to convince him to return to Formenos instead."

"Oh, this just gets better and better," the Loremaster exclaimed in disgust. "Ingwë is a fool if he thinks Fëanáro is going to listen to him."

"Perhaps," Olórin averred, "but apparently as High King he felt he had to try."

"And in the meantime, his own people suffer from lack of direction," Valandur snorted. "Elindis is in mourning and Ingoldo is up to something. This cannot go on. Are the Valar doing anything or are they still sitting there in the Máhanaxar wringing their hands?"

Olórin’s mild expression never changed, but something in his eyes warned Valandur that he might have stepped over the line, taking liberties where he oughtn’t. "My Masters are doing what they must," the Maia answered gravely. "More is at stake here than any of you Children realize."

Valandur scowled, not at all pleased by the reprimand.

"Is that all, Valandur?" Olórin asked. "I have duties of my own to fulfill."

"I apologize for monopolizing your time...." Valandur said stiffly.

"Peace, Valandur," Olórin said, raising a hand in admonishment. "We are all reeling from the shock of what has happened. The Valar are doing what they can, but in some matters their hands are tied, as are mine."

"I’m sorry," Valandur replied with a sigh. "I guess I’ve taken advantage of our friendship...."

"No, Child. You have nothing to apologize for," Olórin said in a more kindly voice. "Now, I must go. It has fallen to me to keep watch over the doings of the Noldor."

"Well, if you happen to see Ingwë, tell him from me that he’s needed here," Valandur said with a grim smile. "Let the Noldor deal with Fëanáro or not as they will. I doubt if they will appreciate Ingwë’s interference anyway."

"He is there on behalf of the Valar," Olórin pointed out.

"Then he’s wasting his time," Valandur retorted, "for I doubt not that Fëanáro cares nothing for what the Valar want. If he’s willing to defy the Valar he certainly is not going to listen to the High King."

Olórin bowed. "I must go," he said and then without another word he faded from Valandur’s view, the scent of asëa aranion and rosemary lingering in the air long after the Maia had gone. Valandur remained seated, staring at nothing in particular, still angry and frustrated, wondering if lighting a few more candles would dispel the darkness slowly smothering his fëa.

****

Ingalaurë had nearly reached the family sitting room where he knew his amillë, Findis and Indil were when Ingoldo came around the corner. Ingalaurë cursed his bad luck, knowing he would be unable to avoid his uncle.

"Ah, Nephew," Ingoldo said with a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Just the person I wanted to see."

"Uncle," Ingalaurë said, trying to keep the distaste and fear he was feeling from showing. "I was on my way to see Ammë and...."

"And that is what I wished to speak to you about," Ingoldo said. "Shall we?" He gestured towards a door that Ingalaurë knew led to a private audience chamber used by his parents for intimate gatherings with their nobles. He resisted a sigh as he nodded, allowing Ingoldo to take the lead.

Inside, all was dark, and Ingoldo took a moment to fish out a candle from a pouch and going back out into the corridor he lit it from one of the torches in a nearby sconce. Elindis had ordered torches lit throughout the palace and the sconces had been hastily put up. Ingalaurë was still unused to the flickering, uncertain light which the torches cast.

"I’ve gotten in the habit of carrying candle stubs around," the older ellon said as he returned, shielding his light as he went to the sideboard where a candelabrum sat. "Saves from having to deal with flint and tinder all the time."

While there had been continuous light from the Trees, during the times of Mingling, when the light was softer, it had become customary to light candles for greater illumination. Elindis had made sure that the palace was well stocked with them. "And a good thing, too," she had commented when they had returned to a dark city. The queen had instructed the guards to go house-to-house with supplies of candles in case someone was without. Ingalaurë was still not used to looking out onto the city and seeing pinpricks of light from windows, like so many stars fallen to earth.

"I’ll have to do the same," Ingalaurë said, grudgingly admiring his uncle’s initiative. "So what do you wish to discuss?"

Ingoldo turned and gave his nephew a sardonic look. "What do you think? The Vanyar are leaderless at a time when our people need a strong leader."

"Atar is a strong leader," Ingalaurë protested.

"The queen sits with her ladies and does nothing," Ingoldo went on as if he’d not heard his nephew’s words, " and the High King and his heir are missing...."

"I’m Atar’s heir as much as Ingwion," Ingalaurë exclaimed, becoming angry.

"I misspoke," Ingoldo said with a wave of his hand, dismissing Ingalaurë’s objections. "The High King and one of his heirs is missing and we have no idea when, if ever, they will return."

"What do you mean, if ever?" Ingalaurë whispered.

Ingoldo’s expression became calculating. "Rumor has it that Ingwë and Ingwion have gone to Tirion."

"Tirion? Why would they go there?" Ingalaurë tried to come up with plausible explanations in his own mind, but could not. Why would Atar go to Tirion? Surely the Noldor did not need him. Ñolofinwë could deal with whatever problems might arise. Atar was needed here in Vanyamar. In that much he and Ingoldo were in agreement.

Ingoldo shrugged. "Who knows?" he said ingenuously. "Yet, ever since this entire affair with Fëanáro it seems my brother is more interested in the well-being of the Noldor than of his own people."

"I don’t think that’s true," Ingalaurë retorted in defense of his atar, though there was a niggling doubt that perhaps it was. Ingwion had been living among the Noldor for some time. He had seen how much his twin had enjoyed the company of their cousins, especially Findaráto, and how well received he was by the Noldor in general. As far as he knew, Ingwion was still their atar’s ambassador to the court of Tirion. Perhaps Atar had gone to Tirion to make sure Ingwion was safe. He said as much to Ingoldo who scoffed at the idea.

"Your brother is no longer ambassador," he said. "The situation in Tirion has changed dramatically. I have it on good authority that Fëanáro has deserted Formenos and is heading for Tirion to claim Finwë’s crown before Ñolofinwë can. But now I’m thinking that Ingwë would like nothing more than to claim the crown of the Noldor for himself."

Ingalaurë stared at his uncle in shock. "Whyever would he do that?" he demanded. "Atar would never do that. Oh, I have no doubt that he would dearly love to keep Fëanáro from taking the crown, for he deserves it not, but he would simply hand it over to Ñolofinwë as the next in line for the throne." That, he realized with growing confidence, made more sense than Ingoldo’s suggestion.

His uncle shrugged, obviously not willing to agree. "The fact remains, Nephew, that we of Vanyamar are without a king, for our king," and the way he said the word made it sound like an insult to Ingalaurë’s ears, "is far less interested in succoring his own people and more interested in playing king-maker among the Noldor. This is the second time the king has deserted...."

"Atar never deserted us!" Ingalaurë proclaimed, growing more angry by the minute. "He returned then and he’ll return now. In the meantime, I think you should spend less time complaining and more time helping. I overheard Atar warn you not to cause trouble, Uncle. You had best heed that warning."

"I have no intention of causing trouble," Ingoldo replied, scowling darkly at the younger ellon. "My point is this: who will lead us until Ingwë returns?"

"Ammë...."

"Hasn’t stirred from her rooms since we returned," Ingoldo pointed out. "Someone has to take over the reins of government or we will simply fall into further confusion and chaos."

"And I suppose that someone will be you?" Ingalaurë asked, lifting an eyebrow in defiance.

"No, actually, I think you should be the one to take over," Ingoldo retorted mildly, his eyes glittering darkly in the fitful candlelight with an emotion Ingalaurë could put no name to. "With my help of course," his uncle added and the words sent a frisson of fear and foreboding down Ingalaurë’s spine.

"I think you speak treason, Uncle," he said softly.

Ingoldo shook his head. "I speak practicalities. If Elindis refuses to rule or simply cannot do so, then it behooves the two of us to do so instead. Your atar will not thank you if he returns to find Vanyamar in shambles and you could have done something to prevent it but did not out of a false sense of scruples. These dark times call for harsh measures. The people will start to panic soon when the enormity of what has happened has finally hit them. Will you sit here by your ammë and do nothing when that happens?"

"Ammë won’t let it happen," Ingalaurë said coldly. "And I will indeed be by her side, helping her as befits a dutiful son and heir. Excuse me, I must go." He headed for the door, not even bothering to give Ingoldo a bow which propriety would normally demand.

"Mahalmacundo."

The sound of his amilessë on Ingoldo’s lips stopped Ingalaurë cold. He turned to face his uncle whose expression was unreadable.

"Why do you call me that?" Ingalaurë demanded.

"It is your name, is it not?" Ingoldo retorted. "But more important, it is also your destiny."

"Wh-what do you mean, my destiny?" Ingalaurë asked hesitantly. He told himself he should just leave, ignore whatever his uncle had to say, yet the dreams he had been having lately surfaced and the old doubts began to rise again.

"Your ammë named you ‘throne guardian’," Ingoldo replied. "Is this not a time when the throne should be guarded?"

"Guarded against what?"

"Guarded for whom, you mean," Ingoldo said. "I think it is your destiny to guard the High King’s throne by sitting in it yourself... until such time as Ingwë deigns to return to us... if he ever does."

A sick cold feeling settled in Ingalaurë’s stomach and he wondered if he would be violently ill. "Can you doubt that he will return... and Ingwion?"

"And then you will be just the spare heir all over again," Ingoldo rejoined, his expression bland. "I still think there was a mix up when you and your brother were born. No proof, of course, but still, I’ve always had my doubts."

Ingalaurë just stared at his uncle, feeling sick, the images of his dreams coming to the fore. Ruthlessly he mentally shoved them away, refusing to listen to anymore of Ingoldo’s lies. They had to be lies, he insisted to himself. Valandur would never lie to him. And yet....

"I have to go," he whispered, fumbling for the doorknob. He tried to make a dignified retreat, but he knew that in fact he was simply running away. From the truth? He couldn’t say. He only knew that he feared he was falling into a darkness that no amount of candlelight would expunge and that darkness had a name. He paused as he turned a corner, leaning against the wall, feeling drained and spent.

"Atto, please come home," he whispered. "Please. I need you and I’m afraid...."

He stopped, shaking his head. He had to cease this negativism. There was nothing to fear. Ingoldo was full of blather and nothing more. What he had to do was to convince his ammë to cease her mourning and be the queen that their people needed, that he needed. For if she would not take up her duties as queen, Ingalaurë feared that Ingoldo would try something.

"He may even so," he said aloud, feeling a sense of defeat. Mahalmacundo. Was he truly meant to guard the High King’s throne, keep it safe for when his atar returned? If so, then how? If he could not convince ammë....

Take the throne for himself, if only to keep Ingoldo from it?

That thought both scared and intrigued him as he considered its implications. He continued his way to the family sitting room, determined to confront his ammë and convince her to put aside grief for the well-being of their people. Only her willingness to do so, in his mind, would stand in the way of either forcing Ingoldo to act, or forcing him to, and either option, he believed, boded ill for them all.

****

Neirê: Common Elvish form which became nyérë in Quenya, meaning ‘grief, sorrow’, and by extension, ‘mourning’.

Note: According to Tolkien’s Timeline of the Silmarillion, the Great Migration of the Elves — or more specifically, of the Vanyar and Noldor — from Cuiviénen to Aman took twenty-seven Valian years or 258.66 solar years.

54: Mahalmacundo

Ingalaurë entered the family sitting room and stifled a sigh. His ammë was still sitting there with Findis and Indil and the other ladies of the court, some of them determinedly working on their embroidery in spite of the fitfulness of the candlelight, but most were just sitting there silently. So lost in misery were they that only one or two even looked up at his entrance. He crossed over to where the queen sat and knelt before her, placing a hand gently on her arm.

"Ammë," he whispered, "you need to put aside your grief and think of our people who are in need of a strong leadership presence. Atto would be unhappy to see you thus."

Elindis nodded. "I know, dear heart," she said in a low voice. "I guess when we returned here the enormity of what has happened finally came home to me and I became overwhelmed, but you are correct, my son, though I have little heart to do what needs to be done. How I wish Ingwë were here instead of sitting at Lord Manwë’s feet."

"Atto isn’t with Lord Manwë," Ingalaurë said without thinking and then wished he’d kept his mouth shut when he saw the surprised (and even suspicious) looks on the faces of his ammë and the others.

"How do you know?" Elindis asked. "Where is he, then? And what of Ingwion?"

"I... I think Atto and Ingwion have gone to Tirion," he replied.

"Did Valandur tell you this?" Findis asked.

Ingalaurë shook his head. "No. I don’t think he knows. It was Uncle Ingoldo, though he said it was only a rumor." He looked at Findis and his ammë doubtfully. Come to think of it, how did Ingoldo know of this when even Valandur didn’t? Where was he getting his information and from whom? Certainly not any of the Valar. A Maia? But Ingalaurë dismissed that idea at once. He could not see his uncle cultivating a friendship with any Maia. Unless it was one of Melkor’s, he thought with grim humor.

"And you believe him?" Indil commented with a disdainful look.

Ingalaurë reddened. Sometimes it was difficult for him to remember that he was the older sibling. Indil had a good way of making him feel three yéni younger than her. He ignored her scathing glare and turned back to Elindis. "There’s one way to find out the truth of the matter," he said quietly.

"You wish to return to Valmar," Elindis said, making it a statement rather than a question.

"If I may," Ingalaurë replied, implicitly letting them know that he was speaking to his sovereign rather than to his amillë, for he was certainly well beyond the age of needing her permission to do anything.

"Whether your atar has gone to Tirion or not is beside the point," Elindis said with a shake of her head. "You are needed here by my side, you and Indil both."

"Uncle Ingoldo suggested that if you were not up to leading us until Atto returned then he should," Ingalaurë said as he stood, putting out a hand to help his ammë up.

"Oh, he did, did he?" Elindis said, her eyes hardening with resolve. "Well, we’ll see about that." She turned to one of her ladies-in-waiting. "Sérendilmë, if you would begin taking an inventory of candles, torches and the like, while the rest of you take a guardsman as escort and go throughout the city to see who may need more candles and any other aid that we can render."

Sérendilmë rose and gave the queen a curtsey. "You may rely on me, your Majesty."

Elindis nodded. "Good. Now, Indil , Findis, come with me." She accepted Ingalaurë’s arm which he held out to her and the four left the room.

"Where are we going, Ammë?" Indil enquired.

"I think I should call for the Privy Council to meet," Elindis answered. "It’s past time that we did. We do not know how long this darkness will last and we must see to the welfare of the people in the meantime."

"Well, I am a member of the Privy Council, of course," Ingalaurë said, "but neither Indil nor Findis are. Do you think it wise to include them?"

"Merely as observers," Elindis replied as they swept through the corridors. While her son was acting as her escort, it was she who was leading them until they came to a certain door. Elindis nodded to Ingalaurë who reached over and knocked. When they heard a muffled voice bidding them enter, he was the one to open the door.

Inside they found Lady Lindórië sitting at a desk writing. When she saw who was there she scrambled to her feet and gave them a curtsey. "Your Majesty! How may I serve?"

Elindis smiled. "My son has reminded me that I’ve been remiss in fulfilling my duties to my lord and husband as well as to our people. I am calling a meeting of the Privy Council. Would you see that the other members are informed?"

"But of course, Majesty," the elleth said, keeping her expression neutral. "At what hour?"

"At what hour, indeed!" Elindis exclaimed. "I know not if one day has passed or many, much less what hour it might be."

"Something that we will need to address sooner than later, I suspect," Findis said with a mild snort. "However, I can tell you that it has been four days since... well since the Trees died, but beyond that I have no idea of the hour."

"That you even know it’s been four days is more than I can say for myself," Elindis said with a shake of her head. "Four days. It seems more like four yéni."

"The stars!" Ingalaurë exclaimed suddenly.

Everyone looked at him. "What do you mean, my son?" Elindis asked.

"I remember Atto telling us stories of when the Elves still resided by the shores of the Sea of Helcar and how they told time by the stars. We can do the same... er... that is, once we figure out how," he ended lamely, only just realizing that he had no idea how one told time by the stars.

Elindis smiled at him, patting his arm. "An excellent idea, Ingil," she said approvingly, "and while it’s been a long time since I’ve had to do it, I’m sure I can remember how." She stepped towards one of the windows and leaned out. After a moment she pulled herself back in, looking rueful. "I think I will have to brush up on my knowledge of Lady Varda’s stars. I seem to have forgotten...."

"Perhaps we are complicating things a bit," Lindórië suggested. "Why don’t we have someone ring a bell? I can tell everyone to listen for it."

An uneasy silence fell upon them all.

"The only bell I know of is the cloister bell," Indil said quietly.

"But we’re forbidden to go there," Ingalaurë replied, looking at the queen. "No one goes there but Atto."

Elindis nodded serenely. "However, I do not think he was anticipating this situation, and so I think we shall use the bell to summon the Council, if just this one time."

No one raised an objection, though it was clear that none were happy with the idea of invading the High King’s inner sanctum. Elindis smiled in understanding and spoke to Lindórië. "So, you will inform the other council members? Good. We’ll give you plenty of time to find everyone before I have the bell rung. I think in the meantime I will see about eating. I just realize that I cannot remember the last time I ate."

"That’s probably true for everyone," Findis said smiling wryly. "Why don’t you make the meeting less formal and invite everyone to sup instead. You can discuss matters in a more relaxed atmosphere that way."

"That’s not a bad idea, Ammë," Ingalaurë said. "I know I could do with food right now as well."

"Then that is what we will do," Elindis said. "Lindórië, please let everyone know that we will be dining together in the family dining room. I will have someone ring the cloister bell three times to let them know when they should come."

Lindórië curtsied. "As you command, your Majesty."

"Come along, dears," Elindis said to her two children and Findis. "Our next stop is the kitchens. We may have to roust the cooks from their lethargy."

"Let’s hope they haven’t eaten all the foodstuffs in their sorrow," Ingalaurë said with a sly wink, "or dinner is going to be very dull."

The others laughed and Ingalaurë felt heartened by the sound of it. He only hoped that they could continue remaining strong and focused. There was too much uncertainty with the High King away. Ingoldo might still try something, though just what that might be, he did not know. He thought to excuse himself to go find Valandur again and apprise him of what Ingoldo had told him, for he knew the Loremaster would be interested in what Ingoldo was thinking, but then the thought left him as they entered the kitchen and they all stared in shock at the mayhem before them.

The kitchen was a shambles with broken crockery flung all around. Pots and pans littered the floor and there was flour and salt and who knew what else all over the place. And in the middle of it all were two ellith both caked with flour, their arms wrapped around each other as each tried to gain mastery over the other, both screaming invectives. Where the other kitchen staff were was unknown, for they had apparently made themselves scarce.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Elindis in a loud voice, her eyes flashing in rare anger, but the combatants paid no attention.

Ingalaurë wasted no time with talk but strode forward and grabbed the two ellith by their hair and yanked hard enough to elicit screeches from them both.

"Enough!" he hissed as he pulled them apart. "You dare to act thus? Attend to her Majesty and crave her pardon for your unseemly behavior."

The two ellith, who, it turned out, were the head cook and her main assistant, looked wide-eyed as they suddenly noticed that they had a royal audience. Elindis stood there with imperious ease waiting for them to acknowledge her presence. Ingalaurë released his hold on them and stepped back to his ammë’s side while the two cooks gave the queen their obeisance, both looking suitably dismayed.

"What does this mean?" Elindis asked again in a calmer voice. "Have we not troubles enough that you need to add to them with your petty quarrels?"

"But, my lady...." the head cook began but Elindis cut her off with a look.

"I’m not interested in knowing what the quarrel was about. I am only interested in the fact that I am desirous of a meal for myself and the members of my lord’s Privy Council and a few others and now I wonder if we will even see it, for it looks as if most of the food has ended up on the floor, or the ceiling. Regardless, I want this mess cleared immediately. Where are the rest of the staff? Find them and get them back to work. I expect some kind of meal ready in short order. Cold meats and salads will do for now, though some soup would not go amiss. You may serve us in our private dining room." She paused for a moment before continuing. "And if this happens again, I’ll find someone else to be head cook and assistant. Is that understood?"

Without waiting for an answer, she nodded to Ingalaurë who offered his arm and the two strode out of the kitchen with Indil and Findis behind them. When they had gone about twenty feet, Elindis stopped and put a hand to her mouth in an attempt to smother a laugh. The others looked at her in surprise but then they started chuckling as well.

"Did you see the looks on their faces when they saw me?" Elindis asked with a grin.

"I wonder what the argument was about, though?" Indil replied.

"It matters not," Elindis said firmly. "Honestly, are we all going insane?"

"The loss of the Light of the Trees has left us all reeling in shock," Findis pointed out. "There is a great deal of tension, uncertainty and grief all around. I’m surprised we haven’t heard of other outbreaks of violence in the city by now. Those two ellith cannot be the only ones acting in such a manner."

"Give them time," Ingalaurë said. "It’s only been four days. Once people begin to recover from the initial shock I imagine tempers will begin to flare as fear takes over."

"Ingil is correct," Elindis said, "which is why we need to address such things now before they get out of hand. Findis, find your husband. I want him present for this meal."

Findis nodded and left.

"Ingil, Indil, why don’t we go on to the dining room and discuss the agenda for the meeting while we wait for our dinner," Elindis suggested and her children nodded.

"Do you think we should invite Uncle Ingoldo to the meeting?" Ingalaurë asked. "I would prefer him to be where we can keep an eye on him and I think he needs to see that you are more than capable of leading us until Atar returns."

"I think you are correct, my dear," Elindis said with a sigh, "though I do not like the idea. Very well, go find Ingoldo and ask him if he would attend us. Make sure he understands that it is merely a request and not an order."

Ingalaurë grimaced. "Why don’t I just have a page do it?"

Elindis smiled at her son in sympathy. "I think it would sound less of a command and more of a request if it comes from you."

Ingalaurë nodded reluctantly. "Then I will go."

****

"A meeting?" Ingoldo enquired, looking at his nephew suspiciously. "Of the Privy Council? I no longer am a member of the Privy Council."

"Ammë wishes to have all the family attend. It’s not a command, Uncle. Ammë is requesting that you join us for a meal and to discuss what needs doing while Atto is away. If you wish to come, wait for the cloister bell to ring three times. That will be the signal." Ingalaurë gave Ingoldo a stiff bow and exited his uncle’s suite, glad to be done with that duty. He was reminded of his wish to speak with Valandur and headed for the Loremaster’s office, but when he got there, he found it empty and had to assume that he and Findis were already with the queen. He sighed and made his way to the family dining room, hoping he could take Valandur aside for a moment and tell him about Ingoldo.

****

Reaching the dining room he was glad to see that Valandur was indeed there, sitting beside Findis with Indil on his other side. Elindis was sitting in her usual place at the high table. Ingalaurë’s own place was waiting for him and he settled himself between his ammë and his sister.

"Will he come?" Elindis asked.

"He did not say," Ingalaurë answered. "I gave him the message and left."

"Speaking of Ingoldo," Findis said to her husband, "did you know that Ingwë has gone to Tirion?"

Valandur nodded, looking somewhat peeved. "Yes, I did. I found out only a short time ago."

"From Uncle Ingoldo?" Ingalaurë asked.

Valandur gave him a considering look and it was obvious that Ingwë’s chief Loremaster was already putting certain things together. "No. I got my information from another source. I’m assuming he spoke with you."

Ingalaurë nodded. "He intimated that I should take over the throne, with his help, of course."

Valandur hissed, his eyes flashing in anger. "He dares! And does he expect Ingwë not to return?"

Ingalaurë shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "I do not know. I had the feeling as he was talking that he believes that Atto was more concerned with the welfare of the Noldor than of the Vanyar and was unfit to rule us anymore."

"He said this?" Elindis asked, going white with barely contained fury.

"No, Ammë. That was just my impression from what he didn’t say," Ingalaurë hastened to assure her. "I have no actual proof that that is what he meant."

For a moment no one spoke. Elindis shook her head in dismay. "I probably should not have invited him to this meeting then."

"On the contrary, Elindis, I think it best that he does attend and sees that the throne is secure in your person," Valandur said.

"Valandur is correct, Ammë," Ingalaurë said fervently. "Uncle Ingoldo reminded me that you named me ‘Mahalmacundo’. Well, as long as I have breath in my hröa, I will be just that: I will guard Atto’s throne from any who threaten to take it from him." Even as he spoke, he pushed back his chair and slipped to his knees, gazing at his ammë who was also his sovereign queen and held out his hands in homage. Elindis took them in her own, her eyes shining with pride. "I will guard the High King’s throne with my life if need be," he vowed, his voice hoarse with emotions. "Ányë hlarë iValar."

"Thank you, my son," Elindis said just above a whisper, giving him a light kiss on his forehead. "Though I fervently hope it will not come to that."

Ingalaurë could only nod as he continued to kneel before the Ingatári, hoping the same.

****

Ányë hlarë iValar: ‘The Valar hear me’.

Ingatári: High Queen.

55: The Queen’s Council

At Elindis’ bidding, Ingalaurë resumed his seat just as one of the kitchen maids entered the dining room to announce that the meal the queen had ordered was ready to be served.

"Very well," Elindis said. "I think we will dispense with formality and treat this as we do our first meal of the day. Have the dishes set up at the sideboard and we will serve ourselves."

The maid curtsied and left. Elindis turned to Ingalaurë. "I know you are reluctant to go against your atar’s wishes but would you do the honor of ringing the cloister bell, my son?"

Ingalaurë hesitated for a moment, then rose and gave her a bow, picking up one of the candles on the table and smiling. "I’ll be right back. Don’t start without me."

The others laughed lightly even as he left the room and made his way down a flight of stairs to the ground floor, then he took a labyrinthine route through the palace complex until he came to a short corridor that turned out to be a covered walk which opened up on one side into a small grassy courtyard tucked into a forgotten corner of the palace. This was an intimate place, barely twenty paces across. There was only the one entrance to it and no windows looked down upon it. It was completely secluded. A single bench was built along the wall opposite the colonnade. The center of the courtyard was taken up by a tower of woven vines rising about twelve feet. At the top of the tower was a single bell. A rope hung down so it could be rung. One needed to slip between the vines to enter the tower. No one quite understood its purpose and Ingwë never explained why he wished for it to be built. Ingalaurë could not remember if he’d ever come to this place except for the one time his atar had brought him and Ingwion when they were elflings to show them the tower and the bell, warning them not to touch it or to play there.

"I show you this place so you know that it exists and know also that you are not to come here without my permission, mine and no one else’s," his atar had told them. The twins were old enough at the time to know from their atar’s expression and tone of voice that this was one command they should never disobey.

Until now.

He stopped before the tower rising darkly with the stars ablaze above it and shivered. To the best of his knowledge he could not remember if the bell had ever been rung. The cloister seemed a pointless folly, a mere indulgence on his atar’s part, yet, there were times when he knew his atar would come here to meditate. When he did, all knew better than to disturb his solitude. Sometimes Elindis would join him, but never anyone else.

Shaking his head, Ingalaurë went over to the bench and placed the candle on it before slipping between the vines. In spite of the near darkness, for the candlelight barely penetrated the leafy walls of the tower, he saw that the bellrope was tied to one of the vines. He reached up, undid the rope and pulled. The bell’s tone was sweet, a little deeper than a treble bell but not too deep. He pulled a second time and a third and then stilled the rope, listening to the echoes of the bell ringing away, wondering how far it could be heard. He imagined that for those not expecting to hear the bell, it would come as a shock.

Securing the rope, he retrieved his candle and made his way back through the palace to the royal apartments and found that he was the last to arrive. Stepping inside he spied Ingoldo and Tinwetariel standing with some others from the Privy Council speaking in low tones. Elindis, when she saw him enter, rose and all conversations stopped.

"Thank you for coming," she said. "Please help yourselves to something to eat. We will have our meeting once everyone has eaten. Ingoldo, why don’t you and Tinwetariel begin?"

If his uncle was surprised by Elindis’ request, Ingoldo did not show it, merely giving her a slight bow and leading Tinwetariel to the head of the buffet. Servants were on hand to see that all had what they wished and when all were seated — Elindis, Ingalaurë and Indil were the last to serve themselves — the queen stood and everyone gave her their attention.

"We are gathered here in this hour of darkness to discuss the continuing welfare of our people," Elindis said. "Whatever your personal differences, I beg you to put them aside for now and concentrate on the task at hand. I would that my lord and husband returns to find a city at peace and his people calm. The High King." She lifted her goblet and everyone echoed her toast and drank, though Ingalaurë noticed his uncle hesitating slightly before joining with the rest. "Now, let us enjoy this repast and then we will discuss matters."

Elindis sat and everyone began eating, speaking in low tones. Conversations seemed to center around the events of four days past when the Trees were destroyed and there was speculation as to what the Valar might be doing and when the High King would be returning. Ingalaurë sat and listened to the various conversations but did not enter into them, idly pushing his food around his plate as he kept what he hoped was a surreptitious eye on Ingoldo, who appeared relaxed and even congenial as he conversed with Lord Lassezel and Lady Almáriel. Only when his ammë leaned over and gently told him to stop playing with his food, did he actually start eating, blushing slightly at the reprimand.

Finally, the meal ended. Trenchers were removed, tea was served, as were mulled wine and cider, and small dainties were placed before them. Once the servants were dismissed, Elindis spoke.

"While my lord husband is away, it is imperative that we see to it that the city remains calm and that we make every effort to regain some semblance of normalcy in our lives. We need to establish the state of the farms and orchards which supply us with food. Without the Light of the Trees it is likely that our crops are already dying unless the Valar have taken measures to protect them. We need to find a way to tell time in a uniform manner so everyone in the city will know what the hour is. We need to ascertain how our people are coping with this tremendous loss. Many are probably still in a state of deep shock and they need to be tended to. I doubt that any of us, myself included, can honestly say that we have not been affected by what as happened, yet we must put aside our grief and our fear and work together to ensure the safekeeping of the city and its inhabitants."

"Is there any news of the High King?" Tamurilon asked. "Do we know when he will return?"

Elindis shook her head. "We have learned that Ingwë has gone to Tirion and taken Ingwion with him."

There were murmurs of surprise and consternation among them. "Why have they gone to Tirion?" Lassezel demanded angrily. "What reason do they have to go to those troublemakers when he’s needed here?"

"My question exactly," Ingoldo said before Elindis could answer. "Ever since Fëanáro and Finwë went to Formenos my brother has spent more time in Tirion than he has in his own city among his own people. Now, when we need him the most, to lead us out of this darkness, where is he? What is he doing? Is he here, seeing to our welfare? No! He’s in Tirion, catering to the blasted Noldor. And why is that, I ask you?"

"I have it from reliable sources that Ingwë has been sent to Tirion at the behest of the Valar," Elindis answered coldly, glaring at Ingoldo. "Fëanáro has left Formenos and even now makes his way to Tirion to claim the crown. My husband is there to convince him to return to Formenos, for he is in violation of the Valar’s ban."

Ingalaurë was not the only person to raise an eyebrow at that, and he wondered where his ammë had gotten such information, information that not even Ingoldo had, for he evinced surprise along with the rest. Looking about, he saw Valandur sitting there, the only one who didn’t seem surprised at the queen’s revelation and knew that the Loremaster must have learned of it and passed it on to Elindis, probably while he was on his way to the cloister to ring the bell. That certainly made sense, since there was no other time when he could have told her.

Ingoldo sneered. "So Ingwë has become Manwë’s servant, running his errands for him? We need a king, not a thrall! If Ingwë is so eager to run to Tirion to play with the Noldor on the Valar’s behalf, then I say, let him stay there and let someone else lead the Vanyar."

"That someone being you?" Valandur asked mildly, his expression more amused and less belligerent than those of everyone else. Ingalaurë could feel himself going hot and cold at the same time and a terrible sick sensation settled in the pit of his stomach. Elindis sat unmoving, her face a mask as Ingoldo ranted.

Ingoldo’s own expression became guarded, but Ingalaurë had the sense that his uncle was playing them all for fools. "If necessary," the ellon said nonchalantly. "I am the eldest male in our family, though my brother is the one who became Ingaran."

"Ingwë charged me to rule in his place," Elindis retorted. "He told you to behave yourself."

The sting of her retort caused Ingoldo to redden but he managed to contain his anger. "An elleth ruling? Absurd." He dismissed the notion with a negligent wave of his hand. Ingalaurë noticed that some of the other male members of the Privy Council were nodding their heads at that, but they were all older and more set in their ways. There had always been kings, there always would be. The idea of any elleth, however qualified, ruling when there was a male of the line able to assume command, simply was beyond their comprehension.

"Ingwë has not abdicated his crown," Valandur said.

Ingoldo stared at him, his eyes set. "Why are you even here, Valandur? You’re not even a member of the Privy Council. You have no say in what is decided here."

"He is here at my behest," Elindis spoke up, "as mine and Ingwë’s most trusted advisor. What he says is true, Ingoldo: Ingwë has not abdicated his crown to anyone. Certainly not to you. He did however appoint me to lead our people until his return, and he will return. If he has gone to Tirion on a mission for the Valar, it was for a good reason. Fëanáro is dangerous. We all know that. If he refuses to abide by the Valar’s ban and assumes the crown, he will need to be restrained in his use of power and the only way to do that is for Ingwë to demand an oath of fealty from him, acknowledging him as Ingaran."

Ingoldo snorted in derision. "Then Ingwë will be sorely disappointed. Fëanáro would no more give him his fealty than I would... kiss Melkor."

The slight pause was barely noticeable, but Ingalaurë heard it and wondered if others did as well. Certainly Valandur must have. Ingalaurë did not think that anything would get by him, but he wasn’t sure about anyone else. He had the feeling that most of the people in the room took Ingoldo at face value and would not (or could not!) look deeper. Ingalaurë wanted to be wrong about his uncle, give him the benefit of the doubt, but he wasn’t entirely sure.

"Regardless," Elindis said coldly, "Ingwë is acting in his capacity as High King. I’m sure that once he’s settled Fëanáro to his satisfaction he will be returning to us."

"I wonder why Ingwion went with him?" Indil said.

"Perhaps because he’s lived in Tirion for some time now and knows my family quite well," Findis suggested. "I’m sure Ingwë appreciates this and took him to act as his advisor."

"Or just so he wouldn’t feel outnumbered amidst all those crazy Noldor," Ingalaurë couldn’t help adding, smiling wickedly, and giving Findis a wink. Most of the others laughed in appreciation of the jest, though Findis merely sniffed in disdain while Valandur leaned over and gave her a quick peck on the cheek, which mollified her. His ammë gave him a brief smile and he found himself blushing slightly, though he couldn’t say why.

"In the meantime," Elindis said, once the laughter died down, "we need to ascertain how the rest of the city is coping or not. I have already sent my ladies-in-waiting throughout the city with guards, laden with candles to ensure every household has some and to check on the people’s state of mind, but we need something more systematic."

"We can call together the magistrates who have been assigned particular districts and have them organize those under them," Lindórië suggested.

"The guildhalls should also help," someone added.

Elindis nodded. "Then, let us call the magistrates and guildmasters together and begin ascertaining the health of the city. People must still be in shock over what has happened, and we need to help them past it so they can get on with their lives. I also need someone or a group of people to go and check on the outlying farms. We need to know if any of the crops have begun to fail and to what extent."

"Surely the Valar will see that we do not suffer unduly," Lassezel said.

"Yet, they do have other concerns," Tamurilon pointed out in a reasonable tone, "and we may not necessarily be at the top of their list."

This idea dismayed most of them there but none had any answers. Tamurilon volunteered to oversee the farms and Indil naturally said she would go with him. Then there was a discussion about how to show the passage of time without resorting to star-gazing.

"We need our loremasters working with our candlemakers to create candles that burn at a particular rate over a particular period of time," Valandur offered. "Either that, or some other means of telling time. We cannot keep having someone ring the cloister bell all the time."

"We will need to have someone who remembers how we told time by the stars to reinstitute that practice," Elindis said, "and coordinate that with having a bell rung. There is that carillon overlooking the main guildhalls. Perhaps we can utilize them to chime every hour rather than occasionally as they do now."

"We’ll look into it," Lassezel volunteered and Elindis nodded.

"Then, our most important task is to see to the people and ascertain their needs and to inventory our food supplies if crops will not flourish in this darkness," the queen summarized. "We will convene another meeting as soon as we can get word to the magistrates and guildmasters."

Everyone agreed to this and shortly thereafter they began to go their separate ways until only Elindis, Ingalaurë, Indil, Valandur and Findis were left. Ingoldo, Ingalaurë had noticed, had been one of the first to take his leave, practically dragging a protesting Tinwetariel with him.

"Well that went better than I expected," Valandur said when the last of the councillors had left.

"Ingoldo’s little speech met with willing ears," Findis remarked with a sniff. "I’m not sure he is to be trusted."

"He can be useful when he sets his mind to it, though," Elindis said with a sigh. "I just wish Ingwë would hurry and return. Nothing the Noldor do can be so important that he would stay away this long."

Ingalaurë silently agreed and winged a hopeful prayer to the Valar that his atar and brother would be home soon. He feared what might happen if they stayed away too long.

56: Fëanáro’s Return

The ride to Tirion had been an eerie one for them all, especially Ingwion. They rode until the horses and they tired and then set up camp. It was the only way Ingwion could tell the time, marking each ‘day’ by the number of times they stopped for a complete rest. During that time, Ingwë began instructing his son on how to tell time by the motion of the stars. It was not easy and Ingwion was too heart-weary at the oppressive darkness that weighed on his soul to bother learning as well as he could have. Thus, it was sometime after their third camp that they came upon Tirion and saw fog drifting up from the ravine of the Calacirya, enshrouding the hill of Túna and mantling the city’s towers. The lamp of the Mindon burned dimly in the gloom. Ingwion stared at the spectral sight in horror.

"What is that that covers the city, Atto?" he asked with trepidation, wondering if this was some new evil visited upon them by Melkor.

"You have never seen fog before, have you, my son?" Ingwë answered sympathetically and Ingwion shook his head. "It is naught to fear. It is merely clouds come to earth. I suspect that they arose from the sea. You will have noticed that since the Light of the Trees has died the air is cooler."

Ingwion nodded. "I had noticed it."

"As the air has cooled the fogs have risen," Ingwë explained. "Perhaps Lord Manwë will cause them to be shifted back towards the sea when he and the other Valar are less busy." This last was said in a droll manner and Ingwion could not help grinning in spite of the heaviness in his heart.

"Do you seriously think we can convince Fëanáro to return to Formenos?" he asked as they made their way through the western gate and towards the palace. He squinted into the thick soupy fog that blanketed the street and was grateful that the captain of the gate guards had provided them with an escort, their torches augmenting the meager light of the torches carried by their own guards.

"It remains to be seen," Ingwë said. "Finwë, for all his faults, never questioned my authority as High King, but Fëanáro is not Finwë and I fear he will defy me as he has defied the Valar. It may be though that I can convince his followers to turn from whatever madness Fëanáro is planning."

Ingwion gave his atar a surprised look. "What mean you? He comes to take the crown, does he not?"

Ingwë shook his head. "Perhaps, but my heart tells me that more is going on than we know. Fëanáro will be hot for vengeance against Melkor for what was done to him and I do not mean just the death of his atar."

"You mean the theft of the Silmarils," Ingwion said and Ingwë nodded.

Nothing else was said then for they had reached the palace and the two younger sons of Finwë were there to greet them, having been alerted by a runner. Ingwë saw the sons of his sister standing there and grieved anew for them both. Their expressions were haunted and careworn, Ñolofinwë’s especially. There was no joyous greeting between them. Instead, Ingwë took them into his embrace and held them for a long moment before releasing them. "I have news," he said quietly to Ñolofinwë. "Call the family together, for it concerns them as well as you."

Ñolofinwë nodded. "Arafinwë will show you to your suite, Uncle, while I gather everyone together. We will meet at your convenience in the family dining room."

"Ingwion and I will be there after we’ve washed the dust of travel from us." Ingwë said and then he gave them a rueful look. "I fear in our haste we did not stop to pack."

The two brothers gave him faint smiles at his attempt at levity. “Don’t worry, Uncle,” Arafinwë said. “I will see that you and Ingwion are supplied with everything you need for your comfort."

With that, Ingwë and Ingwion followed Arafinwë towards the north wing while Ñolofinwë began issuing orders to pages to find various members of the royal family.

****

Ingwion decided that life without the Trees was going to be rather inconvenient. He had no idea how much time had truly passed since their deaths and trying to gauge when a certain hour had come and gone was nigh impossible. When he mentioned it to his atar, Arafinwë, who was still with them seeing that they had everything they needed, spoke.

"We have our water clock that Fëanáro invented," he told them. "It was set to coincide with the waxing and waning of the Trees. It is now the second hour after First Mingling."

"We will have to have one made for ourselves," Ingwë said. "I always thought it was a useless toy since the Light of the Trees told us the time, but I am grateful for Fëanáro’s foresight in this instance."

"But we can’t all have a water clock," Ingwion pointed out. "It’s much too large and cumbersome."

Arafinwë nodded. "Our candlemakers have been experimenting with measuring the melt rate of the wax against the clock. They are trying to determine how to make the wax melt at a pace consonant with the clock so that we can mark the candles in such a way that we know how much time has passed."

"That would certainly be useful and more convenient," Ingwë said. "I think, once a water clock has been set up in Vanyamar, I will have a certain bell rung at the start of each hour, the number of peals coinciding with the number of hours. That way people throughout the city will be able to gauge the time more correctly."

"We had thought of that as well," Arafinwë said. "My brother has commissioned the bellmakers to construct a particular bell with a singular tone that will be recognized throughout the city. He wants to have a special tower built for it and move the water clock into the tower. There would be a cadre of bellringers who would sound the hours throughout the day."

"I will have to do something similar then," Ingwë said. "In the meantime, let us go and speak with the family. I have much news to impart."

****

The family was gathered in the dining hall, silent and waiting. Servants were bustling about, placing a cold collation of fruit and cheese and new bread as well as some yellow wine on the tables before retiring. Ingwion saw Findaráto sitting with Amarië by his side, surprised to see her there, for he had assumed she had returned to Vanyamar with her parents. Findaráto’s brothers and sister were seated at the same table and when Ingwë gave a nod to his enquiring look, Ingwion went to sit with them. Findaráto smiled as he approached and with a quiet word he ordered Aicanáro to give his seat to their Vanyarin cousin. He did so, though reluctantly, Ingwion noted. The Vanyarin prince smiled at the younger ellon as he took his seat, giving him a soft word of thanks. Aicanáro seemed mollified and went to sit opposite Artanis. Meanwhile, Arafinwë and Ingwë made their way to the high table where Ñolofinwë awaited them along with his wife, Anairë, and Arafinwë’s wife, Eärwen. Nerdanel, he knew, had returned to her atar’s home. Only his sister, Indis, was not present.

"She has secluded herself since hearing the news about Atto," Ñolofinwë explained when Ingwë enquired.

Ingwë sighed as he took the seat proffered him. "I will speak with her privately later," he said, then looked over the high table to where the younger members of the family were situated among the tables below the dais. He noted their haunted looks, though little Itarildë seemed unaffected by the grief her parents were experiencing, happily playing with a doll, quietly rocking it to sleep with a softly sung lullaby.

"The Valar are even now planning how to bring light back to Aman," he said without preamble. "Indeed, from what I gather, they hope to bring light to all of Arda so that even the Outer Lands will no longer be lit by starlight only."

"That is good news," Ñolofinwë said with obvious relief. "Did they think the Trees could be saved after all?"

Ingwë shook his head. "I do not know, hinya," he said. "I only know that they are looking into it. But that is not the only news that I came to give you. It seems that Fëanáro has defied the Valar’s authority and is even now leading those from Formenos here. I have no doubt he plans to claim the crown."

"And welcome he is to it," Ñolofinwë said with a sigh of relief. "I never wanted this."

"Hanno," Arafinwë said to him, "if he is in defiance of the Valar...."

"It matters not," Ñolofinwë exclaimed. "He is the Noldóran by right of succession whether we wish it to be so or not. I will not stand in his way. Indeed, I cannot for my oath before the Valar forbids it. I meant what I said, he shall lead and I will follow, as it was always meant to be."

"I wish you had never given that oath, hinya," Ingwë said with a heavy sigh. "I fear we will all regret it in days to come."

"Perhaps, Uncle," Ñolofinwë replied, "but there is naught that can be done about it now. My oath I have given and I will not renege on it."

"I would not want you to," Ingwë said. "Still, I think Fëanáro is up to something besides just claiming the crown."

"Do you have any idea what that might be?" Anairë asked.

"He was probably as much upset at the theft of the Silmarils as he was by the news of Finwë’s death," Ingwë answered. "I have no doubt that he will burn with the desire to follow after Melkor and seek to reclaim what was stolen from him."

"Stolen from him?" Arafinwë snorted in disgust. "What about what was stolen from us? Yet, what can any of us do against a Vala, even one so craven and debased as that one? To seek vengeance upon him is madness and will only lead to ruin, I deem."

"You may be correct, hinya," Ingwë averred. "We will have to wait and see what Fëanáro says when he comes."

"I am surprised the Valar did not simply prevent him from leaving Formenos, or barring that, make him return forthwith," Findaráto spoke up just then and there were murmurs of agreement among the rest.

"They had their reasons, Findaráto," Ingwë answered, "the primary reason being that they do not wish to have the accusation that we are but their thralls thrown back into their faces. That accusation hurt them more than anything. They are, quite frankly, appalled that any of us would ever think such a thing and see the hand of Melkor behind it. Fëanáro, I know, never trusted that particular Vala and refused him admittance into his councils, but even so, it is obvious that he has accepted Melkor’s lies for himself whether he acknowledges their source or not. That is the true tragedy in all this: Fëanáro accepting, even in part, the lies of Melkor concerning the Valar."

There was silence among them for a time as they all digested Ingwë’s words. Then, Ñolofinwë gave a great sigh. "Well, I think we should make preparations for our brother’s return," he said, turning to Arafinwë. "We wouldn’t want him to think we didn’t welcome him, would we?"

Arafinwë snorted. "I’ll see that his apartments and those of his sons are aired out in the meantime while you see to everything else," he said and Ñolofinwë nodded.

"And I will go speak with my sister," Ingwë said with a sad look on his face as he rose and the others followed. Findaráto invited Ingwion to accompany him and he agreed as everyone filed out of the chamber and went their separate ways.

****

Ingwë waited at the door of Indis’ suite while one of her maids sought her out. He was not sure if she would even see him but a few minutes later the door opened and Indis stood there, looking wan and... faded to Ingwë’s discerning eyes and dressed all in grey, a color that clearly did not suit her. She said nothing, only stepping back to allow him to enter the sitting room of her suite, then closing the door behind him. He turned to look at her and would have taken her into his embrace but she stepped back.

"Why are you here, Brother?" she asked in a toneless voice.

"Do you mean, why am I here in Tirion or....?"

"You know precisely what I mean!" exclaimed the elleth, color rising in her cheeks, her eyes sparking with anger.

"I am not here to gloat, Indis, if that’s what you mean," Ingwë said. "Finwë was my friend and boon companion. I loved him as my brother. I’ve missed him these last five years while he remained in self-imposed exile, yet I knew eventually he would return to us. But now, that is not true and I may never see him again until the Remaking."

"He was a fool!" Indis declared angrily, moving into the middle of the room clutching her hands by her side.

"Yes, he was," Ingwë replied calmly. "Yet you love him, or you once did."

She turned to face him, the fire in her eyes dying. "I still love him," she admitted, "though the Valar know he gave me plenty of cause to hate him."

"I’m sorry," Ingwë said, stepping to her side and this time she did not shrink from him when he gently placed an arm around her shoulders and planted a brotherly kiss on her brow. "I was never sanguine about the marriage. I truly thought Finwë should not have sought permission of the Valar to woo you, but I knew how much you truly loved him and I could not bear to see you unhappy."

"We were happy at first," Indis said softly, "especially when I gave him Findis and then when Ñolofinwë came he was beside himself with joy." She paused, giving him a rueful look. "I know he loved his other children but I fear Fëanáro poisoned him with his own hatred towards them and nothing I did or said seemed to counter that."

"I am sorry, truly," Ingwë repeated. "Finwë loved Míriel too much, I think, to ever let her go. I fear you were merely a means to an end for him. His jealousy of me and Olwë because we both had sired other children drove him towards seeking a new wife."

"Perhaps," Indis said as she moved out of his embrace and went to a sideboard to pour some wine for them. "There is naught that can be done to change what happened and now he, too, is dead." She gave him a contemplative look as she handed him a goblet. "I wonder if he and Míriel...." She did not finish the thought, blushing slightly as she took a sip of wine, refusing to look at him.

Ingwë shrugged. "As to that, I have no way of knowing, nor do I feel an urgent need to ask Lord Námo about it."

The drollness of his tone brought an involuntary snort of laughter from her which she tried vainly to stifle. Ingwë gave her a wry smile and she had to turn away for a moment to compose herself. When she turned back she was more solemn and the sadness was back in her eyes. "I was not kind to him, there at the end, when he deserted me for his first-born," she said with a sigh. "We did not part on the best of terms and now...."

"I know," Ingwë said with a sigh of his own. "When last I spoke with him I am afraid I was less than sympathetic myself. Well, it’s done and as you said, there is naught any of us can do to change what has happened. He died well, defending his people, giving them time to escape. In the end, whatever his faults, Finwë died as Noldóran and we must strive to remember that."

Indis nodded. "Yes, for all our sakes, we must remember him as the good king that he was to his people even if he was less than sterling as an atar to our children and as a husband to me."

"What will you do now?" Ingwë asked.

Indis shrugged. "Fëanáro is now Noldóran," she answered with a slight grimace of distaste. "I do not think I will be welcomed here much longer once he claims the crown."

"He has defied the Valar and is even now making his way here to do just that," Ingwë said. Indis gave him a look of surprise and he nodded grimly. "It is why I am here. The Valar will not stop him for reasons of their own but they sent me here to persuade him from his course. They have not lifted the ban of his exile, you see."

Indis nodded. "Yes, I do. I also think that you are wasting your time, hanno. Fëanáro will not listen to you, be you High King or no."

"Yet, I needs must try, for all our sakes," Ingwë answered. "Also, I had in mind to travel to Alqualondë to speak with Olwë. He must wonder what has happened."

Indis shook her head. "He already knows. Did not my sons tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"Olwë met us on our way back to Tirion," she told him. "He was on his way to Valmar to find out what had happened to the Trees. He returned here with us, stayed for a short time and then left for Alqualondë. Since Ñolofinwë filled him in on all that occurred, he felt no need to complete his journey and decided to return home."

Ingwë furrowed his brow in thought. "I wish I’d known earlier. Well, at any rate, I will deal with Olwë later. You still haven’t answered my question as to what you plan to do now."

"I will not stay here," Indis replied firmly. "Fëanáro will not appreciate my presence though he must tolerate my sons and Finwaina."

"Come home with me, then," Ingwë suggested. "Come back to your own family. I know Findis would love to have you all to herself for a change." He cast her a sly look and she smiled.

"Perhaps I will," she said, "though I cannot guarantee that I will remain there for long. I have a mind to retire to Lórien. I think I need to spend some time in contemplation and find peace within myself again."

"If that is what you wish then I will not stop you, but I would love to have you in Vanyamar, if only for a while. I know Elindis will welcome you."

"And Ingoldo?" Indis enquired softly.

"You know him as well as I, Indis," Ingwë said, "but as much of a thorn as he is to me, I think he genuinely loves you and will be glad to see you."

"You are probably correct," she replied. "Very well. I will start making arrangements to have my household removed to Vanyamar. It will take a little time and I must explain my decision to my sons and Finwaina. I don’t think they will be happy with it."

"Probably not, but they will accept it in time," Ingwë offered. He put his goblet down and took Indis into his embrace and held her close. "I truly am sorry for all that has happened," he whispered into her ear, giving her a kiss on her cheek. "I want you to know that I love you and I will do all in my power to help you. You just have to ask."

"Thank you," Indis said softly.

Then he let her go and gave her a short bow. "Then I will leave you. May Ingwion come and visit? He is here with me."

"Of course," she answered with a smile. "I would welcome my nephew’s presence. He may come and sup with me if he wishes."

"I will tell him so," Ingwë said and then left, gently closing the door behind him.

****

By the water clock, two days of the Trees passed before Fëanáro was sighted, leading the Noldor with his sons behind him. The captain of the gate guards sent word to Ñolofinwë. He and the other members of the royal family, along with Ingwë and Ingwion, gathered before the gate to meet him. Ñolofinwë held the rod of office his atar had given him as token of his regency. Fëanáro halted several feet before the gate when he saw them waiting for him. Sea mist, cold and clammy, wreathed them, making them seem like ghosts with only the light of torches to illuminate the scene, for the fog had blocked out the stars. Fëanáro gave them a sardonic smile.

"Well, well. Are you here to welcome me or to bar me from the city?" he said.

"Thou’rt in defiance of the Valar, Fëanáro," Ingwë said imperiously before anyone else could speak. "They have not lifted the ban against thee. Returnest thou to Formenos ere you incur their wrath."

Fëanáro glared at the High King. "What can the Valar do to me that has not already been done?" he snarled.

"They barred thee from Valmar, did they not?" Ingwë replied softly. "They forced thee to turn aside from thy chosen path and trudge through wilderness did they not? Be grateful that is all they did, child. As thy liege, I tell thee to turn back and accept the judgment of the Valar."

For a moment Fëanáro’s expression became uncertain, but then he shook his head. "I care not. I have come to claim the crown of the Noldor as is my right. Will you gainsay me?"

"If I must," Ingwë started to say but Ñolofinwë stepped forward at the same moment, thrusting the rod of office out towards Fëanáro.

"I never wanted this, my brother," he said sincerely. "I relinquish unto thee the regency. The crown is thine as it was always meant to be. Thou’rt Noldóran and thou hast mine allegiance." With that, he knelt before his brother.

Silence reigned. Fëanáro stared down at Ñolofinwë with grave intensity before raising his eyes to the others. "And you? Do I also have your allegiance?"

One by one, beginning with Arafinwë, the others all knelt, some more reluctantly than others. Only Ingwë, Ingwion and Indis remained standing. Fëanáro raised an eyebrow at them but otherwise said nothing, turning back to Ñolofinwë and taking the rod of office from him.

"Rise then," he commanded and they did. He noted the sour looks on the faces of some of the younger family members, Findaráto and Artanis especially, but ignored them. They were of no real consequence. It was his half-brothers he needed to convince. Deciding to be gracious, for it truly cost him nothing to be so, he smiled at Ñolofinwë. "Thou hast Our thanks for thy diligence in caring for our people and our city."

"I did my duty to them and to... to Atar," Ñolofinwë said quietly.

Fëanáro nodded. "We will speak later of a suitable public ceremony, but for now, the journey was long and wearying and I would see my followers returned to their proper homes."

"Of course," Ñolofinwë said. "Let us return to the palace," and with a quiet word from him everyone stepped aside so that Fëanáro, eldest son of Finwë and now Noldóran, could enter his city.

57: The Crowning of Fëanáro

"What will you do, Atto?" Ingwion asked worriedly once he, Ingwë and Indis had returned to the High King’s suite after making their excuses to Fëanáro and the rest of the Noldorin royal family. "You are High King. Will you let that... that spoiled child defy you?"

Ingwë gave his son a wry smile. "That spoiled child, as you call him, is now Noldóran," he said as he poured some wine into goblets, handing them to Ingwion and Indis. "If he will defy the Valar themselves, he will not be guided by me."

"He has always been obstinate and willful," Indis said with disdain. "And Finwë coddled him and denied him nothing."

"True," Ingwë averred with a sigh, sorrow at the thought of his good friend now dead darkening his spirit. "Ñolofinwë should not have been so eager to relinquish the rod of office," he continued. "I wish he had let me handle the situation."

"Ari has hated every moment of this since Finwë left," Indis said in defense of her eldest son. "I think he was relieved to have an excuse to hand over his authority and Fëanáro showing up gave him one."

Ingwë nodded. "I know, and I do not fault him overmuch, but he has made my job that much more difficult."

"So what will you do?" Indis asked.

"What I can," Ingwë answered, "though I fear it will not be enough."

"Findaráto and Artanis were none too pleased with having to kneel before their cousin," Ingwion observed.

"Yet they did," Ingwë said. "However much they may distrust Fëanáro, they are Noldor and he is their rightful king. I do not think either of them is willing to defy their families in this matter, nor do I blame them for not doing so. The Noldor are divided enough as it is without compounding the problem."

"Fëanáro will not meekly return to Formenos just because you tell him to, Brother," Indis said. "What can you hope to accomplish?"

"If nothing else, I can remind him and the Noldor that I am still Ingaran of the Eldar," Ingwë replied, "and that Finwë whom they loved recognized my authority as such. It may give them pause."

There was a moment or two of silence before Ingwion spoke. "Will you be returning with us, Aunt?"

"Not immediately, Ingwion," she replied. "I must first discharge my household, for most of them are Noldor and will have no desire to remove themselves to Vanyamar. It will take me some little time to see to their welfare, for they have served me faithfully and well and I would not abandon them now. Also, I wish to be here to support my sons. I do not trust Fëanáro to treat them well."

"That is my fear also," Ingwë said, "yet they are ellyn grown and can take care of themselves and do not need me to hold their hands. So I will not overstay my welcome but will return to Valmar to consult with Lord Manwë. The Valar will have to deal with Fëanáro themselves if they are minded to do so."

"When will you leave?" Indis asked her brother.

"Directly after the coronation," he answered with a sour grin. "Whether Fëanáro likes it or not, he will have to take an oath of fealty to me even as Finwë and Olwë did."

"That should be fun to see," Ingwion muttered as he took a sip of wine. Ingwë snorted in agreement and shortly thereafter Indis left them to attend to other matters.

****

The coronation took place a week later at the time that would have been Second Mingling had the Trees still bloomed. Fëanáro refused to hold it on Valanya, which would have been the most appropriate day for such a ceremony, and so they held it the day after on Elenya instead.

"And seeing as how we are now left with only the light of the stars to illuminate our way, it is meet that I formally begin my reign as Noldóran on the day that honors them," Fëanáro explained and no one felt the need to object.

The ceremony was a public affair and all the city would attend, or certainly the greater number of its citizens would congregate in the main square fronting the palace. A three-step dais was constructed before the palace doors and a single throne was set thereon. Six crystal lamps on Elf-high silver stands were quickly made by craftsmen and placed on either side of the throne, two lamps on each step. Some, seeing the lamps, their many facets glowing with scintillating light from candles set inside them, muttered darkly of the Silmarils, and not a few wondered if their construction had been deliberate, a reminder of what had been stolen, for surely candelabra would have served just as well.

Sometime in the week of preparation the fogs which had wreathed the city and the surrounding countryside dissipated, much to everyone’s relief. Thus, on the day of the ceremony the skies were clear of clouds and the stars shone down upon them in all their glory, their songs faintly heard. It escaped no one’s notice, however, that the group of stars known as the Valacirca dominated the northern sky, a visible — and for some, an unwelcome — reminder of the presence of the Valar in their lives whether they wished to acknowledge it or not.

The coronation itself was one of simplicity, for, in truth, no one had ever thought to create an appropriate ceremony, never thinking there would be a need for one. Fëanáro closeted himself with Lord Axantur, his atar’s — and now his — Chamberlain and Master of Ceremonies, hammering out the details, assigning roles to various members of the royal family. Ingwë stayed out of it, only pointing out that once Fëanáro was crowned then he must give his fealty to him as High King. Fëanáro had scowled at the reminder but did not voice any complaint. Instead he asked if the oath of fealty could be delayed until the very end of the ceremony.

"I wish to address my people first as Noldóran before relinquishing my authority to you," he said.

"You will not be relinquishing your authority to me, Fëanáro," Ingwë told him with some exasperation. "You will merely be acknowledging my authority as High King of the Eldar. Have you ever known me to abuse my authority? Have you ever known me to say to your atar ‘do this’ or ‘do not do that’? I am High King as it pertains to all of Eldamar, not just to Tirion. Rarely have I intervened in the affairs of the Noldor or the Teleri. As High King my primary role is to stand before the Valar as the ambassador of all our peoples, to represent their interests. How you conduct your affairs is your business unless it directly impacts on the lives of us all to our detriment."

"That may be as it may be," Fëanáro said, "but I would ask of your courtesy to allow me this."

Ingwë hesitated for a moment, wondering what the ellon was about, but could see no reason to deny him his request and so he nodded. "We will have your oath of fealty be the final part of the ceremony then." He noticed a flash of triumph in the ellon’s eyes, one that was quickly suppressed, and he felt a frisson of foreboding assail him, but knew he could not call back his words. He sighed and gave Fëanáro a jaundiced look. "Just don’t make it too long a speech," he muttered and left.

The ceremony began with a paean to Eru sung by a choir of ellith and ellyn dressed in blue and white that led the procession from the palace, following a path laid out that took them down one side of the square and then up the middle to the throne dais. Fëanáro followed directly behind with Nelyafinwë as his heir beside him on his right while Macalaurë was on his left, carrying a sword. His other sons came behind them followed by Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë with their respective families. They were dressed in their most formal garb, the jewels sewn into their tunics and gowns glittering in the light of the lamps and the torches of the spectators so that it seemed to some as if they were surrounded by dark rainbows. Ñolofinwë carried the rod of office and Arafinwë carried the crown on a blue velvet pillow with silver tassels. It had been specially commissioned and was an exact replica of the crown that had been buried with Finwë. Fëanáro had wanted the crown to be of different design, but in this one instance he was overruled. Even his sons had insisted that the new crown should be like the old so that there was a clear sense of continuity between the first and the second Noldóran. Neither Ñolofinwë nor Arafinwë were particularly happy at their assigned roles in the coronation ceremony, but Fëanáro had insisted that as the sons of the previous Noldóran it was their duty to carry the symbols of the king’s office.

"When you hand me the scepter and place the crown upon my head, it will be a sign to all that you accept my authority over you," he had told them and they had had no choice but to agree.

Ingwë and Ingwion came last, walking side-by-side. They were dressed in borrowed tunics, their heads bound by simple coronets, for they had none of their own regalia. Yet, for all the plainness of their dress in comparison to those of the rest of the procession, none could mistake Ingwë for anything but High King. He bore himself with a dignity few could match, his kingship mantling him with an aura of authority nigh as great as that of the Valar. While all there had bowed or curtsied to Fëanáro as he strode down the aisle toward the dais, every knee was bent as Ingwë passed them. He glanced briefly at Ingwion and gave him a slight smile, knowing that Fëanáro would see and resent it.

As they reached the dais, Ingwë and Ingwion moved to their right to join the royal family standing off to the side. Facing them on the other side of the central aisle were Fëanáro’s sons and his one grandson, Telperinquar Curufinwion. Fëanáro stood before his throne with Nelyafinwë and Macalaurë standing on either side of him. Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë stood on the next lower step directly in front of Fëanáro’s two sons.

Noticeably missing were Lady Nerdanel and Queen Indis.

Lord Axantur, acting as Chamberlain, moved to stand before the throne, giving Fëanáro a profound bow before turning to address the spectators. "Today is both a day of sorrow and of joy," he began. "It is a day of sorrow for the necessity of having to come together at all with the death of our most beloved lord and sovereign, King Finwë, who ruled us wisely and well since the days of Cuiviénen. He died as he lived, in the service of our people and we honor his memory."

He paused and silence reigned across the square as all took a moment or two to reflect on the life and death of their king and what that death had cost them as a people. Then he continued.

"Yet it is also a day of joy, for we are gathered here to crown a new king, Fëanáro, Haryon Noldoron. And so I ask you who are Noldolië, do ye take Fëanáro Finwion as your king?"

"Aye!" came the shout from a multitude of voices, save from the High King and his son. Ingwion, looking to where his cousins stood, noticed that neither Findaráto nor Artanis joined in the acclamation, though their brothers did as did the children of Ñolofinwë. He wondered if that boded good or ill for them all. Then he turned his attention back to Lord Axantur.

"Will ye give him your fealty as is meet, obeying him in all things pertaining to the realm?" the Chamberlain asked.

"Aye!" the crowd shouted again, though Ingwion now noticed that only those crowding the front were making the acclamations while most of those who stood further back in the shadows were silent. He suspected that the ones in front were those who had followed Fëanáro and Finwë into exile.

Axantur then turned to face Fëanáro. "And thou, Fëanáro Finwion, wilt thou be a true king to thy people? Wilt thou rule fairly and with respect for all thy subjects, from the least to the greatest? Wilt thou give honor where it is due and protect thy people from all harm to the best of thine abilities?"

"I will," Fëanáro stated loudly and clearly so that all might hear.

Axantur then nodded to Arafinwë who turned to face his half-brother, kneeling before him and holding up the pillow. "Takest thou then the Noldoríë which is thine by right of blood. Bear it well, Fëanáro Finwion, for with it comes the burden of kingship."

Ingwion watched as Fëanáro reached down and lifted the crown of state, holding it before him so all might see. It was intricately wrought of white gold in the shape of a wreath of flowers and leaves, with an emerald embedded in the center of each flower. In the front the leaves formed a frame for a single pigeon-egg-sized sapphire surrounded by four diamonds of the purest water. Fëanáro then placed the crown on his head and Arafinwë rose and stepped back to allow Ñolofinwë to come forward. He knelt before the new king, holding out the rod of office.

"For a time, I held this sceptre in trust for when the Noldóran would return to us from his exile," Ñolofinwë said. "That the king for whom I kept faith is not the king who stands before me today is of little consequence. Takest thou this sceptre, which is thine by right of blood, as a symbol of thine authority to govern thy people, my brother. Mayest thou ever wield it in honor and truth."

Fëanáro reached down and took the rod of office from Ñolofinwë, holding it in the crook of his left arm. Ñolofinwë rose and stood back and Axantur then turned to the people and with a loud voice proclaimed, "Behold your king!"

Glad cries resounded across the square, reverberating so that even those who were elsewhere in the city heard it and knew that they now had a new king and rejoiced. In the square itself the proclamations eventually died as Axantur held up his hand for silence.

"Let the lords of the land come forth to swear fealty to our king," he announced.

This was the most tedious part of the ceremony, however necessary. It had been decided, however, for the sake of brevity, that only Fëanáro’s sons and his two half-brothers would give their fealty singly. The rest of the royal family would offer their fealty as a group. Then those nobles who sat on Fëanáro’s Privy Council would come forward together and give their fealty, symbolically representing all of the nobility. In the days that would follow, these same people, and all the other nobles, would come before Fëanáro singly to give him their fealty. A similar group comprised of the chief masters of all the guilds would follow, representing the rest of the populace.

Nelyafinwë went first, with Fëanáro exchanging the rod of office for the sword with Macalaurë. Ingwë watched with interest as Nelyafinwë placed his hands upon the sword’s hilt before speaking his oath of fealty, his atar’s hand overlaying his. It seemed odd to him for them to have a sword there when previously the one giving his oath would simply have placed his hands into those of the king. It appeared to Ingwë as if the oath was given more to the sword than to the king and he did not like the implications of that. When Nelyafinwë had given his fealty, he in turn took the sceptre from his brother, while Macalaurë gave his oath. Then one by one, Fëanáro’s other sons came forward to give their oaths, with the twins coming together to kneel before their atar, though they spoke their oaths singly.

As the procession of oathgivers continued, stars wield across the heavens in their stately pavane, some of them disappearing below the horizon while new stars rose, but ever did the stars of the Valacirca remain above them, a constant reminder of the presence of the Valar, in spirit if not physically. During this time the choir sang hymns of thanksgiving and praise, as much to entertain the crowd as to honor the new king. Ingwion leaned over to speak quietly to his atar, glad that the voices of the choir would drown him out so none standing near them would overhear their conversation. "Did you notice that they never once asked for the blessing of the Valar?"

Ingwë looked at his son and nodded. "I wonder how the people will feel about that?" he replied. "Most are still loyal to the Valar and not to ask for their blessing I think will be seen as an ill omen."

"I heard a few around me mutter ‘Valar valuvar’, at the proper time," Ingwion said, "but then I heard someone whisper ‘Valar óravar messë’. I don’t think everyone is happy to have Fëanáro as their king."

Ingwë shrugged, for there was nothing to say to that. Finally, the last oath was heard and accepted and the choir finished their final hymn of praise. With a nod from Fëanáro, Axantur bowed to him and turned to the crowd. "It is customary at this time that our king would give his own oath of fealty to our High King, but with the Ingaran’s kind permission, that oath will be given later, for our king would speak to us first words that he deems are meet for us to hear." He then turned and bowed once more before stepping back.

Ingwion leaned over to whisper into Ingwë’s ear. "I wonder what he will say that could not have waited until after he had given his fealty to you?"

"We are about to find out," Ingwë said, then flashed his son a bright smile. "I told him not to take too long."

Ingwion smothered a snort of laughter and then focused his attention to listening to Fëanáro’s speech.

****

Ingaran: High King, an attested title.

Haryon Noldoron: Throne-prince of the Noldor.

Noldolië: The Noldo-folk; cf. Eldalië "the Elven-folk", which is attested.

Noldoríë: Crown of the Noldor [Noldo + ríë ‘crown’].

Valar valuvar: ‘The will of the Valar be done’, an attested phrase.

Valar óravar messë: ‘The Valar have mercy on us’. The phrase órava (o)messë ‘have mercy on us’ is attested [see Vinyar Tengwar 44:12].

Note: Telperinquar Curufinwion will be known as Celebrimbor Curufinion in Beleriand.

58: Sië Quentë Fëanáro

Fëanáro had given over the sword to Macalaurë and, as had been decided beforehand, his two sons and his half-brothers bowed and stepped down from the dais to join their families, leaving Fëanáro alone. For a long moment he stood there as still as a statue, the gems of his crown casting a blue-green aura around his head as the light of the lamps reflected off them. Finally he spoke and his words were soft yet all heard them.

"Lord Axantur was correct when he said that this was a day both of sorrow and of joy, yet it is not of joy I will speak, but of sorrow." He paused, his eyes glittering darkly in the light of the lamps and torches. When he spoke again it was in a louder voice.

"Why, O people of the Noldor, why should we longer serve the jealous Valar, who cannot keep us nor even their own realm secure from their Enemy? And though he be now their foe, are not they and he of one kin? Vengeance calls me hence but even were it otherwise I would not dwell longer in the same land with the kin of my atar’s slayer and of the thief of my treasure."

"Your treasure?" Ingwë exclaimed, stepping forward to face Fëanáro who glared down at him. "The Silmarils may have been of your making, but they never truly belonged to you. The light which you captured came from the Trees, and while you are gifted with many talents, hinya, you had no hand in the making of them. The Silmarils belonged to us all, though you would begrudge them to us."

There was a stir among the Noldor but Fëanáro held up his hand. "You promised me this time to speak unto my people, Ingwë of the Vanyar," Fëanáro almost snarled, and many among the listeners gasped in dismay at the temerity of his words and the disrespect shown to the High King.

"Let him speak!" someone shouted from the crowd. "Let us hear what our king has to say!" There were murmurs of approval from most but Ingwë heard one voice proclaim: "Ingwë is correct. The Silmarils were never Fëanáro’s," but that lone voice was shouted down by his neighbors and Ingwë raised his own hand to command silence.

"Speak then, Fëanáro of the Noldor," Ingwë said in a voice as cold as the snows of Taniquetil, "but know that I will not be silent when thou dost mouth nonsense."

Fëanáro continued to glare at him, but Ingwë did not back down and at the last it was Fëanáro who looked away. Ingwë forbore smiling in triumph but stood where he was, waiting to hear what this child of his friend would say next, wishing with all his heart that Finwë had done the smart thing and fled with his people instead of facing Melkor alone. Finally, Fëanáro pulled himself together and, ignoring Ingwë, resumed his speech, one that Ingwë had no doubt was carefully rehearsed.

"When I was hailed before the Valar I accused them of keeping us here in thralldom so that others might supplant us in the lands of our youth there in Endórë. They denied the first but not the second."

"What others?" someone from the crowd called out. "Of whom do you speak, my king?"

"The Valar named them Eruhíni, such as are we, though I dispute that claim," Fëanáro replied. "Little could I learn of them, though what I have learned is enough to know that these... these neri are a sad folk, beset with swift mortality, a race of burrowers in the dark, clumsy of hand, untuned to songs or musics, who shall dully labor at the soil with their rude tools."

"And you know this for a fact?" Ingwë demanded, his tone laced with sarcasm as many of the Noldor whispered among themselves. He overheard an elleth standing near him asking her neighbors why the Valar had not mentioned this before but they could give her no answer. He ignored her and them as he continued to address Fëanáro. "You, who have never set eyes upon them, for, if Lord Manwë and Lord Námo speak truly, these people have not yet arisen."

"Yet, the Valar deny not that they will," Fëanáro retorted angrily. "Now at length are we told to what end we are guarded here, robbed of our heritage in the world, ruling not the wide lands, lest perchance we yield them not to a race unborn. To these forsooth would Manwë Súlimo, lordling of the Ainur, give the world and all the wonders of its land, all its hidden substances — give it to these, that is our inheritance."

"Yet we gave them up freely," Ingwë said, shaking his head. "We agreed to leave the place of our awakening and follow Lord Oromë to Aman."

"You may have," Fëanáro snarled, "but what of us who were yet born when you so freely gave away our inheritance to these... these Apanónar? They are not beings good by nature but rather they are to all deeds... evil inclined. Less than good, I say, are the hearts of these neri and although their having escaped the long search may be good they can be smelled out by Melkor whom they are bound to or have looked for... there on the throne of hate they blessed the great evil."

There was stunned silence at these words. Ingwë felt a frisson of fear course through him. What was the ellon saying? How could he even know....?

"Yonya," he said softly, "these... neri, as you call them, are, in your own words, a race unborn, yet you speak of them in the past tense as if their deeds were already known. How is this so?"

For a moment Fëanáro stared at him, looking suddenly nonplused and uncertain. "I... I just know." Then, he shook his head and turned to face the crowd. "It matters not," he spoke more decisively. "The fact remains that here once was light, that the Valar begrudged to Endórë, but now dark levels all. Shall we mourn here deedless forever, a shadow-folk, mist-haunting, dropping vain tears in the thankless sea? Or shall we return to our home? In Cuiviénen sweet ran the waters under unclouded stars, and wide lands lay about, where a free people may walk. There they lie still and await us who in our folly forsook them."

"Are you so sure of that?" Ingwë demanded, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Wide indeed are the lands across the sea and long did we journey. Yéni have passed since the day we left Cuiviénen, there by the great Sea of Helcar. Can you be certain that it still exists?"

"Whether it exists still or not is of no consequence," Fëanáro replied haughtily. "What is, is that the Valar would have us remain here while our very inheritance is denied us. And so, O all ye children of the Noldor, whomso will no longer be house-thralls of the Valar however softly held, arise I bid you and get you from Valinor, for now is the hour come and the world awaits."

"The world... or Melkor?" Ingwë asked and before Fëanáro could respond, he shook his head in disgust. "You spoke earlier of vengeance. Against whom would you avenge yourself? Melkor? He is a Vala. You cannot hope to win against him even if every Elf of Eldamar took up arms with you. Let the Valar...."

"As cowards have the Valar become," Fëanáro cried out, repeating the words he had spoken before his atar’s grave, "but the hearts of the Eldar are not weak, and we will see what is our own, and if we may not get it by stealth we will do so by violence. There shall be war between the Children of Ilúvatar and Melkor, whom I now name Moringotto. What if we perish in our quest? The dark halls of Mandos be little worse than this bright prison."

"You speak foolishness, Fëanáro...." Ingwë started to say, but Nelyafinwë stepped forward, his eyes blazing.

"No, he does not," he cried angrily, laying a hand on the pommel of his sword as he spoke and Ingwë actually took a step back in surprise. "High King you may be, but you are here on sufferance and should mind your tongue."

Ingwion was beside his atar in an instant. "How dare you?" he protested. "Do you not hear the madness in your atar’s words? What he proposes is insane and no right thinking...."

"Peace, Ingwion," Ingwë said softly, laying a hand on the ellon’s arm. Ingwion took a deep shuddering breath, looking sheepish. He nodded, muttering an apology, and stepped back while Ingwë turned to Fëanáro’s eldest son, looking at him coldly. "And you, Nelyafinwë, wouldst thou draw steel on thy High King?" When the ellon did not answer, Ingwë focused his attention on Fëanáro who continued glaring at him. He wondered how Finwë could have been so blind to his son’s arrogance and had not squashed it before it had gotten worse. He hoped he could get through to Fëanáro but he had his doubts as to his success. Still, for friendship’s sake and the sake of peace in Aman he had to try. "You speak foolishness, hinya," he repeated in as calm a voice as he could manage. "You speak of what you do not know, for all that you are accounted wise among the Noldor, and the lies of Melkor come too easily to your tongue."

Fëanáro bristled at that. "The words are my own and no other’s," he retorted through gritted teeth.

"Words that sound very similar to what Melkor spoke among you, from what I’ve heard," Ingwë returned with a grim smile. "Do you honestly think that you can wrest a single Silmaril, never mind three, from the hands of that one? Fallen into darkness and evil he may be, but he is still a Vala and beyond any of us in power. You may be accounted wise in many things, yonya, but in this you are in error and your arrogance will be your undoing."

"Arrogance, is it?" Fëanáro snarled. "Is it arrogant for me to mourn my atar’s death and the rape of my treasure at the hands of one unworthy to behold their beauty? Is it arrogant for me to want to avenge my atar’s death and retrieve that which was stolen from me? Is it arrogant for me to urge my people to follow me in my quest for vengeance? The Valar do nothing! They sit on their thrones and wring their hands in defeat."

"They are doing nothing of the sort," Ingwë said, shaking his head in disgust. "Even as I left them to come here they were laying out plans to bring light back to Aman, and yea, to all of Arda."

"The Trees are dead," Fëanáro sneered.

"Thanks to you," Ingwë shot back, and then instantly wished he could recall the words, for Fëanáro drew back, his expression mutating from hot anger to cold fury. Many who watched the confrontation between him and the High King began muttering darkly, glaring at Ingwë for accusing their king of such perfidy. Ingwë shook his head. "I’m sorry, hinya, I didn’t...."

But Fëanáro ignored his apology, turning his attention to the Noldor and in a loud voice, proclaimed: "If all your hearts be too faint to follow, behold I, Fëanáro, go now alone into the wide and magic world to seek the gems that are my own, and perchance many great and strange adventures will there befall me more worthy of a child of Ilúvatar than a servant of the Valar. Yet I am not the only valiant in this valiant people. And have ye not all lost your King? And what else have ye not lost, cooped here in a narrow land between the mountains and the sea? Come away! Let the cowards keep the city!" This last was said with a snarl as he looked directly at Ingwë.

Even as Fëanáro was speaking, most of the Noldor, catching the fire of their king’s words, began shouting their approval, led by Fëanáro’s own sons. "To arms!" some cried. "Let us away to Endórë!" others shouted and not a few could be heard chanting, "Fëanáro! Fëanáro will lead us to glory!"

Ingwë leaped up beside Fëanáro, his own visage dark with barely sustained fury. He held his hands up in an imperious gesture but it took some time for the people to settle down to listen to him.

"What rashness is this?" he demanded. "Would you simply abandon your homes at the word of one ellon?"

"He is not just any ellon," someone yelled. "He is our king and we will follow him wherever he commands us." And there was much muttered agreement.

"Even if he leads you to your deaths?" Ingwë retorted. "Are you truly so foolish? For I assure you, if you continue on this course, death will be your lot. Your days will end in ignominy and your deeds be forgotten."

"Death is preferable to dishonor!" one of the Noldor cried and there were many shouts of agreement among the crowd.

"So be it," Ingwë said in disgust, turning to Fëanáro. "Will you at least send an embassy to Lord Manwë to take due farewell and mayhap get his goodwill and counsel for your journeying?"

Fëanáro shook his head. "Why should we do such?" he demanded. "Are we house-thralls in truth or elflings needing permission from our betters to leave our homes? I say thee nay! And knowing the Valar as I do we would but court refusal and Lord Manwë would forbid us and prevent our leaving. Nay! I say again," and he turned back to the crowd. "Fair shall the end be, though long and hard shall be the road! Say farewell to bondage! But say farewell also to ease! Say farewell to the weak! Say farewell to your treasures! More still shall we make. Journey light: but bring with you your swords! For we will go further than Lord Oromë, endure longer than Lord Tulkas: we will never turn back from pursuit. After Moringotto to the ends of Arda! War shall he have and hatred undying. But when we have conquered and have regained the Silmarils, then we and we alone shall be lords of the unsullied Light, and masters of the bliss and beauty of Arda. No other race shall oust us!"

There was a great tumult of voices shouting their approval of these words. "What is Valinor to us," someone cried, "now that its light is come to little: as lief and liever would we have the untrammeled world." The Noldor roared their approval and somewhere in the midst of the crowd a chant began: "What is Valinor to us? What is Valinor to us?" which was picked up by others until the entire square rang with it.

Ingwë, seeing that he could not persuade them from their course, shook his head in dismay and sorrow, giving Fëanáro a disgusted look. "Your atar would be ashamed of you, hinya," he said. "You are no true king to your people."

The sting of Ingwë’s words hit Fëanáro hard and he reddened in shame, but then he smiled at Ingwë, a cold, calculating smile that boded no good and there was a depth of madness in the ellon’s eyes that had not been there before. Or perhaps not. It would only be later, when he had time to think it over, that Ingwë would wonder if Fëanáro hadn't been absolutely sane and had known exactly what he was about. At that moment, however, as he watched the change in Fëanáro’s demeanor, the High King truly felt fear, for himself and for the Noldor. Before he could respond to that smile, though, Fëanáro raised an imperious hand, never taking his eyes off Ingwë. Silence fell across the square almost at once.

"This oath I now swear," he said in a loud voice. "Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean, brood of Moringotto or bright Vala, Elda or Maia or Apanónar, Nér yet unborn upon Middle-earth, neither law, nor love, nor league of swords, dread nor danger, not Doom itself, shall defend him from Fëanáro, whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, finding keepeth or afar casteth a Silmaril. This swear I: death I will deal him ere Day’s ending, woe unto world’s end! My word hear thou, Eru Ilúvatar! To the Everlasting Dark doom me if my deed faileth. On the holy mountain of Taniquetil hear in witness and my vow remember, Manwe and Varda!"

Ingwë stared in horror at the ellon standing there looking so triumphant. "O hína, what hast thou wrought in thy madness?" he whispered.

For a long pregnant moment there was shocked silence, for such an oath was unheard of among them and many quailed at its words, words that should never have been spoken, words that could never be put aside except by death. Several Elves began to think twice about their king’s wisdom and not a few started to make their way from the square, no longer wishing to hear such blasphemy. Then, as if on cue, the seven sons of Fëanáro all drew their swords, their blades shining red as blood in the light of the torches and with one voice they repeated their atar’s oath. The words reverberated like thunder across the square and a sense of dread filled the hearts of many. It seemed as if the stars dimmed in their brilliance and the dark mists that had dissipated earlier crept back into their hearts and there was a pall of horror over all.

And as the last words of the oath echoed their way into eternity, all hell broke loose as many shouted for or against Fëanáro. Ñolofinwë, Turucáno and Findaráto stepped forward to argue with the king and their sons against the rashness of their oath. Ingwion saw Arafinwë calling for calm, trying to persuade everyone to pause and ponder ere deeds were done that could not be undone, but few paid him any heed.

Ingwë stood there, staring in disbelief at the son of his dearest friend, shocked to the very core of his being. Now he understood why Fëanáro had asked to speak to his people before giving his fealty to Ingwë: he never meant to give it. This had all been carefully orchestrated. Ingwë suspected that Fëanáro had anticipated his arguments and would not be swayed by them. He had been serious: if none were willing to follow him in his quest to retrieve the Silmarils and avenge Finwë’s death, he would go alone. Now, however, it was clear that his sons, at least would follow him. And that oath... he found himself shuddering in horror and tears began streaming down his cheeks as he realized that in some small measure he had been responsible for pushing Fëanáro into it.

Ingwion stared in dismay at the look of defeat in his atar’s eyes. He had been appalled at Fëanáro’s words and had fervently hoped that his atar would be able to persuade the Noldor otherwise, but he knew that Ingwë, High King though he be, was no Fëanáro and had not the gift of words and persuasion this most eminent of loremasters possessed. For the first time in his life he saw the true limitations of his atar’s power and sorrowed that it was so. He took Ingwë’s arm. "Come, Atto, there is naught either you nor I can do here," he shouted into Ingwë’s ear. "Let us away from this madness."

Ingwë nodded, not taking his eyes off Fëanáro, but he allowed his son to lead him away. All the while tears streamed down his face. "O Finwë, what hast thou wrought in thy son?" he whispered, but, of course, there was no answer.

****

Sië Quentë Fëanáro: ‘Thus Spake Fëanor’.

Neri: Plural of nér: Man, male of any sentient species. Since Men have not yet arisen and Fëanáro has never met them, he uses a generic term to speak of them. In ‘Sí Quentë Fëanor’ (see Note 1 below), Tolkien has Fëanáro using this word to describe Mortals.

Apanónar: Afterborn, an attested name for Men.

Yéni: Plural of yen: An Elvish century equivalent to 144 solar years. At this time, according to Tolkien’s Timeline, 4285 solar years have passed since the Elves awoke at Cuiviénen.

Notes:

1. Much of Fëanáro’s speech and his debate with Ingwë is derived from the following sources: The Silmarillion, The Book of Lost Tales I and Parma Eldalamberon XV, ‘Sí Quentë Fëanor & Other Elvish Writings’. In the latter, Christopher Gilson analyzes and translates a 13-line prose text written in Qenya by Tolkien, consisting of two sentences uttered by the character Fëanor:

‘men are not beings good by nature

but rather they are to all deeds

— evil inclined.’

now said Fëanor the wise

in other manner than was said before by those

from whom this birth was known — ‘Less

than good, I said, are the hearts

of these men and although their having escaped

the long search may be good

they can be smelled out by Melko whom

they are bound to or have looked for

— there on the throne of hate

they blessed the great evil.’

2. Fëanáro’s oath is taken verbatim from Morgoth’s Ring, ‘The Annals of Aman, sec. 134’, with some slight modifications in language to reflect the fact that Fëanáro alone is speaking the oath at the time.

59: Finwë in Mandos

Námo watched impassively as Finwë, once King of the Noldor, appeared before him, confusion and remembered pain clouding the ellon’s eyes. He had kept the ellon in suspension until he was ready to deal with him and also to give Finwë’s fëa time to heal somewhat from the first shock of being separated from his hröa. Finwë blinked a couple of times as he gazed about him at the walls covered with storied webs, the light of several free-standing candelabra casting a warm glow about them. Then his eyes focused on the stone-carved throne before him and the one who sat in it, going slowly to his knees, shock and awe and a dawning realization of what had happened crossing his fair visage.

"Welcome to Mandos, Finwë," Námo said softly.

"I... I died," was all Finwë could think to say, trying to remember the details but his mind shied away from the memory of his last moments and he shuddered.

"Yes, you did," Námo replied. "And now...."

"Míriel!" Finwë cried, coming to his feet. "Is Míriel...?"

Námo raised a hand to still the ellon’s words and Finwë fell silent while the Vala called silently for Maranwë to bring Míriel to him. Even as Námo was lowering his arm a door opened and two people entered, one of them wearing the black surcoat with the Sun-in-Eclipse emblem of the Lord of Mandos.

"Lady Míriel, my lord," Maranwë announced.

"Thank you, Maranwë," Námo said. "See that we are not disturbed, but please find my wife and ask her to join us."

If Maranwë wondered at such an unusual request, for his lord could simply have called to his lady and she would come, he gave no sign, merely bowing and closing the door behind him. Finwë had turned at the sound of the door opening and stood gazing at the elleth who had once been his wife and the second half of his soul. Only when the Maia had closed the door did he move towards her.

"Míriel! I...."

"Finwë! What dost thou here?" Míriel exclaimed in consternation.

Finwë stopped, not sure how to respond. "I... I died," he finally said.

Míriel looked up at the Lord of Mandos, sitting on his throne, his expression impassive, his amaranthine eyes giving nothing away. She turned back to Finwë. "Died? In truth? But how?"

The once king of the Noldor sighed. "I... I think I faced Melkor in battle, but my memory...."

He turned to look at Námo, ignoring the look of shock on Míriel’s face. "I faced Melkor, but there was another with him... something... dark... something...." He gave a shudder, wrapping his arms around him and Míriel came to him and held him in her embrace.

"It is well, my husband who was," she whispered. "No harm can come to thee now, beloved."

"Míriel is correct," Námo spoke, his deep voice tinged with compassion. "No harm can ever come to you, Finwë."

"Tell me, my love, what hath occurred among our people since I left thee," Míriel said, still holding him in her arms. "I confess that I have given no heed to what may have befallen thee and our son, nor did I ever seek for tidings, but now, something within me yearneth to know. So, tell me, Finwë, what hath happened."

Finwë glanced at Námo as if seeking permission to speak, and the Lord of Mandos gave an almost imperceptible nod. "I can only tell thee of what I know, beloved," he said. "I have no knowledge of what hath occurred since I came here." He paused, looking suddenly puzzled. "How long have I been here?"

Námo almost smiled, though neither Elf noticed. "You died nearly three weeks ago, Finwë." The ellon gave him a look of disbelief and Námo smiled. "I let you... sleep for a time, to give your fëa rest. You suffered a grave shock, child, and you were rather distraught when you came to me."

"I... I do not remember," Finwë admitted, frowning.

"And there is no reason why you should," Námo said gently. "Even as we speak, your son is claiming the kingship of the Noldor. He is being crowned this very day."

"Then all is well with our people," Míriel said with a smile, giving Finwë a warm hug. "I am sure thou didst raise our son well, Finwë."

Finwë felt himself blushing, though he was sure, being dead, that he could not truly do so, and he remained silent, not sure how to respond to Míriel’s words. The silence became acute enough that Míriel glanced suspiciously at Námo. "Is it not well that Fëanáro taketh up his atar’s crown?"

"As for that Therindë," Námo replied, addressing her with the name by which she had been known in Life, "it is too early to tell." He had used the ancient pronunciation of her name, for she was unaware of the linguistic changes that had occurred during her time in Mandos. Even Finwë had unconsciously reverted to an older style of speech to accommodate her, though she knew it not.

"Tell me," she demanded of them both. "Tell me everything."

Finwë moved out of her embrace to face her, placing his hands on either side of her head, gazing deep into her eyes. "I want thee to know that I never stopped loving thee. What I did, I did for the sake of our people."

Míriel nodded, though she was not sure what he was talking about. Finwë took a deep (and absolutely unnecessary) breath and began. "When thou didst make it clear that thou had no intention of returning to Life, I grieved, not only for thee, but for our son. Yet, if I were to be honest, I grieved even more that I had no other children and I envied Ingwë and Olwë their good fortune in having many children. Yet, what could I do? So, I lavished all my love on Fëanáro. Then, one day, I chanced to meet Ingwë’s sister, Indis."

"Oh, I remember her," Míriel said, giving her husband a shrewd look. "She was besotted of thee, didst thou not know?"

Finwë gave her a surprised look, but then looked sheepish. "Not at the time," he admitted. "But later...."

It took much time for him to relate all that had happened. Lord Námo remained silent through most of the narrative, speaking only when Míriel required clarification, for Finwë had the habit of glossing over some of the more unpleasant details. At one point as Finwë was speaking, Lady Vairë appeared, though neither Elf seemed to have noticed, their attention fixed on one another. She stood silently beside her husband, though the two of them held their own private conversation.

*He is attempting to put himself in a better light than is warranted,* she bespoke her beloved, her tone one of wry amusement.

Námo smiled inwardly. *The Children are good at self-deception,* he replied. *Finwë is feeling a bit guilty at the moment and so it colors his narrative.*

Vairë nodded. *Míriel, I suspect, sees through his dissembling. She is a shrewd judge of character and she knows her husband well.*

*Indeed,* Námo said in agreement. *Almost as well as you know me,* he added slyly and she laughed, though neither Elf heard her.

Finwë was just coming to the part of the tale where Fëanáro was brought before the Valar when Míriel stepped back in dismay. Until then, she had remained silent, listening attentively, but now her expression was troubled. "I see that I erred in leaving thee and our son," she said sadly, "or at the least in not soon returning after brief repose; for had I done so he might have grown wiser."

"Or I might have," Finwë acknowledged softly.

Míriel’s eyebrows rose at that admission. "I deem that the children of Indis shall redress his errors and therefore I am glad that they should have being, and Indis hath my love," she said. "How should I bear grudge against one who received what I rejected and cherished what I abandoned?"

"I am glad, meldanya," Finwë said. "I feared... but no, what is done is done and naught can I do to undo it, nor do I know if I ever could even if I wished to."

"You cannot," Námo said solemnly and both Elves started at his voice, for they had forgotten that they were not alone. "What is past is past, and whatever mistakes of judgment you made, Finwë, your children, all your children, and the Noldor themselves must deal with the consequences. Such is the way of things."

"What didst thou do to my... our son, my lord?" Míriel asked respectfully.

"He was sent away into exile, Míriel, to think over his actions and to remember who and what he is," Námo replied. "The sentence was for twelve years. It hath been only five." He gave both Elves a stern look and they quailed at his expression. "Your son defieth us, coming to Tirion without our leave. Noldóran he may be, but he is still subject to our decree. Ingwë hath attempted to persuade him to return to Formenos, but he refuseth. It remaineth to be seen what he doeth next."

"You will not... chastise him?" Finwë asked.

Námo shook his head. "Not at this time. We have other concerns and Fëanáro is, quite frankly, the least of them. We will let him go his way for now. Mayhap with the responsibility of kingship, he will become a bit less... um... excitable."

"You mean, arrogant and stubborn," Finwë retorted, though there was a quirk of a smile on his lips.

"That too," Námo admitted with a nod.

"You have not told me all, husband," Míriel demanded. "What happened after that?"

Finwë told her as much as he knew, though he refused to speak of his encounter with Melkor. Námo picked up the narrative then, explaining how Melkor had destroyed the Trees and the aftermath. Both Elves were weeping, holding each other for comfort, as Námo told them of Fëanáro’s decision to withhold the Silmarils from the Valar.

"What now, lord?" Finwë asked despairingly when Námo finished speaking. "What becomes of me, of Míriel?"

"Would that I might set all the Tale of our people and of thee and thy children in a tapestry of many colors, as a memorial brighter than memory!" Míriel said with a smile. "For though I am cut off now from the world, and I accept that Doom as just, I would still watch and record all that befalls those dear to me, and their offspring also. I feel again the call of my hröa and its skills."

"Thy hröa lies inviolate in Lórien still," Finwë said. "Thou couldst return to it if thou didst desire it. I, on the other hand, have no hröa to return to."

"It matters not," Vairë said. "Míriel made her decision and the Doom cannot be put aside as if it were naught. That time is past."

"Dost thou not hear the prayer and desire of Miriel, my lady?" Finwë demanded. "Why will the Lord of Mandos refuse this redress of her griefs that her being may not be void and without avail? Behold! I instead will abide within Mandos forever, and so make amends. For surely, if I remain unhoused, and forgo life in Arda, then this Doom will be inviolate."

"So thou may deem," answered Vairë; "yet my lord is stern, and he will not readily permit a vow to be revoked. Also he will consider not only Míriel and thee, but Indis and thy children, whom thou seemest to forget, pitying now Míriel only."

Finwë scowled at her. "Thou art unjust to me in thy thought," he said in protest. "It is unlawful to have two wives, but one may love two women, each differently, and without diminishing one love by another. Love of Indis did not drive out love of Míriel; so now pity for Míriel doth not lessen my heart’s care for Indis. But Indis and I parted one from another without death. When the Marrer smote me I was alone. She hath dear children to comfort her, and her love, I deem, is now most for Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë and their children. Little comfort should I bring her, if I returned; and the lordship of the Noldor hath passed to my sons."

Then Námo spoke. "It is well that thou desirest not to return, Finwë, for this I should have forbidden, until the present griefs are long passed. But it is better still that thou hast made this offer, to deprive thyself, of thy free will, and out of pity for another. This is a counsel of healing, out of which good may grow."

Before anyone else could speak, there was a flash of multi-colored lights and Lady Nienna stood there. She looked directly at her brother. "Once I came to you, asking that Míriel be allowed to return to her hröa and you refused my prayer. Now, I ask you again, brother: Why should the hröa of Míriel lie idle and untenanted, when doubtless it would not now afflict the fëa with weariness, but rejoice it with hope of doing? Let Míriel have the joy of her hröa and of the use of its skills in which she delighted, and dwell not forever remembering only her brief life before, and its ending in weariness! Can she not be removed from these Halls of Waiting, and taken into the service of Vairë? If she cometh never thence, nor seeketh to walk among the Living, why should you hold the Doom set at naught, or fear for griefs that might arise? Pity must have a part in Justice and Finwë is willing to take her place here in Mandos. What now the harm?"

"None," Námo replied. He paused and stared intently at the two who were at the very heart of this conundrum. He remembered the arguments he had put forth for allowing the union of Finwë with Indis, the moment of prescience which had taken him as he foretold that the children of Indis would also be great and the Tale of Arda more glorious because of their coming. Yet, in spite of that, he still wished that these two Children had kept steadfast in hope. He sighed inwardly. It mattered little now. As Finwë pointed out, what was done was done and not even the Valar could undo it, or the Trees would be blooming even now.

"Very well," he intoned. "This then is my Doom: Míriel Therindë will return to her hröa which even now begins to decay, for with the demise of the Trees, Death hath truly entered Aman." He raised a hand to still the questions that were beginning to form on the lips of the two Children. "Fear not! Thy hröa is safe, yet time grows short. Art thou determined to take up Life again, my daughter?"

"Yea, lord, I am," Míriel answered.

"Then, thou shalt return unto thy hröa and when thou hast recovered the use and memory of thy physical form, thou shalt go and dwell in the House of Lady Vairë, never to leave it until the Renewing."

Míriel gave him a profound curtsey. "I thank thee, my lord, both for the care which thou didst give me as I sojourned here, and also for thy compassion and mercy towards me and my beloved." She then turned to Finwë and the two of them gazed into one another’s eyes. "Farewell, my husband who was," she finally said. "Know that I never stopped loving thee and I look forward to the day when we may be reunited."

Finwë took her into his embrace and kissed her. "Tye-melin," he whispered. He released her but before either could say another word, there was another flash of light and then they were making their obeisance before the Elder King himself. He looked benignly upon them both.

"Rise, my children," he said and when they did, he gestured for Míriel to approach, placing his hand on her brow in benediction. "Thou hast my blessing, child, and my love. Go thou and embrace Life once again and may thou find joy in the doing."

Then Vairë came to stand next to Míriel, her expression deeply compassionate. "Time to go, child," she said quietly and when Míriel nodded she took the elleth by the elbow and they were simply not there.

Finwë sighed. "I hope she finds some measure of happiness, though she dwells not among our people," he said.

"She will," Manwë assured him with a smile. "She will find happiness in her work, weaving the Tale of your people as you gave it to her. Vairë and her handmaids will look after her, never fear. And now, what are we to do with you, Finwë of the Noldor?"

Námo raised an eyebrow at what he knew was not a rhetorical question, though he suspected Finwë saw it that way. *What are you saying, Brother?* he asked silently. *Unlike Míriel, who I admit was a special case, Finwë died in truth and you know what that means.*

*Yes, I do,* Manwë answered, *but like Míriel, Finwë is also a special case, or so Atar has told me.*

*Told you, but not me,* Námo shot back with some asperity and when Manwë raised an eyebrow at him, he had the grace to blush. *Forgive me. That was uncalled for.*

*Yes,* Manwë said without rancor, *but understandable. I do not know what to tell you, Námo, except that for reasons of his own, Atar does not want Finwë to experience the sleep of forgetfulness... at least not yet.*

*Very well,* Námo said. *I suppose he can have Míriel’s chamber. She will not need it and it opens out onto one of the gardens.*

The entire silent conversation had taken the time for Finwë, were he alive, to blink twice. Námo cast his gaze at the ellon waiting somewhat nervously to hear his Doom, his expression anxious. "I will have Maranwë escort you to your chamber, Finwë. For now, and until I say otherwise, if you wish to wander my halls, you need only call out and one of my people will escort you. Later, perhaps, I will grant you free reign to wander as you will. Yet, if at any time you wish to see me, only say the word and I shall come."

Finwë bowed. "Thank you, lord."

"Well, that’s settled," Nienna said with a satisfied smile.

"Yes," Manwë said, "and since you have everything well in hand, Námo, we will...."

But whatever Manwë meant to say went unsaid as something dark and dreadful fell upon them. Finwë was not sure but it felt almost as if a terrible windstorm swept through the chamber and the flames of the candles flickered and dimmed though they did not go completely out.

"Wh-what is happening?" he cried and he quailed at the expressions on the faces of the three Valar, for they were dark and foreboding, Lord Námo’s most of all. At first, he did not think any of them would answer him but then Manwë spoke, his voice filled with pain and sorrow and, yes, anger, and that frightened Finwë more than anything.

"Your son and your grandsons have just done something very foolish... and dangerous."

"Wha—?"

But in an instant there was a flash of incandescent light and then all three Valar were gone. Finwë stood there in shock and started when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see the Maia who had brought Míriel to him standing there. "Come, Finwë," Maranwë said gently. "I will show you your chamber."

"B...but what has happened?" Finwë cried out but Maranwë only shook his head.

"Come, child," was all he said and Finwë allowed himself to be led away, his heart filled with foreboding and he wept, though he did not know why.

"O Fëanáro, my son, what hast thou done?" he whispered, but, of course, there was no answer.

****

Tye-melin: ‘I love thee’.

Note: This scene is derived in part from Morgoth’s Ring, ‘Laws and Customs of the Eldar’, under the section entitled ‘Of the Severance of Marriage’.

60: After the Coronation

"Has he gone insane!?" Varda fairly screamed as Manwë, Námo and Nienna appeared in the main throne room of Ilmarin. The other Valar were already there, Ulmo appearing last, dripping seawater as he sat upon his throne, his trident still in his hands. Varda gave him a pained look at the water puddling around him, which he ignored.

"Apparently," the Elder King said with a sigh as he took his own seat. "Whatever has possessed him and his sons to utter such an oath?"

"Olórin was supposed to be keeping a watch on the Noldor," Ulmo pointed out. "Perhaps we should summon him and get his report."

"And where is Eönwë?" Varda asked. "He would have to be recording the oaths, would he not?"

Manwë nodded. "Eönwë, Olórin," he said softly and instantly both Maiar stood before him. Eönwë clutched the Book of Oaths and his expression was one of deep pain. Olórin stood beside him, his arm around his fellow Maia’s shoulders as much to support him as to offer him comfort. Manwë looked upon his Herald with grave sympathy and gestured for him to approach, rising to embrace him.

"Were you made to record the oath?" he asked gently and Eönwë nodded, trembling.

"It... it was worse than when I had to record Melkor’s lies," he whispered. "Why did he... they give such an oath? I... I felt sick and... and polluted with every word I wrote. I wanted to scream and hide myself in the core of a star the... the way Lord Námo used to." And then he was weeping and Manwë held him closer. The Elder King glanced at Námo over Eönwë’s head, his eyes glittering with suppressed humor at the affronted look on the Lord of Mandos’ face while the other Valar struggled to hide their grins. Still holding his Herald, Manwë turned his attention to Olórin.

"What happened?"

Olórin sighed and gave them a grimace. "I do not know if Fëanáro actually intended to speak that vile oath from the very beginning or if it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. He was addressing his people after receiving the crown and... inciting them to follow him to Endórë."

There were murmurs of surprise among them. "Whyever would they want to do that?" Yavanna demanded.

Olórin shrugged, giving them a mirthless grin. "Fëanáro has decided to follow Melkor and wrest from him the Silmarils... or die trying. He’s convinced the greater part of the populace to join him."

"Death is all they will achieve, for, if they follow Fëanáro, his oath will lead them to their destruction," Námo proclaimed solemnly. "None of the Children are capable of defeating Melkor."

"True," Ulmo said with a shake of his head, "but that does not mean they will not try. The Eldar are a stubborn race and the Noldor are the worst of them in that regard. Look at Finwë."

"They must know they cannot defeat any Ainu," Varda said. "Melkor is beyond them. The very weakest of us still has power beyond their comprehension."

"It will not deter Fëanáro from his course," Manwë said, still holding onto Eönwë, whose tears were finally abating.

"That is true, lord," Olórin said. "He has convinced the Noldor that you are helpless and impotent and will do nothing to redress the wrong done to us, or rather, to him. He prates about his treasure but apparently cares little for the welfare of Aman itself."

"Ingwë tried to reason with him," Eönwë said, stepping out of Manwë’s embrace, pulling himself together, "but I fear the High King has not the eloquence of Fëanáro and some of the things he said only provoked Fëanáro further. In the end, Fëanáro spoke his oath as much in spite towards Ingwë as in defiance to you, lord."

Manwë nodded, resuming his seat as Eönwë took his usual place next to Manwë’s throne, still clutching the Book of Oaths. Silence reigned in Ilmarin as the Elder King contemplated all that he had heard. He glanced at each of the Valar. "How have your people reacted?" he asked, knowing the answer already, for he was well aware of the reaction of his own Maiar.

"Some are in a state of shock," Aulë replied and most of the others nodded. "Others are either angry or fearful, for never has such an oath been spoken, not even by Melkor. Many wonder what it portends for all of Arda and if Atar will even acknowledge it."

"I have recorded the oath," Eönwë said. "It cannot be unrecorded."

"That is true," Manwë said, "but it does not necessarily follow that every oath recorded is acknowledged by Atar. I suspect that in the end he will use the oaths you record to instruct his Children as much as anything. That book is more for their benefit rather than Atar’s. He has no need for such a book."

Eönwë nodded. "I know," he said with a grimace. "I had often wondered why Atar even bothered to have me record the Children’s oaths but I came to the same conclusion as you, lord, and I think that at the End of Time the Children will be shown what effect their oaths, whether well- or evilly-spoken, have had on the whole history of Arda."

"Well, for the moment, we must concentrate on the here and now and determine what response we will give Fëanáro," Manwë said sorrowfully. "I fear I have underestimated that ellon."

"Surely, they do not mean to leave Aman?" Nessa asked. "How will they even reach Endórë? We certainly will not transport them."

"They have only two choices," Oromë replied. "Either to take the land route across the Helcaraxë or to inveigle the people of Alqualondë to lend them ships. I seriously doubt Olwë will permit that, though."

"Olwë will not," Ulmo said portentously. "He and his people love those ships too much to give them over to others and as much as Olwë loved Finwë he never had much use for Finwë’s first-born son. His heart leans more towards Arafinwë for obvious reasons."

"We will have to see what develops," Manwë said. "It may be that once the first flush of enthusiasm passes, cooler council will prevail and the Noldor will come to their senses."

"Should we not send someone to speak to them?" Vairë asked. "Should we not tell them of our displeasure? Certainly you, Manwë, must address the oath Fëanáro and his sons have uttered. That cannot go unanswered."

"True," Manwë agreed, "but it is in my mind that to speak against it now will only inflame them further, especially Fëanáro. Let us give them time to rethink their plans. They will not be setting off immediately at any rate."

"I think we are underestimating the strength of will of the Children," Námo said. "I have a feeling that events are spiraling out of our control."

"If that is so, then we must begin planning for every contingency," Tulkas said gravely. "I reck little of the doings of the Children, but the death of the Trees has left us all reeling emotionally and I think that goes doubly so for them. I doubt me not that Fëanáro is dangerously close to slipping into madness, if he has not done so already."

There was an uncomfortable silence following Tulkas’ words. Finally, Manwë nodded. "There are many who say you are of little worth in our councils, Tulkas, paying no heed for the past or the future, but today you speak wisely and I can only think that Atar himself has given you these words for us to hear. Therefore, let us begin making contingency plans, for we can never know which way the Children will go."

The other Valar nodded and both Olórin and Eönwë were dismissed, Olórin to return to Tirion to keep watch on the Noldor and Eönwë to continue overseeing the strengthening of their borders against Melkor’s possible return. When they were alone, the Valar began their deliberations.

****

"Do you mean to go with him?" Ingwë demanded, speaking to Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë. It was now several hours after the coronation and they were gathered together in Ñolofinwë’s sitting room. Neither Anairë nor Eärwen were there, for they had no desire to discuss Fëanáro. Ingwion was elsewhere as well, visiting with his younger cousins. The coronation feast had been held, though delayed, but not all who should have attended did so. Ingwë doubted if Fëanáro, flushed with victory, even noticed or cared. Or perhaps he did and does, he thought sourly. It was impossible to tell with that one.

"I gave him my oath," Ñolofinwë said coldly. "Whither he goes, I will follow."

"Even to the point of deserting your city and those who decide not to go on this hare-brained adventure of his?" Ingwë shot back sarcastically and was secretly pleased to see both ellyn blushing.

"He’s mad, brother," Arafinwë said softly. "Anyone can see that. We have no hope of achieving what he desires. None of us has the strength to go up against Melkor...."

"Moringotto," Ñolofinwë corrected absently.

"Whatever name you wish to give him, he is still a Vala, and is beyond us in all things," Arafinwë retorted impatiently.

Ñolofinwë sighed and nodded. "I know and truly I have no desire to leave Tirion. I doubt if everyone will want to either. Fëanáro is the one who is deserting us, he and his sons. Someone of the House of Finwë needs to remain to govern and it is logical that as atar’s next eldest son, that person be me."

"What of your children?" Ingwë asked. "How do they feel about it?"

Now both ellyn had looks of anger. "Turucáno is of like mind with us," Ñolofinwë said, "as is Findaráto, but Findecáno seems eager to depart this very day."

"Likewise, Artanis," Arafinwë said sourly. "She prates on about exploring the wide unguarded lands of Endórë and ruling a realm of her own." He snorted in disgust. "Pure foolishness and my two other sons are almost as bad, though Artaher stood beside me counseling calm."

"What of Aracáno and Írissë?" Ingwë asked Ñolofinwë who shrugged.

"He says nothing, neither yea nor nay. I suspect he is waiting to see how the rest of the family decides before making up his own mind. Same with Írissë."

"At least those eager to be off have not made any oaths such as the one Fëanáro and his sons made," Arafinwë said with a sigh. "How could he have uttered such a vile oath? He truly is mad to do so."

Ingwë shook his head. "If anything I think Fëanáro was the sanest he’s ever been when he uttered that oath."

The two princes stared at him in surprise. "How can you say that?" Arafinwë demanded. "That oath was born of insanity."

"No," Ingwë countered, shaking his head. "It was born of malice. I saw his eyes when he spoke. He knew exactly what he was doing and he did what he did to spite me as much as anything. He never intended to give me his fealty. He knew that if he had done so he would not have been able to do what he most desires, to follow Melkor to Endórë and wrest from him the Silmarils, for I as High King would have forbidden him, or at the least stripped him of his kingship if he was determined to defy me. Notice, he says nothing of returning the Silmarils to Aman to help heal the Trees, if indeed such can be done at this late date. No, hinyar, he is fully cognizant of what he does, though others deem it madness."

"And the people have been caught up in the madness and will follow him," Ñolofinwë said with a disgusted snort.

"Not all," Arafinwë retorted. "I watched the crowds as Axantur was asking them if they accepted Fëanáro as their king. Many there were who kept silent, refusing to add their voice to those who shouted their approval and I suspect that they were ones who did not go to Formenos."

Ñolofinwë shrugged. "It matters not. Fëanáro is our king, for he is now the eldest of our House. Yet, if not all choose to follow him, then I will remain to govern them."

"Let us just hope that the greater part of the people will come to their senses in the coming days and decide to remain," Ingwë said with a frown. "That Fëanáro refuses to seek the blessing of the Valar for this venture disturbs me, though it does not surprise me."

"There has been no word out of Valmar or Ilmarin," Arafinwë said. "What do you suppose that portends?"

"Nothing good, I assure you," Ingwë replied. "Though perhaps they are merely waiting to see what happens next, I don’t know. All I do know is that I have overstayed my welcome here and will be returning to Vanyamar as soon as possible. I left Elindis and my other two children to deal with our people in their distress and I need to get back."

The two princes nodded. "We regret that you must leave us at this critical time, Uncle," Ñolofinwë said, "but we understand. I will see that you and Ingwion are provisioned for the journey. Everything will be ready by First Mingling." He scowled and shook his head. "We’ll have to come up with other words to describe the hours. There is no First Mingling or Second any more."

Ingwë gave them a sympathetic smile. "We’ll adjust, as we always have. I had best go find Ingwion and let him know."

"I think he and our children are in the lower gardens," Arafinwë said, "at least that’s where they were headed last time I saw them."

"Then I will look for them there," Ingwë said and, giving them a short bow, he left.

****

"I cannot believe they all uttered that terrible oath," Turucáno said in disgust as he and his brothers and sister were foregathered in an arbor in the lower gardens. Their Uncle Arafinwë’s children were with them along with Ingwion and Amarië, the elleth nestled in Findaráto’s arms. Elenwë had taken little Itarildë to bed some time before, the elfling sleepily protesting, and Angaráto’s wife, Eldalótë, had gone with her.

"I cannot believe that you two actually want to go with them," Findaráto said, looking pointedly at his sister and Findecáno. "Do you seriously think Atar will permit you to do so, nésanya?"

Artanis hrumphed and gave them a disdainful look. "I will go if it pleases me to do so and Atar cannot forbid me. I am not an elfling."

"Well you’re certainly acting like one," Findaráto retorted. "And you’re an elleth. Do you think Atar will permit you to travel alone?"

"Not alone," Aicanáro said with a smirk, "for Angaráto and I will accompany her."

Findaráto threw up his hands in disgust and Amarië gave him a sympathetic smile, planting a kiss on his cheek. He smiled at her and kissed her nose. Everyone else rolled their eyes at their play.

"And what is your excuse, Fin?" Turucáno asked his older brother.

"I will go because Nelyo goes," the ellon said softly. "We are otornor and it pained me when he went to Formenos. I will not be separated from him again."

"So you would give the same oath...."

"Nay, I will not," Findecáno protested, interrupting his brother, "but I will go with him nonetheless." His eyes lit up with excitement. "And will it not be wonderful to see the wide lands that our elders saw as they crossed Endórë? Who knows what kingdoms we may carve out for ourselves."

"Kingdoms," Ingwion repeated with a snort, entering the conversation for the first time. He had remained quiet until then, but Findecáno’s words forced him to speak. "And what of those who already reside there? Will you lord it over them, assuming they’ll let you?"

"And why should they not?" Findecáno shot back with a sniff. "I doubt that the Úmaneldi are as sophisticated as we. After all, we have enjoyed the tutelage of the Valar. I imagine they still live in rude huts or those platforms that were constructed in trees as our elders did while crossing Endórë."

"A rather arrogant view," Ingwion said with a scathing look, "considering that we know nothing of what has happened there. They may have built great cities of their own."

"Remember the words of my atar: ‘In what manner dost thou imagine that these lands thou hast never seen belong to thee? Canst thou name their rivers and mountains? Canst thou describe to me the forests that grow there or the animals that dwell beneath them?’" Findaráto quoted and Ingwion, who had not heard of this before, was pleased to see his younger cousins, especially Findecáno, looking abashed at the reminder.

"Apparently Fëanáro has not heard these words of wisdom from Arafinwë," Ingwion said with a wry look.

"Even if he had, he would not heed them," Findaráto said with a grin, "especially considering the source."

Ingwion snorted and the others grinned. The sound of someone making his way towards them alerted them and they looked to see who was coming though in the darkness it was difficult to make out any features, for their eyes were still adjusting to the loss of the Light. Ingwion was the first to recognize the newcomer, who made his way to them unerringly, not even carrying a torch.

"Atto!" he cried in surprise and everyone else hastily rose to their feet to give the High King their obeisance.

Ingwë smiled at them, accepting their bows and curtsies, as they made way for him and he settled himself on one of the benches they’d been sitting on, gesturing for them to join him. "I came to see how you were faring," he told them, "and to get your views on what has happened."

There was an uncomfortable silence among the younger Elves for some time before Ingwion ventured to speak. "We are all appalled at what happened," he said quietly. "That oath...." He shuddered and his expression was bleak.

Ingwë nodded sympathetically. "A vile oath if ever there was one," he said, "one that should never have been given." He sighed. "I fear great evil will come of it."

"Findecáno and Artanis are talking about joining our dear uncle on his mad venture," Findaráto said in disgust. "And my brothers are just as eager to be gone."

Ingwë gave the named Elves a searching look and only Artanis was able to face him with any equanimity and only for a brief second or two longer than the others. "There is nothing there for you, for any of you," he said solemnly, "accept possibly death. Fëanáro is insane to think that he or any of the Eldar can wrest the Silmarils from Melkor. However far he has fallen, yet is he as far beyond any of us in power as those stars are from us." He pointed to the heavens and the others glanced up involuntarily.

"So some of us have been saying," Turucáno said, "though I fear our words have fallen on deaf ears." He glowered at his older brother, who refused to look at any of them.

"What will you do, Sire?" Amarië asked. "Will you forbid Fëanáro and his sons to go?"

"No," Ingwë said. "I cannot, and even if I did so forbid it, Fëanáro will not be counseled by me or anyone else. He is determined to go."

"But he’s the king," Írissë exclaimed. "He cannot just run off willy-nilly as he pleases. He has responsibilities here. We need him."

"And if we, or at least the vast majority of us, decide to follow him, what then?" Findaráto asked with a sneer.

No one had an answer to that and the silence between them became uncomfortable again. Finally, though, Ingwë spoke. "At any rate, it is too early to say what any of us will do. Your atari and I are hoping that with further reflection, the Noldor will reject Fëanáro’s plan. Fëanáro and his sons may find that they will be venturing alone except for their immediate retainers."

"And what if everyone decides otherwise?" Artanis asked.

Ingwë shrugged. "I do not know, child. We must just hope for the best. At any rate, I only came to tell Ingwion that we will be returning to Vanyamar shortly. I see no reason to remain here any longer than necessary."

There were nods all around. Ingwë gave Amarië a considering look. "I think, under the circumstances, my dear, that you should return to Vanyamar with us."

Amarië looked surprised. "I have no desire to do so, Sire," she said. "Findaráto and I will marry soon and...."

"Do you think we should?" Findaráto asked. "I mean, given all that has happened, should we not postpone the wedding until we know for sure what the Valar will do?"

Amarië gave him a hurt look. "Do you wish to break the betrothal then?"

"Nay, I do not," Findaráto protested, "but everything is so uncertain. Do you seriously think anyone will welcome this wedding? We are all in a state of grief and mourning. A wedding is the last thing on anyone’s mind."

"Not mine," Amarië whispered forlornly and even though Findaráto attempted to comfort her, she shied away from his embrace, his own expression now one of confusion and hurt at her rejection.

Ingwë decided to intervene. "At any rate, daughter," he said gently, "I think you should return to Vanyamar with us. I cannot believe your parents acquiesced in allowing you to come here."

"I... um... didn’t tell them," she admitted, now looking embarrassed.

Findaráto gave her a look of disbelief. "You told me you had their blessing to come with me to Tirion."

Amarië refused to look at anyone and did not answer. Ingwë shook his head. "Then it is all the more imperative that you return to Vanyamar, child. Castamir might overlook your absence, but I doubt Amáriel has. I’m surprised she isn’t already here to drag you back by your ear." He smiled at her and the others chuckled, though Findaráto still looked dismayed.

"I do not wish to leave," Amarië said softly.

"Nevertheless, you will," Ingwë replied, his tone brisk and there was no give to it. They all recognized that it was the High King speaking and not just their Uncle. Amarië nodded, still looking embarrassed. "I am sorry I deceived you, beloved," she said to Findaráto.

"As am I," he said stiffly, then relented a little, leaning over to give her a kiss. "Uncle Ingwë is correct, though. You should return to Vanyamar before your ammë decides to come here and give us all grief."

Now Amarië giggled and soon they were all in a more cheerful mood. Ingwë remained for a little while longer, speaking to these younger Elves about their feelings and then, at his urging, they all returned to the palace to get some rest, though it was unlikely that any of them would actually sleep.

And in the wing of the palace set aside for the Noldóran and his family, Fëanáro and his sons were still awake, eagerly poring over maps of Valinor, discussing their route to Endórë and plotting what they would do about Pilu Moringotto when they finally caught up with him. It was obvious to Olórin, who watched over them unclad, that Fëanáro wasn’t the only one who had slipped into madness and the Maia wondered sadly where all of this would end.

****

Nésanya: My sister.

Úmaneldi: Those who did not reach the Blessed Realm but did leave Cuiviénen with the intention of going there. An attested word, cf. Amaneldi, i.e. the Elves of Aman.

Pilu Moringotto: Thief Morgoth.

61: Preparations for Departure

Ingwë did not leave for Vanyamar as soon as he had hoped. Fëanáro called a council meeting and asked Ingwë to attend. "I would like you to be a witness to our decisions," he told the High King when he came to Ingwë’s suite. The new King of the Noldor appeared quite calm and there was no sense of madness to him that Ingwë could detect.

Ingwë gave him a jaundiced look. "You hardly need my approval of your decisions, Fëanáro, since you refused to give me your fealty. I would think the sooner I was gone, the better you’d feel."

Fëanáro had the grace to look abashed but he did not back down. "Nevertheless, since you are here, you might as well sit in and hear what will be decided. I know that not all of the Noldor will follow me so provisions need to be made for their well-being and you will need to deal with whomever I appoint to govern those who remain behind." He gave him a thin, cold smile. "If you are not too disruptive, I might even let you have a voice in the choosing of my regent."

Ingwë raised an eyebrow, not sure if he should be affronted or amused by the absolute arrogance of this child standing before him, treating him as if he were an elfling in need of a bribe to behave. He wanted to smack the smirk off Fëanáro’s face, or at least throttle him, but instead, he simply nodded his head. "Then, I will attend your council, but afterwards, I must return to Vanyamar."

Fëanáro nodded. "I will see that you are given a proper escort, my lord," he said graciously, since it cost him nothing to be gracious now that he had succeeded in getting what he wanted. "I will have a page come to you when the council is ready to meet." He gave the High King a perfunctory bow and departed, leaving Ingwë feeling somewhat bemused.

****

The council was attended by all the princes of the House of Finwë as well as those nobles who had been members of Finwë’s Privy Council. Ingwë decided Ingwion should attend as well, and he gave Fëanáro a look that dared him to protest. Fëanáro merely shrugged and ordered another chair to be brought in. Soon they were all seated with Fëanáro and Nelyafinwë at one end of the council table and Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë at the other end. The nobles were seated on either side. Fëanáro’s other sons and the children of his half-brothers were seated in chairs surrounding the table. Ingwë and Ingwion were seated with them.

"Thank you for coming," Fëanáro said. "We have much to discuss and to plan. As I told the High King earlier, not all of our people will want to leave Tirion and so we need to make provisions for their well-being before we leave."

"I’m surprised you even care," Ñolofinwë said with some sarcasm. "I’m surprised you’re not castigating us who will not follow you for the cowards and puling thralls of the Valar that we are."

Fëanáro’s smile never reached his eyes. "Those who wish to stay are free to do so. I will not deny them their chains."

Murmurs rose among the councillors and Fëanáro raised his hand for silence. "I will accept only those willing to make the journey. It will be hazardous enough without having to deal with reluctant travelers."

"What of the ellith and elflings?" Lord Rialcar asked. "Will you permit them to follow you?"

"Why not?" Artanis demanded before anyone else could speak, glaring at them as she stood. "Are we not Noldor as well? Do we not have the right to seek adventure no less than the ellyn? Where do...."

"Daughter," Arafinwë interrupted, giving her a cold forbidding look, "sit down and do not speak again unless I give thee leave."

Artanis went white with suppressed fury and she looked as if she would argue but Findaráto grabbed her and pulled her down, whispering something in her ear that only she heard. Arafinwë turned to the other councillors. "I apologize for the interruption," he said. "However wrong-headed my daughter might be, she does have a point as does my lord Rialcar. This venture will be fraught with perils unimagined. To allow elflings to accompany you is the height of stupidity, but any elleth who has reached her majority should be as free as any adult ellon to decide for herself, though I would hope that common sense would prevail and they will decide to remain behind." He did not even bother to glance his daughter’s way, though all understood that his last words were directed at her. Artanis sat there, silently glowering.

"That does need consideration, Atar," Nelyafinwë said before Fëanáro could speak. "Will whole families follow us into danger? Will not elflings just slow us down? Perhaps we should allow only adults to accompany us."

"And what if families wish not to be separated from one another?" Lord Martaráto enquired. Ingwë recalled that he had gone to Formenos with Finwë. "What if both parents wish to come? What then?"

"This entire venture is madness from beginning to end and bringing children along just compounds the madness," Ñolofinwë said, glaring at Fëanáro. "Do you seriously think you can defeat a Vala, especially this one, dragging elflings into the fray?"

Fëanáro just shrugged. "There is only one way to find out, isn’t there?" he replied with a nonchalance that chilled many of those there. "At any rate," he said more firmly, "those who wish to go will go whatever I or anyone else say to the contrary. If they want to drag their brats along, that’s their problem. I will make it very clear to everyone that they must provision themselves. The royal treasury will not be opened for them. Much of it will be needed to provide us with adequate weapons anyway and the remainder needs to be given over to those who will remain behind."

"I am happy to see you are thinking of those who will not follow you, brother," Arafinwë said with a slight sneer. "I was sure you would beggar us all to finance your... whim."

Fëanáro rose, pounding the table before him with a fist, glaring down at his half-brothers. "This is not a whim!" he shouted, his eyes blazing. "This is vengeance, pure and simple."

"Vengeance is neither pure nor simple," Ingwë interjected, standing as well. "Do not delude yourselves into thinking that what you plan is a noble cause. There is nothing noble about it. You will go from darkness into greater darkness and I speak not of the lack of the Light which we have enjoyed these many yéni. You imperil more than your physical selves in this venture; you imperil your fëar as well."

"Bah!" Fëanáro exclaimed with a sneer, resuming his seat. "So we should just sit here and wring our hands and bemoan our loss as the Valar are doing."

"They are not wringing their hands as far as I can see," Ingwë said sardonically. "When I departed from them they were looking into ways to restore Light to us... without resorting to the Silmarils." He gave Fëanáro a pointed look as he took his own seat.

An uncomfortable silence hung about them but then Fëanáro shrugged. "It matters not. I will go to Endórë, alone if need be."

"Not alone," Nelyafinwë said softly and his brothers all nodded determinedly.

"Then it only remains to decide who will govern the city in your absence, my king," Lord Martaráto said.

"I am assuming that will be me," Ñolofinwë said with a wry smile. "Or do you intend to give the regency over to someone other than a member of the House of Finwë?"

"No," Fëanáro said somewhat languidly, as if he was not much interested in the discussion any more. "We have no intention of doing anything of the sort. You ruled well and wisely in Our absence and We are grateful for your careful stewardship."

Even from where he was sitting, Ingwë could see Ñolofinwë clutching his hands at his side, willing himself not to react to his half-brother’s condescending manner.

"No," Fëanáro continued. "The regency will go to you... or Arafinwë if you decide to join us." He quirked an eyebrow in enquiry but Ñolofinwë just shook his head. "Very well then, that’s settled," he said more briskly. "All that really remains is assigning various tasks to see that everyone is adequately armed and provisioned."

"How soon do you intend to leave?" Ingwë asked.

"It will take us some time to produce the necessary weapons," Lord Martaráto answered for Fëanáro. "Also, we will have to levy the granaries and the farms to provide us with enough provender to see us on our way. I imagine we will have to hunt and hunting weapons will need to be crafted as well."

"There is a great deal of organization that needs to be addressed," Nelyafinwë added. "I have been thinking it would be wise to assign people to specific lords who will be responsible for them. This will make it easier to keep order among the populace."

Fëanáro nodded. "That makes sense. I will inform the people who the leaders will be and they will have to declare themselves for one or the other and follow his banner. Naturally, I and my sons will make eight. We will have to see about others. Twelve lords would be an appropriate number and each lord can assign as many captains as he needs to make the numbers more manageable." He paused to gauge the reactions of the others to his suggestion but none raised any objections. "As to when do we leave," he continued, pursing his lips and furrowing his brow in concentration, "the sooner the better. I chafe at sitting here while Moringotto escapes us, and... I would not let our people’s ardor cool overmuch lest we lose the greater part of our force."

Ingwion leaned over to whisper in his atar’s ear. "Let us hope most of them have a change of heart, else I fear Tirion will empty out and we are left with nothing but a city of ghosts."

Ingwë nodded but did not comment. He was sure that Fëanáro would not allow the Noldor to rethink their plans. He was certain that the new Noldóran and his sons would continue to urge them on. He resisted a sigh, wishing he were back in Vanyamar and away from all this madness.

****

As soon as the council meeting was over, Ingwë steered Ingwion away and headed for their apartments. "We need to talk," he told his son quietly, and Ingwion did not protest, though he had hoped to speak further with his younger cousins. When they entered Ingwë’s sitting room both ellyn stopped in surprise. Indis stood there smiling at them.

"You will be leaving now," she said without preamble and Ingwë nodded.

"As soon as we’ve made our farewells," he answered. "Are you here to see us off?"

Indis shook her head. "No. I’m here to tell you that I will be leaving with you."

Ingwë raised an eyebrow. "So soon? I thought you were not planning on leaving for a while yet."

"As did I," Indis said, her lovely features marred with a frown, "but the situation has changed and I find I do not wish to remain any longer than I have to in this place. It is no longer my home. I’ve made provisions for my household, at least those who will remain here; the rest will accompany me." She paused and gave them a wry smile. "And I understand Amarië is most reluctant to return to Vanyamar with you. She may be more amenable to the idea if I ask her to join my household as a lady-in-waiting, for most of mine are Noldorin and I will lose most of my entourage when I leave here."

Ingwë nodded. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, nésanya. You are, of course, most welcome to join us, or at least me." He turned to Ingwion. "There is something I need you to do, yonya."

"What is it, Atto?"

Ingwë glanced at Indis for a second before answering. "I need you to go to Alqualondë and tell Olwë what has happened."

Ingwion gave his atar a shocked look. "Alqualondë? But... I’m sure messengers have already been sent to...."

"I already enquired," Ingwë said. "None have been sent and I doubt if any message will be sent, certainly not by Fëanáro."

"Arafinwë, or, more likely, Eärwen will do so eventually," Indis interjected.

"Eventually," Ingwë repeated.

"Ah...." Indis said, nodding in understanding.

"Will you go?" Ingwë asked his son.

"Of course, Atto," Ingwion replied, still looking a bit troubled. "I just don’t understand why me and not a regular courier?"

"You are haryon to the Vanyaran, Ingwi," Indis answered for her brother, "as well as to the Ingaran. You have a certain status that no courier commands."

"When do you want me to leave, then?"

"Soon," Ingwë answered. "After I am gone. Wait a week before leaving. However, it would be best if Fëanáro is not aware that you go to Alqualondë."

"What reason should I give for not accompanying you back to Vanyamar?"

"We will say that you wish to visit with your cousins a little longer," Ingwë supplied, "and I do not doubt that is the truth." Ingwion nodded. "Good then," the High King continued. "You know the hidden path that leads to the park beyond the eastern wall."

It was not a question but Ingwion nodded anyway.

"You will use that to leave the city unnoticed," Ingwë told him.

"Unnoticed, perhaps," Ingwion retorted, "but I will surely be missed after a time."

"I realize that, but you won’t be returning to Tirion anyway," Ingwë said. "As soon as you’ve given Olwë my message, return directly to Vanyamar. You can easily avoid Tirion by wending your way northwest around the city until you reach the road leading to Valmar. There is a lane that connects the various estates of the nobility that lie outside the city."

"Yes, I remember that," Ingwion said with a nod. "Yet, I don’t think I can do this alone. I’ll need help to leave the city and I’m thinking that it might be best if I return to Tirion as well and leave for Vanyamar in a more public manner."

"You will be gone for some time though," Indis pointed out. "How will you explain your disappearance and reappearance?"

Ingwion furrowed his brow in thought for a moment or two. "If I can recruit Findaráto, perhaps we can leave together, openly."

"What do you have in mind?" Ingwë asked.

"The royal preserve," Ingwion said in answer. "If Findaráto and I decide to go hunting... alone...."

"No one will question your absence," Ingwë supplied, nodding. "Still, it will be a lonely time for your cousin, haunting the woods while you are in Alqualondë."

"Is there any reason why he cannot accompany me?" Ingwion asked.

"No, there’s no reason," Ingwë replied slowly. "And given these times, it might be best if you do not travel alone. Very well. I have no objections, yonya, to you asking Findaráto for help. He is very discreet."

"Then I will seek him out and we will plan our route." Ingwion said, then gave his atar a slightly puzzled look. "So, just what message am I to give Olwë?"

Ingwë gave Indis another sideways glance and she smiled. "I need to find Amarië and tell her the good news of her promotion."

Ingwë snorted in amusement as his sister gave them a proper curtsey and left. Ingwion grinned. When they were alone, Ingwë gestured for Ingwion to take a seat. "Here is what I want you to tell Olwë...."

****

Findaráto stared at Ingwion in disbelief. "You want me to accompany you to Alqualondë? On a secret mission for the High King?"

"It’s not a secret mission," Ingwion retorted in exasperation, throwing up his hands. "It’s... it’s...."

"Go on," Findaráto said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "It’s a what?"

"All right," Ingwion huffed. "It’s a secret mission. Happy now?"

Findaráto laughed. "Always. And yes, I would be honored to help you. How soon do we leave?"

Ingwion gave a sigh of relief and grinned back at the younger ellon. "As to that...."

****

Amarië gave the Noldotári a curtsey as she entered Indis’ suite. "You sent for me, my lady?" she enquired.

Indis gestured for the elleth to sit and Amarië gathered her skirts and sat in a chair opposite the queen. Indis took a moment to examine the young elleth. Amarië’s posture was stiff and proper, her expression not quite as impassive as she probably thought it was, for there was a crease between her brows that indicated confusion. She smiled at the elleth.

"I will be returning to Vanyamar with my brother," she said softly. "I find I no longer wish to live here in Tirion."

Amarië nodded dutifully but said nothing, wondering why she’d been summoned before the queen. She was not happy at the thought of leaving Tirion just now and even less happy at the thought that the wedding would not go forward. She wondered how her ammë would react to that bit of news. She was hoping to convince the High King to let her stay here. She thought that if she could remain in Tirion she might be able to convince Findaráto that they should marry regardless of what was happening. It would be a sign for them all, she was sure, that in spite of everything, life did still go on and a wedding would be an affirmation of life over death.

"Yes," Indis said after a brief pause. "As it is, I will be disbanding most of my household, for many are Noldorin and they have no wish to leave their city. Therefore, I was wondering if you would like to become one of my ladies-in-waiting."

"Me?" Amarië exclaimed in surprise. She had not been expecting that.

Indis nodded. "You are betrothed to my grandson, after all."

Now Amarië frowned. "Betrothed," she said with a grimace, her tone bitter. "That may change."

"What do you mean?"

Amarië gave a half shrug. "He has already canceled the wedding."

"Postponed it, not canceled," Indis retorted mildly.

"It will come to the same thing as far as Ammë is concerned," Amarië replied.

"Ah...." Indis nodded in understanding, quite familiar with Lady Amáriel. "Well, my dear, you know you cannot stay here. It wouldn’t be proper. I think you should return to Vanyamar with me. Let things cool down here and we will see how my grandson feels about the wedding then. He loves you, you know that. I do not think he will be willing to forego the wedding completely. Everything is so confused now. Best to wait until the dust settles, don’t you think?" She gave her a sympathetic smile, placing a hand on her arm and squeezing it.

Amarië nodded reluctantly. "I suppose you are right, my lady," she replied in a defeated voice.

"I am always right, child," Indis said with a silvery laugh. "It’s one of my better faults, as Ingwë is fond of saying." She gave Amarië a wink and the elleth could not help but giggle. "Good then. You will accept? Please say you will, Amarië. It would be good to have another elleth who understands what it means to love a Noldo."

Amarië gave her a considering look, realizing that the queen was sincere in her offer. She nodded and stood, giving Indis a profound curtsey. "I would be honored to be your lady-in-waiting, your Majesty. Thank you."

"You’re more than welcome, child," Indis said with a warm smile. "And I know Amáriel will be very pleased as well."

Amarië nodded as she resumed her seat, knowing her ammë would indeed be pleased by her appointment as a member of Lady Indis’ household, but not too pleased as to the reason for it. She was not looking forward to returning to Vanyamar and explaining it to her. Something in her expression must have alerted Indis, for she leaned over and patted her on the arm. "It will be well, child," the queen said gently. "It will be well."

Amarië attempted a smile, though she was not sure how successful she was, hoping that it would indeed be well... for all of them.

62: Mission to Alqualondë

Ingwë left with Indis and Amarië an hour after the next First Mingling, according to Fëanáro’s water clock. There was little fanfare, which suited everyone just fine. Fëanáro graciously offered a suitable escort and Ingwë just as graciously declined.

"I’ve already arranged for an escort," the High King said with a quirk of his lips as he and his party took their leave of the Noldorin royal family. "It’s waiting for us at the city gate."

Fëanáro raised an eyebrow and scowled. "You are very free with my people," he complained, "High King you may be, but you are abusing guest-rights in appropriating an escort without a by-your-leave."

"High King," Ingwë repeated with an unreadable expression on his face. "Odd that you would mention that... well, it matters not. And I am not the one doing the abusing. If you wish to see my escort, you may accompany us to the city gate."

With that, he turned and nodded to Indis, offering his arm which she took. Findaráto escorted Amarië and Ingwion followed behind as everyone made their way through the city, the diamond dust in the streets glittering dimly in the torchlight provided by the guards leading them. When they reached the western gate where the horses and packponies were already waiting, everyone gasped in surprise and even Fëanáro looked nonplused at the sight of two mail-clad Maiar in the livery of the Elder King standing there, their expressions one of mild curiosity and amusement. Each wore a sword that was as long as most Elves were tall strapped to their backs. One of them was raven-haired while the other had auburn locks. Both had steel-grey eyes and their features were so alike that, except for their coloring, they might have been twins. They bowed to the Elves.

"Greetings, Children," the one with auburn hair said, his voice resonating with the sound of thunder. "I am Erunáro of the People of Manwë and this is my brother in the Thought of Ilúvatar, Manveru."

Ingwë bowed. "Thank you," he said simply. "I appreciate the Elder King’s solicitude in this trying time."

"It is our honor, Ingwë Ingaran," Manveru answered, his voice equally deep and rumbling, slightly stressing the title, which caused Fëanáro to grit his teeth.

Ingwë ignored the new Noldóran, helping Indis to mount her horse while Findaráto did the same for Amarië. Ingwë then turned to Ingwion. "Are you sure I cannot persuade you to return with us, my son?" he asked.

Ingwion shook his head, hoping he would not give away the game with unseemly laughter. "Nay, Atto. By your leave I would tarry here awhile that I may visit with my cousins for a time. Findaráto has invited me to a hunt in the royal reserve, just the two of us."

"Oh?" Aicanáro interjected. "You would go hunting alone? Why can we not join you? I could do with some time away from this dreary place."

Angaráto and even Turucáno nodded. Findaráto was the one who answered. "Because I invited him first and we wish for no other company but ourselves."

"And how long will you be gone?" Arafinwë demanded, frowning. "This is not the time for...."

"It is the perfect time," Eärwen interrupted, giving her husband a quelling look before smiling at her first-born and Ingwion. "I think it’s a wonderful idea. In fact, my dear husband, I have in mind for the two of us to leave Tirion for a time ourselves."

Everyone stared at her in disbelief. Ingwion and Findaráto exchanged nervous looks, afraid that she had decided to return to Alqualondë and thereby ruin their own plans. Arafinwë merely raised an eyebrow at his wife, quite used to her ways.

"And where would you like to go, beloved?" he asked with a faint smile.

She gave him a coy look. "Well, there’s a certain sea cave...."

Even in the dim light of the torches they all saw the youngest son of Finwë turn stark white. "You are jesting," he said, almost pleadingly.

Eärwen merely smiled at him in a way that made the others look away in embarrassment, feeling as if they’d been spying on some intimate moment between the two.

The two Maiar, momentarily forgotten by the Elves, snickered, the sound so incongruous that all eyes turned to them in surprise. Neither looked repentant. Manveru’s grin was just shy of being rude.

"We will tell our brother Eönwë to sharpen his quill," he said as he winked at Arafinwë and Erunáro burst out laughing. The Elves just stood there in bemusement, not at all sure what was being said.

Arafinwë shook his head. "We’ll talk about this later," he muttered to Eärwen, who merely nodded, her expression smug.

"Well, if we’re all set," Ingwë said, deciding it was time to leave, "we had best be going." He mounted his steed and raised a hand in farewell. "I trust that with time and reflection some of you will realize how foolish this... dream of yours is. The Silmarils are beyond your reach and what you are planning is madness."

"Farewell Ingwë," Fëanáro said coldly. "I and my people are set on our course and not even the Valar will persuade us to alter it."

"That may be as it may be," Ingwë replied with a sigh and shook his head. It was useless to argue and he noticed that the two Maiar now had troubled looks on their fair faces. He wondered how much of the events of the last few days were known to the Valar. He nodded to the Maiar and they gave him bows before taking positions on either side of him and without a backward glance Ingwë urged his horse forward. Indis’ sons and daughter and grandchildren gave her a tearful farewell, as did many others of the royal household, for she had been well-loved by all save by Fëanáro and his sons.

Only Amarië looked back, her expression pensive as she waved at her betrothed who waved back and blew her a kiss. She blew him one as well, feeling slightly better, but still she wondered as she turned her attention back to the road if she would ever see him again. So much was in turmoil and she could almost hate the High King for making her return to Vanyamar just now when she felt she was needed in Tirion. She sighed and drew her cloak a little closer as if feeling a chill wind though the air was still and surprisingly mild. She had a sudden vision of standing on the front steps of the palace in Tirion staring at a banner only half seen, a banner with her beloved’s sigil on it, as it disappeared amidst a throng of people leaving the city, swallowed up by the ever-present darkness. Then the vision — if such it was — left her and she shivered again, wondering in despair how it would all turn out.

****

"I thought for sure your ammë was going to say she wanted to return to Alqualondë," Ingwion said to Findaráto as the two were sitting together in Ingwion’s sitting room, drinking hard cider and poring over a map to determine their best route. Findaráto had come up with the idea of volunteering to see how the granaries stood as he and Ingwion purportedly headed for the royal reserve. Fëanáro had approved the plan. Thus, anyone who saw them leaving the road would assume that they were checking the granaries before heading for the king’s forest to hunt.

"You and me both," Findaráto said with a sigh as he took a sip of the cider and looked at the map. He laid a finger on it and traced a route. "If we go to the granaries we should be able to cut across country at this point. It’s open field as I recall until we get here. This is the tricky part."

"How do you mean?" Ingwion asked. "I’ve only been down the Calacirya once so I’m not as familiar with this area as I should be."

"The Calacirya is a cleft through the high country on either side," Findaráto explained. "We’ll be coming to it from the south, which means we’ll be higher up than the floor of the valley that runs down to the sea. We’ll need to find a way down."

"I know the cleft opens up here where Tirion is," Ingwion said, staring at the map, "and the walls are lower but it seems to me that the further east you go the more sheer the cliffs become."

Findaráto nodded, furrowing his brow. "However, there is a path leading down from the highlands somewhere here." He ran his finger in a circular pattern near where the mountains met the Calacirya. "We just need to find it."

"Easier said than done, I imagine," Ingwion retorted with a shake of his head, "and doubly so without adequate light to see by."

"Sorry," Findaráto said.

"Hey! It’s not your fault," Ingwion assured him. He paused and stared more closely at the map. "Why isn’t this path you mentioned clearly marked on the map?"

Findaráto shrugged. "I have no idea. I only know that the path is there because it was pointed out to me once when I traveled down to Alqualondë. Truth to tell, I’m not even sure why the path was pointed out to me. It’s not obvious unless you know where to look."

"But you’ve only seen it from the one end," Ingwion stated. "How are we going to find its other end?"

"It has to come out somewhere here," Findaráto said, pointing at the map again. "I was told the path did not wind over much. I think if we move along here once we leave the granaries we’re bound to find it." He ran his finger along the edge of the Calacirya.

"Very well," Ingwion said with a sigh. "The next question is: can we get our horses down?"

Findaráto shook his head. "I have no idea. We won’t know for sure until we find the path."

"Great. Just great," the Vanyarin prince muttered. "I wonder if Atto knows about this."

"I have no doubt that he does," Findaráto replied with a grim smile. "Very little escapes Uncle Ingwë’s attention, but I suspect he has enough faith in the both of us to find a way."

"Well, let’s get packing," Ingwion said. "I want to be away as soon as we can."

****

They left a few hours later, resisting Arafinwë’s offer of an escort. "We’re going hunting," Findaráto told him firmly, "and we prefer to hunt alone."

"I don’t like the idea of just the two of you alone," Arafinwë retorted with a frown. "It’s unseemly for you not to have at least a couple of guards with you."

"Unseemly or not, we’re going alone," Findaráto insisted. "Please, Atto, we really need this time to ourselves without others interfering."

"Interfering?" Arafinwë echoed, looking confused. "How would guards interfere? They’re only there to see to your welfare."

"Poor choice of words, I agree," Findaráto averred.

"Arafinwë." Ingwion decided it was time to intervene. "I know you are only concerned for us, but I think we can handle ourselves well enough without help. I promise I’ll keep Findaráto from doing anything stupid or dangerous."

"Hey!" Findaráto protested.

"I’ll hold you to that Ingwion," Arafinwë said, capitulating.

So they left.

"And not a minute too soon," Findaráto muttered in disgust.

Ingwion just smiled and said nothing as they passed through the southern gate, giving the guards there a salute. They were soon at the turn-off for the granaries.

"So do we actually stop and examine them as you promised Fëanáro?" Ingwion asked.

"Of course!" Findaráto replied in surprise. "It won’t take that long and I did promise."

"And you always keep your promises," Ingwion said.

"I try to."

In fact, the granary inspection took longer than either anticipated because the Overseer insisted that the two princes visit every single granary and then stay for a meal. Neither ellyn knew how to bow out of the invitation without causing insult and the last thing they wanted was to have their actions reported back to Tirion. So they stayed for the meal, all the while chafing at the delay.

"We have a mind to go hunting before returning to Tirion," Findaráto told their host. "Any suggestions?"

"Well there is the royal reserve," the Overseer said.

"We prefer to hunt in open land," Ingwion chimed in.

"Ah, then in that case, your best bet is southeast of here. There is plenty of game, both large and small in that direction. It’s where we usually do our own hunting."

"What about to the north or east?" Findaráto asked.

"You’re not going to find much in those directions."

They thanked the ellon and as soon as they could they made their farewells, purposely heading southeast, but after a mile or so, Findaráto urged his mount to turn north again and they made their way towards the lip of the Calacirya.

"We’ve lost a lot of time," Ingwion muttered and Findaráto just shrugged, for there was nothing he could say about it.

They stopped at one point to rest the horses and stretch their legs, then set off again in silence. The landscape was eerie under the constant starlight and as they drew closer to the Calacirya it became misty and the seeing was difficult. At one point Findaráto dismounted and Ingwion followed suit and they walked carefully, not wanting to find themselves falling off the cliff edge. Eventually though they came to a stand of trees and Findaráto recalled that the heights above the cleft were forested. Soon, they found themselves staring down into the valley of the Calacirya, though there was little to see because of the mists. They rested again for a longer time, building a small fire and taking some sustenance, before moving on, both of them keeping their eyes peeled for any sign of a path leading down.

How long they walked between the trees, wending their way eastward, they never afterwards could say, but as the mountains rose before them, they came to a spot where the trees were fewer and the land more open.

"Look! That must be it," Findaráto cried, pointing ahead.

Ingwion stared where his cousin was pointing and saw two irregularly shaped objects standing there. On closer inspection they saw that they were two stone pillars and between them a series of narrow stone steps was cut into the cliff face.

"We’ll have to abandon our horses then," Ingwion said with a sigh of disgust.

"There’s no help for it," Findaráto replied as he began to divest his horse of its packs. "We’ll leave them to forage."

"It’ll take us too long to reach Alqualondë by foot," Ingwion groused as he followed Findaráto between the pillars.

"It will take as long as it will take," Findaráto said calmly. "Now stop grousing. Honestly, if I didn’t know better I’d swear you were no older than Artaher."

Ingwion laughed. "Sorry. I’m not at my best when my plans are being thwarted."

"Not thwarted, just delayed."

In spite of their narrowness and the steep incline, the steps proved easy to maneuver as they went down them, the walls of the cliff rising around them, blocking their view save for a glimpse of the stars above. After what seemed forever but was perhaps no more than half an hour, they were coming into the Calacirya. Taking a deep breath and looking about they saw that they were very near the eastern end and could in fact smell the salt in the air. Hefting their packs into more comfortable positions, they headed off.

"I wonder where that sea cave is that your ammë mentioned," Ingwion said suddenly.

"You mean the one that made Atto go white?" Findaráto replied with a laugh. "I thought for sure he was going to faint and why did the two Maiar start laughing?"

"They obviously know something we don’t," Ingwion said with a shrug and a smile. "So do you know about this sea cave?"

"Not a thing," Findaráto answered. "I have the feeling, though, that neither of my parents will appreciate being asked about it." He laughed and Ingwion joined him.

"Listen!" Findaráto suddenly said, stopping in mid-stride.

Ingwion stumbled to a halt and strained his ears. At first he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be hearing but then he could just make out the dim sound of voices coming somewhere before them, singing. Findaráto smiled. "Come!" he exclaimed. "I think we may have found our ride." He began running down the sward.

"Wait!" Ingwion shouted. "What do you mean?"

But Findaráto ignored him and he was forced to follow quickly. In a short time the two ellyn found themselves on a gem-strewn beach. Ingwion saw a small boat bobbing in the waters before them, perhaps a hundred feet or so from the shore, and in it were several silver-haired Teleri wearing only breeches or stripped down completely to loincloths, their hair tied back with leather thongs, moving with practiced ease as they hauled up a net. It was they who had been singing. One of them happened to look up as the two ellyn reached the shore and waved. The others, alerted by their fellow stayed their song and looked up as well.

"What be two of the Minyai doing here?" the first sailor shouted.

Ingwion could barely understand the ellon’s rough dialect, but Findaráto did not seem to have a problem, for he answered promptly. "Only one of us be of the Minyai but we both be in need of a ride to Alqualondë if thou wouldst be so kind."

"And why would we be hauling thy worthless landlubber hröa anywhere?" one of the other sailors asked with a sneering laugh and the rest joined in.

Ingwion understood enough of what the insolent ellon had said to start feeling angry but Findaráto laid a hand on his arm, never taking his eyes off the sailors. "For the love that thou hast for the Alquawendë, who is also my amillë," Findaráto answered back.

The laughter died immediately and there was a hurried consultation among the sailors. Then, they quickly hauled in the net and stowed it away while the first sailor, whom Ingwion suspected was the captain, jumped out of the boat, the water coming up to his chest. He did not come all the way to the shore but stood a few feet away with the water lapping his knees, his hands on his hips as he stared hard at the two of them. Ingwion kept himself still; Findaráto might as well have been made of stone. The sailor stared at them for a good long minute before speaking.

"Who be thou?" he demanded. "Thou’st the look of the Nelyai in thy face but thou’rt no Son of Ulmo."

"Nay," Findaráto said equably. "I be a Son of Aulë as is my atar and all my clan, but still the blood of the Sons of Ulmo run in me and I would ask of thy mercy for thine assistance. I must needs reach Alqualondë and speak unto my anatar, thy king, for I and my companion have grave news."

For a moment the Teler did not move, and then he nodded. "I see in thine eyes that thou speakest truth. Come then, let us hie thee to Alqualondë." With that he turned about and began moving back to the boat. Findaráto grabbed Ingwion and began dragging him into the ocean.

"But I cannot swim!" Ingwion protested, trying to pull himself out of his cousin’s grasp.

"It’s not deep," Findaráto assured him. "Let me guide you."

"As if I have a choice," the Vanyarin prince muttered as he allowed the younger ellon to drag him along, trying to keep his footing.

They reached the boat where the sailors offered eager hands to bring them aboard. Soon the two were sitting in the middle of the boat dripping seawater, clutching their packs which they had kept dry by holding them above their heads. The sailors went about their business of raising their single sail and the one who had invited them aboard — he was indeed the captain — manned the tiller. The boat responded and was soon heading north. Ingwion watched the dark bulk of Tol Eressëa pass on their right and suppressed a shiver. No one lived there anymore. It was a deserted, desolate island and he wondered if anyone would ever bother to settle there. He could not imagine why anyone would but then, he reflected wryly, he could not imagine why anyone would not want to live in the Light of the Two Trees. Except, that light is forever gone, he reminded himself and he forced himself to look away from the dark island.

The sailors ignored them, going about their tasks in silence. Findaráto looked about with interest and Ingwion heard him humming an unfamiliar tune. Then, he suddenly began singing out loud. From what Ingwion could understand of it, it was a sea chanty, and not at all polite. Ingwion smothered a laugh at a particularly suggestive verse. The sailors all stood in shocked silence, listening to this proper prince of the Noldor singing a rather naughty song. The captain started laughing and then he was joining in and soon all the other sailors were singing along. It wasn’t long before Ingwion was chiming in on the chorus.

Thus, they sailed north towards the Swan Haven under the indifferent gaze of the stars, singing one sea chanty after another. Ingwion never knew just when he found himself sitting cross-legged in the middle of the boat with Findaráto on one side of him and one of the sailors on the other, learning various kinds of knots and singing as the captain brought them through the arch of living sea rock into the harbor.

"We’ve arrived," Findaráto said softly and Ingwion looked up from his work to see the quays of Alqualondë shining under lantern-light.

It took only moments for them to reach the moorings and then Ingwion was being helped over the side and onto the wharf. He and Findaráto thanked the sailors and then they were making their way across a small bridge spanning one of the city’s innumerable canals, making their way towards the palace. No one paid any attention to them as they wended their way through the city, but the guards at the palace gates halted them until one of them recognized their king’s grandson and they were quickly admitted. Findaráto asked that Olwë be informed of their presence while he led Ingwion to the suite of rooms that were his whenever he visited Alqualondë. Findaráto ordered baths for them both.

"I don’t care to greet Anatar smelling of dead fish and seaweed," Findaráto said to Ingwion and the ellon whole-heartedly agreed.

Servants scurried about, bringing dainties for them to eat and wine to drink as they set about making themselves presentable. Finally, about an hour later, Eällindo, Olwë’s steward, came to escort them to where the Lindaran awaited them.

****

Minyai: Old plural: The First Clan, later known as the Vanyar.

Alquawendë: Swan-maiden, one of Eärwen’s titles as a princess of the Teleri.

Nelyai: Old plural: The Third Clan, known later as the Teleri or Lindar (the name the Teleri have given themselves).

Lindaran: King of the Lindar, modeled after the attested titles Ingaran (High King) and Noldóran (King of the Noldor).

Note: The reason for Arafinwë’s reaction to Eärwen mentioning a ‘certain sea cave’ is fully explained in Ellie’s hysterical story Lover’s Leap, found on this site.

63: Audience With Olwë

Ingwion followed his cousin and the steward down several hallways and up a flight of stairs, gazing about with wide-eyed interest. He had never been to Alqualondë and now wondered at that. He knew that both his parents had been here at least once but he himself, along with his twin and Indil, had only traveled as far as the mouth of the Calacirya to see the ancient stars before returning to Tirion. Why hadn’t they gone to Alqualondë? He shook his head, for he had no answer to that. It was something he would have to remember to ask his atar about when he returned to Vanyamar.

Eällindo brought them to a set of pearlescent doors where two ellyn stood on guard. They opened the doors for them and the steward began announcing them almost before he had passed the threshold.

"Their Highnesses Findaráto Arafinwion and Ingwion Ingaranion," the older Elf intoned before stepping aside to let them in.

Ingwion was not sure he appreciated being announced second. He was, after all, the son of the High King and outranked his cousin, but on further reflection, he realized that to the Teleri, young Findaráto was kin and therefore to be accorded a higher status than a mere haryon of some other clan with no blood-ties to it. He almost smiled at that revelation. It seemed a rather provincial view but the Teleri were always a little backward as far as he could tell. Certainly, they were less innovative, even by Vanyarin standards, never mind by Noldorin. Even their speech patterns were more archaic sounding. Well, that was neither here nor there.

He gazed around the small presence-chamber with its walls of nessamelda wood paneling and the blue-veined marble floor covered with a soft blue-green carpet. There was a crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling, its light throwing rainbows around the room. Before them stood, as custom demanded, two Elves whom Ingwion could only assume were Olwë and his queen, Lirillë. They were richly dressed in sea-green velvets, pearls sewn into their clothing and twined into their silver hair.

Findaráto gave them his obeisance, but Ingwion refused to do more than bow his head in greeting. He was Ingwë’s son and heir and therefore ranked higher than all of them, whether they wished to acknowledge that or not. He noticed Olwë raising an eyebrow but otherwise he did not comment. Instead the King of Alqualondë opened his arms in greeting and Findaráto went to them willingly.

"Welcome, my child," Olwë said, giving his grandson a kiss as between close kin, then allowing Lirillë to do the same as he turned to address Ingwion. "And thrice welcome also to you, Prince Ingwion. You lend us grace by your presence."

"Thank you, Uncle," Ingwion replied, using the form of the word that was used as between equals of differing generations.

Olwë nodded, turning to his steward, who had remained beside the door. "Thank you, Eällindo, that will be all. See that we are undisturbed for the next three bells."

Eällindo bowed. "As you command, Majesty," he said and left, the guards closing the doors behind him, leaving them alone.

Olwë gestured to a sideboard. "Please help yourselves. We rarely stand on ceremony among family."

Findaráto went to the sideboard and began pouring wine into goblets, handing one to Ingwion, while their hosts asked after their families. Only when everyone had been served and seated on comfortable chairs around a low table did they get down to the reason for their visit.

"I was surprised to hear that you two were here, dripping seawater on our front porch," Olwë said drolly and the two younger ellyn chuckled.

"Atar sent us, or rather, sent me," Ingwion replied, "to fill you in on what has happened."

"We know about the Trees dying," Lirillë said softly.

"That is only part of it, Anammë," Findaráto said. "You have not heard what came after."

"Then tell us," Olwë ordered.

Ingwion looked at Findaráto who gave him a slight nod and sighed. It was his mission after all. He took a sip of the wine, something fruity and not exactly to his liking but drinkable enough. "My atar and I were at the Máhanaxar where the Valar were in council when they received word from the Maiar that Fëanáro, in defiance of the Valar’s decree, had left Formenos and was heading towards Tirion, leading all who had gone with him into exile...."

It took some time to tell the entire tale, with Findaráto supplying some of the narrative, speaking of the reaction of various members of his family to Fëanáro’s return to Tirion and the events which followed. Olwë stopped them several times, asking for clarification or their opinions. Ingwion vaguely heard bells chime once, then twice, somewhere in the distance before they were finished. The worst part had been describing Fëanáro’s speech, Ingwë’s futile attempts to win over the Noldor and the speaking of the Oath by Fëanáro and his sons. Ingwion found he could not repeat the words of the Oath; they stuck in his throat and he was sure he would be violently ill. Even Findaráto looked white and there was a sheen of sweat on his brow as he struggled to describe the Oath without actually speaking the words aloud. Olwë finally stood and went to a small writing desk where he found a scrap of vellum and a quill and ink, bringing them back to where they were sitting.

"Write it down," he ordered his grandson, placing the writing paraphernalia on the table between them, "and then we will burn it afterwards."

Findaráto nodded, leaning over to take up the quill, his hand trembling slightly. He dipped the quill into the ink and scrawled the words on the sheet. Even that seemed almost too much for the ellon, for as soon as the last word was written he hastily rose and went to the embrasure that looked out onto a canal and took deep shuddering breaths, as if to cleanse his lungs of filth. Lirillë stood and went to him, pulling out a linen handkerchief and wiping the sweat from her grandson’s brow, speaking in soft tones. Olwë picked up the sheet and read the words.

"By Ulmo’s Beard!" he shouted, jumping to his feet in shock, his expression turning towards outrage. "He dared? Has he gone insane? And you say his sons took this same vile oath?" He was staring at Ingwion who nodded mutely.

Lirillë came back, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "What was the oath, husband?"

But Olwë refused to let her see. "It is vile, my love. I would not taint your fëa with it." He went to stand under the chandelier and reached up to catch one of the flames on the vellum. Then, even as it burned, he went over to the sideboard, tipping over a small copper bowl of fruit and placing the burning piece of paper inside it, staring at it with intense anger until there was nothing but ashes lying in the bowl. Even that did not seem to satisfy him, for he reached for the carafe of wine and poured it into the bowl until there was nothing but a soupy, ashen mess.

"I’ll have someone pour this down the privy," he finally said, turning to face the others. Findaráto had regained his composure and had returned to his seat, taking a large gulp of his wine, while Lirillë sat beside him, gently rubbing his back to calm him. Ingwion just sat there in mute agony, not for the first time wondering what possible use his being here was. Why had his atar sent him here? What did he expect Olwë to do that he could not? There seemed to be no answers forthcoming as he watched Olwë take the bowl and open the doors, giving his orders to one of the guards, before returning to them.

He stared gravely at the two princes, his eyes dark with a barely contained fury and perhaps even despair. "You are both exhausted from your trip and your tale. Go, both of you and rest. Nothing will be decided in this hour. If you wish, we will have a simple family dinner. I know Lindarion, Falmaron and Olwen will be happy to see you, Findaráto, as will Salmar and Faniel."

Findaráto rose and gave his anatar a brief bow. "Thank you," he said. "I think I do need to lie down for a while."

"Then go, child," Lirillë said gently, giving her grandson a hug, "and you, too, Ingwion. You are almost as pale as Findaráto. We will dine at the eighth bell. I’ll send someone to escort you."

Olwë embraced Findaráto and kissed him and then, to Ingwion’s surprise, he did the same to him. "Thank you," he said to the prince as he released him from his embrace. "I know how difficult it was to tell us this."

"I didn’t want to come," Ingwion said with unexpected honesty. "I didn’t want to leave Atar...."

"I know," Olwë replied, giving him a gentle smile. "You are a credit to your kin and clan, Ingwion. Now, go, both of you and rest. You have done your duty to the High King. Your mission is over and you can now relax."

Findaráto gave them a wan smile. "It was a secret mission, though Ingwion insists that it wasn’t."

"You always make everything more dramatic than it needs to be, Cousin," Ingwion insisted with a snort.

"It’s more fun that way," Findaráto retorted mildly as the two made for the door.

Olwë and Lirillë laughed at the banter and Lirillë promised again to send someone at the proper time to see that they had all that they needed to ready themselves for dinner. Findaráto insisted that they needed no escort back to his suite and in a short time they were crawling into Findaráto’s oversized bed and promptly falling asleep.

****

Dinner with the family was a lively affair, though Ingwion could not help feeling subdued. There was a pall in the air, a sort of disquiet that he could not shake from his heart. Still, the royal family took pains to welcome him and treat him as one of their own, asking about his siblings and his life in Vanyamar, comparing his upbringing with their own. Findaráto regaled them with his adventures in Vanyamar when Intarion and Lirulin were betrothed and there was much laughter over it. By mutual consent, there was no mention of Fëanáro or the events leading up to the death of the Trees or even what their purpose in being there was. Ingwion thought that Olwë would probably confide in his heir but he was not sure.

"How long can you stay?" Olwen asked during a lull in the conversation.

Ingwion had to tear himself away from his own thoughts to answer, giving the elleth a shrug. "I do not know," he said, glancing at Findaráto. "It all depends."

"Depends on what?" the elleth insisted.

"It depends on whether you run out of food before you run out of patience," Ingwion replied, nodding towards Findaráto. He was not sure where the words had come from, but it seemed to be the right thing to say because everyone started laughing.

"Findaráto’s appetite is legendary," Faniel said with a grin at her nephew, who had the grace to blush.

"I think though that you will want to return home sooner rather than later," Olwë said with a knowing look at Ingwion.

"Yes, I would," the Vanya answered. "I find I don’t care for adventure as much as my cousin seems to. I miss my home, my family. They need me."

There were sober nods all around.

"Well, there’s no need to leave immediately, is there?" Olwen asked. "I had hoped you could stay for my begetting day celebration. It’s only a week away."

Ingwion smiled. "I would enjoy that, thank you."

"Good. Then in the meantime, we can show you our city," Olwen said.

"I would like that as well," Ingwion replied. "I was wondering as we were coming here why I never visited Alqualondë with my parents. I’ve only been as far as the mouth of the Calacirya to see the stars."

"Well, you’re here now," Lirillë said with a smile, "and that’s all that matters, isn’t it?"

Ingwion nodded in agreement and the rest of the evening was taken up with a discussion of what he should see and how he should see it. Some hours later, as they were about to retire, Olwë took the two cousins aside and spoke with them quietly.

"I am glad you have agreed to stay for the next week," he said. "It will give me time to formulate a reply to Ingwë and Ñolofinwë."

"Ñolofinwë!" Ingwion exclaimed. "But Ñolofinwë doesn’t even know we’re here. None of the Noldor do, do they?" He asked the question of Findaráto who shook his head.

"I told no one our actual plans," he insisted. "As far as everyone in Tirion is concerned, you and I are hunting in the royal reserve."

"That may be as it may be," Olwë said, "but the fact remains that your uncle needs to know where I stand on all this no less than Ingwë."

"But Uncle Ñolofinwë is no longer regent," Findaráto protested.

Olwë shrugged. "It matters not. I do not recognize Fëanáro’s claims. You will speak to Ñolofinwë and your atar about my views but to none other. Is that clear, indyo?"

"Yes, Anatar," Findaráto said meekly.

"Good. But there is time enough for all this later. Go to your rest. Tomorrow and the next day and the day after that will be rather busy ones for you both if Olwen has her way. I’d be surprised if by the time you leave here you haven’t seen every back alley in the city with her as your guide."

The two ellyn chuckled at that and made their farewells to the family before retiring. Ingwion wanted to discuss what Olwë had said to them as they readied themselves for bed, but he could not stop yawning and gave it up as a lost cause. There would be time later on to discuss these things with Findaráto, who did not seem inclined to chat anyway. Soon they were fast asleep.

****

True to Olwë’s prediction, the next few days were a whirlwind of activity as Olwen, along with her three brothers and Faniel, showed Ingwion all around the city. Findaráto followed along, content to let his aunts and uncles lead them. Ingwion was fascinated by the city and its people, its canals and bridges linking one part to another. They spent some time in the harbor district and even took a picnic lunch on the royal barge as it wended its way along the canals, giving them a different perspective on the city. Everywhere there was singing, mostly sea chanties and hymns to Ulmo, and the smell of salt permeated everything. The Teleri offered to teach Ingwion how to swim when they discovered he knew not a single stroke but he politely declined, insisting that he would have nowhere to practice once he returned to Vanyamar.

"And I do not think I will be returning here any time soon," he told them, "as much as I would like to."

"You must come back someday," Lindarion insisted. "And you don’t even need to bring Findaráto with you either." He winked at them and Findaráto said something just barely heard that was quite rude and everyone else laughed.

So the week went on. Lindarion, Falmaron, Salmar and Faniel excused themselves from the tours after a time, leaving Olwen to continue on alone. Ingwion found himself looking forward to his time with Olwen, for the longer he knew her the more interesting she became to him. He even began badgering Findaráto as to why his aunt had not yet married.

"For I find it passing strange that she has found none to whom to give her heart," he said.

Findaráto gave him a jaundiced look. "You’re not considering asking her for her hand in marriage, are you?"

"Well, no," Ingwion said hastily, then gave a sniff. "And yet, why not? She is fair to look upon and intelligent and she has a lovely smile and...."

"But do you love her?" his cousin asked gently.

Now Ingwion blushed. "I don’t know," he admitted. "I... I think I would like to."

To that rather interesting statement, Findaráto made no reply, merely giving his older cousin a knowing grin. "Well, when you know for sure, let me know." And the matter was dropped.

Ingwion and Findaráto rarely saw Olwë except at dinner when the family gathered together and their conversation centered around all that Ingwion had seen and done that day as well as plans for what they would do the next day. Plans for Olwen’s begetting day celebration went apace. At one point, Ingwion took Findaráto aside to get his opinion on what gift he, a virtual stranger, might give to Olwen. Findaráto thought for a moment or two and then made arrangements for them to leave the palace alone. He took Ingwion to a particular shop not far from the palace where, with Findaráto’s help, he purchased a piece of amber wrapped in a spiral of silver and suspended from a linked silver chain so delicate Ingwion feared it would break apart at a touch. The skeleton of some creature unknown to him was embedded within the amber. He was assured that such a gift would be appropriate and highly prized.

"It is considered good fortune to wear one of these pendants," the shopkeeper told him. "Sailors often wear them for protection."

When Ingwion presented his gift to Olwen she exclaimed over it with delight, thanking him profusely, giving him a kiss that he thought was a little warmer than propriety permitted but he did not mind. He was not sure if she was just being polite, but decided it didn’t matter. His own feelings were still ambivalent, and he was unsure how to address them. Findaráto’s own gift was a slim volume of poetry, beautifully illuminated, which he had discovered in a bookseller’s shop during one of their forays into the city. They were apparently poems by a well-known and respected Telerin bard, presently Olwë’s chief bard, though Ingwion had never heard of him. Olwen, apparently, was well acquainted with Master Elennáro’s works and was quite pleased to have this particular volume in her collection.

The day after the celebration, Olwë called Ingwion and Findaráto into his study. "I imagine you both are ready to leave," he said without preamble and the two ellyn nodded. "And I am ready to give you my answer. I thank you both for coming here to tell me about what Fëanáro is planning. It is apparent that he will bring the Noldor this way. Certainly, they will pass by us on their way north."

"Do you think they will trek all the way to Endórë by way of the land bridge that we’ve been told exists?" Ingwion asked doubtfully.

"Oh, it exists, I assure you," Olwë said. "It is their only route back."

"What about ships?" Findaráto asked. "Do you think Fëanáro will ask for them from you?"

Olwë frowned. "If so, he will be disappointed. I will not countenance any of my people aiding him in this folly, for folly I deem it to be." He cast a considering look upon his grandson. "Glad I am to know that you and your parents have no intention of joining Fëanáro in his madness, though it troubles me that your brothers and sister are eager to be off."

Findaráto shrugged. "They are young and actually I would like to go and see the wider world and perhaps found my own kingdom, but I will not do it under Fëanáro’s banner. If my atar were going, that might be a different matter."

"Well, that aside, here are my thoughts," Olwë replied. "The Noldor have always been restless and I think too eager to listen to Melkor’s counsel. The forging of swords and other weapons is pure foolishness, though no doubt Fëanáro will claim it foresight against this day. Whatever. Tell Ingwë and Ñolofinwë that I will not aid Fëanáro in his mad schemes nor permit any of my people to do so. Frankly, I would as lief have the Valar forbid Fëanáro’s going and hie him back to Formenos where he belongs. That he wilfully defies the Valar’s edict disturbs me. It can lead to no good. And that Oath!" He visibly shuddered. "That Oath will be the ruination of us all, I fear, and not just those who uttered it."

"Let us hope you are wrong, Anatto," Findaráto said soberly.

"Me, too," Olwë replied with a sigh. "At any rate, it is time for you to leave. I’ve made arrangements for your transport back to the Calacirya. I assume you will take the path to the highlands and reclaim your poor steeds, who no doubt have given up hope of ever seeing you again."

Ingwion and Findaráto smiled at that. "Yes, I have a feeling we’ll be led a merry chase before either lets us capture them," his grandson said with an amused snort. "And you are correct. We will need to retrace our route so as to appear as if we have returned from the hunt."

"Are you sure they will not be suspicious of us?" Ingwion asked. "We’ve been gone for some time and I doubt we can look suitably disreputable, as if we’ve been sleeping out under the stars this last week or more."

"We’ll have to dirty ourselves up before we reach the gates," Findaráto quipped. "I think, though, that it would be wise for you to leave Tirion as soon as you have cleaned up. I do not know what has happened while we’ve been away, but I have this feeling that Tirion is going to be an unhealthy place for any who are not Noldor."

Ingwion shrugged. "I will remain just long enough to see what is happening so I can report to Atar and then be on my way."

"Then, the sooner you leave the better for you both," Olwë said. "Go and make your farewells to the family and I will have your escort ready."

He gave them both a fierce hug and a kiss on the brow and then he left them to make their farewells and gather their things. In short order they were being led back to the harbor where a swanship awaited them. As the ship slipped through the arch of living sea rock, Ingwion watched the city of Alqualondë fade away into the darkness, the sound of its bells ringing softly across the waters, thinking about a certain elleth and wondering if he would ever return.

64: Preparations Advancing

Ingwion and Findaráto returned to Tirion a week later. It took them some time to retrieve their horses, for they had ranged further afield than anticipated. Then Findaráto decided to travel in a circuitous route south of the granaries across a wilderness of small copses and open fields. By the time they reached the road leading to the Southern Fiefdoms they were both looking a bit worse for wear. Ingwion’s cloak was ripped where it got snagged by an errant tree limb while Findaráto sported a bump on the head and a slightly sprained ankle from tripping over a root while chasing down some deer that they had encountered unexpectedly.

"A fine hunter you are," Ingwion had said with an amused snort when he finally caught up with his cousin who had given chase on foot, leaving Ingwion to deal with their horses.

Findaráto had snarled a few choice words that only set Ingwion laughing. Needless to say the deer got away and they were forced to content themselves with a scrawny rabbit or two for their meal.

They reached Tirion at a time when the city was bustling. The ever present stars made it difficult to measure time as they had done in the past but the Noldor were nothing if not inventive. While the two had been away, Fëanáro’s water clock had been moved into the Mindon Eldaliéva and a special bell had been forged and set up in its own open tower next to the Mindon. At every hour someone came and rang the bell and by this method all of Tirion gauged the time. By the amount of activity that they saw as the two cousins made their way towards the palace, it would appear that in Tirion at least it was mid-day. Even as they came abreast of the palace gardens on the southern slopes they heard a bell ring out. Ingwion found himself counting.

"Six peals," he said.

"Almost halfway to what would have been Second Mingling," Findaráto said with a nod. "It’s going to take some getting used to."

Ingwion nodded and then they were coming into one of the minor courtyards leading to the royal stables and were too busy divesting themselves of their gear and turning their steeds over to grooms for him to comment. None of Findaráto’s family were there to greet them and in truth they were not expecting it. Findaráto led the way into the palace and they made their way to his suite without encountering anyone save for servants who ran to do their prince’s bidding, for he had ordered hot baths and food for them both.

"I should probably go to my own suite and change," Ingwion said but Findaráto shook his head.

"Have someone go and bring you fresh clothes," he suggested. "I do not like the feeling I have and I would prefer you stay close to me."

"What do you mean?" Ingwion demanded.

"I don’t know for sure," Findaráto admitted with a shrug, "but something doesn’t feel right. The servants are... I don’t know. Let’s just go to my rooms and sort it out later."

Ingwion gave his cousin a considering look and then nodded. He called to one of the servants and gave the ellon instructions. The servant did not look pleased to be sent on the errand but a sharp word from Findaráto sent him scurrying to obey, though his expression was still disdainful.

"You’re correct, Cousin," Ingwion said in a whisper. "Something is not right."

Inside Findaráto’s suite servants were busy preparing the baths and setting out clean clothes for their master. None of them would look at the two princes or engage in any conversation, even when Findaráto teased them a bit about being closed-mouth. Finally, he simply dismissed them, much to their obvious relief, leaving the two cousins to fend for themselves, which suited them fine. The surly servant arrived just then with the outfit Ingwion had asked him to bring and left as quickly as he could.

"What’s up with all of them?" Ingwion asked as he began divesting himself of his over-ripe clothes and stepping into the lavender-scented bath, reveling in the hot water.

"I have no idea," Findaráto said as he joined him, giving a sigh of relief as the heat did its work of relaxing sore and tired muscles. "The whole atmosphere of this place is... dark and I don’t mean because there is no longer any light."

"I know what you mean," Ingwion said. "I felt it too, or rather I only noticed it when you mentioned it. I guess I was feeling too weary and worrying about what might be happening in Vanyamar to notice right away."

"You should not stay, then," Findaráto said as he reached for a sponge and some scented soap. "You should leave as soon as decency allows."

"I did promise Atar that I would stay long enough to see what is happening here," Ingwion stated as he grabbed a brush. "I would like to give him as full a report as possible. Do you think your people have had second thoughts about following Fëanáro?"

"I don’t think so," Findaráto said with a scowl. "Did you not notice all the forges that have cropped up since we left? They were once hidden from sight, but now they are out in the open and I could see that swords and spears were being crafted."

Ingwion gave him a scowl. "I confess I was not paying much attention. All I could think about was getting into a hot bath and clean clothes again."

Findaráto smiled. "You Vanyar are such lovers of comfort," he said jokingly, "and so spoiled." Ingwion stuck his tongue out and splashed his cousin who retaliated in kind. They both started laughing as they played with the water, getting the tiles wet before climbing out and drying themselves off and donning their clothes.

While they were bathing, servants had come and gone, leaving plates of food behind. For a while the two concentrated on the hot meal, savoring every bite and it was only when the last drop of gravy had been sopped up that they resumed their previous conversation.

"So you think that the Noldor, or at least the vast majority of them, have decided to follow Fëanáro," Ingwion said as he sat back in his chair and sipped on some wine.

"It appears that way from what I saw as we made our way through the city," Findaráto replied, sighing a bit. "I just hope that no one in the family has decided to join them."

"Do you think it possible?" Ingwion asked. "I suppose Findecáno will go regardless because of his love for Nelyafinwë. Those two have been otornor almost since the day they were born, it seems, but I cannot imagine your parents allowing Artanis to go."

"Neither can I," Findaráto said. "And you are right about Fin and Nelyo. They are closer to one another than they are to their own brothers. I’ve always envied them their relationship. I think they would gladly die for one another and never count the cost. They are true heart-brothers and I wish I had someone like that in my own life."

"So do I," Ingwion said with a sad smile.

Findaráto gave him a sympathetic look, then drained his goblet, setting it on the table even as he stood up. "Let’s go find my atar and find out what’s been happening since we left. I’m really surprised that no one has come to welcome us home."

Ingwion drained his own cup and followed his cousin from the room. They did not go far, merely around the corner to another suite which belonged to Findaráto’s parents. Findaráto rapped on the door twice and then opened it, stepping in with Ingwion following. The sitting room was empty. Findaráto called out but no one came from the bedroom or any of the other rooms adjoining the sitting room. He gave Ingwion a puzzled look and a shrug.

"Maybe they’re visiting Uncle Ñolofinwë," he said but his tone was uncertain.

"Only one way to find out, isn’t there?" Ingwion said.

They left the suite and made their way down the hall to another door on their left. Findaráto hesitated for a moment before knocking, but he did not open the door immediately. They heard someone on the other side call out for them to enter and Findaráto’s expression was one of relief as he opened the door. Inside they found both Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë with their wives and children huddled around a large table that had been brought into the sitting room while they had been away. Ingwion suspected that it had once been in the family dining room and wondered why it had been moved here.

Everyone at the table looked at them in surprise for a moment. Findaráto gave them a sardonic look. "So this is where you’ve been hiding."

"When did you get back?" Arafinwë demanded as he rose and went to give his first-born and his cousin hugs in greeting.

"About an hour or so ago," Findaráto answered. "What’s going on? Why do the servants look frightened? Why is there such a heavy sense of doom in the air?"

Arafinwë sighed and Ingwion noticed a sense of sadness and tiredness in his eyes. "There have been some... developments while you were away," Arafinwë said as he led them back to the table. Chairs were found and room was made for them. Ingwion found himself sitting between Findaráto on his right and Eärwen on his left.

"How was the hunting?" Artanis suddenly asked them, her expression bland, but Ingwion sensed that she knew full well that they had not gone hunting.

Findaráto gave her a shrug. "Poor. The forest is dark and the animals are spooked. We saw little in the way of game, just enough to keep us alive."

"I’m surprised then that you did not return earlier," Ñolofinwë said from the other end of the table.

"You can blame Ingwion for that," Findaráto said with a sly grin. "He kept insisting that our luck would turn. The only thing that turned was my ankle when I tripped over a tree root that I didn’t see because it was so blasted dark under the trees."

There was a moment of stunned silence and then someone started laughing and soon they all were. "Well, you’ll have to tell us about it later," Eärwen said when they were calmer. "I think right now it’s best to bring you up to date as to what has happened here."

"And what exactly is that?" Findaráto asked.

For a moment or two no one spoke and then Ñolofinwë sighed. "Two days after you and Ingwion left, I received a delegation of Elves from the city who claimed to represent the vast majority of the population. They insisted that all of them had remained behind in Tirion when Fëanáro and your anatar went into exile. They were not sanguine about placing themselves under my half-brother’s banner and wished for me to lead them."

Ingwion could feel Findaráto’s shock. The ellon stared at his uncle in disbelief, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. Ingwion felt surprised as well. "But I thought you had no intention of following Fëanáro," Findaráto exclaimed.

"Nor did I," his uncle responded with a scowl. "But... these people claimed they did not wish Fëanáro as their king, though they did want to leave Tirion." He gave a snort of disgust. "A case of wanting the best of both worlds I think."

"You told them no, I imagine," Ingwion said, giving Ñolofinwë a shrewd look.

"Yes, I did... at first." Ñolofinwë gave Ingwion and Findaráto an embarrassed look and glanced at his son, Findecáno, sitting beside him. "I have since changed my mind."

"But... but why?" Findaráto cried, glancing around the table at the faces of his family, trying to understand what was happening.

Ingwion felt uncomfortable. This was clearly a family matter having nothing to do with him. He started to rise. "Perhaps I should...."

Findaráto jerked him down. "No!" he nearly shouted, his face suffused with anger. "Stay here. You need to hear this so you can give a true and faithful report to the High King about the follies of the Noldor." He gave everyone a scathing glance and Ingwion noticed that few there could meet his cousin’s gaze. "Go on, Uncle," Findaráto commanded. "Explain this folly to us."

Ñolofinwë’s own expression turned angry. "How darest thou judge that which thou dost not understand, hina!"

Findaráto flinched, as much at his uncle’s tone as at being called ‘child’ in such a manner. He was no elfling of ten! And the switch to formal address didn’t soothe his feelings either. He glared at his uncle, his cheeks red with shame at the insult and anger at the reprimand.

Ñolofinwë was angry as well, angry and affronted by his nephew’s lecturing and condescending manner. Ingwion couldn’t blame him but he had the feeling the second son of Finwë was using his anger as a shield. Whatever decision he had made he was not truly happy with it but could not honorably get out of it and his anger obviously masked his frustration and self-reproach.

Findaráto, however, did not apologize. Instead, he gave his elder cousin, Findecáno, a shrewd look. "I suppose this is your doing, isn’t it?" He shook his head in disgust while Findecáno bristled but Findaráto gave him no time to respond, turning his attention to his own atar. "So that means you will be the next king or at least regent while mine uncles are haring off to Endórë?"

Arafinwë shook his head. "I have decided to go with them, loath though I am to leave."

Now Findaráto’s expression was one of dismay and disbelief and Ingwion felt the blood drain from his own face as he stared in shock at Arafinwë.

"But... why?" Findaráto demanded. "And if you leave, who then takes the throne?" He glanced around the table but no one would look at him.

It was Ñolofinwë who finally answered. "Try to understand, Finda," he said. "I no more wish to leave Tirion than does your atar, but neither will I leave these people — my people — to the rash counsels of our brother. I no more believe now than I did before that Fëanáro’s quest has any hope of success. He leads all to their deaths, but if I am there perhaps I can keep our people from suffering too much from his excesses."

"But why do you feel you need to go with him, Atar?" Findaráto demanded of Arafinwë.

"For the same reasons," he answered. "Our households and the greater part of the dwellers of Tirion refuse to renounce Ñolofinwë in favor of Fëanáro. As far as they are concerned, Ñolofinwë is our king."

"Also, I cannot ignore the oath I gave him before the very thrones of the Valar," Ñolofinwë added. "I meant what I said: whither Fëanáro leads I will follow."

Findaráto scowled. "As rash an oath as there ever was, and no good will come of it." He paused and gave them all a considering look. "You still have not answered my question as to who will govern those who remain behind, for it is my thought that not all will accompany you, not for fear of whatever peril may lie before them, but for the love they bear for the Valar, and Lord Aulë not the least, as well as the love they have for Tirion itself."

"In that you are correct, yonya," Arafinwë answered. "By my reckoning, I think no more than a tithe will remain behind."

"That few!" Ingwion exclaimed. "Then Tirion might as well be deserted and Aman will be the poorer for your going."

"And who has been chosen to remain behind to govern?" Findaráto asked again.

There was an uneasy silence and then Arafinwë spoke. "It was thought that perhaps you..."

He got no further, for Findaráto leapt to his feet, his face red with anger. "And I suppose everyone else is going with you, even the ellith, while I’m supposed to stay back like a coward?" He glanced at Artanis who gave him a disdainful sniff.

"No one is accusing you of cowardice, Finda," Eärwen stated.

"You weren’t here when we made the decision," Angaráto said.

"Ah.... so that’s it," Findaráto retorted with a sneer of contempt for them all. "I am just a convenient excuse so the rest of you can do as you damn please!"

"Now yonya...." Arafinwë started to say but Findaráto cut him off with a snarled oath, pushing his chair back and heading for the door.

Before he reached it, though, he stopped and turned to face them. "I am coming with you," he said quietly yet firmly.

"What!?" Arafinwë exclaimed.

"I said that I am coming with you," his son repeated in the same quiet tone. "I will not be left behind."

"But why?" his brother Aicanáro demanded. "You’re the one who has been counseling us all to remain behind, claiming it folly to leave."

"And folly it is, but long have I wished to leave Aman for — what did Uncle call it? — the wide and magic world. I have wished this ever since I heard of these Apanónar whom the Valar claim are destined to come and take our inheritance from us. But I also knew my place was here, my duty bound me to Aman, to Lord Aulë as his pupil and to Tirion as a member of the royal household. As much as I desired to leave, I knew that I could not."

"And now?" Ñolofinwë asked.

"And now, it looks as if the entire family is going and I refuse to be left behind. Let those who will stay choose from among themselves one who will lead them."

"Not all of us are going," Eärwen said quietly, casting a meaningful glance at her husband.

"What do you mean?" Findaráto asked.

"Your ammë has decided to stay," Arafinwë answered, his expression unreadable, "as will your Aunt Anairë and probably Eldalótë, though Elenwë insists on going."

Findaráto stared at them all for the longest moment, his attention mostly on his parents. Eärwen’s expression was neutral, giving nothing away; Arafinwë refused to look at anyone. "Then it seems the only sane ones in this room are Ammë and my aunt and sister-in-law," he said, his tone emotionless, "for certainly the rest of us have taken leave of our senses. I fear Uncle Fëanáro’s madness has tainted us all."

All this while, Ingwion had sat in stunned silence, listening to the arguments back and forth, disbelieving what he was hearing, a sense of dismay and doom creeping over him with every word spoken. It mattered not to him who among the Noldor were mad enough to follow Fëanáro into folly, but when Findaráto announced that he, too, would leave, his heart nearly stopped. The thought of his beloved cousin, the one he felt the closest to, leaving him, nay, deserting him, it could not be borne! "You are serious, aren’t you?" he asked Findaráto. "You truly mean to leave. Even after all we’ve...."

He couldn’t finish. Findaráto’s expression told him all he needed to know. His throat tightened and his innards twisted and he felt as if his very heart would burst from pain and sorrow and a sense of betrayal. "You’re all insane!" he shouted, leaping from his chair, glaring at them. "You’re all insane and if you continue in this folly then you will all die and it’s no more than you deserve!"

He headed for the door, pushing Findaráto aside in his anger when the ellon tried to stop him, pleading with him to stay. He did not care. He could not stay there listening to their madness. When Arafinwë had suggested that Findaráto stay behind and rule, he had felt some semblance of cheer that at least his favorite cousin would be there in these sad and dark times, but now! It was not to be borne. He could not accept the thought of losing Findaráto forever. He blindly made his way to his suite, tears streaming down his face. When he arrived, he slammed the door and barred it, not wishing anyone to importune him, especially Findaráto. Standing with his back to the door he stared into the dark room, not yet ready to hunt for a candle. He wished his atar were there rather than in Vanyamar. He wished he were in Vanyamar instead of here. He wished....

His heart was racing, his stomach roiling, his hands clenched into fists and his breathing was coming in gasps as anger and fear and frustration all came to him at once and the room became too small and everything started closing in on him.

Then he threw back his head and screamed.

****

Ingwë’s party reached Eldamas and stopped at the royal townhouse to rest. The mood of the town was uneasy and Ingwë did not want Indis or Amarië exposed to it, so after a suitable time, he ordered them back on the road, but he did not join them.

"I need to make a report to the Valar first," Ingwë explained to his sister. "They need to know what has happened."

"And what makes you think that they do not?" Indis insisted. She gestured to Erunáro and Manveru. "I’m sure these Maiar...."

"No doubt, and I agree," Ingwë retorted harshly, cutting Indis off, "but they will still want to hear my story. Go you on to Vanyamar, you and Amarië, and I will be there in another day or two."

Indis pursed her lips. "I like it not," she exclaimed. "The Valar can take care of themselves, Brother. Your people need you more than they."

"Nevertheless," Ingwë said firmly, "I will stay and speak with Lord Manwë before returning to Vanyamar. When you see Elindis, tell her I am coming."

"Very well, Brother," Indis said with a sigh. "Do not tarry, for I deem the Vanyar are no less affected by the loss of light than everyone in Tirion and they will need your strong guiding hand showing them the way out of this present darkness."

"Only the Valar can do that," Ingwë said, then he turned to the two Maiar standing to one side. "Please see them safely to Vanyamar. I will come as soon as I may."

"It will be as you say, Ingwë of the Vanyar," Manveru replied.

When the cavalcade finally faded into the darkness, Ingwë sighed to himself and then made his slow way back into Valmar, stopping at Lord Manwë’s mansion, ascertaining that the Valar were still at the Máhanaxar in counsel. He thanked the Maia and continued down the Landamallë illuminated by lanterns hanging from the boughs of the malinorni trees that lined the avenue, wishing he could have simply ignored his duty to the Valar and gone home with Indis and Amarië.

****

Note: Ñolofinwë addressing his nephew with hina ‘O child’ would be considered insulting to the ellon because the vocative form was reserved for young children only. Findaráto would have expected the more endearing possessive form, hinya ‘my child’, which would not have had the sense of insult that the vocative form would have in this instance.

65: Ingwë Alone

Ingwë passed through the west gate made from silver and studded with emeralds. He made his way past the Ezellohar, refusing to look at the Trees, dark and dead against the star-bejeweled skies. He kept his gaze resolutely ahead, heading for the Máhanaxar. He stopped in consternation as he neared the Ring of Doom when he saw it encircled by Maiar in shining armor, swords of light in their hands. He hesitated, unsure if he should dare approach these forbidding-looking beings. It was clear the Valar had no wish to be disturbed, certainly not by the likes of him. He sighed and turned to go, but even as he did so, one of the warriors gestured for him to approach. As he came nearer, the Maia moved aside to allow him to pass.

"Our Masters await thee," the Maia said quietly and Ingwë thanked him.

He came to stand between the thrones of Lord Manwë and Lady Varda, as was his custom and remained silent, waiting to be recognized. None of the Valar moved, not even their eyes. It was as if they were statues and he could not even detect any breathing. Did the Valar need to breathe? he wondered irrelevantly. Apparently not. He knew that the forms they took were out of convenience and that their natural forms were nothing like their fanar. Still, it was only now, in the absolute darkness as he gazed upon the Valar sitting so utterly still and unmoving that the uncanniness of these beings began to impinge on his consciousness. For the first time in a very long time, Ingwë recognized that he was truly in the presence of the other and some visceral part of his fëa cringed at that thought.

Yet, truly, what did he have to fear? He had long sat at the feet of the Elder King and the other Valar and had learned much and knew himself loved by them. But, he knew he had failed them and that weighed heavily upon him. Without consciously doing so, he sighed, and was startled when Lord Manwë turned his head and looked at him.

"Forgive me, lord, for disturbing thee," he said formally as he gave Manwë his obeisance.

"Nay, Ingwë," Manwë said. "Forgive us for seemingly ignoring thee and making thee wait."

Ingwë wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he kept silent, merely nodding his head.

"What news dost thou bring, child?" Manwë asked gently.

Ingwë sighed, and the enormity of his failure with Fëanáro came at him in a rush and he went to his knees before the Elder King. "Forgive me, lord, but I failed thee."

"How didst thou fail us, Ingwë?" Varda asked gently.

"I... Fëanáro... I fear I drove him to uttering a most vile oath and now.... Forgive me. I have no right to be Ingaran over the Eldar. I am not king enough...."

"No, Ingwë," Manwë interrupted. "Thou art and always will be High King of all the Elves in Aman. That will never change. And thou hast not failed us. What we asked of thee was an impossibility and I regret involving thee in this. I fear Fëanáro never meant to do anything less than what he hath done. The fault is not thine, but ours. Now come," he gestured for Ingwë to rise. "Tell us all that hath happened in Tirion."

"Surely thou knowest what hath transpired, lord?" Ingwë asked.

Manwë nodded. "Indeed, I do. Yet, I would have thy report, for thou art Mirroanwë and thou seest the world differently than we who are Ainur."

"But first, where is thy son, Ingwion?" Varda asked. "Did he not accompany thee?"

"Nay, lady," Ingwë answered. "He is even now traveling to Alqualondë with Findaráto to apprise Olwë of all that hath happened."

"Ah...." Manwë said, though Ingwë could not tell if the Elder King approved or disapproved. "Pray tell us all that hath happened. Leave no detail out."

Ingwë nodded and though he spoke to Manwë he knew that all the Valar were listening with great interest to his tale. "Ingwion and I arrived in Tirion well before Fëanáro came and I spoke with Ñolofinwë...."

****

The telling was long and Ingwë felt drained afterwards. He was glad that none of the Valar had interrupted his tale, but waited until he was finished before questioning him. Most of the questions appeared to center around the Oath and Ingwë had thought he was going to be violently ill at Manwë’s feet when he came to that part of the tale, but Manwë assured him that they were all aware of the wording of the Oath and what it entailed and told Ingwë to move beyond that point in his narrative. The questions themselves were general in nature, intent on ascertaining the mood of the spectators and their reactions to the Oath rather than anything specific pertaining to it. The council meeting to which Ingwë was privy also was of interest to the Valar and they spent much time going over the details of what was said and, more importantly, what was not said.

At some point, Ingwë found a goblet of mulled wine in his hands, and he was grateful, for his throat was dry. As he stood beside the Elder King’s throne and drank the wine he listened to the discussion among the Valar. He realized that they were vocalizing for his benefit alone.

"How many of the Noldor will Fëanáro take with him do you suppose?" Aulë asked, his brows furrowed in pain. He had always loved the Noldor more than the other clans. Ingwë thought that the Vala must be feeling betrayed by them and felt pity for the Worldsmith. He feared that in the end they were all going to suffer grievously because of Fëanáro.

"Probably more than we would like," Manwë answered. "The eldest son of Finwë has a silver tongue and can be very persuasive. Our one hope is that Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë can bring calm among them and convince them not to listen to Fëanáro."

Ingwë shook his head. "It is a faint hope, lord," he said. "Neither Ñolofinwë nor Arafinwë have the... presence of their elder brother and both acknowledge Fëanáro as their king. They will not go against him however much they might wish to, family loyalty being what it is among us." He gave them a deprecatory smile.

"If what you say is true, then we must simply wait and see what else develops," Manwë said. "What instructions did you give Ingwion?"

"Once he completed his mission he was to return to Vanyamar," Ingwë answered. "I do not wish for him to remain in Tirion, a lone Vanya among the Noldor where tempers are chancy. I fear that not even his status as my son will protect him and Fëanáro would have no reason to do so for one who is of the same clan as Indis whom he hates."

"I will have the Maiar who are keeping watch over the Noldor to watch out for Ingwion and see that no harm comes to him," Manwë said.

Ingwë bowed, feeling relieved. "Thank you, lord."

Manwë nodded. "You should return to Vanyamar, my son," he said gently. "There is nothing more you can do here and your people need you."

Ingwë nodded. "Then, with your leave, Sire, I will retire to Eldamas and rest for a time, for I find myself feeling suddenly weary. When I have rested I will continue my journey. And please, if there is aught that I can do...."

"I will call for thee," Manwë assured him and then gave him his blessing as did all the other Valar. Ingwë gave them his obeisance and then left them to continue with their counsel.

****

Ingwë returned to the royal townhouse where he ordered a meal sent to his suite and then tried to sleep. Unfortunately, he could not seem to quiet his mind enough to slip onto the Path of Dreams, but simply lay there, staring up at the ceiling. He went over his conversation with Lord Manwë, reviewing all that he had said, wondering what more he could have done while in Tirion, and then realizing that there was nothing he could have done to salvage the disaster of the coronation. He knew he was partly at fault for what happened, but he suspected that Lord Manwë was correct when he said that Fëanáro had meant to do precisely what he set out to do and nothing Ingwë or anyone else said or did would have stopped him.

He sighed and got up, deciding sleeping was a lost cause, and padded over to the embrasure. He gazed up at the heavens and contemplated the long years of his life, beginning with his awakening under the stars by the shores of the Sea of Helcar. He so clearly remembered beholding those twinkling lights for the first time, the thrill of fear and wonder that filled his fëa. He recalled the mysterious song, deep and sonorous, which had accompanied his awakening, not even knowing that it was a song, only feeling content and safe and loved as he listened to the words, not even understanding the words, not even knowing that they were in fact words.

His memories went forward in time to when Lord Oromë appeared and how, to his everlasting shock, the Vala chose him to be the ambassador for the Minyai, the First Clan, though he thought then as now that he was unworthy of such an honor. He had not sought to lead his people, for he thought others were more capable of doing so, but he strove to lead them to the best of his ability. Certainly, he had proven his worth during the nearly two yéni it had taken them to reach Valinor and the years which followed. Now, though, he wondered if he truly had what it took to be High King if an upstart elfling like Fëanáro could so easily defy him and take most of the Noldor with him.

Damn Finwë for an obstinate fool! And damn his son for an arrogant one!

Ingwë had no doubt that Fëanáro would die in the attempt to reclaim his precious jewels. No Elda was capable of defeating a Vala. He doubted that any were capable even of defeating a Maia. The very least of the Valar’s servants was beyond their comprehension, never mind their strength. No. Fëanáro went to his death, of that he was sure, and frankly good riddance, but he grieved for all those innocent fools who would follow the son of Finwë into Mandos’ Halls and no good would have been achieved by it. It was all a miserable waste.

Well, there was nothing he could do about it. His one last hope was that his own nephews would be able to convince the Noldor not to follow Fëanáro on his mad adventure, which could lead only to death, for that was all they would find at the end of the road. He hoped Ingwion would be returning from Alqualondë soon. He was not comfortable with the idea of his son being among the Noldor when emotions were running high. Ingwion no longer had the protection of being an ambassador and would need to rely on the good wishes of those around him, including Fëanáro.

Well, he had a choice: remain here for a few more hours and try to get some rest, and certainly he felt fatigued enough to know he needed some, or simply leave. That would mean rousing the household and he was loath to do so. He glanced at the stars shining indifferently above him. From their positions he could tell that it would be several more hours before the household would stir. He sighed and returned to his bed, certain that he would not sleep, but within five minutes he was slipping effortlessly onto the Path of Dreams and knew nothing more until one of the servants knocked on his door to bring him his breakfast.

****

Once dressed and breakfast eaten, Ingwë wasted little time, but ordered his horse to be readied. He wished he had asked Lord Manwë for the loan of one of his Maiar as an escort but decided it was not worth returning to the Máhanaxar to ask. His steward wanted him to wait until he had found sufficient ellyn to act as an escort but Ingwë was impatient to be off.

"I am only a few hours from Vanyamar," he told the ellon. "What harm can possibly befall me?"

And so he left, glad to be away from the sense of doom that seemed to hang over the town. Those who dwelt in Eldamas and served the Valar in Valmar had practically bathed in the light of the Two Trees and their loss was keenly felt, more so than among even the people residing in Vanyamar. Ingwë was glad that the ever present darkness hid the Mound from his sight, but even so, he kept his eyes on the road before him and never looked back. He was only an hour down the road when he slowed his horse, for up ahead he spied several riders coming his way.

"Greetings!" he called out, raising a hand. "Well met, my friends. Whither do you go?"

"We go to Eldamas to escort Ingwë Ingaran to Vanyamar," one of the riders called out.

Ingwë raised an eyebrow in surprise but assumed that as soon as Indis had reached the city she had asked Elindis to send an escort for him. He smiled as he imagined his sister telling Elindis that an escort was the only way to ensure that he actually did arrive.

"Then you need go no further," he said as they came abreast of him, "for it is I, Ingwë, and I welcome you. How fares the city and my queen?"

"They fare well enough, Ingwë Ingaran," the one who had called out before answered. "I am Tulcaner in the service of Lord Ingoldo."

"Ingoldo!" Ingwë exclaimed. "My brother sent you?"

Tulcaner hesitated for a second before answering. "My lord volunteered us when the queen ordered an escort be sent."

"I see," Ingwë said, not entirely convinced, but willing to accept the ellon’s words at face value for the moment. Not that he had much choice. There were four of them and he was alone. Still, it might well be that Ingoldo was being sincere in his offer of an escort. "Then I thank my brother for his solicitousness. Shall we go?"

Tulcaner nodded and without another word, the four riders formed up around him with Tulcaner in the front. Ingwë eschewed speaking to the two riding on either side of him. He did not know them and they did not appear to be the talkative types anyway. Their expressions were taciturn and Ingwë belatedly realized that both were armed with long knives. Still, that did not necessarily mean anything. They were probably only being prudent, the times being what they were.

They continued to ride in silence, stopping to rest their horses when they reached the juncture with the road that would ultimately take them to a now deserted Formenos. Ingwë kept himself apart from the other four ellyn while they rested and they appeared willing to let him decide how long they would rest before going on. He watched them surreptitiously as he brushed down his steed. They did not speak among themselves and Tulcaner, he noticed, remained aloof from the other three, his eyes always on Ingwë. The High King began to think that perhaps he had been foolish not to ask for that escort from Lord Manwë, but knew that there was nothing he could do about it now. Vanyamar was only a few more hours away and he could only hope that he would reach it without incident.

The first sign of trouble came, though, when he indicated that he was ready to resume their journey. As Ingwë fiddled with the straps of the haversack that was draped over the horse’s back he felt rather than saw movement from his left. He looked up to see Tulcaner coming and taking hold of the horse’s headstall. "Tulcaner, what’s wrong?" he asked, furrowing his brows.

"Nothing," the ellon said and then nodded.

Ingwë turned to his right in surprise and shock when he felt a hand on his arm and found one of the other ellyn beside him. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, pulling roughly away.

The ellon grabbed at him again and the other two were also upon. "Unhand me!" Ingwë shouted in anger. "How dare you! I command you to release me at once!" He started struggling in their grasp and at one point he even managed to pull away from them. He tried to reach his horse, thinking that if he could do that he would be able to ride away. But he did not get that far. He was grabbed once again, and pushed to the ground. "Let me go!" he commanded even as he continued to struggle.

Then he heard Tulcaner speak. "Sorry, my lord, but we have our orders."

Before Ingwë could formulate a retort, he felt something hard hit the back of his head and he knew nothing more.

****

Elindis was dismayed when Indis and Amarië came to Vanyamar without Ingwë, though she greeted her sister-in-law warmly enough when she and the royal family welcomed the two ellith before the doors of the palace.

"Why didn’t Ingwë accompany you?" she asked Indis. "And where is Ingwion?"

"Ingwë felt the need to speak with Lord Manwë," Indis replied with a sniff, "as if the Valar aren’t aware of all that has happened. And Ingwion is still in Tirion, though I’m not entirely sure why. Something to do with hunting with his cousins."

Her off-handed attitude did not give Elindis any comfort. Rather than pursue the subject further she turned to Amarië and smiled. "Your parents will be very glad to see you, my dear. Why don’t you go find them and let them know you are here? Almáriel was most distressed to learn that you had left with the Noldor instead of returning here with them."

"My place was with Findaráto," Amarië said in a subdued voice, but she gave the queen her curtsey and went readily enough to find her parents.

Elindis then thanked Manveru and Erunáro for faithfully seeing Indis and Amarië safely to Vanyamar. Manveru bowed. "It was our pleasure, Elindis. Now we must return to our other duties."

Before she or anyone else could speak, the two Maiar faded from their view, leaving behind faint traces of some unidentified flowery scent that left them all with a feeling of well-being.

"Bother!" Elindis said with a scowl. "I was going to ask them if they would return to Valmar and escort Ingwë when he was ready to come home."

"My brother is quite capable of taking care of himself," Indis said with a smile as she turned to greet the rest of the family.

"Indis is correct, Elindis," Ingoldo said after giving Indis a perfunctory kiss. "Ingwë can look after himself and I suspect that if we were to send an escort he would feel insulted, thinking we didn’t believe him capable of finding his way home on his own."

"Oh, I suppose you’re right about that," Elindis said, sighing. "Yet, I would feel much better if I knew that my husband was being watched over. There has been too much uncertainty of late to make me feel sanguine about him traveling alone."

"I know how you feel," Indis said. "I was rather upset with Ingwë for not accompanying us the entire way. Still, when all is said and done, he is the High King and no elfling needing his ammë’s permission to go out and play."

"Are you sure about that?" Elindis asked with an arch look and then she and Indis were both laughing while everyone else looked upon them with bemusement. When they had calmed down, Elindis took Indis by the arm. "So, why don’t you get settled and later you can tell us all about Tirion and those terrible Noldor causing so much trouble."

Indis wisely did not contradict her sister-in-law, feeling it would do no good, as she allowed herself to be led into the palace with her nephew and niece and the others who had been on hand to greet her following.

Neither she nor Elindis nor anyone else in their party noticed that Ingoldo did not join them.

****

Ingwë woke to a horrendous headache and at first wondered if he’d gone blind, but no, there was a candle sitting on a table next to him, giving him uncertain illumination. He took stock of his surroundings, not recognizing the room. He was lying on a bed and the room itself appeared well appointed. It could have been his own bedroom but it was not. The banner on the wall opposite him depicted Finwë’s sigil of two stars, each with eight points, signifying that he was the High King of the Second Clan.

Was he back in Tirion then, he wondered. But somehow he doubted it. This room was unfamiliar and there was something about its construction that did not ring true. The walls were of dressed grey stone rather than the white stone used to build Tirion. So where was he?

He eased himself slowly up, wishing his head would stop pounding, fighting the sick dizzy feeling as he swung his legs off the edge of the bed. He noticed a carafe of water on the table next to the bed and a goblet and realized he was feeling terribly thirsty. Water never tasted so good and the pounding behind his eyes eased enough for him to see straight.

He stood up and walked slowly to one of the two embrasures set in the outer wall, hoping to see something of the outside and get an idea of where he was. Unfortunately, the window was more a narrow gap between the stones than a true window. It was only about two hands wide and he could see little of the outside through it except for some stars. The sight did not cheer him. Looking about, he noticed two doors and went to one which turned out to be a closet in which hooks were set in the walls for hanging clothing, though no clothes hung there now, and just beyond that, separated by a heavy velvet curtain, was a privy.

The other door, when he tried it, was locked and he presumed that it led to the outside corridor.

So, he was a prisoner. Ingoldo’s prisoner to be precise. He could guess the reason why and felt himself growing angrier by the minute, both at himself for his naiveté and Ingoldo for his daring. Yet, how did his brother think to keep his whereabouts a secret? As soon as Elindis realized that he was missing she would leave no stone unturned to find him.

Assuming, of course, she was in a position to do so. More than likely, Ingoldo was already making his move to consolidate his power, wresting it away from Elindis. That thought sobered him and he sincerely hoped Ingoldo would not be so foolish as to actually harm Elindis or his children.

"Hello?" he suddenly called out, speaking into the air. "Are there any Maiar about? Can anyone hear me?"

But he was greeted with silence and knew that he was truly alone with his captors. His one hope now lay in finding a way out on his own. He could not depend on anyone knowing where to look for him.

And then he remembered Ingwion, still free, for his son could not have left Alqualondë as yet. Was there a chance that Ingwion would learn that he was missing in time not to be caught in Ingoldo’s web? He had no doubt that his brother would be looking out for Ingwion to return to Vanyamar. But if he were still free....

Ingwë shook his head and then wished that he hadn’t. The room began spinning dangerously and he stumbled back onto the bed, only just making it before he fell into a faint.

66: Plots and Counterplots

Ingwion refused to see Findaráto or any of the other members of the royal family, remaining secluded in his suite, ignoring all pleas from his cousin to speak with him. He was furious at Findaráto for deciding to leave with the others. The rage he felt whenever he thought of his young cousin, a rage that did not extend to the rest of the family, both surprised and frightened him. He could not understand why he was feeling such a deep sense of betrayal. Findaráto had no claim on him other than kinship and friendship. He admired his younger cousin, had even secretly envied him his easy way with others as well as his wisdom, for Ingwion did not think of himself as being wise, and stood in awe of the deep thoughts that Findaráto sometimes shared with him. His cousin seemed so much older than his years, older than Ingwion at least, even though he had seen nearly twenty-three yéni while Findaráto had seen only nine.

He wondered what he could do to convince Findaráto not to go with the others. Surely it made sense that someone should remain behind to govern the Noldor who would not leave, and who ever heard of an elleth ruling? Ridiculous! He could not imagine his sister doing so, though he reluctantly admitted to himself that she was probably better at it than either he or Ingalaurë. Still, it didn’t necessarily follow that she should.

Valar! This was getting him nowhere. He plopped down on a settee and glowered at nothing in particular, sitting in the dark, for he had not bothered to light any of the tapers and had refused the servants entry into the suite. He ordered food to be brought on a regular basis but otherwise he preferred to be left alone. He contemplated simply leaving. There was naught he could do here. He knew his cousin well enough to know that once Findaráto made up his mind to do a thing, nothing and no one could sway him from his course. He seriously doubted that even the Elder King himself could do so.

But perhaps there was someone who could persuade his stubborn cousin not to go. Hmm... with the right incentive to stay....

He stood up and went to the writing desk overlooking the gardens, though in this infernal ever present darkness there was little to see. He found the tinder box and quickly lit a couple of candles, then rummaged about for paper, sitting for the longest time idly sharpening a quill while deciding just how to phrase his plea. When he was satisfied, he dipped the quill into the ink and began writing. His first attempt did not please him, however, and he wadded the paper up and threw it on the floor, grabbing another sheet. It took three more tries before he finally decided he had worded his missive just right. Satisfied, he threw drying sand onto the paper, then sealed the letter with his personal seal. Rising, he went to the door and opened it, hoping to spy a servant but the corridor was empty. He sighed and went back inside. He could either wait until someone came with the next meal or go out and perhaps risk bumping into one of the family. He was loath to do so. The last thing he wanted was to encounter anyone, especially Findaráto. Servants were fine, but anyone else....

He needed to get this letter sent quickly. Time was running out. He wasn’t sure just when the Noldor intended to leave, but he knew that it would not be long before all was ready. He paced the floor, thinking out his options. For his plan to work it was important that no one knew of the letter. Servants would gossip even when ordered not to and he could not risk going to anyone in the family and asking for the loan of a courier. They were all expecting him to leave, he had no doubt, and in truth, he had no real reason to stay except out of a perverse sense of duty to his atar. He felt that someone needed to stand as witness to the madness of the Noldor and give a true and accurate report of all that was happening to the High King. Everyone would wonder at his sending a letter to Vanyamar rather than simply leaving himself.

He sighed, wondering if he could sneak out of the palace and find someone willing to take the letter for him, but he doubted he could in fact sneak out at all and he did not think there would be anyone going to Vanyamar when they were all too busy making swords and packing.

Blast! What was he to do?

He went out onto the balcony that overlooked the garden. He stood there, breathing in the heady scents, amazed that even in the darkness the flowers still bloomed. He stared up into the heavens, marveling yet again at the purity of starsong he could just make out if he listened very carefully. The stars were so high and remote, untouched by the little doings below, uncaring of the anguish and fear and despair that gripped them all. He sighed and lowered his eyes to scan the garden below. He breathed again the scents, trying to identify them. Roses and honeysuckle and was that lilac? He wasn’t sure, but something niggled in the back of his mind. Something he knew without knowing that he knew. Something to do with scents....

He gasped in surprise as the knowledge came to him and he glanced around to see if there was anyone there. Of course, there wasn’t. He was not sure what the time was but he vaguely remembered that dinner was some time ago and the servants had not yet come with his breakfast so it must be very late. All would be sleeping and indeed, glancing on either side of him he saw no other lights shining from the rooms in the other wings.

Wondering if he was just going to make a fool of himself, he took a deep breath and said in a voice that was just above a whisper, "If there are any Maiar about, I really need your help."

Nothing. Not even a whisper of the wind. Maybe he had to shout. Maybe if there were Maiar they were somewhere else in the city or perhaps there were none around anyway. That would make sense, he supposed. Why would the Maiar be wasting their time watching the Noldor go insane? He shook his head and grimaced. Well, it was just an idea. He’d have to think of some other way to get the letter out. He turned to go back inside, figuring he might as well try to get some rest himself and then halted in shock as he spied a figure standing in the middle of the room. The two lit candles gave little illumination and the figure was cast in shadow.

Then it bowed. "Greetings, Prince. I am Olórin of the People of Manwë. How may I be of service?"

Ingwion felt his knees go weak and he had to force himself to remain steady. "I... I need this letter delivered," he said and cringed at the realization of what he was actually doing. Ask one of the Maiar to act as a courier, a servant? What was he thinking? "I’m sorry. I know I have no right...."

"To whom do you wish the letter be given?" Olórin asked, his expression sympathetic.

"Do you mean it?" Ingwion asked in surprise.

"I live to serve, Prince Ingwion," the Maia said, holding out his hand. "It is for this reason that I was created."

"Yes, but you serve the Valar," Ingwion pointed out. "I am just a... a mirroanwë."

"Thou art a Child of Ilúvatar," Olórin said, "and for that reason alone art full worthy of my service. Indeed, it is the greatest joy for any of the Ainur, be they Maiar or Valar, to be of service to you Children. It is truly why we were created."

Ingwion was not sure he understood what the Maia was saying; he only knew that Olórin was willing to aid him and that was enough. "Then, if it pleases you, my lord, I beg that you deliver this missive into the hands of the Lady Amarië and into her hands alone." He proffered the letter and the Maia took it, giving Ingwion a bow.

"It will be my pleasure, Ingwion," he said.

"You... you do not ask why...."

"Does the courier ask why?" Olórin countered. "It is not for me to know the reason for the letter nor to know of its contents." Then he paused and gave the prince a slight smile. "Is there to be a reply?"

"What? Oh, you mean should you wait for her to reply? No... no. There is no need but if you would let her know that she can prevail upon you or one of your brethren...."

"I will let her know," Olórin said. "I will not be able to remain long for my lord has not released me from my duties here in Tirion, but I can certainly take the time to deliver this missive. I will ask one of my brethren to be ready to deliver a message from the lady if necessary."

"Thank you," Ingwion said fervently. "When I called I did not know if any would hear me."

"Ilúvatar always hears His Children," Olórin said enigmatically and faded from view.

Ingwion stood there for the longest time in wonder and then found himself yawning. He blew out the candles and made his way to his bedroom, readying himself for bed in the dark. Five minutes later he was fast asleep.

****

Amarië sat in a bower overlooking the garden of the estate owned by her atar. True, their family normally resided in their own apartments within the palace, for both her parents were high-ranking members of the nobility, but Castamir also maintained this small estate about two miles away from the city, nestled in a fold of the mountains. She was not happy to be there, but her amillë had given her no choice. Amáriel had been furious at the news that the wedding had been, if not canceled, certainly postponed.

"That’s what we get for seeking to marry you to a Noldo," she snarled when given the news. "Why you could not have found an ellon among the Vanyar to your liking...."

"You are the one who kept pushing the marriage with Findaráto," Amarië retorted incautiously and instantly regretted her words, but it was too late. Amáriel had banished her to the family estate under guard, unimpressed by the fact that she was now a lady-in-waiting to Lady Indis — "Who is more Noldorin than Vanyarin anyway", Amáriel had snarled — and there she went, furious at her parents, for Castamir did not gainsay his wife’s order, and furious at Findaráto for being so cowardly.

That fury lasted only for a day or three, and then was replaced with a resignation bordering on despair. She spent most of her waking hours sitting in the bower, staring at nothing, pretending to work on her embroidery, but in reality simply sitting there brooding. Besides, even with braziers providing her with light, she was finding it difficult to actually see what she was working on. She had no idea just how much she had depended upon the Light of the Trees and now that Light was supposedly forever quenched and they were doomed to live with only starlight to guide them. The thought was depressing and she glowered futilely at the twinkling lights above her, cold and distant and uncaring.

Then a powerful scent of rosemary mingled with asëa aranion assaulted her senses and she found herself staring into the kindly face of a Maia. The sudden appearance shocked her and she gave a startled gasp and cringed.

"Fear not, child!" the Maia said gently. "I mean you no harm. I am Olórin of the People of Manwë and I have a message for you."

"M-m-message?" she managed to squeak, trying to calm her racing heart.

For an answer, the Maia held out a piece of vellum that she could see was sealed. She stared at it in confusion. Olórin gave her a compassionate smile.

"It helps if you take it," he said.

"What? Oh, yes, of course," Amarië replied, taking the proffered letter and trying not to blush. "I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so stupid...."

"Not at all, my dear," Olórin replied smoothly. "I was told that an immediate reply is not necessary and indeed I must not linger, but if you require to send a message back, I have arranged for one of my fellow Maiar to come. You merely need to call out her name." He told her the name and with a bow disappeared.

For a long time, Amarië just sat there staring at the letter in her hand, then she looked closely at the seal and knew it was from Ingwion. Curious, she broke the seal and began reading. She read it through four times before Ingwion’s words began to sink in.

"No!" she whispered vehemently. "I won’t let him." She was about to call out the Maia’s name but stopped to think things through. She needed to get away but was unsure that she could do so without help. She was, for all intents and purposes, a prisoner here. The servants answered only to Lady Amáriel. No. She needed allies. Nodding to herself she called out softly a single name.

"Sáyandilmë."

Almost at once the scent of lilacs, mint and the musky fragrance of some plant she could not name filled the air and another Maia stood before her.

"Greetings, child," Sáyandilmë said. "You wish for me to deliver a message to Prince Ingwion?"

"Yes, but not just yet," Amarië answered. "First I need you to go to Lord Intarion with a message."

The Maia raised a delicate eyebrow but said nothing.

"I am a prisoner here," Amarië felt the need to explain. "I cannot freely leave, but I must go to Tirion. Intarion can help me."

Sáyandilmë nodded. "What message do you wish me to give him?" she asked.

Amarië breathed a sigh of relief and for the first time in a long time, she smiled. "I believe he is residing in the home of Lord Nolondur. Go and tell him...."

When she was finished, the Maia nodded once again and then without another word vanished, leaving behind the faint scent of lilacs and mint. Then, Amarië waited.

****

Lirulin sat in the family library as Intarion went over accounts with Nolondur while she was sewing a tear in one of Intarion’s tunics. She enjoyed watching them working together. She had such a warm feeling of contentment and occasionally, when they remembered that she was there, they would ask her opinion about something, listening gravely and not necessarily dismissing her thoughts as inconsequential.

"In spite of the lack of light, the grapes are still growing," Intarion was saying as he pushed a ledger towards Nolondur to examine. "I’m not sure how that is possible and can only think that it is the will of the Valar that has allowed all our produce to flourish."

Nolondur nodded as he looked over the ledger. "Yes. I imagine that’s true. In that case...."

He got no further, for there was suddenly the smell of lilacs and mint and some other more elusive scent that filled the air and then a Maia stood in the middle of the room. Lirulin gasped and struggled to rise even as Intarion and Nolondur also rose to bow, but the Maia stayed them with a gesture.

"There is no need," she said tranquilly. "I have a message for Intarion from Amarië."

"A message!" Intarion exclaimed. "And from Amarië? Has she returned then from Tirion? Or..."

"She is presently at her family’s estate," the Maia replied, "and she begs you for friendship’s sake to come to her as soon as you may."

"But why would a Maia be acting as a go-between?" Intarion asked, his expression one of confusion. "How did she even...."

"It matters not, child," the Maia replied with a smile. "Lady Amarië is presently a prisoner at her atar’s estate. She cannot leave of her own free will, but she is allowed visitors."

"But...."

"Your questions will be answered if you go to her, Intarion," the Maia said firmly. "I have done my part and I bid you peace." With that she disappeared and the three Elves stood there in stunned silence for a time.

Then Lirulin stirred. "Why would Amarië be a prisoner in her own home?" she asked. "We must go to her at once, my love."

"We?" Intarion replied with a quirk of his lips. "I believe the invitation was for me, dearest."

"Oh pooh! You ellyn know nothing. Amarië needs another nís who is sympathetic. Come, Intarion, we are wasting time. Let us go see what the poor elleth wants of you. I can only imagine it was that dreadful Amáriel’s doing, sending her to the estate under guard."

Intarion gave Nolondur a helpless look which the older ellon returned with a grin. "Do as your wife tells you, my son," he said. "It’s always easier that way."

Intarion snorted but did not contradict his wife’s atar. "I’ll see to the horses," he said to Lirulin and together they went out, leaving Nolondur to ponder the meaning of a Maia acting as a courier for one of the Eldar.

****

One of the guards approached Amarië as she was making her way towards her bedroom and bowed. "The Lord Intarion and the Lady Lirulin are at the front gate seeking entrance, my lady," the ellon said respectfully. Whatever they might think of her or their own orders, she was treated with respect by the guards and those in attendance to her, though Lirulin knew that they all answered to her amillë.

"Oh, how wonderful!" Amarië said, evincing surprise. "Thank you, Vëandur. I was thinking of asking my amillë if I might have visitors. It is so lonely here without my friends. Please bid them enter. I will see them in the library. Ask one of the servants to see that they have food and drink and I will be with them presently."

The guard bowed and turned to follow her orders. Amarië continued to her bedroom where she encountered one of her maids, ordering her to help her change into something more suitable for receiving guests. Some minutes later she was making her way to the library and was surprised to see Vëandur standing before the closed door. He gave her an apologetic look.

"I have my orders, lady," he said. "Visitors you may have, but I cannot leave you alone with them."

"Then why don’t you just have me chained to a wall and be done with it," she hissed in anger and had the satisfaction of seeing the ellon blush, then instantly regretted her words, for he and the others were as much prisoners of her amillë’s spite as she was. "I am sorry. I know you are only doing your duty," she said quietly, "but please, can I not have some privacy? I am frankly amazed that you even allowed Lord Intarion admittance."

"Lord Intarion is of the High King’s household," Vëandur said. "I would not willingly defy one who has the High King’s ear even for the Lady Amáriel’s sake."

"But my amillë also has the High King’s ear, being one of his chief advisors," Amarië pointed out.

"But Lady Amáriel is not blood-kin to Ingwë Ingaran," the guard retorted mildly with a smile. Then, before she could offer a reply, he stepped aside and opened the door. "I will remain here, my lady. Please do not abuse my trust."

Amarië gave him a grateful look. "Thank you. I will try not to," she said, knowing that if things worked out as she hoped she would be doing just that, but she pushed that thought away. She was needed in Tirion and nothing and no one, not even her amillë, was going to prevent her from going to the side of her beloved.

She stepped inside and warmly greeted the two waiting there. "Intarion, Lirulin, what a pleasant surprise. But how did you know to find me here?"

"Oh, Amarië," Lirulin replied with a light laugh as she greeted her with a warm hug and kiss. "It was not difficult to learn that you had returned from Tirion or where you were hiding yourself. Intarion and I decided to come and see how you were faring."

"I am faring as well as one can expect under the circumstances," she said as she accepted Intarion’s kiss of welcome. "Come, let us sit and you can catch me up on all the gossip in court. Is it true that Lady Lindórië has been seen wearing nothing but grey, claiming she is in mourning for the death of the Two Trees?"

Even as she was saying this, Vëandur was closing the door. As soon as she heard the door click close she sighed. "Thank you for coming so quickly," she whispered. "You do not know how dreadful it all has been."

"Tell us," Intarion commanded, his expression intent. Lirulin’s own mien was no longer gay and frivolous.

Amarië did not answer immediately but pulled out Ingwion’s letter from where she had hidden it inside her bodice and handed it to Intarion, who opened it and began reading with Lirulin looking over his shoulder.

"This is bad," he said at last. "I think the entire world is slowly going insane."

"Well certainly the Noldor," Amarië retorted with a snort of disgust.

Intarion shook his head. "Not just they," he countered. "I’ve heard rumors...." He stopped, obviously reluctant to speak of these rumors and shook his head. "Well, that is neither here nor there. Let us concentrate on the matter at hand. What exactly do you wish from me, Amarië? Do you want me to go to Tirion?"

"No," she replied with a shake of her head. "I need help in getting away from here. It is I who must go to Tirion."

Intarion and Lirulin glanced at one another, some sort of communication passing between them that Amarië did not catch. Then they looked at Amarië. "What you wish may not be possible, my dear," Lirulin said, patting her knee. "You are surrounded by guards. I do not see how we can sneak you past them."

"Sneaking is what they are expecting," Intarion interjected, his eyes darkening in thought. "The last thing they will be expecting is for you to simply bolt."

"What are you suggesting, then?" Amarië asked, curious.

Intarion smiled. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you, Intarion," Amarië exclaimed, "else I would not have sent for you as I did."

Intarion nodded. "Then, this is what we will do....."

****

The door to the library opened unexpectedly and Vëandur straightened his spine. He was not expecting the visit to end so soon.

"...and I’ll see you to your horses," he heard Lady Amarië say to her guest. "You must remember to give your atar and ammë my love, Lirulin."

"I will, Amarië," the elleth replied, "and perhaps we may visit another time."

"That would be lovely," Amarië said as she and her guests headed out of the house and towards the front gate with Vëandur hastily following. Amarië called out for her guests’ horses to be brought to the gate.

The guard was not expecting any trouble, for had not the lady given him her word? Thus, when the two horses were led out and Lord Intarion helped his wife to mount her palfrey even as the gate was being opened, the last thing Vëandur or anyone else expected was for the lord to suddenly throw a punch at him, hitting him squarely on the jaw so that he fell in a heap, not quite unconscious but certainly incapacitated. The hapless ellon saw the lord jump upon his horse and quickly haul Lady Amarië up behind him and then he and the Lady Lirulin were riding out of the gate before anyone else could stop them, stunned by the unexpected attack.

"Don’t just stand there like fools. After them!" Vëandur managed to utter as he struggled to his feet with the help of one of his fellows.

There was an instant flurry of activity as horses were called for but Vëandur had a sinking feeling that it was too late. He wondered what he was going to say to Lady Amáriel and at that moment he wished he were in anyone else’s service but hers.

****

Mirroanwë: An incarnate.

Nís: Female of any sentient species.

67: Persuasion Unavailing

There was a pounding on the door of Ingwion’s suite.

"Ingwion!" he heard Findaráto shouting from the other side. "Ingwion, for the love of the Valar, let me in! We need to talk."

Ingwion sighed, putting down his goblet of wine and the book he had been unsuccessfully reading, for he had been staring at the same page for some time and getting nowhere, his thoughts drifting to other things. He almost welcomed the interruption. Standing, he straightened his tunic and went to the door on which Findaráto was still pounding, threw back the bolt and opened it.

"Ingwi—"

The two cousins stared at one another, both with shocked expressions on their faces, though for different reasons: Findaráto had not really expected Ingwion to comply with his demand and had half expected to be walking away without a hearing, so when the door suddenly opened, he was unprepared. Ingwion almost did not recognize his cousin standing there, for the ellon’s appearance was unkempt, his hair, which normally shone with an inner light, was dull and his clothing rumpled, as if he’d slept in them for days. There were shadows under the ellon’s eyes, eyes that were red-rimmed, as if he’d been crying for some time. They also had a haunted, desperate look to them. He wondered when was the last time Findaráto had slept... or bathed.

"Well, come in if you’re coming in," was all he said in greeting, turning away to hide his shock and dismay at what he saw. "Wine?" he asked in as nonchalant a tone as he could manage, going to a sideboard and pouring some Tirion red into a goblet. "It looks as if you could use some." He heard the door softly closing and when he turned around with the goblet in his hand, Findaráto was standing there, a bemused expression on his face. In the light of the candles, Ingwion noticed details about his cousin he had not taken in earlier. Findaráto’s complexion looked pasty and Ingwion realized that his cousin was thinner, his clothes hanging off him. He wondered if Findaráto might actually be fading and the shock of that thought drove all other emotions of anger and betrayal from him.

"Finda! What has happened to you?" he demanded, putting the wine down and reaching for his cousin to take into his embrace. "You look terrible."

"You happened to me," came the dull reply. Findaráto did not return his cousin’s hug, but stood there stiff and statue-like, neither accepting nor rejecting Ingwion’s overtures.

"Now you cannot blame me," Ingwion retorted with a little anger. "Here, have some wine." He went back to the sideboard and brought the goblet back with him, motioning for Findaráto to take a seat while he replenished his own goblet before reclaiming his chair. He sat and stared at the younger ellon in dismay. "You wanted to talk," he said quietly.

Findaráto nodded, taking a long gulp of the wine, his expression blank of emotion. "I’m sorry you hate me," he said in a listless tone.

Ingwion’s eyebrows went up. "I don’t hate you, Cousin," he said truthfully. "I hate what is happening here. I hate what you are doing and what you are planning to do. After all we’ve done, I had thought...." He sighed, closing his eyes. "I fear Melkor’s malice and Fëanáro’s madness have taken too great a hold on your fëa, otornya."

A fire woke in Findaráto’s eyes, deep and smoldering. "I will not be a thrall to anyone," he hissed.

Ingwion stared at him in shock. "What are you talking about? Who’s speaking of thralldom? I was referring to this insane desire of yours to leave Aman, to leave your home, to leave me. You go to your deaths, all of you."

"You don’t know that!" Findaráto exclaimed.

"Don’t I?" Ingwion insisted, growing angrier by the minute. "Do you seriously think that the combined strength of the Noldor is a match for a Vala?" he demanded with a sneer. "Do not delude yourself, Cousin. Corrupt and fallen from grace he might be, but I wager that Melkor has not lost all his puissance. None of you have a hope of defeating him. And yet, you are determined to throw your lives away for nothing!"

"I care nothing for Fëanáro’s baubles!" Findaráto shouted, his face suffused with anger. "Let him and his sons deal with Melkor if they wish."

"Then why are you going?" Ingwion demanded in growing frustration. "What reason do you have, other than the fact that everyone else is?"

"Is that not reason enough?" Findaráto retorted, taking another gulp of wine and rising to refill his goblet, waving Ingwion away when he would have done it for him. Findaráto went to the sideboard and poured more wine into the goblet but did not resume his seat. Instead, he leaned against the furniture. "I spoke truly before. I have long felt a desire to leave these straitened lands and return to the wider world, to carve for myself a different destiny than what has been laid out before me."

"You wouldn’t have had this desire but for Fëanáro," Ingwion said wearily.

Findaráto shrugged. "Perhaps not. Perhaps I would have been content to remain here and be the good little student of Lord Aulë that everyone expects me to be while Anatar continued to rule us. But that is not what has happened. Anatar is dead, struck down by Melkor. Uncle Fëanáro is now king, though nearly two-thirds of the Noldor do not desire him and look to Uncle Ñolofinwë for guidance and leadership. And I... I am still the son of the youngest son of Finwë. Neither I nor my atar have any real standing. We’re superfluous. Fëanáro has seven sons to succeed him and after them, there is Ñolofinwë and his three sons. While death may well be waiting for us in the Outer Lands, it is unlikely that it is waiting for all of us. I doubt I will ever succeed to the Noldóran’s crown, so why not carve out a kingdom of my own?"

"You could stay here and rule," Ingwion suggested softly. "You could be king here. As estimable as they are, Eärwen and Anairë are only ellith. They cannot rule. The idea is absurd."

A ghost of a smile graced Findaráto’s lips and there was a spark of humor in his eyes. "Don’t let Artanis hear you say that. She’s all set to found her own kingdom once we reach Endórë."

"Madness! All of it!" Ingwion snarled. "You make it out to be a game with everyone claiming kingdoms that don’t exist in a land you’ve never seen. Ñolofinwë and your atar should have refused the people’s demands. Did you ever tell Ñolofinwë what Olwë said?"

"No," Findaráto answered with a grimace. "There just didn’t seem to be any point."

Ingwion snorted in disbelief. "Well, you should have. Perhaps then Ñolofinwë would have had reason enough at least to try to convince the people to remain instead of capitulating to their demands."

"Don’t blame Uncle too much, Ingwi," Findaráto said with a sigh. "Findecáno is the one you should blame. He has been set on going from the very beginning, refusing to be left behind while Nelyo goes. Those two are inseparable. Though they are cousins they might as well be brothers for their closeness. No. It was Fin who finally convinced Uncle to accept the people’s pleas and my atar would not be left behind, especially when he knew that my brothers and sister wished to leave as well."

"I was surprised that they asked you to stay behind, though I was also happy at the thought that you would," Ingwion said.

Findaráto gave him a shrug. "I suppose it’s because I never once gave them cause to think that I had any wish to leave. I kept my own desires to myself. Artanis probably suspected, but as I did not speak, she remained silent."

"And there is nothing I can say to convince you to turn from the folly of your course and remain here, is there?" Ingwion asked with a sigh of resignation.

Findaráto gave him a sympathetic look. "No. There is nothing you can do or say to change my mind."

Ingwion nodded, feeling defeated. He had not heard from Amarië and wondered if she would ever respond. It had been a desperate move on his part and he feared it was a futile one. "When do you leave?" he asked.

"I’m not sure," Findaráto answered. "There is still much that must be done. The logistics of it all is a nightmare. I’ve hardly slept or eaten in days, weeks, it seems, for all that must be done."

"You have lost weight," Ingwion observed.

Findaráto smiled grimly, running a hand through his locks. "I look a mess, I know. I’m not sure when was the last time I even bathed properly."

"Which is why I’ve been careful not to get too close," Ingwion couldn’t help saying, a teasing smile on his lips.

Findaráto smiled back, though it was faint and there was no real humor in it. "I must go. I only came to try to explain why I was doing what I am doing, to try to get you to understand...."

"I don’t think I can ever understand, Finda," Ingwion said in a serious tone. "I think you are all making a monumental mistake and I fear for all of you, but you most of all."

"Why me?" Findaráto asked, looking confused.

Ingwion rose from his chair, putting down his goblet and went to stand before his cousin, placing is hands on Findaráto’s shoulders. "Because you are to me as Nelyafinwë is to Findecáno." Findaráto gasped in shock at the revelation. "For all that you are quite a bit younger, I have always felt you to be my otorno as well as my cousin and I fear that if you leave we will never see one another again until the Remaking. I don’t want to lose you, Finda, not like this."

Findaráto stood there, staring at Ingwion, stunned, and then he looked away, breaking out of his cousin’s hold. "I’m sorry. I have to leave," he whispered as he headed for the door, refusing to look at him.

Ingwion let him go, and wondered if Findaráto had meant that he had to leave the room or that he had to leave Aman. Probably both. He sighed as the door closed, his cousin gone, and leaned against the sideboard, feeling suddenly weak and useless.

"Amarië, why aren’t you here?" he whispered.

****

"Any sign of pursuit?" Lirulin asked as she slowed her horse. Intarion, with Amarië clinging to his back, came abreast of her and glanced back. They had traveled only a quarter of the distance back to Vanyamar and a bend in the mountain road had cut off their view. In spite of the darkness the Elves were discovering that their eyesight was unimpaired. Indeed, it seemed to Intarion that his eyesight had actually improved, as if darkness were the natural state for which his eyes had been made. And of course, they were, he thought wryly.

"None that I can see," he said, giving Amarië a quick smile. "And you, how do you fare?"

"I am well, thank you," Amarië answered.

"So what now?" Lirulin asked. "Do we return to Vanyamar?"

"Not by my counsel," Intarion replied. "That’s the first place they’ll look."

"Take me to Eldamas," Amarië suggested. "I can find supplies there and a horse and go on to Tirion."

"Not alone, surely," Lirulin stated in surprise. "We’ll go with you."

"That’s very sweet of you, Liri," Amarië said, "but quite unnecessary."

"No," Intarion said. "Liri is correct. We’ll go with you to Tirion. I will have someone take a letter to Nolondur and let him know so he does not become worried when we do not return."

Amarië wanted to argue but knew it would do no good. She gave in as graciously as she could, though in truth, she was glad to have the company of her dear friends. "We should not linger," she said. "They are bound to be after us soon."

Intarion nodded. "Let us go then." With that he urged his horse to leave the road that would have taken them back to Vanyamar and headed over land, moving down the mountain to the plain below. They could not move quickly and in fact at one point they all dismounted and went on foot until they reached the plains and then mounted again.

"We should reach Eldamas in a few hours," Intarion said as he and Lirulin urged their horses into a canter. "I know an inn that is more private than most. We’ll stay there while we’re gathering supplies and then be on our way."

"Good," Amarië said. "The sooner we reach Tirion, the better. I do not want to get there to find that... that Findaráto has left."

****

After their talk, Ingwion saw no point in secluding himself and so he ventured forth from his suite, acting as if nothing had happened. If others were surprised by his sudden reappearance they gave no sign. In fact, Ingwion realized that most of them were far too busy with getting themselves ready for their departure to notice his absence or even to care. He wasn’t sure if he should be angry or elated but finally settled on feeling relieved, for no one castigated him for his being so rude as to hide himself away.

He found Findaráto in one of the hallways directing some servants in packing swords and spears into long wooden crates, covering them with straw. His cousin glanced up at his arrival and gave him a brief smile.

"Why so many weapons?" Ingwion asked.

Findaráto shrugged. "It is doubtful we will have the time or the means to craft new weapons once we reach Endórë," he replied. "At least, not right away. These are just in case."

Ingwion shook his head in befuddlement. "I really cannot believe you’re going ahead with this," he said.

"Ingwion...."

"No. It’s all right. I won’t waste my breath berating you," Ingwion replied, raising a hand to forestall Findaráto’s protest. "I don’t like it, and I don’t accept it, but I will not try to stop you."

"I’m sorry," Findaráto said sadly. "I wish I could make you understand."

"Oh, I understand," Ingwion assured him. "I just don’t approve. But that’s beside the point," he added hastily.

"And what is the point?" Findaráto demanded.

"You’re my cousin and I love you," Ingwion replied. "I would like to have your company for as long as you are willing and able to give it."

Findaráto stared at him for a moment or two, then nodded. "I was going to check on the food supplies. You want to tag along?"

Ingwion nodded and together the two cousins made their way to the nearest buttery and then Ingwion found himself helping Findaráto with the inventory.

****

It was two days later by Fëanáro’s water clock when Ingwion received news that his cousin, Lord Intarion, had arrived with his wife ‘and one other’, the page told him. He thanked the child and set off for the stables where he had been told they awaited him. He wondered if the other was Amarië and then wondered why his cousin hadn’t simply come to the front portico. As a member of the Vanyarin royal family he would have been welcomed in spite of the chaos that was everywhere. Coming out of a side door that opened up onto the courtyard fronting the stables, he spied Intarion with his golden locks and two ellith, their heads covered, standing a little to one side out of the way of everyone.

"Intarion!" he called out, waving, and saw his cousin look his way and smile. It was a look of relief. Intarion began ushering the two ellith towards him and as they came closer he could see one of them was Lirulin and the other, much to his own relief, was Amarië.

"You came," he said unnecessarily, giving both ellith hugs before greeting Intarion and then ushering them inside. "I did not know if you had even gotten my message, though Olórin said you did."

"I would have sent a reply," Amarië said, "but there was no time. If it hadn’t been for Intarion and Lirulin I would not be here." She went on to explain how her amillë had sent her to the family estate. "And I very much doubt any of the Maiar would have rescued me," she ended with a grin and the others chuckled.

"I doubt it as well," Ingwion said.

"Are we in time?" Intarion asked. "Amarië showed us your letter."

Ingwion shrugged. "I hope so, but...."

"I’ll do what I can," Amarië assured him. "I’ll do my best to persuade him to stay."

"That is all any of us can do," Ingwion assured her. "Come. I think it best if you take rooms in my part of the palace. If we are lucky, we will not meet anyone. I want you to be a surprise for Findaráto."

They all nodded and followed Ingwion as he led them in a circuitous route through servants’ corridors and back stairways until they reached the north wing and Ingwion was showing them into the suite next to his own.

"I’ll go find Findaráto and invite him to dinner," Ingwion said as the other three made themselves at home. "We can spring our little surprise on him then."

****

Findaráto knocked on the door of Ingwion’s suite and it opened almost immediately, but it was not Ingwion who opened it.

"Intarion!" Findaráto cried at the grinning ellon, as the two hugged one another. "When did you get here? Why does no one know you’re here? I’ve heard nothing of your arrival."

Intarion laughed as he pulled Findaráto inside and closed the door. "Officially, I’m not here and I decided I wanted to surprise you. And look who I brought with me." He gestured towards where a table was set up in the middle of the sitting room with settings for five. Ingwion was over by a sideboard pouring wine, but at the table were the ellith who smiled at Findaráto’s dumb-struck expression.

"Amarië!" Findaráto just stood there, frozen in place.

"Beloved," Amarië said as she held out her hand so he might kiss it. The gesture, plus a slight nudge from Intarion, unfroze him and he went over to greet his betrothed, but instead of decorously bending to kiss her hand, he pulled her out of her seat and hugged her fiercely.

"I missed you," he whispered.

"And I have missed you," Amarië replied somewhat breathlessly, then there was no more talk as she found herself being kissed.

A clearing of someone’s throat brought the two back to reality and they broke apart, looking somewhat embarrassed. Findaráto smiled shyly at his beloved before turning to Lirulin to offer his greeting. Ingwion came over and shoved a goblet of wine into his hand. Findaráto gave him a shrewd look.

"You sent for them, didn’t you?" he asked.

"I sent for Amarië, but Intarion and Lirulin came with her," Ingwion answered.

"Why?" Findaráto demanded, stealing a glance at the other three elves, though he half-suspected the reason.

Ingwion gave him a cool look. "Why do you think, Cousin?"

"You are hoping my betrothed will succeed where you failed," Findaráto retorted, his eyes narrowing in anger.

"Please, Finda," Amarië pleaded. "We are to be married. Surely you have not forgotten."

Findaráto looked at her and sighed. "I have not forgotten, my love, but...." He gave them a helpless shrug. "Everything has become more complicated since you returned to Vanyamar."

"So we’ve been told," Intarion interjected. "It still doesn’t excuse you forsaking your troth or at the least, contacting Amarië and telling her of your decision. She had to hear it from Ingwion and we had to rescue her from Amáriel."

"What do you mean ‘rescue’?" Findaráto asked in confusion.

"My amillë sent me to our country estate under guard," Amarië answered. "She was upset by the wedding being cancelled...."

"Postponed," Findaráto corrected.

"Cancelled," Amarië insisted and Findaráto flinched, "and she did not want me to go haring back to Tirion to be with you. She was very wroth, Finda, and frankly, now that I know you are leaving in truth, so am I. Do I count so little in your esteem that you would have left without saying farewell, that you would have left without me at all?"

"You cannot come, Amarië," Findaráto said, refusing to answer her accusations, for they were true and he was feeling shamed by them. "Ingwë has forbidden...."

"Ingwë is not here!" she cried, rising in her anger. "Nor does he rule me. Finda, for the love of the Valar, I beg you, do not go! Remain here and let us marry. Together we can bring healing...."

"No, love," Findaráto said sadly, taking her into his arms and rocking her. "I wish it were that simple. You just don’t understand...."

"Of course she doesn’t understand!" Intarion exclaimed in disgust. "None of us do. This whole affair is madness and Ingwion tells me that no one has even gone to the Valar for their blessing, never mind their permission."

"We don’t need their damn permission!" Findaráto shouted and instantly regretted his words when he saw the shocked expressions on the faces of his friends. There was an uncomfortable silence between them for a few minutes before Findaráto sighed, looking remorseful. "Forgive me. That was uncalled for."

"Oh, Finda!" Amarië cried, now looking distraught. "Please, don’t do this. If you love me, don’t leave me behind. Let me go with you."

Findaráto shook his head sadly. "No, Amarië. I cannot allow it. I do not have the authority and think how heartbroken your parents would be if you suddenly left."

"So, you’re all going then," Intarion said with a slight sneer. "The Noldor are deserting Aman to the last nér, leaving behind a city of ghosts, and for what, I might ask?"

"Not all are going," Findaráto informed him. "My ammë and Aunt Anairë will remain behind as regents."

"Ellith ruling?" Intarion asked in disbelief. "That’s absurd!" Then, realizing he might have said something stupid with two ellith glaring at him, he reddened and took a quick gulp of wine, but refused to apologize.

"Intarion is correct," Ingwion said. "It is absurd. It’s absurd that any of you are running away, as if you truly believe Fëanáro’s accusation against the Valar, that we are their thralls."

"I don’t believe it, never have," Findaráto stated firmly, "but I do want to see something of the world beyond these shores. For a long time I’ve felt... closed in... and I crave open spaces. Aman, as beautiful as it is, is too tame for me. I see that now. I want to explore new vistas. I think I would go even if my atar and Uncle Ñolofinwë were not going."

"What about your duties here, though?" Ingwion said. "You told me yourself that you put aside your desire to leave Aman out of duty to your people."

"And they are all leaving, save for a tithe," Findaráto countered.

"And does this remnant have no claim of duty on you, on any of you?" Lirulin asked, speaking for the first time, her voice low and accusing.

Findaráto sighed. "Yes, of course, but my ammë...."

"Eärwen and Anairë are the only ones who are being responsible here," Lirulin interrupted coldly. "The rest of you have apparently lost whatever good sense you possessed along with your sanity."

"Finda," Amarië pleaded, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I love you. I know you love me. Is not the love we have for one another enough for you? What will you find in the Outer Lands that you cannot find here with me? Please, my love, if you will not let me come with you, then stay with me. Rule those who remain behind and I will help rule with you. Together we can make our people strong again."

"Our people?" Findaráto asked.

Amarië nodded. "When we marry, I will account myself as one of the Noldor. They will be my people no less than they are yours. Indeed, I already feel that way, have felt that way since the day I accepted your proposal."

For a long while no one spoke. Findaráto gazed at his feet, conflicting emotions crossing his face as he struggled with himself. The others remained silent, each of them hoping against hope that the ellon would see reason and agree to remain. At last, though, he seemed to come to some kind of resolution, for his expression became set, his eyes holding an infinity of sorrow.

"I’m sorry, Amarië," he whispered. "I have to go." He stood and strode to the door, refusing to look at any of them.

Before he reached the door, Ingwion spoke, his tone cold. "As you mean to leave with no intention of returning, should you not have the courtesy of dissolving the betrothal so Amarië will be free to wed another?"

There were gasps of dismay from the ellith and Findaráto felt his blood go cold. He turned around, his eyes going to Amarië who sat there looking horrified and bereft at the same time. "As you wish," he whispered, stealing a glance at Ingwion, and then, without another word, he opened the door and left. He did not bother closing the door behind him, thus he was only a few dozen steps down the hall when he heard Amarië give a wordless cry of despair and begin sobbing and then there was the sound of the others seeking to console her.

He almost went back. For a moment he was tempted to turn around, to go to his love and assure her that he would stay behind and be with her forever. His heart broke and tears streamed down his cheeks unheeded. It would be so easy to turn around, to forsake the journey and remain with his beloved, but something inside him said that that could never be.

He almost turned back.

Almost....

68: The Faring Forth

The Vanyar remained in Tirion instead of returning to Vanyamar and watched in growing dismay and despair as the preparations for departure went forth. Ingwion spent the time sitting in his suite staring at nothing, playing the aborted dinner over and over again, wondering what he could have done or said that would have changed the outcome, wondering if the outcome could have been changed at all. He felt his fëa withering at the realization that he was going to lose the only person besides his twin who truly mattered to him and that surprised him.

When did Findaráto begin to matter to him so much? He had known the ellon since he’d been born, had helped watch over him as an elfling when his parents came for a visit, playing silly games and tucking him into bed, cleaning the occasional scraped knee and teaching him his tengwar. He had done the same with Findaráto’s younger siblings, indeed with Ñolofinwë’s children as well. So why had he found himself thinking of this particular cousin as his órë-háno, his heart-brother, who was almost as close to him as was his own twin? When did that happen?

He thought back over the last few years and it slowly dawned on him that he had begun to think of Findaráto as his otorno the day of the betrothal dinner, the day Findaráto had stood up to Ingoldo, something that even he, as old as he was, had not found the courage to do. He realized that at that moment he had seen, not Finda standing there facing down Ingoldo, but Findaráto. And it was such a subtle thing, too, yet now he saw that his whole universe had shifted at that moment without him even realizing it.

Now he was in danger of losing Findaráto forever and the thought drove him deeper into despair.

"Oh Valar!" he whispered. "How will I bear this?" But there was no answer and he started weeping in the dark.

****

Amarië had not stopped weeping since that fateful dinner and neither Lirulin nor Intarion could comfort her.

"I’ve lost him," she kept wailing. "I’ve lost him. Oh, Ammë will be so furious."

If the situation had not been so dire, Lirulin would have laughed. Intarion was no help as he stood there ranting and raving about the intransigence of the Noldor in general and Findaráto in particular.

"I thought I knew him!" he kept saying, "But obviously I didn’t. I’m sorry I ever brought you here, Amarië." The elleth merely wept all the harder.

"What are we going to do?" Lirulin asked her husband after she had seen Amarië to her room to cry herself to sleep. "I fear there is nothing we can do to convince Findaráto not to go."

"I know," Intarion replied with a sigh as he sat heavily in a chair, running his hands through his hair. He sat there, thinking furiously, wondering what else he could do, or even if there was anything he could do.

Lirulin remained silent, watching her husband, thinking about the poor elleth in the other room weeping away and becoming angrier by the minute at Findaráto for his blind stupidity. So like an ellon! she thought to herself. Then she noticed something in Intarion’s eyes. "What? What are you thinking, beloved?"

Intarion did not answer immediately and Lirulin had to still herself to patience when all she wanted to do was to shake the ellon and demand that he speak. As if he had heard her thoughts, Intarion gave her a sardonic grin and gestured for her to come into his embrace. She gladly did so.

"I am thinking of going with them," he said quietly.

"What!?" Lirulin exclaimed loudly and Intarion shushed her.

"Quietly, love," he said softly. "I do not mean all the way. I have no desire to leave Aman or you, but perhaps if I can get Findaráto alone...."

"Alone? He’s going to be in the midst of a... a host. How can you possibly get him alone?"

"I meant, away from Ingwion and Amarië," Intarion answered with a huff of annoyance. "They are the two most important people to him, I can see that, but emotions are running high and Amarië’s hysteria is not helping matters. Perhaps, once they set out, I’ll be able to talk some sense into him, show him the folly of what he is doing."

"Yet, if he is leading his household, how would it look to him and others if he turns back?" Lirulin asked. "It will be seen as cowardice and Findaráto is anything but a coward."

"I know," Intarion said with a sigh. "It’s not a perfect solution, I don’t think anything can be, but it’s the best I can come up with. We have to do something, if only for Amarië’s sake."

They were silent for a moment and then Lirulin made a decision. "If you go, I will go with you. No, love," she continued when Intarion started to protest. "Your idea has some merit, but I think you need an elleth’s voice in this. I can appeal to Findaráto in ways you cannot, but perhaps together we can convince him to turn back. Yet, how do we join him? What real excuse will we give, for I think he will wonder that we who are Vanyar would want to leave Aman."

"He need not know at first that we are there," Intarion said. "We can hide ourselves in the crowd and then once we are away we can find him. Perhaps seeing us, thinking we have thrown away our lives for his sake, will shock him into some sense."

"Hmmm.... that might work," Lirulin averred. "But what of Amarië? I do not wish to leave her alone."

"I’ll speak to Ingwion, tell him our plans and have him watch over Amarië."

"And what if we cannot convince Findaráto to turn back? How long do we continue with him until we give up and return to Aman?"

"I do not know," Intarion admitted. "We’ll just have to wait and see what happens."

Lirulin nodded, snuggling further into Intarion’s embrace. "Have I told you lately how much I love you?" she asked coyly.

Intarion smiled. "Well now that you mention it...." but he got no further as she captured his mouth and began kissing him with a fervency that took him by surprise. He wrapped his arms around her more tightly and then all thoughts of Findaráto and the Noldor fled as passion for his beloved took over.

****

Days and weeks went by. Intarion spoke with Ingwion of his plan of which the ellon reluctantly approved though he had no hope for its success. Eärwen took Amarië under her wing, freeing Lirulin to plan for her and Intarion’s departure. Ostensibly, she pretended that she was merely arranging for their return to the Southern Fiefdoms where she and Intarion now made their home, saying that they intended to take Amarië with them so she might grieve in private for a time. Findaráto, when he heard of this, appeared relieved and thanked her for her solicitude. Lirulin gave him a cold look.

"I am not doing this for you, Findaráto," she said. "You desert Amarië. Obviously your love for her was a sham and meaningless. Perhaps it is better this way. I dread to think how it might have been for her had you married in truth and then discovered that you did not truly love her."

Findaráto had no answer to this and walked away, tight-lipped with suppressed fury, but whether at Lirulin for her harsh words or at himself for knowing them to be true, he could not have said. Intarion, when he learned of this, shook his head but made no comment.

And then the day arrived, the day that all had anticipated and dreaded at the same time. The day the Noldor, or at least the vast majority of them, would desert their homes and set forth into an unknown future that was darker than any could then imagine and who could say if, had they known for sure where this would lead them, that even then they would have hesitated and refused the journey? But they did not and so trumpets rang and banners flew and those who were going began gathering together, ready to fare forth....

****

Findaráto took one last look about his rooms and sighed. He knew in his heart he would never see them again. Someone came by the half-opened door and peeked in.

"Are you ready, Brother?" Aicanáro asked. "It’s time to leave."

Findaráto smiled wanly. "In a minute. I’ll be right there."

Aicanáro nodded and went on his way. Findaráto swept his gaze once more around the sitting room, as if trying to memorize every detail. There were his precious books, the ones he was not able to take with him, and there was the miniature statue, only a foot high, depicting the Elentári with her arms raised above her gracing the sideboard. A small yet perfect diamond floated between her hands. It was a copy of the statue of Varda that graced the front courtyard of Ilmarin and had been a gift from the Queen of Stars herself, given to him as a betrothal present. He recalled Amarië receiving a similar gift and sighed, kneeling to double-check his bags, making sure that the cache of jewels he had decided to bring instead of his books were safely packed. He wondered why he was bothering with them. It was not as if he would have time to continue his studies in crystallography, but something compelled him to bring them. He rose and slung the heavy packs over his shoulders, only then noticing his hunting bow in the corner. He hesitated for a second and then shook his head. No. He was already overburdened as it was and he preferred to carry the harp Lord Manwë had given him instead.

With another sigh he finished gathering his things and stepped out into the corridor, quietly closing the door behind him before setting off....

****

Laurefindil stared in dismay at the sight of his ammë hoisting a haversack over her shoulders. "Ammë, where are you going?"

She looked at him with grave eyes. "With you of course. Your atar has already gone ahead so he does not know I mean to join you."

"But...."

"Come, Laurefindil," she told him, gesturing towards the other haversack. "We’re late and there is no time for breakfast. We’ll have to eat along the way."

Laurefindil stared at his amillë, seeing the resolution in her eyes, and numbly did as he was told, wondering what his atar would say when he found out....

****

Hallatiro Pelendurion slammed the door behind him, refusing to acknowledge his emmë’s pleas or his atar’s curses. He was going and that was all there was to it. He was no elfling needing anyone’s permission. Lord Turucáno held his allegiance and he was not going to be left behind. What was there for him in Aman anyway? He did not believe in the new Noldóran’s plans for retrieving the Silmarils, jewels he himself had never seen, but the idea of seeing the wide world.... Yes. That was worth the risk. If darkness was all there was, why should he remain in Aman? He glanced about him as the crowds of people jostled him, looking for the banner that was Turucáno’s, wondering if he would see any of his friends along the way....

****

Amandil, apprentice jewel-smith to Master Martandur, hesitated on the front steps of the hostel where he had been staying. He should be returning to Vanyamar, to his master. The errand which had sent him to Tirion was finished. He had the gems that his master needed to complete the torque for Lady Lindórië. They lay nestled in a special pouch sewn to the inside of his haversack. Yes, he did need to get back home. And yet...

He had been here when King Fëanáro had been crowned and given such a rousing speech. He’d been so enthralled by the visions the Noldo’s words had created. A burning desire rose within him, one that he could not deny and instead of leaving for Vanyamar as he had planned once the coronation was over, he had lingered, watching the activity all around him, asking questions and secretly wishing he could go. When wish became resolution he was never afterwards sure. He only knew that he awoke one day knowing he could not return to his former life. He grieved momentarily for his family and his master, but the excitement of what he planned overwhelmed him and now... Yes! Now was the time. He had written letters to his parents and to Master Martandur, explaining what he was doing, hoping that in time they would forgive him. The hosteler, who had no plans to leave Tirion had promised him that he would see the letters delivered, shaking his head at the foolishness of the youngster. Amandil shook himself and hoisted his pack into a more comfortable position before heading for the main plaza, idly wondering whose banner he should follow....

****

Laurendil Rialcarion stared at the outside of his home one last time, the harsh words that had passed between him and his atar still haunting him, but he would not take them back. No. He would not go back. He sighed, picked up his small bundle of provisions, felt the sword hanging at his side, a heavy and unaccustomed weight, and headed for the main square in front of the palace where they were to gather. He was only a few streets away when he came upon his friend, Calamandil, who had been waiting for him. They warmly embraced one another.

"I didn’t think you would come," the ellon said to him softly.

Laurendil shook his head and gave him a small smile. "I promised you I would be here, otorno. I always keep my promises."

Calamandil smiled. "Come, let us see if we can find some of our other friends in all this."

Laurendil nodded and allowed Calamandil to lead the way. Under the silent regard of the ever shining stars they looked for Prince Findaráto’s banner and joined those already there....

****

Netilmírë, Master of the Potter’s Guild, threw her hands up in dismay as her daughter glared at her.

"I’m not joining the rebellion, Ammë," Ezelmiril insisted. "I’m simply going to Alqualondë to find Atto."

"Why your atar had to leave now to visit his friend is beyond me," Netilmírë exclaimed, "but he will be returning soon. There is no need for you to go."

"But I want to go," Ezelmiril said. "I’ve never been to Alqualondë and this is as good a time as any. I’ll have plenty of people around along the way and Atto will be so surprised when he sees me. I promise, I’ll bring him back as soon as I may."

"You’ve always been a stubborn child," Netilmírë said, sighing. Her daughter smiled, knowing that she had won the argument.

"I will be home soon," she promised, giving her amillë a kiss, "and I’ll bring Atto home with me."

Netilmírë nodded, gave her daughter a fierce hug and let her go. A frisson of fear swept through her as she watched Ezelmiril saunter off and she could not help wondering if she would ever see her again.

"Damn you, Voronwë!" she hissed to herself. "Why did you have to go to Alqualondë now of all times?" There was no answer to her question and when her daughter disappeared around the corner of the street, giving her a final wave, she sighed and went back inside, hoping that spending some time in her studio would help ease the cold lump sitting in the pit of her stomach....

****

Intarion and Lirulin stood in a private courtyard with Ingwion and Amarië. Ingwion hugged them both. "You’re sure you want to do this?" he asked them.

Intarion nodded. "We’re sure. If we can convince him to return...."

"And if you cannot, then I have your solemn oath that you yourselves will return," Ingwion insisted gravely.

"You have our word, Cousin," Intarion replied. "My oath on it, but I cannot promise that we will return anytime soon. It may take us awhile."

"I know, but I will look for you in Vanyamar."

"You will see that our horses reach our estate safely?" Lirulin asked, speaking of their wedding gifts from Lord Oromë. It had been decided that taking them on the journey would be too risky, and besides, most of the Noldor were walking anyway, and Intarion preferred to remain incognito. The horses were too recognizable.

"Of course," Ingwion assured her. "I will make the arrangements as soon as the city settles down and I can find someone trustworthy who is going to the Southern Fiefdoms. If necessary, I’ll take them myself. Now you’d better get going," he said. "The Valar be with you."

Intarion and Lirulin gave Amarië hugs before shouldering their packs and walking away, passing through an arch onto the street and turning left to head towards where all were gathering. Ingwion took Amarië by the arm. "Let’s go," he told her. "We need to be at the front portico for this."

Amarië nodded mutely and allowed him to lead her away....

****

The front portico of the palace and the square that opened up from it were crowded with people and horses. The banners of the king and his sons, as well as those of the other princes of the House of Finwë, fluttered in the light breeze. All watched as Fëanáro handed over his authority to Anairë and Eärwen in a brief ceremony devoid of any pomp. The two had declared that they would rule together and the manner in which authority was invested in them was based on Ingwion’s description of how Ingwë had divided the regency between his sons. He had told Findaráto about it once and Findaráto in turned spoke of it to Fëanáro. The king listened to his nephew’s suggestion and nodded. "Thank you," he said, "I think that will work here as well."

And so Fëanáro handed Eärwen a sword, one that he himself had crafted. "With this sword, guard those who look to thee for protection," he said to her and then turned to Anairë and handed her the rod of office, or actually a fair copy of it, for the original would go with him. "With this sceptre, rule wisely and well for the benefit of all." The two ellith bowed to him and then Fëanáro turned to face the crowd. "Unto Lady Anairë and Lady Eärwen have I given over authority to rule those of our people who have chosen to remain in Tirion. They are both capable of leading you and I have every confidence that you will honor them and give them your trust. And now, let us away."

With that, he nodded to his sons and strode away to where their banners were at the head of the cavalcade. Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë allowed their children to make their final farewells to their amilli and then it was their turn. It was sometime before either released his wife and then without another word they walked away, calling for their banners. Already, those following the banners of Fëanáro and his sons had left, the people wending their way down the main avenue to the eastern gate while those who would not leave lined the streets and silently watched them depart. Amarië and Ingwion stood beside Eärwen and watched the slow procession of people moving away. Amarië just caught a glimpse of Findaráto’s banner as it disappeared into the darkness and remembered her vision. She burst into tears and Eärwen gathered her into her arms, handing the sword to Ingwion, who held it with distaste.

Only when the last banner disappeared from their sight, though there were still people making their way from the square or simply milling around quietly conversing with one another, did Anairë speak. "Well, they’re gone," she said in a dead, cold voice. She turned to Eärwen still attempting to comfort Amarië. "Let’s go find some tea," she added and turned away to enter the palace.

Ingwion stared after her in disbelief. Then he glanced at Eärwen who gave him a grim smile. He snorted. "I think I want something stronger than tea after this," he muttered and when Eärwen began ushering a still weeping Amarië into the palace, he followed, dragging the sword behind him, not caring if he was marring the marble floors or dulling the sword’s point....

****

The eastern gate was wide open. Before them lay Finwë Park and beyond that was the Calacirya. Fëanáro reached the outer wall of the park and stepped out onto the plain that opened up into the Calacirya, ordering the trumpets to sound once again to mark the official departure of the king from his city. The trumpeters had blown only a few notes when Fëanáro detected the almost overwhelming scent of lavender mixed with lovage and then he was facing Eönwë, Herald of the Elder King. The sound of the trumpets died almost instantly as everyone took in the sight of the Maia standing there, taller than any Elf, dressed in a silver-washed mithril coat of chainmail, a white cloak trailing behind him and a sword strapped to his belt that for all its plainness shone with deadly beauty. Those looking upon that weapon had the uncomfortable sense that they were seeing not just any sword but the Sword from which all others were but pale copies.

The Maia gave them a cool stare. "I am Eönwë, Herald of Manwë, and I bid you halt to hear the words of the Elder King," he announced.

"It took them long enough to respond," Nelyafinwë muttered darkly to his atar.

Fëanáro gave him an amused look, then turned his attention to the Maia. "Speak then, Herald of Manwë, though I cannot promise any will listen."

If Eönwë was upset by Fëanáro’s insolence, he gave no sign. Instead, he gave them a searching look and raised his voice though it was doubtful that those still in the city could hear him or even knew he was there. "Thus says Manwë, Elder King of Arda: Against the folly of Fëanáro shall be set my counsel only. Go not forth! For the hour is evil, and your road leads to sorrow that ye do not foresee. No aid will the Valar lend you in this quest; but neither will they hinder you; for this ye shall know: as ye came hither freely, freely shall ye depart. But thou Fëanáro Finwion, by thine oath art exiled. The lies of Melkor thou shalt unlearn in bitterness. Vala he is, thou saist. Then thou hast sworn in vain, for none of the Valar canst thou overcome now or ever within the halls of Eä, not though Eru whom thou namest had made thee thrice greater than thou art."

For a long moment there was no sound, even the breeze had died while Eönwë had spoken so that the banners all hung limp in the dark. Then Fëanáro laughed and it was as if cold water had been thrown on them all, breaking the spell of the Maia’s words and many blinked even as Fëanáro turned his back on the Herald and addressed the Noldor.

"So! Then will this valiant people send forth the heir of their King alone into banishment with his sons only and return to their bondage? But if any will come with me, I say to them: Is sorrow foreboded to you? But in Aman we have seen it. In Aman we have come through bliss to woe. The other now we will try: through sorrow to find joy; or freedom at the least."

Then, he turned back to Eönwë, his expression haughty and his face suffused with anger. The Maia’s own face was innocent of any emotion, but his eyes shone in the dark like twin silver-grey orbs and many there found it difficult to look at them directly, for their light spoke of ages unspeakably ancient and unknowable to the Children and some felt incredibly young for all that they had seen many yéni and remembered waking by the waters of Cuiviénen.

"Say this to Manwë Súlimo, High King of Arda," Fëanáro cried, "if Fëanáro cannot overthrow Moringotto, at least he delays not to assail him and sits not idle in grief. And it may be that Eru has set in me a fire greater than thou knowest. Such hurt at the least I will do to the Foe of the Valar that even the mighty in the Rithil-Anamo shall wonder to hear of it. Yea, in the end they shall follow me. Namárië!"

So effective and puissant was Fëanáro’s voice that none who heard it was unmoved and those who might have had second or even third thoughts of the dark road before them stiffened their resolve to continue. For a moment no one moved and then to the astonishment of them all, Eönwë, Herald of the Elder King, bowed low before Fëanáro as one full answered and then he simply wasn’t there, leaving behind the faint scent of lavender and lovage.

"Come," Fëanáro said calmly after a moment. "Let us continue on our way."

****

"The line seems to have stopped," Findaráto said to Arafinwë as they found themselves halting in a small square halfway down the hill of Túna.

"There are many who must pass through the gates," Arafinwë said equably, "and only so many can pass through at a time. Once we are all clear of the city the going should be faster."

Findaráto nodded as he glanced up at his banner which was being carried by one of his retainers and sighed. "I just want to get out of here," he said quietly, more to himself than to anyone else.

Arafinwë wrapped an arm around his first-born’s shoulders and gave him a hug. "So do I," he said just as quietly. "Ah... look, they’re moving again," he added as those before him inched their way forward.

****

"When will we be able to reach him?" Lirulin asked Intarion where they stood amidst those who were following the banners of Prince Arafinwë and his sons, waiting for those in the front to move.

"I don’t know," Intarion answered. "I suspect we’ll have to wait until we’re clear of the city. Perhaps when we stop for a rest and something to eat."

"I hope he listens to us," she said with a frown. "How far do you mean for us to go before we turn back?"

Intarion sighed. "As far as we need to," he answered.

"Even to the shores of Endórë?" she demanded.

"If necessary," he replied and there was something in his voice that made her shiver.

"Are we doing the right thing?" she asked suddenly. "If not even Ingwion or Amarië could convince Findaráto to remain behind, do you seriously believe we can convince him?"

"I have to try," Intarion said, giving her a shrug. "I could not live with myself if I didn’t at least try." Then he looked up. "Ah... It looks as if we are moving again." He took Lirulin’s hand in his and squeezed it. "Shall we?"

She gave him a nod and together they joined the others as they continued moving forward out of the city of the Noldor and towards an unknown destiny.

****

Ingwion stood on a balcony overlooking the main plaza before the palace. It was empty now, not even guards were there, for what was left to guard? He shook his head. He did not think Intarion and Lirulin would succeed where he had failed. Findaráto, all of them, were lost to him. They might as well be dead in truth for he knew in his heart he would never see them again. All the rage and sorrow and grief and fear that he had bottled up inside him all these weeks suddenly came to the fore as that thought struck him.

"Damn you, Melkor!!" he screamed into the dark as he pounded the balcony rail with his fists, ignoring the pain. His voice echoed eerily across the plaza, slowly dying away. He wanted to weep, but he ruthlessly pushed that desire away. There was too much he needed to do. It was time to return to Vanyamar. Even as he turned away to go back inside he bleakly wondered what his atar was going to say when he learned of the flight of the Noldor and that those who remained behind were being ruled by two ellith, one of whom was not even a Noldo.

****

Rithil-Anamo: Ring of Doom, the Quenya translation of the foreign word Máhanaxar that was adopted and adapted from Valarin.

Notes:

1. Eönwë’s speech and Fëanáro’s answer (with some adaptations) are taken directly from the Silmarillion, Chapter 9, ‘Of the Flight of the Noldor’.

2. Laurendil’s friend, Calamandil, will become Thandir (see Elladan and Elrohir’s Not So Excellent Adventure, Stirrings of Shadow and in my Tapestry series, ‘MARCHES: Crossing the Ice’ for more about Thandir); Hallatiro will become Haldir, one of Glorfindel’s captains who dies during the flight from Gondolin; and Ezelmiril will become Calemmíriel, Sador’s grandmother. Martandur’s apprentice, Amandil, is mentioned in Elf, Interrupted: Book One, chapter 100.

69: A Deathness of Swans

Warning: Character deaths. Certain scenes may prove too intense for some readers.

****

Olwë and Lindarion were sitting together in the king’s study discussing some business of the realm when a knock at the door caused them to look up to see Olwë’s steward standing there. His expression was carefully neutral, but there was an air of disquiet about him that surprised the king. "Yes, Eällindo. What is it?"

"Sire, there is an... embassy before the gates of the city," Eällindo answered.

"An embassy? Who...?" He glanced at Lindarion, who shrugged.

"It appears to be the eldest son of Finwë."

Olwë was unable to hide his surprise and he could only gape at his steward for a moment, trying to understand what he was saying. Lindarion appeared equally nonplused. "Fëanáro? What does he here?" Olwë demanded.

"As to that, Olwë, you’ll have to ask him," Eällindo replied with a twist of a smile. He and the Lindaran had known each other since Cuiviénen and were old friends. Eällindo was one of the few who could speak to Olwë in this manner and get away with it.

Olwë snorted and rose, as did Lindarion. "Well, then, let’s not keep Finwë’s son waiting."

The three made their way through the palace. "I did not allow him to enter the city," Eällindo told him, "for I do not trust this Noldo. There is something in his eyes...." He faltered in both speech and movement and Olwë stopped and gave him a concerned look.

"What is it, old friend?"

Eällindo gave a brief shudder. "You will have to see for yourself, Olwë. I do not have the words to describe what I felt when I looked into Fëanáro’s eyes."

Olwë nodded reluctantly as they resumed their walk. He reviewed the conversations he had had with his grandson and Ingwion about all that had happened in Tirion, especially the terrible Oath that Finwë’s eldest son was said to have uttered. He wondered if even now that Oath was destroying his friend’s eldest son from within. He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts as he and Eällindo made their way through the city to the western gate. Eällindo had commandeered some palace guards to act as an escort for his king, clearing the way. Olwë could see many people gathered at the landward side of the city, standing silent and unsure. He saw that Fëanáro had not come alone; at least two of his sons were with him. He did not know any of them personally, but there was no mistaking the family resemblance between them, though in the light of the lamps he could see one had red hair, an unusual trait among the Noldor. This was probably the eldest, Nelyafinwë, whom some called Russandol. Standing behind the trio were perhaps a hundred or so others. Hardly what one would need for an embassage.

Olwë settled his gaze on Fëanáro, wondering what it was about the ellon that bothered him. The arrogance was there, as usual, but there was something more... or perhaps it was something less. Fëanáro had always had a bright spirit about him, hence his epessë, but now Olwë realized with a shuddering horror that that bright flame was... darker. It burned just as fiercely, but there was a darkness to it that had not been there before. Olwë feared that he was seeing the Oath at work and now understood his steward’s words.

"Finwion," Olwë finally acknowledged the ellon. "What do you here?" He glanced at the dark mass of people standing silently behind the Noldo, their strange armor and weapons glittering with deadly intent under the stars. "How many of the Noldor follow you?"

"Only a tithe remains in Tirion," Fëanáro replied.

"A tithe!" Olwë could not keep the shock from his voice. "And Ñolofinwë rules them?"

"Nay, he follows me even as we speak," Fëanáro said with a smug grin at Olwë’s obvious discomfort. "He and Arafinwë and their children follow me."

"Eärwen!" Olwë cried out, raising his eyes to the crowds of Noldor, as if he could pierce the darkness to find his daughter. He felt Lindarion’s hand on his arm, as if his son sought to restrain him from rushing in search of the elleth.

"She remains in Tirion along with Anairë," Fëanáro said with a certain amount of disdain in his voice. "I left them as co-regents while I am away."

Olwë shook his head. What madness had compelled his son-in-law to desert his own wife to follow this arrogant pup? It meant that Arafinwë and his children, his grandchildren, were in defiance of the Valar themselves, for he could not see Lord Manwë countenancing this expedition. And Eärwen! By Ulmo’s Beard! What depths of sorrow must his beautiful daughter be suffering because of this... this spawn of Melkor!

"What do you want, Finwion?" he demanded tersely, trying to remain calm, though he feared it would be a losing battle.

"I come in need," Fëanáro replied.

Olwë raised an eyebrow. The words had been humble enough, but there had been an undercurrent of demand to them as well.

"And what do you need?" he asked.

"We are leaving Aman, my people and I," Fëanáro explained. "We are going after Melkor whom I have named Moringotto. I mean to get back what was stolen from me." He paused and gave Olwë a shrewd look. "You don’t seem surprised."

"I’ve been aware of your plans for some time now, Finwion," Olwë said with a cold smile.

The Noldo glared at him. "How?"

"Oh, I have my sources," Olwë replied airily, secretly pleased to see the ellon’s cocksure attitude crumble a bit. "I am not as ignorant of what is happening in Tirion as you might think."

For a moment Fëanáro continued glaring at him. Olwë refused to back down, his expression giving nothing away of his inner thoughts. It gave him some small satisfaction when Fëanáro broke eye contact first.

"Come with us," the Noldo said suddenly. "Join us in our quest. Our peoples have long been friends, and my atar was close to you, Olwë of Alqualondë. For the sake of your friendship with him, and to avenge his death, join with us, with me. Let us together take the Enemy in his lair and wrest from him what he has stolen from us."

"From you, perhaps," Olwë said, "but he has not robbed the Lindar."

"Think you not?" Fëanáro sneered.

"I never paid heed to anything Melkor said," Olwë replied with a shake of his head, "nor did I ever suffer him to walk among us." He paused for a moment. "So, what is it you would have of us?"

"Your ships to ferry us to the Outer Lands," Fëanáro answered, "or at least, help in building our own."

Olwë stood stock still in shock, though he kept his expression as impassive as possible. "I am sorry, but I cannot sanction your request. I doubt you have left with the blessing of the Valar and I would not go against their will in this matter. Take my advice and go back to Tirion, Fëanáro. Your quest is doomed."

"Doomed, you say?" Fëanáro repeated with a scowl. "Mayhap, but liefer would I die on the march than to crawl back into the prison that awaits me in Aman. At least I’m doing something instead of sitting about wringing my hands in woe like the Valar."

"You speak with arrogance, son of Finwë, and from no little ignorance as well," reprimanded Olwë. "I trust to Lord Ulmo and the other Powers that they will redress the hurts of Melkor and that this darkness that is more than loss of light will soon be lifted from our hearts and spirits. Your atar...."

"My atar is dead!" Fëanáro nearly screamed in rage. "Dead because of that thrice-accursed Vala and I mean to exact vengeance upon him for what he has done. You weren’t there! You didn’t see what that... that excrement did to him." He was almost in tears now and the shock that Olwë could not hide must have been noticeable to Fëanáro, for the Noldo drew himself up and Olwë could see the struggle he had to bring himself under control.

"You renounce your friendship, even in the hour of our need," Fëanáro said stiffly. "Yet you were glad indeed to receive our aid when you came at last to these shores, faint-hearted loiterers and wellnigh emptyhanded. In huts on the beaches would you be dwelling still, had not the Noldor carved out your haven and toiled upon your walls."

Olwë blanched at the insult hurled upon him and his people and felt, rather than saw, Lindarion stiffen beside him. Around him he could hear the dark muttering of those listening to their exchange. He could hear the dismay in their voices and felt the same. He forced himself to keep calm. "We renounce no friendship," he replied loudly so all might hear, "but it may be the part of a friend to rebuke a friend’s folly. And when the Noldor welcomed us and gave us aid, otherwise then you spoke: in the land of Aman we were to dwell forever, as brothers whose houses stand side by side."

He paused to take a breath, watching Fëanáro intently as the ellon stood there simmering. "As for our ships: those you gave us not. We learned not the craft from the Noldor, but from Lord Ulmo and Lord Ossë. The white timbers we wrought with our own hands, and the white sails were woven by our wives and daughters. Therefore, we will neither give them nor sell them for any league or friendship."

"You will not give them up, you say?" Fëanáro demanded.

"No more than you gave up your precious Silmarils," Olwë said softly and was pleased to see the ellon flinch at the reprimand. "For I say unto you, Fëanáro Finwion, these ships are to us as are the gems of the Noldor: the work of our hearts, whose like we shall not make again."

That last was pure hyperbole, and they both knew it, yet in one sense, the words were true. His people poured their very souls into the making of their swanships, no less than the Noldor did in their own devising or the Vanyar in the crafting of their poetry and songs. Each clan had a particular love and into it they poured all their hopes and dreams, making them precious to their eyes, if not to the eyes of the other clans. What Olwë had said was true and he was not sure that he would have granted Fëanáro’s request — or rather thinly-veiled demand — even if Lord Ulmo himself had granted him leave to do so. He did not trust Fëanáro and grieved that the Noldor were so beguiled by his honeyed tongue as to follow him.

For the longest time the two leaders stared at one another across a widening chasm that had nothing to do with the physical space between them. At the last, though, Fëanáro simply turned and walked through the crowd of Noldor that opened a way for him, his sons following meekly behind him.

Olwë watched them go, frowning at a niggling thought that he may have been less than politic where this volatile Noldo was concerned. He sighed and turned to Lindarion. "What do you think?"

"I think he’s dangerous, Atar," his son replied.

"Prince Lindarion is correct, Sire," Eällindo remarked. "I hope we’ve seen the last of him."

Olwë nodded. "As do I."

"What will you tell Faniel?" Lindarion asked, naming his brother Salmar’s Noldorin wife. "Do you think she should be told about her brothers leaving Aman?"

"I do not know," Olwë admitted. "I do not see how it will do any good for her to know. Let us keep it between us for now."

Lindarion and Eällindo nodded, though neither looked happy about the decision, and in truth, Olwë wasn’t happy either, but he saw no point in it. Faniel had cleaved unto her husband’s clan and was more Telerin than Noldorin these days. He doubted that she would be any more successful in convincing her brothers not to follow Fëanáro than he imagined Eärwen had been. He made a mental note to write to his eldest daughter as soon as possible. He might be able to offer her and Anairë aid, aid that he had not given Ñolofinwë. He wondered how Ingwë was handling the news. Then he gave a mental shrug and gestured for Lindarion and Eällindo to follow him back to the palace. Along the way Olwë assured his people that they had naught to worry about. "The Noldor are leaving Valinor. They will not trouble us further," he told them.

In after days those words would come back to haunt him.

****

The first sign that something was terribly wrong was the distant sound of shouting. At first, Olwë wasn’t sure what he was hearing. He had secluded himself in his study to think things out, replaying the conversation between him and Fëanáro and so deeply was he in thought that it took him a while to realize he was hearing shouts of anger and dismay. He was about to investigate when he heard the sound of someone running and then there was a flurry of knocks on the study door.

"Atar! Atar! Come quick! The ships are on fire!" he heard Lindarion yell and went immediately to open the door to find his heir standing there, his eyes wide with horror.

"What is it, yonya?" he exclaimed. "What do you mean?"

"It’s Fëanáro," the ellon replied as the two hurried down the hall. "He apparently waited until the rest of his host arrived and now they are attempting to steal our ships. The sailors are resisting and there is fighting all along the quays and on the ships themselves."

Olwë ran down the pearlescent halls to one of the eastern towers of the palace that looked upon the harbor, taking the stairs two at a time. There was a great deal of shouting and people running, but he paid them no heed, intent as he was on seeing for himself what was happening. Lindarion was right behind him. Even before he reached the top he could smell smoke and there was a lurid glow in the sky that frightened him. When he climbed out onto the parapet he was unsurprised to see that others had gotten there before him. Lirillë was there, as were Olwen and Salmar, who held a weeping Faniel close to him.

"Let me see," he cried out in anguish and his family made way for him. He looked out upon a scene of unimaginable horror. The Haven was on fire, flames licking mercilessly upon the ships and the piers, black smoke billowing upward, occluding the stars and filling the air with its reek. He could see little else, though he could hear the din of people shouting and screaming and his heart quailed at what that meant. Then the winds shifted slightly and the sight became even more horrific. He could see people fighting all along the harbor, some on the quays, some on the ships and even a few upon the great arch of the harbor gates. He saw some at the quays fall and not rise, and elsewhere others were thrown off the ships and drowned and he realized with a twisting sick feeling that he was actually watching Elves kill Elves. It was incomprehensible and yet it was all too real.

"I have to go down," he muttered, feeling a desperate need to do something, anything. He could no longer just stand there watching. "I have to stop this." He started to turn only to find both his sons blocking his path, tears streaming down their fair yet determined faces.

"No, Atto," Lindarion said firmly. "You cannot go. You cannot stop this. You’ll be killed." Salmar nodded grimly in agreement.

"But...."

"Your sons are correct, beloved," Lirillë came beside him, wrapping her arms around him. "There is naught you can do."

"Falmaron," he said, realizing that his middle child was missing. "Where is Falmaron?" A terrible feeling of doom came upon him just then and he wondered what it might portend.

"Falmaron is not here, Atto," Olwen said. "He is escorting Lord Cemendil along the strand. They are not even in the city. I’m sure they’re safe enough."

"I still must go," he said firmly, intending to push his way past his sons, though they stood adamantly against him. "I can stop this madness. I have to. I...." but he got no further, for at that moment some part of his fëa screamed, and there was an echoing reply from Lirillë.

"Falmaron! NO!!!!" And then a crushing weight of pain and fear and something he could put no name to overwhelmed him and he knew nothing more....

****

"Careful, Cemendil," Falmaron said indulgently as he grabbed the Vanya’s arm to steady him when the ellon nearly fell into the ocean in his enthusiasm to grab a particularly grand specimen of seaweed. "You really must not be so reckless. One would think you were an elfling."

Cemendil gave him a sheepish smile and nodded. "I am sorry to be such a trial to you, Prince Falmaron. I fear I allow my enthusiasm to get the better of me at times."

"Understandable, and please, just call me Falmaron. Now, have you enough specimens to keep you happy for a time? I think we should get started back to Alqualondë."

Cemendil nodded and they continued on their way. They were not that far from the Swan Haven but a spur of land jutting out into the sea blocked their view of the city so they were unpleasantly surprised when they came around to the other side to find the horizon in flames.

"Wh-what is...." Cemendil started to exclaim, but Falmaron cut him off.

"Alqualondë burns!" he shouted, already beginning to run towards the city.

Cemendil dropped his bag of specimens and began running after him. They were nearly there when they saw several people on the strand before them fighting. Some were Teleri armed with only harpoons while the others appeared to be Noldor. Falmaron stopped in horror and confusion, not understanding what he was seeing. What were the Noldor doing here and what were those long bladed instruments they wielded? He hesitated to intervene, remembering that he was supposed to be looking after Cemendil, but when one of the Teleri fell to one of the Noldor’s weapons, he gave an inarticulate cry and heedlessly rushed forward, unarmed though he was. What he thought he could do, he did not know. All reason had fled and a cold anger had seized him, and so he was unprepared for the feel of cold iron slicing into him. He vaguely heard someone scream and only at the last did he realize it was he who had screamed. He fell to his knees clutching at the wound that spouted blood, blood that stained the crystalline white sands black. His last thought as he slid into darkness was wondering what had happened to Cemendil and then he heard someone calling his name and the world spun away into oblivion....

****

Eärnur smiled at his friend, Voronwë, gamely washing the deck of the Eärwendë, Eärnur’s fishing boat. Voronwë had volunteered to clean the deck of fish slime and seaweed once they returned to the harbor. Eärnur happily let him do it, content with checking the sails and then sitting on a barrel, mending one of their nets.

"You missed a spot," he said with a grin and ducked when Voronwë flung some dirty water his way, sticking out his tongue.

The Noldo was about to retort when they both heard someone shouting. "What’s going on?" Voronwë asked as he rose from his knees, looking about.

"Look!" Eärnur cried, more attuned to darkness than his friend, "Over there! See! It looks as if something is on fire."

"Quick!" Voronwë shouted and leapt out of the boat with Eärnur right behind.

The two ran towards the flames and now they heard shouting and screaming. They were so intent on reaching what they thought was just an accidental fire that neither saw the Elves in dark armor coming at them from their right. Eärnur was the first to fall; Voronwë had just enough time to turn to see his friend lying in a pool of blood before he too went down, never seeing who had just killed him....

****

Artelemnar stared in surprise at the blood dripping from his sword and then at the Teler lying at his feet, his eyes open in shocked accusation. He wasn’t sure if he wouldn’t be sick but then he heard Prince Turcafinwë shouting and looking up, saw that his lord was fighting against three very determined Teleri. Without a backward glance at his first, but not his last, victim, Artelemnar rushed to his lord’s aid, slaying one of the Teleri, while the prince slew the other two. Turcafinwë gave him a nod of thanks and then they both dove into the fray again....

****

Cassalcarin dropped to his knees beside the ellon whom he had just slain, mesmerized by the sight of blood seeping blackly from the wound. He licked his lips and tasted something that had a coppery tang to it. Puzzled, he put a finger to his mouth and when he drew it away, he could see blood on his fingertips. Not his blood. He stared down at the corpse, some inchoate horror at what he had done rising within him and yet at the same time there was a feeling of euphoria, a realization that he had the power of life and death, that the dark liquid seeping sluggishly from the body was precious beyond all price and he had the power to take it. He bent down to examine the body closer, the smell of blood overwhelming his senses and to his everlasting horror and exquisite delight, he licked some of the blood, still warm, and was both sickened by what he was doing and yet exalting in the glory of it as it slid down his throat.

At that moment, Cassalcarin, vassal to Prince Turcafinwë, went insane, though he did not know it....

****

Laurefindil stopped in dismay at the confusion all around him, staying his ammë with an out thrust arm. As soon as they had left the city his ammë had insisted on finding his atar, so he and Cehtelion had followed her as she forced her way forward through the many ranks of people. He knew he and Cehtelion were in violation of their oaths to Prince Turucáno, but he could not allow his ammë to wander alone and unescorted. He had dreaded meeting up with his atar, knowing that he would be blamed for Ammë’s presence.

They reached that part of the host led by Fëanáro’s sons about the time that the vanguard reached Alqualondë. His ammë had been calling out his atar’s name for some time in the hope that he would hear her, but her voice was drowned out by the cries and screams coming from ahead and when they saw that battle was joined between the Noldor and Teleri, all three stopped in shock, trying to grasp what was happening, and more importantly, why.

"There he is!" he heard his ammë cry out and turned in disbelief at the sight of his atar not twenty paces away. By some queer miracle of luck or misfortune, they had found his atar. Even as they spied him, though, Laurefindil saw his atar slicing a hapless Teler with his sword and gasped in shock at the sight.

"Ammë! Wait!" he cried as his amillë ran forward yelling her husband’s name. She had sprinted forward fast enough that Laurefindil was several paces away when, to his everlasting horror, he watched helplessly as his atar swung around, his sword dripping with blood, and struck his own wife.

"No!!!" Laurefindil cried as he reached his ammë in time to catch her. So much blood. He did not realize how much blood a hröa held. "Ammë! Ammë!" he wept as he knelt on the blood-soaked beach and watched helplessly as his ammë died in his arms. He was only dimly aware of someone shouting and the clash of swords and then someone was tugging at him. He brushed them away, or tried to, but they were insistent.

"Laurë! Laurë! We have to go!"

That was Cehtelion. He recognized his friend’s voice, but he did not understand the words. He tried to brush the ellon away again, but now Cehtelion was joined by several others and they dragged him away as he screamed for his ammë. His last sight of her was seeing some stranger, a Noldo, kicking her broken body to one side to clear some space for him to fight in....

****

Olwë struggled to regain consciousness, aware of someone holding him and calling his name. The sensation of water dripping on his face brought him more awake and he opened confused eyes to see Lindarion cradling him, weeping inconsolably. He struggled to rise, making some inarticulate noise.

"F-fal...falmaron," he whispered and in the bleakness of his voice he knew the truth: his beloved child was dead, murdered by the Noldor.

"Oh, Atto!" Lindarion cried. "Oh, Atto! What are we going to do?"

Olwë struggled to sit up and Lindarion helped him. A few feet away he saw Olwen and Salmar hovering over their amillë who appeared to be still unconscious.

"Lirillë," he cried, trying to stand and nearly fell on his face as the world spun. He felt Lindarion grabbing him and helping him back down to a sitting position. He’d never felt so weak before. Movement caught his attention and he saw Faniel and Eällindo coming towards him with flagons that turned out to contain water. He took the one his daughter-in-law offered him with shaking hands and drank deeply. It seemed to help, for the last of the cobwebs fell away and his mind cleared.

"Ammë’s all right, Atto," Faniel assured him. "She woke just before you but fell back into unconsciousness after taking a sip of water. Eällindo has already called for a stretcher."

He nodded and handed the flagon back to Faniel, ignoring the paleness in the elleth’s features as he struggled to stand again. Lindarion and Eällindo aided him and helped him to the parapet. He wanted desperately to go to Lirillë, but there was something he needed to do first. He stared out upon the horror that the Haven had become and wept anew. Many of the ships were in flames, but there were several that were even now leaving the harbor and swinging northward. He had a grim sort of satisfaction in seeing that the bulk of the Noldor were still on the beaches. They would have to walk to the Outer Lands and may they suffer grievously along the way, he silently prayed. Then he turned his attention back to the Sea.

"Lord Ossë!" he cried out in a ringing voice, raising his arms in propitiation. "As thou lovest us who are thy children and the delight of thine eyes, rise up against these kinslayers and smite them with thy wrath."

He waited, expecting to see the Maia rising out of the deeps beyond the harbor bar but there was nothing, only the ships, his beautiful swanships moving away, half hidden by the smoke that covered much of the city now.

"Lord Ossë!" he cried out once more, but again there was nothing. He closed his eyes, sagging against the parapet, too numbed to think anymore, only knowing a sense of betrayal and a deeper sense of loss.

"Atto, look!" he heard Lindarion cry and opening his eyes he struggled to see what was happening. Just beyond the harbor the Sea was rising in swells that nearly topped the arch of living searock as a storm came sweeping down upon them. Many ships were lost, their pirate crews drowned and he felt an exalted sense of satisfaction at seeing his enemies, perhaps even his son’s murderer, being flung into the ocean, never to rise again. The storm beat upon the city and lashed them. Olwë turned away from the sight.

"Let’s get your ammë down from here," he shouted to his sons and even as they went to her, others came up the tower with a stretcher and in minutes they were taking the still unconscious queen away. Olwë was the last to leave the tower.

****

It was some time before the storm passed, and when it did Olwë began organizing the task of cleaning up, both from the storm and from the battle. In spite of the storm, fires still burned and the beaches were covered with the bodies of the dead from both sides. There were no signs of the Noldorin host; they had all fled, leaving the Telerin survivors to fend for themselves. Olwë was out with the others, ostensibly to show his people that he still ruled them, but really looking for his son’s body, fearing that he would actually find it, hoping that he would not. He also needed to ascertain the fate of the Vanya. Cemendil was his guest and it behooved him to succor him if at all possible. He dreaded the thought of having to send news to Cemendil’s family of his death. All around him he heard the cries and the curses of the survivors as they went among the fallen and his own tears ran heedlessly down his cheeks.

He stumbled over a corpse, uttering a disgusted oath as he did so. It was a Noldo, the ellon’s eyes blank of all life, his mouth in an endless grimace of pain and shock. Olwë stared at it for a long uncomprehending moment and then a black rage took him and he screamed, going to his knees and beating on the body futilely with his fist.

"Melkor take you all! May Mandos be closed to the likes of you!" He swore vehemently and shouted imprecations as several people rushed to pick him up and drag him back to the palace while Lindarion and Salmar continued directing the clean-up crews.

No one noticed the Maia Eönwë calmly making a record of Olwë’s words in a blue leather-bound book.

****

Russandol: Copper-top, an epessë or nickname given to Nelyafinwë for his red hair.

Notes:

1. The title is a play on words: a group of swans is known as ‘a whiteness of swans’.

2. Artelemnar will someday be known as Celepharn and will die at the Sack of Doriath. He will later be re-embodied around the same time as Glorfindel.

3. Cassalcarin’s fate is told in my story ‘Tales from Vairë’s Loom: Beyond the Galvorn Door’.

70: The Road North

Ñolofinwë glared at his eldest son in disgust while Findecáno stood at attention, his eyes not focused on anything in particular as his atar berated him.

"Hast thou gone insane, my son?" Ñolofinwë enquired coldly, his voice barely above a whisper, which somehow made it worse than if he’d been shouting at the top of his lungs. Findecáno could not help wincing slightly at the tone. "Whatever possessed thee to enter into the fray without even ascertaining the right and the wrong of it?"

The second son of Finwë wiped at the rain falling into his eyes. The storm that had swept through Alqualondë had lessened and now it was merely raining, a nuisance but nothing more. He forced himself not to shiver at the memory of ships flailing in the waters, of people, his people drowning. Though, in retrospect, he knew that they had actually been Fëanáro’s people. By the time Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë had reached the city the fighting was nearly over and all that was left was carnage, the strands littered with the dead and the dying.

"Well?" he demanded sharply when his son did not answer immediately.

Findecáno visibly flinched and paled. He licked his lips and for the first time since his atar had called to him for an accounting he loosened his stance and his eyes were pleading. "I... I thought they... the Teleri... were seeking to waylay the march at... at the bidding of the Valar."

Ñolofinwë stared hard at Findecáno, and seeing the sincerity in his son’s eyes, sighed wearily, closing his eyes, wishing the damnable rain would cease. He opened them again and shook his head. "And so, thou in thy wisdom decided to defy the Valar and slay thy kin...."

"They are no kin to me!" Findecáno snapped and the sound of the slap that his atar gave him was loud in the silence that surrounded them. Findecáno stared at his atar in shock as he brought a hand to his face as if he couldn’t quite believe the stinging that he felt on his cheek.

"They were Elves!" Ñolofinwë hissed. "No Elf has ever, ever killed another Elf before this. Whether they were doing the Valar’s bidding or not, whether they started the fighting or not, they were Elves and thou couldst not wait to try thy metal against unarmed mariners, couldst thou?"

"They were not all unarmed," Findecáno replied mulishly, refusing to back down.

Ñolofinwë stared at his eldest in anguish. How had they come to this? What madness had Fëanáro unleashed upon them all? He shook his head, trying to clear it of the images that bombarded his brain, images of horror under the uncaring gaze of the stars. "Thou wilt remain by my side from here on out," he finally said in a tight voice. "Thou shalt not hare off as thou didst here."

"But I wish to travel with Nelyo," Findecáno protested, sounding more like a frustrated elfling than a captain of armies.

The plaintive tone of his son’s voice brought new anger upon Ñolofinwë. "Then go!" he commanded, pointing his finger towards where Fëanáro’s captured ships were already rounding a headland well north of the city. If he and Arafinwë did not get their people moving soon, they would be left behind, but first things first. "Go to thy precious cousin whom thou dost love more than thine own family. Go! But if thou goest, thou goest alone. Leave thy people with me. Thy brothers and I will absorb them into our own hosts."

Findecáno stared at his atar in dismay. "But they are mine," he protested. "They hold their allegiance to me."

Ñolofinwë shook his head. "If thou wouldst travel with thy cousin, thou dost travel without thy liegemen."

Findecáno stood for a moment, looking undecided, stealing a glance to where his younger brothers, Turucáno and Aracáno, stood impassively, their Aunt Finwaina standing with them, looking grim. No help from that quarter, then. He turned his attention back to his atar who stood there waiting for his answer and sighed, knowing he was defeated. "I will remain with thee, Atto," he whispered dejectedly.

Ñolofinwë nodded. "Clean thyself up," was all he said, glaring meaningfully at the bloodstains on Findecáno’s armor, blood that not even the rain had yet washed away. He turned away to see how Arafinwë was faring, for he had his own troubles with his impetuous daughter, standing there in haughty defiance. She was apparently giving her side of the story for he caught the tail end of her explanation.

"... my amillë’s people and so I joined in the fight against my cousin who I have no doubt was the instigator of the debacle."

"And so, instead of killing Teleri, thou didst decide killing Noldor was more sporting?" Arafinwë asked and even Ñolofinwë winced at the acid tone of his brother’s enquiry and Artanis’ composure cracked just a little, some hint of uncertainty now clouding her eyes.

"I would not let Fëanáro...."

"I know well thy dislike, nay, thy hatred for my brother...."

"Half-brother," Ñolofinwë muttered. He was sure Arafinwë heard him though he gave no sign as he continued berating Artanis.

"... but thou art just as guilty of kinslaying as he, whatever the cause or provocation." He shook his head in disgust. "Thou wilt not range ahead of us any more, Daughter. Thou wilt stay by Findaráto’s side from now on."

Ñolofinwë saw the rebellious look his niece gave Arafinwë and the equally dismayed look Findaráto cast upon them all. He could not blame his nephew, yet he knew that Findaráto was the only one who could keep Artanis under control. Artanis started to protest, but Arafinwë cut her off.

"I have spoken," he said. "Obey me, or I will send thee back to thine amillë... under guard." And that, of course, was the end of the matter, for Artanis paled even more and nodded in reluctant acquiescence. "Go clean thyself up," her atar ordered, turning away and grimacing at his older brother who smiled thinly in sympathy.

"They are a right pair, are they not, Brother, your daughter and my son?"

"Foolishness, all of it," Arafinwë replied. He walked towards the cliff overlooking Alqualondë and his face was now lined with sorrow. "We have scarcely left our homes and already it is all going wrong."

"We need to get moving," Ñolofinwë reminded him. "Fëanáro is getting too far ahead of us and I trust him not."

"He needs us and our strength of arms more than we need him," Arafinwë said absently as he continued staring down on his wife’s city. "Yet, I am loath to simply leave without offering Olwë our aid and our apology."

"Aid that will be unwelcome and any apology would be useless against their righteous anger," his brother said with a shake of his head. "Olwë will not thank us, for all that we are guiltless of this... this bloodletting."

"Valar! I dread to think what Eärwen will do when she learns of this," Arafinwë cried.

"You could always turn back," Ñolofinwë suggested, his expression impassive, but inside he quailed at the thought of his brother leaving him to deal with Fëanáro alone.

Arafinwë gave his brother a hard stare. "And you will not, even after this?" He gestured with a nod of his head at the scene below them.

"I have my own oaths," Ñolofinwë answered, "but you never gave him yours."

Arafinwë shook his head. "I will not desert you, Brother. I will not have you dealing with Fëanáro alone."

"Very well," Ñolofinwë said, feeling relieved. "We should be going then."

"Soon," Arafinwë said. "There is one thing I need to do before we go." He glanced over his shoulder to where Artanis was standing beside her oldest brother, still glowering as they awaited the signal to move on.

****

Ezelmiril stared in horror and dismay at the wreckage of bodies below her. What was she to do? How would she find her atto in all this? The thought of her, a lone elleth and a Noldorin one at that, wandering through the piles of broken bodies looking for her atto made her feel violently ill and she found herself doubled over as spasm after spasm of disgust took her. When she finished sicking up, grateful that no one was nearby to see her, she turned away from the sight, feeling weak and disoriented. She could not go down there, however much she wanted to, however much she needed to know if her atto was alive... or not. Yet, neither could she return to Tirion. Looking about she saw only resolution on the faces of those nearest her. They were committed to this journey and would not turn back.

So what should she do? She had paid little attention to the rantings of King Finwë’s first-born, being more interested in becoming a Master Potter, as both her parents were. She had used the exodus of the Noldor as an excuse to have sufficient escort to Alqualondë, but she could not help listening to what her traveling companions told her about what they hoped to achieve in the Outer Lands. She could not deny that their words had stirred up something within her, some inchoate need she scarce recognized in herself that set her blood pounding. But to go on? How could she do that? She had promised Ammë that she would return with Atto, but now....

"You there, young maiden!"

Ezelmiril started and paled as she saw Prince Arafinwë coming towards her. She could only stand there and gape at him, wondering what the prince wanted with her.

"What is your name?" Arafinwë asked not unkindly.

"Ez..ezelmiril, your... your Highness," she squeaked, bobbing a belated curtsey, "daughter of Voronwë and Netilmírë, Master Potters."

The prince nodded. "Are you alone, child? Where are your parents? Have you other family with you?"

Ezelmiril shook her head. How could she even begin to explain? "No, your Highness. I... I travel alone."

"So I was told," the prince said and Ezelmiril’s eyes widened with surprise. Who could have told him of her? Only a handful of people, ellith mostly, even knew she was there. "I wonder if you would be willing to do me a favor?"

"A... a favor?" she asked, too stunned to remember to address the prince with a proper title.

"My daughter is in need of a companion," Arafinwë explained, "one who is not beholden to family."

Ezelmiril gave him a puzzled look. She had vaguely heard about the princess and what she had done, but she was not at all sure if what she had heard was true. Rumor seemed more prevalent than fact in this crowd. "I... I would be honored, Highness," she finally said, "but, in truth, I do not understand why you would want me...."

"Let’s just say I have my reasons," Arafinwë answered with a smile. "Come. I will introduce you to my daughter."

He turned away and Ezelmiril had no choice but to gather up her haversack and follow. He led her to where his children were gathered, gently gesturing for her to join him. "This is Ezelmiril," he said, looking at his daughter. "She has agreed to be your traveling companion, Artanis."

The princess gave her atar a measuring look, her brow furrowed. "Why do I need...."

"I know thee, Daughter," Arafinwë said coldly. "Thou wouldst defy me and go off on thine own if thou didst think thou couldst get away with it, caring not for whatever danger might assail thee. But thou art not so craven as to put another in danger with thee, especially an innocent child, one with no other family to watch over her. Ezelmiril is thy surety that thou wilt honor thy parole to me. Wither thou goest, she doth go... always. Dost thou understand me, Artanis?"

Artanis glared at Ezelmiril and the elleth wished she could just disappear. She was half tempted to tell the prince that she had changed her mind, that she was going to go back home to her ammë, but she didn’t and ever afterwards she wondered why but never found any satisfactory answer. Finally, after a painful silence, Artanis gave a nod.

"Thou dost know me all too well, Atya," she said, giving her sire a respectful curtsey. "Your name is Ezelmiril?" she asked the elleth, who nodded mutely. "That is a Vanyarin name."

"My anatar on my amillë’s side is a Vanya," Ezelmiril explained.

Artanis nodded. "Well, come and be welcome. I will introduce you to the others who travel with us." She put an arm around Ezelmiril’s shoulders and began introducing her to her brothers and the rest of the royal household. When the order came to march Ezelmiril found herself walking between Artanis and Prince Findaráto, feeling stunned at the turn of events, not sure what was happening or why.

****

The road north was long and arduous. Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë urged their people ever onward, hoping to catch up with the ships. The princes hoped to speak with their brother along the way, and actually Fëanáro did put his ships to anchor in a deep cove several twelves of leagues away from Alqualondë and the three met in parley under a pavilion set hastily upon the beach while the rest of the host took their rest. Fëanáro grinned at his two half-brothers as he joined them.

"If we had more ships, we would make better time," he said without preamble, "but I suppose we’re lucky to have the ones that we do."

"What madness led you to attack Olwë’s people?" Ñolofinwë demanded angrily while Arafinwë looked on in anguished silence.

Fëanáro stiffened. "He was being unreasonable. We needed those ships. We cannot cross the Sea without them, unless you care to assay the Helcaraxë?" He gave them a sly look and both ellyn were forced to look away, obviously uncomfortable.

"Well, the deed is done and cannot be undone," Ñolofinwë finally said with a sigh. "What are your plans?"

"We continue north, of course," Fëanáro said with a satisfied smile on his lips as he leaned back in his chair and sipped some wine that had been brought to the meeting. "Eventually, from what we were able to gather from what maps of Valinor exist, the lands further north will bend ever eastward just as the Outer lands will bend to the west. There will be a narrow place where we can cross over on the ships without too much trouble, I deem."

"You’ll have to send the ships back so we can board everyone," Ñolofinwë said. "It’ll take some time but if we organize everyone ahead of time, the transfers should go smoothly enough."

"Of course," Fëanáro said with a wave of his hand. "That goes without saying."

"So, will we trade off our people from time to time?" Arafinwë asked.

Fëanáro gave him a puzzled look. "Trade off? I do not understand you."

"Will you hoard these ships solely for those under your direct command?" Arafinwë enquired. "Or, will we take turns manning them?"

"Doing that will take too much time," Fëanáro replied with a frown. "Time that I do not want to waste. Besides, my people have finally gotten the hang of sailing these ships. Your people would need to be trained and that would take up more time. We’ve already lost more than we gained."

Ñolofinwë nodded. "Obviously," he said and Fëanáro smirked, but Arafinwë knew that Ñolofinwë was speaking of something else and the implications of his actual meaning had gone right over Fëanáro’s head.

"Then we will keep to what we have for now," Fëanáro said. "My people will crew the ships. We will endeavor not to sail too far ahead, but one of the ships I will send as a scout. We have many hundreds of leagues to go before we reach a point that is narrow enough for us to attempt the crossing and we will need to stop for food and rest, or at least you will."

Ñolofinwë nodded, draining his own goblet of wine and rising. "Then we had best be on our way."

****

They lost track of time, for it was meaningless to them in the unmeasured night. Fëanáro kept to his word to have one of the ships range beyond their slow march to find suitable resting places but Ñolofinwë could tell that his older brother chafed at the delay whenever they stopped. Still, even Fëanáro admitted somewhat sourly that spending some time on land felt good. Not a few of the Noldor on the ships had suffered from seasickness and eventually had to be put ashore while others took their places to help crew the ships.

And so they went, the land growing bleaker and colder and the wind never ceasing its brutal blowing. The ships hugged the coast, staying as close as they dared, for the swells on the Sea were becoming dangerously high and already they were seeing small ice floes drifting southward.

Then, a time came when they reached a headland and were moving around it into a wide cove. A huge rock, a boulder of tremendous size, a black behemoth rising out of the ground, stood midway down the beach. So huge was it that it blocked their way, and there was only a narrow strip of beach between it and the water for them to traverse.

They all stopped in wonder and fear at the sight, but it was not the rock that dismayed them. It was the sight of a dark figure standing upon its pinnacle cloaked in starlight, gazing down at them with pitiless regard, and those closest to the rock thought they recognized who it was and quailed.

Námo, Lord of Mandos, Doomsman of Arda, was waiting for them.

****

Atya: Reduced form of Atarinya: My father, which, according to Tolkien, is the form a child would use when addressing his or her father.

71: Prophecy and Doom

The boat bringing Fëanáro and his sons from their ship grounded upon the gravel beach and they made their way through the silent throng to where Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë stood. They and everyone else were staring bleakly up at the figure standing unmoving upon the rock. Fëanáro had not expected to stop here, for the bay was shallow and the beach nearly nonexistent. There was only a narrow strip of gravel between the dark waters and a series of steep rugged hills running down to the sea, foothills to the Pelóri that spanned the southwestern horizon, their snow-covered peaks just visible under starlight. The Noldor had, in fact, come to the northern confines of the Guarded Realm, upon the borders of the cold empty wastes of Araman. Fëanáro snarled to himself as he joined his half-brothers, not in the mood for this delay. Did not his answer to Manwë’s Herald satisfy the damn Valar? What more needed to be said between them?

Both Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë turned at his approach, their expressions troubled. Fëanáro kept a sneer on his face as he saw the doubt and confusion in their eyes. He glanced upward at the figure looming over them, silent and still. Too still, to his mind, for there was a cold wind blowing from the sea and not a single fold of the figure’s cloak stirred. He glanced back at his brothers and shook his head in disgust at their nervous looks. Honestly! If they were going to be this faint-hearted at the merest sight of a Vala, why didn’t they just stay behind? He turned his attention back to the figure on the rock. He couldn’t quite make out the figure’s features but he suspected that it was the Lord of Mandos, or perhaps one of his People; they were a joyless bunch and loved to be mysterious. The silence which enveloped them stretched to an uncomfortable level, for no one wanted to be the first to break it, and Fëanáro wondered if they were suppose to just stand here until the end of Arda staring at one another.

"Well, what now?" he called out, not in the mood for this nonsense.

There were gasps of dismay all around him and even his sons looked distressed at his disrespect. Well, let them see that he did not fear even the Valar. The figure made no move to indicate that it even knew or cared that they were there. Fëanáro turned away with a sneer and faced his half-brothers.

"Get these people moving," he ordered Ñolofinwë. "We’ve wasted enough time...."

"Tears unnumbered ye shall shed."

Fëanáro froze as the sepulchral voice echoed across the strand and he recognized the voice as belonging to the dread Lord of Mandos. Around him he saw many fall to their knees, white and trembling. Even his sons looked a bit sick, the twins especially. Not for the first time he wondered if he shouldn’t have left those two behind to take care of their amillë. At least Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë were still standing, they and their children. Well, perhaps they weren’t as spineless as he had thought. He slowly turned to face the rock as the Vala continued speaking.

"The Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentations shall pass over the mountains."

"As if we cared," Curufinwë muttered with a snort of disgust.

Fëanáro glanced approvingly at his favorite son, so like him in features and in mind.

If the Lord of Mandos heard, he gave no sign, but continued his speech. "On the House of Fëanáro the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also."

Well, he didn’t expect them to welcome him back with open arms, not after all he’d done. Really, what did these Powers think they were accomplishing here? Did they really think the Noldor were such lily-livered cowards to crawl back into their nice little prison like good little thralls just because they uttered a few meaningless threats?

"Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be forever."

iAlaharyainë.

Fëanáro kept his expression studiously impassive, though a fire smoldered in his eyes. So be it. The Dispossessed. We’ll see about that! He started to make an answer but Námo continued, his voice colder than the wind that blew off the sea, and darker still than the eternal night that covered them. It pierced them, and few there were unmoved by what they heard.

"Ye have spilled the blood of your kindred unrighteously and have stained the land of Aman. For blood ye shall render blood, and beyond Aman ye shall dwell in Death’s shadow. For though Eru appointed you to die not in Eä, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief; and your houseless fëar shall come then to Mandos. There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity though all whom ye have slain should entreat for you. And those that endure in Endórë and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after."

There was a brief pause and then: "The Valar have spoken."

Many quailed and some few actually fainted at the utter coldness of his voice at the end. Fëanáro looked around, saw the fear and indecision on many faces, including Arafinwë’s, and grimaced. He could not afford to lose them now. He needed them to continue onward. It was too late for second or even third thoughts; they had come too far to go back now. He glowered up at the figure, who never moved, and took a step forward.

"We have sworn, and not lightly," he shouted, his voice ringing across the bay so all could hear. "This oath we will keep. We are threatened by many evils, and treason not least; but one thing is not said: that we shall suffer from cowardice, from cravens or the fear of cravens. Therefore I say that we will go on, and this doom I add: the deeds that we shall do shall be the matter of song until the last days of Arda!"

He nearly screamed that last in defiance, knowing his words held the ring of truth. He did not know what end he would suffer, if indeed he suffered any, but he did know he would not turn back, he would not crawl before the Valar for forgiveness. iAlaharyainë. Very well. It remained to be seen just how dispossessed of courage and fortitude and determination they truly were. He turned his back on the Lord of Mandos and glared at his half-brothers and his sons.

"We will go on," he said. "I will go on, alone, if need be."

Nelyafinwë shook his head. "Not alone, Atar."

Fëanáro nodded, giving his first-born a grateful look. "Go back to the ships and prepare to set sail." His sons nodded and went to do his bidding while he spoke to Ñolofinwë. "I have no intention of remaining here. Get everyone moving. Arafinwë...."

"No."

Fëanáro glowered at his half-brother, not sure he had heard correctly. "Excuse me?"

Arafinwë’s face had been turned upward, staring at the Lord of Mandos who still remained standing on the rock watching them all dispassionately. He looked down and swallowed in the face of his half-brother’s anger, but he did not back down. He refused to look at Ñolofinwë, fearing to see the hurt in his beloved brother’s eyes. "No. I am not going on." He shook his head. "I will go back and... and sue for pardon... for all of us."

For a moment Fëanáro just stared at him in disbelief and then he could not help sneering. "The first betrayal," he muttered and smiled evilly when Arafinwë flinched.

"If you wish to think so," the youngest son of Finwë replied in a steady voice, "but you are the one who betrayed us when you sullied our cause with the blood of our kin."

"You cannot desert us now, Brother!" Ñolofinwë cried in despair, grabbing him by the shoulders.

"Will you not return with me?" Arafinwë asked, though he held out no hope that his brother would say yes.

"I have my own oaths to keep," Ñolofinwë answered, stealing a sideways glance at Fëanáro who simply stood there, waiting impassively.

"Go back then," Fëanáro said dismissively. "Take those who have grown faint-hearted with you, for I will not keep them against their wills. Enjoy your thralldom, little brother." He turned away, no longer caring what that sniveling ellon said or did. He began issuing orders for the march to continue as he made his way to the boat waiting to take him back to his ship. He climbed in and then turned to face the shore where people still stood around looking indecisive.

"Prince Arafinwë has decided to return to Valinor," he cried out so all might hear. "Let any who desire to return with him remain where they are. All others, start moving. We will make encampment further north." Then he turned his face to the south, where rose the Pelóri, their peaks wreathed now in mists and shadows, and raised his hands in token of rejection. "I go," he cried. "Neither in light or shadow will I look upon you again, Dáhanigwishtilgun." Then he turned to face the sea and, nodding to those manning the oars, sat down and never looked back.

****

"I’m sorry," Arafinwë said softly, not looking at Ñolofinwë. "I cannot do this. I cannot go on. I...."

"Shh...." Ñolofinwë said, taking him into his arms and holding him. "It’s all right, it’s all right. I understand. Truly, I do."

"I wish I did," Arafinwë whispered in near despair as he clung to his brother the way he had done when he was so much younger and needed his older brother’s hugs of reassurance when life became too confusing to a sensitive elfling. Ñolofinwë held him tighter and he felt himself calming. Finally he pushed his way out of his brother’s embrace and the two stared at one another as if memorizing every detail of their faces, knowing in all probability that they would never see one another again this side of Arda’s Remaking.

Ñolofinwë gave him a smile and a shake. "Come. Let us speak to our children. There is much that needs to be done ere we depart."

Arafinwë nodded and together they moved to where their sons and daughters stood and Arafinwë found he could not look any of them in the eye for the shame of his cowardice.

****

Lirulin glared at her husband, half fearful and half angry. "We’re going back," she said forcibly. "We’re going back with Prince Arafinwë."

Intarion shook his head, his face set. "We haven’t spoken to Findaráto," he protested.

"And we never will," she hissed back. She shook her head in dismay. It had been a futile venture for them both from the start. Fearful of being seen by their cousin too soon, they had made the mistake of joining the host near the back. As soon as they cleared the city, Intarion had attempted to reach Findaráto, but there were too many people between them and him. She had almost convinced him to turn back when they came upon the massacre at Alqualondë, their fëar sickened by what they saw, but Intarion was more determined than ever to reach their cousin.

"To save him," he had said and Lirulin had no choice but to follow, for she would neither seek aid in Alqualondë nor return to Tirion alone.

But now, now they had gone far enough. To go any further was to court a doom that was not theirs, for they had had no thought of rebellion against the Valar. Their only thought was to reach Findaráto and convince him to return to Tirion. All along the route, she and Intarion had forced their way slowly through the ranks in the hope of reaching Findaráto, but they had started out too far back and they could never reach him.

"If we go on," she continued firmly, "we will share in the fate of the Kinslayers. Is that what you want? If we go on, we go to our deaths. No!" she nearly shouted at him when he attempted to interrupt her. "I will not go forward. Prince Arafinwë returns to Tirion. Do as you please, husband, but I will be returning to Aman, to our families. If Findaráto returns with his atar, all well and good, but if not...."

She turned away to begin gathering her belongings which she had dropped when they had stopped to hear the Vala’s doom. She had to wipe the tears from her eyes as she fumbled with her pack, and then Intarion was reaching down to help her. She looked up into his eyes and saw the sorrow there, sorrow and regret that they had failed in their quest. She knew in her heart that Findaráto would not be returning to Tirion with his atar, and she grieved for him, for them all, but especially for Ingwion and Amarië, who were waiting for them to return with their cousin between them.

Only, it was not to be.

Lirulin reached up and stroked Intarion’s cheek. "I’m sorry, my love," she said. He only nodded and then he began to weep, quiet sobs of heartache and defeat, and she took him into her arms and held him close until it was time to go.

****

Arafinwë stood and watched as the last of the Noldor following Ñolofinwë disappeared into the gloom. The ships had disappeared around the headland some time before. He watched and died. His sons. His daughter. His kin. They disappeared into Shadow and he feared he would never see them again. Tears coursed down his cheeks unheeded. He was a coward. He knew that. Why else would he be turning back? His gaze traveled upward. He was still there, standing as silent as stone, and as implacable. The Lord of Mandos had spoken a dreadful doom and Arafinwë had quailed like an elfling before an irate parent. He felt sick. Angaráto and Aicanáro had looked on him with undisguised contempt when he told them he was turning back. Artanis had looked on him with pity.

"Take care of Ammë," she had whispered as she gave him one last hug.

Only Findaráto had smiled at him through his tears. "It is the right decision, Atar. I know how difficult it must have been for you to come to it. I think of the two of us, you are the braver."

Braver. He did not think so. Coward. That was what he was. He would slink back to Tirion and everyone would despise him for it. A rebel in all but name now. His only hope for his people would be that the Valar would enthrall them indeed to their Vanyarin and Telerin kin for their sins. There would be payment due, beginning with Alqualondë. He had said as much to Ñolofinwë, who simply shook his head.

"You are a Prince of the House of Finwë," his older brother said. "Never forget that. You will have the Valar’s forgiveness, for you never fully wished to rebel against them as Fëanáro did. You will be Noldóran now."

"Fëanáro is Noldóran," Arafinwë reminded him, "and our wives hold the regency."

His brother smiled. "Do you think anyone will dispute your right as the only son of Finwë still in Aman to wear the crown? Fëanáro can style himself Noldóran if he wishes, but he will be Noldóran-in-Exile and he will not be coming back. No, Brother, claim the crown and the title. Our people will need you to guide them. They will need you to be their king."

Arafinwë had given his brother a skeptical look, but did not dispute his words. Instead, he gave him one last piece of advice. "Take care, my brother. Do not trust Fëanáro over much. That Oath of his will twist his words and actions to suit himself, not you. Guard our people well."

"And you do the same," Ñolofinwë said, giving him one last hug. "Tell Anairë... tell her I will always love her." And then he was gone.

Now, as he stood there on the strand, watching the host of the Exiles fade into the darkness, Arafinwë could hear the weeping of children behind him and tried vainly to ignore it. Many of those now under his command were elflings. In a fit of sanity their parents had thrust them into the arms of any returning adult who was willing to take them. The screams of the children bereft of their parents had torn through his fëa, leaving him feeling dead inside.

The last Elf disappeared into the darkness. Arafinwë turned to those waiting for him, their expressions as hopeless as his own. "Let us go," he said, then picked up one of the younger children and began walking back towards Aman. Towards Tirion. Towards his beloved Eärwen. Towards the Valar and his doom.

And high above them all, standing on the basaltic rock, the Lord of Mandos watched in silence the drama unfolding below him, tears unheeded coursing down his face.

****

Manwë sat alone in the throne room in Ilmarin. The Valar had finished with their council, at least for now. The news of the slaughter at Alqualondë had angered them all and Manwë had ordered Námo to confront Fëanáro and all who followed him with the Doom which he was to utter. He had dismissed the others, even Varda, wishing to be alone to grieve in private for a time.

Ah, Fëanáro! That he would become so marred. Of all the works of Melkor, one of the most evil, he deemed, shaking his head. "The works of wonder for the glory of Arda that you might otherwise have wrought, my son," he said aloud with a sigh and then he found himself weeping. "Ah, Atar, how I have failed thee in this dark hour."

*And now, My son, thou dost see the fruits of thine own arrogance, dost thou not?* came the small still voice from deep within him.

"Arrogance?" Manwë asked, distressed. "When have I ever been arrogant, Atar? In what way have I fallen so far from thy favor?"

*When thou and thy brethren did fail to consult Me when ye were deciding the fate of My Firstborn Children,* Atar answered gently.

Manwë thought back to that time. He knew he had consulted with Atar about taking war to Melkor when once they had learned of the existence of the Firstborn, but then....

*Yes, My son, but then ye did not consult me about the Children themselves,* Atar supplied.

"But we went to war for them, as thou didst bid," Manwë replied, feeling puzzled.

*A war ye should have fought far earlier, before ever the Children came into being,* Atar reprimanded him with loving sternness. *In not contesting Melkor’s domination of Arda sooner than you did, in not consulting Me as to the disposition of the Children once Melkor was subdued, ye showed a decided lack of estel, for ye should have trusted that in a legitimate war I would not have permitted thy brother so greatly to damage Arda that the Children could not come, or could not inhabit it.*

Manwë cringed. As loving as the rebuke was, it seared his inner most being and he saw the truth of it in a blinding flash of understanding. Yes. They had lacked estel, and more, they had been arrogant, seeing the Eldar as if they were of their own crafting, or as playthings for their own amusement and delight, and not as the creation of Another Whose Will was paramount.

"Then, if we had never convinced them to join us here in Aman...."

*What would have been is no longer thy concern, my son,* Atar said. *Thou didst not consult with Me and so I let ye bring the Children to live amongst you, and ye must now live with that decision and all that follows from it, the bad as well as the good.*

"Forgive me, Atar," Manwë said sorrowfully. "I fear thou didst put too much trust in mine abilities to rule in thy name. Perhaps another should be thy vice-gerent."

Now there was the hint of amusement in the One’s voice. *For better or worse, My son, thou art it. Thou art My Voice in Eä. I do not expect perfection from thee, Manwë. Thou art bound to fall short of that in all thy works. That is how I made thee and thy brethren. I do not ask for thy perfection, only for thy love.*

"And thou shalt always have that, Atar," Manwë said humbly.

*I know,* Atar replied and then Manwë gasped as a wave of pure love swept through him and he was lost in it for an exquisite second of eternity. For in that moment he was back in the Timeless Halls and much that he had forgotten in the long uncounted Ages in Eä he now remembered with a clarity he had not realized he had lost. It was both wonderful and terrible and when the wave receded he gave a shudder, already forgetting what his fëa could not bear here in the Little Kingdom, as Tulkas so fondly liked to call it.

A faint stirring in his mind as he received a query from Varda brought him back to himself and he pulled himself together, answering her and inviting her and the others to join him. Instantly they were there, including Námo, who looked grimmer than he had ever seen him.

"What was their response?" he asked the Lord of Mandos without preamble.

Námo told them and they all looked grim at his words. Even Tulkas scowled, his usual laughter gone from his heart and his eyes at the intransigence of the Children. Manwë closed his eyes in sorrow. "At the last," Námo said as he came to the end of his report, "Fëanáro spoke this doom: ‘The deeds that we shall do shall be the matter of song until the last days of Arda.’"

Manwë opened his eyes, his face resolute and it seemed to them as if he was one who hears a voice far off. "So shall it be!" he proclaimed loudly, and they could all hear the echo of Another in his words. "Dear-bought those songs shall be accounted, and yet shall be well-bought. For the price could be no other. Thus even as Atar spoke to us shall beauty not before conceived be brought into Eä, and evil yet be good to have been."

Námo, of course, had to have the last word, his voice like shards of ice piercing the very core of their fëar. "And yet remain evil. To me shall Fëanáro come soon."

****

iAlaharyainë: The Dispossessed (Ones). The prefix ala- ‘no, un-’ denotes the opposite, the reversal, i.e. more than the mere negation.

Dáhanigwishtilgun: (Valarin) The original name of Taniquetil.

‘Most significant, [the loremasters] cite from an ancient legend of the Flight the tale that as the mists of Araman wrapped the distant mountains of Valinor from the sight of the Noldor, Fëanor raised his hands in token of rejection and cried: "I go. Neither in light or shadow will I look upon you again, Dahanigwishtilgun." So it was recorded, though the writers of the histories no longer knew what he meant. For which reason the strange word may have been ill transmitted. But even so it still bears some likeness to Taniquetil, though it can no longer be analysed.’ [War of the Jewels, HoME XI, Quendi and Eldar: ‘Note on the Language of the Valar’]

Note: Manwë’s conversation with Eru is taken in part from ‘The Converse of Manwë and Eru’, appended to the Commentary to Athrabeth ah Finrod, found in Morgoth’s Ring, HoME X.

~ End of Part Three ~

PART FOUR: BENEATH THE STARS’ VAST SILENCE

‘Through darkness one may come to the light.’

— Unfinished Tales, ‘Of Tuor and His Coming to Gondolin’

****

72: Salvaging Hope

Alqualondë: Year of Darkness 2:

The bodies of both the Teleri and the Noldor had been removed from the scenes of battle. Olwë had ordered those of the Noldor to be piled up outside the city, on the cliffs north of Alqualondë. The Teleri were brought into the city, each family taking their slain to their homes. Eventually, it had been decided that a flotilla would take the bodies of the Teleri out to sea to be given into the bosom of Lord Ulmo. Falmaron’s body had been found eventually, lying beside an unconscious Cemendil, who apparently had sustained only minor injuries. The Vanya was still recovering from shock and would not, or perhaps could not, speak of what happened. Olwë was considering sending for Cemendil’s family or even having the ellon escorted back to Vanyamar once he was sufficiently recovered to travel.

Falmaron lay in state in the palace, lying on a hastily constructed platform covered with sendal while the citizens of Alqualondë filed past to render their last respects to their prince. Lirillë and Olwen had insisted on washing and dressing him themselves. A tearful and apologetic Faniel had asked to help and Olwë did not have the heart to refuse her, for she was no less his daughter than Olwen or Eärwen. Falmaron was now dressed in his finest robes of blue and green silk, a coronet of pearls on his fair brow. The thought of having to send his beautiful son to the bottom of the Great Sea to rot among the seaweed tore at Olwë’s heart. He was not sure he could actually do it, though he knew he had no choice. It would not be long before the bodies of the slain, including his beloved child, would begin to stink of corruption.

Reports had come to him throughout the city of finding people lying dead, yet they had no marks of violence upon them. Only their expressions were ones of frozen horror. Olwë, when he visited one such, realized with a sinking heart what had happened. The shock of bonds being severed between spouses and between parents and children had been too much for some and they had fled after their loved ones to Mandos, perhaps not even understanding what had happened until it was too late to return to their hröar.

He sighed, leaning down to kiss the cold, lifeless brow of the elleth lying there. "Lord Námo show you mercy, child," he whispered before rising and ordering that she and the others so found should be brought to one of the warehouses set aside for the preparation of the bodies so they could be made seemly for their final journey.

Olwë left, but he did not return to the palace. Instead, some need drove him back onto the beach, to wander the shore in a daze, not entirely sure what he was looking for. Elennen and Eäralato, another of his guards, trailed behind him. The beach was empty. Even the timbers of the wrecked ships had been taken away. They were now piled up on the cliff top, drying out, for Olwë had decided the Noldorin bodies would be put to the flames and what better than to have the wood of the very ships they had thought to steal be their funeral pyre? It was fitting, somehow.

No. There was nothing on the beach now. He should be getting back to Lirillë. He should be standing vigil over Falmaron. He should be comforting his other children. He should be sending word to Eärwen. He should....

He should be doing a lot of things but he could not. He stared about him, noticing that the light of the gems strewn through the sands was dimmed and he knew that they were encrusted with blood. He wondered vaguely how long it would take to scrub the blood off each and every gem and the very absurdity of it forced him to his knees and he began weeping. The two guards, bless themm, did not try to comfort him, but stood their ground, willing to give their king the privacy he needed.

At last, the tears ceased and he swiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeves. He was about to rise when he noticed something half-buried in the sand before him. He leaned over for a better look and began brushing the sand away to eventually reveal a sword, its blade encrusted with sand stuck to the coagulated blood. The hilt was set with jewels, an emerald between two sapphires. He grasped the hilt and pulled the sword out of the sand, holding it out before him with the blade point up. He heard a soft gasp from Eäralato behind him, but ignored the ellon, staring blankly at the sword.

Could this have been the sword that took my Falmaron’s life? he wondered. Did it really matter? another part of him asked. He was about to throw it away in disgust, feeling soiled by its very presence, but some impulse that he did not understand stayed his hand and instead he climbed to his feet, turning around to face his guards. "Let’s go back to the city," he said, and, still holding the sword, he made his way back to the bridge that connected the city to the shore. All who saw their king striding through the city with the sword in his hand blanched at the sight, wondering what it might portend.

****

Upon returning to the palace, he went directly to his study, ordering Eäralato to find him a large enough cloth to wrap the sword in. The guard scurried off, soon returning with a stained bit of canvas. Olwë nodded and gestured for him to lay it on the floor. Then he placed the sword on it and covered it.

"Open the chest," he ordered, gesturing with his chin at a carved chest sitting against the wall. It was long enough to accept the sword easily. Eäralato quickly opened it as Olwë and Elennen looked on. "Take out whatever is in it and find some other place for them." Eäralato complied, pulling out scrolls and other items, While Elennen piled them on a sideboard. Olwë then placed the sword inside the chest and closed the lid.

"What will you do with it, Sire?" Elennen asked.

"I haven’t decided yet," Olwë said, staring down at the lid, running his fingers over the carved panels depicting scenes of ships and sealife. He glanced up at the guard, giving him a faint smile that held no humor. "I’m sure I’ll think of something."

Elennen was about to comment when there was a knock on the door and Lindarion pushed it open, his face white, his expression troubled. "Atar, you had better come quickly."

"What is it?" Olwë asked, but already he was joining his heir at the door and together father and son strode down the corridor with Elennen and Eäralato behind them.

"There is a crowd outside the palace," Lindarion explained. "They are... they are demanding vengeance."

Olwë sighed, running a hand through his hair. "How large a crowd?"

"Half the city, or so it seems," Lindarion answered. He stopped, looking grave. "Some of your own councillors are among them."

Olwë scowled. "In that case, go and tell my councillors that they are to attend me in the Great Audience Hall at the next bell. Have the people choose no more than a dozen to represent them and bring them along. Tell the others to go about their business. I will not have them hanging about when there is still much that needs doing."

"And if they do not wish to leave?" Lindarion asked, his eyes hooded, his expression unreadable.

Olwë glared at his heir. "Then order the guards to disperse them."

Lindarion stared at his atar for a moment and then nodded. "I’ll see that all is as you command," he said, giving Olwë a brief bow before striding away. Olwë gave a sigh and looked at his his two guards, standing there impassively. "Go see that the audience hall is readied," he ordered, "while I change out of these clothes." He gestured at his leggings and tunic, wet sand clinging to them. Both guards bowed and went to do their lord’s bidding, while Olwë continued on to his bedroom, calling out to his valet for hot water and clean clothes.

****

Olwë had purposely chosen to have the meeting in the Great Audience Hall, with its soaring dome under which the alabaster and pearl thrones stood, its pearlescent walls studded with emeralds and sapphires and the blue-grey marble with the inlaid star patterns in pearls tiling the floor, as well as the tapestries depicting sea scenes, all illuminated by crystal lamps, the light of which shimmered and shifted, giving one the impression of standing within Lord Ulmo’s realm. It never failed to awe and Olwë wanted these people to be reminded of just who was ruling here.

To that end, he donned one of his more sumptuous robes of state, made of heavy sea-green watered silk, studded with pearls. He wore a coronet of precious silver, prized by the Lindar even above gold, with emeralds, sapphires and pearls set in it, glittering in the lamplight. Lindarion, upon returning to inform him that the councillors and representatives were being assembled, quickly went off to change his own clothes, donning his own robe of state of blue watered silk with his personal emblem embroidered on the front, replacing the simple circlet he normally wore on his head with one of twisted mithril with a single diamond, sparkling with the blue of the deepest water. When he emerged from his room, he joined his atar as Olwë headed for the audience hall.

"Where is your amillë?" he asked his son.

"With Falmaron," Lindarion replied grimly. "She is there with Olwen, Salmar and Faniel."

Olwë nodded. "Good. I would rather not expose any of them to the anger and hatred that we will no doubt find waiting for us, especially Faniel. The child does not deserve to be punished for the crimes of others."

"I’ve spoken with Salmar," Lindarion said. "He and I agreed that for the time being, he and Faniel will stay quiet and out of the way. He would like to accompany us when we take Falmaron to his final rest, but he will not leave Faniel. I’ve also ordered extra guards around their suite, discreetly, I assure you. Until cooler heads prevail, I don’t want to take any chances."

Olwë gave his son and heir a rueful look. "Something I should have seen to myself," he said.

Lindarion gave him a sympathetic look. "You had other things on your mind, Atar. I was glad to be doing something. It stops me from thinking so much."

Olwë nodded, putting an arm around Lindarion’s shoulders, giving him a hug. "And I am glad that you are here to help, yonya. Your presence eases my own fëa." He leaned over and gave the ellon a kiss on the temple, then straightened, sighing as they reached the audience chamber, guards pulling open the door to admit them while Olwë’s steward, Eällindo, announced their arrival.

Olwë looked neither left nor right, refusing to acknowledge anyone until he was seated on his throne. Lindarion moved to stand on his right, as his heir, one step down. Olwë’s councillors were ranged before him, with a dozen others in the garb of sea captains and merchants, along with a few sporting guild colors. Their faces were gaunt, their eyes burning with hatred and deep pain. He saw Elennáro, his chief bard, standing to one side with a sardonic look on his face. Olwë resisted a smile. Later, he would send for the bard, who would recite the entire conversation to him from memory, right down to individual intonations, one of Elennáro’s gifts which made him so invaluable to the king, and then offer his own thoughts and observations. Whatever decisions his councillors and these good citizens would demand of him he would not be pressured to go one way or another without due deliberation. Too much was at stake.

He glanced at his councillors, and seeing Lord Uinion amongst them, made eye contact with the ellon, then crooked his finger and waggled it a couple of times so that the lord stepped forward. "You may act as spokesman for the other councillors, Uinion," Olwë said, then turned to the group of citizens huddled together, looking suitably awed by their surroundings. "Is there one among you whom you will have as your representative?" he asked. "I will not allow all of you to speak, though if you have anything to add to the conversation, I will grant you leave to do so."

There was some whispering among the citizens and then finally one ellon stepped out and gave a short bow. "I am Ainairos, Sire," he said. "I have been chosen to speak for the citizens of Alqualondë."

"And what is your occupation, Master Ainairos?" Olwë asked politely.

"I am a shipwright, Sire," the ellon answered.

Olwë nodded. "We’ll start with you, Lord Uinion."

The lord gave his king a bow. "By your leave, Sire, we are wondering what you intend to do."

"About what, Uinion?" Olwë demanded sharply. "Do not waste my time by being coy. Speak plainly."

The lord grimaced. "What do you intend to do about the... the... Kinslayers, Olwë?"

"Nothing," Olwë replied with a shrug. "They are no longer our concern."

An angry murmur swept through the group and several of the citizens cast Olwë dark looks.

"I mean, the Noldor in Tirion," Uinion said. "What are we to do with them?"

Now Olwë frowned and leaned forward. "And what would you like me to do, Uinion?" he asked softly.

Uinion licked his lips, hesitating for a moment. That hesitation was too much for Ainairos, standing next to him. He gave the lord an angry glare, then turned to Olwë, his voice full of bitterness. "They should be punished, your Majesty. They should be made to suffer as we have suffered."

Lindarion took a step towards the shipwright, his expression stern. "You speak out of turn, Ainairos."

"I speak what we all feel," Ainairos retorted, sweeping an arm to encompass both the councillors and his fellow citizens. "The Noldor should be punished!"

"How?" Olwë demanded. "Do you wish to make weapons out of harpoons, march up the Calacirya and fall upon those in Tirion? Would you be kinslayers as well?"

"My brother lies dead because of them," Ainairos nearly screamed, fury suffusing him. "All of us have lost kin...."

"Including me," Olwë said, rising, giving them all a hard stare. "My second son lies in state not a hundred paces away with his amillë and his siblings watching over him. I should be with them, I and my heir. But instead, I am here listening to your raving and your ranting about vengeance. Vengeance against whom? Against those who escaped us, fleeing northward? Let them go, I say! They are already being punished, I assure you. They go to their deaths, deaths that will be ignoble and far worse than anything we can inflict on them. Then who? Against the dead piled up on the cliff waiting to be put to the flames? Their punishment is beyond us, unless you wish to vent your spleen by desecrating their bodies."

"You are correct, Sire," Uinion said smoothly. "Yet, the need to strike out at our enemies burns within us."

"Enemies?" Olwë repeated, sitting down, his expression now unreadable. "What enemies, Uinion?"

"Why are you being so dense, Olwë!" Ainairos demanded, shocking everyone with his familiarity. Lindarion started towards him, but Olwë held him back. "Why are you deliberately ignoring what we are saying? Lord Uinion means the Noldor in Tirion. They are our enemies, now and for all time."

"So we are to gather up our harpoons and perhaps the swords lying on the beach and march up the Calacirya to fall upon the unsuspecting people of Tirion?" Olwë asked, attempting to remain calm, though he was fast getting to the point where he would cheerfully wring the ellon’s neck.

Lord Uinion took a step forward, as if to somehow distance himself from Ainairos. "Not at all, Sire. The very idea is absurd. Yet, we need to let the Noldor know that they are no longer our friends, that no longer will we welcome them to our homes. We do not want to ever see them again."

"And that goes for Ingwë’s people as well," one of the citizens chimed in. "We just want to be left alone. We want nothing to do with the other clans."

"We’ve had little to do with them as it is," Olwë commented with a sardonic smile. "If anything, our desire for isolation may well have spelled our doom."

There were shocked looks among those assembled. Olwë nodded. "What you demand of me, I am not sure, for should I sever all ties with the Noldor when my own daughter resides there? She holds the regency, I was told, along with Lady Anairë. And what of Princess Faniel, married to my youngest son, Salmar? Should I send her away, divorce her from her husband, she who recently gave me a grandson, simply because she is a Noldo? There are many in this realm who are of mixed blood, offspring of Lindarin and Noldorin unions. Some of you, I think, can claim this for yourself. How am I to judge you? Declare that all with Noldorin blood in their veins, however small the amount, must depart forever from here, from their homes and their loved ones?" He paused, shaking his head.

"Absurd," he continued. "And quite impractical. The Noldor in Tirion remained faithful to the Valar, refusing to follow Fëanáro in his rebellion. They have suffered enough, I deem, with the severing of familial ties that are even more final than those we have suffered, for our kin will someday be returned to us, but the Noldor who fled, they will never be allowed to return. I will not abandon those in Tirion for my daughter Eärwen’s sake."

"She can always return here," Lord Uinion suggested with an unctuous smile. "A lone Linda among the Noldor, she will not be happy there. Why do you not command her to return, Sire, and then you would have no reason to deal with the Noldor?"

"An interesting idea, Uinion," Olwë replied, "except for one thing. My daughter has cleaved herself to her husband’s people, as is only meet. She will not thank me for demanding that she return to Alqualondë, nor will I do so. If she wishes to return of her own free will, I will gladly welcome her back. In the meantime, as long as she remains in Tirion, I will not sever all ties with the Noldor there, nor will I do so with Ingwë. We have no reason to hate the Vanyar."

"Do we not?" Ainairos demanded. "Where was Ingwë in all this? Where was the High King of all of Eldamar when that misbegotten son of Finwë was speaking rebellion and inciting his followers to folly? Where was he, where were any of them, when Fëanáro and the other Noldor fell upon us and slew our kin, slew my brother? Where was he?" This last was nearly screamed. Two of the other ellyn among the citizens reached forward and held him, perhaps fearing that in his fury Ainairos would even dare to attack Olwë.

The king stared at the fuming ellon, then swept his gaze upon the others, gauging their mood. The councillors appeared calm, though he saw the pain and heartache in their eyes. The citizens seemed more agitated and there was much murmuring among them, clearly unhappy with this turn of events. Olwë raised his hand to still the murmurs.

"If even the Valar were unable to turn Fëanáro or any of the Noldor aside from their folly, how can you expect even someone like Ingwë to do so?" he asked softly. "The Valar...."

"Abandoned us," one of the other councillors said sourly. "They did nothing to save us."

"And thus, what?" Olwë demanded. "Are we to forbid the Valar entrance to our city along with the Noldor?" He snorted at the absurdity of the suggestion. "I do not know why the Valar chose not to aid us against Fëanáro, though perhaps that storm that came up was their answer. I only know that seeking vengeance is foolish. Unless you want to run after the Noldor and throw spears at them, and then you are no less guilty of kinslaying than they if you do."

There were abashed looks among them, though Ainairos’ expression was still bitter. "My brother lies dead because of them," he said. "His blood cries out for vengeance. Is that to be denied him?"

"Him or you?" Olwë retorted. "Your brother now resides in Mandos and I will let Lord Námo deal with him. As for you, Ainairos, and all of you, your best revenge against those who slew your kin is to help rebuild our city, to not give into hatred and despair and bitterness of heart, for then they would have final victory over us. I will deny them that. I will do all in my power to salvage what I can out of this disaster, to bring peace of mind to my people. Our songs will be sad for a time, but I hope a day will come when someone sings a song of gladness and thanksgiving. I will try to salvage what hope I can so that we do not succumb to a darkness that is more than an absence of light; it is an absence of life as well."

He stood then, giving them an imperious look, addressing Ainairos and his fellows. "Your concerns have been noted, and We will consider them carefully, but We will not tolerate these demands for vengeance. Return to your homes and to your families and work to rebuild our city and our lives. You have Our permission to depart."

There was some shuffling of feet among the citizens and not a few gave him frustrated looks, but one by one, they gave him their obeisance and made their way out. Ainairos was the last to leave and the expression on his face was not pleasant. Olwë gave Elennáro a significant look as Ainairos spun on his heels and followed his fellow citizens from the chamber and the bard gave him an infinitesimal nod. Elennáro would soon have one of his journeymen following Ainairos. If the ellon was planning any mischief, Olwë wanted to know about it sooner rather than later. Having dealt with that problem, he turned to Uinion and his other councillors.

"We are disappointed in you," he said gravely. "We look to you to help keep the city calm, to oversee the clean-up and the rebuilding, not inciting our good subjects to thoughts of vengeance. We have all suffered. Let us put aside our anger and our desire to see someone pay for what has been done to us and concentrate on succoring our people. The Privy Council will meet at the rising of Alcarinquë, where we will discuss the logistics of burying our slain in the Great Sea and the ceremony that we will have for them. Until then, you have Our permission to depart."

The councillors all made their obeisance and departed. Only Lindarion, Eällindo, Eäralato and Elennáro remained. Lindarion gave his atar a watery grin. "I was sure that Ainairos fellow was going to attack you," he said.

Olwë snorted and turned to Elennáro. "I will want your thoughts on this meeting, Elennáro. Come to me after the next daymeal."

The bard nodded. "And Ainairos?"

"Have him watched and note to whom he speaks and what is said, if the watcher is able to listen in without being caught," Olwë said.

"It will be as you say, Sire," Elennáro said, giving him his obeisance before leaving.

Olwë sighed and sat heavily on his throne, closing his eyes.

"Speaking of burials, Sire," Eällindo said, "what are we to do with the ashes of the Noldor once we burn them? Is there to be any kind of ceremony for them? Should we perhaps gather them into coffers and send them back to Tirion?"

Olwë opened his eyes and shook his head. "No. As soon as the wood is dry, order the cremations. The sooner they are burnt, the sooner we can put all this behind us. Let the winds scatter their ashes whither they will. Let them have no memorial built for them, as there will be one built for our own people, for I will have the names of all who were slain recorded and a memorial made to stand in the central square of the city, so in future years they will be remembered. But of the Noldor, let not even the wind remember their names."

"Will that not incite people towards anger and vengeance, though?" Eäralato asked, looking troubled.

"I will not commission the memorial immediately," Olwë answered. "I will wait until hearts are cooled and reason prevails among us. I think it will be long and long before we are fully recovered from this tragedy, yet the memories of the slain need to be honored in some fashion."

"At least we won’t have the Noldor to deal with anymore," Lindarion ventured in a hesitant voice, as if not sure how his atar would respond to his words.

Olwë gave his heir a sardonic smile. "From your lips to Lord Ulmo’s ears, my son." Then he stood up and threw an arm around Lindarion’s shoulders. "Come. Let us go to Falmaron."

Lindarion nodded and together they left the chamber to spend some time beside their own slain.

****

Alcarinquë: ‘The Glorious’; the planet Jupiter.

Notes:

1. The title for Part IV is derived from Rainer Maria Rilke’s poem, ‘I am, O Anxious One. Don’t you hear my voice’ — from The Book of Hours:

     ‘...If you are the dreamer, I am what you dream.

     when you want to wake, I am your wish,

     and I grow strong with all magnificence

     and turn myself into a star’s vast silence

     above the strange and distant city, Time.’

2. Ainairos appears in the Book of Lost Tales I, Chapter IX, ‘The Hiding of Valinor’: ‘Indeed if the Gods forgot not the folly of the Noldoli and hardened their hearts, yet more wroth were the Elves, and the Solosimpi [i.e. the Teleri] were full of bitterness against their kin, desiring never more to see their faces in the pathways of their home. Of these the chief were those whose kin had perished at the Haven of the Swans, and their leader was one Ainairos who had escaped from that fray leaving his brother dead; and he sought unceasingly with his words to persuade the Elves to greater bitterness of heart.’

73: Entulessë

The return trip to Tirion was a nightmare for Arafinwë and the Noldor who followed him. The incessant darkness lay heavily upon their fëar, the stars above them unheeded. No one looked up as they retraced their steps. There was little chatter among them and no songs were sung. Children had ceased to cry, too weary to do more than cling to the adults around them, their expressions one of Hope-Irretrievably-Lost.

That is what we are now, Arafinwë thought as he trudged along the beach. We are the Estellóralië. We threw Hope away in our arrogance, killed it along with our Telerin kin. He shuddered, not caring who saw.

They trudged on, stopping when need forced them to. Arafinwë thought it ironic that they generally stopped at the same campsites they had made on the way North. But it made things easier, for they already knew where the water was and where to find wood for fire. Food was a bit scarcer, but they managed. Arafinwë detailed a number of the ellyn as hunters and scouts and they never failed to bring down some game. If there wasn’t much, most of it went to the elflings.

There was no way to tell the passing of time, save by the stars. Some of the older Elves who remembered the Great Journey kept the children amused by pointing out the constellations, naming the brighter stars and those they called the wanderers, and teaching them how to measure the hours by the shifting of the stars. Arafinwë found himself listening in on the ‘lessons’, slowly learning the art of telling time by the stars along with the youngsters.

Eventually, they reached the outer boundaries of the Telerin kingdom of Alqualondë. Many of the Noldor wondered aloud how they were going to get past Alqualondë without the Teleri knowing.

"They will not know that we had naught to do with the killings," one pointed out to Arafinwë. "If they see us, they are likely to attack us."

"We can defend ourselves if necessary," another said, gripping his sword.

"That will most likely just make matters worse," a third retorted with a sneer for her companion.

"If we stick to the highlands, we can avoid the city altogether," the first ellon suggested. "We can travel inland a bit. We wouldn’t need to make for the beaches until we’re well south of the city. They’ll never know we were there."

"Unless they’ve set sentries on the cliffs," the second ellon remarked. "That’s what I would do under the circumstances."

"We are not going to sneak past Alqualondë," Arafinwë said firmly. "I need to speak with Olwë and begin making reparations."

"Reparations?" an elleth asked, her confusion mirrored in the faces of the others who comprised Arafinwë’s makeshift council. Arafinwë nodded. "But, we had nothing to do with...."

Arafinwë glared at the elleth, effectively silencing her. "We had everything to do with what happened. We followed Fëanáro. And while we may not have killed anyone, we are still Noldor and it was Noldor who did the killing. So yes, we who are left of the Noldorin kingdom will make reparation."

"How?" someone asked. "We cannot bring back the dead. In what manner can we possibly make reparations?"

"I know not," Arafinwë admitted, though he had some glimmerings of an idea. His half-brother had accused those who were returning of being no better than house-thralls to the Valar. He suspected that might be truer than Fëanáro knew. "That is why I must speak to Olwë. So, we will not attempt to evade Alqualondë. However, prudence dictates that we make every effort to avoid any unnecessary confrontations. To that end, I want the elflings and the adults caring for them to make for the highlands with a suitable guard. The rest will follow me along the shore. Those taking the highland route are not to linger but to continue on towards the Calacirya. Once they are safely past Alqualondë they can make for the beaches and wait for the rest of us."

Orders were given and the camp divided, with perhaps a third splitting off to head west towards the Pelóri and the highlands overlooking the Sea. The rest would continue following Arafinwë, who held an elfling sleeping in his arms as he waited for the people to sort themselves out. She was one of the youngest of the children, latching herself to Arafinwë from the beginning. She had refused to leave his side, screaming in terror whenever someone tried to take her to join the other elflings. In the end, Arafinwë decided to keep her with him. Perhaps, he reasoned, if the Teleri saw him with an elfling, they would be less inclined to hurt him.

Perhaps if the other elflings....

No! He suddenly realized what he was doing and it sickened him. No one would deliberately harm a child whatever the provocation. If the Teleri saw the elflings among them, they might be less inclined to attack them. He shook his head in dismay. What could he have been thinking? Was he indeed such a coward that he would use children as shields against the righteous fury of the Teleri? He wondered how much of Fëanáro’s sickness of fëa had rubbed off on him that he would even contemplate such a thing, even for a moment.

He sighed, signaling for the smaller group to set out. Their route would actually be the longer as it snaked its way along the cliffside. The shore route was more straightforward. When the last of the elves disappeared behind a fold of the earth, Arafinwë nodded grimly to those who would be following him.

"Let’s go," he said shifting his burden slightly. Silently they trudged on with Arafinwë leading, the elfling still snuggled contentedly in his arms.

****

Olwë looked up from the report that he was perusing, detailing the last of the cremations, gazing at nothing in particular. It had taken longer than they had originally thought to burn all the bodies of the Noldor. Reports had come in from outlying fishing villages of bodies still washing ashore with questions of what to do with them. Olwë first thought to have the bodies brought to Alqualondë, to be burned with the rest, but that proved somewhat impractical and he had given the orders for any bodies to be burned where found. Some had questioned if they shouldn’t just weigh the bodies down and throw them back into the Sea, but Olwë had forbidden it.

"I will not pollute Lord Ulmo’s realm with the corpses of the Noldor. They do not deserve such consideration. Why should the murderers of our people lie alongside our own dead?"

So the bodies, wherever they were found, were sent to the flames, their ashes scattered by the sea winds. Olwë grimaced. The task of cremating all those bodies had been a torment. The stench was appalling and there was a pall of thick oily smoke that hung over the city for the longest time, sickening its inhabitants until a stiff east wind drove the cloud away. They had run out of wood before they ran out of bodies and Olwë had ordered some of the precious timber used to build their ships brought forth from the warehouses where it was being seasoned. That had been the hardest thing and he had cursed Fëanáro all over again.

The disposition of their own dead had gone off without incident. A flotilla had been formed, the dead carefully wrapped in sailcloth on which the person’s name was stitched. That had been Lirillë’s idea. Falmaron had been wrapped in a sheet of blue samite shot with silver thread. Lirillë had lovingly stitched his name and lineage on the cloth, while Olwen and Faniel had embroidered his personal device. Olwë wasn’t sure why they thought it necessary, yet it seemed to comfort them.

"I want Lord Ulmo to know who resides in his realm," Lirillë had told her husband when he asked. Others, hearing of the Queen’s idea, did the same for their own dead.

The flotilla made its way towards the southeast, heading towards an island of rocky spires that pushed their way out of the waters, known to the sailors as Nelci Osseva, though now Olwë had renamed it Tol Nyérë Oio. Just beyond these rocks the water was deep. Olwë had decided that their dead would lie there, the spot easily found so that the living could come and visit and mourn. There was very little ceremony. Olwë, standing on the deck of the lead ship, made a simple speech, commending their loved ones to ‘Lord Ulmo’s bosom’ and then he and his family kissed Falmaron’s enshrouded forehead one last time before consigning him to the Sea. After that, the other bodies were thrown overboard. Olwë’s bard, Elennáro, standing beside the royal family, plucked on his harp and sang a dirge to the dead, his voice carrying over the dark waters so all could hear. There had been no wailing and few tears, for the living had used them all up.

As the ceremony continued, Olwë heard many around him whispering to their neighbors, wondering where Lord Ossë was. Indeed, neither he nor Lady Uinen had made their presence known and that had both saddened and angered the Teleri, feeling even now that they had been abandoned by the Valar. Olwë felt the same, but kept his expression impassive while watching the bodies being consigned to the Sea. He knew he wasn’t the only one who wondered why neither Maia or even Lord Ulmo himself had come and offered their condolences. He rather suspected it was a combination of guilt and shame that kept the Powers away, but he wasn’t entirely sure.

Olwë sighed heavily as he lowered his gaze and re-read the words on the parchment, reaching for a quill and adding his signature to the bottom of the document, putting it to one side. His secretary would file it with the rest of his papers later, though he personally wished he could just burn it. He did not want such a document cluttering up his archives, forever reminding them of what they had lost. A knock on the door of his study saved him from having to read the next document on his desk and he bade the person to enter.

Elennen came in, his expression grim. "Sentries have spotted a group of people heading for Alqualondë," he said.

Olwë lifted an eyebrow. "How many people and from which direction?" he asked, wondering if his daughter had decided to return to Alqualondë. He had sent Eärwen a letter detailing what had happened. Having to write of Falmaron’s death had nearly undone him and he could not stop the tears as he wrote to her.

"The numbers I do not know," the guard admitted, "but they are coming from the North. They can only be the Noldor returning."

Olwë felt a frisson of shock course through him and it took him precious seconds to gather his wits. He felt himself grow angry. "They dare? They dare to return?" He stood up, gripping the edge of his desk, his expression cold. "Call up the guard," he ordered. "See that the northern approaches are manned. If Fëanáro has returned to finish what he started, he will not find us sleeping."

Elennen saluted and went to do the king’s bidding. Olwë took several deep breaths, then went to find Lindarion and Salmar. He would go to meet the Noldor and this time he would be armed. The smiths had been working ceaselessly to bring forth weapons, mostly swords modeled on those which the Noldor had wielded, as well as spears similar to those used for fishing, though these had a longer reach. Even hunting bows had been brought out and new arrows fletched. No. The Teleri would never again be caught unawares and unarmed. They had learned that bitter lesson all too well.

He and his remaining sons led the way to the northern approach, Elennen bringing them the latest news as they wended their way through the city with many of the citizens following behind, armed with whatever came to hand, their expressions grim. "There appear to be two groups," the guard said. "The largest group is coming along the shore, the smaller group is making its way along the cliffs. Our scouts are reporting that that group seems to be comprised mostly of ellith and elflings with a few ellyn obviously acting as guards."

"And the larger group?" Olwë enquired. "Has anyone identified who leads it?"

"Not that I know, Sire," Elennen replied. "They are still some distance away and I ordered the sentries not to engage the Noldor. Actually, their main task at the moment is to stop those who are all set to fall upon the Noldor and strike first."

Lindarion shook his head in disgust. "That’s all we need, more kinslaying, but it will be us who are the instigators this time around."

"Not if I can help it," Olwë said quietly.

They made their way across one of the bridges connecting the city with the mainland, then headed north where they saw a line of ellyn blocking the way. As they neared they could hear someone — Olwë thought he recognized Ainairos’ voice — challenging the approaching Noldor.

"Have you returned to finish the slaughter you started, Noldo!" Ainairos screamed. Olwë was just in time to see Ainairos hurl a rock at the lead Noldo whom Olwë recognized as Arafinwë holding an elfling in his arms. He watched in horror as Arafinwë turned away to protect the child in his arms so the rock found its mark on his back instead. Arafinwë cried out in pain and fell to his knees, still holding the child protectively in his arms. Thankfully the little one never woke.

"Hold!" Olwë commanded as he pushed his way through the crowd, casting a look of fury at Ainairos, who did not even have the grace to look ashamed, as he made his way to Arafinwë’s side. He bent down to lift the ellon up and was dismayed when his son-in-law tried to crawl away, whimpering in pain.

"Hush," Olwë whispered. "Do not be afraid." He lifted his daughter’s husband up, grimacing when he noticed the dark stain spreading across the ellon’s tunic where the rock had hit him. He cast a sour look at the still unrepentant Ainairos before returning his attention to Arafinwë.

"Yonya," he said softly, brushing a hand through the ellon’s hair. "What are you doing here?"

Arafinwë could only stand there and weep. Olwë gently removed the still sleeping child from his heart-son’s arms and handed her off to Lindarion, who had come to stand with him. The child stirred, but Lindarion spoke softly to her and she settled back into sleep. Gasps and moans of distress came from the Noldor, who no doubt feared that the child would be the next victim of their rebellion. Olwë looked upon them with pity.

"Fear not," he exclaimed, even as he wrapped a comforting arm around a still weeping Arafinwë. "The child will come to no harm. None of you will. Take what ease you may." He turned to Arafinwë, forcing him to look up. "We know there is another group making their way along the cliffs. What is their intent?"

Arafinwë shook his head. "No evil, I promise," he said. "We... I did not wish to expose the women and children to danger. They are making their way to the Calacirya."

Olwë nodded. "I will have some of my people bring them down to join you," he said. "I imagine the little ones are tired and hungry. I will see to it that food and provisions are provided."

"What!?" Ainairos screamed. "You would aid the very people who murdered your son?"

Arafinwë went white and reeled in Olwë’s grasp. He stared at the king in horror. "Who....?" He looked around frantically to see who of the king’s sons besides Lindarion was there and then he saw Salmar, but not Falmaron, and knew the truth. "Oh, Valar, no." And the anguish in his voice was evident to all.

Olwë turned a fierce look at Ainairos. "Be silent!" he commanded. "These are not the Kinslayers. Do you not see? None here wear the colors of the House of Fëanáro, only those of my son-in-law and some I see are wearing the colors of Ñolofinwë’s House. I know for a fact that they did not participate in the killings."

"They are Noldor!" Ainairos insisted hotly. "They deserve our wrath." Several people standing with the ellon murmured their agreement with his words.

Olwë gestured to Lindarion to surrender the elfling to him. His son did so reluctantly. The child, her sleep disturbed, woke frightened and confused, calling out for "Atto". Olwë ignored her cries, putting her on the ground, one hand holding her tightly in place. He glared at Ainairos.

"Go ahead," he said through gritted teeth, taking a couple of steps away from the child who started screaming in fear and tried to reach Arafinwë. Olwë blocked her path and pushed her none too gently back between him and Ainairos. She stood there in shock, weeping, and Olwë noticed with sorrow that she had wetted herself, but he kept his expression schooled to scorn as he stared at Ainairos. "Go ahead," he repeated. "She may be your first victim."

"No!" Arafinwë cried and he tried to reach for the elleth but Lindarion and Salmar grabbed him and held him fast. Lindarion whispered something in his brother-in-law’s ear.

Ainairos stared at the elfling and then glanced up at Olwë, his expression uncertain. "I don’t...."

Olwë stooped and picked up the rock Ainairos had thrown at Arafinwë and threw it back to him. "You may use this," he said coldly. "I’m sure you will be able to hit her with enough force to kill her outright, but maybe not, and then you will either have to smash her skull in or drive your knife into her heart."

There was absolute silence save for the weeping of the child, standing lost and forlorn. Ainairos stared at the rock in his hand for the longest time, and then, looking up at Olwë, he snarled a vicious oath, letting the rock drop at his feet. He turned and strode away, some of the others following him. Olwë waited for a count of three breaths before he moved, reaching for the elfling and taking her into his arms, speaking quietly and soothingly, telling her she was a brave little elleth and assuring her that no one would hurt her before handing her back to Lindarion. He then ordered his guards to secure the area.

"I do not wish for these people to be harassed," he said to Elennen. "See that food and drink are provided. They may remain here for now. Have those on the cliffs brought down to join their fellows."

The guard assured the king that all would be done according to his will and began issuing his own orders. Olwë gestured to Lindarion and Salmar, who still had Arafinwë in his grip. "Go to your amillë. Tell her what has happened. She will organize everything from that end."

Lindarion handed the now quiescent child back to Arafinwë and set off with Salmar to fulfill their atar’s wishes, while Olwë threw an arm around Arafinwë’s shoulder. "Come, my son. Let us get you and this little one cleaned up."

Arafinwë stared at his wife’s atar in surprise. "Why would you do this?"

"I do not blame you, yonya," Olwë whispered as he continued leading his son-in-law toward the city. "Any blame lies squarely with Fëanáro. I regret that you felt you had to join him in his madness and rejoice that you have abandoned such a hopeless enterprise, but I am at a loss to understand why."

Arafinwë shook his head. "That is too long a tale to tell here... Atto," he said.

"Then let us to the palace and you can tell me there, yonya," Olwë said, leaning over to give his son-in-law a kiss on the forehead.

****

Olwë insisted that Arafinwë bathe first and have his wound tended to. The child, whom Arafinwë told them was named Aldundilmë, was put in Faniel’s care. Aldundilmë, who was only twelve, was soon happily playing with Faniel and Salmar’s own young son, Lirillo, who was not quite twenty. When Arafinwë had bathed and dressed, he joined Olwë, Lirillë and Lindarion in their private sitting room where a light repast was offered. Arafinwë accepted the goblet of yellow wine from Lindarion as he filled them in on what had happened.

"Lord Námo has placed a terrible doom upon my people," he said as he drew his narrative to a close. He had spoken without emotion throughout his telling, scarcely looking up at his audience. "In the end, I faltered. I could not... my children...I’m naught but a coward, Atto. I know that now." He began weeping again and Olwë went and sat beside him, holding him closely.

"Nay, child. You are no coward. Few could have done what you did. I’m proud of you," he told the younger ellon and realized the truth of his own words. He was proud of his daughter’s husband. Eärwen had chosen wisely and well. He had no doubt that this youngest son of his friend Finwë would lead the remnant of the Noldor with honor.

"Go home, yonya," he said, giving Arafinwë a loving kiss on his temple. "Go home to your beloved Eärwen and offer her what comfort she will accept from you. You are the last of the royal House of the Noldor here in Aman. You are their king now. Return to Tirion and rule what is left of your people with as much dignity and wisdom as Eru has deigned to give you."

Arafinwë shook his head. "To Tirion I shall return, but not as king. I am the Valar’s thrall to do with as they will. My people shall offer themselves up to thralldom as expiation for their crimes against the Valar and our kin here in Alqualondë."

Olwë stared at his son-in-law in consternation. "Even little Aldundilmë and the other elflings? Would you condemn them to eternal thralldom as well, innocent though they be?"

"They are Noldor," Arafinwë said harshly. "There is no innocence in them any more."

Olwë shook his head sadly, giving Lirillë a helpless look. She rose and came to kneel before them, brushing a loving hand through Arafinwë’s golden locks. "It will be as the Valar decree, yonya," she said softly, giving him a smile. "Do not be surprised if they deny you the atonement you seek for yourself and your people in thralldom. They may reward you with mercy instead."

"Mercy I do not seek, for myself or my people."

"Nevertheless, mercy may be all they will offer you, and you will be forced to accept it, or rebel against them a second time," Olwë said gravely. "Then Mandos’ doom will fall upon you and that may prove more terrifying than any punishment you and your people might conceive for yourselves otherwise."

For several minutes there was silence between them, then Arafinwë sighed and looked at his wife’s family, the despair in his eyes almost more than any of them could bear. "I will return to Tirion with these others, but I will not return as their king. Let them find another to lead them for what little time they have left in freedom. I renounce the crown of the Noldor. Let the Valar be my witnesses."

Olwë shook his head in dismay. "You may find that renouncing the crown will be harder than you think, yonya. The Valar may not accept your oath. Ingwë certainly will not, or have you forgotten that you must seek his permission to renounce the crown?"

"I have not forgotten, Atto. I will go to Vanyamar and lay the crown of the Noldor at his feet, or at least a fair facsimile of it, for I know Fëanáro took the crown with him. We do not deserve to rule ourselves. We are fit for nothing now but thralldom."

Olwë sighed, unhappy that he could not turn this stubborn child from his intended course. "So be it, yonya. But know this, and may the One hear me, I forgive you and all who follow you. I place no blame upon your head. Go you to Ingwë and to Lord Manwë and do as you have vowed." Then he leaned down and kissed his heart-son on the brow and smiled wistfully. "Just don’t be surprised if they deny you your request."

****

The Noldor remained by the shores of Alqualondë for some time, regaining their strength. Some of them tentatively offered to help with any rebuilding or clearing that was still going on. Some of the Teleri were ready to refuse their help, but Olwë accepted it.

"Consider it as part of the reparation that will be demanded from you," he told them. He and Arafinwë had spent several hours discussing what reparations the Noldor could make. The uncrowned King of the Noldor agreed that a public apology needed to be made and plans were put into motion for the ceremony that would be held in the main courtyard of the palace where all could witness it.

It was a relatively short ceremony. Arafinwë, along with a representative group of the Noldorin aristocracy who were with him, knelt before the Telerin court. "I regret, my lord, all that has come between us," he said with heartfelt sincerity. "If it were in my power, I would restore all that thou and thy people have lost, but I can do naught but offer my sincerest and deepest apologies. Whatever thou dost demand of the Noldor, who were once a proud and noble clan, thou mayest be assured that it will be done. Accept us as thy thralls, for we deserve nothing less."

"As to that, my son," Olwë said, "that will be as the Valar decree. For myself, I forgive thee and those with thee, for I know that ye had naught to do with our present grief. Go thou, return to Tirion and take up the kingship that is thine by right of inheritance. Be the king that thine atar could not be. Be the king that Fëanáro never was."

He leaned down and lifted Arafinwë up and kissed him. Arafinwë scowled. "That is not how this was supposed to go, Atto," he whispered to Olwë.

Olwë merely smiled. "Go home, yonya. Go back to Tirion where you belong and take your people with you. I want no thralls in my realm."

****

The light from the Mindon Eldaliéva was the only thing that welcomed them back to Tirion. Arafinwë recalled how it had been the last thing of Tirion he had seen when he had looked back as he and his host reached the end of the Calacirya before turning to the North. Now, as they made their way back through the eastern gate he saw the city lost in gloom, the light of the Mindon barely penetrating the fogs of the Calacirya which had risen again to wreath it. None who had remained behind came out to greet them, though Arafinwë sensed eyes peeking out of darkened windows and doorways. When they reached one of the larger squares, Arafinwë spoke softly to his people, commanding them to return to their homes, to care for the elflings now left orphaned or reunite them with any kin who still abided there.

"I do not know what will become of us," he said to them, "but for now, leave not your homes unless need requires it. In time, I hope to learn what will be our fate, for I must go to the Valar and plead for our pardon. What the Valar will do afterwards remains to be seen. Our lives are no longer our own to do with as we will and we must wait upon the sufferance of our betters."

There was much weeping at these words, but no one protested them, for most there felt them to be true. They had forfeited even the right to name themselves Eldar and Quendi. They were the Nosselóra, the Kinless. They accepted this, bitter though it be.

Arafinwë made his way slowly along the colonnade of malinorni leading to the front portico of the palace. He went alone, save for Aldundilmë, who refused to be separated from him. His head was bent in sorrow and shame. Eärwen met him in the courtyard fronting the palace, warned by those on watch. He stopped some feet from her and looked up when he heard her call his name.

"I could not do it," he said in a whisper. "I could not go on. Oh my beloved, forgive me. I have lost our children and our people... our people..." but he could not continue and instead he fell to his knees and wept. Eärwen ran to him and knelt before him, taking him in her arms. Their tears mingled and it was some time before either found the strength to move again.

Aldundilmë stood beside them, forgotten, awkwardly patting Arafinwë’s hair in an attempt to comfort her new atto.

****

Entulessë: Return.

Estellóralië: The People Without Hope, from estel ‘hope’ + -lóra ‘suffix: -less, without’ + lië ‘people’. Cf. Eldalië "Elven-folk".

Nelci Osseva: Ossë’s Teeth.

Tol Nyérë Oio: Island of Grief Everlasting.

Mindon Eldaliéva: Lofty Tower of the Elven-folk. Usually known simply as the Mindon. The high white tower of Ingwë, rising above the houses and halls of Tirion. In the courts below the Tower grew the silver-white tree Ñalatilion (Sindarin: Galathilion). High in the Tower, a silver lantern was housed, its light shining far across the Sea and along the dim shores beneath the Pelóri. The shining beacon of the Mindon Eldaliéva was the last sight of Aman for the fleeing Noldor.

Note: Aldundilmë, at age twelve, is five years old in human terms, and her playmate, Lirillo, at age twenty, is eight years old in human terms.

74: Ingwion Alone

Ingwion did not stay in Tirion long once the exodus was over, though Amarië begged him to.

"Intarion and Lirulin will be returning with Findaráto," she said pleadingly. "Surely you will want to be here when they return."

Ingwion shook his head. "I very much doubt they will succeed, Amarië. Findaráto may have been reluctant to leave, but once he made up his mind to do so, I doubt if even the Valar could convince him to turn aside from this mad venture."

Amarië stared at him nonplused. "But he has to return," she said, her eyes imploring him. "He just has to. We’re supposed to be married."

Ingwion sighed and gave the elleth a hug. "I sincerely hope for your sake that he does, meldenya, but in the meantime, I need to return to Vanyamar. Atar needs me and I need to apprise him of these recent developments." He looked down at her and gave her a light kiss on the forehead. "If Findaráto returns...."

"When," Amarië insisted sharply. "When Findaráto returns."

Ingwion nodded, accepting the reproof. "When Findaráto returns, send me word and I will come." He kissed her again and then released her from his embrace, giving her a bow before leaving.

Anairë and Eärwen saw him privately before he left to give him their personal messages to Ingwë. Anairë seemed to Ingwion to be somewhat at a loss as to what to do. Her fair features were marred by a crease between her eyes and she had a haunted look about her, constantly wringing her hands in the folds of her skirts. Eärwen seemed more in control, but Ingwion sensed an underlying anger beneath that calm exterior, an anger he feared would explode given the slightest provocation.

"Please convey to his Majesty our deepest respects," Anairë said formally when Ingwion met them in Anairë’s private parlor. They were alone; not even their ladies-in-waiting were present. "Tell him that we would welcome any aid or advice or...."

"What Anairë means, Ingwion, is that she would be happier if Ingwë sent someone to rule us." Eärwen’s tone was brittle and she did not look at Anairë, who shot her a scathing look. Ingwion had the feeling that this was an old argument between the two ellith. "She seems to think we’re incapable of ruling ourselves and we need an ellon to do so instead."

"That’s not what I think at all, Eärwen!" Anairë exclaimed. "I only meant that the Noldor are so few now, it seems pointless for us to consider ourselves a viable nation. You know Fëanáro handed us the regency more in jest than with any real expectation that we would be able to do a credible job of it. Neither of us are really up to it... well, certainly I am not," she admitted, casting her eyes down.

"I disagree," Eärwen said hotly, glaring at her sister-in-law. "Indis is gone. There is no one left. I’m not even a Noldo! Yet, I have been trained to statecraft by my atar no less than my brothers. Fëanáro may have been half jesting when he gave us the regency, but I am not. I will hold our people together," she stressed the pronoun, "and do all in my power to ensure that the Noldor are not swept away into the... the dustbin of history."

Ingwion raised an eyebrow at that and forced himself not to smile. "I doubt that will ever happen with you in charge, Eärwen," he said, "or you, Anairë. I think the Noldor are in good hands with you two. I have my own doubts about ellith ruling, but I suppose you cannot do any worse than us ellyn."

"And maybe a whole sight better!" Eärwen retorted.

"Besides which, who would Atar send that the Noldor would accept?" Ingwion asked. "I certainly would not wish to take up that role."

Anairë gave him a hesitant look. "I was thinking perhaps Ingoldo...."

"My uncle?" Ingwion exclaimed in disbelief.

"And why not?" Anairë retorted. "Is he not capable?"

"I have no doubt he would be, but that’s not the point," Ingwion stated firmly. "Uncle Ingoldo is... is ...."

"Yes? What is he, Ingwi?" Anairë demanded when he hesitated, at a loss for words.

"I don’t think Atar would willingly let him out of his sight," he said at the last. "He’s too... too ambitious. I do not trust him and neither does Atar."

The two ellith stared at him in consternation. "Why not?" Anairë asked. "What has he done to warrant your distrust or Ingwë’s?"

Ingwion hesitated, wondering how much he should confide in these two ellith, and then gave a mental shrug. It hardly mattered now. "Atar could never find actual proof, but he always suspected that Ingoldo was a secret sympathizer of Fëanáro."

The ellith gave him disbelieving looks and he nodded. "Do you really want someone like Ingoldo ruling over you?" he asked quietly and was pleased to see the considering looks that passed between the ladies.

Anairë sighed. "What about Ingalaurë, then?"

"My brother?" Ingwion exclaimed, giving her a slight frown. "I suppose," he said slowly. "I have no doubt he would be a good ruler if he were asked to do it, but I am not sure he would be willing to leave Vanyamar."

"Would you at least ask?" Anairë enquired, giving him a pleading look. Eärwen, he noticed, merely scowled.

"I will do that much, Anairë," Ingwion answered, "but my best advice to you both is to take up the regency and rule your people to the best of your abilities. They already have your love and trust. Sending someone else, even one of the High King’s sons, to take over would, I fear, send the wrong message."

"And what message would that be?" Anairë asked.

"That the Noldor are no longer to be trusted," Ingwion replied.

"But they are not!" Anairë retorted. "The facts speak for themselves."

Ingwion shook his head. "No, Anairë. The fact is that you and all who remained behind have proven yourselves loyal to the Valar and their authority by refusing to follow Fëanáro."

"Exactly what I’ve been saying," Eärwen spoke up, giving them a satisfied look. "Anairë, I know you have doubts, but Ñolofinwë, I think, would want you to do your best for our people. With Indis gone, you and I are all that is left of the royal family. Our people need to see us as strong. They need the assurance that, in spite of everything, life will still continue and the Noldor will thrive. It may take some time to win back the trust that has eroded between our people and the rest of Eldamar for what Fëanáro did in inciting rebellion against the Valar, but I am confident that trust will eventually be restored. Our people are suffering and we need to be there for them. Having someone else shoulder that responsibility simply will not work."

"Eärwen is correct, Anairë," Ingwion chimed in. "Fëanáro may have given you two the regency half in jest, but it’s up to you to prove the lie in his actions and be the regents in truth. Atar will support you, have no fear of that, and no doubt, King Olwë will as well, seeing as how his daughter is one of the regents, though I wonder that you do not make plans to return to your own people, Eärwen."

The Telerin princess shook her head. "The day I married Arafinwë, the Lindar ceased to be my people. I am a Noldo, in spirit if not in blood. I have ever thought of myself in that way since I came to Tirion. I will not return to Alqualondë. It is no longer my home."

Ingwion nodded, casting an eye over the two ellith. Eärwen sat there in supreme assurance of her own worth and abilities, and Ingwion realized that the anger he sensed from her was what drove her now. She needed that anger to keep her going. He wondered, though, what would happen once the anger was gone or, even worse, exploded. Would she be able to carry on as she had? He did not know and hoped that his fears for her were unfounded. Anairë, he could see, was still unconvinced by their arguments, but she seemed more resigned to the situation. He wasn’t sure if that was any better. He almost wished that she were as angry as Eärwen. The Noldor would need their fire in the coming days. For a brief moment, he even contemplated staying longer to help out, but dismissed the idea almost at once. For better or worse, these two ellith were the leaders of the Noldor and it would be best if they got on with it without him around. And he did need to consult with Atar and let him know what had happened with Fëanáro.

"I must leave now," he said rising from his chair. "I know that you will be all right. I have every faith in you both, and I have no doubt that Atar will say the same once I tell him."

The ellith rose with him and Eärwen gave him a warm hug. Anairë merely nodded to him. "Travel safely, my lord," she said.

"We’ll see you to your horse," Eärwen said, hooking an arm around his. Anairë nodded and the three left the parlor, making their way to the front door of the palace. Eärwen asked Ingwion to give her greetings to Elindis and his sister and brother and Ingwion promised to do so. Then, they were outside and a groom was bringing up his horse and the packhorse that carried his belongings. He had refused all offers of an escort, saying he was not planning to travel on the road but across country.

"It will be faster," he explained, "and frankly, I wish to avoid certain people."

"You mean the Valar," Eärwen said, giving him a shrewd look.

Ingwion simply nodded and his expression made it clear that he did not wish to discuss the matter further. Instead, he gave them both hugs. "I’ll try to return if I can, but I cannot promise anything."

"Nor do we hold you to any promise, Ingwi," Eärwen said with a smile. "Á lelya varnavë. Nai tiruvar tielya iValar."

Ingwion mounted his steed, gave them a nod in thanks for the blessing and urged the horse forward, suddenly glad to be on his way at last. Tirion was too depressing for him now and he longed to see the white spires of his home. He sighed with relief as he passed through the west gate and onto the road to Valmar. Two leagues beyond, where the farms and estates of the nobles came to an end, he urged his horse off the road and made his way northwest towards Vanyamar, keeping the distant Pelóri ever on his right as a guide.

****

Ingwion camped along the way, usually stopping only when hunger drove him, knowing his horses needed to rest, even if he didn’t. He spent the time going over all that had happened in Tirion, indeed, all that had happened to him since the Trees had died, wondering if there was something he could have done differently to effect a better outcome, especially where his cousin Findaráto was concerned. In the end, he decided that such ruminations were useless. He could not go back and change what had happened, however much he desired it. He could only deal with what was. He sincerely hoped that Intarion and Lirulin would succeed in convincing Findaráto, and perhaps even Arafinwë and others, to return to Aman, but deep in his heart he feared their mission was doomed to failure.

Shying away from such bleak thoughts, he looked up into the heavens as he sat beside his small fire, trying to remember his atar’s lessons, picking out the constellations that he could remember. He recognized Wilwarin, the butterfly, and for some reason his thoughts drifted towards Olwen, wondering what the Telerin princess was doing at that precise moment.

"I wonder what she will say at the sight of the Noldor marching past Alqualondë," he said out loud to his horse, who gave him an equine snort and went back to nibbling on the grass. The packhorse didn’t even bother to make that much of a comment. Ingwion chuckled and lay on his back to better see the stars and fantasized about returning to Alqualondë and claiming Olwen as his bride. With that happy thought, he slipped onto the Path of Dreams and was soon fast asleep.

****

He was approaching Vanyamar three campsites later, coming towards the city from the northeast. He would have to travel due west to reach the south gate and he probably should have angled his way towards the road long before this, but for some reason he was loath to come upon the city so openly. He had no idea why but decided to trust in his instincts. Most likely, there was nothing wrong and if the gate guards asked, he would simply give them the truth: he had decided to come cross country to save having to go all the way to Valmar before coming to Vanyaymar, though really, none of that was anyone’s business but his own.

He studied the city as he neared its walls, automatically looking for the flag that always flew above the palace to indicate that the High King was in residence and felt his heart give a lurch when he could not see it. Could Atar still be in Valmar? he wondered. Or had he gone up the mountain to Ilmarin, instead? Normally, though, if Ingwë simply was going to consult with Lord Manwë, the flag would still be flying. Only when the High King left the vicinity of the mountain was the flag lowered.

He stared in consternation at the empty flagpole, bringing his horse to a halt, sitting there deep in thought. He had been depending on his atar to be there, but if he was still in Valmar....

He hesitated, not sure if he should go on and wait for Ingwë’s return or turn around and head for Valmar. Finally he decided that he would wait for his atar here. Ingwë would return when he would return. But, another part of him asked, what if his atar was waiting for him in Valmar? Would he grow anxious and make for Tirion in search of his son?

Ingwion sighed and rubbed the space between his eyes, feeling a headache coming on. In the end, he decided backtracking was pointless. He was already here and he was heartily tired of camping out. Thoughts of a hot bath and a meal not cooked over a campfire and sleeping in his own bed convinced him to wait for the High King and he longed to see his amillë and his siblings, his twin especially, once again.

Giving his horse a nudge and pulling the lead on the packhorse, he set off again. Soon, he reached the gate, which he saw was shut, which surprised him. Even more surprising were the guards standing at attention outside the gate. When he appeared from an unexpected direction, they startled and drew what weapons they had, not swords, but spears, and two drew bows. He brought his horse to a halt and raised his hands to show he was unarmed. The gate suddenly opened and even more guards came pouring out, all wielding spears or bows.

"Peace, friends," he called out. "It is I, Prince Ingwion."

One of the guards, the captain according to the insignia on his baldric, took a step forward, his spear before him. "How do we know you are who you say you are? Why do you not come honestly by way of the road? What mischief do you plan, sirrah?"

Ingwion felt himself grow angry, surprised at the hostility and suspicion in the ellon’s voice. He took a deep centering breath to calm himself, casting his eyes upon the group standing behind the captain, an ellon he did not know and that surprised him even more, for he was certain he knew all the captains in his atar’s retinue. Then he spied someone standing in the middle of the pack, someone he knew and he smiled in relief.

"Come, Sérener," he said to the ellon, who was a member of Ingwë’s personal guards. "You know me. Why all this hostility?"

The ellon pushed his way forward, eyeing Ingwion dubiously. "Aye, I know you right enough, your Highness. It seems passing strange though that you would come from this direction and without a proper escort."

Ingwion stared at the ellon in consternation. Sérener was new to his atar’s guards, but he had always been most respectful. This suspicion and hostile attitude was unexpected. He shrugged, trying to evince a nonchalant air. "I’m afraid things in Tirion are a bit chaotic right now and there were none who could be spared to act as an escort, and I decided to travel cross country and camp out under the stars. They’re rather quite fascinating, don’t you think?" he added, purposely sounding like an excited elfling. "I can see why the Teleri were reluctant to abandon them completely."

The ingenuousness of his tone seemed to throw the ellyn off-guard and he noticed Sérener and a few others smiling. "They are indeed, Highness," the ellon said. He then turned to the captain. "Meneldur, it is in truth Prince Ingwion. Let him pass."

Meneldur continued eyeing him a bit suspiciously, but finally relented, giving Ingwion a short bow. "Forgive me, your Highness, but I have my orders. I must examine all who seek to enter the city."

"I hope your orders do not include examining the High King when he comes," Ingwion said drolly, "else I fear you will be spending the rest of your days cleaning the sewers."

Meneldur blushed while one or two of the other guards snickered. He gave them a glare and then turned to Ingwion and bowed again, motioning the guards to step aside. Ingwion dismounted. "Sérener, walk with me, if you will, and fill me in with all the news."

Meneldur looked as if he would protest, but Ingwion just raised an imperious eyebrow and the ellon subsided, giving Sérener a grimace. "Escort his Highness to the palace and then report back here," he ordered.

Ingwion decided not to argue with the captain, wondering why one of his atar’s personal guards was now a gate guard. Something was not right, but he wasn’t going to find out what was going on just standing there. He nodded to Sérener and handed him the packhorse’s lead. "Let us go, then," he said. "I’ve been dreaming of hot baths and soft beds for too long."

Sérener and the other guards, including the captain, smiled knowingly at his heartfelt plea. "This way, your Highness," Sérener said, grabbing a torch from one of his fellows. Ingwion followed him through the gate. They were a dozen paces along the street leading to the palace when he heard an ominous clang behind him and with a sense of foreboding knew that the gate was shut once again.

****

Á lelya varnavë. Nai tiruvar tielya iValar: ‘Travel safely. May the Valar guard thy way’.

75: Ingwion in Vanyamar

"What’s been happening here, Sérener?" Ingwion asked softly as the two made their way along the main avenue leading to the palace. It climbed along the back of the precipice on which the palace stood. There was little in the way of traffic and Ingwion was unsure what it might mean. "You are a member of my atar’s personal guard. Why are you helping to man the gates?"

Sérener cast him an uneasy look. "I was let go," he said softly.

Ingwion stopped and stared at him in disbelief. "Who let you go? Atar?"

The ellon shook his head. "Nay. It was Prince Ingoldo. He said my services were no longer needed since it did not seem as if the High King was returning to Vanyamar any time soon and they needed additional guards at the city gates."

Ingwion frowned, trying to understand the ellon’s words. "What did he mean, the High King was not returning to Vanyamar?"

The guard shrugged. "I do not know, your Highness. I only know what I was told." He gave the prince a sour look. "I am not the only one who was dismissed. Others from the palace, those I think who may be a threat to Prince Ingoldo, have also been dismissed from service. Some of them are without employment. At least I still have work, little though I like it."

Ingwion shook his head. "Come on. You can tell me on the way all that has happened since my amillë returned with our people. What mischief is my uncle up to now and why hasn’t the queen done anything about it?"

"There have been rumors, but nothing more than that," Sérener said in a whisper, looking about uneasily, as if fearing to be overheard. "The rumors say that the queen has secluded herself until the High King returns, and that Prince Ingoldo has taken over the reins of government."

"I cannot imagine Ammë hiding away," Ingwion commented with a frown, "and what about Aunt Indis? She’s unlikely to let her brother get away with such a thing. And Ingalaurë. Where is he in all this?"

"I do not know, Highness," Sérener said apologetically. "I only know that Prince Ingoldo dismissed me and that no one has seen the Queen since we returned from Valmar. As for Prince Ingalaurë or Lady Indis...." He gave a shrug. "I suspect you will learn more of their fate than I."

Ingwion nodded with a grimace, a sick, cold lump settling in the pit of his stomach. He was puzzled by what the guard had told him. The Queen hiding herself away was so unlike his ammë that he suspected more was going on than he knew, but Sérener was correct that he would soon know the truth of things. He was concerned about Ingalaurë. What had happened to his twin? What part did he play in all this? More than anything he wished his atar were there and wondered again what could have kept him from returning to Vanyamar with Aunt Indis.

They had reached the gates of the palace and guards were demanding to know their business. Sérener scowled. "Do you not recognize your prince when you see him?" he demanded and the guards had the grace to look abashed as they stepped aside to allow Ingwion to enter. Sérener gave the prince a salute. "Here I leave you, Highness, but know that if you ever have need, send word and I will come."

Ingwion smiled at the ellon. "Thank you, Sérener. I appreciate your support." Then he called for grooms to take the horses and set off for the palace, meaning to find answers to his myriad questions. No one stopped him, though one or two servants whom he passed gave him startled, even fearful, looks before scurrying away on whatever business they were on. Ingwion filed that away for later, intent on reaching the royal apartments. He was not at all surprised to find himself coming face-to-face with Ingoldo, who met him with a contingent of armed guards. Ingwion recognized Tulcaner and a couple of others. He schooled his expression to one of polite disinterest.

"Greetings, Uncle," he said. "I understand there have been some changes while I’ve been away."

Ingoldo sneered. "And all for the better, I assure you."

"Where is Ammë?"

"In her suite, of course."

"I will go and pay my respects then." Ingwion started to push past his uncle, who grabbed his arm.

"Elindis does not wish to be disturbed," Ingoldo said unctuously.

Ingwion stared at the ellon, his expression dark. "Let go of me, Uncle," he said softly. The two glared at one another for several minutes but it was Ingoldo who looked away, releasing his hold on him. Ingwion forbore smiling in triumph; he merely nodded. "If you ever dare to lay hands on me again, Ingoldo, you will not live long enough to regret it." The cold menace of his tone brought Ingoldo up short and he stared at his nephew in shocked disbelief and his guards stirred uneasily, some even backing away. Ingwion decided to press his advantage. "I will go and pay my respects to the Queen, and then I want to see my brother and sister in my apartments. You will please have them found and my message delivered."

Without giving Ingoldo or anyone else time to protest, he pushed his way past the guards and headed for his parents’ apartments, forcing himself to walk calmly, his back straight, as if he had not a care in the world. He could feel his uncle’s eyes on him and was grateful when he turned a corner and was now out of Ingoldo’s sight. He allowed himself to take a deep breath and felt himself trembling slightly, but forced himself to keep walking. By the time he reached the door of his parents’ private sitting room, he had gotten himself under control. He was unsurprised to find a guard in front of the door, one whom he did not know. The guard eyed him suspiciously. Ingwion smiled grimly.

"I wish to see my amillë," he said in an imperious tone. "Please inform her of my arrival."

"I have orders...."

"And I have just given you another one," Ingwion cut him off, allowing his impatience to show. "I have not traveled all the way from Tirion for you to deny me entrance, sirrah. Now, announce me."

The guard hesitated for a moment and then shrugged, pulling out a key from a pouch on his belt. Ingwion immediately wrested the key from him, giving him a murderous look. "You dare to lock the Queen in her own rooms? Go! Get out of here before I do something you will regret, though I assure you, I will not. Go!"

The force of his command shattered the guard’s resolve and the ellon fled, no doubt to tell Ingoldo, but Ingwion did not care. He muttered a curse and fumbled with the key, opening the door to find Elindis standing there with Indis at her side.

"Ingwion!" Elindis cried, rushing to her son.

Ingwion grabbed her and hugged her fiercely. "Ammë! What is happening? Why has Ingoldo locked you in?"

Elindis pulled away to give him a sorrowful look. "He’s taken over," she said. "I did not even know he had the key until I discovered I could not leave the apartments. Indis and I have been locked in here for some time now."

"At least three days, by my reckoning," Indis stated with a huff of annoyance.

"And the others?" Ingwion enquired. "Where are Ingil and Indil?"

"We have no idea," Elindis admitted. "The last time I saw either one of them, it would have been nearly a week gone. I held a council to determine what should be done for our people. Tamurilon volunteered to visit the farms to see how they were faring without the Light of the Trees and Indil said she would go with him. For all I know, they’re still traveling about. Ingil... I do not know. He could be locked up as well."

"Ingoldo has gone too far," Indis snorted angrily. "And why hasn’t Ingwë returned? When we reached Valmar, he said he was going to speak with Lord Manwë and then follow us. He shouldn’t have been more than a few hours behind us. Even if he elected to stay and rest for a time, he should have arrived long before this. Did you not see him in Valmar?"

Ingwion shook his head. "I did not come by way of Valmar. I came overland from Tirion."

"What about Ingoldo?" Elindis asked.

"I met him on the way," Ingwion replied. "I am not sure what he plans to do next. I know he’s dismissed several of the servants whom he deems most loyal to you and has replaced them with others. The guard outside your door, for instance, is someone I never saw before."

"What do you plan to do, Nephew?" Indis asked, giving him a shrewd look.

"I need to find Ingil," he replied. "I need to find out who is loyal to us and who is not. Ingoldo has been telling people that you are in seclusion until Atar returns, Ammë. That is how he has been able to take over. I just wish I knew where Ingil and Indil are."

"How are you going to stop Ingoldo, though, my son?" Elindis asked. "He seems to have been plotting this for some time. I was taken completely unawares."

"Find Valandur," Indis suggested when Ingwion hesitated in his answer to his ammë’s question. "I suspect that he and Ingil are lying low somewhere, plotting."

"Unless Ingoldo has everyone under lock and key," Elindis said with a sigh. "I can tell you this: none of the servants who have come to bring our food or do any necessary cleaning are known to me."

"Do you think they are in Ingoldo’s pay?" Ingwion asked.

Elindis shrugged. "I do not know. Most of them appear rather nervous whenever they come here and will not make eye contact or engage in any conversation. It’s almost as if they are afraid."

Ingwion frowned and shook his head, giving a sigh. "Well, our first order of business is to get you out of here and out of the palace."

"Whyever for?" Elindis demanded.

"Because if we’re not here, my dear, Ingoldo cannot lock us in again," Indis said with a look of approval for her nephew.

"Where could we go, though?" Elindis asked. "And more importantly, how? I do not think Ingoldo is just going to allow us to walk out of here."

"We’ll worry about that later," Ingwion said. "Right now, we need to leave. That guard is no doubt running to Ingoldo and soon he’ll be back with reinforcements."

The two ellith nodded. "Lock the door behind us," Indis ordered Ingwion as they all stepped out into the corridor. "It may slow them down a bit trying to figure out why we’ve locked the door."

Ingwion gave his aunt a smile and complied with her suggestion. Then he led them away, past his own apartments and when they came to a set of stairs, he went up rather than down.

"Where are you taking us?" Elindis asked in a whisper.

Ingwion smiled. "You’ll see."

The two queens exchanged bemused looks but followed him without question. Ingwion brought them to a little used corner of the palace, an attic actually, consisting primarily of storage rooms. He paused before one particular door and opened it, gesturing for the ellith to proceed him. Once inside, he fumbled about at a small table set next to the door where candle stubs were found. Soon, they had light and he led them unerringly towards the back of the room, a room that was filled with chests and unwanted furniture placed haphazardly about. They had to weave their way through them until Ingwion stopped before the paneled wall. He turned to the two queens, giving them a conspiratorial look. "Don’t tell Ingil or Indil that I brought you here," he said. "This is our secret hideout."

Elindis gave her son an amused look. "You mean the one that you always went to whenever you wanted to get away from your tutors when you were all elflings?" She shook her head at Ingwion’s chagrined look. "My son, your atar and I have known about this place almost from the beginning. Why do you think we made sure the door to this room was kept unlocked?"

Ingwion raised an eyebrow at that, then gave them a sheepish smile. "And we thought we were being clever." He then turned to the wall and running his hand along one part of it, he found what he was looking for and pressed inward. Immediately, part of the wall moved inward and they stepped into another room. It was empty save for a couple of piles of now moldy rugs and furs and a few toys and children’s books. "We never understood why this room existed," he told them, "but we spent many a happy hour here, hiding from everyone."

"How did you ever discover it?" Indis asked, looking around.

"By accident, really," Ingwion replied. "Atar was showing us maps of the palace, giving us a lesson on its construction and architecture. It was Indil who noticed that this room was on the map but nowhere could we find it, for part of the lesson was to walk through the palace and examine each room, comparing its measurements with what was shown on the map. I think we spent some time trying to find a way into the room. Ingil suggested that maybe the door to it was covered up for some reason, so we started pounding on the wall." He laughed at the memory. "We noticed that there was a hollow sound just about here and then when we examined this section of the wall more closely, I noticed a knot in the wood, which was odd, because nowhere else was there a knot. Well, it didn’t take long for us to figure out the truth, but we never could understand why this room existed in the first place."

Elindis gave her son a secretive smile. "Did you ever wonder why your atar insisted he be the one to give you that particular lesson and that you had to check each and every room?"

Ingwion blinked in surprise. "You mean, you planned this...."

Elindis nodded. "When your atar was planning the palace he decided to have this hidden room put in for the sole purpose of giving his children, and no doubt his grandchildren, a place they could call their own, and supposedly discovered by them, keeping it a secret from the adults. Perhaps when you marry and have your own children, you will take it upon yourself to teach your children the same lesson your atar taught you and then let them discover this room on their own."

Ingwion laughed. "Perhaps I will. In the meantime, this should be a good place for you to hide. Do you think Ingoldo knows about this place?"

Elindis shook her head. "Ingoldo had no interest in how the palace was to be built. I doubt he ever even looked at the plans."

"Does Intarion know of this room?" Indis asked.

Ingwion nodded. "Oh yes. He was a co-conspirator. Of course, he’s not here, so it doesn’t matter. My uncle will learn nothing from him."

"Well, I suppose if we’re to hide here, we might as well make ourselves comfortable," Elindis said, settling herself down on one of the piles of fur, giving them a look of disgust at the dust that rose as she sat.

Ingwion gave them a chagrined look. "I’m sorry. I don’t know anywhere else that might be safe until I can figure out what to do next."

"Don’t you worry about that, Nephew," Indis said firmly. "We’ll be fine. Just leave us some light. I’m sure we can entertain ourselves with the toys and books you so thoughtfully left behind."

Ingwion snorted in amusement. "There should be candles on that shelf there. I’ll leave you this as I won’t need it. Now, I had better go find Ingil and the others." He gave Indis a kiss and then leaned down and hugged his ammë before departing. "Here’s the catch on this side," he said, showing them how the door could be opened and closed from the inside. "I’ll be back as soon as possible. I will knock thus on the door to let you know that I am back." He demonstrated what he meant, rapping on the wood in an intricate pattern of short and long knocks. When he was assured that his ammë and aunt had memorized the sequence, he stepped out of the room and crossed to the outer door even as Indis was closing the door to the hidden room. He then made his way down to the inhabited parts of the palace in search of his twin and Valandur.

76: A Search for Answers

Ingwion paused when he came to another corridor, pondering his options. He had not found his brother in their own suite of rooms. Indeed, they appeared to have been empty for some time, for there was a musty, closed-in smell to them and dust lay thinly on the furniture. There were only two possibilities: either Ingoldo had Ingil somewhere, or his brother was not in the palace. He had been able to ascertain the fact that Indil was missing as well and could only conclude that she and Tam were safely outside the city, at least for now.

He made his way to Valandur’s study, neatly avoiding servants and guards scurrying about. From what he overheard, Ingoldo had recovered enough to order his arrest. He hoped to avoid that fate if at all possible. Valandur appeared to have disappeared also, for his office was empty and when Ingwion went to Valandur and Findis’ apartments, there was no sign of either of them.

So where were they? Obviously, not in the palace. He had searched everywhere he could think of, especially in areas normally not visited by most people — storage areas and cellars and the like — keeping an eye out for guards guarding rooms that did not need it, thinking they might be where Ingoldo was holding his brother and others, but nowhere did he see any such sign. He frowned in concentration. If they were not in the palace, they might be hiding somewhere on the grounds. But no, that would not work. There were precious few places where anyone could hide successfully and not be found eventually. If nothing else, there would be the danger of discovery whenever someone ventured out for food and water or to use a privy.

So, if they weren’t in the palace or anywhere on its grounds, they had to have escaped, but how? And then, he remembered, and he smiled to himself in grim satisfaction.

He moved silently back the way he had come, hoping to reach the hidden room undetected and unmolested. Already he had noticed an increase in the number of guards patrolling the corridors. He had to wait interminable minutes as one patrol passed by his hiding place behind one of the arrases that lined the corridor, trying not to sneeze for the dust that floated around him where he had disturbed it. Obviously, someone was being very lax in their duties. He made a mental note to inform his ammë about it and then grinned to himself at the absurdity of the thought.

At last the patrol passed by and he quickly and quietly made his way back to the storage room, knocking on the wall in the pre-arranged signal. He did not have long to wait before the door was opened and he saw his ammë standing there, an expectant look on her face. Indis was right behind her.

"That was quick," Elindis said. "We did not expect you back so soon."

"Ingil and Valandur are nowhere to be found," he said without preamble. "I don’t think they or Findis are even in the palace."

"Where could they be?" Indis asked.

"There is one place," Ingwion said. "Come. It is no longer safe here. I will take you outside the palace."

"And go where?" Elindis asked.

"To where I suspect we’ll find Ingil and the others," Ingwion said, refusing to elaborate. "There is no time to explain, ammë. Ingoldo has patrols all over the place. We’ll be hard pressed to reach the cloister."

"The cloister!" both ellith exclaimed almost as one.

Ingwion nodded. "Something I remembered from long ago," he said. "Let us go."

He ushered them out of the room, closing the door behind them. No sense giving the location of the secret room away. They might need it again in the future. He led them back towards the stairs they had climbed earlier, down one level and then along another corridor. They walked in silence and Ingwion often stopped to listen before moving on. In a whisper he cautioned the ellith not to speak and to move as silently as possible.

"We will have to move through the servants’ corridors," he informed them. "I hope we can avoid being seen. If not, though, let me handle it."

Both ellith gave him sour looks and he feared an argument, but the reality of their situation brought them around and they nodded, though Ingwion knew that neither ellith was happy about it. As luck would have it, though, they encountered no one, for it appeared that most of the servants had retired. He wasn’t sure how people were keeping time, but he did not care. If this was a period designated for rest it meant that they only had to avoid the patrols and it was possible that even they were not as many as before. Ingoldo must be going mad wondering where they were. He knew that all exits would be guarded — all but one.

It took them several tense minutes to move past the doors of the servants’ rooms and then they were making their way down a service stair to the ground level. From there it was just a matter of minutes before they reached the cloister. Ingwion skirted the bell tower and made for the built-in stone bench on the other side.

"I remember when Atar brought me and Ingalaurë here," he whispered to the ellith. "He showed us something." He paused before the bench, trying to call up a distant memory of when he was quite young. In his mind he saw his Atto reach up to the stone-carved diamond-shaped shield with the royal device on it that graced the wall above the bench, pressing the star in the center. He recalled the sense of amazement as the wall opened in, revealing a dark passage. Copying his atar’s movement, he found the exact center of the star and pressed inward. He heard a gasp from both his ammë and aunt as the wall slowly opened along the right side of the bench.

"I never knew of this," Elindis whispered.

"Nor I," Indis said, her expression unhappy. "It seems Ingwë was keeping secrets from us."

"But not from you," Elindis said, addressing her son, giving him an accusing glare.

Ingwion shrugged. "He said it was a secret only for us ellyn." He gave them a sheepish look. "He made it sound... special."

"Hmph," Elindis said. "Well, when I catch up with him, I’ll tell him exactly what I think of him keeping such a thing from his own wife." And Ingwion had no doubt that his atar would be hearing quite an earful from his wife.

"This passage leads to the outside of the palace," he said, gesturing for them to follow him in. He hunted about for the lantern he was told would be there, but there was no sign of it. The absence of the lantern actually lifted his spirits, though, for it was the first sign that perhaps his brother had come this way. He told the two queens to wait for him and then he silently went back into the palace to hunt for a lantern. He was in luck, for he found a storage closet nearby where several lanterns and candles were stored. Grabbing one of the lanterns and stuffing a number of candles inside his tunic, he returned to the cloister and rejoined his ammë and aunt waiting impatiently for him. "I’ve never been through the tunnel myself," he told them as he lit the lantern, "but Atto said it comes out onto an alley that separates the palace from Lord Lassezel’s townhouse."

"You think Ingalaurë and Valandur left the palace this same way?" Indis asked, as she stepped inside, allowing Ingwion to push the door shut.

"I think it’s a possibility, for there should have been a lantern here but it is gone," Ingwion said. "I’m wondering though why Ingil did not attempt to free you, Ammë. I cannot imagine him knowingly deserting you."

"He may not have had any choice," Elindis said quietly. "Ingoldo moved very quickly it would seem. I almost suspect that he had long planned this, perhaps even as far back as when your atar and I went to Tirion. I only know that after the council that I held, I decided to retire and Indis joined me. It was only when we woke that we discovered the apartment locked from the outside."

"I checked my suite and Ingil’s," Ingwion said as they moved further down the tunnel. "There was no sign that it had been inhabited for a while, and when I checked Valandur and Findis’ apartments, they also seemed abandoned. Is it possible that they got wind of what Ingoldo was doing and escaped, knowing that they could not do anything to succor your release?"

"I wonder how they even knew that Ingoldo was attempting to take the palace?" Indis asked.

Ingwion shrugged. "Valandur has eyes and ears all over the place. I imagine he learned something and may even intended to alert you, Ammë, but was forestalled. Perhaps he decided it would be best to get Ingil out of Ingoldo’s reach. You say Indil and Tam had already left to visit the farms?"

"That is what I suspect," Elindis replied. "Tam thought it best that they go as soon as the council ended, for he anticipated it would take many days for them to visit all the outlying farms. The last I saw of either of them, Indil was heading for her rooms to pack and Tam was assembling a suitable escort for them."

Ingwion nodded, but made no further comment, thinking furiously. If the royal family was out of Ingoldo’s clutches, they might have a chance of rallying the people and regaining the palace, but even so, he knew people would get hurt. None of the citizens had weapons, only the guards carried spears or bows. He wasn’t sure how eager they would be to use them against their own people, though. Perhaps that was where their advantage lay: his ammë could convince them to lay down their weapons. She had the respect and love of the people; Ingoldo did not. First, though, they needed to find Valandur and Ingalaurë.

The tunnel was not straight, but bent to the right and there was a definite downward slope as they left the precipice on which the Ingaran’s palace stood. Finally, they came to a dead-end and Ingwion spent several minutes examining the wall before him, dredging up a half-remembered memory in which his atar was explaining the mechanism that would open the other end of the tunnel. He passed the lantern before him, searching for the telltale... yes... there it was, a hook on which one might hang a lantern. He placed the lantern on the hook and saw that the weight of the lantern pushed the hook down. There was an audible click and the wall swung open.

"Outside," he ordered the ellith. "I will have only seconds in which to get through once I remove the lantern from the hook."

Neither Elindis nor Indis offered any protest but did as commanded. Ingwion lifted the lantern from the hook and then stepped outside even as the wall began closing. Without bothering to wait, he gestured for the ellith to follow him down the alley towards the entrance which opened up onto a pleasant street overlooking a small park.

"Where do you take us, Ingwion?" Elindis asked.

"There’s only one place they would have gone once they left the palace," Ingwion answered. Indis gave him a puzzled look but Elindis suddenly smiled, having understood what her son was saying.

"Then lead us hence, yonya," she said.

Ingwion wasted no time but led them quickly past Lord Lassezel’s townhouse and the townhouses of several other nobles and then by a circuitous route brought them back up the precipice to a square not far from the lower gardens surrounding the palace. There stood the Bowman’s Rest, a popular inn. It was dark, no lights shone from its windows and Ingwion knew that it must be very late, perhaps close to Second Mingling had the Trees been alive. If everyone was asleep....

He shook his head. Worry about it later. If worse came to worst, they would hide in the stables behind the inn until there were signs of life inside. They made their way into the courtyard fronting the inn. Ingwion motiond for Elindis and Indis to stay where they were, handing the lantern to his ammë, while he went to the door. He was just about to knock when it opened abruptly and Ingalaurë was there. Before Ingwion had time to voice his surprise, his brother grabbed him and pushed him inside. Ingwion stumbled in the darkness and felt someone grab him, hissing in his ear to make no sound. A myriad questions threatened to explode from his throat, but Ingwion bit down on his lips to keep himself from speaking. He turned about in the person’s hold to see Ingalaurë ushering in their ammë and aunt. Again, the person holding him warned him against making any noise and then pulled him along. Ingalaurë was leading the two queens.

They made their way across the common room, his guide ably avoiding tables and chairs for all that there was little light by which to see. Then they were walking down a back hall towards an open door from which a faint light emanated. As they entered, Ingwion caught a brief glimpse of a table on which stood a candelabrum, and seated at the table....

"Valandur," Ingwion whispered in surprise at the sight of the ellon. Beside him sat Findis. There were others there, too, but Ingwion had only eyes for the loremaster, who was grinning at him.

"It’s good to see you again, Ingwion," Valandur said.

"How did you know we were coming?" Ingwion asked, turning to his brother, who was bringing in a bemused Elindis and an equally bemused Indis. As soon as the two queens entered, everyone at the table rose and gave them bows and curtsies.

While everyone was greeting the queens, Ingwion took a moment to examine the room and its occupants. The room was a private parlor, one of the larger ones, he thought. Heavy dark drapes hung in front of the room’s single window, blocking the light. Besides Valandur and Findis and Ingalaurë, he saw Indil and Tamurilon there, which did not really surprise him, but what did surprise him were the others who were there: Eccaldamos, Tulcafindel and Marilla, who had been a part of his embassy to Tirion. The ellon who had escorted him turned out to be the innkeeper whom Ingwion remembered was named Arminas. He gave Ingwion a cool stare and a nod, but otherwise did not speak.

It was Valandur who actually answered Ingwion’s question as he gestured for Elindis and Indis to join him at the table. Arminas slipped out while everyone took their seats. Ingwion found himself seated next to Ingalaurë. "We heard from our spies that you had come," the loremaster said. "We feared you would be imprisoned by Ingoldo and we were making plans to free you and your amillë and aunt. Then word came to us that the queens were missing, that the palace was being torn upside down in search of them. I could only conclude that you managed to free them, and if so, you would remember, as Ingil remembered, about the hidden tunnel behind the cloister wall. I had my people keep an eye on the alley. When you three emerged, they sent word to us, and that is why Ingil was waiting at the door."

Ingwion turned to his brother who was grinning widely at him. "So you remembered as I did."

Ingalaurë nodded. "Only at the last minute. I was with Valandur when Eccaldamos alerted us to what was happening. It was he who warned us of Ingoldo’s plans to take over the palace."

Ingwion turned to his former secretary. "I always knew there was more to you than being a good clerk," he said with a smile and the ellon laughed but otherwise did not comment. Ingwion turned to Marilla and Tulcafindil. "I am glad to see you two here as well. How did you escape?"

"They happened to be with me when I got wind of what was happening, so I brought them along," Eccaldamos told him.

"We decided to escape from the palace rather than try to take on Ingoldo just then," Valandur then said.

Ingalaurë cast a chagrined look towards Elindis. "I wanted to try and rescue you, Ammë, but Valandur and Eccaldamos convinced me that it would not be possible and that the best thing was to get me out of the palace. They seem to think I’m important or something."

"You are important," Elindis said firmly, giving her second-born son a fierce hug. "Valandur was wise to get you away." Then she turned her attention to the loremaster. "How is it that you knew of this secret passage when Ingwë never told me about it?"

Valandur gave her a grin. "That’s because he felt I should know, being his spymaster. I never knew that he did not tell you and I cannot tell you why he withheld that information from you. When you see him, you’ll have to ask."

"And don’t think I won’t," Elindis said with a frustrated huff and there were a few chuckles among them at the queen’s put-out expression.

Ingalaurë turned to his brother. "How did you remember about the passage?"

"I probably wouldn’t have, except that I’d already been thinking of hidden places. When I freed Ammë and Aunt Indis, I took them to our secret hideaway, which I have since learned wasn’t that much of a secret." He gave his ammë a sour look. Elindis smiled back, looking a bit smug. "Anyway, when I figured out you were gone, I tried to think of how you might have managed to leave the palace undetected and I guess that’s when I remembered the passage behind the cloister wall."

Just then, Arminas came back in carrying an overloaded tray of food and drink and Tulcafindil rose and helped him with it. A quiet word from the innkeeper sent the ellon scurrying off and in a matter of minutes he returned with another tray. No one spoke as the food and drinks were distributed. Finally, though, Elindis spoke up, asking the question that was at the forefront of Ingwion’s mind as well.

"What do you know of Ingwë? Where is my husband?"

There were looks of chagrin all around and Valandur sighed. "We have heard nothing of the High King. We know he stopped at Valmar to consult with Lord Manwë. Lady Indis can vouch for that, but that is all we know. I have been unable to even discover if Ingwë ever left the city or if he is still there."

"How did you and Tam come to be here, Indil?" Ingwion asked his sister. "I thought you were both safely outside the city."

"We were," Indil answered, "but Valandur managed to get word to us and we returned. There’s no reason for us to be examining the farms at this point, is there?" She gave them a sour look.

"The farms can keep," Elindis said firmly. "We need to find a way to take back the palace. Ingoldo cannot hope to remain in power. He does not have the goodwill of the people."

"He may have something else, though," Valandur said. All eyes turned to him and he nodded grimly. "He may have Ingwë."

A heavy silence hung over them and Ingwion felt sick, and he suddenly lost his appetite. Pushing away his trencher he scowled. "We need to find Atar. We need him here."

"Where would you look?" Ingalaurë asked.

"Valmar," Ingwion replied. "It’s the last place anyone saw him. If I can get outside the city...."

"Why you?" Ingalaurë demanded. "Why not me?"

"We’re getting ahead of ourselves," Valandur interrupted before Ingwion could voice a retort. "First, let’s pool our knowledge so we have a better idea of what is going on. Ingwion, I would like you to begin by telling us all that happened in Tirion after Ingwë left."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Indil asked, clearly puzzled.

"We need a very clear understanding of what is happening around us," Valandur replied. "I especially want to know about Fëanáro. If Ingoldo is in sympathy with the eldest son of Finwë, as your atar and I have long suspected, he might try to win Fëanáro’s support against Ingwë."

Ingwion shook his head. "You do not need to fear that," Ingwion said with a scowl. He then went on to describe everything that had happened after Ingwë left Tirion. He told of his and Findaráto’s visit to Alqualondë and their discussions with Olwë, though he made no mention of Olwen or his feelings for her. He then described what they found when they returned to Tirion. There were exclamations of shock and surprise when he told how Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë had decided to follow Fëanáro on his mad quest. He went on to tell them about Findaráto and how he, Ingwion, had managed to get word to Amarië and everything that happened afterwards.

"There were rumors about that," Valandur said with a thin smile. "Intarion and Lirulin disappeared and no one knew to where. Ingoldo was rather upset to find his son missing, which I thought odd at the time, because he’s never cared about Intarion one way or the other until now."

"Well, the important thing is that Fëanáro is no longer here," Elindis said. "Therefore, Ingoldo is unlikely to find any support from the Noldor, especially from Anairë and Eärwen."

"And he’s certainly not going to find support from Olwë," Indis chimed in. "My brother is on his own in this."

"And that is what I needed to hear," Valandur said with a nod. "So now we must decide on our next move."

"Our next move is to get the royal family out of Vanyamar," Eccaldamos said, giving Valandur a knowing look. "As long as any of them are in the city, there is the danger of them being taken. Ingoldo may not have the love of the people, but if he has the royal family, he has a bargaining chip."

"You mean, we would be hostages," Ingwion said.

Eccaldamos nodded. A solemn silence settled over them as they thought about the implications of the ellon’s words.

"So, our first task is to get all of you out of here," Valandur said.

"And then what?" Ingalaurë asked. "Where do we go?"

"Ilmarin," Valandur answered. "If you can reach Ilmarin, you will be safe."

"The Valar are not there, though," Ingwion pointed out. "I think they are still in Valmar."

"It makes no difference," Valandur answered. "Get to Ilmarin and claim sanctuary. Even if there is only one Maia in attendance, it will be enough. You will be safe from Ingoldo."

"Valandur is correct," Elindis said. "Little though I like the idea of deserting our people at this time, we need to reach Ilmarin. Word then can be sent to the Valar. They will aid us, I am sure."

Ingwion shook his head. "Maybe, maybe not. They have other things occupying their attention, else they wouldn’t have sent Atar and me to Tirion to stop Fëanáro; they would have done it themselves."

"Well, we’re getting ahead of ourselves again," Valandur said. "Let’s just concentrate on getting all of you out of here and safely in Ilmarin."

"Then what?" Indil asked.

"Then I go in search of Ingwë," Valandur said.

"And why you and not us?" Ingwion demanded, pointing to Ingalaurë to include him in the question.

"You would be safer...."

"I am not going to cower behind the Elder King’s throne while others risk themselves," Ingwion declared hotly.

"Same goes for me," Ingalaurë chimed in with a determined look. "He is, after all, our Atar, not yours."

"If you’re going, then so am I," Indil stated.

"In that case, I’ll just ask Arminas here to throw together a picnic for us and we can all have a jolly good time," Valandur exclaimed, giving them a disgusted look.

Most everyone stared at Valandur in shock. Ingwion had never seen this side of the loremaster before. He noticed, though, that Eccaldamos was attempting to hide a grin and even his ammë did not seem overly upset. He cast a rueful look at his twin who just sat there staring at Valandur as if he’d never seen him before. Ingwion forced himself not to laugh at his brother’s nonplused expression.

"We can worry about who will be doing what later," Indis suddenly remarked, her tone very much like Ingwë’s, which brought them all up short. "The important thing is to get away from here and to a safer place."

"How, though?" Ingalaurë asked. "By now every gate is guarded and while people are allowed to enter and leave the city, I have no doubt that everyone is examined very carefully, especially anyone trying to leave. We’d be recognized if we try to leave by any of the gates."

"Unless you go in disguise," Marilla suggested shyly. She ducked her head in embarrassment when all eyes turned to her.

Ingwion gave her an approving smile and a wink when she happened to glance up. "A disguise might work," he said. "The guards are going to be looking for highborn people dressed accordingly. They’re not going to be looking too closely at farmers and artisans and the like."

"Do you seriously think anyone would expect us to just walk right up to the gate in all our finery and sneak past the guards?" Indil asked with a sneer.

Ingwion blushed but held his ground. "No. They probably are not that stupid, but remember, we’re not all of us recognizable. The captain of the south gate didn’t know who I was. It was only because I recognized one of the other guards who could vouch for me that I was allowed to enter."

"Ingwion has a point," Valandur said. "With the proper disguises and if we time our escape when traffic in and out of the city is the heaviest, we may be able to pull it off. The only other alternative is to lower you by rope over the wall and with the walls manned, the possibility of capture is greater than if we assayed the gate."

"Then find us appropriate disguises," Elindis commanded. "Determine when would be the best time to leave and we’ll go from there."

There were nods all around, but Indis spoke up. "I do have one question." She turned to Ingwion. "How did you know to come here?"

Ingwion gave his aunt a wide grin. "Atar likes to mingle with the common people every once in a while, escape from the confines of the palace and his duties, and spend a couple of hours wandering the city in disguise. Valandur goes with him and they always end up here at this inn for a couple of pints and to listen to the gossip. I just figured this would be the most logical place to look. If no one was here, I would have tried Lord Nolondur’s house. I know he has no love for Ingoldo, so he would have gladly offered us refuge if necessary."

"Isn’t it dangerous, though, our being here?" she asked. "The other patrons...."

"I have temporarily closed the inn for... um... repairs," Arminas said with a knowing smile. "Even my usual staff is not here. There is just me. My wife and children are conveniently visiting her sister who lives in Eldamas."

Indis appeared satisfied with the explanation. Valandur then spoke with Arminas and Eccaldamos about disguises. Tulcafindil and Marilla offered to go out into the city and see if they could learn anything about what was happening in the palace. Arminas offered the queens rooms for their use, which they accepted gratefully and everyone else retired as well. Ingwion found himself alone with his twin in the room they would be sharing. He wanted desperately to speak with him, to catch up on each other’s news, but the excitement of the last several hours and the long trip from Tirion were finally taking their toll. Ingalaurë seemed to sense this and it was he who suggested they get some sleep.

"We can talk later, Brother," he said solicitously. "Right now we should get some rest. There’s no telling when we will next have a chance to sleep."

Ingwion could not argue with that and in minutes they were both lying side-by-side in the large bed and were soon fast asleep.

77: Escape Plans

When Ingwion awoke, he found Ingalaurë gone. Hastily going through his ablutions, he made his way cautiously down the stairs to the common room in time to see Arminas coming from the kitchens bearing a tray. He gave the prince a smile.

"Fair day to you, Highness," the innkeeper said. "You’re just in time to lend a hand." He pushed the tray into Ingwion’s hand. "Everyone is in the parlor. I’ll just go and bring the rest of the breakfast."

He turned back to the kitchen, leaving Ingwion standing there with the tray in his hands. The cavalier manner of the innkeeper surprised him, but then he shrugged good-naturedly and with a smile on his lips, made his way to the parlor where he found the others sipping tea (the ellith) or small beer (the ellyn). They looked up expectantly as he entered.

"Arminas is right behind me with the rest," Ingwion said before anyone could speak, laying the tray down on the table and removing the platters of eggs and sausages and two racks of toast. True to his word, the innkeeper entered just then with a large bowl of porridge and a pitcher of milk. Plates and cutlery were already stacked on a sideboard and for several minutes there was only the sound of people putting together their breakfast. When all were settled and Arminas had freshened the tea, he left them to eat, saying he would go out and see what news he could garner.

Ingwion took a piece of toast and chewed on it, glancing over at the rest as they ate. His ammë and Aunt Indis were dressed in clothes he suspected had been raided from Arminas’ wife’s wardrobe and he wondered what that good elleth would say when she returned to find two of her gowns gone. He noticed that Indil and Findis were also dressed in garb worn by servants and wondered where they had gotten it. None of the ellith wore their hair in the intricately coifed and bejewelled braids of the highborn. Instead, they wore their hair plainly, the braids hanging loose down their backs, their heads covered with the colorful kerchiefs of the lower classes.

The ellyn were not as difficult to disguise, for Valandur and Ingalaurë were wearing old tunics, most likely Arminas’. He noticed that Ingalaurë’s House braid had been redone in the style of one of the lesser Houses belonging to the mercantile class and suspected that Valandur’s was equally less noticeable. He would have to do the same. It would not do for anyone to see him wearing the colors of the House of Ingwë. That would give him away as surely as would wearing his usual garb. Luckily, the tunic he was wearing now was an old travel-stained one. He hadn’t even had time to change his clothes since returning to the city.

Missing from the group were Tamurilon, Eccaldamos, Tulcafindil and Marilla. When Ingwion asked, Valandur answered. "Eccaldamos went back to the palace to see what news he could garner there," the loremaster said. When Ingwion gave him a troubled look, he smiled. "Eccaldamos knows how to remain unnoticed by those around him. I doubt anyone is aware of his, er, special talents in that regard. He’ll be safe enough. Tam, Marilla and Tulcafindil returned to their own homes, of course, and will join us later."

"Was that wise, especially Tam?" Ingwion asked. "Ingoldo knows he is with Indil, after all."

"Tam is no fool," Valandur said. "He promised not to take any chances. He will be careful and it was necessary for him to go out. He should be back momentarily."

Ingwion gave the loremaster a jaundiced look but decided not to press the issue. Tamurilon was an elf grown and could take care of himself. "Have you determined which gate we should try?" he asked instead.

"I would think the north gate is the most obvious," Ingalaurë stated. "After all, we want to get to Ilmarin. If we take any of the other gates, we’ll have a bit of a walk to reach the road."

"Except, the north gate has the least amount of traffic," Indil pointed out. "The guards are more likely to take an interest in anyone wanting to go through that particular gate. There is only one place anyone can go from there. The west and south gates will at least offer us the better chance of getting out undetected."

"Won’t Ingoldo assume that if we are trying to escape from the city, that we will attempt to do so through the south gate?" Ingalaurë asked. "He has to think that our primary goal is to reach the Valar. So, either Ilmarin or Valmar would be the logical destinations, but I would think that the south gate especially would be heavily guarded. The west gate leads into the surrounding farmlands. That might be our best chance."

"Ingoldo is many things," Elindis remarked, "but he is not a complete fool. He’ll have the guards at all the gates equally alerted to be on the look out for us."

"I don’t think we should all try to leave at once," Ingwion said, "and we might want to try to leave from different gates."

Valandur shook his head. "It’s too risky for us to remain here long. Ingoldo is going to start ordering a house-to-house search soon. Eventually, he’ll find us. We should leave as soon as possible, but I like your idea of splitting up and going to different gates. There’s a greater chance of at least some of us escaping. If we are all together in a group, there’s the possibility that we might be recognized."

"So how do we decide who goes where?" Ingalaurë asked.

"The twins should split up," Indis said. When they started to protest, she held up her hand for silence. "You are both Ingwë’s heirs. At least one of you needs to escape. If you are both captured...."

She left the last hanging and the twins gave each other troubled looks at the implications. Ingwion hated the idea of being separated from Ingalaurë even for a minute. He had a sudden premonition that if they did separate, he would never see his twin again. He shook off the awful thought, silently castigating himself for being silly. Of course they would reunite once they were both outside the city. Their aunt's suggestion had merit.

"I guess we could draw lots," he suggested, "with some going with Ingil and the others with me. How many are we altogether?"

"Including you, there are seven of us who are considered members of the royal family," Valandur said. "Arminas, Eccaldamos, Marilla, Tulcafindil and Tam are not, though Tam is a member of Ingwë’s Privy Council and unofficially betrothed to Indil, so I suppose he could be considered a member of the family."

"Thank you," Tamurilon said with a mock bow and a sardonic grin, having walked in just at that moment and overheard Valandur’s words. "I’ve been feeling a bit left out lately."

Everyone turned to greet the ellon. Ingalaurë threw a piece of toast at him. Indil jumped up and wrapped her arms around her lover in a proprietary manner. People shuffled their places around the table so the ellon could join them, Indil insisting he sit beside her

"So what did I miss?" he asked as he accepted the mug of small beer from Ingalaurë with a nod of thanks.

Valandur quickly filled him in. "We were just determining who should leave the city and from which gate."

"Certainly all of us here should leave, but will the others want to?" Indil asked.

Valandur nodded. "Arminas has indicated that he wishes to join his family in Eldamas. Eccaldamos and the other two also would prefer not to remain in the city. Ingoldo knows they were members of Ingwion’s embassy in Tirion. They fear, and rightly so, that Ingoldo would take them into custody, knowing that they would be in sympathy with the royal family. Eccaldamos especially is vulnerable, for Ingoldo knows him as one of Ingwë’s staunchest supporters and by now has probably figured out who tipped us off so we would elude capture."

"What about the Privy Council?" Ingalaurë asked. "Will they not be in danger?"

Although the question had been addressed to Valandur, it was Tamurilon who answered."Possibly, but they will have to fend for themselves, at least those who do not simply side with Ingoldo."

"Our main concern is getting ourselves out of the city and away from Ingoldo and finding Ingwë," Valandur added with a nod.

"Well then, that means there are twelve of us, and as there are three gates, why not split up into three groups of four?" Indis suggested. "I’ll be in one and the twins can be in the other two and everyone else can draw lots as to which group they will join."

"Wouldn’t it make more sense for Elindis to head one of the groups?" Findis asked. "That way if some of us don’t make it, at least Ingoldo is not likely to have all three of you in his clutches. Indis, while you are a member of the royal family, you are also the Noldotári and as such your being captured won’t threaten the safety of Ingwë’s throne. You have no standing in terms of inheritance."

"Neither do I, if it comes to that," Elindis stated with a smile. "Ingatári I may be, but Ingoldo is not interested in me other than as a hostage against other people’s good behavior and compliance."

"Which is why we need to get you away," Valandur said. "Findis is correct, though. It would make more sense if you, rather than Indis, led one of the groups."

"But then I would not have my champion by my side," Elindis remarked, giving Ingalaurë a warm smile, which set the ellon blushing. Ingwion stared at his brother in surprise, wondering what that was all about.

"Then you are saying you wish to go with Ingil?" Valandur asked, keeping his own thoughts to himself.

"That is exactly what I am saying," Elindis replied. She raised a hand to forestall any arguments. "The risk is great for all of us no matter which group we join," she continued. "It is my wish to go with Ingil and Indis will head the third group."

Ingwion pursed his lips, not sure what he was feeling at that moment as he saw his ammë and his brother exchange smiles. Jealousy? Envy? Obviously something had occurred while he was away. He looked upon his twin with new eyes, seeing a confidence in him that had not been present before.

"Well, far be it from me to dispute the wishes of my queen," Valandur said with a wry grin and Elindis rewarded him with an arch look that set the others snickering. "Very well, let us draw lots...."

"I do not wish to be separated from you, husband," Findis said. "So, whichever group you find yourself in, I will be there beside you."

"And that goes for me as well," Indil stated firmly. "I will not be separated from Tam, so we will go together." She gave Tamurilon a smile and he rewarded her with a kiss.

Valandur visibly sighed. "Fine. Then that leaves six people who will draw lots to determine which group they will be in. Any suggestions as to how to do it to make it fair?"

"First, draw lots between you and Indil to see in which groups you two will be," Elindis suggested. "That way we know that one group will be complete and there will be one group with three people. Have the others choose as they will among themselves."

There were nods all around and Tamurilon went out and returned presently with Arminas who came in with a bowl. "I have written the names of Lady Indis and the two princes on slips of parchment," he told them and, putting the bowl on the table, they could see three folded up pieces of parchment. "Lord Valandur and Lady Indil will each select one and I will go in whichever group is left. Then we will return these slips to the bowl and each of the leaders will draw out a slip for our comrades who are not here."

"That sounds equitable," Elindis said. "Let us do as you suggest, Arminas."

Arminas pushed the bowl towards Indil. "My lady," he said with a nod.

Indil hesitated for a moment and then turned to Tamurilon. "You choose," she said.

Tam gave her an indulgent smile and reached into the bowl and took one of the slips but did not open it, only nodding to Valandur, who reached in and chose one of the other slips. Arminas merely shrugged when everyone gave him an expectant look. "No point really," was all he said, and several people smiled at the truth of his words. Valandur opened up his slip and read the name at the same time as Tam did. Valandur snorted and gave Ingwion an amused look.

"It looks as if Findis and I will be traveling with you," he said. Ingwion merely nodded.

"And Indil and I will be going with Ingil," Tam chimed in.

"Which means I will be going with Lady Indis," Arminas said. "So put the slips back in and we will draw for the others."

"How do we decide who draws for whom?" Ingwion asked.

"Why don’t we put their names in the bowl and then have Ingwion choose one?" Findis suggested. "Then the other two will automatically go with Lady Indis."

"That will work," Arminas said, already taking the bowl and emptying it of the slips of paper before leaving the room, returning about five minutes later. The bowl now had three new slips of paper. He handed the bowl to Ingwion who selected one of the slips and opened it.

"Eccaldamos," he read.

"Then we have our groups," Valandur said. "So now we just have to decide which group will assay which gate."

"I anticipated that," Arminas said with a smile. He dumped the two slips remaining in the bowl and from a pocket of his tunic withdrew three other folded slips. "The names of the gates are written on these slips. May I suggest that Lady Indis and the princes draw at the same time?"

Indis and the twins nodded and Arminas placed the bowl where all three could reach in but none could see its contents. There was a moment of groping between them and both twins giggled but they all claimed a slip and opened them.

"I’m for the west gate," Ingwion stated, holding up the slip for all to see.

"South gate," Ingalaurë said with a frown. That was the most dangerous of the three gates in their estimation.

"And that leaves me with the north gate," Indis said, keeping her expression neutral so none knew what her thoughts were.

"Trade you," Ingwion said to his twin. It would probably be easier to sneak out of the west gate and he did not like the idea of his ammë and his siblings together in one group. He was going to suggest to Valandur that he and Findis trade places with Indil and Tam. That would split the family a bit more evenly.

Elindis spoke then. "We will take the roads that fortune has given us." She looked pointedly at the twins. "And that includes the companions on our roads," she added and Ingwion knew she would not countenance a shifting of people from one group to another. He wasn’t sure why she would object to that, but he had long learned never to argue with his ammë. With Atto, yes, but never with Ammë. He sighed and shared a look with his twin who shrugged resignedly.

"Well, then. As soon as Eccaldamos and the others come, we will make plans to leave the city," Valandur said and everyone nodded in agreement. While they were waiting, Ingwion and Ingalaurë discussed where they would meet up once they were outside the city and where Indis should wait for them.

****

Eccaldamos, Tulcafindil and Marilla arrived at the same time shortly thereafter and were quickly apprised of what had been decided. Eccaldamos frowned slightly then shrugged. "The plan has its risks but there is little else we can do," he said. "Already there has begun a house-to-house search for you all. Ingoldo is concentrating his search for the moment among the nobles, especially those whom he knows are in sympathy with Ingwë, but it won’t be long before he starts looking elsewhere when you are not found hiding in one of Nolondur’s wine barrels."

The others chuckled nervously at that.

"When would be our best chance of getting out of the city undetected?" Valandur asked.

"Tomorrow is Valanya," Eccaldamos stated.

"Is it?" Ingwion exclaimed. "I confess, I’ve not kept track of the days since the Light was destroyed. I wonder how you even know."

Eccaldamos gave him a brief smile. "It’s my business to know these things, Highness, as it is for others. Tomorrow will be a market day. Our best chance will be during the exodus afterwards when those who live outside the city will be returning to their homes. Dressed as you now are, you could blend in with everyone else leaving."

It was agreed and Arminas promised to have some supplies sent to each of the gates in the meantime. "It wouldn’t do for you to be seen with haversacks," Arminas said. "I will arrange for supplies to be sent out of the city through the west gate. There’s a well about a quarter of a mile down the road, just at the crossroads. I’ll have someone leave supplies there."

"Won’t they be noticed by others, though?" Ingalaurë asked.

Arminas shook his head. "Close to the well are trees. The supplies will be placed in one of them in such a way that they will not be readily seen by the casual eye, so you’ll need to look for them. If you stop at the well and pretend to drink, you can wait for the crowds to disperse before climbing into the trees for the supplies."

They nodded and that seemed to be it. Plans were finalized and the rest of the day was spent idly. Eccaldamos, Tulcafindil and Marilla all went out at one point to gather more information. When they came back, they had no new news, though Tulcafindil mentioned the fact that the city seemed abnormally quiet and fewer people were about.

"I wonder if there will even be a market tomorrow," he said. "The farmers may not bother to come into the city."

There was no answer to that; they would just have to wait and see what the next day would bring.

78: Leaving Vanyamar

The original plan was for them to wait until near the time when the markets would close and people would begin leaving the city for their homes, but shortly after the noon meal, Ingalaurë claimed he was feeling too restless to just sit around for another three hours.

"I would like to get out and start mingling with the crowds," he announced. "If people are used to seeing us, they’re not going to notice us as much and will accept us in their midst as they are leaving the city."

Valandur and Eccaldamos both frowned at the prince’s words. "I hesitate to say yes to this, Ingil, for one very good reason: once we leave this inn, we have no guards and no guarantees," the loremaster said. "I would like us to wait until the last possible minute before we try this. What if you get caught?"

"What of it?" Ingalaurë retorted. "We could easily get caught at the gates as anywhere."

"Yes, but if you leave now and you are caught while the rest of us are still here at the inn, then chances are there will be a concerted effort to find us," Eccaldamos interjected. "If we all wait until we are ready to try the gates and some of us are caught, the others will hopefully have gotten away."

"As it is, Lady Indis and her party will need to leave before the rest of us, as they must travel further. In fact, your party, Ingil, will be the last to leave, since we are not as far from the south gate as we are from the other two."

"How long will we have to wait then?" Ingalaurë asked, frowning in frustration.

"Lady Indis will leave in about three hours," Valandur said. He stood up from the table where they were finishing their lunch and went to the sideboard and, opening a drawer, pulled out a fat candle on which were painted three red lines, which were about a fingernail’s width apart from one another beginning about a third of the way down from the top. He brought the candle to the table and set it on an empty plate and lit it from the candelabrum.

"This candle has been marked, as you can see," Valandur said. "When it melts down to the first line, Lady Indis will leave with her people. Ingwion and those with him will leave when the candle melts to the second line and Ingil, you will leave with the rest when it melts down to the last line. The time between when Lady Indis leaves and Ingil leaves will be equivalent to half of one hour of the Trees."

Ingalaurë glowered at the candle and then turned to Ingwion, who had remained quiet during the discussion, and gave him a wry look. ‘Trade you," he whispered, though everyone there heard him.

"Sorry, Brother," Ingwion said sincerely. "I understand your frustration. I want nothing more than to leave this very minute, but I think Valandur’s plan is our best chance." He then turned to Valandur. "Is there any real reason why Ingil’s group and mine cannot leave at the same time? From here the two gates are almost equidistant."

"Except you will have to go almost directly north first before you can turn west in order to avoid crossing the main plaza before the palace," Valandur pointed out. "Ingil just has to head straight south from here."

"Plus the fact that people may take note of such a large number leaving this inn when it is known to be closed," Eccaldamos added. "We have to time our departures for when there are no people in the immediate area. It will be easier for four people to leave undetected than eight."

Ingalaurë sighed, obviously frustrated and feeling on edge. Elindis leaned over and gave him a kiss on his temple. "Patience, my champion," she whispered. "We will be leaving soon enough."

He gave his ammë a small smile and nodded. The parlor door opened then and Arminas walked in. "I’ve gotten your supplies out," he announced. "They should be near the well when you get there."

"And you can trust the person who took them for you?" Indis asked a bit worriedly.

Arminas nodded. "He is my cousin. We are very close and he is loyal to the High King. He will not betray us. He’s promised to keep an eye on the inn while I’m away." This last was said with obvious relief, and the others realized what a sacrifice the ellon was making, abandoning his livelihood for their sake.

"Then all we can do now is wait," Valandur said and Ingalaurë wasn’t the only one to sigh.

****

The waiting, of course, was interminable, but finally the candle burned down to the first mark and Indis, Arminas, Tulcafindil, and Marilla set off, leaving by way of the kitchen entrance to walk down the alley to the street. There was little in the way of farewells, for if all went well, they would be seeing one another again in only a couple of hours.

"We’ll wait for you at the first rise," Indis said to the others, speaking of the first set of stairs comprising the road up the mountain.

Then it was Ingwion’s turn to leave. He kissed his ammë and Indil and took Ingalaurë aside. "Wait for the allotted time," he told his twin in a whisper that the others could not hear. "Do nothing precipitous. Remember, it will not just be you that you will be endangering, but Ammë and Indil."

Ingalaurë merely nodded and Ingwion gave him a fierce hug. "I love you, pityaháno. See you soon."

Ingalaurë gave him a sour grin. "You’re never going to let me forget that you’re the older twin, are you?"

Ingwion’s grin was more real. "Never. I need some amusements in my dreary life as the elder twin."

The put-upon expression he gave his brother evinced an involuntary chuckle from Ingalaurë and the twins hugged again before Ingwion joined Valandur, Findis and Eccaldamos, slipping out the kitchen door. Ingalaurë stood at the doorway and watched his brother and the others move down the alley to the street. He saw Ingwion motioning his companions back while he scouted the area, making sure he could not be seen, peering out onto the street. After a few minutes, Ingwion motioned the others forward and the last Ingalaurë saw of them was Eccaldamos turning around and waving. Ingalaurë sighed and closed the door and stared at the candle that had been moved into the kitchen.

"Won’t be long now," he said to Elindis, who was standing next to him. She smiled and wrapped her arms around him and gave him a hug and a kiss.

When the candle burned down to the last mark, Indil blew it out and they all left. Tamurilon locked the door behind them, secreting the key in a cubbyhole that Arminas had shown them earlier. Then they headed for the street. Ingalaurë waved the other three back while he reconnoitered, copying Ingwion’s actions of plastering himself against one wall so he could see what was coming from the right without himself being seen, and then moving to the other wall to look left. He was about to motion everyone forward when he heard the sound of laughter coming from the direction he was facing and quickly moved to the other side of the alley and back away from the entrance. A minute later a group of people came near, stopping in front of the inn.

"Oh," Ingalaurë heard someone say, sounding disappointed. "The inn is closed. What a pity. And here I was boasting about how fine a meal Arminas puts on."

"Well, we weren’t planning on staying for a meal anyway," another said. "Come. Let’s get moving. I would like to reach Eldamas sooner rather than later. It’s a fair night for walking."

Ingalaurë frowned, trying to remember what lómë meant. It had not been a word he had ever had to use before the Trees died and he was still adjusting to that fact. At any rate, he realized that they were in luck, for they could follow this group down to the gate and perhaps the guards would assume that they were all one group. The strangers set off and Ingalaurë watched them go. As soon as the last one turned the corner, he motioned for the others and they quickly followed him.

****

Arminas sighed as he followed Indis along the main street leading to the north gate. This was definitely not going to work. "My lady," he hissed and the urgency in his voice stopped Indis in her tracks. She turned to see her companions rushing to keep up with her.

"What is it?" she demanded imperiously.

"My lady," Arminas said, motioning for them all to follow him down a side street to a small square that was thankfully unoccupied and curiously unlit. Almost as soon as the Vanyar had returned from Valmar they had begun constructing makeshift lamps to light the streets. Indeed, a whole new guild, the Calaratani, was created just for that purpose. They presently shared a space and masters with the Smiths’ Guild and they were charged with creating and setting up lamps and maintaining them. That this particular square had not a single lamp to light it was strange, but Arminas welcomed the lack of light. He gave Indis a wry look.

"My lady, forgive me, but you are dressed as an innkeeper’s wife, yet you march down the street as if you were in a royal procession. You will get us all captured if you do not disguise yourself better."

Indis blinked a couple of times and then she lowered her eyes. Arminas waited for the explosion to come. Neither he nor the other two had any status in this lady’s eyes, and they knew it, but Arminas also knew that certain truths needed to be said, however unpalatable, if they were to succeed in leaving the city. After a tense moment or two, Indis looked up.

"And I thought my brother, Ingoldo, a fool," she said with a wry tone and they could see her smile even in starlight. "You are correct, good Arminas. Come. I will walk with you and you will tell me how to act. Should we be a family out for a stroll?" She looked at the two younger members of their party who were trying not to smile at their elders.

"I think that would be a good idea, my dear," Arminas said, holding out his arm for Indis to take. "Come along, children, your emmë is very anxious to get to the Rainbow Bridge and see the waterfall under starlight."

Marilla giggled and Tulcafindil smiled. "Coming, Atto," the ellon said and together the four made their way back to the main street. Arminas held a quiet conversation with Indis, telling her how to walk so she did not stand out from the crowd of passers-by and was pleased at how quickly the lady complied with his suggestions.

****

Ingwion stopped two squares from the west gate and looked about while the others gathered around him trying to act nonchalant. The square was nicely lit with a wrought-iron lamp at each corner. People — farmers and craftsmen mostly — were slowly making their way through the square to the gate. Ingwion idly noticed that conversations were muted and from the one or two from which he overheard snatches he gathered that people were not happy with that day’s market. Many of the wares apparently had gone unsold and people were wondering what they would do with the surplus before it all spoiled. He frowned at that, wishing his atar were there to address the question. He doubted Ingoldo would bother. For a moment, he was tempted to remain in the city and do what he could against his uncle, but then he shook his head, realizing the futility of it. It was best to leave and find the High King and let Ingwë deal with the mess.

He glanced around and saw that the crowd had thinned. He gestured for the others and they stepped away from the light spilling from a nearby lamp and into the shadows. Pulling out a flask from underneath his cloak, he uncorked it and took a good swallow and then splashed some of the contents on his tunic.

"Hey, save some for us," Valandur protested.

Ingwion just shook his head and gave them a smile. "All mine," he said, clutching the flask and weaving gently. "Ish all mine," deliberately slurring his words and giving them a wink. Then he reached back and undid part of his braid and mussed up his hair a bit. Then, without warning, he began singing at the top of his lungs even as he started to stagger away from them.

"There wash a maiden fair ’n fwee,

who never gave any flowers to me.

My heart ish breakin’ int’ two,

Oh what, oh what am I t’ do?..."

Valandur and Eccaldamos grabbed him just as he stumbled on the curb. "Whoa, Brother," Valandur said with a laugh. "You’ve had too much of good Master Nolondur’s wine, I fear."

"Very good wine," Ingwion agreed, blinking blearily as he let the two ellyn drag him along with Findis right behind them.

"Don’t overdo it," Eccaldamos whispered into Ingwion’s ear. Ingwion nodded and slumped a bit and muttered to himself as if in an alcoholic daze. He had to force himself not to smile when, as they neared the gate, Findis got into the act.

"...and what will the children think when they see their atar like this?" she said in a scolding tone. "Honestly, husband, you are a disgrace to Elvenkind."

"Dishgraysh," Ingwion echoed genially and Valandur and Eccaldamos chuckled.

"Peace, sister," Valandur said. "I’m sure the children will not think less of their atar for having a little fun."

"A little fun!" Findis exclaimed. "You call drinking half the inn’s supply of wine, dancing on the tables and flirting — flirting, mind you! — with the barmaid with his wife standing right there, fun?"

"Nice barmaid," Ingwion added with a wink to Valandur.

Some of the crowd waiting to pass through the gate chuckled at the sight of the elleth haranguing her ‘husband’ and called out their own comments.

"There’s the well just outside the gate, Mistress," one ellon called out. "You should stop there and give him some water to help sober him up."

"Water!" Findis exclaimed, clearly enjoying herself. "I’ll give him water. I’ll throw him down the bloody well."

There were gales of laughter from the crowd and Ingwion had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing himself. He raised his eyes slightly to find that they had reached the gate and was glad to see that the guards were enjoying the show as much as the rest of the crowd and merrily waved them through without giving them a glance. Once safely beyond the gate, he surreptitiously began walking so that Valandur and Eccaldamos were only pretending to drag him along, thus relieving them of the burden of his weight. Findis uttered a few more choice comments for the benefit of the crowd around them then settled into silence. They eventually reached the well which sat at a crossroad with the road that connected the west road with the road to Valmar in the south and continued northeast around the city to the road to Ilmarin. Valandur and Eccaldamos leaned him against the well, ostensibly to draw some water for him to drink. Ingwion weakly protested while the two ellyn hovered over him, thus drawing the eyes of amused passers-by to them while Findis slipped quietly away to the trees nearby.

Only when the last of the crowd disappeared around the bend did the three ellyn leave the well and go in search of Findis. They heard a sharp hiss and found her behind one of the trees. Without a word, she pointed up and Ingwion saw several dark lumps nestled in its crook. Eccaldamos neatly leapt into the tree and soon was lowering the haversacks to the ground. In minutes they were seated together behind the tree. Ingwion pulled off his wet tunic and shoved it into one of the bags but did not bother to replace it with another, merely wrapping his cloak around him.

"Let’s hope we do not have to wait too long," he whispered to the others and they all nodded, each glancing southward in the hope of seeing their friends.

****

Ingalaurë felt himself getting more and more nervous the closer they came to the gate. He and the others were still following the party before them, trying to appear as if they were a part of that group without actually being so. At any minute he feared someone would look back and see them and demand to know who they were, but they were thankfully too busy talking among themselves to bother. Ingalaurë stole a glance at his ammë walking beside him. She gave him an encouraging smile and took his arm. Indil and Tamurilon walked behind them. As they drew nearer to the gate, the crowd grew a bit and Ingalaurë fervently hoped that the guards would not bother checking everyone that went through. He started to pull the hood of his cloak up to hide his face only to feel someone yank it down. Turning around, he saw Tamurilon shaking his head.

"You’ll only draw attention to yourself," the ellon said softly. "No one else has their hood up."

Belatedly Ingalaurë realized the truth of the ellon’s words and blushed. Then they were at the gate, though there was a lull as people before them were passing through, so they moved up closer to the party they’d been following. Slowly the crowd moved through the gate and Ingalaurë was glad to see that the guards were only giving people cursory glances as they let them pass. With any luck they would be soon away. He tried not to let his nervousness show as their party came abreast of the gate. He could not help but keep his head down, hoping that none of the guards would see his face.

"We’re almost through," Ingalaurë heard Tamurilon whisper encouragingly and he began to breathe more easily.

Then, disaster struck.

They were now nearly outside the city wall when Ingalaurë heard someone call out.

"Lord Tamurilon! What do you here? What...?"

Ingalaurë glanced up just then to see who had called out and to his horror saw Tulcaner, his uncle’s chief guard, staring right at him, the light of recognition in the ellon’s eyes.

"Prince Ingalaurë!" Tulcaner cried out. "It’s the prince! Seize them!"

Suddenly there was pandemonium as people tried to move out of the way of the guards now advancing upon them. Ingalaurë tried to push his way through those in front of him, pulling Elindis along, hoping to escape, but then someone seized him from behind and yanked him back.

"NO!!" he screamed as he felt his hold on his ammë loosen.

"Ingil!" Elindis cried out in terror even as Tulcaner grabbed her. Ingalaurë struggled against his captors, for there were two of them, screaming for Elindis. He never saw the club that smashed against his temple, sending him into oblivion.

****

Pityaháno: Little brother.

Lómë: Night. Originally glossed as ‘dusk, twilight’. In Valinórean usage, according to Loudham in the Notion Club Papers, lómë ‘has no evil connotations; it is a word of peace and beauty and has none of the associations of fear or groping that, say, "dark" has for us. For the evil sense I do not know the [Quenya] word.’ [Sauron Defeated, HoME IX, ‘The Notion Club Papers’] For ‘night’ in the ‘evil sense’ mórë seems to be the best candidate. Yet, lómë evidently developed darker connotations among the Exiles, for when crying auta i lómë ‘the night is passing’ before the Nirnaeth Arnediad, the Noldor used the word metaphorically to refer to the rule of Morgoth. [Note on lómë given by Helge K. Fauskanger in his Quettaparma Quenyanna (Quenya-English Wordlist) found on Ardalambion at http://folk(dot)uib(dot)no/hnohf/.

Calaratani: Plural of calaratan: Lampwright. Cf. the attested Sindarin cognate calardan.

79: Ilmarin

"It’s been too long," Ingwion whispered to the others as they crouched behind the trees, keeping an eye on the south road. The waiting was nerve-wracking and it seemed as if time had slowed, but even so, Ingwion could tell from looking up at the position of the stars that more time had passed than should have. "Where are they?" he demanded with a hiss of breath. He felt his stomach muscles knotting with fear for his ammë and siblings.

"Perhaps they were delayed," Findis offered, but Ingwion could tell from her tone that she didn’t believe her own words.

"I will go and see," Eccaldamos said, and before anyone could protest, the ellon was slipping away into the darkness.

"Something’s happened to them," Ingwion said bleakly.

"We don’t know that," Valandur protested, but there was an element of doubt in his voice and Ingwion closed his eyes against the despair he felt smothering his fëa.

It was close to an hour before Eccaldamos returned, slipping soundlessly to where they were hiding. Even with just the stars to give them light, Ingwion could see the look of horror on the ellon’s face as he joined them.

"They were caught," he said baldly without preamble. Findis gasped and fell into Valandur’s arms. Ingwion felt his universe shifting in a sickening way and Eccaldamos grabbed him, keeping him upright. He forced himself to swallow the bile that threatened to rise and gave Eccaldamos a bleak look.

"How?"

Eccaldamos shook his head. "I do not know for sure, but from what I could gather from eavesdropping, someone recognized Lord Tamurilon."

"Valar!" Valandur spat out.

Eccaldamos nodded, looking grim. "They were almost out, too. A few more minutes and they would have been free."

"What do we do now?" Findis asked despairingly from the safety of her husband’s arms.

For a moment, Ingwion had the mad idea of rushing back into the city to rescue his ammë and the others, but realized how utterly foolish the notion was. He closed his eyes against the pain of what he knew was the right decision, indeed, the only decision they could make. He opened his eyes and saw Eccaldamos eyeing him, his expression neutral, but Ingwion had the feeling the ellon knew exactly what he had been thinking.

"We go to Ilmarin," he said softly.

"What about....?" Findis started to ask, but Valandur hushed her.

"There’s no way we can help them now except by making sure the rest of us are not caught," he told her. "There’s bound to be a concerted search for us outside the city now. We need to reach Ilmarin before that. It’s our only chance."

Findis nodded reluctantly. Ingwion stooped down and grabbed one of the haversacks, only realizing it was the one his brother had put together. He held it close to him, ruthlessly stifling the urge to weep. "Let’s go," was all he said, and without bothering to see what the others were doing, turned his face to the north and strode away.

****

It took them time to reach the rendevous point, for at the last minute it occurred to Ingwion that the road which circled the city from the south to the north passed directly by the north gate, which meant that they would have to leave the road before that to avoid being seen by the guards. He swore under his breath as he came to that realization and wondered what his atar would say if he knew how stupid his eldest child truly was. Without a word to the others, he moved off the road and headed along a fold of the mountain flank towards a stand of trees. In the near dark it was not an easy walk and he could hear Findis stumbling over an unseen hummock, Valandur catching her before she fell. Once within the trees they angled their way so that they were more or less parallel to the road, which they could see with its shaped flagstones shining white under starlight. Ingwion idly wondered how long it would be before the Lampwrights got around to setting up lamps along the road itself, or if they would even bother. He imagined his atar would insist that they do, but Ingwë wasn’t there and Ingoldo was unlikely to think of such things.

He shook his head in dismay. So much of their world had disappeared with the death of the Trees. Nothing could be counted on. Everything that he knew about himself and about his world had been turned upside down and he wasn’t even sure if it would ever feel right again. He brushed such thoughts away and concentrated on their route. In a way, he was grateful that the Lampwrights had not gotten too ambitious as yet. If they stuck close to the trees, it was just possible that they would pass the gate unnoticed.

Taking a look around he whispered some instructions to the others and saw Valandur nod. Then he, Findis and Eccaldamos moved further into the woods, though not so far that they could not see Ingwion who flitted along the edge of the copse, keeping the road in sight. The trees continued to parallel the road and, while their path was not too encumbered, they had to contend with making their way through a thick forest in the dark, a forest that climbed along a ridge so that at one point Ingwion was actually looking down upon the road that lay several yards away.

He sighed with relief when they finally passed the gate without incident. He could see that it had been closed — the first time that had happened since the city’s founding — and there was no sign of guards. Apparently Ingoldo was taking no chances.

To be safe, though, Ingwion continued to walk under the eaves of the woods until the gate was far enough behind them that he felt reasonably safe and with a gesture to the others headed back to the road. They headed downhill, traversing a small ravine and climbing back up to the road. This part of the road was still flat, consisting of flagged pavement. About a mile beyond the gate they would encounter the first of many stairs that alternated with the flat pavement which would eventually lead them up to Ilmarin. Ingwion guessed they perhaps had another quarter of a mile to go. He took a look at his companions. Valandur and Eccaldamos were quietly waiting, looking no worse for wear than if they had been strolling in a park. Findis was pulling twigs out of her hair, looking disgusted. Ingwion forced himself not to smile.

"We’re not far from the first rise," he whispered and when the others nodded he set off again.

True to his word they saw the first set of stairs in a matter of minutes. Four people were sitting on the steps, but they rose as soon as they saw Ingwion.

"Where’s Elindis and the others?" Indis hissed as Ingwion’s party approached.

"They didn’t make it," Ingwion said shortly, not even bothering to stop. He did not dare stop. If he stopped, he would start thinking about his ammë and Ingil and Indil and Tam and he didn’t dare or he knew he would break down and that would be not only unforgivable but dangerous for them all. Best to keep going, reach Ilmarin and seek the help of the Valar. Surely they would offer them help in finding the High King and rescuing his family. He had to believe that or there was no hope for any of them.

Marilla gasped in dismay and Tulcafindil held her. Arminas’ expression was set. Indis simply looked confused. "What do you mean, they didn’t make it?" she demanded. "Where are you going, Ingwion? We need to...."

"No!" Ingwion hissed angrily as he turned to look down at the others, for no one else but he had started climbing the stairs. "We go on. The city is closed to us. We cannot rescue anyone."

"But...."

"NO!" he shouted, no longer caring about remaining quiet. "We go on!" he exclaimed, letting his own anger take hold. "We cannot help them. They are lost to us. We go on."

Without another word, ignoring the stunned looks on everyone’s faces, he turned and began climbing the stairs, no longer interested in what anyone else did or did not do. He only knew he had to keep moving, keep moving and not think too much about anything except to reach Ilmarin and put everything in Lord Manwë’s hands. That was his only hope. That was the only thing that was important.

He heard several sighs and the sound of people moving behind him but he did not look back. He would not look back. Ahead. He needed to think ahead, needed to think only of putting one foot in front of the other and not stop, for if he stopped....

The climb seemed endless, made more so by the silence among them, for no one dared speak out loud, though Ingwion heard Valandur giving his aunt and the others a whispered account of what they knew of the fate of the rest of the royal family. If anyone made any comment about it, he didn’t hear.

Eventually, they reached the gates of Ilmarin with the eagle statues guarding the entrance, their outstretched wings forming an arch. Beyond, forever lit, was the statue of Varda with the miniature star pulsing gently. They came inside the courtyard and Ingwion noticed the awed expressions on the faces of those who had probably never come here and found himself smiling, feeling somewhat superior.

"This way," he said, pointing towards an arcade that would take them to where he hoped to meet one of the Maiar who would take them to the Valar, or send word to them if they were still in Valmar. He realized that that might be the case, that the Valar might still be in council at the Máhanaxar. Yet, he knew that they could be in Ilmarin with a single thought, so he was not too concerned. The others followed and they had not taken more than a score of steps when they encountered a Maia, one whom Ingwion did not recognize. The eight-pointed star on his surcoat told them that he was in Lady Varda’s service.

"Welcome, Children," the Maia said, his tone neutral. "What do you here?"

"I am Ingwion...."

"I know your names," the Maia interrupted, "but not your purpose."

"I wish to speak with Lord Manwë," Ingwion said, resisting a sigh, "and... and we need... sanctuary." He stumbled over that last word. He had had to ask Valandur about the word while they were making plans at the inn, for it had never been a part of his vocabulary.

The Maia’s expression never altered, but Ingwion had the feeling that he was surprised by Ingwion’s request. He gave them a bow. "I will take you to where you may rest while I see if Lord Manwë will see you," he said. With that, he turned and began walking away. Ingwion gave the others a rueful look and followed after him with the others trailing behind. Soon they were being led into a suite of rooms and the Maia showed them where they might freshen up.

"Bathe if you wish," he said, "and in the meantime, I will see that refreshments are sent to you. I cannot guarantee when the Elder King will deign to grant you an audience, so take what rest you may. When I know my master’s will, I will inform you."

Before Ingwion or anyone else could say anything, the Maia left. For a moment, they all just stood there, staring at one another. Then, Ingwion gave a shrug, dropping the haversack he’d been carrying. "I’m for a bath," he said and headed for the bathing chamber, leaving the others to gawk after him.

****

The bath, followed by the meal provided by the nameless Maia, helped. Ingwion felt more hopeful that things would turn out well. It helped that while he was bathing, his travel-stained clothes had been whisked away and returned clean and pressed. He wished he could appear before the Valar in something more fine, but he was glad he wouldn’t be facing them in a dirty and wrinkled tunic smelling of wine.

The others had also taken advantage of the amenities offered, and soon they were all freshly bathed and dressed and their mood was, if not cheerful, certainly less despondent.

"How long do you think we’ll have to wait?" Marilla asked at one point.

Ingwion shrugged. "As to that, there is no way to tell. The Valar will see us in their own time and not in ours."

This proved true, for enough time passed that another meal was brought to them and most of them even slept for a time, though Ingwion did not, spending the hours of waiting playing the sequence of events over and over again in his mind, wondering what he could have done differently to effect a better outcome, but eventually, even he tired of his own thoughts and sought his bed.

He was waken some hours later to someone calling his name and focusing his eyes he saw a Maia standing at the foot of the bed, and this one he recognized.

"Nornoros!" he exclaimed in surprise and the Maia smiled warmly.

"It is good to see you again, Little One," Nornoros said.

"Not so little anymore," Ingwion retorted with a grin.

"No, not so little," the Maia agreed with a nod. "I have been sent to escort you to Lord Manwë whenever you are ready. No need to rush. I have a light repast waiting for you in the sitting room."

"Thank you. I won’t be long," Ingwion said as he climbed out of bed and went in search of the privy.

Ten minutes later he was downing some juice and nibbling on bread and cheese. He was alone, except for the Maia. "What about the others?" he asked. "Are they not coming as well?"

Nornoros shook his head. "Lord Manwë has summoned only you," he answered. "If he wishes to speak with the rest of your party they will be summoned at need."

Ingwion grimaced, not sure he wanted to face the Valar alone, but knew he had no choice. He finished breaking his fast and then followed Nornoros as the Maia led him along one hallway after another until Ingwion wasn’t sure he would be able to find his way back to the others without help. Eventually they came in front of tall doors made of gold and mithril which opened silently as they approached. Ingwion wondered where he was being taken, for he had simply assumed that the Valar would see him in the usual audience chamber where he always met them. He stumbled to a halt in shock and consternation as he reached the threshold. Nornoros turned and gave him an encouraging smile, but Ingwion just stood there, for he saw that he’d been brought to the main throne room of the Valar. There they sat in somber majesty upon their thrones and there was little in their expressions that seemed welcoming to the Elf. He felt his stomach tightening and prayed that he would not embarrass himself by sicking up his breakfast. Nornoros said nothing, but gently took Ingwion’s arm and led him into the room, passing the thrones on either side until they were standing before the thrones of the Elder King and Varda.

Nornoros bowed and Ingwion had the presence of mind to give his own obeisance. "Prince Ingwion, my lord," the Maia announced, rather unnecessarily to Ingwion’s mind.

Manwë nodded. "Thank you, Nornoros. You may go."

Ingwion had an irrational urge to grab the Maia by the arm and beg him not to leave, but forced himself not to move. Nornoros bowed again, gave Ingwion another encouraging smile and left. Ingwion suddenly wished he could leave, too. However, even as Nornoros was making his way out, Manwë was addressing Ingwion

"You wished to see us, Ingwion."

Ingwion nodded, looking up at the Elder King. "Atar is missing," he said, deciding to just get to the point. "Uncle Ingoldo has taken over the city and he has Ammë and my brother and sister. I need help, lord. I need to find Atar and rescue the others from Ingoldo."

"Ingwë never reached Vanyamar?" Manwë asked, looking troubled.

"No, lord," Ingwion answered. "None have seen him since he parted company with Aunt Indis in Eldamas."

There was silence that was pregnant with meaning, for Ingwion had no doubt that the Valar were in silent communication. He forced himself to remain still and keep his eyes on Lord Manwë, or rather on Lord Manwë’s chest. He did not dare to look the Elder King in the eyes for fear of what he might see there. The silence seemed to go on forever, but eventually Manwë nodded.

"This is disturbing news," he said, "but I do not know what you expect us to do about it."

Ingwion looked at the Vala in surprise. "But, surely you can help find Atar," he exclaimed. "Your Maiar..."

"Have more important things to do than look for one wayward Elf," Varda said, entering the conversation.

Ingwion felt the blood rush from his face. "Wayward Elf?" he whispered in disbelief. "Atar is no wayward Elf, lady. He is the High King and your most faithful servant. Will you dismiss him so casually? He who has ever sat at your feet and nigh on worshiped the ground you tread? How dare you...."

"No, child, how dare you," Varda said coldly. "In case you have not noticed, we are suffering our own crisis. The Trees are dead and Melkor has escaped us once again. The Noldor have revolted against us as you well know and even now they are staining the white sands of Alqualondë with the blood of their Telerin kin, seeking to wrest from Olwë his swanships. And now you come here demanding us to find your Atar?"

Ingwion reeled at the coldness of the Valië’s tone and the look of disgust that marred her fair countenance. "What do you mean?" he whispered. "What is happening in Alqualondë?"

"Not your concern," Manwë said brusquely.

"Not my...." Ingwion blinked two or three times, trying to understand what was being said.

Manwë nodded. "Not your concern, child," he repeated, though more gently. "You have your atar to find and restore to his rightful place and to bring Ingoldo to justice."

"Where do I look?" Ingwion implored. "Can you not lend me even one Maia to help?"

"No, Ingwion. I cannot," Manwë replied, "and more, I will not. We Valar are done with attempting to intervene in your lives. We have seen the result of our intervention with Fëanáro and all to no avail. No. In this you are alone. Find Ingwë and do what you can to restore peace among your people. We Valar have other concerns."

It was like a slap in the face and Ingwion could only stand there and stare at Manwë in disbelief. This could not be happening. They had to help him. How could he possibly succeed against Ingoldo without their help. "Please, my lord," he pleaded, going to his knees in supplication. "Do not abandon us... me. Atar is your most devoted servant. Will you just abandon him to his fate? Have you no pity? Have you no compassion for our plight?"

"Our compassion has made it possible for Fëanáro and the Noldor to rebel against us with impunity," Varda answered. "We will not make that mistake again. You are on your own in this, Ingwion. As my lord has said, we Valar have other and more pressing concerns."

For a long moment Ingwion just knelt there, unsure what to say or do next. Manwë saved him the trouble. "You should go now, my son," he said gently. "Any in your party who wishes may remain here in safety, but beyond that we will render no aid. You must fight this battle on your own."

Ingwion stood up, despair flooding him. From the moment he had learned that his ammë and his brother and sister had been captured by Ingoldo, the one thought that had kept him going, that had stayed him from doing something foolish or dangerous, was that once he reached Ilmarin he would gain the help of the Valar and then all would be well. But now... now that hope had been brutally dashed and he was at a loss as to what to do next.

"You will not help me," he stated bleakly, knowing the answer but needing confirmation.

For the first time since the audience began Manwë actually looked sad as he shook his head. "No, we will not," he replied.

Ingwion stared at the Elder King and Varda for a moment longer, then looked, first to his left and then to his right, at the other Valar who sat on their thrones impassively. He looked again at Manwë and then, without bothering to give the Vala his obeisance, he turned on his heel and walked away, never looking back. The gold and mithril doors opened silently for him and closed behind him just as silently.

He was unsurprised not to see Nornoros or one of the other Maiar there to escort him back to where his companions were waiting. Apparently what the Elder King said, he meant: Ingwion would receive no help.

He found he had to stop and catch his breath, for the emotions he had kept under tight rein now threatened to explode. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his hands into fists, falling to his knees, suddenly feeling weak with anger and despair. And then he threw back his head and screamed.

80: Debate and Decisions

"That was ill done, I fear," Námo said contemplatively to Manwë after the doors closed behind Ingwion. It was not an accusation as much as it was an observation.

Before Manwë could respond they were all startled by the sound of Ingwion screaming. The despair that they heard in it sorrowed them all and they exchanged troubled looks. The Elder King sighed. "Olórin," he said softly and immediately the Maia was before him, giving him his obeisance.

"My lord?" he said, giving Manwë an enquiring look.

"Ingwion," Manwë said.

"Clad or unclad?" Olórin asked.

"Unclad."

The Maia nodded. "Watch only or guard?"

Manwë hesitated slightly and Olórin raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Both," the Elder King finally answered. "However, do not directly interfere with whatever they do, but see to it that they do not leave here in despair."

"You offered them sanctuary," Aulë said, stroking his golden-red beard. "Do you think they will spurn it?"

"Some will remain," Varda answered. "Indis certainly will do so and possibly Findis will to keep her company. The ellyn...." She shrugged. "I suspect they will leave and search for Ingwë."

"Which reminds me," Manwë said. "Fionwë," he called and that worthy Maia was suddenly there. Manwë gave him a brief wintry smile. "I trust Ingwë is well?"

"As well as can be expected of one who has been denied his liberty," Fionwë answered with a grin. "He chafes at his imprisonment and seeks ever for ways of escaping but his gaolers have not offered him any violence... so far."

There were many raised eyebrows at that. "You think they will seek to harm him?" Yavanna asked worriedly.

Fionwë gave her an elegant shrug. "I do not know, lady. Those who guard the High King are careful to remain polite and respectful. Ingwë is no fool. He returns the favor, perhaps in the hope of gaining their trust. I am afraid he was rather shocked to think that some of his own people would turn against him, but Ingoldo has trained them well and he has their loyalty, at least for now."

"You think Ingwë will be able to turn them, then?" Oromë asked.

"I do not know, lord," the Maia answered, frowning slightly. "Ingwë has a very powerful personality, and his gaolers are somewhat in awe of him, but whether that is enough to bring them to his side is anyone’s guess. It really depends on what threats Ingoldo has over them."

"Threats?" Varda asked. "What do you mean by threats?"

Fionwë grimaced. "I do not know for sure, but from overhearing some of the guards speaking, I think Ingoldo may be holding their families hostage or at least he has intimated that he has. They have no real proof either way but they do not want to take a chance on that. Better to go along than to have their loved ones threatened even further."

There was much shaking of heads among them. "It seems that even the Vanyar are infected by Melkor’s taint."

"Certainly some of them," Námo replied grimly.

Manwë nodded, looking sorrowful. "Which brings us to Ingwë’s wife and other children who are still in Vanyamar."

"Ingalaurë is the key," Námo said and the others gave him surprised looks.

"Would you care to explain?" Manwë asked mildly.

"I can only tell you that everything hinges on what Ingalaurë does or does not do. Elindis and Indil are mere pawns to keep Ingalaurë in line. What Ingoldo’s plans are I cannot say for sure, though obviously he means to take control of the Vanyar in some manner, but he needs Ingalaurë to effect it. Elindis and Indil are not important to Ingoldo’s plans except as surety for Ingalaurë’s continuing compliance."

"Then it seems that Ingalaurë will need help," Oromë ventured. "He is not as strong-willed as either Ingwë or Ingwion."

"He is stronger than he seems, stronger than he knows," Námo said with a shake of his head. "But even the strongest can break under the right circumstances." His eyes grew dark for a moment as memories of an earlier time flitted across his mind, and Vairë leaned over and squeezed his arm in sympathy. He gave her a shy smile.

Manwë nodded. "I will send someone to keep an eye on things in Vanyamar and on Ingalaurë especially," he said, then turned to Olórin standing there patiently. "In the meantime, stay with Ingwion," the Elder King ordered, "and keep us informed of his movements."

Olórin bowed and faded from view. Manwë turned to Fionwë. "Return to your own post," he said. "If any of Ingwë’s captors offer him harm, you have our permission to interfere, but only if it is physical harm that is threatened, and only if Ingwë does nothing to warrant it."

Fionwë frowned. "I do not understand, lord."

Manwë sighed. "If Ingwë attempts to escape and is caught, his captors may very well lesson him to teach him the error of his ways. Short of them actually attempting to kill or maim him, you are not to interfere. If, on the other hand, his captors simply decide to do him physical harm when he has done nothing to incite them towards violence, then you may interfere."

Fionwë gave him a troubled look. "To just stand by and do nothing...."

"Is the hardest thing any of us can do," Manwë said, "but some things must take their course. That is why I have forbidden any of the Maiar to come to the aid of Ingwë’s family, even though both Elindis and Indis shouted themselves hoarse calling for us when they found themselves prisoners. We did not interfere with events in Alqualondë; we cannot do so here, for then it smacks of favoritism." He gave the Maia a kindly look. "It is a difficult assignment, my son, but I have every confidence in your ability to perform your tasks with your usual consummate skill."

It was apparently the right thing to say, for Fionwë straightened, a look of pride and determination not to disappoint his lord on his face. "It will be as you command, my lord," he said. Then he gave Manwë a bow and thought himself away.

For a moment or two there was silence between the Valar and then Námo stirred. "What do we do about Fëanáro?"

"You said he will be coming to you soon," Oromë said.

Námo nodded. "Soon enough, though I suspect he’ll cause further mischief before he does." He gave them a sardonic look and many nodded grimly at his words.

"You will, of course, pronounce the Doom," Manwë said. "Against Fëanáro only," he amended. "All others, even his sons, are welcome to return, if they are truly repentant and willing to make amends."

"I doubt those who participated in the Kinslaying will take you up on your offer, Manwë," Námo said and the darkness of his tone told them that he was not being flippant.

Manwë sighed, a world of grief in his eyes. "No. I doubt they will," he replied, "but the offer will be given." He gave Námo a significant look and the Lord of Mandos nodded.

"In the meantime, what do we do about the Vanyar?" Tulkas asked. "Námo is correct. Refusing Ingwion as we did may prove an ill thing for many."

"Yet, what else could we have done?" Nessa demanded. "We’ve seen the results of our interference already. To interfere even more will just make matters worse."

"Perhaps," Tulkas averred with a frown, "but it goes against my nature to stand by and do nothing when it is obvious these Children are hurting."

"We are not doing nothing, Tulkas," Manwë said. "We will do what we can, but much of it must remain hidden from the eyes of the Children."

"What plans should we be making, then?" Ulmo asked. "We’ve been rather inept lately in terms of knowing how the Children would react. None of us actually believed Fëanáro would convince the Noldor to follow him to the Outer Lands and yet he was able to persuade even someone like young Arafinwë to join him in rebellion. How then can we safely make any plans with regards to the Children if we cannot predict what any of them will do next?"

"We will have to make a number of contingency plans," Varda answered, "basing them on what we know of the Children and what we think they may or may not do. As events unfold some plans will necessarily be dropped or altered and other plans formulated."

"We can begin with the Noldor," Manwë said with a nod. "I have no doubt that when Námo pronounces our Doom, some will come to their senses and return to Aman. We must decide what to do with them. Those who continue on with Fëanáro will no longer be our concern. They will have made their choice and will have to abide by it."

"The ones who return will no doubt be expecting to be punished in some manner," Nienna offered. There were nods all around.

"And they will be," Manwë stated, "though perhaps not in a manner they expect."

"What do you mean by that?" Irmo asked.

"Who among the House of Finwë do you think will return to us?" Manwë asked them and several shrugged, not willing to voice an opinion.

"Arafinwë," Námo said and by the tone of his voice they knew he was speaking from knowledge and none gainsaid him.

"No others?" Vairë asked him and when Námo shook his head, many sighed, their expressions sorrowful.

"He will be the Noldóran then," Tulkas said with a nod. "What do we know of him?"

"Beyond the fact that he married Olwë’s daughter and has a secret desire to take up fishing, not much," Ulmo replied with a glint of humor in his eyes and many chuckled.

"He is soft-spoken and deliberate," Aulë said. "Of Finwë’s sons, I deem him the most wise, but he has the same stubborn streak that plagues all of that House and that may make things difficult."

"Difficult in what way?" Irmo asked.

"He will insist that any punishment we intend to exact should be his and his alone," Aulë answered. "I suspect that he will even welcome it, believing that by giving himself over to our chastisement, he will be protecting his people from our supposed wrath."

"But if we forgive them...." Yavanna started to say but her husband shook his head.

"Arafinwë will not accept our unconditional forgiveness. None of them will."

"They will expect us to punish them," Manwë added, "and as Aulë said, some will even welcome it as their due. Therefore, we will punish them by not punishing them. They will have to work out their redemption on their own."

"And Arafinwë?" Nienna asked. "How much training does he have? Will he be able to lead his people effectively?"

"Perhaps not at first," Manwë averred. "Eärwen has more training in the art of ruling than he does. Olwë has been more open to the idea of teaching his daughters than Finwë ever was, or even Ingwë. Arafinwë, as the youngest son, had no hope of ruling anything but his own household. His education in that respect is somewhat deficient. I may have to take him under my tutelage for a time, but I will withhold my decision on that until I deem it necessary. We will see what he does in the meantime. He may well surprise us."

"Let us just hope it’s a pleasant surprise," Námo offered, giving Manwë a significant look and the others nodded in agreement.

"And now we must address the situation at Alqualondë," Manwë said with a sigh, turning to Ulmo. "How many of the alqualunti were taken by Fëanáro and how many destroyed?"

"Nearly half of them are lost, either by fire or by storm," Ulmo replied.

"Where did the storm come from?" Varda asked. "I thought we would not interfere with what was happening."

"Nor did I call it up," Ulmo said, shaking his head. "Unfortunately, Uinen was so distressed at what was happening I fear she inadvertently caused the storm with her tears."

"Olwë will not love us for not heeding his plea," Varda opined.

Ulmo gave her a hard look. "You mean, he will not love me. It was to me and my People he called for aid. Ossë was practically screaming at me. Salmar and Lirillo had to actually grab him, prevent him from attacking me. I told them to keep him out of my sight until he was more composed."

"Where have they taken him?" Nessa asked, giving Ulmo a curious look.

"Ullubozphelun," the Lord of Waters answered with a mirthless grin. "The methane oceans there should cool him off nicely." There was much chuckling among them.

"Well, getting back to the matter at hand," Manwë said once they calmed down, "Olwë will no doubt feel justified in hating us for our refusal to help him in his people’s hour of need. We need to find a way to win back his friendship."

"You mean, I need to find a way," Ulmo retorted, though his tone was neither belligerent nor sad, merely stating fact.

"What of the victims?" Nienna asked, turning to her brother. "And the Noldor who died? How are they being handled?"

Námo grimaced, his amaranthine eyes filled with pain. "The Teleri who have come to me are already sleeping," he answered. "My people and I were as gentle with them as we could be and their Judgments were, let us say, cursory." He gave them a significant look and many nodded. "As for the Noldor who have died, I have herded them into a single hall where they are under the watchful eyes of Aicatirno and Hurinórenámo." He gave them a grim smile, which many returned with looks of approval. "It is my thought that they should suffer Judgment before us all, for their offenses were as much against us as against their Telerin kin."

Manwë nodded. "It is well. I think it will be appropriate for us to bring them to the Máhanaxar when we are ready to judge them." Everyone agreed to this and Manwë continued. "Then we will begin judging them once we have settled other matters." He looked at Yavanna and Nienna. "Has there been any sign of recovery by the Trees?"

Yavanna and Nienna looked at one another, then Yavanna spoke. "In truth, we have not checked lately," she said with some chagrin. "I fear all that has happened with the Noldor has taken our attention away from other things."

"Understandable," Manwë said. "Go and check the Trees. See if anything of them can be salvaged. If Varda is to create a star for this system, I would like to have something of their Light included in its making, that it be a last remembrance of an earlier, brighter age in Arda’s history."

Yavanna and Nienna both nodded and thought themselves away. Manwë then turned grave eyes to Námo. "You know what must be done," he said.

Námo nodded. "And afterwards when Arafinwë returns, what then?"

"We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it," Manwë answered with a sigh, casting his eyes down so that he did not see Námo giving him a sour grin even as he shed his fana. For a moment there was silence among the remaining Valar, and then Manwë raised his head, his expression determined. "In the meantime, let us move on to other matters. Oromë, suppose we start with your report on the condition of the wildlife...."

****

Ingwion knelt in the hallway, drained of emotion. His scream had been visceral, a primal cry of despair and hopelessness in the face of what he perceived as an insurmountable problem. He could not understand Lord Manwë’s coldness toward him and his people’s plight. Did his atar’s loyalty and love for the Valar count for nothing? He shook his head and slowly climbed back to his feet and looked around, wondering vaguely how he was going to find the others, for he appeared to be alone and no Maia was there to lead him away. He sighed, angrily wiping the tears from his eyes and headed away from the throne room, unaware that he was being subtly guided by an invisible Olórin so that he eventually reached an area of the mansion that he recognized and soon he was with the others. As he walked he came to certain decisions, so that by the time he found the others, he knew what he was going to do.

He entered the suite to see everyone waiting, their expressions expectant. He had schooled his own expression before entering. For a moment he stood on the threshold, his eyes finding Valandur’s first and gave a small shake of his head.

"They will not help us," he said baldly as he entered the room completely, closing the door behind him.

"What do you mean?" Indis demanded. "Of course they will help us. They...."

"They will not help us," Ingwion repeated angrily. "We are on our own."

There was shocked silence among them and many troubled looks. "Why won’t they help us?" Findis asked, looking stricken.

Ingwion shook his head. "Lord Manwë made it clear that the Valar have other, seemingly more pressing concerns. He told me that I must find Atar on my own and do what I can to succor our people."

"Did they give you no clue as to where to start looking?" Valandur asked, frowning in thought.

Ingwion shook his head again. "No. They said nothing. Any who wish to remain in Ilmarin may do so, but that is the extent of their aid to us. I will not stay here. I will not abandon Atar even if they have."

Indis sighed. "I will remain," she said, "at least for a little while. I have no desire to go traipsing through Eldamar in search of my brother."

"I will remain with you, Ammë," Findis said. "I, too, have no desire to wander about."

"I think all the ellith should remain here where they will be safe," Arminas suggested. "I will not stay, for I wish to join my family in Eldamas."

"Well, I am not staying either," Marilla retorted with a huff.

"Our road will be fraught with much danger, Marilla," Tulcafindil said to her. "And an elleth alone among the ellyn without a proper chaperone? What will people think?"

"Who cares what others think?" Marilla shot back angrily. "Is my loyalty to the High King any less than yours? Are you ellyn so ill-mannered that I must fear for my virtue, chaperone or no chaperone? How dare you think that I am any less capable than you just because I am an elleth."

In spite of himself, Ingwion found himself grinning at the elleth’s tongue-lashing. Before Tulcafindil could offer a retort, he held up a hand to get their attention. "Marilla, neither your loyalty nor your abilities are in question. My primary concern is that when I leave here I do not know where I will go. I have no idea even where to start looking for the High King. Those who come with me may well find themselves in straitened conditions. Also, we may well be forced to fight against Ingoldo’s men. None of us have any training in the use of weapons, except possibly Valandur and Eccaldamos."

"I wielded a spear during the Great March," Eccaldamos said with a nod, "though admittedly it was against wild animals and I have not held a spear in my hand since coming to Valinor."

"But you know how to use one," Ingwion stated and Eccaldamos nodded.

"Well, I am fairly good with the bow," Marilla said stoutly. "I think I can protect myself at need."

"But to have an elleth with us!" Tulcafindil protested.

"And what makes you think, youngster, that you are included in our group?" Eccaldamos asked pointedly. "You are as inexperienced as Marilla in the ways of defense."

"And he isn’t?" Tulcafindil demanded, pointing at Ingwion.

"You forget yourself, hina," Eccaldamos hissed, his expression becoming wrathful. "Prince Ingwion is our leader and you had better remember that."

Tulcafindil gave them a chagrined look and muttered an apology. Ingwion decided he had better take control of the situation before it got out of hand. "I have not agreed to allow anyone to come with me," he said.

"You do not mean to go alone, surely?" Valandur enquired. "That would be not only foolish but dangerous."

"Nor would I be so foolish," Ingwion averred, "but the fact remains that I have no idea where I am to go or what I am to do. I fear that I will be going from exile to exile and I do not wish for any to share it if they do not have to. At least here you will all be safe and perhaps you may have the opportunity to speak with the Valar and convince them where I could not to give us aid."

"Certainly, I can do that," Indis announced, "but I do not think it necessary for all of us to remain here. You should at least take Valandur and Eccaldamos and Arminas could accompany you at least to Eldamas."

Ingwion gave his aunt a puzzled look. "You think I should go to Eldamas? Why?"

"It was the last place any of us saw my brother," Indis explained. "Start there. Perhaps someone saw something or overheard something that might tell you where to go from there."

"Eldamas is fairly large," Ingwion said with a frown.

"But not as large as Vanyamar or Tirion," Valandur pointed out. "It’s a more close-knit community and everyone seems to know everyone else and their business. At least it’s a place to start."

Ingwion nodded. "Your words are wise, Valandur, and yours, too, Aunt. Very well, I will go to Eldamas and Valandur and Eccaldamos will accompany me." He saw the despondent looks on the two younger Elves and smiled. "I have another task for you two." Tulcafindil and Marilla looked up in surprise. "I want you two to make your way back into the city and quietly ascertain what has become of my ammë and the others who were captured. Do nothing to bring attention to yourselves," he admonished them, "but learn all you can and then come find me in Eldamas."

"Are you sure they can enter and leave the city safely?" Findis asked.

It was Eccaldamos who answered. "If they take every precaution and do not draw attention to themselves, as Prince Ingwion said." He gave the two youngsters a stern look which dampened their own delight somewhat. "Remember all that I have taught you," he admonished them. "Go to Lord Nolondur and tell him what has happened. He will aid you."

"I will give you a letter that you will take to Nolondur from his daughter," Ingwion said. "I did not have an opportunity to deliver it myself. That will be your excuse if anyone questions you. I will give you my own letter as well to give to Nolondur."

"Is that wise, Ingwion?" Valandur asked. "If it should fall into the wrong hands...."

"This letter will be verbal," Ingwion replied. "Marilla will deliver it. She is very good at remembering anything told to her once."

Marilla beamed at the compliment. Ingwion saw Tulcafindil looking rebellious, for obviously the ellon wanted to go with him instead of going with Marilla. "And Tulcafindil is very good at remaining calm in the face of danger. He will make sure Marilla doesn’t get into any trouble with her impulsiveness."

Now Tulcafindil beamed, or rather smirked, while Marilla looked a bit embarrassed. Ingwion noticed the looks of approval from Valandur and Eccaldamos and was warmed by the nod Indis gave him. Satisfied that those two were taken care of, Ingwion turned to other matters. "I think we should rest for a time before setting out. We have to figure out how to leave the mountain without having to go past the city. There’s too much of a chance of being found out."

"What about Marilla and me, though?" Tulcafindil asked.

"We’ll work that out," Ingwion assured him. "Right now, though, I really must rest. It’s been a very eventful day and I cannot think of anything other than the need to sleep."

"Then you should rest," Indis said solicitously. "While you do, perhaps we can work out the logistics of getting you to Eldamas without getting caught and figuring out how Tulcafindil and Marilla can get inside the city."

Ingwion nodded, looking grateful, and took his leave, making his way to one of the bedrooms.

No one saw Olórin standing there, nodding in satisfaction.

****

Alqualunti: Plural of alqualuntë: Swanship. This is an attested word. In earlier redactions of the Silmarillion, Alqualondë was also called Kópas Alqaluntë , translated by Tolkien as ‘the Haven of the Swanships’ [see Book of Lost Tales I, HoME I, ‘VII: The Flight of the Noldoli’]. In LOTR-style Quenya this would become Hópa Alqualunti.

Ullubozphelun: (Valarin) ‘Ulmo’s Dwelling’, i.e. the planet Neptune, Called Nénar by the Eldar. Nénar is an attested word, evidently derived from nén ‘water’.

81: Abdication and Acquiescence

Ingalaurë woke to a blinding headache. He moaned with the pain and shut his eyes again. He sensed movement around him but was too lost in his own misery to pay much attention. Then he felt someone lift his head and there was a goblet pressed against his lips and he automatically opened his mouth. Clear, cool water washed down his throat and he sighed with relief as his head was lowered once he had finished drinking. He ventured to open his eyes again. A quick glance about told him he was in his own room. He frowned, trying to remember how he’d gotten there.

"How are you feeling?"

He looked to his left and saw Indil looking down at him, her expression worried.

"What happened?" he rasped, struggling to sit up. He gave a small moan as dizziness assailed him and Indil was there immediately, helping him to a sitting position.

"We were caught, obviously," she said brusquely even as she gently eased him back against the pillows.

"Ammë?" Ingalaurë asked.

Indil shook her head as she pulled up a chair and sat. "I don’t know," she answered despairingly. "When we were brought back here, Uncle Ingoldo threw me in here with you and told me to tend to you. Ammë and Tam...." she stifled a sob. "I don’t know what happened to them. I don’t think Uncle will hurt Ammë, but Tam...."

Ingalaurë struggled to come up with some platitude that would cheer his sister but his heart was sinking fast and he saw no hope for them.

"What about Ingwi and the others?" he asked, fearing the answer. "Were they caught as well?"

Indil sighed. "I don’t know that either. I don’t think so or I’m sure Uncle would be here gloating." She gave him a sour look and in spite of things, Ingalaurë found himself grinning. Then the grin faded as he took in the implications of their plight.

"How long was I out, do you know?" he asked.

"Perhaps a few hours," Indil answered with a shrug. "It’s so hard to tell now."

Ingalaurë sighed and shifted to climb out of the bed, clinging to the edge when everything lurched for a second before settling down.

"Should you be getting up?" Indil enquired with a look of concern, even as she lent him her arm for support.

He gave her a sour grin. "It’s not a question of ‘should’ but ‘must’," he answered. He took a deep breath against the dizziness he was still feeling and lurched out of the bedroom and into the sitting room and then made his way towards the privy which he shared with his brother. Indil saw him to the door and then let him go. When he came out about ten minutes later, she was sitting in Ingwion’s chair at the small table where the brothers often shared meals with friends when they were not required to eat with the family. There were a couple of covered dishes on the table.

"Is Ingwion’s room open?" he asked as he re-entered the room.

"Yes," Indil nodded. She gave him a shy look. "I... uh... slept there."

He nodded as he took his own seat across from her, and then noticed that she was no longer dressed as a commoner but was wearing one of her less ornate day robes. She must have noticed his look because she blushed slightly. "Uncle Ingoldo allowed one of the maids to bring me some changes of clothing," she explained.

"At least he hasn’t forgone all sense of propriety," Ingalaurë replied with a sniff. "Which reminds me. I think I will change as well. This tunic is feeling a bit ripe."

"Eat first," his sister insisted, removing the covers from the dishes to reveal some slices of cold venison along with some fruit and cheese and slightly stale bread.

Ingalaurë was going to decline but then realized that he was feeling famished and thought that perhaps food would help rid him of his headache. He nodded and began nibbling on a piece of cheese while Indil rose and went to the sideboard and poured some cider into a goblet.

"I don’t think you should drink any wine just yet," she said as she handed him the goblet and he nodded in agreement. Then silence settled between them. Ingalaurë continued eating, and when his hunger was somewhat appeased he asked a question.

"What should we do now?"

Indil’s eyebrows went up and her expression was one of disapproval. "There is nothing we can do," she said. "There is no escape from here. I’m sure Uncle will be along soon enough. Perhaps we’ll learn what has happened to the others. I can only hope that Ingwi at least is free, even if no one else made it out of the city. He is more important than the rest of us."

"Including me?" Ingalaurë demanded angrily, hurt by her words.

She gave him a startled look. "No. That’s not what I meant," she protested. "I only meant that if Uncle Ingoldo had all of us in his clutches then...." She gave him a half-apologetic shrug. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you weren’t important. I just hope one of the family is free to find Atto. I think that as long as one of us is free, Uncle will not be feeling so sure of himself."

Ingalaurë glared at his sister for a moment, still hurt by the implications of her words, but decided it wasn’t worth getting into a fight with her about it. He was worried about what Ingoldo might do with their ammë. He would feel much better if they were all locked in the same suite together. He hoped that now that he was awake and in no further need of tending that Indil would not be moved to her own suite but would be allowed to remain. He dreaded being left alone to wonder and worry about his family’s fate.

He shook his head and winced at the pain. Indil noticed and stood up and went around to stand behind him, caressing his temples. "Why don’t you bathe?" she suggested. "It will help your headache. You were out for so long I feared you would never wake, but Uncle refused to send a healer to look at you."

"I wonder why?" Ingalaurë asked, frowning. "I would think he would want to be assured of my continuing good health. A dead hostage is of no value to anyone."

He heard Indil gasp in dismay but did not bother to try to comfort her. Instead, he struggled to rise and Indil moved away to give him room. "I guess I’ll take your advice and have a bath," he said, heading for his bedroom and the bathing room beyond, leaving Indil alone in the sitting room.

****

Ingalaurë felt marginally better for the bath and clean clothes. When he emerged from the bedroom he found Indil where he had left her but now she was not alone. Ingoldo was there, along with his chief guard, Tulcaner, who stood by the door leading to the outside hall. Ingoldo was looking both smug and worried as he glared at Ingalaurë.

"About time you awoke," he growled.

"Next time, order your thralls not to hit so hard," Ingalaurë retorted, walking over to the sideboard, ignoring the glares of both Ingoldo and Tulcaner. He poured himself more cider, wishing it were wine, but he knew better than that. He turned around to face his uncle, noticing how white Indil was as she sat at the table, nervously plucking at her skirts.

"Where’s Ammë and Tam?" he asked Ingoldo. "You had better not have done them any harm...."

Ingoldo was on him in a flash, knocking the goblet from his hand and grabbing the placket of his tunic, his eyes dark with restrained fury. "Don’t threaten me, seldo!" he hissed softly. "You’re not in a position to do anything but what I tell you to do."

Ingalaurë felt himself trembling, hating himself for it. He tried to out-stare his uncle but in the end it was he who lowered is gaze, feeling sick with fear. For a moment longer, Ingoldo held him in his grasp and then let him go, stepping back with a satisfied look on his face.

"Your Ammë is safe and unharmed," he informed them. "Tamurilon on the other hand...."

Ingalaurë looked up even as Indil gasped, her expression fearful for her beloved. "What have you done with him?" Indil demanded, rising to face Ingoldo.

Ingoldo smirked. "Nothing. And if you want me to continue doing nothing to him, you will sit down and be quiet."

The threat was not an idle one and when Ingalaurë caught his sister’s eyes, he gave her a small nod. Reluctantly she sat, white-faced and trembling, but there was a look of hatred in the depths of her eyes that saddened Ingalaurë and he silently cursed his uncle for being the cause. Ingoldo, meanwhile, motioned for Ingalaurë to step aside so he could pour himself some wine. Only when he was done did he speak again.

"Elindis is well, I assure you," he said.

"We’d like to see her," Ingalaurë replied.

Ingoldo shook his head. "Not at this time, but if you behave yourselves, I will perhaps permit you to visit for a few minutes."