Chapter the First:

In Which Glorfindel Reminisces and Our Tale Begins

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."

"What was that?"

Glorfindel, once Lord of the House of the Golden Flower in Gondolin, looked up from his goblet of wine to see several pairs of eyes looking at him curiously. Lord Celeborn was there with his lady, Galadriel, along with Elrond, his sons, Erestor and Lindir and a few others from Imladris or Lothlórien. Mithrandir was there as well, as was Legolas, though Gimli had retired along with the Hobbits. It was late in the evening of the wedding of Aragorn and Arwen and they were all gathered around one of the tables in the feast hall of Merethrond, quietly relaxing with wine and soft conversation. The happy couple had long disappeared and most of the other guests had retired. Only the Elves and those whose duties required them to be up were still awake.

"Hmm?" Glorfindel asked.

"You said something about it being the best and the worst of times," Elrond replied, for it was he who had asked the question.

"Oh, sorry," Glorfindel said apologetically. "I was just... remembering."

"Gondolin?" Erestor asked sympathetically. All there were aware of Glorfindel’s history: today was the anniversary of the Fall of Gondolin, the day the Elf-lord sitting amongst them had died. None there, except Mithrandir, could truly understand what it meant to die, and they shied away from the thought.

Glorfindel gave them a brilliant smile, seeing the looks of sympathy on their faces and shook his head. "No, actually, I was remembering another wedding that took place long ago on Midsummer’s Day."

"Oh?" More than one eyebrow was raised in surprise and Glorfindel laughed.

"And this particular wedding was both the best and the worst of the times?" Elrohir asked, looking a bit skeptical at his captain.

"Indeed," Glorfindel replied with a glint of mischief in his eyes, "especially when it was your Great Uncle’s wedding."

"Finrod!" Galadriel exclaimed and Glorfindel nodded. "You told me he and Amarië had wed, but you never gave any real details." She cast him a look that was both amused and annoyed.

Glorfindel only shrugged. "I didn’t feel like talking about my life in Aman when I first returned to Middle-earth."

"And now?" Galadriel demanded.

Glorfindel shrugged again. "And now, things are different."

"So how is it that my brother’s wedding was both the best and the worst of times for you?" Galadriel asked less belligerently. "I never did understand how you two even knew each other. As far as I recall you never really met during the Crossing or afterwards."

Glorfindel glanced at the faces around him, eyes glittering with curiosity. He noticed Mithrandir sitting somewhat apart, quietly smoking. The Wizard gave him a knowing look and a barely perceived nod, as if giving him permission, which Glorfindel found more amusing than annoying. He turned his attention to the others and took a sip of his wine before speaking again.

"I’ll have to give you some background so you understand what happened and why," he said and while no one actually moved, there was a general lessening of tension around them, as if everyone was settling, ready to listen to Glorfindel’s tale.

"To answer your question first," he said, looking at Galadriel, "I knew of your brother, as everyone did, but it was not until we both found ourselves in Mandos that we became gwedyr."

Eyebrows were raised at that revelation and Glorfindel hid a smile. "We were the bane of Lord Námo’s existence," he said with a smirk and was rewarded with several jaundiced looks. "Just ask Mithrandir," he added with a glint of mischief.

Now everyone was staring at the Wizard, who continued puffing on his pipe for another moment or two, his eyes hidden under shaggy brows. Finally he took the pipe out of his mouth. "Mandos never fully recovered from the experience," he said.

"Someday we’d like to hear the entire story about that," Elladan said, turning back to Glorfindel, "but I’m more interested in learning about Great Uncle’s wedding."

"Well, as I said, Finrod and I became gwedyr while in Mandos," Glorfindel continued. "However, Finrod was released about a century earlier than I."

"And he and Amarië still weren’t married by then?" Galadriel asked with a frown. "How odd."

"Not really," Glorfindel replied. "One thing you need to understand is that when we Reborn are released we do not have all our memories intact. That comes over time and some memories never return. When Finrod was released, he barely recognized his own parents and had no memory of Amarië at all."

"How terrible," one of the Lothlórien ellith exclaimed.

"It is what it is," Glorfindel said with a shrug. "At any rate, by the time I was released, the two of them were only just on speaking terms with one another."

"Even after a century?" Lindir interrupted with a snort of disbelief "It’s a wonder they ever got married."

Glorfindel smiled. "Some people wondered as well. You have to keep in mind that Reborn have the emotional maturity of thirty-year-olds and it takes them approximately a century to reach the emotional maturity they enjoyed at the time of their death. Finrod was only just reaching that stage when I was released and he was just beginning to see Amarië as more than, well, a nuisance." He gave them a knowing smile.

"Oh dear," Galadriel said, shaking her head at the implication of Glorfindel’s words.

"‘Oh dear’ is right," Glorfindel said with a nod. "At any rate, I was released from Lórien, where all Reborn go for a time before they are allowed to re-enter society, at about that time and I was accompanied by another Reborn, a Sinda named Sador, who died at the Havens of Sirion. As neither of us had any family who would acknowledge us, we were more or less adopted by King Arafinwë and Queen Eärwen and became members of their court. In fact, Finrod, Sador and I even called each other ‘hanar’ rather than ‘gwador’."

Eyebrows went up again. Galadriel gave him a haughty look that was ruined by the glimmer of humor in her eyes. "Well, if you think you can call me ‘neth’, you are sorely mistaken."

Everyone was grinning. Glorfindel glanced at Celeborn sitting next to his wife and saw how the ellon was trying hard not to laugh. Then he looked at Galadriel still sitting there imperiously and leaned forward, whispering very loudly, "Neth, neth, neth."

Now everyone was laughing, or at least the Elves from Imladris; those from Lothlórien were stifling their humor, knowing they would have to travel back home with their Lady and they did not want to incur her displeasure. Glorfindel leaned back with a smirk, as if he’d scored a particular point in a game, and took a sip of his wine. Galadriel, to her credit, refused to be baited. "So you were saying... hanar?"

Now Glorfindel’s eyebrow went up and then he nodded, giving the Lady of the Golden Wood a smile as he continued his narrative. "Not too long afterwards, Finrod and Amarië started to have an understanding between them. I think Finrod was beginning to fall in love with her again, but neither was ready to make a commitment."

He paused to take another sip of his wine, realized his goblet was empty and frowned. Elladan, seeing this, reached over to pick up one of the fuller wine bottles on the table and silently offered to fill his captain’s goblet. Glorfindel smiled his thanks, and after it was filled, he took an appreciative sip, then continued his narrative.

"Then the New Year’s Ball arrived that was being held in Vanyamar, King Ingwë’s city, and the Noldorin royal family was there, including me and Sador. Amarië’s naneth, Lady Almáriel, invited Finrod to tea and naturally Sador and I came along to lend him moral support."

"I remember Almáriel," Galadriel said with a nod. "A rather formidable elleth. I always felt sorry for Amarië having to put up with her as her naneth."

"Sador thought she was a balrog in disguise," Glorfindel said blandly and there was laughter among his listeners. "Anyway, Queen Eärwen was also present at the tea and Lady Almáriel kept pressuring Finrod to commit to a betrothal which was to be announced at the Ball. She felt a Midsummer wedding would be most appropriate." He gave them a sly look. "Sador and I agreed."

Eyebrows went up again and there was some soft murmuring among them. Celeborn gave him a shrewd look. "I doubt if Finrod was pleased by your... betrayal."

"He was... unhappy," Glorfindel replied blandly, "but only until Sador later pointed out that the good lady never specified on which Midsummer the wedding should be held."

"Oh ho," Elrond exclaimed, shaking a finger at Glorfindel. "That was very bad of you." Several people snickered at the Master of Imladris’ tone, speaking to the Elf-lord as if he were a naughty elfling.

Glorfindel smiled. "Perhaps, but the upshot was that when Finrod and Amarië announced their betrothal, Finrod stated that the wedding would take place on Midsummer’s Day... twelve years hence."

"Twelve years!" Elrohir exclaimed with a laugh and many joined him. "Oh my! I bet Lady Almáriel wasn’t very happy about that."

"To say the least," Glorfindel replied, "but there was nothing she could do about it, and indeed, we all needed those twelve years before we could concentrate on the wedding. Much happened during the intervening time and it was a few years before the dust settled, as it were."

Erestor gave him a shrewd look. "Something tells me that you are leaving much out of this tale, mellon nîn."

Glorfindel shrugged. "If I were to tell you everything, we’d be here for a very long time. Let me just tell you that at the time of the wedding, Sador was living on Tol Eressëa and Finrod had long removed himself to Lórien where he helped to minister to other Reborn. I was living in a small community called Aewellond, far to the north, ruled over by Eärendil and Elwing." There were murmurs of surprise at that revelation. Glorfindel raised a hand to stem the tide of questions that he knew were on everyone’s lips. "As I said, it would take too long to explain everything. The reasons for my being there are not important. About a month or two before the wedding I returned to Tirion to help Finrod with the preparations. Keep in mind that I’d only been a Reborn for about fifteen years and my... um... maturity was still... um... questionable."

"Some things never change," Erestor said with a wicked smile and Glorfindel stuck his tongue out at him while everyone else laughed. When they were calmer, Glorfindel resumed his narrative.

"So, there I was, ready to lend assistance to my hanar as he and all of Eldamar prepared for what many felt was a long-overdue event...."

****

Words are Sindarin:

Gwedyr: Plural of gwador: Sworn brother.

Ellith: Plural of elleth: Female Elf.

Naneth: Mother.

Ellon: Male Elf. The plural is ellyn.

Hanar: Brother.

Neth: Sister.

Mellon nîn: My friend.

Chapter the Second:

In Which Invitations are Sent and the Valar are Amused

Queen Eärwen was in her study, checking a list against a pile of invitations, ensuring herself that the name on the envelope was properly written. It was mid-morning on the fifth day of Lotessë and the birds were merrily chirping outside. Dipping her quill into the inkwell, she then placed a tick next to the name that was on one of several sheets of parchment before her and carefully placed the envelope in one of the wicker baskets that graced the other side of her desk. Before each basket was a placard with a placename written on it. In this case, she put the invitation in the basket labeled ‘Vanyamar’. Four other baskets were filled with invitations to be sent to Alqualondë, Eldamas, Tirion and the Southern Fiefdoms and Tol Eressëa. She sighed as she glanced at that last basket. It seemed fuller than the others. She gave a delicate snort and smiled. Her son, Findaráto, had made more friends among the Elves of Beleriand than he had ever done in Aman. Of course, many of those same Elves had once been his subjects.

She shook her head in wonder. Even after all this time, it was still hard for her to believe that Findaráto had been a king in his own right, ruling a mighty kingdom, a kingdom that by all accounts was greater than the three Amanian kingdoms combined, if one merely looked at ‘size’. Yet, in other ways, as well, she supposed her son’s kingdom had been greater, for it had not been given to him; he had had to carve it out — literally! — himself.

Well, sitting around thinking about her son’s achievements wasn’t going to get these invitations sent out. She gave herself a mental shake and picked up the next envelope, read the name and, glancing through her list until she found it, placed a tick next to it and put the envelope in the Tol Eressëa pile. Even as she began to choose another envelope, she heard a knock on the door. Resisting a sigh, she called out, "Enter!" trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

The door opened and two pairs of eyes — one bright blue, the other grey-blue — peeked around the door and she smiled warmly, gesturing for their owners to come in.

"Are we disturbing you, Ammë?" Finrod asked as Glorfindel, his partner in crime, closed the door behind them.

"Yes you are," Eärwen said, still smiling as she returned the quill to its holder, "but I welcome the distraction," she added when she saw the crestfallen looks on her sons’ faces, for she thought of Glorfindel as much her son, albeit adopted, as was Findaráto. "Was there something you wanted?"

Both ellyn shrugged, their expressions identically noncommital, looking for all the world like overgrown elflings. Eärwen raised a delicate eyebrow and gave them both a shrewd look. "Out with it, my children. What’s wrong?"

"Nothing’s wrong," Finrod replied shortly, "and everything’s wrong." He plopped down on a nearby chair with a huff, running a hand through his silver-gold locks. Glorfindel gave his brother a sympathetic look and sat in another chair.

Eärwen took a moment to gauge her son’s mood. Findaráto had been acting withdrawn of late, she now realized. Even the arrival of Glorfindel a month earlier than planned had only lightened his mood temporarily. She had been rather busy herself with wedding details. Normally, such details would be handled by the bride’s family, but Findaráto was a prince of the realm and having the higher rank meant that the onus of the wedding plans fell upon the Noldorin royal family instead of Amarië’s family. Not that Lady Almáriel was not contributing, but she was safely in Vanyamar and out of Eärwen’s hair. As far as the Queen of the Noldor was concerned, the only thing Almáriel needed to do was to ensure that her daughter arrived in Tirion in a timely manner. The rest she could take care of herself.

"Please, Finda, tell me what’s wrong," she finally pleaded. "You’ve been withdrawn and moody for weeks now. I thought when Glorfindel arrived things would get better for you."

"As did I," Glorfindel said, giving Finrod a hard look.

Finrod had the grace to blush, knowing his actions of late had been less than sterling. "The wedding is only weeks a way...."

"Seven weeks, three days and about two hours," Glorfindel said helpfully.

Finrod scowled at him and Eärwen hid a smile.

"The point is, Ammë," Finrod said, "I... I miss Amarië and I’m feeling... irrelevant."

"Irrelevant? In what way?" Eärwen asked.

"In every way, Ammë!" Finrod exclaimed in frustration. "It’s my wedding but no one seems to care what I think about it."

"Oh?" Eärwen gave her son a skeptical look.

Finrod nodded. "Every time I try to make a suggestion, offer an opinion, or even offer to help with preparations, I get told — politely, of course — that my opinions or my help is neither wanted nor appreciated."

"I’m sure...."

"I’m not even allowed to make a decision as to what clothes I’ll wear!" Finrod exclaimed in frustration, ignoring his ammë’s attempt to comment. "It’s my wedding, or at least I’m assuming it is. Lately I’ve had my doubts as to just who’s getting married the way everyone is ignoring me, the groom!"

"I’m sorry, dear," Eärwen said apologetically. "I was unaware that you were being shut out of the decision-making process. Traditionally, the groom is only required to show up." She gave them a sly smile and Glorfindel at least snorted in amusement. Finrod simply glowered. "Your atar has wisely stayed out of it all," she added, tilting her head to the left as she contemplated her son. "I think it was just assumed that you as the groom would want to... not be any more involved than necessary."

"Well, they’ve all assumed wrong," Finrod retorted, standing up and going to one of the embrasures to look out onto the orangery, full of fruit, its spicy scent permeating the air. He turned back to look at his ammë. "Honestly, I’ve had to make far more important and life-changing decisions in my days as a king than deciding if I want to wear a blue tunic or a white one, but at least letting me make such a decision allows me the pretense of believing that I’m being useful. At this point I’m ready to go back to Lórien and will return on the evening before the wedding because my presence here is obviously unwanted and unappreciated."

Eärwen cast a look at Glorfindel, who merely raised an amused eyebrow, yet she could see how troubled he was and she knew from past experience that a troubled Glorfindel was a dangerous Glorfindel; there was no telling what mischief he might get himself — and others — into. She sighed and rose, going to her first-born and giving him a hug. "I see we have all underestimated you... again, my son. I apologize."

Finrod allowed himself to be hugged and gave a small sigh of contentment. He was long past the elfling stage even if one included his time as a recent Reborn, but he decided no one was ever too old for a hug from their ammë.

Eärwen looked at her son, brushing a loving hand through his hair and smiling. "As Glorfindel so correctly pointed out, there are seven more weeks before the wedding. Perhaps we can find things for you to do. There is still quite a bit that has yet to be done and the pressure will only increase as the day draws nearer. I think we will need all the help we can get if we are to pull this off." She gave Finrod a sly smile. "After all, we don’t want to... um... disappoint Lady Almáriel, do we?"

Glorfindel actually barked a laugh and Finrod smiled slightly, his posture less stiff and gave his ammë a shy nod.

"Good," Eärwen said briskly, turning back to her desk. "Well, let’s see...."

A knock on the door interrupted her and this time she did sigh in frustration. Then nodded to Finrod who went and opened it to reveal Arafinwë standing there looking apologetic. "I know how busy you are, dear," he said as he strode into the room, barely nodding to the two ellyn in acknowledgment as he approached his wife and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, "but I’m afraid I must ask your indulgence."

"What is it?" Eärwen asked, curiously, knowing full well that her husband would indeed not take her away from her own work unless absolutely necessary.

"Something’s come up," Arafinwë said, casting a look at the two ellyn looking on, both of them naturally curious. "Perhaps we can discuss this in my study," he said pointedly, giving his wife a significant look.

She raised an eyebrow but nodded in acquiescence. "I will be along in a moment," she said. " I was about to give our sons a small task as they are feeling a bit useless at the moment."

Arafinwë merely gave her another peck on the cheek. "Don’t be long." He gave his son and Glorfindel another nod and left, closing the door behind him.

For a second or two no one moved. Then Finrod stirred, frowning slightly. "I wonder what Atto is up to?"

"I’m sure I don’t know dear," Eärwen said with a slight smile, "though I will no doubt find out. In the meantime, these invitations still need to be checked. Would you mind doing this for me? All you have to do is check the name on the envelope with this list." She held up the sheets of parchment with the names written on it. "Mark off the name and then place the envelope in the correct pile."

"I guess we could do that," Finrod said with a shrug, looking doubtfully at Glorfindel, who shrugged in return.

Eärwen gave them a knowing look. "I know you were thinking of doing something more... glamorous, but truly this is an important task and as you can see I have not trusted any but myself to do it properly."

Both ellyn gave her considering looks and then Finrod nodded. "Then we would be honored to help, Ammë."

"Good," the queen said. "Now, you will see that I have several baskets all labeled. Just make sure the invitations are placed in the correct basket. It won’t do for an invitation meant to go to Vanyamar to end up in Alqualondë."

Both ellyn chuckled as Eärwen left. Finrod went over to the desk and looked at the list of names, then looked up at Glorfindel. "Why don’t you read the name off the envelope and I’ll check it on here?" he suggested and Glorfindel agreed. The ellon moved around to the other side of the desk while Finrod took the seat his ammë had vacated. Glorfindel picked up an envelope and read off the name. Finrod looked down the list until he found it and nodded. "Vanyamar," he said, reading the small script next to the name and Glorfindel dutifully placed it in the correct basket. Then he picked up the next invitation and they went through the process all over again. For a while they continued to work, the pile of invitations slowly diminishing as the baskets became fuller and fuller, but at some point, Finrod stopped, glancing through the several sheets of parchment on which the names had been written.

"What’s wrong?" Glorfindel asked a little worriedly. "Did we mess up?"

Finrod shook his head. "No. We’ve been doing everything properly," he assured the ellon. "I’ve just noticed something odd."

"What’s that?" Glorfindel asked, leaning over to look at the list of names.

"The Valar aren’t listed," Finrod answered, carefully looking over the several sheets of names. "I don’t think they’re going to get invitations."

Glorfindel gave him a surprised look. "Well, perhaps it’s just assumed...."

Finrod looked up from his perusal. "Why? Because they’re the Valar? They didn’t come to Ingwion and Olwen’s wedding, remember? I think it’s because they weren’t formally invited, though everyone assumed they would appear."

Glorfindel gave him a considering look and then nodded. "Perhaps you’re right." Then his expression turned sly. "Do you really want to invite them all to the wedding?"

"Why not?" Finrod asked in surprise. "Are they not, after all, our neighbors? Do we not share Aman with them? This is their home after all, more so than it ever was ours."

Glorfindel nodded, then started looking around the desk. "Do you suppose there are extra invitations that we can use?"

Finrod joined him in the search but they found no invitations other than what were already in the envelopes ready to be sent.

"We’ll have to make up our own invitations," Finrod suggested.

Glorfindel did not argue with him, but checked for blank sheets of parchment or vellum. "So should we send a single invitation inviting them all or have each receive an invitation?"

"Well, writing out a single invitation would be easier," Finrod said, "but I think it would be more proper to send each of them an invitation. Tell you what. Why don’t you write the invitations while I continue working on these? We’ll put the Valar’s invitations in with those going to Eldamas."

Glorfindel nodded. "I’ll just take one of these invitations to use as a model." So saying, he removed one of the unchecked invitations from the pile and gathering the necessary paraphernalia he moved over to a smaller desk and settled himself, carefully uncapping the ink and filling his quill. He pulled out the invitation and smoothed it out and began copying the wording as carefully as he could. He didn’t get too far when he made a mistake and muttered an oath. Finrod, who had been working on the other invitations looked up.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

Glorfindel shook his head. "No. It’s just the wording of the invitation is so convoluted."

"Just do your best," Finrod said.

"Don’t you think we should just ask for more invitations to be done up?" Glorfindel retorted.

Finrod shook his head. "I don’t think there would be time. I know Ammë wants these invitations to go out with the couriers and they set out later this afternoon."

Glorfindel sighed and took up a new sheet of parchment to try again, but as before, he only got a little further along in copying the wording when he accidently smeared part of what he’d already written so carefully. Again, he muttered an oath. "This is useless," he cried. "I’m never going to get even one finished, never mind fourteen."

Finrod started to answer when they both looked up at the sound of running feet and then there was a frantic pounding on the door. Before either of them could call out, the door flung open to reveal a scared looking Vorondil.

"Vorondil, what....?" Finrod started to ask.

"It’s Uncle Vondo," the young ellon replied, his eyes wide with fear. "He’s having an... an episode."

Finrod nodded, putting the quill away and capping the inkwell and rising. "You continue working on those invitations, Glorfindel, and I’ll help with Vondo."

Glorfindel looked glum but did not argue as Finrod ushered Vorondil out the door and closed it. For a moment Glorfindel just stared at the door, then gave a shake of his head and went back to work, determined to get it right this time. But alas, he was three-quarters along when he misread a word and realized he would have to start all over again.

"Pui-en-orch!" he shouted as he crumpled up the offending piece of parchment and threw it across the room. He sat there in a funk, wondering what he was going to do. He stared at the invitation with its stilted and, to his mind, unnecessarily convoluted language. He thought about it for a long moment, wondering if the Valar would really mind not getting personal invitations. And then, he got an idea and he smiled to himself. Grabbing another piece of parchment, he started writing, ignoring the invitation that was sitting next to him. He quickly wrote out some words, gave them a critical examination, liked what he saw and smiled even more, placing the page carefully to one side to dry while he took up another piece of parchment and began writing the same words upon it. He started humming to himself as he worked and in no time at all he had fourteen invitations written out to his satisfaction.

He allowed the ink to dry on them while hunting for envelopes, which he found. They were not the same as those of the invitations, but he decided they would do. Carefully he wrote out the names of the Valar on the envelopes and when all the ink was dry, he neatly folded the sheets of parchment and slipped them into the envelopes and sealed them. Then he hunted some more and found a bit of blue ribbon with which he tied the bundle of invitations together and placed them in the basket for Eldamas.

Finrod had not yet returned and not knowing what else to do, Glorfindel decided to finish checking off the rest of the invitations. An hour later he put the last one into its proper basket, capped the ink, cleaned the quill and put it in its holder and then decided to go in search of his brother. Apparently poor Vondo had had a terrible memory experience and no doubt Finrod was still ministering to him. He left the queen’s study, humming to himself.

Eärwen returned to the study a while later with three who wore the insignia of the Royal Couriers on their tabards, each carrying courier pouches. She was pleased to see all the invitations done and reminded herself to thank her son and Glorfindel for their service even as she was directing the couriers to take up the invitations. One of her ladies-in-waiting appeared just then and distracted her with a question so she did not see the courier assigned to deliver the invitations to Eldamas and Vanyamar pick up the bundle tied with blue ribbon. The courier read the name written on the top envelope and raised a delicate eyebrow, but said nothing, merely placing the bundle in with the others bound for Eldamas. In moments he and the other two couriers were all on their way to their respective destinations.

****

Valmar, three days later....

Eönwë, Herald of Manwë, entered one of the smaller receiving rooms in the Elder King’s mansion in Valmar where all the Valar were gathered for an informal meeting to discuss the latest news from the Outer Lands. The Valar broke off their conversation as Eönwë approached and gave them his obeisance.

"My lord, forgive the interruption," he said, speaking directly to Manwë, "but a courier from Tirion brought these." He held out the bundle of invitations still wrapped in blue ribbon and Manwë took them from him with a smile.

"Ah, so they didn’t forget us," he said with delight.

"And separate invitations. How thoughtful," Varda said with approval.

The Valar all gathered around Manwë as he undid the ribbon and began handing out the invitations and Eönwë, momentarily forgotten by all, stood watching them with amusement, for they were as eager as elflings about to be given a treat. He watched Lord Námo especially, for the Lord of Mandos often was shunned by the Children and Eönwë knew how much that hurt the Vala, though he rarely showed it. Lord Námo’s eyes glittered with excitement as he carefully opened the envelope and drew out the invitation and began reading it. Then Eönwë noticed the Vala’s expression turning to puzzlement and then he was looking over his lady wife’s shoulder to read Vairë’s invitation. Eönwë suddenly realized that the room had gone silent and all the Valar were staring at their invitations with expressions of confusion. He saw Varda and Manwë compare their invitations and then all of them were doing the same. Curious as to what was wrong, Eönwë moved closer to his lord and surreptitiously looked over Manwë’s shoulder and began reading the invitation, barely able to suppress a laugh.

There in bold but neatly written tengwar was the following:

‘PLEASE COME TO FINROD’S WEDDING. THANK YOU.’

Then scrawled at the bottom, almost as an afterthought, were two more words:

‘LOVE, GLORFINDEL’

Manwë gave them a slightly sardonic look. "Well, as I once remarked, he’s polite if nothing else."

That set all of them laughing.

"So they did forget us after all," Yavanna said once they calmed down, her expression wistful as she stared at the invitation in her hands. Others had equally bittersweet expressions as they realized the implications of these particular invitations being sent.

"Not everyone," Námo pointed out, holding up his invitation, giving them a smile. "And personally, I treasure this invitation more than whatever formal invitation might have been sent instead, for it was indeed sent with love and says all that is needed to be said."

The others agreed and their expressions lightened. Then the discussion turned to what gifts they would give the happy couple.

"What did we do with the gifts we were originally going to give?" Námo asked Vairë.

His wife gave him a surprised look and then nodded. "I believe I put ours away for safekeeping, knowing eventually they would marry."

"I did the same for ours," Varda said and the others all said the same.

"Well, at least we won’t have to think up a whole new batch of gifts," Manwë said with a twinkle in his eyes. "And if we don’t tell them their gifts from us came from the attic..."

They all laughed at that and once they calmed down again, Manwë suggested they continue their previous discussion. Eönwë was invited to stay and the Maia couldn’t help noticing that even as the Valar spoke of events beyond the borders of Aman, each of them continued to hold their invitations, occasionally glancing down as if to re-read the words, smiling slightly, before rejoining the conversation.

****

Words are Quenya unless otherwise noted:

5 Lotessë: 12 May.

Ammë: Hypocoristic form of Amillë: Mother.

Atar: Father. The hypocoristic form is Atto.

Pui-en-orch: (Sindarin) Orc-spit, Glorfindel’s favorite curse word.

Note: The Valarin/Eldarin week in Aman was six days in length. The seven-day week, according to Tolkien, was an invention of the Númenóreans, later adopted by the inhabitants of Middle-earth but not in Aman. The names of the days of the week are: Elenya, Anarya, Isilya, Aldúya, Menelya, and Valanya, which was the ‘High-day’, equivalent to our Sabbath-day, however you wish to interpret it.

Chapter the Third:

In Which a Conspiracy is Formed and Plans are Laid

Glorfindel wandered about until he found Finrod sitting on a bench in a small garden known as the Prince’s Garden, idly plucking at his harp while Vorondil sat at his feet, a look of contentment on the younger ellon’s face. At first, Glorfindel did not see Vondo until he came closer and then noticed the ellon sitting in the linden tree that shaded Finrod and Vorondil. One foot dangled from the branch on which he was sitting and Glorfindel could tell the ellon was fast asleep.

"Let’s hope he doesn’t fall out," he whispered, giving Finrod and Vorondil a smile. Finrod smiled back and moved over to give Glorfindel some room on the bench, never stopping his playing.

"Uncle Vondo was very upset," Vorondil whispered, looking a little ill. "He... he was remembering how he died."

Glorfindel gave the youngster a sympathetic look. "Remembering one’s death is often the most traumatic thing a Reborn experiences. But as Lord Námo says, it is only a memory and can no longer harm you."

Vorondil nodded. "That’s what Master said as well."

Finrod smiled fondly on Vorondil, who technically was still considered his thrall and would remain so for another eighteen years, but in reality Vorondil was turning out to be a very good healer’s apprentice and everyone had high hopes for him. Already he was becoming mature and responsible, no longer flying off at the least provocation, for which many people — Finrod included — were thankful.

"I’m running out of suitable punishments," he had said with some exasperation to Glorfindel once when the subject came up. Glorfindel had simply smiled in amusement.

"Did you finish writing those invitations?" Finrod asked just then.

Glorfindel nodded. "And I finished checking off the other invitations as well, so everything is set."

"Good," Finrod said.

"What invitations?" Vorondil asked almost at the same time.

"Invitations to the Valar to come to Finrod’s wedding," Glorfindel replied.

Vorondil gave them a puzzled look. "Why would you need to write invitations to the Valar?"

"I think my amillë didn’t think to add them to her list," Finrod answered. "Perhaps with everything else she simply forgot."

"Or maybe she was hoping if she ignored them, they wouldn’t come," Glorfindel retorted with a sly grin.

Vorondil’s eyes widened. "It’s never a good thing to ignore the Valar."

Both Finrod and Glorfindel gave him surprised looks, then Finrod smiled and leaned over to give the younger ellon a quick pat of approval on his shoulder. "Truer words were never spoken." Vorondil beamed.

"So now that we’ve helped with the invitations, what else can we do, do you suppose?" Glorfindel asked.

Finrod shrugged. "Ammë said there were many details to see to. I’m sure she will think of something for us to do."

"I hate just sitting around waiting for someone to come and say, ‘Oh please help’," Glorfindel said with a glower. "As you said, it’s your wedding; you should be the one directing everyone, not Ammë Eärwen."

"But she’s having so much fun telling everyone what to do," Finrod said with a laugh, "and better her than Lady Almáriel."

Both Glorfindel and Vorondil gave convincing shudders at that thought. "Do you think I could help?" Vorondil asked shyly.

"And me."

Everyone looked up to see that Vorondil Herendilion, known to all and sundry as ‘Vondo’ to distinguish him from his brother Aldundil’s son and namesake, was wide awake, looking down at them with curiosity.

"Feeling better?" Finrod asked as Glorfindel stood up to give the ellon room to come down from the tree.

"I guess," Vondo said somewhat diffidently. "Can we play now?"

"In a while," Finrod said with a shake of his head. "Come sit by me and let’s talk about how we can all help with the wedding plans."

Vondo complied as Glorfindel joined Vorondil on the verge.

"Is this a conspiracy?" Vondo whispered, his eyes glowing with excitement at the thought.

"No, Vondo. This is not a conspiracy," Finrod answered as Glorfindel chuckled. "I’ve decided it’s high time I be allowed to have a say about my own wedding."

"So what do you think still needs doing that your input would be considered necessary?" Glorfindel asked.

"Probably not necessary," Finrod replied with a shrug. "At least, as far as others are concerned. But I do want to have some say."

"Well, what part do you have in the wedding itself?" Vondo asked, sounding more like the adult he appeared to be instead of the recently released Reborn that he was.

"According to Ammë, I’m just supposed to show up at the proper time," Finrod said with a snort of disgust.

"Well, that’s boring," Vondo retorted. "What preparations need to be made yet? The wedding is, what, a month away?"

"Seven weeks," Finrod said.

"And three days," Glorfindel added with a smirk.

"So, what do you need for a wedding beside the happy couple?" Vondo asked somewhat rhetorically.

"Food," Vorondil answered promptly.

"Decorations," Glorfindel said next.

"Music," Finrod replied after, looking fondly at the harp which he’d been playing earlier.

"I’m sure all of those things are being arranged by others, though," Vondo pointed out.

Finrod nodded. "Ammë seems to have everything under control. I doubt she’ll want my opinion on such things at this late date."

"Why not?" Glorfindel demanded. "Could they possibly have decided on the menu this early? The cooks won’t start baking until near the time of the wedding else everything will spoil. Decorations aren’t being put up this very minute are they? What would be the point? Same with music. And it’s just occurred to me: has anyone considered just who is going to be there?"

"What do you mean?" Finrod asked in puzzlement.

"Beside the Noldor of Tirion," Glorfindel pointed out, "you’re going to have Vanyar, Teleri, Sindar, Nandor and Tol Eressëan Noldor at this wedding, each of them with different expectations as to things like food and drink, music, even wedding customs. In fact, has anyone really considered the fact that you have relatives from all three clans? Nor can I imagine Lady Almáriel meekly accepting that her daughter’s wedding is being dictated by Noldorin sensibilities. I’m sure she wants some things to reflect the fact that you are marrying into the Vanyarin clan as much as Amarië is marrying into the Noldorin clan."

Finrod raised an eyebrow. Vondo nodded. "He has a point," the ellon said. "I wouldn’t be surprised if your parents are seeing this strictly as a Noldorin affair. Amarië has lived in Tirion for so long, and even I remember that from before, that everyone just thinks of her as being Noldorin."

Finrod’s eyes widened. "I never thought of that," he admitted. "I know my parents have long thought of her as a daughter. I’d forgotten she came back to Tirion to live after my anamillë Indis removed to Lórien and no longer required her services as a lady-in-waiting."

"There, you see?" Glorfindel smiled triumphantly. "But I’ll bet Lady Almáriel hasn’t forgotten a thing. What preparations were being made the first time you and Amarië were supposed to wed?"

Finrod frowned. "I honestly don’t remember," he said after a moment’s thought. "I know the wedding was still about twelve weeks away when the Trees died and everything went by the wayside. Amarië was furious. I later learned that her amillë actually tore up their copy of the betrothal agreement. I have no idea what happened to our copy. Everything was so confused and confusing. Do you know Ingwion sent a letter to Amarië asking her to return to Tirion to convince me not to leave Aman and Intarion and Lirulin had to kidnap her from her parents’ country estate where she was being held a prisoner in order to bring her here?" He shook his head and the other three ellyn stared at him in amazement. "When I think back to those dark times, it seems as if we were all slightly insane," he added.

"No argument there," Glorfindel said somewhat ruefully.

The four ellyn fell silent for a few moments and then Vorondil stirred. "So, what are we going to do to help with the wedding?"

"We’ll need to consult with my ammë...." Finrod started to say but Glorfindel shook his head.

"Why should we?" he asked. "Let’s just decide where we want to help and... and help."

Finrod gave him a jaundiced look. "They’ll think we were interfering."

"And we will be," Vondo said with a laugh. "That’s part of the fun."

"Sador will be coming soon," Glorfindel reminded them. "He’ll want to get in on the fun as well."

Vorondil and Vondo had identical looks of glee on their faces. "Sador always has the best ideas," Vorondil said.

Finrod sighed, realizing he was in the company of two recently released Reborn and one who might as well have been, for none of them seemed all that concerned about stepping on other people’s toes in their enthusiasm to help out. Even Glorfindel, who had been displaying a remarkable degree of maturity of late, was quickly falling back into ‘elfling-mode’. Finrod was beginning to resent having to be the responsible one, the older brother, but then, he reflected, that had been true when he’d been growing up. He’d been almost an adult himself before his brother Aicanáro had been born. Looking at the expectant faces of the three sitting with him, he was reminded of those earlier times when his three younger siblings had been plotting mayhem. Back then, he’d done the correct thing and had squashed their more enthusiastic plans. Now, however.... In seven weeks he was to marry. He suddenly realized that this was probably his last opportunity to ‘play’.

A slow grin crossed his face and there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "You know, you’re absolutely right, Glorfindel. Why should we wait around for others to deign to let us help? And Sador does have the best ideas, Vorondil, but I don’t think we should wait until he arrives before we start taking over the wedding plans."

The other three ellyn looked upon Finrod with varying degrees of amazement, but when they realized he was serious, they all smiled.

"So what’s your plan?" Glorfindel asked in a whisper as he leaned towards Finrod.

"A conspiracy!" Vondo exclaimed with a giggle, rubbing his hands in glee. "I love conspiracies."

Vorondil nodded even as he inched closer to Finrod who chuckled at the looks of anticipation on his friends’ faces. He leaned forward and whispered, "Well, the first thing we need to do...."

****

Later that evening, while everyone was at dinner, Finrod excused himself, ostensibly to go use the privy, but in reality to do some sneaking about. He made his way quickly to his ammë’s study and, lighting a candle, hunted about the desk for what he knew had to be there: the queen’s ‘to-do’ list for the wedding. He searched the papers that were on the desk, confident of finding it quickly, intending on making a copy before returning to his meal, but it wasn’t there, not even shoved into the daybook in which household accounts were recorded. Frowning, he began opening drawers, ruffling through papers and such with no better luck. Silently cursing, he blew out the candle and made his way back to the dining hall.

"Are you all right, dear?" his ammë asked solicitously. "You were gone for quite a time."

"Sorry," Finrod answered, thinking quickly. "One of the servants was having difficulty with... um... opening a cupboard with her hands full so I stopped to lend her a hand."

Eärwen smiled approvingly at her son. "That was sweet of you, Finda," she said and then went back to her conversation with Arafinwë.

Finrod glanced at Glorfindel who arched an eyebrow in query, and shook his head slightly, giving his brother a frown, before returning to his meal. It seemed as if dinner would never end, but finally it did and, barely making their excuses to their elders, Finrod and Glorfindel headed for the prince’s own suite of rooms. It wasn’t until they were safely inside that Glorfindel asked, "Well? Did you get it?"

"It wasn’t there," Finrod replied with a huff. "I searched everywhere, and it wasn’t there."

"Where do you suppose she keeps it, then?" Glorfindel asked.

"Probably tucked in her bodice for safe keeping," Finrod answered with a snarl.

Glorfindel raised an amused eyebrow. "Well, I certainly am not going to try to retrieve it from there," he said with a quirk of his lips and the absurdity of the statement caught Finrod by surprise and he started laughing, his mood lightening.

"Nor I," he said once he calmed down, plopping down on a chair by the fireplace. "I’ll have to think of some way to get it tomorrow."

"You could always ask to see it," Glorfindel said. "Tell Ammë that you are curious to know what else needs to be done."

"I’m sure she would let me see the list, but she won’t let me go off with it," Finrod pointed out.

Glorfindel gave him a wry look. "Then you’ll have to memorize it even as you are reading it."

Finrod sighed. "I suppose I could do that."

Glorfindel was about to make another comment when there was a knock on the door and Finrod called out for the person to enter. When the door opened they found Vorondil and his uncle standing there with identical grins on their faces. Finrod gestured for them to enter and Vondo closed the door.

"I didn’t get the list," Finrod started to say then stopped when Vorondil held up a sheet of paper, looking triumphant. "What’s that?" Finrod asked.

"The list," Vorondil answered, handing the piece of paper over to Finrod. Both Finrod and Glorfindel gave the younger ellon astonished looks. Vondo, they noticed, was looking very smug.

"How did you get the list?" Finrod demanded. "I searched for it during dinner and couldn’t find it."

"That’s because I’d already stolen it," Vondo replied.

"You?" Finrod exclaimed.

"But how....?" Glorfindel said almost at the same time.

Vondo gave them both a sniff. "I climbed through the window, of course," he said as if the answer were obvious.

"From three stories down?" Finrod asked in disbelief.

Vondo shrugged. "It wasn’t difficult. I’ve climbed more challenging places in my days. I waited until the gardens were empty and you were all at dinner and then I made my way up to the queen’s study, found the list and took it."

"But the plan was for Finrod to find the list and make a copy so the queen wouldn’t be the wiser," Glorfindel said.

Vondo shrugged again, looking a bit petulant. "Why should Finrod have all the fun?"

Finrod and Glorfindel exchanged glances. Finrod rolled his eyes.

"So why didn’t you just make a copy the way we’d planned?" Glorfindel then asked.

"Because that’s too boring," came the unexpected answer.

"Excuse me?" Finrod demanded, staring at the Reborn with narrowing eyes. Vondo was still just ‘young’ enough that he was unaware of the danger he was falling into. Vorondil, being older in maturity if not much wiser, felt his triumphant grin melting away as he took in his master’s mood and took a step or two away, letting his uncle shield him.

Vondo merely nodded, his eyes bright with excitement. "You copy it, then I’ll put it back. It’s more fun that way."

For a moment, Finrod just stared at the Reborn, taking in Vondo’s stance, the gleam in his eyes as he anticipated the ‘fun’ he would have of sneaking back into the queen’s study. He covered his face with his hands and sank into his chair, muttering, "Oh for the love of the Valar."

"Well, we got the list," Glorfindel said in a reasonable tone, "we might as well make a copy and then I think I’ll put the original back."

Finrod looked up. "Why you?"

Glorfindel just smiled. "Why should Vondo have all the fun?"

Vorondil snickered and Vondo looked a bit crestfallen. Finrod just sighed. "And how do you propose to return the list without being caught?"

"How do you suppose?" Glorfindel retorted. "You go make a copy while I quiz Vondo on just how he managed to climb up the side of the palace without being seen."

Finrod knew when he was defeated. He nodded and gestured for Vorondil to go find him some paper and ink while Glorfindel took Vondo aside to have a private conversation. Fifteen minutes later all four were trooping outside. Glorfindel had exchanged the more colorful robes which he’d worn to dinner for a green-grey tunic, hiding his golden locks under a hood. They gathered underneath the window of the queen’s study and Vondo pointed out how Vorondil had given him a boost up to the balcony on the second floor and then how he had climbed to the next floor and entered the queen’s study. Finrod whispered to Vorondil to keep an eye out for anyone entering the garden while he and Vondo gave Glorfindel a boost up.

Glorfindel scrabbled up to the balcony which led into a guest bedroom, thankfully empty, then saw just how Vondo had climbed up to the next balcony. Nodding, he hoisted himself up, clinging precariously to the wall. He inched upward until he was able to grab hold of the balustrade and pull himself up the rest of the way. He took a moment to catch his breath, then entered the study, his dark-adapted eyes easily avoiding the furniture as he made his way to the desk, placing the purloined list inside the daybook as Vondo had described and then made his way back out of the room and swiftly climbed back down to the second floor balcony. From there he simply jumped, landing softly on his feet, a triumphant grin on his face.

"Now no one will ever know," he whispered and even Finrod giggled in delight. The four conspirators then hastened away in the opposite direction from which they had come so as to pretend they had indeed been out for an evening constitutional.

None of them noticed the figure standing in the shadows of one of the archways that led from that garden to another, quietly watching their every move.

****

Anamillë: (Quenya) Grandmother.

Chapter the Fourth:

In Which Information is Gathered and Further Plans are Made

Finrod, Glorfindel, Vondo and Vorondil met the next morning in the prince’s study and pored over their copy of the list, trying to decide what could be done by them but they were still unsure how to go about ‘butting in’, as Glorfindel put it.

Finrod was reluctant to take over without his ammë’s approval.

"The queen’s approval but not the king’s?" Vondo asked, giving Finrod a significant look.

Finrod just shrugged. "Atar is very happy to stay out of it all."

"Well, this list just gives us an idea of the things that your ammë thinks needs doing without giving any details of what she or others have decided," Glorfindel pointed out. "For instance, it says here ‘consult with head cook’ but it says nothing about the menu itself. Same with decorations, music and everything else."

"Do you suppose she’s kept separate notes about these?" Vorondil asked.

Finrod shrugged. "If so, there is no way for us to... um... borrow them." He gave Vondo a quelling look when it appeared as if the ellon was all set to commit burglary again and the ellon subsided, looking glum.

"What we need to do is find out who is in charge of what and speak to them personally," Glorfindel suggested. "We can say that the queen sent us because she was busy with something else."

Finrod nodded. "That might work," he said slowly, thinking it out. "I want to know what decisions have been finalized and which are still in debate. I may go along with anything that has already been decided to everyone else’s satisfaction, if not mine, but I do think my input should be allowed where decisions are still up in the air."

"Well, I suppose what we could do is split the list up among us and each of us find out who’s in charge of what and what has already been decided. Then we can go on from there," Glorfindel suggested.

Finrod nodded in agreement and glanced down the list. "Well, I had better check with the seamstresses about my wedding garb. I see Ammë has a note to that effect and I’m rather curious to know what they’ve come up with as I’ve not been allowed to even see which fabrics are being used."

"Why not?" Vorondil asked in confusion. "What’s the big mystery? It’s only clothes."

Even Vondo smiled indulgently at that. "Apparently they want to coordinate my garb with Amarië’s and I’m not needed for that until they are ready for the fitting," Finrod replied. "At any rate, I will also talk with the musicians. Glorfindel, why don’t you see about the decorations, Vondo, you and Vorondil can see about the menu."

"Ooh goody," Vorondil exclaimed. "I hope they’re planning to bake lots of cookies." His eyes gleamed with anticipation. "Do you think they’ll make ginger biscuits? Those are my favorite."

Finrod raised an amused eyebrow. "You’re only going to see if a menu has already been decided, nothing more," he reminded the younger ellon. "Time enough to decide which cookies they will make later on." He looked at Glorfindel and Vondo. "So, you know your assignments? Good. Let’s go." He stood and headed for the door and the others followed, splitting up when they reached a juncture in the hallway to go their separate ways.

****

Finrod made his way through the more public areas of the palace where many of the government offices were located. Somewhere in the warren of small rooms was the Head Seamstress’ office, a Mistress Cucualindë who was a no-nonsense elleth known throughout the kingdom for her tailoring and embroidering skills. Her office was on the second floor but she was often found in what was commonly known as the Sewing Room, a large sunny room situated at the top of one of the nearby towers where there was plenty of light for the work that needed doing. Finrod was making his way there, having ascertained that Mistress Cucualindë was not in her office. He entered the tower and climbed the stairs, coming out at the top to a scene of quiet industry as several ellith and even a few ellyn were hunched over their work. They all looked up to see who was there and not a few gave gasps of surprise to see their prince. One or two started to rise, but Finrod waved them down with a smile.

"I’ve only come to speak with Mistress Cucualindë," he said.

"And what can I do for you, Prince Findaráto?" Mistress Cucualindë asked, stepping forward from where she was consulting one of the ellyn on fabric selection. She was shorter than was typical of the Noldor, though still taller than most Teleri. Her hair was a lighter shade of brown than the norm among the Noldor, almost a honey color, and her eyes were grey, suggesting a mixed ancestry. She was older than Finrod, for he well remembered her as an apprentice seamstress when he was an elfling.

He gave her his most winning smile. "Ammë meant to speak with you about my wedding garb," he said and was relieved when the elleth nodded, "but she’s a bit busy at the moment and as I was not doing anything in particular I said I would stop by and see how things were progressing."

Mistress Cucualindë raised an eyebrow and Finrod wondered if she knew he was lying and he waited tensely for her to send him packing, but she only nodded and gestured for him to follow her across the room.

"We’ve finally agreed on the fabrics and colors," she said to him, going to a cupboard that stood against one wall and opening it, pulling out several bolts of fabric and laying them on a nearby cutting table. "And we’ve agreed on the cut," she continued, "after much consultation with Lady Almáriel’s seamstress." She gave a sniff of disdain and Finrod hid a smile, for it was obvious that Mistress Cucualindë was not impressed with Lady Almáriel’s seamstress.

Finrod eyed the bolts of cloth with dismay. The colors seemed... wrong to him. There was a pale rose satin and yellow-green brocade, each of which was lovely in itself, but together.... He suppressed a shiver.

"May I see what designs you’ve made?" he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Mistress Cucualindë gave him a shrewd look. "The colors are those that will be worn by the bride," she said. "I know they don’t look as if they will go together, but believe me, Highness, they will."

Finrod simply nodded. "The sketches," he said and the Head Seamstress sighed and pulled out several pages of foolscap and laid them on the table next to the fabric. Finrod glanced at the drawings without really seeing them, resisting a sigh. He had wanted his friend, Morwen, to put his wedding garb together and had even promised her that she could, but for some reason his ammë had decided that it would be better if the palace seamstresses did the work.

"Your friend does lovely work, there’s no denying that," she had told him when he protested her decision, "but it’s rather impractical for her to be on Tol Eressëa while you’re here, and however would we coordinate with Almáriel who has her own ideas?"

Finrod decided it wasn’t worth arguing about and let it go, but now, looking at what had been determined without his input he decided to take matters into his own hands without his ammë or Mistress Cucualindë being the wiser. He took a closer look at the drawings and tried not to grimace. They, of course, reflected the height of fashion, but again, they seemed wrong to him. He remembered the robes he’d worn in Nargothrond, the style reflecting a pleasing blend of Sindarin and Noldorin sensibilities. Morwen would know what he meant by that but none of the people working in this room would have a clue.

"After much debate," Mistress Cucualindë said, "we’ve decided that this style will go well with Lady Amarië’s garb." She pointed to one of the sketches and Finrod dutifully nodded.

"How far have you gotten?" he asked.

"Oh, we won’t start cutting for another week," the elleth informed him. "Your garb is the least of our concerns and will not take as long to finish as others."

"Others?" Finrod asked.

Mistress Cucualindë nodded, giving him a faint smile. "Your lady amillë’s gown is more elaborate than your own garb, Highness. Would you like to see?"

"Ah, no, thank you, Mistress," Finrod said hastily. "As it is, I have other appointments to keep. Thank you for your time." He gave her a short bow and made a polite farewell to everyone there, exiting as quickly as courtesy allowed. He made his way to his own study and went to the writing desk, pulling out some sheets of vellum and sharpening a quill. He spent a few minutes gathering his thoughts before putting pen to paper. Once the letter was written, he re-read it, nodding in satisfaction, then put it aside and wrote a second letter, this one somewhat shorter. He threw drying sand over both letters and sealed them, carefully writing the names on the front. Then he took the letters and walked back to the administrative area of the palace until he found the Royal Courier’s office. Inside, he spoke briefly with the ellon who was manning the office that day, handing over the letters. The courier assured him the letters would be sent within the hour. Satisfied that he’d done what he could, Finrod went in search of Mistress Lindissë of the Guild of Musicians whom he knew had been put in charge of the music for the wedding, wondering how Glorfindel, Vondo and Vorondil were faring.

****

Glorfindel wasted some time trying to track down the person ultimately charged with seeing to the decorations for the wedding. No one seemed to know just who that person was. Some said one name, others another and not a few just gave him a blank stare when he asked. He wondered if in fact anyone had yet been designated for the role, which made sense as far as he was concerned. After all, what exactly had to be done? A few flowers here and there, perhaps a garland of ribbons and what more did you need?

After asking the seventh — or was it the eighth? — person among the palace staff about who was in charge of decorations and getting no satisfactory answer, he decided to wander through the palace gardens instead. Obviously he wasn’t going to get very far in his search. He would have to take it up with Finrod. Perhaps they could just plan out the decorations themselves.

He made his way past the orangery and the main kitchen herb garden and wended his way to one of the lower gardens to his favorite spot where he liked to go and think. It was somewhat secluded from the rest of the gardens, reached by means of a short tunnel created by tall yews. The tunnel opened up into a small garden of wildflowers growing around a pond where colorful fish swam. A tall yew hedge surrounded the garden on all four sides, effectively hiding it from the rest of the gardens. There were a couple of benches beside the pond and nothing else. Glorfindel doubted the gardeners bothered too much with this little garden, allowing it to run wild as it would, though safely contained. He didn’t think too many people even came here, which suited him just fine.

He sat on one of the benches, idly glancing around, noticing the fish swimming endlessly in the pond, watching some bees moving gracefully from one flower to another collecting nectar, listening to the quiet chirping of redwings flitting high above on business of their own. The sun was warm and the air redolent with the heady perfume of spring flowers and he took a deep centering breath, slowly letting it out and closing his eyes, feeling himself relaxing.

He felt rather than heard someone enter the garden and stop. Opening his eyes, he turned to see one of the gardeners standing there looking a bit nonplused. Glorfindel smiled. "Don’t mind me," he said. "I’m just sitting here relaxing."

"I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here," the gardener said as he moved towards Glorfindel. "I apologize for disturbing you, my lord."

"You are not disturbing me," Glorfindel assured him. "I probably should be going anyway." He cast a knowing look at the sky, gauging the time from the sun’s position. "I need to find Prince Findaráto and tell him I failed in my quest." He gave the gardener a wry smile and the ellon raised an eyebrow.

"And what quest was that, my lord?" the gardener asked with a slight smile on his face.

"Trying to find out who’s in charge of the decorations for the upcoming wedding," Glorfindel answered readily enough as he stood. "Seems everyone thinks someone else is in charge and no one is willing to step forward and claim responsibility."

"Why do you need to....? Forgive me. I apologize for my presumption," the ellon said, giving Glorfindel a bow.

"As to that my friend," Glorfindel said without rancor, "Prince Findaráto wishes to know how the wedding preparations are going and asked me to look into it."

"Why not ask the Queen, then?" the gardener enquired.

"Ah.... well... um...."

The ellon gave Glorfindel a shrewd look. "I see... I think," he said. The ellon frowned in thought for a moment while Glorfindel stood there, not in any real hurry to leave the garden. Then the gardener’s face cleared and he smiled at the Elf-lord, giving him a slight bow. "Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Hallacar and I am the Chief Gardener for their Majesties."

"And I am Lord Glorfindel," the former Balrog Slayer replied, giving Hallacar his own bow.

"Oh, I know who you are, my lord," Hallacar said with a smile. Then he gestured toward the bench. "If you would like, I can tell you something of what you need to know."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "And how would you know anything about wedding decorations?" he asked even as he resumed his seat, gesturing for Hallacar to join him, which he did.

"Well, as it just so happens, my wife, Terendulë...."

"Oh! She’s the Head Housekeeper for the royal apartments," Glorfindel exclaimed.

Hallacar nodded. "And she is also in charge of overseeing the decorations for the wedding, or at least, she will be."

"She doesn’t know?" Glorfindel asked with an amused look.

Hallacar laughed. "Oh, she knows all right, for the Queen asked her, but no one else is aware of it."

"Whyever not?" Glorfindel enquired in surprise.

Hallacar gave the Elf-lord a knowing smile. "My lord, have you ever been to a wedding?"

Glorfindel nodded.

"Have you ever witnessed the wedding preparations?"

Glorfindel nodded again, his memory taking him back to Gondolin and the weddings he witnessed there, especially Idril’s and Tuor’s.

Hallacar smiled even more broadly. "Do you recall any... um... disagreements over, shall we say, the details?"

Now Glorfindel’s eyes widened in understanding. "When Idril was getting married, two of her ladies-in-waiting got into an altercation with the cooks because they couldn’t agree on what the syllabub should be for the final remove of the wedding feast." He cast the gardener a brief, wintry smile. "Turgon... um... I mean Turucáno had to step in personally and physically pull the ladies apart from one another, with a bit of help from me and some others."

Hallacar laughed. "And that is why Terendulë asked the queen not to announce who was in charge of overseeing the decorations and other matters concerning the wedding. Too many cooks and all that."

Glorfindel nodded. "Yes, I quite see your point." He gave Hallacar a considering look. "Do you think that Terendulë would be willing to speak with me about what decisions she’s made so far? Findaráto feels he should be given some say in certain matters, considering it’s his wedding, after all."

"Yes, I can imagine that in all the excitement, everyone’s forgotten about the groom," Hallacar replied with a chuckle. From the ellon’s wistful expression Glorfindel suspected he was remembering his own wedding. Hallacar stood up. "I think something can be arranged. Perhaps you should simply have Prince Findaráto summon my wife to speak with her personally. As the Chief Housekeeper for the royal apartments she would not find it an unusual request and this way no one is the wiser."

"A good idea. Thank you," Glorfindel said, standing as well. "I should go and find Findaráto and let him know."

"Good luck," Hallacar said warmly. "It’s been my experience that when it comes to wedding preparations, the opinions of the ellyn are rarely welcomed by the ellith."

"Ah, and what about the opinions of a Prince?" Glorfindel countered, giving Hallacar a sly grin as he walked away, leaving the gardener standing there in bemusement.

****

Vorondil and his uncle made it only as far as the doorway of the royal kitchens before they were stopped by the Head Cook, a no-nonsense ellon who was somewhat humorless, especially where elflings and other intruders were concerned.

"Stop right there," the Head Cook demanded, holding up an imperious hand.

Both uncle and nephew halted in surprise. "We came...." Vondo started to say but the Head Cook did not give him a chance to finish his sentence.

"I know full well why you’ve come," he said with a snort. "If it’s not elflings or Reborn or both trying to sneak sweets and drinks and what-have-you from under my nose, it’s their Majesties deciding to change the menu at the last minute. You two can just turn yourselves around and find somewhere else to do your mischief. I’ve a feast to put on and no time for your silly games."

Vorondil just stood there gaping at the ellon and was ready to run, but Vondo, remembering earlier times when he wasn’t so unsure of things, drew himself up to his full height and stared at the Head Cook with an imperious look. "We’ve come on the business of his Highness, Prince Findaráto, and...."

"A likely story," the ellon said brusquely, clearly unconvinced. "Be off with you before I call the guards to drag you away."

Now even Vondo stood there gaping at the utter insolence of the fellow. After a moment of tense silence between them (and Vondo noticed that the other kitchen workers had stopped to watch them), Vondo grabbed his nephew’s arm and spun away, too incensed himself to say anything more. He never saw the satisfied smirk on the Head Cook’s face as they beat a hasty retreat, which is probably a good thing, for their Majesties might have had to look for another Head Cook otherwise.

"But I wanted to see if they were going to make ginger biscuits for the wedding," Vorondil wailed as he and Vondo continued back to Finrod’s apartments where they’d agreed to meet for lunch.

"Hush, Nephew," Vondo admonished the younger ellon. "We’ll let Prince Findaráto handle this. He will not be pleased." He cast Vorondil a wicked smile. "No. Our good Reborn prince will not be pleased at all," he added and Vorondil, catching on, gave his uncle a wicked smile of his own.

****

When Vondo and Vorondil arrived at Finrod’s suite, the prince was there with Glorfindel and Mistress Terendulë and several servants. Finrod gestured for the two to come in and take a seat at the table which was set for lunch. Mistress Terendulë was overseeing the laying out of dishes on the sideboard for Finrod preferred to serve himself. As the two ellyn sat, Vorondil started to speak, but Vondo whispered something in his ear and the younger ellon subsided. There was, in fact, no conversation between them as they waited for the servants to leave. Mistress Terendulë gave Finrod a curtsey as she prepared to leave herself when Finrod stayed her, asking her to close the door. If the elleth was surprised by the request, she gave no sign but did as she was bid.

"I won’t keep you long, Mistress," Finrod said, "as I know you have other duties, but I have learned that my amillë has put you in charge of overseeing certain aspects of the wedding?"

"Yes, Highness," she said, giving them a brief sigh, "though I had hoped to keep that information secret for a while longer."

"Have no fear about that," Finrod assured her. "That information will not leave this room. I only wanted to know what preparations you’ve already made, in particular, those having to do with the decorations. I have decided to take a more active role in the wedding plans, you see."

Mistress Terendulë raised a delicate eyebrow. "Odd. Usually the ellyn want nothing to do with it, content on letting the ellith handle all the details."

"Well, as you can guess, I’m not just any ellon," Finrod countered with a smile. "I’m the groom. I think I should be allowed to have some opinion about my own wedding."

The elleth smiled back. "Yes, of course. Well, to answer your question, I haven’t given it too much thought yet. I am waiting to hear from Lady Amarië as to her own wishes."

"You mean, Lady Almáriel’s wishes," Glorfindel couldn’t help interrupting, giving the Housekeeper a knowing grin. The others chuckled but Mistress Terendulë just shook her head.

"I meant what I said, my lord. I do not care what Lady Almáriel wants or does not want. It is not her wedding, but Lady Amarië’s... and yours, your Highness," she added with a smile, bobbing a curtsey towards Finrod. "So, if you have any preferences or ideas about decorations, where you would like the wedding to take place, even how you wish the feast hall to be set up, you just need to let me know and when I hear from Lady Amarië, I can share that information with you as well."

Finrod smiled broadly. "Thank you, Mistress. I appreciate your cooperation. I feared that you and everyone else involved in the wedding preparations would resent my... um... intrusion."

"Well, as you may have noticed, Highness, I’m not everyone," she replied with a sniff and that set the ellyn chuckling. "If there is nothing else...."

"No, Mistress. I will let you get on with your other duties. Thank you," Finrod said in dismissal and the elleth gave them all a deep curtsey and left.

Finrod stood up and went to the sideboard to fill his plate and the others followed. "It’s nice to know we have an ally among the staff," he commented as they resumed their seats and began eating. "I spoke with Mistress Lindissë of the Musician’s Guild. She was not too cooperative, at least not at first. I had to be a bit insistent that she tell me what music she had planned."

"Why was she reluctant to speak with you?" Glorfindel asked as he reached for some honey butter to spread on his roll.

"She said that at this late date it would be difficult to change the music which she and the other musicians have chosen," Finrod answered. He gave them a sardonic look. "It seems that these musicians need a lot of practice or something. The wedding is seven weeks away. You would think that they would have plenty of time to learn new music if necessary."

The others shrugged. "So what have you decided?" Vondo asked. "Is the music that’s been chosen appropriate?"

"Oh yes," Finrod replied, "but that is not to say it’s appropriate for my wedding."

"So what will you do?" Vorondil asked. "Will you have them learn new music? It doesn’t sound as if this Mistress Lindissë is going to like it, you dictating to her. Did Queen Eärwen choose the music?"

"I asked Lindissë that and she said that Ammë had left it to her to choose the music."

"Hmmm.... And will Ammë Eärwen approve of the selection when she hears it for the first time on the day of the wedding?" Glorfindel asked shrewdly.

Finrod smiled. "Now, that’s something I didn’t think about. Anyway, I have my own ideas about the music but I’m going to have to think about it a bit longer before I make any real decisions. The music Lindissë chose isn’t bad, it’s just not... me... or Amarië, at least I don’t think so. Well, anyway, let’s put music aside for the moment." He gestured to Vondo and Vorondil. "What did you learn about the menu?"

Vondo put his fork down and frowned. "Nothing. We were rather rudely and summarily sent packing without being given a chance to explain our errand. In fact the Head Cook was quite convinced that we were lying when I told him you’d sent us. I was this close to wiping the kitchen floor with the arrogant orc but decided you should have that privilege." He gave Finrod a knowing look and the prince raised an eyebrow.

"Well, why don’t we finish our lunch and then take a walk in the gardens... by way of the kitchens," he suggested with a bland expression on his face that fooled none of them.

Glorfindel raised his goblet of wine. "To battle," he said with a wide grin.

The others raised their own goblets. "To battle," they chimed.

"And maybe while we’re there we can sneak some ginger biscuits to munch on," Vorondil added with a grin and the others decided that was an excellent idea and spent a few minutes discussing strategy as they continued with their meal.

****

Note: Hallacar and Terendulë originally were mentioned by Finrod in In Darkness Bound, chapter 7, when Hallacar was only an apprentice gardener and Terendulë was a mere chambermaid in the royal palace. They were as yet unmarried.

Chapter the Fifth:

In Which Finrod Visits the Royal Kitchens and an Epic Battle Ensues

When they were finished with their lunch, after freshening up a bit, they made their way to the kitchen, Finrod leading with Glorfindel beside him. Vondo and his nephew trailed behind. No sooner did they cross the threshold than they were stopped by the Head Cook, who gave them all, even Finrod, a sour look, though his gaze was more on Vondo and Vorondil.

"You again," he snarled. "I thought I told you...."

"Excuse me, Master Isildil," Finrod interrupted coldly, his expression one that any of his former subjects would have recognized as ‘the-king-is-not-happy-look’, a very dangerous expression indeed but Isildil was unaware just how dangerous it was. "I understand that you summarily dismissed my agents without a proper hearing."

"I know who they are, Highness," the ellon said haughtily. "Troublemakers and thieves. While this one," he pointed at Vondo, "kept me occupied with specious questions supposedly from you, this one," now he jerked a finger at Vorondil, "would’ve been trying to sneak sweets or something."

Both ellyn looked affronted; Finrod merely looked imperious. "And you would have been wrong," he said. "They were here on a fact-finding mission concerning the wedding menu. My amillë asked me to consult with you as she was busy with other things and I would have gladly done so, but I had my own appointments and so I sent Lord Vorondil," — stressing the title — "and his nephew in my stead."

"Well, as it happens, Highness," Isildil said, giving them a smirk, "her Majesty already consulted me about the menu just a short time ago and everything is set, so your little... um... fact-finding mission is for naught."

Finrod blinked, his expression neutral. "I see," he finally said, silently cursing himself for a fool. "Well, in that case...."

"What’s on the menu?" Glorfindel asked suddenly, his expression one of curiosity.

"Will there be ginger biscuits?" Vorondil chimed in with a glow of anticipation in his eyes.

Isildil snorted, shaking his head. "The menu is my business and you will just have to wait and see."

"No, I don’t think so," Finrod said. "I would like to see what has been decided. I may wish to change one or two items."

"The Queen has already approved...." the ellon began, but Finrod, now getting angry, interrupted.

"The Queen is not the one getting married," he nearly yelled. "Now, stop stalling and tell me what’s on the blasted menu."

The room became very silent. Isildil turned around and growled, "Get back to work," and there was a sudden flurry of activity again. He turned back to stare at Finrod and the others for a long moment, taking their measure. Vondo and Vorondil he dismissed out of hand. The other ellon with the strange front braids he knew by reputation but, again, dismissed him as unimportant. It was Prince Findaráto with whom he must deal, yet, the royal kitchen was his demesne and even their Majesties were careful to stay on his good side. Arguing with him usually ended up badly for the other party, at least where their meals were concerned. He almost smiled at that thought. Instead, he gave a shrug.

"The Queen has approved the menu that I decided on," he said.

"And what did you decide?" Finrod asked in a steely voice.

"Well, if you must know, Highness, I decided on a five-course meal consisting of a mushroom soup in the first course...."

"My anatar doesn’t care for mushrooms," Finrod interrupted. "You’d better make it something else."

"If you wish," Isildil said, pretending to acquiesce to the prince’s orders, though he had no intention of doing so. Let the elfling think he’s got the upper hand and he’ll go away happy and leave him to do what he did best: cook.

"So what else is on the menu?" Finrod asked.

"Well the second course will consist of partridge...."

"Partridge!?" Finrod exclaimed in dismay. "My wife-to-be hates partridge. How could Ammë not remember that?"

"The Lady Amarië is not required to eat the partridge, Highness," Isildil said with a shrug, "and there will be other dishes...."

"No doubt," Finrod retorted. "I assume you have the menu written out. I would like to see it, please."

Now Isildil smiled, feeling on safer ground. "The list is here," he said, pointing to his temple, "and here it will remain. As I said, your Highness, the menu has already been approved and I have no intention of changing it. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a feast to put on and unless his Highness prefers to eat half-cooked meat and cold potatoes, I suggest you let me get back to work."

Finrod started to bristle at Isildil’s supercilious tone and he was about to lambast the ellon when someone shouted, "Hey! Put that back!"

Isildil snarled as he turned to see what the commotion was about. While he had been arguing with Finrod, Vorondil had sidled away from the confrontation, intent on snatching some strawberry and rhubarb tarts that were cooling on a tray. They weren’t ginger biscuits but they were fresh out of the oven and they smelled delicious. He surreptitiously removed a small cloth sack hanging from a peg on the wall behind him, intending on grabbing enough tarts for him and his uncle and Glorfindel and his master. He didn’t like the Head Cook and he decided the ellon deserved to have some of his food stolen. It would serve him right.

Vorondil glanced about to see what the other cooks and kitchen helpers were doing. Most were busy with food preparation. The feast that evening was in honor of the Queen’s begetting day. Vorondil would be serving as his master’s squire and he was looking forward to that honor, for in previous years he had been too busy with his studies to be able to leave Lórien for the celebration. This year, though, Lord Irmo had allowed him to leave as a reward for his diligence. He’d already, with Uncle Vondo’s help, found an appropriate gift for the Queen. It was nothing expensive or fancy, just a small hairpin in the shape of a butterfly, but he was very pleased with it and was looking forward to giving it to his master’s ammë who always treated him with great gentleness, sneaking treats to him when Master wasn’t looking.

In the meantime, he was determined to have a bit of fun. He felt a momentary pang of indecision, wondering if his master would approve, but then dismissed the thought, deciding that whatever punishment Finrod meted out would be worth it, though he sincerely hoped the punishment did not include missing the feast.

No one was looking his way. He inched closer to the table where the tarts were cooling, trying to act nonchalant, sitting on the bench with his back to the tarts, plastering a bored expression on his face, so if anyone did notice him they would just assume that he was tired of listening to the grown-ups argue. When he was sure no one was looking his way, he turned quickly and grabbed a tart, forcing himself not to hiss in pain, for the tart was still too hot to handle without a mitt. He quickly thrust the tart into the sack, then turned back to face the kitchen, shaking his hand to ease the smarting. No one seemed to notice him.

So far so good. Only three more tarts to go.

He half-listened to his master explain how Lady Amarië did not like partridge, and shook his head. He rather liked partridge himself, especially when stuffed with a variety of fruits. Now lampreys... ugh! He gave a shiver of disgust at the thought. How anyone could eat them was beyond him. Oh well, there was no accounting for taste. He glanced around and saw everyone was busy. Master Isilidil blocked Vorondil’s view of Finrod, but he could see Glorfindel and Uncle Vondo and his uncle gave him a nod of approval while Glorfindel kept his eyes studiously upon Finrod and Isildil, but Vorondil did not doubt that the Balrog-slayer was well aware of what he was doing. Deciding he could risk it, he started to grab another tart, unaware that one of the assistant cooks had just turned around from stirring something on the stove and saw him. His shout alerted everyone else, including the Head Cook.

"Ah ha!" Isildil crowed, looking both smug and angry at the same time. "Just what I thought." He turned to Finrod, sneering. "So, this was all a ploy to get some sweets after all. I should have known. Take yourself and your thieving friends from here, Highness. I have better things to do than cater to you. Their Majesties will hear from me, I assure you." Then he stepped towards Vorondil who was sitting very still, clutching the sack with its single tart to him. The cook held out his hand. "I’ll take that and if I ever catch you in this kitchen again you young rapscallion I will tan your hide so you don’t ever forget."

"You’ll have to catch him first," Finrod told him with a grim smile. Then before Isildil could respond, the prince moved quickly, more quickly than any were expecting, towards one of the preparation tables where an apprentice cook had been busy peeling potatoes. He grabbed a handful of peelings, throwing them right into Isildil’s face, shouting, "Yrch erin hâr!"

Isildil shouted in anger and surprise, wiping potato peelings off himself. "Why you spawn of Melkor!" Then he lunged at the prince and before Finrod could move, he had him in a tight grip and was shaking him. "You’re the one I should thrash, you insolent...."

At once Glorfindel grabbed a nearby towel hanging from a wall peg and threw it over Isildil’s head, bringing a squawk of surprise from the ellon and causing him to loosen his hold on Finrod who pushed him away. Glorfindel grabbed the hapless ellon and sent him sprawling onto the floor as he shouted, "Belryg adel gi!"

Vondo wasn’t too far behind, leaping up on one of the other tables where loaves of bread were stacked ready to be cut, grabbing a couple in his hands and throwing them with unerring accuracy at the assistant cook who was attempting to help her master from the floor, causing her to fall back in surprise. Vondo shouted his own battle cry, "iNgoth am vîn! Berio i Aran!"

Now pandemonium broke out as the other cooks and kitchen helpers were being bombarded by loaves of bread from Vondo and potato peelings and other scraps by Finrod while Glorfindel joined him. Then about six or eight apprentice cooks and kitchen helpers rallied, grabbing up ladles and rolling pins and even a broom, but thankfully no knives, and began their own attack, rushing Finrod and Glorfindel and beating on them. The two ellyn managed to push their attackers away long enough for them to grab their own weapons: Finrod’s was a rolling pin, while Glorfindel chose a skillet.

"Gurth an Glamhoth!" Glorfindel yelled even as he swung the skillet, not meaning to hit anyone, but merely to force them to keep their distance. The two were fighting back-to-back.

"Vondo!" Finrod yelled. "Get Vorondil out of here."

Vondo, however, was still busy throwing things and wasn’t paying much attention to anything or anyone else. When he ran out of bread he jumped off the table in search of more ammunition, and began lobbing potatoes that were in a pile waiting to be peeled. Most of the potatoes seemed to be aimed at the Head Cook who had thrown off the towel and was now screaming for his people to subdue Finrod and the others. He was too busy dodging potatoes to do anything himself. Not all the potatoes were aimed at him, however; Vondo was happily throwing them at the other kitchen staff who tried to get too close. In his excitement, though, his aim was sometimes off and one of the larger missiles slammed into a cask holding the wine for that night’s feast, some of Lord Nolondur’s best red wine. The cask broke open and the wine poured out onto the floor.

Finrod saw that and yelled, "Ai! Arnad nîn as sûl!" as he dodged one of the younger apprentices coming at him with a ladle, throwing the hapless ellon over his shoulder, at which Glorfindel, still swinging his skillet to good effect, retorted, "Ú-ârig arnad."

Vorondil, meanwhile, was busy stuffing the sack with as many tarts and other sweets as he could fit in it.

"Oh no you don’t!" he heard someone exclaim, and then Master Isildil was grabbing him even as he was picking up another tart. Without thinking about it Vorondil twisted slightly to his left and pushed the tart into Isildil’s face, forcing the cook to stumble back in surprise. Without waiting to see what was happening, Vorondil started running towards the back door leading out to the herb garden, but he did not reckon on the bench that was in his way or the sticky floor where the wine continued to pour out and tripped over the bench, landing in a puddle of wine.

Vondo just happened to see his nephew fall and land in the wine, the red liquid splashing about and suddenly, he was no longer in the royal kitchen of Tirion but in the forests of the High Faroth overlooking Nargothrond and it was his brother he saw falling. "ALDUNDIL! NO!" he screamed and then without conscious thought he was attacking Master Isildil who had just managed to wipe the sticky tart filling out of his eyes. Vondo tackled the poor ellon, all the while screaming, "I’ll kill you, you filthy orc! I’ll kill you!" and then he was doing his level best to strangle him.

Immediately, what had started out as a game (neither Finrod nor Glorfindel were taking the battle at all seriously) now turned deadly. Finrod yelled at Glorfindel, "Knife!" even as he ran to Vondo and started pulling him off Isildil. The kitchen staff stopped their own attack to watch in horror as Vondo continued screaming in a mixture of Sindarin and Quenya, all the while keeping a stranglehold on Isildil’s throat while Finrod tried to loosen the ellon’s grip. Glorfindel, meanwhile, dropped his skillet and picked up the first knife he could find and ran over to help. Finrod was practically rolling on the floor with Vondo and Isildil.

"Hold him down!" Finrod cried and Glorfindel, sticking the knife between his teeth, attempted to do just that.

And at that precise moment, the King walked in.

"What the....?"

"Blood trance!" Finrod screamed as he continued trying to get Vondo to loosen his grip on Isildil’s throat.

Without bothering with an explanation, Arafinwë immediately went to the floor next to Glorfindel, much to the shock and dismay of the onlookers. "I’ll hold him, you cut him," he said as he grabbed the cook’s right arm and pulled it down. Glorfindel just nodded, took the knife and rather ruthlessly sliced through the tunic and into flesh. Isildil gave a gurgled scream, but no one paid any attention to him. Finrod forced Vondo’s head down toward the blood now welling up and then the ellon was growing still, his grip on Isildil’s throat loosening.

Finrod pulled him off immediately and, heedless of the fact that he was sitting in wine, cradled the now quiescent Reborn, gently rocking him and crooning something soft and soothing while Glorfindel and Arafinwë helped Isildil up, the ellon cursing a blue streak. Vorondil, dripping with wine, was now kneeling beside Finrod, gently stroking his uncle’s hair, while Vondo blinked away the memories of his last moments before death had taken him.

"Feeling better?" Finrod whispered in his ear.

Vondo nodded, looking about, trying to put his memories in perspective. He finally noticed Arafinwë standing there looking down at him, his expression totally unreadable. Vondo gulped and then blurted out the first thing that came to him, his thoughts still wavering between past and present, "Did... did we win?"

****

Words are Sindarin:

Yrch erin hâr: ‘Orcs on the left!’

Belryg adel gi: ‘Balrogs behind you!’

iNgoth am vîn. Berio i Aran: ‘The enemy is upon us! Protect the king!’

Gurth an Glamhoth: ‘Death to the Din-horde!’ Tuor’s curse and battle-cry [Unfinished Tales].

Ai! Arnad nín as sûl: ‘Oh! My kingdom for a goblet!’

Ú-ârig arnad: ‘You don’t have a kingdom’.

Chapter the Sixth:

In Which Lies are Revealed and the Doom of Arafinwë Falls Upon Our Heroes

Arafinwë stared down at the Reborn still sitting in his son’s embrace for a long moment before glancing up and gazing upon a scene of destruction. The floor was liberally covered with red wine and potato peels with several loaves of bread looking rather soggy as they soaked up the wine. A number of the kitchen help were sporting interesting bruises and one young elleth quietly wept, apparently over the salad that had been ruined, for she was picking up limp lettuce and mostly squashed tomatoes from where they had been strewn about and putting them back in a large bowl, her expression mournful. Arafinwë resisted a sigh and turned his attention to the Head Cook, who stood there dripping with strawberry and rhubarb and blood, rubbing his throat where there were purpling bruises and looking affronted, fearful and smug at the same time. He noticed that everyone else had more sheepish looks.

"Would someone care to tell me what is going on?" the King finally asked in a deceptively mild voice.

At once several people started talking or rather yelling with Isildil in the forefront. Arafinwë held up a hand and the babble died. He had noticed that his son, Vondo, Vorondil and Glorfindel were the only ones who were silent. Glorfindel stood at ease, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression neutral. Vorondil knelt beside Finrod and Vondo, his expression more fearful, though his gaze was more on his uncle than on anyone else. Finrod’s expression was unreadable as he continued sitting there in the pool of wine looking up at him. Vondo just looked confused.

"Findaráto, who started this?" he asked his son, knowing that he would get the unvarnished truth from him.

"I’m afraid I did, Sire," Finrod answered stiffly.

Arafinwë nodded, not entirely surprised by the answer. He reached down and offered Vondo a hand which the ellon took somewhat bemusedly, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. Finrod and Vorondil stood as well. Arafinwë looked at the Reborn who had followed him to Endórë and had died there. He gave Vondo a sympathetic look. "Are you feeling better?"

Vondo shook his head. "I... I don’t know. I... what happened?" The look of confusion and the pleading in his voice were heartbreaking and Arafinwë, ignoring the ellon’s wet and sticky tunic, wrapped his arms around him and gave him a hug.

"Why don’t you go clean up and rest for a while," he suggested quietly. "I’m sure you’ll feel much better after you’ve slept. Findaráto, take Vondo and see him settled. Glorfindel, you and Vorondil are dismissed as well. Go clean yourselves up. Findaráto, you and Glorfindel are to report to me in my study in one hour. Vorondil, I think your uncle would appreciate not being alone at this time."

The youngster nodded and Arafinwë resisted a smile at the look of relief on Vorondil's face when he realized he was not required to report to the King as well. Arafinwë handed a still bemused Vondo back to Finrod with a nod, stepping to one side to indicate that they had his permission to leave. His son and Glorfindel gave him respectful bows. Vorondil belatedly followed suit, but Vondo just frowned as Finrod started to shepherd him away.

"But... did... did we win?" he implored.

Arafinwë watched in amusement as his son rolled his eyes. "That remains to be seen," the prince said, casting a rueful look back at his atar. Arafinwë merely nodded.

"But... but... they ruined everything!" Finrod heard Isildil sputter as he walked away, his voice raspy. "The Queen’s Begetting Day Feast... they destroyed it and you’re just letting them go!?"

"Your people can clean this mess up well enough, Master Isildil," Finrod heard his atar say, the King’s tone one of impatience. "As for the feast..." Here he heard his atar sigh. "As for the feast...salvage what you can and continue as you have been doing. You still have several hours before we eat. I’m sure someone of your caliber can come up with something. Now I suggest you have that cut seen to and...."

They were now out of earshot and so heard nothing more. Glorfindel cast him a rueful grin. "Maybe we should have left the menu alone," he suggested.

Finrod snorted but did not reply. Vorondil started sniffling. "It’s all my fault."

"How is it your fault, youngling?" Glorfindel asked, throwing an arm over the ellon’s shoulders.

"It just is," Vorondil said with a shrug. "If I hadn’t tripped...."

"That was an accident," Finrod assured him. "And to tell you the truth, I didn’t think we would get away with it. Oh, we might have managed to escape the kitchen, but eventually we would have been brought before the King to answer for our... er... crimes."

"It’s still my fault," Vorondil insisted, wiping his eyes with an already soggy sleeve.

"No, it was my fault," Vondo said quietly. "My fault...."

Now Finrod stopped to give Vondo a hug. Glorfindel and Vorondil stopped as well. "It was no one’s fault," Finrod said, "least of all yours. Now, let us go clean up and then you should rest."

Vondo said nothing to that but allowed himself to be led and soon the four were peeling off their clothes and slipping into the bathing pool. The scented water soon soothed them and it was with some reluctance that they came out and dried off. Once they were dressed in clean tunics Finrod insisted that Vondo lie down.

"You don’t have to sleep, though I suspect you will," he told the ellon, "but you should rest and give yourself time to recover."

"What happened, though?" Vondo implored even as he allowed himself to be led to his bedroom. "I don’t remember anything much. I... I don’t think I was even in the kitchen anymore."

"Something happened to cause you to suffer the blood trance," Finrod explained. "You yelled your brother’s name and then attacked Master Isildil."

Vondo sighed, closing his eyes. "I saw Vorondil trip and then he was lying in a pool of wine. The red color... all of a sudden I saw Aldundil as he fell before the orcs and I...."

"You don’t have to explain," Finrod said gently. "And don’t worry. Atto won’t blame you overmuch for attacking Isildil. He knows that someone in the blood trance isn’t responsible for what they do. Now, rest, and we will check in on you later."

With that he and Glorfindel left the two younger ellyn and headed towards the King’s study. Glorfindel gave his brother a wry grin. "Do you think Atar’s wrath will be worse than Námo’s?"

Finrod merely shook his head. "We’re about to find out."

****

Arafinwë sat at his desk with his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands, staring at nothing in particular, thinking about many things, not the least being his son, or rather sons, for Glorfindel was as much his son as Findaráto. Vorondil and Vondo he rather thought of as his grandsons, and that thought brought a smile to his lips which died when a knock came on the door.

"Enter," he called out as he straightened and the objects of his musings were there looking both sheepish and resolved as they bowed to him. "Right on time. Ah... Isildil. Good. Now we’re all here." He hid a smile at the sight of Findaráto and Glorfindel flinching as the Head Cook appeared behind them, studiously ignoring them as he gave the King a bow. Isildil had cleaned up as well, though his throat was still purple from bruises. Arafinwë gestured for the three to stand before him. His sons, he noticed, appeared calm and there was no sense of nervousness in them. They were obviously expecting punishment and were willing to accept it. Isildil just stood there glowering at the two ellyn.

"So what was the fight all about?" the King asked, looking at Finrod, leaning back in his chair in a nonchalant manner. Before his son could speak, though, Isildil muttered angrily "It was a set-up."

Arafinwë’s eyes narrowed. "Explain."

"It was a ploy to steal sweets," the Head Cook said, giving them all a sniff of disdain. "Those other two, that Reborn and his nephew, they came by earlier, pretending they were on a mission from him," he nodded at Finrod, who raised an eyebrow at the ellon’s rudeness at not giving him a proper title. "Well, I sent them packing soon enough." Isildil’s expression was one of grim satisfaction. "But then all four of them came and while this one tried to occupy me with some specious nonsense about helping out the Queen, that thrall of his was attempting to stuff some tarts into a sack, only one of my people caught him at it. It’s obvious that the whole thing was just a set-up to steal sweets meant for the feast."

"I see," Arafinwë said as he sat there staring at the three ellyn. Isildil looked triumphant; the other two looked affronted. "And what is your version of the story, my son?"

Finrod gave a sniff. "I did indeed send Vondo and Vorondil to the kitchen to enquire as to whether the wedding menu had been decided on already while I was looking into other matters."

"And why did you require this information?" his atar asked.

Finrod shrugged. "It is my wedding, after all. I wished to know what had been decided so I could at least add my own suggestions. Did you know Master Isildil was planning to serve partridge? You know how much Amarië hates partridge."

Arafinwë cast an amused look upon his son standing there frowning at the idea of partridge being served at his wedding feast. "I’m sure there are other dishes...." he started to say but Finrod cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"That’s just the point, Atar!" he exclaimed angrily and now Arafinwë was no longer looking amused. "It’s Amarië’s wedding as much as it is mine, but no one, it seems, can remember that. They are so busy making their own plans, they don’t have the common courtesy to ask us what we would like. The wedding menu should cater to us, not to you or anyone else. Amarië hates partridge and she shouldn’t be forced to choose some other dish, or worse, be given a substitute dish while the rest of us are eating partridge, because we all know she hates partridge, don’t we?" The disgust in his voice was evident.

Arafinwë sat there staring for a moment as he contemplated his son’s words. Findaráto was fuming, while Isildil was still glowering, alternating between rubbing his throat to rubbing his shoulder where he’d been sliced. Glorfindel just looked bored.

"So then what happened?" was all Arafinwë asked.

Finrod took a deep centering breath, letting it out slowly to regain his equilibrium before answering. "During lunch Vondo explained what happened, how Master Isildil sent him and Vorondil packing without a hearing. I decided to go to the kitchen and speak with Master Isildil myself, but he was very uncooperative."

Arafinwë glanced at the Head Cook. "You say my son’s enquiries about the menu were specious, a mere ploy to keep you occupied while the others stole some sweets."

"Not the others, just the thrall," Isildil replied.

Finrod bristled. "His name is Vorondil and he is not a thrall. He is an apprentice Lóriennildo and my vassal."

Isildil waved a negligent hand in dismissal. "Whatever else he may be, he’s still a thief and I told him if I ever caught him inside my kitchen again, I would thrash him."

"Your kitchen?" Arafinwë said in feigned surprise. "That’s odd. And all this time I thought it was my kitchen and I was merely lending it to you." His tone was laced with sarcasm and his expression turned sly, a sure sign for those who knew him well that they were treading on dangerous ground with him. Finrod understood this even if Glorfindel or Isildil did not. "Well, regardless," he continued before Isildil could utter an apology or an explanation, "I’m still waiting to hear how the fight began and who started it."

"I started it," Finrod said promptly. "I threw the first volley. Master Isildil threatened my vassal and I would not stand for it, so I... um... I threw some potato peels at him." Now he looked a bit sheepish when Arafinwë raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"And then I threw a towel over his head and kicked his behind to send him sprawling," Glorfindel chimed in, speaking for the first time, and sounding rather pleased with himself. "Then I think Vondo started lobbing bread at everyone and after that it became a free-for-all."

"I see. And the blood trance?" Arafinwë asked.

Both Finrod and Glorfindel grimaced. "All the while we were... er... fighting off the kitchen staff," Finrod said, "Vorondil was apparently busy stuffing a sack with the tarts, and when Master Isildil tried to stop him, he managed to break away, but tripped over a bench and went sprawling into a puddle of wine. We think Vondo saw this and then was back in Endórë seeing his brother fall and attacked Master Isildil believing him to be an orc bent on killing Aldundil. That’s when you came in."

"Yes," Arafinwë said with a slight cold smile. "One of the scullery maids came running to me to tell me that there was trouble in the kitchen. I thought perhaps a fire or something. The last thing I expected was what I found." He paused for a moment, casting a glance at the cook. "Beyond the question of partridges, why were you unwilling to accommodate Prince Findaráto with his request and why do you insist it was specious?"

"Because her Majesty had already spoken to me about the menu and had approved it," Isildil answered with a sniff. "When his Highness showed up saying he was helping the Queen out, I knew it was a lie."

Arafinwë sat there for a long moment analyzing the situation in his mind, sifting what he had heard and not heard. He glanced at his son who stood there with a resigned, almost rueful, expression on his face. Glorfindel seemed to find the entire situation amusing if the slight smile on his lips was any indication. Master Isildil....

Arafinwë sighed and leaned slightly forward, his arms on the desk, his hands clasped before him. "I know for a fact that her Majesty has not approved anything at this time," he said softly, looking pointedly at the cook. "Certainly not about the menu. I believe she merely wished to set up a time for you to meet with her and my son to discuss it, did she not?"

Finrod stared at his atar in surprise at that revelation while Isildil turned red and then white as he realized he’d been found out. "I... I...."

Arafinwë held up a hand to forestall whatever he was going to say and the ellon shut his mouth, looking decidedly unhappy. "However," he continued, now looking at Finrod, "I also know that your ammë had yet to inform you of this, so it is unlikely you were telling Master Isildil the truth any more than he was telling you, am I not correct?"

Finrod gulped and then nodded, looking down at his toes. "Yes, sir," he muttered.

Arafinwë nodded. "I can understand why you might... um... stretch the truth a bit, yonya," he said sympathetically, "but even so, I find myself disappointed in you. I’ve received reports from the Head Seamstress and Mistress Lindessë of the Musicians’ Guild about you as well. I don’t think either I or your ammë appreciate you going behind her back like this."

Finrod looked up, the fire of anger burning in his eyes. "It’s my wedding," he practically snarled. "Not yours, not ammë’s and certainly not his or anyone else’s." He pointed a finger at Master Isildil. "It’s mine and it’s Amarië’s and only we have the right to decide anything."

"And have you consulted with your betrothed about this?" Arafinwë asked.

"In fact, I have," Finrod replied with a triumphant look. "I sent her a missive just today asking for her opinion on how the wedding should be conducted. I doubt anyone in Vanyamar has bothered to ask her." He gave his atar a look of disgust.

Arafinwë leaned back, not too surprised at his son’s outburst, but even so....

"I sympathize with you, yonya," he said, his voice mild. "I well remember my own wedding when I was just expected to show up at the proper time and not act too much the idiot during the ceremony." Then he straightened and his tone and his expression became more forbidding. "Nevertheless, the fact remains that you’ve gone behind your ammë’s back and you have resorted to lying to others. I will not tolerate that, especially from you. I know Glorfindel will insist on sharing any punishing I mete out to you, but I will excuse Vondo and Vorondil. So, you will go to your ammë and you will apologize to her, then you will retire to your suite until the feast. I will allow you to attend, and Vorondil may act as your squire. I know he’s been looking forward to that. I’ll make arrangements for someone to sit with Vondo, since his parents and Aldundil will be at the feast. I think the ellon has had enough excitement for the day."

"And that’s my punishment, apologizing to Ammë?" Finrod asked in puzzlement.

Arafinwë grinned and it was not a pleasant grin. "Oh no, yonya. I’m just getting started. Beginning tomorrow, you and Glorfindel will be assigned to kitchen duty for the next two weeks. You will report to the kitchen two hours before dawn to help with the bread-making and you will then do whatever tasks are assigned to you and you will work through the lunch hour. After that you are free from any kitchen duties until dinner when you will serve as pages. Between lunch and dinner you will both attend to the Queen where you may spend the afternoon among her ladies-in-waiting learning embroidery."

Both ellyn looked nonplused at that. "Embroidery?" Finrod asked in disbelief.

Arafinwë nodded. "The ladies will be happy to teach you. That should keep you both occupied and out of trouble for a while until Sador and Ingwion arrive."

"And you don’t think with those two joining us we won’t get into more trouble?" Glorfindel couldn’t help asking with a wry grin.

"Ingwion and Sador are too responsible," was Arafinwë’s reply and he hid a smile at the rueful looks the two gave one another at the implications of his words.

Then Glorfindel’s good humor came to the fore and he gave them a smug smile. "Well, at least I already know how to do ribbon embroidery, so it won’t be much of a punishment for me."

Arafinwë nearly laughed out loud when he saw Finrod stepping on Glorfindel’s foot and frowning at his brother, shaking his head. Glorfindel suddenly realized what he’d just said and to whom and looked chagrined, lowering his eyes. Deciding to let it go, Arafinwë turned to Isildil still standing there, his expression almost gleeful and he imagined the Head Cook was already plotting how he would make Finrod’s and Glorfindel’s lives miserable during the next two weeks. Well, he was in for a rude awaking....

"As for you, Master Isildil," Arafinwë said, his tone still cold. "I find your actions equally deplorable in one who is in a position of responsibility. I’ve already spoken to the head of your guild and he has accepted my decision." Isildil’s smug expression melted into one of worry. "You will conduct the feast tonight as planned, but as of tomorrow, you will no longer be Head Cook of the royal kitchens."

"Wh-what!?" Isildil exclaimed. Even Finrod and Glorfindel looked surprised at that.

"That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it Atar?" Finrod asked and Arafinwë realized neither his son nor Glorfindel held any real animosity toward Isildil in spite of everything.

"Perhaps, but there is a lesson for you all in this," Arafinwë said. "Isildil, you will join my son and Glorfindel in their duties as the lowest of kitchen help, lower even than the scullery maid who came running to me. However, you will continue working in the kitchen through the day as you normally would and your guild will be sending over another Master to act as Head Cook in the meantime. After the two weeks, I and your guild masters will re-examine your case and perhaps, and I stress that, perhaps you will be reinstated as the Royal Head Cook. We’ll just have to see."

Before Isildil could respond, Finrod turned to him, his expression remorseful. "I’m sorry, Master Isildil. I never thought Atar would punish you for something I started."

Isildil merely growled, refusing to acknowledge the prince’s apology. "I have a feast to put on," he said to Arafinwë. "With your Majesty’s permission?"

Arafinwë merely nodded and with a stiff bow, the demoted ellon turned and flung open the door, stalking out of the room and almost, though not quite, slamming the door behind him.

For a moment, a tense silence reigned in the King’s study. Both Finrod and Glorfindel had troubled looks on their faces. Arafinwë finally spoke. "Go apologize to the Queen and then see how Vondo is doing," he ordered quietly. "I’ll see you both at the feast."

Both ellyn gave him respectful bows and filed out of the room, leaving Arafinwë sitting there contemplating many things for several minutes before he allowed himself a sigh. He turned to some documents sitting on his desk, deciding to get some work done before it was time to change for the feast.

****

Yonya: (Quenya) My son, contracted from yondonya.

Chapter the Seventh:

In Which the Palace Gets a New Head Cook and Finrod Gets a New Title

Finrod and Glorfindel went to Queen Eärwen, who accepted her son’s apology with a forgiving smile.

"All you had to do was come to me," she said gently, "and I would have been glad for your help, all your help, including Vondo and Vorondil."

Finrod blushed. "Sorry, Ammë."

"I know you are, dear," she said, giving the two ellyn a kiss on their brows before sending them on their way. They stopped to check on Vondo. Both he and Vorondil were lying side-by-side on the bed fast asleep. Finrod and Glorfindel gave each other knowing smiles and left quietly, going to Finrod’s suite to discuss what had happened and wait for the summons to the feast.

"I guess we messed up," Glorfindel said ruefully as he plopped down upon a plush chair, dangling a leg carelessly across one arm of it.

"You think?" Finrod retorted, giving him a sardonic smile even as he took his own seat. He sighed. "Kitchen work for two weeks."

"Nothing either of us hasn’t done before," Glorfindel said with a shrug.

"But with Mas... er... I mean Isildil there along with us," Finrod said with a grimace, "even if he’s no longer in charge, he and the rest of the staff will still find ways to make our lives miserable."

Glorfindel shrugged. "While we, virtuous Elves that we are, will ignore them all and show them that we’re above all their pettiness and spite."

Finrod grinned. "I wonder who will take over the kitchen in the interim and if Atar truly means to allow Isildil to continue being Head Cook after this."

"We’ll find out soon enough about the first and I really don’t care about the second," Glorfindel said, stretching before rising. "I’m going to go ready myself for the feast. Better wake Vorondil soon so he’s ready as well."

Finrod nodded. "I’ll see you in a while."

****

When Finrod went to wake Vorondil, he found both ellyn already up with Vondo helping his nephew with his squire’s tabard. Vorondil, when he heard what punishment had been meted out to Finrod and Glorfindel insisted that as Finrod’s squire he should suffer along with them. "If I hadn’t been so clumsy, we could’ve gotten away," he said mournfully.

Finrod just shook his head. "The King does not blame you or your uncle for what happened, and you have your own studies don’t forget. Also, you wouldn’t want to miss out on the camping trip your atar has planned for you and Vondo next week, would you?"

"It’ll just rain or, even worse, snow," the younger ellon said with a shrug, not willing to give in.

Finrod laughed and gave him a hug. "Then it’s too bad Laurendil’s not here, isn’t it?"

That brought a snicker from both Vorondil and Vondo and the dark mood lifted. Vondo insisted that he was feeling well enough to attend the feast. "I don’t need a minder," he said with a scowl. "I wish people would stop treating me as if I were five."

"Atar is just concerned," Finrod pointed out. "He doesn’t want you to feel you need to be sociable if you’d rather not."

Vondo shrugged. "If I feel the need to leave, I will," he said equably, "and besides, I’ve been looking forward to this feast as much as Vorondil."

Finrod nodded. "Then you’d best hurry up and get dressed," he said as he left to see to his own preparations.

****

Vorondil, when he saw the other gifts for the Queen that had been placed on a table for that purpose, was suddenly unsure how well received his gift would be, for it was very small and unassuming among all the others, but Finrod, remembering a certain begetting day celebration where his had been the smallest (and least appreciated) of the gifts, just gave him a hug. "She’ll love it," he assured the younger ellon.

"How do you know?" Vorondil asked doubtfully.

"Because it’s from you and for no other reason."

Vorondil wasn’t sure what his master meant by that but reluctantly placed his small package in with the others, sure that it would be overlooked or, worse, disparaged. Then at Finrod’s suggestion, he went to see how Vondo was holding up. "If at any time he feels the need to leave, you are excused from your duties to me to see to him. There’s no need to seek me out for permission; just go," Finrod told him and Vorondil nodded.

Finrod smiled after the ellon and then went in search of his ammë before the first remove was to be served. She was surrounded by well-wishers from the Court. At his approach, Eärwen smiled and opened her arms to him, giving him a motherly kiss as the others excused themselves to give them some privacy. "And how are you doing, yonya?" she asked quietly.

Instead of answering he asked a question of his own. "Do you remember Amarië’s begetting day celebration soon after I returned?"

Eärwen nodded. "You gave me this at the same time," she said, touching the pearl pendant that she was wearing.

Finrod nodded. "Do you remember my gift to Amarië?" he asked.

She gave him a shrewd look. "What are you about, Finda?"

"There’s a certain youngster who thinks his gift to you, being so small, will go unnoticed, or worse, be despised." He nodded surreptitiously toward where Vorondil and Vondo were standing with Vondo’s parents and Aldundil as they spoke together. Aldundil had a loving arm around Vorondil’s shoulders while Vondo was speaking animatedly and from the expressions on his listeners’ faces, Finrod had no doubt he was regaling them with what happened in the kitchen earlier.

Eärwen gave her son a knowing look. "Indeed," was all she said and Finrod gave her one of the bright smiles that generally left ellith feeling breathless. Then Arafinwë came to escort his wife to the high table so the feast might begin and Finrod joined them, signaling to Vorondil who came immediately to attend to his master. He had also been given the honor of seeing to the Queen’s needs as well.

The feast went off without any serious hitches. Luckily, much of it could be salvaged and Isildil, whatever else he might be, was a master of his craft and was able to find suitable substitutes for what had been ruined. Eärwen made a point of praising him and his staff for their hard work. Isildil didn’t look all that pleased but gave her a gracious enough bow before returning to what was still his demesne, at least for that evening.

As was the custom, Eärwen would open her gifts before the final remove, thereby giving everyone a break from eating. Later, there would be dancing and singing and the celebration would continue until nearly dawn. Eärwen gestured to the two pages who had been charged with bringing the gifts to the Queen as she sat at the high table and whispered her instructions to them to which they nodded. Then they began bringing the gifts one by one for Eärwen to open. Finrod noticed the glum look on Vorondil’s face as gift after gift was brought before the Queen, the card read, the package opened, the Queen’s words of thanks and praise to the givers warm and sincere, each gift seemingly more beautiful and exquisite than the one before and everyone oohed and aahed and applauded the gift and the giver. Gift after gift was brought up but Vorondil’s gift was ignored, even when the pile was down to just a few gifts and his was clearly visible on the table. Finally, only his gift remained, and Finrod, looking back at Vorondil who was standing beside him, saw the ellon was nearly in tears, fighting bravely not to cry in public.

The pages were busy collecting all the opened gifts, seemingly forgetting the last small gift. Arafinwë turned to his wife, a teasing smile on his face. "I think you’ve forgotten one," he said nodding towards where Vorondil’s gift was still sitting lonely on the table.

Eärwen gave him her own smile. "No, I haven’t," she said, then turned to Vorondil. "Would you like to give me your gift yourself, child?" she asked.

Vorondil just stood there, shaking his head, and then he tried to bolt, his face hot with shame and despair. Finrod was after him immediately, and brought him back to the dais, gently urging him with soft words to take his gift and present it to the Queen. He had to practically steer him to the table. All the while the rest of the feasters sat in silence watching the drama. Vorondil brought the gift to Eärwen, refusing to look up, so he did not see her gentle smile.

"Thank you, dear," she said as she took the little box from him. "I told the pages to save your gift for last because I know how special it will be."

Vorondil looked up and shook his head. "There’s nothing special about it, my lady," he whispered.

"Oh, but there is, and do you know why?"

He shook his head.

"Because it’s your gift and no one else’s," she answered and then she undid the ribbon on the box and lifted the lid, removing the hairpin and holding it up for all to see. "Oh, Vorondil, it’s lovely."

"It’s just a hairpin," the ellon muttered with a shrug, unconvinced that the Queen was being sincere.

Before Eärwen could reply, Aldundil came forward from where he’d been sitting with his family and wrapped an arm around his son’s shoulders. "I understand Vondo helped you to find the gift," he said quietly and Vorondil nodded, "and you looked all over Tirion for just the right gift, didn’t you?"

"I couldn’t find what I wanted," Vorondil said.

"And what did you want? What kind of gift were you looking for?" Aldundil asked.

"I... I wanted something that was... um... as beautiful as... as the Queen," Vorondil stuttered as he blushed in embarrassment, not looking at anyone.

There were soft titters among some of the listeners, quickly suppressed, and Vorondil reddened even more. Aldundil gave him a hug, kissing his brow. "So why this hairpin? What made this the right gift?"

For a moment Vorondil did not reply, then giving a sigh, still not looking up, he answered, "When I saw the hairpin, I... I fell in love with it. It was so beautiful. I liked the blue color and it reminded me of my lady’s eyes."

"And because you fell in love with the gift, you poured that love into the gift and gave it with love in your heart for the one to whom it was to be given, did you not?" Aldundil asked and Vorondil nodded.

"And that’s why I will always treasure it, child," Eärwen said, "because it was your gift and no one else’s. The size of the gift does not matter, Vorondil, only the size of the heart of the gift-giver and you have a large heart full of love. Come here, Vorondil."

Aldundil gave his son a small push and Vorondil went to stand before the Queen who stood and gave him a motherly hug and kiss, speaking to him softly while Aldundil and Finrod both looked on with identical parental smiles on their faces, though neither was aware of it. Eärwen released the ellon from her embrace and then carefully put the pin into her hair and resumed her seat as everyone applauded.

"And now, I think we’ve kept the cooks waiting long enough," Eärwen said once the hall calmed down and as Finrod and Aldundil resumed their seats and Vorondil, now looking happier, resumed his place beside his master, the final remove was served and the feast continued.

****

Neither Finrod nor Glorfindel bothered to sleep that night. The celebration went very late and they did not see the point of it, nor did they truly need it, having both slept well the night before. Instead, they excused themselves to change into old tunics, and then returned to the feast hall to help with the cleaning up once the revelers began to retire. As he and Eärwen were leaving, Arafinwë saw his son grab a broom and begin sweeping without even being told while Glorfindel began wiping down the tables as they were being cleared. Isildil, he noticed, was standing nearby, imperiously giving out orders. Arafinwë frowned, then shrugged. Let the ellon enjoy his position while he could because within the hour he would be replaced by the new Head Cook.

Eärwen, noticing her husband’s look, asked, "Whom do you think the Guild will send to replace Master Isildil?"

Arafinwë shook his head. "I do not know. I told the Guild Master to send someone who can deal with having to order a prince and a lord of the realm around without fear." He gave her a sly grin and she giggled.

The question of who would be replacing Master Isildil, even temporarily, was on the minds of many, including Isildil, who was determined to lord it over the rest of the kitchen staff as much as possible for as long as possible. The thought of having to do menial work as if he were the newest apprentice did not sit well with him and he knew whom to blame for his disgrace. During the next hour or so he made sure that Finrod and Glorfindel were handed the dirtiest, most back-breaking jobs he could find, secretly smirking to see these two nobles scrubbing pots and cleaning out the ovens.

Others in the kitchen said nothing and they kept their expressions studiously blank, but one of the younger staff stopped by Glorfindel, who was covered with soot and ashes as he cleaned out the ovens, and slipped him a cup of water when Isildil was too busy berating Finrod for not scrubbing hard enough. Glorfindel gave the youngster a brilliant smile in thanks. Finrod, to his credit, took the dressing down that Isildil was giving him meekly enough, but Glorfindel noticed the sour looks on the faces of the other cooks and helpers, for Finrod was popular with everyone in the palace and seeing him being humiliated in this fashion did not sit well with them.

"And furthermore...." Isildil started droning on.

"And furthermore, Isildil, I will thank you not to be berating my staff. That is no longer your prerogative."

Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at the newcomer standing at the doorway, giving them a rather amused look. The elleth was tall, almost as tall as Glorfindel, her hair a pleasing shade of honey-brown, her eyes a warm green hazel. Over her plain blue gown she wore the white tabard with the emblem of the Guild of Cooks — a black pot with two spoons in saltire beneath it. Stitched on the pot were three gold stars denoting a very senior member of the Guild. Even Isildil only had one star which was granted to him when he achieved his mastership. Whoever this elleth was, she was definitely a high-ranking member of the Cooks’ Guild.

"Greetings," she said, smiling at them all. "My name is Marilla. I’ve been assigned to oversee the royal kitchen for the next couple of weeks." She stepped further into the room and glanced about, apparently taking note of what all were doing. Her gaze lingered somewhat on Glorfindel kneeling before one of the ovens covered with soot and then on Finrod standing at one of the sinks covered with suds. "Isildil, you can take over for Finrod. He’s looking a bit wet."

For a moment, no one moved. Isildil just stared at his replacement, blinking. "Oh, and you’d best remove that tabard," Marilla said with a cold smile. "We wouldn’t want it to get dirty, would we?"

Finrod was the first to move, grabbing one of Isildil’s hands and thrusting the scrubber he’d been using into it, giving the ellon his own cold smile before turning to Marilla, giving her a proper bow. "And what would you like me to do, Mistress Marilla?" he asked.

"Have you ever made bread?" Marilla asked.

Finrod raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "No, Mistress. I can’t say I’ve ever had the privilege."

"Well, you can start now," Marilla said. "Ailinel, why don’t you show our prince how it’s done," she ordered one of the older ellith who was normally in charge of the breadmaking. Ailinel started in surprise at the sound of her name, but gave Marilla a brief curtsey and gestured for Finrod to join her where she was making bread.

Glorfindel watched somewhat enviously as Finrod dried himself off before donning a clean apron and began pouring flour into a measuring cup at Ailinel’s directions. He sighed and went back to cleaning the ovens, preparing them for the day’s baking, fantasizing about being clean again. He paid little attention to Mistress Marilla moving through the kitchen speaking to each of the staff, seemingly knowing everyone’s name and what their usual tasks were. He was half inside one of the larger ovens, scraping out the old ashes, when he felt someone approach him. Pulling himself out he blinked up at the new Head Cook smiling down at him. He knelt there, waiting for her to speak, stealing a glance at his gwador covered with flour and happily kneading some dough under Ailinel’s watchful eye. Resisting a sigh he looked back up at Marilla who apparently knew what he was thinking, for she smiled and bent down to whisper to him.

"Tomorrow, you can help make some ginger biscuits."

He smiled and leaned forward, careful not to get soot on the elleth’s starch-white tabard. "Can Finrod clean the ovens tomorrow then?"

"We’ll see," was all Marilla said as she straightened up and then spoke more loudly. "That’s very good Glorfindel. Why don’t you finish getting rid of these ashes and when you’ve cleaned up you can help the apprentices in the scullery to dress the meat."

"Yes, Mistress," Glorfindel said meekly enough and stood to take the last load of ashes out, then stopping at the sink and washing as much of the soot off him as he could before heading for the scullery where two of the apprentices were plucking some waterfowl and quail. The apprentices turned at his entrance and gave him shy smiles.

"There are some goats needing dressing," one of them said, nodding in the direction of a cold room where meats were stored. "Mistress wants three."

Glorfindel went to the cold room to find the three goats already bled, hanging on hooks. Taking one of them down he carried it into the scullery and hung it by its hind legs on a hook for that purpose, then found the appropriate skinning knife and began working.

For the rest of that first morning, Glorfindel helped with dressing the various meats that would appear at lunch and later at dinner while Finrod spent it baking bread. Isildil, they noticed, was given the most menial of tasks, those usually assigned to the newest apprentices. The former master scowled whenever he laid eyes on them, but neither Finrod nor Glorfindel spoke to him. Once lunch was done with (they ate in the kitchen with the rest of the staff), Marilla dismissed them, reminding them to report to her an hour before dinner.

"I’ll scrounge up some page’s tabards for you to wear while you’re serving," she said before letting them go.

As they walked away, Glorfindel glanced at Finrod. "You are so lucky, getting to bake bread while I had to clean out the ovens and then dress the meat."

Finrod gave him a smile. "But you’ve dressed meat before."

"Yes, but not for hours on end," Glorfindel protested. "I guess Mistress Marilla likes you more than she likes me."

"Oh, gwador!" Finrod exclaimed. "That’s not true, and baking bread isn’t as easy as it looks."

"But it looked like a lot of fun, certainly more fun than I was having." Glorfindel stopped and gave him a sly look. "I think we’ll have to give you a new title."

"Oh?" Finrod asked suspiciously, recognizing the look in Glorfindel’s eyes.

Glorfindel nodded, smirking. "Yes, I think we’ll have to call you ‘bassoneth’ from now on."

Finrod raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn’t dare!"

"Bassoneth, bassoneth, bassoneth," Glorfindel chanted with a laugh as he slipped out of Finrod’s reach. "Bassoneth Finrod. It has a nice ring to it."

"Glorfindel!" Finrod shouted.

"Bassoneth, bassoneth...."

The palace personnel were soon witnesses to the sight of Lord Glorfindel running through the halls shouting something none of them understood and laughing while Prince Findaráto chased him, shouting just as loudly, but definitely not laughing. The various guards and servants and even the occasional courtier stared after the two ellyn as they swept by them with bemused expressions, then gave each other shrugs before going about their business.

****

Bassoneth: (Sindarin) ‘Bread-giver’ The title given to the highest among the elven-women of any people, she having the right to keep or give away lembas bread. Often simply translated as ‘Lady’. The Quenya cognate is massanië.

Chapter the Eighth:

In Which There is Rebellion in the Ranks and a Trial is Held

For the next twelve days Finrod and Glorfindel’s routine was this:

They would rise from their beds two hours before dawn (if they bothered to sleep at all) and report to the kitchen where they always found Marilla already there (if she ever left at all; the ellyn were never sure about that), cheerfully handing them cups of hot chocolate — "It gets your get-up-and go going better than tea," she told them the first day — and some rolls for their breakfast. The other kitchen staff would straggle in by ones or twos, gratefully accepting their own cups of hot chocolate as they went about the business of starting the day’s work. Only Isildil would refuse anything, giving them all scowls.

Once they had eaten, Marilla would assign them certain tasks. Usually Glorfindel was given the task of cleaning out the ovens and preparing them for the day while Finrod usually helped Ailinel and some others with getting the breads started. Glorfindel would mutter darkly to himself in Sindarin, glaring at Finrod, who refused to meet his eyes. Only once, on the second day, did Marilla let Glorfindel bake ginger cookies as she’d promised. Once the ovens were readied, Glorfindel usually found himself dressing meat or plucking feathers while Finrod got to peel potatoes or cut up vegetables and once Marilla even let him make some soup. All Glorfindel got to make was a mess, pulling out entrails.

"Marilla obviously likes you better than me, bassoneth," Glorfindel hissed at Finrod on the fourth day as they were leaving the kitchens after lunch. He stormed past the prince, refusing to stick around to hear whatever Finrod had to say, so he did not see the hurt look on his gwador’s face. After that, the two barely spoke to one another unless absolutely necessary. Several people, including Arafinwë and Eärwen, noticed the coolness between the two ellyn, but left it for them to work it out between themselves.

The first three afternoons, as commanded, Finrod and Glorfindel came to the Queen’s solar to sit among her ladies-in-waiting, ostensibly to learn embroidery, but actually just sitting there being very bored and refusing to talk to one another or anyone else for that matter, making everyone else uncomfortable. Eärwen decided that having the ellyn in the same room together was not conducive to anyone’s health and she dismissed them after only an hour on the third afternoon, telling them not to bother coming back.

"I’m sure you can occupy yourselves in the hours between lunch and dinner without getting into too much trouble," she told them and they gratefully left, though once outside the solar they went their separate ways.

Thus, in the afternoons, once lunch was done with, Glorfindel would make himself scarce, usually taking his horse Alagos for a run through Finwë Park or even further afield, returning in time to report to the kitchen for dinner. He never invited Finrod and the one time the prince suggested they ride together, Glorfindel simply walked away and went to the library instead, ostensibly to read, but mostly just staring out upon the gardens below him. If Finrod went riding that day, he neither knew nor cared.

Finrod usually ended up with his atar during the afternoons, helping him with the running of the kingdom. He’d been excused from attending council meetings or holding court during his time in the kitchen, but there were other aspects of governing that fell upon his shoulders, relieving Arafinwë of some of the burden.

Of the wedding, no one spoke.

In the evenings, the two ellyn would report to the kitchen once again, donning the page’s tabards that had been provided for them, joining the other pages — all of them elflings of around thirty-five or so — and helping to serve dinner. Marilla made a point of never assigning them to the High Table.

Isildil, all this while, was busy washing dishes, or washing the floor or doing the most menial of tasks, glowering at everyone and secretly plotting his revenge on the prince and Lord Glorfindel. He wasn’t sure what he would do to them specifically, to Findaráto especially, but he had already decided he would see to it that some aspect of the upcoming wedding was ruined. As he scrubbed the endless stack of dishes and washed down the dining tables, he fantasized about the myriad ways in which he could embarrass those two ellyn before everyone.

And all the while, Marilla smiled and continued ruling the kitchen with benevolent despotism.

Vondo and Vorondil, in the meantime, went camping in the Woods of Oromë with Aldundil and Herendil, leaving two days after the ‘Battle of the Kitchen’, as Vorondil called it. They would be gone for nearly two weeks, returning a couple of days after Finrod and Glorfindel would be done with working in the kitchen.

And so it went and there was peace of a sort in the realm of the Noldor for a time.

That peace was shattered, however, midway into the second week of Finrod and Glorfindel’s kitchen duties.

Every morning Glorfindel would report to the kitchen in high hopes that that day he would get to make bread or soup or do something other than dumping ashes and entrails. And every morning he would be disappointed. The one time he’d been given the task of making ginger biscuits had been the highlight of the day, nay, of the week, and he always entered the kitchen giving Marilla a hopeful look. She, in turn, would give him a wistful smile as she handed him a cup of hot chocolate, silently pointing to the ovens and with a sigh he would down the drink in two gulps and then pick up the scuttle and brush and begin work.

However, on this particular morning, the eighth day of their servitude, Glorfindel walked into the kitchen and the almost apologetic look Marilla gave him as she handed him a cup of the hot chocolate suddenly angered him and he knocked the cup out of her hand, sending it to the floor where it crashed, spewing hot liquid and scattering broken pottery about. "Why do you hate me so much?" he practically screamed, ignoring the shocked looks on the faces of the others who were already there.

"Glorfindel...." Marilla started to say, but the ellon refused to give her a chance to speak.

"Is it because my name is Glorfindel?" he snarled into her face. "Is it because Finrod is a prince of the realm and I’m just a... a balrog-slayer? I was a lord of Gondolin, one of Turgon’s closest advisors. I deserve better than this."

Marilla shook her head. "I don’t hate you, Glorfindel," she replied, "but this is supposed to be a punishment and...."

"A punishment!" Glorfindel shouted. "The only one being punished is me!" He pointed a finger at Finrod who was standing next to Ailinel, his expression unreadable. "He’s the one who started the fight, but does he get punished? No. He gets to make bread and soup and do nice things, while I’m the one up to my ears in ashes and entrails. Well, no more."

He took a few steps to where the scuttle sat beside one of the ovens, picked it up and turned to Marilla. "You want the ovens cleaned, Marilla, do it yourself." And with that he threw the scuttle across the room where it crashed against the wall, several Elves ducking to avoid being hit. Then he made his way to the door leading out to the herb garden, ignoring all pleas and orders for him to return as he threw it open and stomped out.

For several long minutes there was complete silence in the kitchen as they stared after the fuming Glorfindel who passed through a leafy arbor and out of sight. Most of the Elves had looks of shock on their fair faces, while Marilla’s expression was more sad than anything. Finrod, not sure how he felt about it all, suddenly noticed Isildil gloating and fury swept through him, all the hurt and humiliation that had been building up inside him this past week finally coming to the fore. Without thought, he swooped down upon the ellon, grabbing him by the placket of his tunic.

"You! This is all your fault!" he shouted and then shoved Isildil hard against the wall and began striking him with his fist, all the while shouting, "It’s your fault, all of this is your fault."

"Findaráto!" someone yelled but he ignored them, still hitting the hapless ellon who cowered before him, trying to protect himself. Then hands grabbed him, pulling him away and Marilla was now before him, her expression terrible to see, and Finrod stopped thrashing, suddenly afraid. With a nod from Marilla, the two ellyn holding him let him go and moved away.

"I thought better of you, Arafinwion," she said coldly. "Whatever Isildil did or did not do, he does not deserve this." She pointed to where a couple of people were helping Isildil up and Finrod saw that he had a cut lip and was bleeding from the nose and purpling bruises were already forming around one eye. Chagrin took him and he started to apologize, but Marilla cut him off.

"Since Glorfindel is not here, you can clean the ovens today," she said.

But Finrod was still feeling anger — anger at Isildil and his gloating, anger at Glorfindel and his taunts, anger at Marilla for just being there, and finally anger at his atar for punishing him in this fashion in the first place, he who once had ruled a kingdom of his own. He drew himself up and gave Marilla a haughty look. "If Glorfindel is not here, then neither am I." And without a backward glance, he stormed out of the kitchen, making his way through the palace and out into the main street, not caring where he was going, only knowing he could no longer abide being anywhere near the royal kitchen.

In his anger, he never noticed someone following him as he wended his way through the dark streets and squares of the city, for Anar had yet to rise, casting her golden light up the Calacirya to shine upon the city’s white towers. Eventually, as the sky lightened towards blue, he found himself before a tavern in a part of the city he did not recall ever visiting before and entered it, calling for ale. He found a dark corner by the fireplace that was unlit, for the morning was mild and pleasant, though clouds were forming in the west, promising rain later. Sitting there with his mug of ale before him, he fumed, glaring at nothing in particular, silently cursing everyone and everything.

"I should have just stayed in Lórien," he muttered out loud for no particular reason except to hear his own voice. He picked up the mug of ale and started to take a long gulp.

"Perhaps you should have."

Finrod choked down his ale and stared at the person standing before him, wondering where he’d come from so suddenly. He did not recognize him. He seemed a typical Noldo with his dark hair but his eyes were an odd shade of greenish-grey and, oddly enough, he was wearing warrior braids. Finrod recognized the pattern worn by those warriors who had given their allegiance to his cousin Maglor. "Excuse me?" the prince said somewhat haughtily.

"I said you should have stayed in Lórien," the stranger repeated, apparently not at all put out by Finrod’s attitude.

"And what concern is that of yours?" Finrod retorted, beginning to feel annoyed as well as angry.

The stranger shrugged. "None really. Just making conversation."

"Well make it somewhere else," Finrod snarled rudely, lifting his mug to take another gulp of ale. "I’m not in the mood."

"You and Glorfindel," the stranger said with a shake of his head, his expression one of amusement. "You certainly make a right pair."

Finrod stumbled to his feet, his eyes wide with shock, a frisson of fear running down his spine. "What do you mean?" he demanded. "Who are you?"

"It doesn’t matter," the stranger said coldly, his greyish-green eyes darkening with something dangerous. "Take my hand, Arafinwion," he ordered and such was the power of his command that Finrod did just that and then he found himself elsewhere.

****

Glorfindel headed straight for the stables and called for his horse. Brushing Alagos and readying him for riding calmed him and he was not as angry as earlier. Still, he felt hurt and betrayed and put-upon. Why did Marilla hate him so much? In spite of what she had said, he still felt that was the case. He had sensed Finrod’s contentment at the end of each morning’s stint when they were free for the afternoon. And why shouldn’t he be? He got to bake bread and make soup and yesterday Marilla let him help with the subtlety for dessert. It just wasn’t fair!

He led Alagos out and mounted him, heading away from the palace and through the streets of the city. By now the sky in the east was beginning to turn blue though the stars were still visible. He headed for Finwë Park, situated beyond the eastern wall of the city, but continued through the park into the open plains beyond. At that point he gave Alagos his head and they galloped down the Calacirya. He had done this before, passing the silent towers that lined the cleft with their Maiarin watchers. He usually only went a few miles down, returning after passing the fifth tower, but this time he simply let Alagos continue beyond that point. He had a vague idea of simply going on and not returning to Tirion, perhaps even taking ship and crossing over to Tol Eressëa and visiting with his friends there.

Eventually, though, he brought Alagos to a walk. By now he estimated they were nearly halfway to the Bay of Eldamar. Anar was higher in the sky, bathing all of Aman with her golden light. He felt much calmer now, but he had no desire to return to Tirion, not yet. He brought Alagos to a halt before one of the watchtowers and dismounted, letting the horse graze while he sat with his back against the tower wall, his arms around his knees. Like all the other towers, this one had no entrance. These towers were manned solely by the Maiar who needed no doors or stairs to reach the top.

He closed his eyes and sighed. He suspected Atar Arafinwë would punish him for leaving as he did, and that idea did not sit well with him. He sighed again, leaning forward slightly to press his forehead against his knees. "I should’ve just stayed at Aewellond with Eärendil and Elwing until it was time for the wedding," he said out loud in Sindarin, which he always preferred to speak when alone.

"Perhaps you should have."

Glorfindel scrambled to his feet in shock, reaching for a sword that was not there. Then he saw who it was who had spoken, also in Sindarin, and stared at him in disbelief. "Nyéreser?"

The Maia smiled. "The one and only."

"What are you doing here?"

Nyéreser pointed up. "You’re leaning against my watchtower. I thought I would say hello."

Glorfindel’s eyes widened. "Your watchtower?"

The Maia nodded. "I’m usually standing guard here along the Calacirya."

"Really? How... boring." Glorfindel gave him a wicked smile.

"Almost as boring as cleaning out ovens?" Nyéreser retorted with a knowing grin.

"How did you....?"

"Oh, word gets around," the Maia said, then gave Glorfindel a slight frown. "In fact, shouldn’t you be there now?"

Glorfindel scowled, not looking at the Maia. "I’m tired of dealing with ashes and entrails while Finrod gets to bake bread and... and peel potatoes. Marilla obviously hates me and loves Finrod because she never lets me do anything fun."

"Peeling potatoes is fun?" Nyéreser asked in amusement at Glorfindel’s elflingish tone.

Glorfindel glanced up, glaring, not at all amused by the Maia’s tone. "More fun than pulling entrails out of sheep and goats or plucking feathers from quail and certainly more fun than cleaning out ovens. Why does she hate me so much?" he practically wailed and Nyéreser was alarmed to see tears forming in the ellon’s eyes. "What did I ever do to her that she treats me with such contempt?"

Nyéreser started to reply and then stopped, his eyes taking on the distant look Glorfindel recognized as one that the Ainur had when they were bespeaking to one another in ósanwë. Then his expression cleared and he gave the Elf a strange look. "Take my hand, Glorfindel," he said as he stretched out an arm.

"Why?" Glorfindel demanded suspiciously, backing away so he was pressed against the stone of the tower. "I’m not going anywhere with you."

"You’ve been summoned, Son of Gondolin," the Maia said coldly.

Glorfindel just stood there, shaking his head, refusing to move. "No. Not again. Not ever again. Alagos!" He whistled and the horse came cantering from where he’d been grazing, but Nyéreser blocked Glorfindel’s path.

"No, Glorfindel," he said not unkindly, seeing the mix of fear and anger in the ellon’s eyes. "You’ve been summoned and it’s not wise to ignore a summons by one of Them. Take my hand, Child."

"No," Glorfindel retorted, his protest sounding weak even to him and he found himself shaking and the tears were falling. Nyéreser sighed and wrapped his arms around the ellon, drawing him into his embrace. Before Glorfindel could object he found himself elsewhere.

****

"Ah, good," came a dark, melodious voice that Glorfindel recognized. "Thank you, Nyéreser. If you would be so kind as to bring Findaráto as well. He’s sulking in the Star and Tree Inn just off Blue Willow Square."

"Of course, my lord," the Maia said as he released Glorfindel from his hold, giving the Elf a wry smile that did nothing to comfort him. Then he was gone and Glorfindel was left alone... with Him.

"Turn around, Glorfindel," Lord Námo said in an amused tone. "I’m not about to speak with you with your back turned to me. Besides, that’s very rude."

Glorfindel scowled and did not comply at first, taking the time to gaze around him, trying to figure out where he was. He did not recognize the place. It certainly wasn’t Mandos... or, at least, he didn’t think it was. For one thing they seemed to be in a meadow surrounded by impossibly tall mountains and there was a tarn, deep and dark, reflecting starlight, though it was daylight. It rather reminded him of Mornaringwë where he had spent some time with Olórin years before, but he had the feeling this place was not accessible to anyone except the Valar and the Maiar. He turned about and saw Lord Námo sitting in a throne-like chair under a single oak. How an oak tree was thriving so high up in the mountains, Glorfindel did not know. Námo was sitting there with a darkly amused smile on his face. He was dressed in a midnight blue silk tunic with an overrobe of blue samite shot with silver and he wore a circlet of mithril with a single sapphire upon his elf-braided hair. A mithril pendant of his emblem of a Sun-in-eclipse hung from his neck.

Before Glorfindel could ask about where they were there was the strong scent of lemon balm and then Nyéreser was there again with Finrod beside him.

"So, now we’re all here," Námo said in a satisfied tone.

Finrod glanced about him and then looked at Glorfindel, arching an eyebrow. "Wherever here is," he said softly.

Glorfindel merely shrugged, not ready to respond. Finrod sighed and turned to give the Vala a proper bow. Glorfindel refused to give Námo that courtesy, simply glaring at the Vala. If Námo was upset by his rudeness, he did not show it, though Finrod frowned.

"I suppose you’re wondering why I called you both here," the Lord of Mandos said in an amiable tone that fooled neither ellon.

"I’m sure it wasn’t to discuss the scenery," Glorfindel said with a sneer.

"Glorfindel!" Finrod exclaimed. "What’s wrong with you?"

Glorfindel glared at the prince. "You are! You, Marilla and him," he pointed at Námo, "and everyone else who’s out to make my life as miserable as they can. That’s what’s wrong with me."

"I never...."

"No?" Glorfindel sneered. "Perhaps not, but you certainly didn’t help. Have you been enjoying watching me cover myself with ashes and pig guts all week while you baked your precious bread, bassoneth?"

"Stop calling me that," Finrod demanded, getting angry himself. "You’re just jealous."

"Jealous?" Glorfindel shot back. "Jealous doesn’t even begin to describe what I feel at this moment."

"What do you feel, Glorfindel?" Námo asked and both ellyn started, having forgotten that they had an audience.

Glorfindel glared at the Vala. "What I feel is that I’m everyone’s favorite excuse to treat me with contempt. I didn’t start the fight with Isildil but I’m the one being punished."

"I’m being punished, too, or hadn’t you noticed?" Finrod retorted angrily.

Glorfindel stared at Finrod with a look of disgust. "Oh, I noticed all right. I noticed the sticky buns Marilla gives you with your hot chocolate while I have to make do with hard rolls. I noticed Ailinel letting you ‘taste-test’ the strawberry tarts a few days ago. I noticed you sneaking a lick of the subtlety you made when Marilla’s back was turned for a second. I noticed you smiling while you stirred the soup you were making and the other day you were actually humming while you were peeling the potatoes. I noticed a lot of things."

An uncomfortable silence fell between the two ellyn. Finrod had the grace to look abashed. Glorfindel just glared at them all. Finally, Námo spoke, his tone quiet. "No one hates you, Glorfindel, however much it may appear that way to you. And Findaráto is indeed being punished, though you believe otherwise."

"How? How is he being punished?" Glorfindel demanded angrily. "He gets to do all the fun stuff. Even the one time I was allowed to make ginger biscuits, I still had to clean out the ovens and dress some of the meat first. I thought at least that one time we would trade places, let him deal with ashes and entrails for a change, but no."

"I’ll tell you how I’m being punished, Glorfindel," Finrod said then. "I’m being punished by your constant taunts of calling me ‘bassoneth’. I’m being punished by the courtiers who ask me what part of the meal I helped prepare so they would be sure not to eat it for fear I might have poisoned the food. I’m being punished by servants tittering and smiling when they see me with an apron on. And while you’re in the scullery dressing the meat, you don’t see the apprentice cooks doing their level best to make me look bad or incompetent in Marilla’s eyes by sabotaging my efforts. Do you know how many batches of yeast they ruined on me and neither Ailinel nor Marilla believed me when I told them it wasn’t my fault?"

"But you still get to do fun stuff," Glorfindel protested.

Finrod sighed, casting Námo a helpless look. "You deal with this, lord," he said. "I can’t." And with that, he walked away from them.

Glorfindel just stared at him in disbelief, watching Finrod move closer to the tarn and make his way along its shore. Then he turned back to Námo. "And you’re just going to let him walk away?" he asked.

"Findaráto is haryon to the throne and...."

"And I’m just a lowly Lord of a House that doesn’t exist any more and so, of course, I get landed with all the filthy tasks while our precious prince gets the royal treatment, even from you," Glorfindel retorted.

"Yet everything Findaráto told you is the truth," Námo said, refusing to respond to the ellon’s accusations. "He is being punished in ways you don’t see because all you see is the outer circumstances and nothing of the inner struggle he suffers, having to maintain a cheerful and princely mien before all when what he wants most to do is rip everything apart with his bare hands. You don’t know of the shame he feels when others make sly and even cruel remarks about his situation within his hearing but always when he is not in a position to retaliate or the anger he has to hold in when Marilla disbelieves him when he says he wasn’t the one to ruin the soup by putting too much salt in it."

He paused and gave Glorfindel a sad look, which surprised the Elf. "And you don’t see the hurt in his eyes when you taunt him with foolish epithets or snub him, the one person he thought he could count on to stand by him as you suffered your durance vile together."

Now Glorfindel reddened in embarrassment, casting his eyes downward at his feet. It was true, he knew. He had let his own jealousy and hurt get in the way of things, and yet... "It’s still unfair," he muttered, not looking up. "Why can’t Finrod sweep out the ashes or dress the meat once in a while?"

"I offered, but Marilla refused."

Glorfindel looked up to see Finrod coming back and gave him a quizzical look. Finrod nodded. "I told Marilla she was being unfair to you, never giving you something else to do and offered to clean the ovens and dress the meat once in a while, but she said she preferred me to be doing what I was doing and that you were where you needed to be." He shrugged when Glorfindel’s eyebrows shot up as he gave him a disbelieving look. "Her words, not mine. I have no more idea what she meant by them than you."

"Why didn’t you tell me?" Glorfindel asked.

Now Finrod’s expression turned colder. "You never gave me a chance. The day I suggested we go riding together.... I’d planned to tell you and perhaps we could’ve thought of some way together to convince Marilla to let us switch places."

Glorfindel scowled. "Nothing about this makes sense," he said. "Just who is Marilla anyway? I saw the looks of shock on the faces of the other kitchen staff, even Isildil, when she came. She’s not just another guildmaster, is she?" He shot the question towards Námo who shrugged.

"Who she is, is not important at the moment," he replied. "What is, is that you both have behaved badly today and we need to address it."

Glorfindel gave Finrod a startled look. "I know what I did, but what did you do?"

Finrod grimaced, looking embarrassed. "After you left, I saw the gloating expression on Isildil’s face and something inside of me snapped and I... well, I attacked him."

"Did you now?" Glorfindel said. "Then you beat me to it. I’ve been wanting to push his stupid face into the ashes all week."

"Well, I did more than that to him," Finrod rejoined with a snort, "but what I did was wrong. I should never have let him get to me that way."

"You are correct," Námo said, his expression darkening somewhat, much to the ellyn’s dismay. "You were both in the wrong this morning and that’s why we’re having this little trial."

"Trial?" Finrod and Glorfindel exclaimed almost at the same time.

Námo leaned back in his throne, smiling slightly, a smile that did nothing to calm the two Elves. "Yes. You are both on trial for your deplorable behavior. Glorfindel at least has the mitigating excuse of still being emotionally young, but what’s your excuse, Arafinwion?"

Finrod drew himself up. "I have no excuse, lord."

Námo nodded, apparently pleased with the answer. "Then here is my judgment."

"Whoa!" Glorfindel exclaimed, taking a step back in surprise. "Judgment? What judgment? What trial? We’ve just been talking... haven’t we?" He gave them a slightly unsure look.

"Which is more than you’ve been doing lately," Námo said. "Both of you have been growing angrier and angrier over the last week, not only at your situation, but at each other and that makes you very dangerous to everyone else."

"Dangerous?" Finrod asked. "How, lord?"

"You remember the last time the two of you got into an... um.... altercation?" Námo retorted with a lift of an eyebrow.

Both ellyn cringed at that particular memory, refusing to look at one another, remembering how a certain grove in Lórien had been destroyed. Námo nodded. "We want to avoid another such scene, don’t we?"

The two Elves nodded.

"And that is why I had you brought here," Námo said. "If you were going to kill each other you were going to do it where no one else would be harmed."

"But I would never...." both ellyn said almost at the same time, with identical expressions of shock on their faces.

"I’m glad to hear that," Námo said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, then he relented somewhat, giving them an amused look. "This past week or so has not been easy for either of you, I know, but you’ve endured worse, together and separately. Your friendship is too valuable to be lost over something as trifling as doing kitchen duty, however onerous it might be."

"Lord Námo is correct, Glorfindel," Finrod said. "You don’t know how much I missed you, talking things over, plotting our revenge."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "Revenge? Against whom?"

Finrod merely gave him a suggestive smile. Glorfindel thought about it for a moment, realizing that he’d been thoroughly miserable over the past week, not because of his chores in the kitchen, but because he had not had Finrod to talk to about things. He nodded. "You’re right. I’ve been an idiot as usual," he admitted with a scowl.

"Not an idiot, Glorfindel," Námo said gently, "merely young."

Glorfindel ignored Námo’s comment, giving Finrod an uncertain look. "So... um... are we still friends?"

Finrod smiled. "Friends.... and more than friends," he replied and the two embraced, giving each other a kiss as between close kin.

Námo nodded in satisfaction. "Well, I’m glad that’s been resolved, but we still need to address your actions of this morning. Glorfindel, you will return to Tirion and seek out Marilla and apologize to her and accept whatever punishment she gives you, if she gives you any." Glorfindel nodded, not looking at all pleased. "And Findaráto," Námo continued, "I think you know what you have to do."

Finrod nodded, not looking too happy, but willing to do what was necessary.

"Good. Nyéreser, take them back to where you found them," Námo ordered, "and you two behave yourselves, or our next little chat will be... less friendly. Do I make myself clear?" Both ellyn nodded vigorously. Námo gave them a satisfied look. "Oh, and thank you for the wedding invitations," he added, almost as an afterthought. "That was very thoughtful of you." Before either Elf could respond, the Lord of Mandos was gone, along with the throne.

"Come," Nyéreser said with a smile for them, "I will take you back." He held out his hands and the two Elves each took one and then they were gone.

****

Finrod found himself back in the inn, sitting at the table with the mug of ale before him, and looked about him. It didn’t seem as if any time had passed, nor had anyone noticed his absence. Someone entered the inn and approached him, giving him a bow. Finrod raised an eyebrow.

"Amandur!" he exclaimed to one of his personal guards. "What are you doing here?"

"Following you, your Highness," the ellon said with a grin. Then his expression sobered. "If you’re ready to return to the palace?"

Finrod sighed, took a long pull on the ale, emptying the mug, and nodded. "Let me pay the bill and we will go."

"Don’t worry, your Highness. I’ll take care of it," Amandur said and did just that, so that in a matter of minutes the two were wending their way through the streets of Tirion back to the palace.

****

Glorfindel found himself back at the tower with Nyéreser. Gauging from the sun’s position, it didn’t seem as if any time had passed while they were in the mountains with Lord Námo. Alagos was still there, contentedly grazing. Glorfindel gave the Maia a puzzled look, but Nyéreser merely smiled.

"Go back to Tirion, child," he said. "I have my own duties to attend to."

Glorfindel couldn’t help giving him a cheeky grin. "And I thought cleaning out the ovens was boring."

Nyéreser just laughed, fading from view. Glorfindel shrugged, whistled for Alagos and soon horse and Elf were making their way back up the Calacirya towards Tirion.

****

Words are Quenya:

Ósanwë: Telepathy.

Mornaringwë: Dark cold lake (in the mountains). It is situated in the southern Pelóri range. The incident Glorfindel recalls is described in Elf, Interrupted: Book Two, chapter 55.

Otornor: Plural of otorno: Sworn-brother.

Hánor: Plural of háno: Brother.

Chapter the Ninth:

In Which Apologies are Tendered and Glorfindel Saves the Soup

It was about an hour past the noon meal before Glorfindel returned to Tirion. He was in no hurry to do so, so he set Alagos to a slow ambling pace, which did not please the horse at all, but Glorfindel needed the time to think. Not that he reached any conclusions, but he was in a better frame of mind by the time he reached Finwë Park and was making his way through the streets of Tirion. He would’ve liked to have taken the tree-made tunnel that connected the park to the palace, but he was not of the royal bloodline of Finwë and so did not have the power to open the gate blocking the entrance to the tunnel from the park. He reached the stables and took his time brushing Alagos and seeing to his needs before he headed into the palace itself, taking a circuitous route to avoid certain people. He had no doubt that news of his return had reached the King by now, but he would delay that meeting as long as possible. First, he wished to wash up and see if he could find Finrod.

In the end, Finrod found him, coming to his suite just as he was donning a fresh tunic. The prince gave him a scowl. "Took you long enough to get here," he said.

Glorfindel shrugged. "I was in no hurry to do so," he answered as he buckled a belt around his waist. "I needed to think."

"Ah.... thinking," Finrod said facetiously. "Always a dangerous occupation where you’re concerned."

Glorfindel just stuck his tongue out and Finrod chuckled. Glorfindel found himself grinning, the tensions that had plagued them over the past week seemingly disappearing with their banter. "So, how much trouble are we in now?" he asked.

Finrod shrugged. "I have no idea. I got back here and Atar sent for me, then made me cool my heels for an hour while he was busy with a council meeting." He gave Glorfindel a sour grin. "Now I know how courtiers feel when they have to sit around waiting for an audience. I am too used to just seeing Atar whenever I wish."

Glorfindel nodded, going over to a sideboard and pouring some yellow wine into a couple of goblets, handing one to Finrod who thanked him. "And when he finally deigned to see you?" he asked with a quirk of a smile on his lips.

"It was a very short meeting," Finrod said as the two of them made their way to the balcony that overlooked the Queen’s rose garden, taking their ease. "Essentially, we’re under house arrest until Atar says otherwise. We’re not allowed to go any further than the gardens and we certainly are not allowed to go riding."

Glorfindel scowled into his wine. "I can understand him treating me like an elfling of twenty, given that, as hard as I try not to, I usually end up acting like an elfling of twenty, but really! You’ve been reborn for well over a century and now you’re about to get married. When will they start treating you like the prince you truly are?"

Finrod’s shrug was philosophical. "I only brought it on myself," he said. "I should never have attacked Isildil as I did."

"I wish I’d been there to see it," Glorfindel said with something of his usual humor. "So do we continue as we have? We were supposed to be done with the kitchen in four days’ time. Do you think Atar will make us work in the kitchen for longer than that?"

"He didn’t say," Finrod replied. "I could tell he was both angry and disappointed but he said he would not speak of it until you returned, if you returned."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "Was there any doubt?"

"Should there have been?" Finrod retorted with a knowing grin.

Glorfindel shook his head. "I admit I contemplated just continuing down the Calacirya and taking ship to Tol Eressëa and staying there until the wedding, but I knew how impractical it was and I’ve never been one to run away from my problems. Even without Lord Námo’s... um... interference" — Finrod snorted and Glorfindel smiled — "I would have returned... eventually."

"Ah...." was all Finrod said.

The two sat there in companionable silence for a while, sipping their wine. Then Glorfindel spoke again. "I’m sorry about everything."

"As am I," Finrod said with a sigh. "Perhaps I should just forget about wanting to have a say about my own wedding and let others do as they please. The only important thing is that I will finally be wedded to Amarië."

"I wonder how Amarië feels about all this," Glorfindel said. "I know she wasn’t thrilled with the idea of leaving Tirion again. Hmmm.... Thinking about it, I wonder if that was the whole point."

"What do you mean?"

"With Amarië safely in Vanyamar no one needs to actually consult her about the wedding, do they? Oh, I’m sure Ammë Eärwen is in constant contact with her, updating her, or rather Almáriel, with the plans and perhaps asking for her opinion on one or two inconsequential matters, but by and large, her wishes have probably been ignored as much as yours have been."

"You may be correct," Finrod averred. "Royal weddings, as I recall, are always more about everyone else than they are about the bride and groom, who are only required to show up to speak their vows."

"Exactly."

"Well, be that as it may," Finrod said, "the wedding is only six weeks away and so far I’ve accomplished nothing of what I wished to do. I’m thinking it’s just not worth it, and if Atar decides to extend our punishment...."

Glorfindel scowled. "You were once a king in your own right. I wish people would respect that, including your parents."

Finrod shrugged. "This is Atar’s kingdom. I’m as much his subject as any in Tirion. What I was in Beleriand does not matter here."

"No, it doesn’t."

Both ellyn scrambled to their feet in surprise, turning to see Arafinwë standing just inside the door of the parlor comprising part of Glorfindel’s suite of rooms. His expression was unreadable to the younger Elves.

"I did knock, but you did not hear me," he said, closing the door behind him. "I’m glad you are here, Findaráto, as it saves me from having to send for you. Why don’t you two come inside and we’ll talk." The King made his way to the sideboard to pour his own goblet of wine then turned to see his sons still out on the balcony staring at him in dismay and sighed. "Come inside, yonyar," he said not unkindly as he took a seat and gestured to a settee. After a slight hesitation on their part, they complied, sitting side-by-side and keeping their gazes down, waiting.

Arafinwë took a sip of the wine before speaking. "I don’t like this any more than you do," he said quietly, "but if I excuse your behavior then I’m no better than my own atar was when he refused to discipline Fëanáro after he attacked Ñolofinwë, forcing the Valar to intervene."

Both ellyn looked up and Glorfindel couldn’t help giving the King a wry smile. "Too late. They already have."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow when Finrod snickered, then tried to disguise it as a cough. "Oh?"

Glorfindel and Finrod exchanged glances. "You tell him," Glorfindel said and Finrod proceeded to tell his atar about their ‘little chat’ with Lord Námo as he put it. "Although Lord Námo called it a trial," he concluded with a grimace.

"And it probably was... for him, dealing with you two," Arafinwë commented with a knowing smile as Finrod and Glorfindel gave him similar looks of disbelief. Then, seeing the humor of the statement, they both blushed, giving each other embarrassed grins. "And now, I have to deal with it and you," Arafinwë continued and their expressions became more sober.

"I’m sorry, Atar," Glorfindel said with all sincerity. "I probably shouldn’t have gotten angry the way I did, but it’s been so unfair the way Marilla treats me and never lets me do anything... different." He decided ‘fun’ was not the right word to use with the King. "At least Finrod actually gets to do different things so it’s not so boring for him and he’s probably learned a few new recipes along the way."

"I’ve already spoken with Guildmistress Marilla," Arafinwë said, gently reminding Glorfindel of the elleth’s proper title. "I think you’ll find a few changes in the kitchen when you go back tomorrow. You are both excused from serving table tonight but you are to report to the kitchen as usual and help with anything else that needs doing."

"And how much longer are we to be working in the kitchen?" Finrod asked.

Arafinwë smiled slightly. "By rights I should extend your punishment for another week, but I’ve decided it’s not worth it. Up to now, in spite of things, you’ve both shown yourselves to be exemplary in your parole. You will finish out your kitchen duties in four days’ time as originally planned, but you will continue remaining under house arrest until I say otherwise. If circumstances require you to leave the palace grounds — I know that Herendil has invited you to a garden party on the next Valanya after he returns with his sons and Vorondil from their camping trip — you may do so, but only if you have a guard with you."

"We have a guard anyway," Finrod said, "at least I do, and usually two."

Arafinwë nodded. "Yes, but these will not be your usual guards."

Glorfindel gave him a shrewd look. "You mean Maiar."

"Who will appear as if they were Elves in your retinue," Arafinwë averred. "No one will realize that they are not what they seem to be, except, of course, you."

"And will they be our guards all the time?" Finrod asked with a frown.

Arafinwë shook his head. "No. Only when you leave the palace grounds, and I don’t anticipate you doing that very often. This stricture will not extend until your wedding, yonya," he said, giving his first-born a gentle smile. "Just for a while, so that others will see that I don’t allow you two to...um... how did the Mortals put it?... get away with murder, if I remember the phrase correctly. It’s been a while." He gave them a half-apologetic shrug.

Two sets of eyebrows went up and then Finrod snorted, shaking his head. "I just wanted to have some say in my own wedding. I don’t understand this reluctance on everyone’s part to allow me this. You would think I were an elfling of ten getting under foot."

"Well, stealing your ammë’s to-do list for the wedding was not the way to go about it," Arafinwë said.

Both Finrod and Glorfindel stared at him in open-mouthed surprise. "How did you know about that?" Glorfindel finally asked.

"Besides, we didn’t steal it. We borrowed it and put it back," Finrod said with a sniff, wishing to set the record straight.

"So I saw," Arafinwë retorted with a grin, standing and placing his empty goblet on the sideboard before heading for the door. "I believe you both have some apologies to make before dinner," he said and then left them sitting there with their mouths agape.

For a long moment the two of them just sat there in silence, then Glorfindel stirred. "Do you think Atar is part Maia or something?"

Finrod snorted in amusement as he stood. "Or something. Come, we’d best get ourselves to the kitchen."

Glorfindel nodded and stood as well. "Let’s get this over with," he said, draining his goblet before they exited the room.

****

They found the kitchen curiously empty when they arrived, except for Marilla and Isildil who glared at them. And if looks could kill, Glorfindel thought to himself, we would both be in Mandos by now. He could see a fading bruise on the ellon’s cheek but little else to indicate that Finrod had attacked him. Marilla’s expression was impossible to read. Glorfindel glanced at Finrod who lifted an eyebrow as if to say, ‘You walked out first’. Glorfindel gave him an amused smile that did not quite reach his eyes, then he turned and bowed to Marilla.

"I apologize for my behavior, Mistress," he said humbly enough.

"I’m sure you do, Glorfindel, and I apologize if I gave you the impression that I hated you," the guildmistress replied.

"Don’t you?" Glorfindel couldn’t help asking. "The way you’ve been treating me, I have to wonder."

Marilla gave him a gentle smile. "Things are not always as they appear, Glorfindel. Tomorrow, however, I promise you will not be cleaning the ovens. That honor will go to Prince Findaráto."

Finrod merely nodded, having expected nothing less and so was not unduly upset. "I just hope Amarië never learns of this," he said.

"Never mind Amarië," Glorfindel said with a smirk. "Worry more about what Laurendil will say when he finds out. Your life won’t be worth living then."

Finrod laughed and it was unforced. "Too true." Then he sobered somewhat and gave Marilla and Isildil his own bow. "And I, too, apologize for my behavior. It was unbecoming of a prince of the realm and I deeply regret it."

"I’m sure you do, Findaráto," Marilla said, casting a stern glance at Isildil who simply muttered something none of them quite heard. Marilla let it go, dismissing the former head cook, letting him know he was excused from kitchen duty for the rest of the day. The ellon gave her a stiff bow, scowled at Finrod and Glorfindel and left.

Finrod frowned at the retreating figure. "He’s going to be doubly impossible to work with once he’s restored to his former position," he commented.

"But that, of course, is not your concern," Marilla said equably. "You leave good Master Isildil to his guild and your atar. Now, as long as you’re both here, why don’t you grab a broom and do some sweeping, Glorfindel, and Findaráto, make sure the dining tables are all washed down before we put out the linen."

Both ellyn nodded and went to their tasks with a good will. Later, when the other kitchen staff and pages slated to serve dinner that night arrived, they were both looked upon askance by some and amusement by others, but no one importuned them as they went about helping at any task Marilla gave them. Both Glorfindel and Finrod generally ignored the others and both were heartily glad when their shift was done and they could retire.

****

The next morning when Glorfindel arrived in the kitchen Marilla handed him the usual cup of hot chocolate and this time a sticky bun. His only response was a raised eyebrow. Marilla merely smiled back at him and told him he could start by helping with peeling the potatoes that would be made into soup for lunch. Finrod, without being told, went to the ovens and began cleaning them out. It escaped neither his, Glorfindel’s nor Marilla’s notice that some of the kitchen staff had smug smirks on their faces as they watched their prince dealing with the ashes.

Once he had peeled the requisite number of potatoes for the soup, Glorfindel put them to boil and then Marilla had him and Finrod help with breakfast preparation, setting out trenchers and the like on the sideboards in the royal family’s dining room for those who would be joining the King and Queen that morning to break their fast. As this happened to be the third Anarya since the beginning of the month, as was his custom, Arafinwë would have breakfast with the heads of the various guilds to discuss matters of concern to them. It was a custom he had instituted soon after he had taken up his duties as Noldóran, meeting with the guilds once a month. After breakfast he and they, now joined by members of Arafinwë’s Privy Council, would continue their discussions elsewhere so the kitchen staff could begin luncheon preparations.

Marilla announced that, since she was one of the senior members of their guild, she would be sitting in on the discussions and would not be there to supervise things until after lunch. "But do not think I will not be keeping an eye on things," she admonished them. "Ailinel will oversee things while I’m otherwise engaged."

That surprised many people, including Ailinel, who was one of the senior Journeymen but not yet ready to receive her mastership. The elleth bobbed a curtsey. Isildil, however, pointed out that he had seniority over everyone else except Marilla and so he should be the one overseeing the kitchen.

"I want to give Ailinel some administrative experience," Marilla told him. "And in case you’ve forgotten, Isildil, you are not a Master at the moment." Then she began assigning everyone to various duties, for not all would be needed to oversee the breakfast. Isildil would be washing dishes as usual while Finrod was told to turn the spit for the meats roasting in the fireplace and Glorfindel was to put together the potato soup, which pleased him very much. Then the breakfast gong was sounded and those assigned to serve went out while everyone else continued their tasks. Marilla took a good look around before leaving, nodding to Ailinel to take over.

Ailinel asked Glorfindel if he knew how to make potato soup and the ellon averred that he did not. "Though I make a mean venison stew," he said with a grin and she grinned back. Then she showed him how to test the potatoes for doneness and how to puree them and what else went into the soup and soon he was happily working away. He stole a glance at Finrod who had removed his outer tunic while working the spit, for it was hot work. He happened to catch Glorfindel’s eyes and grinned.

"Working a bellows at Lord Aulë’s forge is even hotter work," he said and Glorfindel smiled as he went back to cutting carrots, waiting for the potatoes to boil.

People bustled in and out to replenish dishes or to bring back dirty dishes for Isildil to wash. Ailinel went about and diligently oversaw everyone, giving a soft word of encouragement here or a harder word of admonishment there. By now, the potatoes were done and Glorfindel was starting to puree them and adding the other ingredients that would comprise the soup. Ailinel stood over him for a few minutes to see that he was doing it properly, then satisfied the ellon had everything in hand, went to see how the bread was coming along. Finrod was no longer at the spit, for no one spent more than an hour at a time at it before being replaced, so he was back at the bread table helping out there.

At one point, Glorfindel needed to use the privy so he asked one of the apprentices to keep an eye on the soup for him. When he returned, the apprentice told him he’d added more liquid to the soup as it was too thick and Glorfindel thanked him. He stirred the soup, making sure it was the right consistency, then taste-tested it, grimacing at the unexpected hot spicy taste. Someone had laced the soup with a lot of red pepper and now his mouth was on fire and his eyes were watering.

"What’s wrong, Glorfindel?" Ailinel asked, having noticed his grimace.

"Nothing, Ailinel," he managed to gasp out, going to where the bread rolls were cooling and grabbing one to chew on, hoping to neutralize the burning in his mouth. "I guess I wasn’t careful enough and burned my tongue." He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard a snicker or two from some of the kitchen staff. His eyes met Finrod’s and there was a look to them that told Glorfindel everything he needed to know. Giving his gwador a slight nod, he returned to the stove, munching on the roll, allowing it to sooth his mouth. He stood there stirring the soup, furiously thinking. The soup was the main course for the lunch and it was too late in the morning to start a new batch. He needed to cut the spiciness to something that was more palatable. Potato soup was normally bland and that’s how most liked it.

Looking nonchalantly about the kitchen, Glorfindel noticed a pitcher of milk sitting on a nearby table. He thought it was meant to be used in making butter but when Ailinel’s eyes were elsewhere and everyone else seemed busy with their tasks, he surreptitiously moved to the table and lifted the pitcher, taking it back to the stove and adding some of the milk to the soup, using perhaps half the pitcher, then he returned it to its original spot and went back to stirring the soup, letting the milk blend in, hoping that it would somehow cut the hotness a bit. He did not fail to notice the smirk on the face of the apprentice he’d asked to watch over the soup for him but pretended he didn’t see, even going so far as to hum a little tune that had been popular in Gondolin.

After a little bit he taste-tested the soup again. It was still spicy but now only enough to give the soup interest. Hopefully, others would agree.

"How’s the soup coming along, Glorfindel?" Ailinel asked him as she came to stand beside him, peering into the pot.

"It’s coming along nicely, Ailinel," he answered.

"Good," she replied, taking up a clean wooden spoon and dipping it into the soup and tasting it. Her eyes widened and she gave Glorfindel a shrewd look. His expression was completely unreadable. "Yes, very good, indeed," she said, casting a furtive look around, trying to guess who the culprit might have been. "I would never have thought of using red pepper to spice it up."

"It is a rather bland soup," Glorfindel averred, his eyes sparkling with mischief that Ailinel did not fail to see. She hid a smile but nodded, leaning closer so only Glorfindel could hear her next words spoken in a whisper. "Do nothing... stupid. Wait."

Glorfindel gave her a considering look and then nodded, willing to play the game her way. Instead, he spoke in a normal tone. "It’s a good thing we baked all those rolls, though, because some might find this a bit too spicy to their taste. I wasn’t careful enough and I overdid it a bit."

"Not to worry," Ailinel said with a smile. "Next time, you’ll know better." Then she told him to put the soup on the hob where it would stay warm without boiling and help Finrod slice up some carrots for the salad that would be served with the lunch. Glorfindel readily complied but he never took his eyes off the soup all the while he was slicing the carrots.

When it came time for lunch, Glorfindel brought the soup to the buffet, nervously wondering how people would react to it. Ailinel had him and Finrod acting as servers today with Glorfindel ladling the soup and Finrod making sure the bread baskets remained full. When Arafinwë came through the buffet line he gave Glorfindel a brief smile but said nothing as Glorfindel dutifully ladled some of the soup into a bowl for the King. Then Glorfindel watched as Arafinwë returned to his seat and took up a spoon. This was the signal for the others to begin their meal.

There was a sudden stir as several people started grabbing for the rolls piled high on the tables, their eyes wide with shock; one or two even demanding water. Glorfindel noticed more than one of the diners pushing their bowls away in disgust and his heart sank, for he had a feeling that when the complaints started, he would be given the blame. But then he noticed that both the King and Queen were still eating, their expressions ones of delight.

"Oh! Finally someone figured out the proper way to make potato soup," Eärwen exclaimed as she eagerly ate.

Arafinwë nodded, smiling. "Just like the Teleri make it, though it’s not quite as hot." He looked around and spoke to Marilla who was sitting with the other members of the Cooks’ Guild. "So whom do we congratulate for making this wonderful soup, Guildmistress?"

Marilla smiled. "I believe Lord Glorfindel was assigned to making the soup today, your Majesty."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow, giving Glorfindel an enquiring look. "Indeed? And how did you know this is how the Teleri make potato soup?"

Glorfindel shrugged. "Lucky guess?" he replied ingenuously.

Arafinwë’s expression became shrewd but then it cleared and he smiled. "In that case, yonya, you may have missed your calling." He turned to Eärwen. "So, are you ready for a second helping?"

"Oh, yes, and possibly thirds," Eärwen said with a laugh.

Glorfindel stole a glance at Finrod who was standing at the other end of the buffet table. The prince gave him a smile and a conspiratorial wink. Glorfindel also noticed the looks of disbelief on the faces of a couple of the apprentices who were standing by the door leading to the kitchen, obviously anticipating his downfall. Then he forgot about them, being too busy ladling out more soup, thanking those who congratulated him on his success, half listening to the members of the Cooks’ Guild discussing different potato soup recipes. He glanced up at one point to see Marilla staring at him from where she was sitting, her expression unreadable, but when she caught his eye, she smiled and gave him a nod of approval and he smiled back, feeling happy for the first time in nearly two weeks.

****

Words are Quenya:

Yonyar: Plural of yonya: My son.

Noldóran: King of the Noldor, an attested title.

Chapter the Tenth:

In Which a Menu is Discussed and Glorfindel Goes Fishing

After lunch was done and over with and Glorfindel and Finrod were dismissed, the two of them made their way to a remote corner of the gardens surrounding the palace where they were not likely to be interrupted and discussed how they might avenge themselves on the apprentices.

"Though I think Ailinel knows what’s going on," Glorfindel admitted, telling Finrod what the elleth had said to him.

Finrod raised an eyebrow and gave him a considering look. "You think more is going on than just us being punished with this kitchen assignment when a simple apology would have sufficed?"

Glorfindel shrugged, leaning against the poplar tree under which he was sitting. Finrod was facing him, sitting on the lip of a small pool that graced the garden, idly running his hand through the limpid water. "Possibly," he averred. "But I don’t like the idea of being a pawn in someone else’s battle, assuming our presence in the kitchen is part of someone else’s gambit."

"And by someone, you mean Atar," Finrod replied.

Again, Glorfindel shrugged but elected to remain silent, letting Finrod draw his own conclusions. Finrod stared into space, putting certain things together before nodding. "Things are not what they seem to be."

"They never are," Glorfindel snorted with faint amusement.

Finrod grinned. "In that case, we’ll continue playing the innocents. It’s just for another three days and then if I never see that blasted kitchen again it will be too soon."

"Do you think Isildil will be given back his position?" Glorfindel asked. "I have the feeling he’s plotting his own revenge against us, or rather, against you."

"I’ve been rather hoping Marilla would be asked to stay on, at least until after the wedding," Finrod admitted with a frown, "but I hesitate to bring it up to Atar, for it’s really not my place. Atar may decide to keep Isildil or not. That’s solely his prerogative."

"Well, we can live in hope," Glorfindel said with a sigh and then they moved on to other topics of interest, putting the problem of Isildil out of their minds for a time.

****

The next couple of days passed by quietly. Neither Glorfindel nor Finrod were required to clean out the ovens, though Finrod did spend one morning dressing the meat. Both ellyn were in a better frame of mind and generally did whatever task was given them with a good will and a ready smile. There were also no more mishaps with the food preparations, for which they were both grateful. On the evening before their last day in the kitchen, after they had completed their stint as servers for dinner and were ready to leave, Marilla told the two of them that she wished them to plan the menu for the next day’s dinner.

"I understand that a party from Vanyamar arrives tomorrow afternoon and their Majesties wish to feast them."

Finrod gave her a puzzled look. "Who’s coming?" he asked. "I don’t recall hearing anything about it and Uncle Ingwë and his family aren’t due to arrive for the wedding for some weeks yet."

"His Majesty didn’t say when he informed me," Marilla replied. "He did say he wished for the dinner to be simple, no more than three removes."

"I guess that’s easy enough," Glorfindel said. "You need a soup dish, a meat dish and a fish dish followed by a subtlety."

"That’s four removes, though," Finrod pointed out with a smile. Then he turned to Marilla. "How many will be attending this feast? I do find it odd that Atar wishes to have a welcoming feast. He usually postpones it until the following day after someone’s arrival to give them a chance to recover from their journey."

Marilla simply shrugged. "I am only telling you what I have been told. There are a total of ten in the Vanyarin party. Add that to the usual number that will be required to attend their Majesties for a minor feast, and..."

"Once you’ve determined the portions, increase the recipe by half to cover unforeseen contingencies," Finrod and Glorfindel chimed together, for they had heard that dictum drummed into the apprentices often enough during their time in the kitchen. Marilla beamed at them.

"So, decide on a soup and what meats will follow and the subtlety. I would advise that you keep everything simple. Generally, as Head Cook, I would’ve been given several days’ notice to plan the menu, but his Majesty elected, for reasons best known to himself, to wait until now to tell me and asked that you two put the menu together though he doesn’t expect you to do all the work."

"Well, that’s a relief, otherwise we would have to start now," Glorfindel said with a smirk.

"Check to see what is already on hand," Marilla told them, "and if we are lacking anything, I can send people to the markets first thing tomorrow."

So Finrod and Glorfindel wandered through the kitchen examining the cupboards and pantries to determine what was available and what they might serve this mysterious party from Vanyamar.

"I wish I knew who was coming," Finrod said at one point. "It would make deciding what courses to do much easier."

"Well, I think we have a decent enough menu," Glorfindel said, glancing at the notes he’d been making. "For the first remove we will have cassia chicken soup with bread, cheese and mushroom tarts. For the second remove we will begin with salomene over almond rice and a sallet, followed by a venison custard with frumenty and the final remove will be gingerbread and almond pudding."

"And we just have to select the wines to go with each course, though I think that is usually decided upon by Atar’s Butler," Finrod said, giving an enquiring glance at Marilla who had stood in the background watching them.

She nodded. "If you are satisfied with the menu, and I think it will do very well, then I will inform Lord Neldorion in the morning so he can make the appropriate selections."

The two ellyn glanced at each other and shrugged almost as one. "I suppose it will do," Finrod said somewhat hesitantly. "It’s not very fancy. I don’t want whoever is coming from Vanyamar to feel slighted."

"I doubt they will," Marilla said with a reassuring smile. "Now, off with you. I’ll have everything ready for you in the morning. Findaráto, since the venison custard was your idea, you can deal with that while Glorfindel prepares the salomene."

They nodded, wished the elleth a good evening and went on their way, both of them feeling very good about themselves.

****

The next morning, however, things did not go quite as planned.

"I rechecked our stores and we don’t have enough fish to make the salomene," Marilla told them as they reported to the kitchen as usual.

"So does that mean we have to change the menu?" Glorfindel asked with a sigh.

"That is one option, of course," Marilla said. "The other option is to go shopping for the fish."

"Will there be enough fish at the market, though?" Finrod asked. "It has to come from Alqualondë after all and I don’t think it comes every day."

"Most of our fish actually comes from the Southern Fiefdoms," Marilla replied, "and the type of fish we generally use for salomene is a freshwater fish anyway, so it matters not if any fish has been brought from Alqualondë."

"So will you be sending anyone to the markets?" Glorfindel asked.

Marilla smiled. "Yes, I will. Thank you for volunteering."

Glorfindel just gaped at her. "But I didn’t!"

"Oh yes you did, háno," Finrod said with a laugh.

Glorfindel sighed. "But I’m not allowed to leave the palace grounds," he pointed out, "except under escort."

Marilla nodded. "Yes, I know, but I did speak with the King last night and he gave his permission for you to go to the market."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow but decided not to dispute the elleth’s words. "So where do I go and how much do I purchase and what if there isn’t enough of the type of fish you’re looking for?"

"I’ll send Carnimir with you," Marilla assured him, naming one of the apprentice cooks who was nearly ready to be promoted to journeyman. "He will take you to where the fish can be bought and if there isn’t enough of one kind, he will know what can be appropriately substituted. Now, the market doesn’t open for another hour, so until then, help Findaráto with getting the venison ready for cooking."

So that is what they did, and when it was time to leave for the market, Marilla gave Carnimir a list of other things they would need.

"Though I’m surprised you just don’t order whatever is needed and have it sent," Glorfindel commented.

Marilla nodded. "Normally, that is what we would do, but occasionally it helps the apprentices and journeymen to go to the markets and see what is available and get a sense of how to shop for what is needed, especially since many of these here will go on to other households or take service at an inn once they have finished their apprenticeships. They will need to know how to shop and how to bargain."

She handed him a tabard with the emblem of the Cooks’ Guild sewn upon it and he donned it readily enough when he saw Carnimir donning his own tabard. "Off you go now," Marilla said, "and try to be back here before noon. Luckily the fish doesn’t take as long as the venison to cook so we won’t have to deal with them until after lunch."

"How much will we need?" Glorfindel asked and Marilla told him, indicating with her hands the approximate size needed.

Glorfindel gave her a brief bow, smiled at Finrod and gestured rather imperiously at Carnimir who simply shrugged good-naturedly and followed the balrog-slayer out.

****

The sun was just making her appearance, sending golden-pink rays down the cleft of the Calacirya as Glorfindel and Carnimir reached the fish market. In spite of the early hour it was already bustling with activity as merchants put their wares out and shoppers went from stall to stall to see what was available that morning. Carnimir pointed to a particular stall.

"They should have what we’re looking for," he said. "We won’t purchase all the fish there, though. We’ll need to purchase it from different vendors and we may have to make substitutions."

"You know more about this than I," Glorfindel averred, "so you may do the honors."

Carnimir nodded and, as they headed toward a particular stall, he greeted the merchant cheerfully by name — Morifindë, apparently for his nearly black hair, a rarity among the Elves, though not unheard of, for had not King Finwë been known for his black hair? — and the merchant returned the greeting just as cheerfully. Glorfindel stood back and watched the apprentice interact with the fishmonger, asking about the fishing, commiserating when the merchant complained of the weather — it’d been too rainy of late with sudden storms, thus making the fishing poor — idly discussing the state of the market and the other fish merchants, commenting on Carnimir’s tabard — Morifindë apparently knew Carnimir well enough and wondered when he would be promoted to journeyman status — asking after their respective families — Carnimir congratulated Morifindë on the recent birth of a great-granddaughter — and discussing the upcoming royal wedding — "About time, too," Morifindë said with a snort of disgust. "I was sure I would be seeing my own great-great-granddaughter married first." He gave them a sly wink which set Glorfindel and Carnimir laughing.

In fact, it seemed to Glorfindel as if these two talked about everything BUT the purpose of them being there. It was perhaps a good ten minutes before Carnimir even got around to the business at hand and Glorfindel schooled himself to stillness, impatient though he was to get on with things and get back to the palace. Yet, even as he stood there watching the two interact, he couldn’t help noticing how all this time Carnimir’s gaze was more on the various fish that the merchant was laying out than on the merchant himself and he began to see how things worked.

He did not recall ever having to go to a market to shop. As the lord of his House in Gondolin he had a steward in charge of such things, so this was an entirely new experience. Finally, though, Carnimir pointed to a particular type of fish, the kind that Marilla had said they needed.

"Is that all you have, my friend?" the apprentice asked.

Morifindë shrugged. "Fishing, as I said, has been poor these last few weeks. The Southern Fiefdoms are seeing more rain than usual for this time of year. And while a soft rain often brings a better catch, these are fierce storms and none dare venture out in them."

"Are there any other kind of fish we can use instead, Carnimir?" Glorfindel asked, stepping forward. "Mistress is waiting for the fish and we cannot linger."

"And who’s your friend?" the merchant asked, giving Glorfindel a friendly smile.

"Oh... um... this is... er..."

"My name is Laurefindil, Master," Glorfindel answered for Carnimir who was looking rather flustered, using the hated Quenya version of his name, knowing the fishmonger would know little about a reborn balrog-slayer, and would care even less. "I’m a new apprentice to the guild. I’m following Carnimir around, learning how to properly shop for the kitchen."

Carnimir looked nonplused at Glorfindel’s smooth explanation, but Morifindë merely nodded, giving them a smile. "And Carnimir is a good teacher," he said and the apprentice straightened in pride at the unexpected compliment. "As to your question, youngster," — Glorfindel bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the ellon’s presumption and refused to look at Carnimir — "the answer depends on what the fish is for."

"We’re to make salomene for a feast tonight," Carnimir replied with a sigh, "but I don’t see anything that can be substituted for what you have of the kind we need."

"And it’s unlikely you’ll fare any better with the other merchants," Morifindë said in a commiserating tone. "As I said, fishing has been poor, and what we have managed to catch is not the kind you want for a salomene."

"How many of the fish is available, though?" Glorfindel asked. "If we bought from all the vendors, would that be enough?"

"Unlikely," Carnimir said. "Morifindë has only four and assuming the other merchants have no more than that in their stock we’ll be short by half of what we need."

"And I can assure you that the others don’t have the right kind of fish to substitute either," Morifindë chimed in. "We’re all dismayed at the paucity of our catches. We can only hope that the Valar will look kindly on us and end these storms."

"Odd that we haven’t seen much of these storms here in Tirion, though," Carnimir said.

Morifindë shrugged. "Most seem to originate in the mountains and we’re closer to them than you are."

Glorfindel in the meantime was looking impatiently around the market. By now with the sun well up there were many more shoppers looking over the wares, haggling for bargains and generally visiting with the merchants and their neighbors. "If we don’t hurry, Carnimir, we’ll not get any of the fish we need," he said with a soft groan. "Look, already three people have bought the kind we want." He pointed to other stalls where the merchants were packing the fish that had been bought by their patrons.

Carnimir sighed and gave Glorfindel a helpless look while Morifindë started to say something but then stopped, turning to an elleth who was looking over his catch of trout and speaking with her. Glorfindel pulled Carnimir to one side, out of the elleth’s way.

"We need to hurry and buy up what we can," he said.

"Even if we did, we would still not have enough," Carnimir pointed out. "Normally, menus are planned a good week in advance to ensure that we have all the proper ingredients. I know for a fact that originally it was planned that we would serve a roasted pork for dinner tonight as the main dish."

"Why didn’t Mistress say so?" Glorfindel demanded, feeling frustrated. "Why let Findaráto and me plan the menu without telling us what had already been decided? We could have saved ourselves the trouble."

Carnimir shrugged. "I don’t know, my friend. I only know that if you want to serve salomene tonight, you won’t be able to serve the entire hall. You may have to reserve it for the high table and the Vanyarin guests and let everyone else have the roasted pork, but we need to decide now because the pork will take time to cook. Indeed, we should have begun last night in preparing it for cooking first thing this morning with all of us taking turns throughout the day working the spit. Now I fear it’s too late."

"We need the fish," Glorfindel said firmly. "It’s too late to change the menu or to add to it, I deem. I would go to the Southern Fiefdoms or even further to Clearwater Glade and fish myself, but it’s too far away."

"And it’s too late in the day," Morifindë called out, having overheard part of their conversation as he attended to his other customers. "Fishing is best done at night or in the early hours just before dawn."

"We need the fish," Glorfindel said again. "Let’s see how much we can buy up now."

Carnimir nodded. "It would take too long for us to go from stall to stall, though." He turned to Morifindë, who was finishing up with a customer. "My friend, can you alert all the other merchants to our need? We will take what we can get and hope it will be enough."

Morifindë shrugged. "I will do what I can." He then stepped out from behind his stall and began calling out the names of the other fishmongers who stopped what they were doing and came out from behind their own stalls to hear what Morifindë had to say. The fishmonger told them what was needed and asked that all cooperate in supplying the palace with the needed fish.

"And we will not waste our time bargaining," he ended with a stern note and Glorfindel had the feeling that among these merchants Morifindë was considered their leader. "We will give them a fair price, for ever has King Arafinwë treated us kindly and with respect."

The others all agreed and soon they were bringing what fish they had on hand to Morifindë’s stall, for he had agreed to see to it the fish were delivered in a timely manner. Glorfindel noticed that not a few of the other customers looked dismayed as the fish they no doubt had been hoping to buy for their own suppers were now no longer available and felt a sudden pang of remorse, hoping their actions would not cause too much resentment toward the King. He suspected that if Atar Arafinwë knew what was happening he would not approve.

Yet, even with the cooperation of all the other vendors, they were still woefully short of fish, for many of the vendors had already sold some of their catch. Carnimir shook his head. "It is not enough, but it will have to do. We’ll have to come up with another dish to serve the rest of the hall. I hesitate to buy up any other fish for that will leave none for the other customers."

One elleth, who was standing nearby, looked sorrowfully at the pile of fish that Morifindë and a couple of assistants were already packing up for delivery. "I was so looking forward to making a salomene for my husband tonight," she said to no one in particular. "It’s his favorite dish and today is his begetting day anniversary and I wished to surprise him with it, for in truth, I have not made it for some time."

"How much would you need, Mistress?" Glorfindel asked, more out of curiosity than anything, figuring if she only needed one or two that would be fine.

But apparently she had intended to buy enough for several guests who would be coming to celebrate her husband’s begetting day. It would seriously deplete their own stock but Glorfindel could not in good conscience deny the elleth what she desired. He told Morifindë to put aside a certain amount for her, much to her surprise. "And charge her the same as you’ve charged us," he added.

Carnimir gave him a strange look. "We need the fish," he whispered harshly. "As it is, there’ll not be enough even to feed those at the high table."

Glorfindel shrugged and started to say something, but then stopped, staring at a small fountain that graced the middle of the market square and suddenly he remembered something that had been told him not too many years before when he was staying with Lady Nienna, and a wild, impossible idea struck him. He gave Carnimir a considering look then headed for the fountain, the apprentice right behind him. "What are you doing?" Carnimir demanded.

"Hush," Glorfindel said even as he reached the fountain, which was a statue of an ëaris blowing a conch horn out of which the water flowed. He knelt beside the fountain and cupped some of the water into his hand, wondering at his audacity and really, what could the Lord of Waters do? And yet, and yet....

"My lord," Glorfindel said softly, yet all motion ceased in the market square as those there looked on in amazement. "I know thou hast heard all that hath gone on in this market. I know thou art aware of our need. I know that there is probably naught that thou canst truly do, yet, if thou lovest me, I prithee to lend me thine ear and help us if thou canst."

Of course, nothing happened, nor did Glorfindel expect that anything would. He did not know whence came the impulse to do as he did, silently cursing himself for several different kinds of a fool kneeling in front of a stupid fountain beseeching Lord Ulmo for help with all the market watching him. What help could the Lord of Waters give, after all? Carnimir stepped forward, putting a hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder. The golden-haired balrog-slayer looked up and gave him a wry smile. "Didn’t think it would work, but it was worth a try." He stood up, brushing dirt from his tunic and trews and sighed. "I guess we’ll make do with what we have and come up with an alternative. We’d best get back to the kitchen and tell Mistress Marilla."

He walked away from the fountain and stopped before Morifindë’s stall to thank him for his help. Even as he was speaking, he heard someone scream and there were sudden shouts of surprise coming from several throats. He turned around to see what was happening and felt his jaw drop to the ground in disbelief. There, before their very eyes, the water in the fountain began to bubble and surge upward and suddenly fish were flying out of the water to land flopping on the flagstone pavement of the square. First there were only one or two fish and then several more and soon there were a dozen all flopping around with many more still coming from the fountain.

"Grab them!" he heard Morifindë shout and immediately many people were stooping down to pick up the fish, fish that were just the right kind needed for the salomene. Glorfindel was not slow to follow the others and still the fish came until there had to have been well over a hundred. Even with many eager helpers it still took them time to gather up all the fish, for more kept coming. Finally Glorfindel ran to the pool, dodging flying fish.

"It’s enough!" he shouted into the fountain. "It’s more than enough! Thank you. Thank you."

He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard a rumble of laughter coming from the fountain and did the ëaris statue actually wink at him? Glorfindel shook his head to clear it of such foolishness and turned around to survey the square. Most of the fish had been caught and now people were looking at him askance. Carnimir just stared at him in open-mouthed awe. Glorfindel gave them one of his brilliant smiles.

"So, is this enough?" he asked ingenuously.

He was answered with one more fish flying out of the fountain to land squarely on top of his head. For a second, everyone just stared at him in disbelief at what they’d just witnessed and then Carnimir started giggling and then others joined in, including Glorfindel, and soon the entire square was awash with the sound of laughter.

****

Words are Quenya:

Háno: Brother.

Eäris: Mermaid.

Notes on the menu designed by Finrod and Glorfindel. This menu is based on authentic medieval recipes easily found on the internet:

1. Cassia chicken soup: chicken soup with cinnamon.

2. Salomene: fish (usually perch) that is first baked then pan fried and topped with a red wine sauce mixed with several kinds of spices, including cinnamon, mace, ginger and cloves. Generally served over rice.

3. Almond rice: rice cooked in almond milk with slivers of almonds added to it.

4. Sallet: spinach, leeks, onions and currants cooked in a sweet spice mix of cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and ginger.

5. Venison custard: venison cooked in wine then baked in a pie crust with dates, currants (or raisins), and prunes with beaten eggs poured over it for the custard.

6. Frumenty: a thick wheat porridge often served with venison.

Chapter the Eleventh:

In Which Cousins Arrive and There is Further Plotting

Glorfindel and Carnimir returned to the palace after being assured by Morifindë that the fish they required would be delivered within the hour.

"And the rest should go to whoever wants them," Glorfindel stated, "since they are a free gift from Lord Ulmo."

One or two of the merchants looked a bit unhappy at that pronouncement but Morifindë only nodded. As it was, many of the shoppers had already claimed their share and several others came into the square, having been urged by neighbors to take advantage of the gift of fish from the Lord of Waters. And contrary to the fears of some of the fishmongers, their own wares were quickly bought up, for when it was learned what had happened, many took pity on the merchants and stayed to buy other kinds of fish even if they had not originally planned to do so. The generosity of the people of Tirion moved the merchants and several of them left the city at the end of the day in a better mood than when they had arrived.

Neither Glorfindel nor Carnimir knew any of this, though, for they had continued with the shopping for the other items on their list in a different part of the market before finally returning to the palace. Marilla gave them both a considering look as they entered the kitchen. "Any trouble?"

The two ellyn looked at each other for a second and then Glorfindel shrugged nonchalantly while Carnimir shook his head. "No. No trouble. Why?"

"You were gone longer than I’d expected," Marilla answered.

"Oh... um... well... that is..."

"It took us a while to go to all the merchants and order what was needed," Glorfindel interjected smoothly. And that was true enough as far as it went, for they did have trouble finding two of the spices on their list and had to go to a separate market for them.

Marilla gave them a searching look. Glorfindel kept his gaze steady, though he noticed Carnimir had trouble looking at anyone. "I see," she finally said and Glorfindel could not tell if she believed him or not. "Well, you’re in time to help with setting out the lunch. Since we’re having a feast tonight, however minor, lunch will be very simple, just a clear broth soup, some fresh bread and a collation of cheeses and cold meats. And Glorfindel, normally, you and Findaráto would be dismissed for the afternoon but with the feast I’m afraid you’ll have to stay and help with the preparations."

Glorfindel nodded, not at all surprised and actually, he was looking forward to helping out. "Of course, Mistress."

"But as compensation," Marilla added with a smile, "I have been told that you and Findaráto will be joining their Majesties at the high table, so I will dismiss you about an hour before the feast will begin so you may go and ready yourselves."

"And we still don’t know who from Vanyamar is coming, do we?" Glorfindel asked as he removed the guild tabard and replaced it with a clean apron.

"No, but they are due to arrive around mid-afternoon," Marilla answered, "and I’m sure we’ll hear all about it."

But as it happened, they didn’t, or at least Finrod and Glorfindel did not, for once the fish arrived they were kept busy in the scullery cleaning them and more was sent than was originally ordered, so Marilla set them to salting the extras to preserve them for later use. By the time they finished with that, there was little left for them to do, for the venison custard was coming along nicely, the fish were baking and the rice was cooking. Most of the kitchen staff had actually been dismissed for an hour or so, but Marilla kept Finrod and Glorfindel there doing odd jobs, mostly cleaning up, before dismissing them so they could bathe and dress for the feast. Glorfindel couldn’t help but notice that Marilla kept them in the kitchen just late enough that they would need to hurry through their ablutions if they wished to be at the feast on time.

"So we won’t have time to go to the north wing and see who’s come," he groused as he and Finrod made their way to their suites, for traditionally, the north wing was reserved for the Vanyarin royal family or for any Vanyarin nobles who might be visiting.

Finrod shrugged. "We’ll learn soon enough," he said philosophically and left it at that.

****

As this was not a major feast, neither ellon dressed in their best robes. "Just our second best," Glorfindel quipped and Finrod smiled, remembering a time long ago when he’d been wearing his third best robes when an important delegation from Doriath had arrived and had still managed to outshine Lord Celeborn, though that had not been his intent.

"Let’s just hope whoever’s come won’t be wearing their best robes," he said as they made their way towards the feast hall, a larger affair than the royal dining room where most meals were held. Even a minor feast would entail having more diners than the smaller dining room could reasonably hold. They found themselves being ushered into a small antechamber reserved for the royal family by Lord Axantur, Arafinwë’s chief Master of Ceremonies.

"So who’s come, Axantur?" Finrod asked. Neither of his parents had yet arrived so they had the room to themselves.

Axantur smiled. "You will have to wait and see, Highness. His Majesty said he wished to surprise you."

"I hate surprises," Glorfindel remarked almost automatically, giving them a scowl.

"But the surprise isn’t necessarily for you, Lord Glorfindel," Axantur said with a fond smile for the youngster, as he thought him, for Axantur had crossed the wide lands of Endórë under the stars and even the King was young to his mind.

Before either Finrod or Glorfindel could comment, Arafinwë entered with Eärwen. "Ah, right on time," he said with a smile. "Thank you, Axantur. If you would see to our guests, I think we are ready to be seated."

Axantur bowed and left. Finrod gave his atar a considering look. "So what’s the big mystery?" he asked.

"No mystery, yonya," Arafinwë said with a laugh. "You’ll see soon enough who’s come."

At that moment there was a knock on the door and then Axantur was ushering in three ellyn.

"Ingwion!" Finrod and Glorfindel exclaimed almost as one.

Ingwion laughed, opening his arms wide to give them both a hug. "Surprise!"

"Hey, what about us!"

"Ingil...."

"Ingalaurë," the second-born son of the High King insisted. "Ingil is a Maia. Do I look like a Maia to you?"

Finrod laughed as he gave the ellon a hug. "No, you don’t, but I remembered when you were just Ingil to the rest of us."

"And don’t forget me," the third ellon exclaimed.

"We could never forget you, Intarion," Glorfindel said, giving the ellon a hug. "But what are you three doing here? Your families aren’t due here for several more weeks."

Ingwion laughed. "It was Atar’s idea. These two were... um... getting underfoot and making life a little too interesting for some people."

"Well why should the ellith have all the fun?" Intarion protested with a huff.

Several eyebrows went up. "And what fun were they having that you were not?" Arafinwë asked.

Intarion gave them a diffident shrug. "Oh, you know. Having parties and stuff." Ingalaurë nodded.

At everyone else’s enquiring looks, Ingwion smiled. "Indil caught them stealing some tarts meant for a Tea held by Ammë for Amarië."

"Sounds familiar," Arafinwë said with a smile, casting an amused look at Finrod and Glorfindel, both of whom evinced innocent looks.

Ingwion laughed. "Yes, well. Atar decided to send them here to get into mischief so Ammë could have some peace."

"I didn’t realize you were in Vanyamar," Finrod said. "I thought you were still on Tol Eressëa. Where’s Olwen?"

"She’s in Vanyamar," Ingwion answered. "Amarië wrote and asked if she would come and help with the wedding preparations and as I had no pressing business keeping me on the island, I accompanied her."

"Strange that no one mentioned it," Finrod said, giving his parents a considering look.

"Well, that’s because we didn’t stop in Tirion but continued overland and camped out," Ingwion explained, then gave them a slight blush. "It was Olwen’s idea."

The Noldor gave him knowing smiles.

"I thought you would be sitting in on the Assembly’s spring session for another week, though," Finrod said, speaking of the Tol Eressëan High Council that was led by Sador as Cáno.

"And normally I would, but Sador didn’t think my presence was absolutely necessary at this time and said he would catch me up on any decisions that were made when he came for the wedding. So when Atar decided to get these two out from underfoot, I volunteered to come with them, and make sure they didn’t get into too much trouble."

"We don’t need minders," Ingalaurë protested, sticking his tongue out at his brother.

Ingwion rolled his eyes and Arafinwë gave him an amused look. "Welcome to my world, Cousin."

"Hmph!" was Finrod’s reply to that and Glorfindel stuck his tongue out at the King. Eärwen simply laughed, giving each of the ellyn a hug. "We’re happy to have you here. Now come and let us enjoy the feast. Did you know that Findaráto and Glorfindel planned the menu?"

"Did you now!" Ingwion exclaimed with a grin while Ingalaurë and Intarion gave them envious looks. "Should we be worried?"

"Only if you don’t like venison or fish," Glorfindel said with a sniff.

"Ah, yes, and speaking of fish," Arafinwë said, giving Glorfindel a shrewd look, "I understand there was a bit of excitement at the fish market this morning while you were there, Glorfindel."

Much to his relief, Glorfindel was saved from having to answer by the return of Axantur announcing that all was ready and then they were being announced and moving into the feast hall. But if he thought the matter had been forgotten, he was disappointed, for shortly after the first course was served, Arafinwë addressed Glorfindel who was seated on the other side of Finrod. "So do you want to tell me what happened at the fish market? I’ve heard about three different versions, but I would like to hear it from you."

Those at the high table looked expectantly at Glorfindel who sighed as he put down his soup spoon, not looking at anyone. "I didn’t do anything bad," he muttered.

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow. "I didn’t say you did, yonya. I am just curious to know what truly happened."

"You said you didn’t have any trouble at the market," Finrod said.

"And I didn’t, not really," Glorfindel said, looking up. "Carnimir and I got to the market to find that there wasn’t enough fish to be had for the salomene, even if we included other types of fish, and there were other shoppers of course and they wanted fish. It’s been a poor season I guess." This last was directed at Arafinwë who nodded.

"It’s been of some concern," the King said, "but there has been little that I could do about it except ensure that the families of those affected did not go without."

"Yes, well, we were going to go back to the palace and tell Marilla that there wasn’t enough fish when I remembered something that was told to me by Lord Ulmo some years ago."

"And what exactly was that?" Arafinwë asked.

"He told me that he heard all that was said wherever there was water. There is a fountain in the market square. I went to it and... and spoke to Lord Ulmo... or rather... I... um... prayed to him." He gave them an embarrassed look as if he’d done something uncouth.

"What happened?" Ingalaurë asked then, wide-eyed with excitement.

"Nothing, at first," Glorfindel replied with a shrug. "Then all of a sudden the fountain started bubbling and then fish started flying out of the fountain, hundreds of them."

The others said nothing, but not a few gave him looks of disbelief. Finrod just stared at him as if he’d never seen him before, making him feel even more uncomfortable than he already was.

"Fish... flying out of a fountain," was all Finrod could say.

Glorfindel nodded.

"So we have Lord Ulmo to thank for tonight’s feast?" Ingwion asked with an amused look.

"Well, for the salomene at least," Glorfindel replied shyly.

"I wish I could’ve been there to see it," Ingalaurë said and others nodded in agreement.

"I will have to remember to thank the Lord of Waters for his generosity when next I see him," Arafinwë said and to Glorfindel’s relief Eärwen asked Ingwion for news from Vanyamar and the subject of the fish was dropped.

****

As minor a feast as it was, it was still hours before it finished, for following the feast there was dancing and singing, so it was fairly late, well past midnight, before Finrod and Glorfindel had a chance to visit privately with Ingwion, Ingalaurë and Intarion. They all gathered in the north wing where the Vanyar were housed, giving them the illusion of being far from the rest of the family.

"It’s going to feel strange not reporting to the kitchen in a few hours," Glorfindel commented as they settled in the main sitting room of the suite of rooms set aside for Ingwion and the other two ellyn.

"You’ll have to tell us why you were working in the kitchen," Ingwion said with a knowing smile as he handed them goblets of wine, "and why, when I mentioned to Arafinwë that I hoped we could all go hunting in the Royal Reserve while we were here, he told me that he would have to think about it."

"Well we’re under house arrest... sort of," Finrod said and then went on to explain about the Queen’s to-do list for the wedding and what he had wanted to do and how it all went wrong rather quickly. "So Atar punished us by having us work in the kitchen," he concluded.

"Though we both have the feeling that more is going on than just keeping us too busy to get into mischief," Glorfindel chimed in. He’d remained silent during Finrod’s recitation.

Ingwion gave them an enquiring look. "What do you mean?"

Both ellyn shrugged. "We’re not sure, but certain things went on that, quite frankly, appalled me," Finrod said and went on to speak about the things that had happened, the minor and not so minor attempts by some of the kitchen staff to embarrass him and Glorfindel.

"We think they might have been in sympathy with Isildil," Glorfindel said at the end, "and this was their way of exacting revenge for getting him demoted though that was not really our fault."

All this time, Ingalaurë and Intarion had remained quiet save for a commiserating word or two, but now Inagalaurë spoke up. "So, if you two are under house arrest, does that mean we can’t have any fun?"

Ingwion rolled his eyes and muttered something none of the others quite heard, though they thought it had something to do with herding cats. Finrod smiled knowingly at his older cousin but addressed his remarks to Ingalaurë. "Atar promised that the house arrest would not last until the wedding. I’m sure now that you three are here he’ll release us from our parole so we can go hunting. In the meantime, there is plenty we can do here."

"Like what?" Intarion asked. "It’s too bad you don’t have kitchen duty anymore, we could’ve helped."

"And I’m sure Marilla would have appreciated the offer," Finrod said diplomatically, stealing a glance at Glorfindel who was grinning unrepentantly. "Perhaps if we’re all very good we can ask her to let us bake some ginger biscuits or something when the main work of the kitchen has slowed down. There’s usually a lull in the afternoon right after lunch before they work on dinner preparations."

That seemed to mollify the two Reborn and Ingwion diverted the conversation to ask what Finrod wanted to do about the wedding. "I didn’t have much to do with my own wedding," he said. "I think I was still on Tol Eressëa dealing with that quarrel between Morcocáno and Laeglîr of the Nandor that had half the island in an uproar. It was amazing I even made it to my wedding."

The others chuckled knowingly. "Well, at any rate, I think, as the bridegroom, I should have some say about it and the same for Amarië," Finrod said.

"Which reminds me," Ingwion said, getting up and going into one of the bedrooms, returning after a couple of minutes and handing Finrod a piece of vellum that was sealed. "Amarië asked me to give you this."

Finrod thanked him and excused himself to go to the writing desk where he slit open the seal and began reading. The others looked on expectantly and were surprised to see him smiling in satisfaction as he folded the letter and tucked it into his belt.

"Good news, I take it?" Ingwion asked in a nonchalant manner though it was obvious he was as curious as the others about the contents of the letter.

Finrod nodded. "Very good news." But he did not expand on that and so Ingalaurë asked again what they could do that was fun.

"Vondo and Vorondil are due back from their camping trip tomorrow or the next day," Glorfindel told them. "Why don’t we plan a little party for them? I’m sure they would appreciate a real meal and they can tell us all about their adventures."

That idea was approved by all and they spent some time planning a menu — "As long as it isn’t fish," Glorfindel insisted while the others snickered — and then Finrod and Glorfindel left, promising to see the others at breakfast.

****

As it happened, now that he was no longer working in the kitchen, Finrod found that he had a backlog of petitions and other court matters to attend to, so once breakfast was done with, he excused himself to do just that, leaving the others to fend for themselves. Glorfindel suggested they speak with Marilla about the party and the others agreed. They followed Glorfindel into the kitchen where he introduced them to Marilla and told her what they wanted to do. She smiled at them benevolently.

"So you want to have a little welcoming feast for your friends," she said. "And what did you decide on?"

"Nothing elaborate," Glorfindel replied and described the menu they had devised. She nodded. "I think that can be done easily enough. You should perhaps plan to have your party a couple of days after your friends return home so you can prepare properly. As it will be a separate affair from the normal dinner, you will have to do all of it yourselves as I won’t be able to spare any of the other kitchen staff."

Ingwion raised an eyebrow but Glorfindel merely nodded and the two Vanyarin Reborn looked delighted. "I get to make the ginger biscuits," Ingalaurë announced grandly.

Intarion turned to him with a frown. "Why do you get to make them?"

"Because," Ingalaurë replied with a sniff of disdain, "I’m older than you."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Intarion retorted. "You can’t have all the fun."

"Well, I said so first, so I get to make them," Ingalaurë stated categorically. "You can make the salad."

"I don’t want to make the salad," Intarion protested, nearly in tears. "It’s not fair. I want to make the ginger biscuits."

Before Ingalaurë could come back with a suitable retort, Ingwion and Glorfindel, exchanging amused looks, intervened. Ingwion took his brother in hand, stepping a few paces away, speaking softly to his twin while Glorfindel wrapped an arm around Intarion’s shoulders and gave him a hug. The rest of the kitchen staff looked on in bemusement at the sight of two supposedly grown Elves whining like ten-year-olds while Marilla gave them all a sympathetic look.

"Why don’t we make the ginger biscuits together?" Glorfindel suggested, looking at Ingwion who nodded in approval. "There are a number of steps to making them and we can all share in it, even Findaráto."

"What about the rest of the menu, though?" Intarion asked. "I don’t want to make the salad. That’s boring."

"We’ll have Findaráto make the salad," Marilla said. "He’s very good at that, but why don’t you help Glorfindel make the soup and Ingalaurë and Ingwion can do the capons."

That idea appeased the two Reborn somewhat and they left the kitchen in a better mood. Marilla told them to come after lunch in two days’ time and she would have everything ready for them.

****

With Arafinwë’s permission, Glorfindel and Ingwion took Ingalaurë and Intarion on a tour of the city (suitably escorted by a contingent of guards — with three Reborn, Arafinwë wasn’t about to take any chances), for Ingalaurë had no memory of ever being there, though his brother assured him that he had been, and Intarion didn’t know what he remembered of the city. By the time they returned to the palace, having had lunch at a popular inn, Finrod was done with his duties as haryon and it was now mid-afternoon. They were all congregated in Finrod’s suite sipping on some Tirion white and telling him about their day.

"It sounds more fun than what I was having," Finrod said with a smile and the others gave him commiserating looks.

"Ingwi has to work, too, at home," Ingalaurë said with an air of smugness, "but I don’t. I get to play."

Finrod and Glorfindel chuckled and Ingwion just shrugged. "So I was wondering what we can do to help with the wedding plans now that we’re here," he said, more to divert his brother’s attention than anything. Both Ingalaurë and Intarion had expectant looks on their faces.

"I’m not sure what any of us can do," Finrod replied. "Ammë might be willing to let us help, but I think she’s already decided on most things and it’s getting too late to make too many last-minute changes. The only person who so far has agreed to consult me has been Mistress Terendulë who is in charge of decorations, but she won’t need to do anything about that for several more weeks."

"We still don’t know about the menu," Glorfindel pointed out.

"Well, Isildil won’t cooperate there," Finrod retorted with a snort.

"Assuming he gets his position back," Glorfindel said. "If Marilla stays on, perhaps we can speak with her about it, make sure that there isn’t anything on the menu that shouldn’t be there."

"We’ll have to see," Finrod replied. "Atar hasn’t made a decision yet."

"In the meantime, though, there are still things we can do," Ingwion said.

"Such as?"

"Well, you mentioned something last night about the music being adequate but not what you would have preferred. We can start with that."

"Mistress Lindissë didn’t seem too thrilled with the idea of her musicians having to learn new music this late in the day. She told me that prince though I be, the Queen had already approved the music and that was that." Finrod gave them a sour look.

Ingwion smiled. "Ah, but you see, that’s the problem. You’re their prince, but that’s all you are. Arafinwë and Eärwen rank you, naturally, so all decisions have to have their approval, not yours."

"And your point, Cousin?" Finrod asked with a bit of exasperation in his voice.

Now Ingwion’s smile broadened. "The point is, you now have me to help."

"But you’re just a prince, too," Glorfindel said with a slight frown. "Two princes don’t make a king."

"Not even four," Finrod said, nodding to Ingalaurë and Intarion to include them in the count.

"Ah, but here’s the difference," Ingwion said, leaning forward slightly, his eyes dancing with merriment. "I am haryon to the Ingaran, and as such, I am his direct representative, and his Majesty the High King of all the Elves wishes to ensure that the wedding of his beloved great-nephew and the Lady Amarië be absolutely perfect. Prince I may be, but I outrank even your atar, Findaráto, in the matter of court precedence. So, yes, people are going to listen to me and bow to my wishes, which, of course, are the wishes of my atar, the High King."

There was silence for a moment or two as they digested Ingwion’s words. Then, Finrod gave him a sly smile. "And does Uncle Ingwë know this?"

"He will when he arrives for the wedding," Ingwion replied and then they were all laughing. When they calmed down, Ingwion spoke again. "So, the first thing we have to do is...."

****

By the time they had to go dress for dinner, they had a plan that they were sure would work.

"We’ll start tomorrow," Ingwion said as he and Glorfindel herded Ingalaurë and Intarion out the door.

"Tomorrow," Finrod said with a satisfied nod. He put a hand on Ingwion’s arm to stay him for a moment. "I’m glad you’re here, Cousin," he said with all sincerity.

"Well, I remember when you came to our aid, helping us when Intarion and Lirulin were betrothed, so I guess I’m returning the favor," Ingwion replied, then he gave Finrod a hug before he followed the others out, leaving Finrod alone to ready himself for dinner.

****

Words are Quenya:

Endórë: Middle-earth.

Cáno: in this context, Governor.

Haryon: Throne-prince, heir to a kingdom.

Ingaran: High King, an attested word.

Chapter the Twelfth:

In Which Rumors Abound and Ingwion Gives Music Lessons

The next morning, while they were still at breakfast, Ingwion began the first part of their plan. He waited until most of the breakfast had been cleared and courtiers who normally broke their fast with the royal family were beginning to leave to go about their work for the day so it was just the royal family and their guests who were there. Pushing his plate away and leaning back in his chair, he turned towards Eärwen who was sitting next to him.

"Bringing my brother and Intarion here and out of Atar’s way was not my only reason for coming early," he said without preamble.

Arafinwë, on the other side of his wife, gave him a considering look. "Oh? And what other purpose has brought you here, Cousin?"

"The wedding, of course."

"Well, yes," Eärwen said as she lifted her teacup to take a sip. "But that’s weeks away."

"Oh, I don’t mean the wedding itself, I mean the rumors that are flying hither and yon," Ingwion said blithely.

Eärwen started choking on her tea. "Rumors?" she gasped while Arafinwë was not so helpfully thumping her on the back. "What rumors?"

Ingwion evinced surprise. "You haven’t heard?" he asked innocently.

"What rumors, Ingwion?" Eärwen demanded, her sea-green eyes turning dark with anger, reminding Ingwion of a sea storm rising. He noticed Finrod on the other side of Arafinwë giving him a look of dismay and shaking his head. Apparently an angry Eärwen was to be avoided at all cost. Well, too bad.

"Oh, nothing really important," he said, "but Atar was a bit concerned. I said I would check into them."

"What rumors have you heard and from where?" Arafinwë asked in a calm tone, placing a placating hand on his wife’s arm, giving her a pat.

"Well, they seem to be mostly originating from Vanyamar, although I heard one or two interesting ones on Tol Eressëa," Ingwion replied, evincing an air of indifference. "Most are the usual tripe that is always flying whenever a special occasion such as a royal wedding is in the offing and can be ignored, but there were a few that were... hmm... troubling."

Now Eärwen’s expression turned to one of dismay. "But why? This wedding has been in the making for... for yéni!"

Ingwion shrugged. "I don’t know, Eärwen. I only know that Atar wanted me to look into them."

"You said the rumors originated in Vanyamar," Arafinwë pointed out. "So why are you here?"

"To find out if these rumors, or similar ones, are circulating in Tirion or further afield," Ingwion replied.

"You mean the Southern Fiefdoms," Arafinwë said and Ingwion nodded.

Arafinwë sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "It never ends, does it?"

Eärwen was nearly in tears. "But everyone wants this wedding to happen," she practically wailed and Arafinwë put an arm around her shoulders, giving her a husbandly hug as he looked over at Ingwion. "So what are these rumors?"

Now Ingwion looked uncomfortable. It had been his idea to mention rumors as a way of helping Findaráto gain control of the wedding preparations and the other ellyn had supplied him with one outrageous rumor after another, but now, seeing the real shock and dismay on his cousins’ faces, he was less sure about his plan and wondered how he could make it all right. He hesitated for a moment, trying to decide which of the fake rumors would be the least damaging when Ingalaurë spoke up.

"I think the most interesting rumor is the one about Findaráto and Amarië having to dance naked at their wedding."

"Excuse me?" Arafinwë exclaimed and Eärwen blinked several times in disbelief. Ingwion noticed both Finrod and Glorfindel staring at Ingalaurë with wide eyes and he himself was a bit nonplused as he looked at his twin. That wasn’t one of the rumors they’d decided on. Where had Ingil come up with that?

Ingalaurë meanwhile was nodding enthusiastically. "It’s supposed to be a Sindarin wedding custom, I think. And they put blood in their hair." He paused, as if to think about it. "The dancing naked part I can understand, but why would you put blood in your hair?"

"It’s a warrior thing," Finrod said without really thinking, frowning slightly.

"Oh," Ingalaurë said in a rather deflated tone. "Atto won’t let me be a warrior. He says one in the family is enough."

"When did he say that?" Ingwion exclaimed.

His twin gave him a shy look. "Oh, when we were... playing once."

Ingwion shook his head. With two recent Reborn in the family, life had become very interesting and not a few of the staid citizens of Vanyamar had been shocked to see the High King of all the Elves swinging in a tree beside his Reborn son, but Ingwë had decided to ‘join in the fun’ as he’d put it and allow Ingalaurë and Intarion to lead the way, ‘within reason’.

"So, what other rumors did you hear Ingil?" Finrod asked, giving Ingwion a shake of his head as if to say ‘don’t mention the rumors we made up’ and Ingwion whole-heartedly agreed with that idea.

"Ingalaurë!" the Reborn practically wailed. "How many times do I have to say it?"

Ingwion automatically leaned over and wrapped a comforting arm around his brother’s shoulders. "Hush now," he admonished his twin. "You have to allow for people remembering you from before and everyone called you Ingil. We didn’t even know there was a Maia by that name."

"But now you do," Ingalaurë said with a huff.

"And now we do," Ingwion echoed, giving him a nod. "So, why don’t you answer Cousin Findaráto’s question." He was as curious about this as the rest. Why hadn’t Ingalaurë mentioned these rumors the night before? And then he recalled that both his twin and Intarion had actually not contributed any ideas about possible rumors; most of them had come from Glorfindel, with a few from Findaráto or himself.

"Oh, well... um...," Ingalaurë looked suddenly shy and Ingwion suspected that it was because he couldn’t think of any good rumors to tell, but then Intarion, who’d been quiet all this time leaned over from where he was sitting on the other side of Ingalaurë and said. "Why don’t you tell them about the one where Findaráto’s supposed to give Amarië snails to eat as part of the wedding ceremony."

"Snails?" several voices exclaimed at the same time.

Ingalaurë actually brightened as he looked at Finrod. "Oh, yes! During the ceremony you and Amarië are supposed to feed each other snails to make the wedding vows binding. I think it’s supposed to be a... a Nandorin thing or something." He gave them an elegant shrug.

"Actually, it’s a Telerin custom," Arafinwë said, giving his wife an amused look. Eärwen smiled back.

"Really?" Ingalaurë said. "But I don’t remember Ingwi and Olwen eating any snails at their wedding."

"It’s a very old custom," Eärwen explained, "and not everyone follows it these days."

"Odd though that it would be a rumor among the Vanyar," Glorfindel said, speaking for the first time. "They’ve had little to do with the Teleri. How did such a rumor get started there?"

"Who knows?" Finrod retorted. "I wonder what other rumors are floating around of which we are unaware?" He gave Ingwion a meaningful look.

"And that’s the other reason for my coming here," Ingwion said, picking up his cue. "Atar was curious to know if you’ve heard any similar rumors."

"I admit, I haven’t bothered to check," Arafinwë replied with a look of chagrin. "I will have to send some of my people out into the city and into the Southern Fiefdoms to see what they can ferret out."

"Well, in the meantime, Ammë," Finrod said, "I believe Ingwion would like to consult with you about the wedding preparations to make sure everything is going smoothly."

"And why would you think it’s not?" Eärwen enquired.

"I’m sure you are doing an excellent job, Eärwen," Ingwion said in a reassuring tone, "but Atar wants this to be a perfect wedding and asked me to consult with you and Findaráto about what has been decided." He gave them a shrug. "I understand, for instance, that Findaráto isn’t very happy with the music."

Eärwen turned to her son in surprise. "What’s wrong with the music?"

"Nothing, actually," Finrod admitted. "It’s perfectly fine... for someone else’s wedding."

There was a moment of silence as they digested Finrod’s words, then Arafinwë stirred. "Well, I have business to attend to." He stood and leaned down to give his wife a brief kiss. "I’m sure you can all figure it out without my input. Ingwion, I will send my people out to check on possible rumors and let you know what I find out." With that, he gave them a brief nod and exited the room.

Eärwen gave the retreating figure of her husband a brief scowl. "Coward," she said in a voice that was just loud enough for him to hear and they were treated to the sound of the King laughing. Then she turned to Ingwion with a sigh. "Everything’s been approved, including the music. It’s a bit late in the day to want to make changes."

"Oh, come, Cousin," Ingwion said with a huff. "The wedding is a good month away. Yes, some things cannot be changed at this late date, but that’s not true for all. For instance, any musician worthy of the name could pick up a piece of new music and have it ready for playing in a week’s time."

Eärwen nodded reluctantly, then looked at Finrod. "You truly do not like the music?"

"Have you heard the selections Mistress Lindessë chose?" Finrod shot back.

"I confess, I haven’t," the Queen admitted ruefully. "Lindessë is a consummate artist and I have known her for some time. I trusted her to pick out appropriate music for the wedding."

"And, as I said, there really is nothing wrong with the music, but it is not appropriate for my wedding. It’s too... too Noldorish."

Several eyebrows went up. "Is that even a word?" Intarion couldn’t help asking even as he chuckled.

"Well, if it’s not, it should be," Finrod retorted with a sheepish look. "As Glorfindel pointed out not too long ago, Amarië is not a Noldo but a Vanya and it would be nice to see something of the wedding ceremony reflect that."

"Plus, considering the other people who will be there — Teleri, Sindar, Nandor and Exilic Noldor — they will have their own expectations concerning the wedding," Glorfindel added.

"But we can’t possibly cater to all their sensibilities," Eärwen protested.

"Nor should we," Finrod agreed, "but that is not to say that we can’t incorporate some things into the wedding that are not strictly Noldorin. The music, for instance. There are one or two dance pieces that are popular at weddings on Tol Eressëa. There’s no reason why they cannot be played along with other types of music."

"But no one here would know how to dance to them," Eärwen commented.

"And most likely many of the Sindarin and Nandorin guests will not know how to dance to our music," Finrod said with a shrug.

"At any rate, Eärwen," Ingwion said, "I think it’s important that Findaráto and I take a look at what’s been decided and make any appropriate changes we feel are necessary and doable at this late stage. For instance, I’ve been told that you are planning to serve partridge at the wedding feast, which surprises me, since I’m sure you are aware that Amarië hates partridge and it would be unfair to her to serve it to others while she gets a substitute. I have to agree with Findaráto that, as it’s their wedding, the menu should cater to them and not to others."

Eärwen gave them a sour look. "I told Isildil that partridge would not do when I first consulted him about the menu. I gave him a specific list of foods that were not to be considered."

"And he told me otherwise," Finrod said, "and that you had approved the menu. Of course, Atto later said that you hadn’t, but at the time, I didn’t know that."

"Well, as it happens, your Atar and the masters of the Cooks’ Guild have decided to keep Mistress Marilla in charge of the kitchen for the time being," Eärwen announced.

"That’s good news," Finrod said. "And Isildil? What of him?"

"I think he will continue working here, but it hasn’t been decided yet," the Queen replied. "We’ve been rather unhappy with good Master Isildil for some time now, and your little altercation with him gave your Atar the excuse he needed to... um...make certain arrangements, let us say."

There was a moment of silence while people digested Eärwen’s words. "I see," Finrod finally said, giving his ammë a shrewd look. "Or at least, I think I do."

"Well, the day is getting on," Ingwion said brightly, standing, "and there are things we need to do. Cousin." He bent down and kissed Eärwen lightly on the cheek. Finrod and the others also rose and gave her their own kisses before following Ingwion out, leaving Eärwen to herself.

****

No sooner were they away from the dining room than Ingwion muttered, "The gardens," and began to briskly make his way through the palace and out into the gardens, heading for a particular place. No one else spoke but followed, giving each other shrugs. They ended up in the same little garden where Glorfindel had had his conversation with the Head Gardener, Hallacar. As soon as they passed through the tunnel and entered the garden, Ingwion turned to his brother. "All right, just where did you and Intarion come up with those particular rumors? They weren’t the ones we’d decided on last night."

"Of course not," Ingalaurë said with a wide-eyed look. "These rumors happen to be true."

Ingwion, Finrod and Glorfindel stared at the Reborn in disbelief while Intarion nodded.

"There really are such rumors circulating?" Finrod finally asked.

Both Ingalaurë and Intarion nodded.

"How did you come to hear them?" Ingwion asked. "And why did you not mention them last night?"

Ingalaurë gave him a shrug. "Intarion and I don’t have to sit around being bored with work like you, so we go to the markets and that’s where you hear everything."

"And we didn’t mention them because you were having so much fun making up stuff and we didn’t want to spoil your fun," Intarion added.

Ingwion and Finrod exchanged exasperated looks. "Does Ingwë know about these rumors?" Glorfindel asked.

"Not from us," Ingalaurë assured them, "though I think Valandur probably knows. He knows everything, more than Atto even." There was a look of awe on the ellon’s face as he said this and Ingwion couldn’t help chuckling, wrapping an arm around his brother’s shoulders.

"Yes, he does," he said and then gave Finrod a worried look. "If these kinds of rumors are circulating in Vanyamar, what nonsense is being touted as true here in Tirion?"

"I have no idea," Finrod replied, looking equally troubled.

"We can find out for you," Intarion suggested. "We can go to the markets and listen. No one pays attention to us." He nodded to Ingalaurë who looked excited by the idea.

"That’s because back home, everyone knows who you are," Ingwion pointed out, "but here, you will be strangers and people always notice strangers."

Ingalaurë and Intarion sighed almost as one, their expressions dejected. Glorfindel, however, shook his head. "Actually, Intarion has a good idea."

"How so?" Ingwion asked.

"They’re Reborn," Glorfindel replied.

"And so?"

"That’s just it," Glorfindel insisted. "They’re Reborn and everyone will know they’re Reborn and everyone will act accordingly in front of them."

Ingwion frowned, still not understanding, but Finrod nodded, giving him a rueful smile. "When people know you’re Reborn, they tend to treat you as if you’re an elfling of four."

Both Ingalaurë and Intarion nodded vigorously. "And we do what we can to keep them treating us that way so they say things in our presence they normally wouldn’t, not realizing that being Reborn doesn’t mean the same as being stupid or ignorant the way a very young elfling is," Ingalaurë told them. "I figured that out almost at once," he added with a smug smile.

Ingwion raised an eyebrow and gave Finrod and Glorfindel a considering look. Both ellyn nodded. "Camouflage," Glorfindel said. "People see what they expect to see, not what is truly there. They see a Reborn and immediately they think ‘elfling’ and if your actions reinforce their assumptions...." He gave them an elegant shrug.

"We should wait for Vondo and Vorondil to return and recruit them as well," Finrod said. "Vorondil isn’t a Reborn, but he’s only just regaining some of his maturity after his Judgment so it’s easy enough for him to play along. Between them and these two, we might learn things even Atar’s people won’t."

Ingwion looked doubtful, but did not object. "So what do we do in the meantime?"

Finrod gave them a wicked grin. "Let’s go see Mistress Lindessë. I want to see you in action."

Ingwion laughed at that and they left the gardens and made their way into the city to the Musicians’ Guildhouse.

****

Mistress Lindessë was giving a lesson when they arrived, so they had to wait until she was done. When she came to the reception room where they had been placed she gave them a frown. "Is there something I can do for you, Highness?" she asked Finrod, but before he could answer, Ingwion stepped forward.

"Actually, there’s something you can do for me," he said imperiously.

"And you are?"

"Mistress Lindessë, let me make you known to my cousin, Prince Ingwion, Haryon of the Ingaran," Finrod said smoothly.

Mistress Lindessë gave them a haughty look, clearly unimpressed. "And what does a Vanyarin prince wish with me?"

"A little more courtesy, at the very least," Ingwion said mildly in a tone that the others recognized as one that Ingwë was wont to use. Mistress Lindessë raised an eyebrow but otherwise said nothing. Ingwion continued. "My cousin tells me that he is unhappy with the music selection for his wedding. Perhaps you would be good enough to show me what you’ve chosen."

"As I told his Highness," Lindessë replied, "at this late date it would be impossible for the musicians to learn new music."

"Nonsense, Mistress," Ingwion retorted impatiently. "Any musician worthy of the name can easily learn new pieces quickly. Now please show me what you’ve selected."

Lindessë glared at them for a moment and then gave them a sharp nod. "If you will follow me," she said and they all left the reception room and made their way to what turned out to be the elleth’s office where she rifled through some music, pulling out several sheets and handing them to Ingwion. "These are the pieces we’ll be playing," she said. "You will see they are quite appropriate."

Ingwion glanced at the music. "Appropriate for a wedding between two merchant families, perhaps," he countered, "but not, I fear, for a royal wedding." He threw the sheets of music onto her desk. "Naturally, some of the traditional wedding songs popular among the Noldor should be used, but I find it disturbing that you don’t incorporate at least one of the Vanyarin wedding songs, particularly Elemmírë’s ‘Lirilla Veruo’."

Lindessë sniffed. "Elemmírë! That’s all I ever hear. Well, Elemmírë isn’t the only musician in Eldamar."

"No she’s not," Ingwion agreed with a faint smile, "but she is a Vanya and as the bride is also a Vanya, it seems only right to have at least some of the music be Vanyarin."

"And Sindarin," Glorfindel chimed in.

"And Telerin," Finrod added. "Don’t forget, I have the blood of all three clans flowing through my veins."

Lindessë glared at them, tight-lipped. "Even if I had the music, there’s not enough time."

"Then your musicians appear to be rather hapless," Ingwion retorted. "Who is your flute master?"

The question took the elleth by surprise and it was a moment before she answered. "We have a number of them, but I know that Master Culdandol is in residence."

"Then let us go to good Master Culdandol," Ingwion said, gesturing for the elleth to proceed them and then they were traversing the halls to another small office where they found an ellon with flame-red hair giving an apprentice instructions. When he saw who had come he dismissed the student and politely welcomed them.

"And who do we have here, Lindessë, new students?" he asked, giving them a curious look, his expression lively and open.

"Hardly," Lindessë said with a snort and then she proceeded to introduce everyone. Culdandol gave them a considering look. "And to what do I owe the honor of your visit, my lords?"

"I was wondering if I could borrow a flute and some music that has been written recently, something I would never have heard before," Ingwion explained.

"Any particular flute?" the Master asked even as he began sorting through some sheets of music.

"An alto flute will do," Ingwion said.

Culdandol nodded absently, still looking through the music. "You’ll find one in that case over there. As it happens, one of my brighter journeymen just finished composing a lovely little piece for the alto flute. Ah! Here it is." He handed Ingwion several sheets. "You will see it’s quite a complex piece. The one who composed it is definitely ready to receive her mastership."

Ingwion took a glance at the music and nodded. "This will do," he said then placed it on a music stand and retrieved a flute from the case where several different sizes of flutes were hung. One was so small it could fit in the palm of one’s hand while there was another that was easily four times its size. Ingwion played a series of arpeggios as a warm up while everyone else stood by and watched. Culdandol’s expression was one of bemusement while Lindessë’s expression was less easy to read.

"Is there a point to this, your Highness?" the elleth finally asked, exasperation lacing her voice.

"I’m about to give you a lesson, Mistress," Ingwion replied, then turned to the Flute Master. "If you would be kind enough to stand next to me while I play so Mistress Lindessë will know I am playing this piece and no other."

Culdandol nodded, picking up another set of music. "I always have my students make two copies of their work, just in case, so I can follow along without breathing over their shoulders."

Ingwion nodded then took another minute to read through the music. Finrod, who prided himself on being musically literate, could see that this piece was indeed very complex and thought that it would take some time for anyone to learn it. He knew what his cousin was about, but looking at the music he wondered if Ingwion hadn’t bitten off more than he could chew. Ingwion, for his part, merely nodded to himself as he finished perusing the score, then, picking up the flute, began to play.

It was indeed a lovely piece and Ingwion played it with a flourish and with consummate skill, playing with confidence, as if he were well acquainted with the music instead of never having seen it until that day. If he ever hesitated or played a wrong note, Finrod could not tell. Finrod stole a look at the two masters. Culdandol was sitting at his desk, nodding in time to the music, his eyes fixed on the score. Lindessë stood there with an unreadable expression on her face as she watched the Vanyarin prince play. All too soon, Ingwion came to the end and Finrod and the other ellyn were applauding, though neither master was.

Ingwion took a deep breath and gave them a wry smile. "Well, that’s the best I could do playing it cold."

Culdandol gave him a wide-eyed stare. "You are a Master of the Guild, Highness?" he asked politely.

Ingwion snorted. "Hardly," he said as he took the cleaning cloth Culdandol handed him and wiped the flute down before returning it to its place in the case. "My atar didn’t believe in his children becoming apprentices to any guild, but I had very good tutors and I’ve composed my own music and have played before the Valar on numerous occasions." Then he turned to Lindessë, whose expression was equally one of amazement. "So, Mistress, if I, who am but an amateur, can play such a complex piece cold, I’m sure your musicians can learn a few simple melodies in the coming weeks. And if they can’t, they have no business being in the guild." He turned to the flute master, giving him a respectful bow. "Thank you for the use of the flute, Master Culdandol. And you are correct; the one who composed this is definitely ready for her mastership. Now we must go."

With that he turned and headed out the door without bothering to see if anyone else was following. Ingalaurë, Intarion and Glorfindel gave the two masters hasty bows and followed. Finrod remained behind for a moment longer, giving Lindessë a polite smile that nevertheless held a hint of triumph in it. "I will have the new music sent to you within the week," he said, then gave them his own bow and walked out, stepping quickly to catch up with the others.

****

Words are Quenya:

Yéni: Plural of yén: an Elvish century of 144 solar years.

Lirilla Veruo: ‘Lay of the Spouses’. Elemmírë is mentioned in In Darkness Bound as head of the Guild of Bards among the Vanyar, though by this time, she is also one of Lord Manwë’s bards.

Chapter the Thirteenth:

In Which the Reborn are Bored and a Tavern Gets Trashed

Finrod found the others waiting for him outside the guildhall. He was in time to hear Ingalaurë praising his brother.

"... was excellent and did you see the look on that... that... valarauco’s face?" he crowed.

"Now, hanno, that’s impolite," Ingwion admonished his brother. "I’m sure Mistress Lindessë is a worthy elleth and you should show more respect."

"Besides, she doesn’t look anything like a valarauco," Glorfindel said with a wide smile. "I should know."

Finrod chuckled at that and everyone turned to him. "I have to agree with Ingalaurë. That was excellent playing."

Ingwion shrugged as they started along the street. "With more practice, it would sound better. That really was a complicated piece and I know I messed up the bridge."

"But you didn’t stop, you kept going and played it through," Finrod said. "That’s a sign of a great musician. You may consider yourself an amateur, but I think you could qualify as a Master of the Musician’s Guild without too much trouble."

"I’m much too busy being the Valar’s envoy to Tol Eressëa to bother," Ingwion protested.

Finrod just shrugged. "Well, a discussion for another time. What else can we do, do you suppose?"

"Tackle the menu?" Glorfindel answered with a sly grin. "Now that Marilla is in charge...."

"If Marilla is in charge, I have no doubt that the menu will be perfect," Finrod replied, "but we can certainly ask her when we’re there making dinner for Vondo and Vorondil."

"Can we play now?" Intarion suddenly asked. "All this talking is getting boring."

By mutual consent they slowed to a halt. Ingwion exchanged an amused look with Finrod, who said, "I need to get back to the palace. In spite of the fact that this is Valanya and normally no business is done, Atar has called a special council meeting and I promised to be there."

"As did I," Ingwion added. "You remember my mentioning it earlier, don’t you?" he asked his twin.

"But we don’t have to be there, do we?" Ingalaurë demanded, and he and Intarion had the same dejected expression on their faces.

Before Ingwion could respond, Glorfindel intervened. "I was planning to go to the salle and work out. Would you two like to join me?"

Both Ingalaurë and Intarion brightened at that.

"Just as long as they watch only," Ingwion said sternly, giving his brother and Intarion an admonishing look. "Atar has decreed that these two are not to come anywhere near weapons yet."

"Oh?" Glorfindel responded with a lift of an eyebrow. "Any particular reason?"

Ingwion gave him a wintry smile. "There have been a couple of... incidents." Both Glorfindel and Finrod gave him enquiring looks while Ingalaurë and Intarion refused to look at anyone, their expressions somewhat sheepish. Ingwion, however, refusing to elaborate, turned to the two Reborn Vanyar. "You understand me? You may watch but you may not... play, or there will be consequences. You both remember the last time, don’t you?"

Ingalaurë and Intarion both paled at that and nodded. "We promise," Intarion said with a sigh. "But watching is boring, too."

"Did your atar say anything about practice weapons or just live steel?" Glorfindel asked Ingwion.

The Vanya blinked a couple of times, as if the question had never occurred to him. "Not really," he finally said in a reluctant tone.

"Then I don’t see where there’s a problem," Glorfindel said. "They can help carry things for me, act as my squires, as it were. I promise that they won’t do any actual fighting, but I can put them through some conditioning drills and teach them some defensive moves. We’ll make it into a game." He gave them a bright smile.

"Very well," Ingwion said with a nod. "I trust you, Glorfindel. Please do not betray my trust."

"You know I would never do that, hanno," Glorfindel replied in all seriousness.

"Then it’s settled," Finrod said. "You two mind Glorfindel," he admonished Ingalaurë and Intarion in a tone of voice that they both recognized and had learned to obey. They both nodded agreement and then they continued on, separating at the front portico of the palace. "We’ll see you at lunch," Finrod said and the others agreed.

****

Glorfindel led the two Vanyar through a different section of the palace grounds until they came to a small courtyard where they found a long hall. Inside they saw an open area with a viewing gallery along three sides. The floor was packed dirt. Sunlight flowing through high windows illuminated the space. At the moment the place was empty. Glorfindel pointed to a set of doors to the left.

"That’s the changing room there," he said, then pointed to the right, "and over there is a room where all the equipment is stored."

"It looks like the one back home," Intarion said.

Glorfindel nodded. "Pretty much. Atar Arafinwë didn’t have one when I first came here. He had this place converted to a training salle for warriors after the first New Year’s Tournament. This building was being used for teaching elflings horseback riding but that’s been moved to another place."

"Atto said that if we behaved ourselves he would let us go to the next tournament," Ingalaurë told him. "He hasn’t allowed us to go to one yet, not even when it was held in Vanyamar last year. He sent us to Lórien." The ellon made a disgusted sound in his throat.

"And now we have to wait a whole year for the next one," Intarion put in, looking despondent.

Glorfindel nodded in understanding. The New Year’s Tournament had quickly become a popular yearly event, but after a couple of years it was moved to Midsummer to coincide with the meeting of the All-Aman General Council, in which the heads of state for the various Eldarin kingdoms and enclaves, as well as the Valar, met to discuss matters of mutual concern to all of them. This year, because of the royal wedding, the tournament had been canceled but the General Council planned to meet after the wedding while everyone was still in Tirion.

He gave the two Vanyar a sympathetic look. "Well, that gives you a whole year to practice being good," he said, "but in the meantime, why don’t you help me set up some archery targets. I was planning to do some sword practice, but no one’s here, which is rather odd because usually this time of day there are several warriors working out."

"Why can’t we practice fighting with you?" Ingalaurë asked. "You said we could."

"I said you could help me carry equipment," Glorfindel corrected him. "As for fighting... I don’t think either of you is ready for that, yet. Come. Let’s set up the targets and we can compete against each other."

The two Vanyar reluctantly agreed and in a few minutes targets were set up and Glorfindel was helping them find appropriately sized bows. These were the altaquingar, the great war bows that had devastated the ranks of the Enemy in the War of Wrath. Both ellyn insisted they were familiar with them and knew how to use them. "Atto lets us practice archery at least," Ingalaurë said.

"I remember being in the War," Intarion said, "but no one trusts me with weapons now."

"And just what did you two do to get yourselves banned by Ingwë from handling weapons?" Glorfindel asked, but neither ellyn was inclined to answer and he was wise enough now not to press.

Once everything was set up to their satisfaction, Glorfindel insisted the other two show him what they knew about handling a war bow. As Ingalaurë had said, they were both quite knowledgeable about these great bows, far different from the bows used in hunting. Intarion was perhaps more skilled than Ingalaurë but both were obviously at home with their use.

Once Glorfindel was satisfied, they set out to compete against one another. Glorfindel made it as much a game as possible, such as blindfolding the archer or trying to hit a small coin from a particular distance. For a time the two younger Reborn were enthusiastic and willing to play, but after awhile their enthusiasm flagged and Intarion finally decided archery was boring and was unwilling to continue.

"I’d rather play with swords," he said petulantly.

Glorfindel frowned. "Swords are not for playing," he said.

"You sound like Ingwion... or Atto," Ingalaurë said accusingly. "You’re no fun anymore."

Glorfindel felt stung by the ellon’s words. Of course he was fun, but he was also a warrior and knew just how dangerous swords were. He’d been training for years now and in his first life he had been a lord of his House and had held great responsibility, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to have fun.

"Well, if you don’t want to continue," he said with a shrug, trying to hide the hurt he was feeling, "we can put these away and do something else."

"Like what?" Ingalaurë asked with a scowl.

"I don’t know," Glorfindel replied with some exasperation. "I’m sure we’ll think of something to do." With that he began to unstring his bow and, picking up his quiver, headed for the equipment storage room without bothering to see what the other two were doing. As he was putting the bow away the other ellyn came shuffling in to hang their bows up. Then, they silently put the targets away. Glorfindel couldn’t help noticing how both Ingalaurë and Intarion looked longingly at the practice swords hanging in their scabbards as they worked. Once everything was where it belonged, Glorfindel led them back outside.

"So now what?" Intarion asked as they stood in the courtyard.

Glancing at the sun Glorfindel could tell they had at least another hour or so before lunch would be served. "We can go see if Findaráto and Ingwion are done with the council meeting," he suggested. "They might have gotten out early."

"Don’t want to," Ingalaurë muttered. "Ingwi’s boring, always telling us what we can’t do."

Intarion nodded. "He’s almost as bad as Uncle Ingwë."

"But at least Atto will play with us... sometimes," Ingalaurë said. "Ingwi doesn’t know how to play."

Glorfindel hid a smile, remembering the jests the first-born son of the High King had liked to play on him when he had been living in Vanyamar. "Well, then, what do you want to do?" he asked. "And I don’t mean sword fighting," he added hastily. "If your atto said no then there was a good reason and I, for one, will not go against his wishes."

The other two sighed and shrugged, unwilling or unable to come up with an idea. Glorfindel did his best to hide his frustration. He didn’t remember being this... bored or complaining about there being nothing to do. Finally, after a moment when they just stood there staring at one another, Glorfindel shrugged. "Fine. You do what you want, I’m going for a walk." He started away, not paying attention to his direction, figuring the other two would come racing after him, but they didn’t and he refused to look back. He still felt hurt that Ingalaurë would accuse him of not being any fun. Maybe Finrod was no fun, being all grown up and about to get married, but he didn’t think he was that mature... yet. Still, on reflection, he realized that over the last few years, training with the Maiar, training the warriors at Aewellond, acting as part of Eärendil’s privy council, all of that had brought a level of maturity that, in the normal course of events, he would have spent several decades achieving.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t fun!

He stopped when he found himself in the middle of the orangery, realizing he had no idea where he was going or why. He turned around to see if by chance the other two were following him, but all he saw was a couple of the undergardeners pruning the boxwood hedge further along. He sighed.

"Now I’m feeling bored!" he muttered to himself in disgust, wondering what he should do. He had a nagging suspicion that he really shouldn’t have left Ingalaurë and Intarion unsupervised. He had no worries about them getting into the equipment room in the salle as it was spell-locked and only those who knew the right combination of words could open it. He’d been careful to make sure the other two were nowhere near him when he unlocked the equipment room door.

Still, that wasn’t to say they couldn’t get into some mischief. He scowled and silently cursed, deciding to retrace his steps and look for the two Vanyar. He only got a few paces when he stopped again. No one had appointed him their minders, so why should he have to be the one looking after them? That was... boring. He chuckled to himself at the irony of that thought. Well, he had better things to do and after a moment trying to decide what better thing he could be doing he thought to find a particular maple tree and indulge himself in a good swinging session. He was rather fond of maple trees and it’d been a while since he’d been in one.

Smiling to himself, he headed further into the gardens, humming a spritely tune, no longer interested in acting responsibly. That was too boring....

****

Finrod was feeling bored, though he was careful not to show it. The council meeting was dragging and all he really wanted to do was go with Ingwion to the training salle and get in some sparring. He would prefer sparring with Glorfindel, but they had long ago decided between themselves not to tempt fate or the wrath of the Valar and so did not spar with each other. The last thing either of them wanted was to find themselves in permanent exile in that mysterious place that had been Aman and not-Aman when they had fought against each other in that first New Year Tournament and had been in danger of destroying half the continent with the powers they had unwittingly unleashed. Just the thought of it sent a shiver down his spine. He glanced over at Ingwion, who, from his expression, was either actually interested in what Lord Pelendur was saying or a very good actor. Knowing Ingwion as he did, he rather suspected it was the latter and not necessarily the former. He resisted a sigh. Ingwion glanced at him, as if he knew what his cousin was feeling, and gave him an innocent look, his eyes sparkling with inner amusement. Finrod couldn’t resist a small smile, feeling immeasurably better.

But he was still bored....

****

Ingalaurë and Intarion stared after the retreating figure of the golden-haired balrog-slayer in dismay. "Do you think we hurt his feelings?" Intarion asked hesitantly.

Ingalaurë shrugged. "Maybe. I don’t know."

"What do you want to do?"

Ingalaurë gave another shrug, not bothering to answer. Intarion sighed, thinking perhaps they shouldn’t have acted so petulant. Intarion was sure Glorfindel had wanted to continue with the archery practice but had graciously stopped when he and Ingalaurë were no longer interested in shooting arrows. And he hadn’t said, ‘let’s do this or that’ but had asked them what they wanted to do, unlike their usual minders who normally just told them what they could or could not do. Glorfindel had tried to be their companion and they had ended up snubbing him. Intarion sighed again, hoping they hadn’t lost Glorfi’s friendship.

"Maybe we should go after him and apologize," he suggested half-heartedly.

Ingalaurë frowned. "Do you think we should?" he asked, feeling a little ashamed of himself for how he’d treated Glorfi but not really sure what they should do about it. Things were so confusing sometimes. He sort of remembered how it was before he’d died, but it was all rather vague and disjointed and he was never sure if what he was remembering was real or not.

They stood there in uncertainty, neither willing to be the one to make the first move. Finally, though, Intarion decided standing there doing nothing was no fun. He punched Ingalaurë in the arm and gave him a wicked grin. "Let’s see if we can’t open the equipment door and then we can play."

Ingalaurë gave him a frown. "But it’s spell-locked," he protested, "and Glorfi made sure we weren’t near him when he uttered the proper words to unlock it. I have a better idea. Let’s go into the city and see if we can hear any good rumors about the wedding and then we can come back and tell Cousin Arafinwë and everyone will think we’re so clever instead of being stupid Reborn."

Intarion nodded. "I like that idea. I’m tired of everyone treating me as if I were ten."

"But you are ten," Ingalaurë retorted, sticking out his tongue and then he was sprinting away with a laugh as Intarion chased him.

They stopped by mutual consent when they neared one of the gates leading out into the city. Now they were hesitant, standing under a tall column. "Do you think we can just leave?" Intarion asked softly as they eyed the two guards manning the gate. People were streaming in and out but the guards didn’t seem to take any notice.

"Why not?" Ingalaurë retorted. "Are we prisoners? Come on. Let’s go. Just act natural." They set off and as they neared the gate, Ingalaurë started talking, "So I said to Lord Glorfindel that I was interested in competing in next year’s tournament for archery."

Intarion stared at him in surprise, then catching the other’s eyes, belatedly understood what he was doing and quickly replied, speaking a bit too loudly in his nervousness, "So what did he say? Did he think you were good enough to compete?"

"He said I would need to practice every third day and gave me some pointers on how to stand properly and...."

They had now passed the gate and were several paces away and the guards had done nothing to stop them. They grinned at one another in triumph and then quickly made their way down the street and into a nearby square before they came to a halt again, not sure what they should do next. Ingalaurë looked about them. "It’s not like Vanyamar," he said.

Intarion snorted. "Of course not. Vanyamar is much prettier. Hey look! There’s a tavern over there. I’m feeling thirsty. Let’s go have something to drink before we head for the market."

Ingalaurë agreed and in minutes they were happily seated at a table in the Rose and Lily ordering hard cider, for neither felt like wine or ale this early in the day. As they sat there enjoying the cool drinks, two couples came in, taking a nearby table. They were apparently there for an early lunch for the Vanyar overheard them ordering a cold collation of meats and cheeses along with their ales. Neither of the Reborn were paying much attention to them, speaking quietly between themselves of inconsequential matters, but then one of the ellith said something that caught their ears.

"...heard that just about every Exile on Tol Eressëa has been invited to the wedding while those of us who never left and remained faithful to the Valar are being snubbed."

"I doubt that’s the case," one of the ellyn said with a smile. "There’s no reason why any of us should be invited and if the prince wants to invite those who owed him allegiance when he was in Endórë, what of it? It’s his wedding, after all."

Now the other elleth spoke up. "It’s not right. This isn’t Endórë, it’s Aman and they should follow Amanian customs."

"What do you mean?" the second ellon asked with a frown. "There’s no custom that says you have to invite a certain group or number of people to a wedding."

"I’m not talking about that," she replied scathingly. "I’m talking about the fact that apparently they’ve already done the deed and this wedding is just a sham, a cover-up for the sake of propriety."

The others at the table looked at the elleth in shock and even Ingalaurë and Intarion exchanged surprised looks. "You can’t possibly mean that they’ve... er... that she’s not... um...." one of the ellon stammered, nonplused.

The elleth smiled smugly. "Yes, I do, and I’ll tell you something else." She leaned over as if to speak in confidence though Ingalaurë and Intarion heard her well enough. "I heard that it’s some kind of custom among those Sindar. They don’t believe in proper marriages and we all know that the prince is more Sindarin than Noldorin. Look at those ridiculous front braids he’s always wearing and going on about his stupid kingdom. Bah! He couldn’t have been much of a king if he ended up losing it."

Before anyone could react to that statement, Intarion was standing, his fists clenched at his sides. "You take that back!" he yelled, startling everyone in the tavern. "You take that back!"

Ingalaurë tried to push him back down and calm him, but Intarion brushed him off, too incensed. One of the ellyn at the other table rose, his attitude one of nonchalance. "Now, youngster, what’s all this about? It’s not polite to listen in on other people’s conversations. Didn’t your amillë teach you better?"

At the mention of ‘amillë,’ Intarion went livid and he was on the hapless ellon in a trice, pounding on him. "Don’t you talk about my ammë. I don’t have an ammë," he screamed, tears running down his face.

"Inti, no!" Ingalaurë cried, leaping from his seat to go to his cousin’s aid, even as the other three people at the table stood up in shock and the innkeeper began making her way towards them. The ellon who was being attacked managed to grab hold of Intarion’s arms and push him away, sending him sprawling. The back of his head hit a post rather hard and he slid down to the floor trailing blood. There was a moment of complete shocked-induced silence and then Ingalaurë started screaming, "You killed my cousin! You killed my cousin!" And then he was attacking the same ellon whom Intarion had attacked, sending them both crashing into the table, forcing the other three to move out of the way as they rolled around the floor, the Noldo trying desperately to get a hold on Ingalaurë who was beating upon him ruthlessly, all the while screaming and weeping at the same time, "You killed my cousin! You killed my cousin!".

And now there was complete pandemonium as several people tried to rescue the hapless ellon from Ingalaurë and others were checking on Intarion’s condition while still others were running outside yelling for help. The innkeeper was yelling, rather unhelpfully, "Grab him! Grab him!" while a number of ellyn were trying to do just that, but Ingalaurë was fighting too viciously and it was difficult for anyone to get a hold of him, as he and the other ellon rolled on the floor, knocking over chairs and upsetting the crockery on some of the tables, causing them to crash upon the floor, making an unholy mess.

Someone started yelling, "He’s not dead! Your cousin is not dead!" but if Ingalaurë heard he gave no heed or did not believe the words, and in truth there was so much shouting and he was so busy screaming, he wouldn’t have heard anything. Before things got completely out of hand, though, there was an overpowering floral scent, a mingling of cedar and roses, and suddenly the tavern got very small as two Maiar appeared, with everyone scrambling out of their way. One was wearing the purple surcoat of the People of Estë, the other the sky-blue surcoat of Lord Manwë’s People. The one in the sky-blue surcoat deftly reached down and simply plucked Ingalaurë off the other ellon, then wrapped his arms around the still screaming Reborn and held him tightly, rocking him gently and muttering soothing words to him, until Ingalaurë stopped thrashing and was finally quiescent.

Meanwhile the other Maia was gently checking over Intarion, clucking in dismay and shaking her head.

"How is he, Ninwanyellë?" the Maia holding Ingalaurë asked.

"Alive," she answered. "He’s going to have a miserable headache when he wakes up, though. And Ingalaurë?"

"He’ll be fine once we get him to his brother."

"Why are you worrying about those two?" The Maiar looked up to see an elleth glowering at them. "What about my husband? Do you not care that he’s been injured as well?" She pointed to where the other couple who had been dining with them were helping the poor ellon to his feet. They could see he was battered and bruised and obviously in some pain, but otherwise well enough. The two Maiar exchanged looks that could not be interpreted by the Elves, then, Ninwanyellë stood and went to the ellon, gently running her hands over his body and before their wondering eyes, the other Elves watched as the bruises faded away and the ellon straightened, no longer in pain, giving the Maia a grateful look.

The Maia holding Ingalaurë looked down at the Vanya in his arms and smiled. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked gently.

For a moment Ingalaurë did not answer, but then he looked up at the Maia, his eyes growing wide. "Nornoros?"

"Yes, and you still haven’t answered my question."

Ingalaurë’s face crumpled into misery. "They were s-saying bad things about F-finda," he stammered, "and... and then they k-killed Inti!" He started weeping inconsolably. "I w-want my atto. I want my atto," he said and clung to the Maia as a child would a parent, seeking comfort. Nornoros held him tighter.

"Hush now, Little One. Inti still lives. There’s no need for tears."

Even as he was speaking, several city guards ran inside, stopping in amazement at the sight of the two Maiar. "We heard there was trouble," one of the guards said.

"And now it is over," Nornoros said calmly. "However, we need to get Prince Intarion to the healers and Prince Ingalaurë to his brother, Prince Ingwion, and then I think it will be wise for his Majesty to speak with some of these good people." It escaped no one’s notice that the Maia was looking pointedly at the two couples who had been at the center of all the excitement. All four of them looked pale. The innkeeper pointed at the still unconscious Intarion whom Ninwanyellë was scooping into her arms.

"Why don’t you just heal him the way you healed the other ellon?" she asked.

Nornoros just smiled. "Evidence." Then before anyone else could comment, he was lifting Ingalaurë into his arms. "Come. We need to see the King. Guardsmen, please escort these four to the palace," and then he and Ninwanyellë were heading for the door.

"Wait!" the innkeeper shouted. "What about this mess? Who’s going to pay for all the damage?"

Nornoros turned, giving her a quizzical look. "What mess? What damage?" He turned away and smiled to himself as he heard gasps of surprise from the Elves as they suddenly found the tavern mysteriously returned to its original state.

****

Finrod and Ingwion had at last been able to leave the council chambers and were in search of Glorfindel and the others, walking along an upper gallery overlooking the courtyard that fronted the palace.

"I was so bored," Finrod was exclaiming, "I wanted to scream."

Ingwion snorted in amusement and started to comment when something caught his attention and he stopped to stare outside. "Look!" he exclaimed, pointing, and Finrod, who was a couple of paces in front of Ingwion, stopped and stared out, giving a small gasp as he saw two Maiar carrying his cousins with several guardsmen herding four people along while it seemed as if half the city was trailing behind them.

Suddenly, Finrod was no longer bored.

****

Words are Quenya:

Valarauco: Balrog.

Hanno: Colloquial form of háno: Brother.

Chapter the Fourteenth:

In Which Another Trial is Held and Finrod Faints

Someone had apparently alerted Arafinwë, for even as Finrod and Ingwion were racing down the main stairs leading to the outside, they found the King already coming from another direction, his expression one of mixed exasperation and concern.

"Ingil!" Ingwion exclaimed, his face white.

"And Intarion," Finrod added even as they reached the bottom of the stairs. Ingwion was ready to fly out the door, but Ararfinwë grabbed him and held him close.

"Stay calm," he said quietly. "Take a deep breath and calm yourself. You will do your brother and Intarion no good if you’re frantic."

It took a couple of seconds for Ingwion to comply, but finally he nodded and Arafinwë released him. "Well, let’s go see what all the excitement is about," the King said with a weary sigh and led the way out to the portico where they found the two Maiar just reaching the steps leading up to the doors. Before anyone could say anything, Nornoros spoke. "Fear not! They are both still alive if a little worse for wear. Prince Intarion needs medical attention, though."

"Inti! They killed Inti!" Ingalaurë cried, though it was a bit muffled as his face was pressed against the Maia’s shoulder.

"Hush now, Ingilincë," Nornoros said as he put the ellon down."Did I not say your cousin lives? Now stop this nonsense." He gave the Reborn a slight shake and then handed him over to an anxious Ingwion with a smile.

Arafinwë, meanwhile, was calling for healers. "How bad is it?" he demanded.

"He struck his head on a post," Ninwanyellë replied. "It’s not as bad as it looks, but he will probably need a couple of stitches."

"Has he been unconscious all this time?" Finrod asked worriedly.

The Maia shook her head. "He came to briefly but I put him into healing sleep."

"And these?" the King asked, nodding to the four Elves surrounded by the guards, their faces pale, the ellith clinging to the ellyn.

"Ah, well, I’m afraid they were at the center of the... um... upset," Nornoros explained.

For a moment, Arafinwë simply stood there, gazing about him, then nodded, as if coming to a decision. "Calandil!" he called to his chief guard, "have these four escorted to the blue audience room and see that they are given food and drink and if they wish, they may also freshen up, but I want them under guard at all times."

Calandil saluted and gestured for some of the palace guards to take over as escort as Arafinwë was thanking the city guards and dismissing them and everyone else who had followed, although Nornoros suggested that certain people, including the innkeeper, should be allowed to stay to act as witnesses to what had happened and Arafinwë agreed, assigning other guards to escort these people to the red audience chamber to await his Majesty’s pleasure. Everyone else left reluctantly, disappointed in not being able to see what would happen next. Arafinwë asked Ingwion and Finrod to look after Ingalaurë until called for. Nornoros volunteered to stay with him as well.

"He knows me from Mandos and Lórien," the Maia explained, "and will obey me even if he doesn’t obey anyone else."

The King nodded and sent them on their way. In the meantime, healers had come and Ninwanyellë handed Intarion over to them, explaining softly the nature of his injuries and what she had done to alleviate them. Once the healers were gone with their patient she gave Arafinwë a bow and a knowing smile and faded away.

"And where is Glorfindel in all this?" Arafinwë asked himself, for there had been no sign of the ellon. He called to one of his other guards and asked him to have the grounds searched for Lord Glorfindel. "Tell him nothing of what has happened, but merely say that I desire his presence at this time."

The guard saluted and left. Arafinwë sighed and went inside in search of his wife. It was going to be a long afternoon and no lunch in sight.

****

Glorfindel, in fact, was sitting idly in the maple tree that he’d found to swing in. Swinging had been a balm to his soul for he’d forgotten how much fun it was. Eärendil rather discouraged it, saying it was unbecoming of an Elf-lord of Glorfindel’s status, but he still managed to sneak away to the woods surrounding Aewellond on occasion and find a suitable tree in which to swing. Sometimes he would be joined by some of the village children who were very happy to keep his secret from the other adults. He smiled at that thought as he ran a hand idly along the branch on which he was sitting, listening to the light breeze ruffling the leaves.

He was deciding if he really wanted to go back to the palace for lunch or just sit in the tree for a while and enjoy the afternoon when he saw Hallacar coming along the path with one of the palace guards whom he did not know. The Head Gardener was pointing towards the maple tree. Glorfindel frowned slightly at the sight of them, hoping he wasn’t in trouble for sitting in the tree.

The two neared him and Hallacar looked up with a smile. "Lord Glorfindel. It appears his Majesty wishes to see you. They’ve been looking all over for you, it seems."

"And you knew exactly where to find me?" Glorfindel asked as he jumped lightly down from the tree.

Hallacar smiled even more. "But of course, my lord. It’s my garden after all."

Glorfindel gave him a sly grin. "Odd. I was sure it was his Majesty’s garden."

Hallacar laughed and gave him a wink. "So he likes to think."

Glorfindel joined in the laughter and even the guard smirked. Hallacar waved them away, wishing them a good afternoon as he sauntered off. The guard nodded politely to Glorfindel and they set off to the palace. Glorfindel asked what was going on but the guard merely said that he’d been told to find him and bring him to the King. Glorfindel shrugged, attempting to look unconcerned, but inside he was worried, wondering what he might have done wrong to have Atar Arafinwë send a guard after him.

****

Finrod and Ingwion managed to get Ingalaurë into a bath, thinking it would help calm the ellon, as well as washing away some of the grime and dirt he’d collected while rolling around on the tavern floor. He also had some minor cuts and bruises and Ingwion had one of the body servants run to get some salve. In the meantime, Nornoros filled them in on what had happened as they watched Ingalaurë swish the water around. Finrod and Ingwion exchanged concerned looks. "But where was Glorfindel?" Finrod asked the Maia. "Was he not there with them?"

Nornoros shook his head. "Glorfindel left them to wander in the royal gardens, I believe, leaving them to their own devices."

"Hmph," Finrod said. "He was supposed to keep them occupied until lunch."

"We didn’t want to play anymore," Ingalaurë said in a dejected tone as he settled further into the bath, looking more relaxed. "Glorfi wanted to continue doing archery but Inti and I were bored. We wanted to play with the swords, but Glorfi said we couldn’t."

"And so he just left you?" Ingwion asked, his expression one of disbelief. From the look on his face, Finrod had the feeling that his cousin had been down this road before with his brother.

Ingalaurë sighed and shook his head. "We... I... said he was no fun, that he was as bad as you." He ducked his head so he didn’t see Ingwion turn red with embarrassment while Finrod and Nornoros both attempted vainly to hide their grins.

"So you hurt his feelings and he left," Finrod said to give Ingwion time to recover. Ingalaurë nodded.

"Who’s idea was it to go into the city?" Finrod asked.

Ingalaurë murmured something neither Elf heard. Ingwion reached down and lifted his brother’s chin, forcing him to look at him. "Ingalaurë?" Ingwion said in an enquiring tone and his brother burst into tears.

"It... it’s all m-my fault," the Reborn son of the High King stammered. "It’s my fault and now Inti’s dead."

"Hush now," Ingwion said, kneeling to put a comforting arm around his brother. "Inti’s not dead. He’s just hurt but he’ll be fine."

"I don’t think he’s going to believe you until he sees Intarion awake," Finrod said. "Let’s get him dried off and then maybe he should rest while I go find out what is going on. Atar is bound to order an enquiry."

Ingwion nodded and with Nornoros’ help they got Ingalaurë out of the tub and dried him off. About then the servant came with the salve and they applied it to Ingalaurë’s cuts and bruises before leading him to his bed where they encouraged him to lie down. Nornoros sang an ancient lullaby and soon Ingalaurë was fast asleep. The Maia assured them that he would watch over the sleeping ellon. "I was his primary guardian while he was sleeping in Mandos," he said with a smile. Satisfied, Finrod and Ingwion left in search of the King.

****

They found Arafinwë with Eärwen in the King’s study. Vardamir, Arafinwë’s chief healer and former battle surgeon, was also there, giving them a report on Intarion’s condition. The three looked up as Finrod and Ingwion entered.

"How’s your brother?" Arafinwë asked.

"Sleeping," Ingwion replied. "Intarion?"

"We were just about to hear," Arafinwë said and gestured for them to take seats, nodding to Vardamir to continue.

"Yes, as I was saying, he suffered a blow to the back of his head," Vardamir said. "Not enough to kill him, thank the Valar, but he required three stitches. We brought him out of healing sleep when we finished, long enough to ascertain his mental state. He’s lucid, knows who he is and where he is and what happened, so there’s no worries there. We fed him some willow bark tea and sent him back into healing sleep. He should be fine by tomorrow."

"Well that’s a relief," Finrod said with a smile. "Intarion would be very put out if he missed being able to help make the dinner we’ve planned for Vondo and Vorondil. One upset Reborn is enough to deal with."

"And are you speaking of yourself, yonya?" Arafinwë asked with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Ingwion snickered while Eärwen and Vardamir hid smiles. Finrod blinked and gave his atar a cool stare, refusing to answer, though there was a faint smile on his lips.

Arafinwë sighed, his expression one of frustration. "So now we just have to find out what happened and where to spread the blame. I noticed that...."

There was a knock on the door and Arafinwë called out for the person to enter. When the door opened, they saw Glorfindel standing there trying not to look uneasy. "Ah, good, you found him. Thank you, Calandil. Come in, Glorfindel, and close the door."

The guard saluted and Glorfindel entered, closing the door. "Is something wrong?" he asked. "I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear! I was just sitting in the maple tree and...."

Eärwen stood and went to the ellon, giving him a warm embrace, kissing him on the brow. "Hush now. All is well. Was it a nice maple tree?"

Glorfindel looked at the Queen in surprise, then nodded shyly. "I was swinging in it. It liked that."

Eärwen smiled and ushered him to a seat. Arafinwë gave his wife a nod, then turned to Glorfindel. "As far as we know, yonya, you’ve done nothing wrong."

"Except to leave Ingalaurë and Intarion to their own devices," Ingwion said with a glare. "You were supposed to be keeping an eye on them."

Glorfindel bristled. "I’m not their minder! They didn’t want to do anything so I said I was going for a walk. I figured they’d come running after me, but they didn’t and frankly I didn’t care!"

He started to rise but Arafinwë gestured. "Sit down, Glorfindel." The ellon reluctantly complied, glowering at everyone. "You are correct. You are not their minder, but I have the impression that when you and they parted company from Findaráto and Ingwion, these two assumed you would keep them out of trouble."

"Well, they assumed wrong," Glorfindel retorted with a sneer. "I was willing to be Ingil and Inti’s friend and companion, but when they couldn’t even tell me what they wanted to do, I decided I wasn’t interested in being with them any longer. They said I was no fun, but they were the ones who were being boring. I have better things to do than stand around waiting for children to decide which game they want to play."

The absolute vehemence of his tone surprised everyone. Finrod and Ingwion exchanged chagrined looks. Vardamir’s expression could only be described as one of ‘professional interest’ as he watched the interplay. Arafinwë glanced at Eärwen, who simply raised an eyebrow. "I see," the King finally said after a long moment of silence. "Well, we still need to ascertain just what did happen, so we’d best get on with it."

"What happened?" Glorfindel asked in confusion.

"Why don’t we go find out together?" Arafinwë suggested as he rose and everyone else followed suit. "Is Ingalaurë able to give testimony?" he asked Ingwion as they went.

"He was asleep when we left him, but we can wake him and get him dressed quicky enough," Ingwion answered.

"Then you and Findaráto go and fetch your brother, and please ask Nornoros if he would attend the enquiry as well. We will be meeting in the minor throne room." The two ellyn nodded and when they came to a juncture in the hallway they took leave of the others, heading for the north wing. Everyone else continued on. Arafinwë called for his chamberlain, asking him to bring everyone to the minor throne room and the ellon scurried off to fulfill the King’s wishes.

Glorfindel walked between their Majesties, his expression one of concern. "Is it bad?" he asked. "I didn’t mean for them to get into trouble. They were being boring and I...."

Arafinwë put a comforting arm around his shoulders. "It’s all right, yonya. No one’s blaming you. Ingalaurë and Intarion just got into a little trouble and we’re trying to straighten it all out."

Glorfindel didn’t seem convinced. "They said I was no fun," he muttered. "I’m a lot of fun. They’re the ones who weren’t being fun."

Arafinwë rolled his eyes and shook his head. Children, indeed. Every last one of them.

In the minor throne room, which was only about thrice the size of one of the audience chambers, Arafinwë settled himself on the throne, replacing the thin circlet of gold that had bound his hair with a more ornate coronet that one of the pages brought to him. Eärwen stood on his left, a hand on her husband’s shoulder, and Glorfindel was asked to stand on his right. In a matter of minutes, guards were showing several people in. The two couples were brought to stand to the right of the throne dais while the innkeeper and the other witnesses were ranged on the left. A few minutes later, Finrod came with Ingwion, bringing along a pale-looking Ingalaurë with Nornoros following. Arafinwë motioned for them to stand before him.

"Sorry we took so long, Atar," Finrod said as he gave his atar a bow. "Ingalaurë insisted on seeing Intarion first. He wouldn’t believe us when we told him he was alive."

Arafinwë gave the Reborn Vanya a sympathetic look before speaking. "This is an informal enquiry to ascertain what happened and why. First, though, we need to understand how it came about. Findaráto, why don’t you begin by telling us what happened after breakfast."

Finrod nodded and proceeded to tell them about the discussion that occurred after Arafinwë left the dining room, continuing on with their confrontation with Mistress Lindessë and Ingwion’s impromptu music lesson. Everyone looked at the ellon in surprise while Ingwion just stood there blushing.

"And that’s when we parted company," Finrod concluded. "Glorfindel, Ingalaurë and Intarion were heading for the training salle and Ingwion and I were about to join you in a very boring council meeting."

The drollness of his tone was such that even Arafinwë didn’t quite catch his son’s meaning immediately. When he did, he raised an amused eyebrow. "Would it help if I had tavern singers come and play for us while we discuss the issues of the realm?"

"It wouldn’t hurt," Finrod said with a smile.

"Atto lets me sing," Ingalaurë said unexpectedly.

"But not in a council meeting," Ingwion retorted as he rolled his eyes. His brother’s demeanor deflated and it looked as if he were going to cry, but Arafinwë staved him off by asking him what kind of archery games Glorfindel had them play and the ellon went into an enthusiastic rendition of the various games and who won and how Inti broke an arrow by mistake and....

"Thank you, Cousin," Arafinwë interrupted smoothly. "It sounds like a lot of fun and I wish I could’ve been there instead of at a boring council meeting." He glanced at Finrod as he said this and the ellon blushed. "So at one point you decided to stop playing."

Ingalaurë nodded. "Inti said it was getting boring so Glorfi had us put everything away, and then he asked us what we wanted to do instead, but we couldn’t think of anything, so he left and Inti said...."

"In a minute, Cousin," Arafinwë said, raising a hand. "I wish to hear what Glorfindel has to say first and then you can continue your narrative."

All eyes turned to Glorfindel, who stood there trying not to fidget. Arafinwë cast him a fond smile. "Tell us what happened next."

Glorfindel shrugged. "Nothing really. Ingalaurë and Intarion couldn’t think of what they wanted to do next and I got tired of standing around waiting for them to decide, so I said I was going for a walk. I figured they would just follow me but they didn’t and by the time I realized it, I was in the orangery. I thought about going back to see what they were up to, but then decided I couldn’t be bothered. I’m not their minder, after all."

This last was said somewhat belligerently. Arafinwë nodded. "As I said before, you are not, though others probably placed you in that role for their own peace of mind." He paused for a moment and then nodded to Ingalaurë. "Tell us what you and Intarion did next, Cousin."

Ingalaurë licked his lips, giving his brother a glance. Ingwion nodded encouragingly. "Just tell us what happened without embellishing your tale."

"Well, Inti wanted to try to open the equipment room in the salle so we could... um... play with the swords," the Reborn Vanya began and several eyebrows went up, "but we didn’t have the password to open the locks because Glorfi made sure we couldn’t hear it when he opened the room for us."

"So you see," Glorfindel said with a sniff at Finrod and Ingwion, "I do so know how to be responsible."

Ingalaurë let his own feelings be known by sticking out his tongue at the golden-haired balrog-slayer and Ingwion cuffed him on the back of his head, giving his brother a stern look.

"Yes, well, tell us what you and Intarion decided to do next," Arafinwë commanded and Ingalaurë complied, explaining how they sneaked past the guards and how they ended up in the tavern and then how they overheard four Elves at the next table talking about the wedding. At that point, Arafinwë began to question the ellon very closely.

"Do you remember exactly what was said?" he asked.

Ingalaurë nodded. "They were saying bad things about Finda."

"And what were they saying?" Arafinwë enquired with a patience born from having raised four children of his own, one of them twice.

Now Ingalaurë hesitated, stealing a glance at Finrod who divine the reason for the ellon’s reluctance. "It’s all right, Cousin. Tell Atar what you heard."

"Well, first one of the ellith said something about all the Exiles being invited to the wedding and then the other said something about Finda and Amarië already being married. I didn’t understand that part, but she made fun of his braids and said he wasn’t a good king because he lost his kingdom. That’s when Inti got angry." He then went on to describe the confrontation and now he was fighting back tears. "They hurt Inti like I was hurt." He put a hand to the back of his head, his expression turning to one of confusion, his eyes darkening with remembered pain. Nornoros quickly took him into his embrace and rocked him into quiescence, murmuring softly in his ear.

There was an embarrassed silence for a moment or two while everyone looked on, then, Arafinwë turned his attention to the four Elves standing with their guards. None of them looked very happy. He asked for their names and occupations, which they gave, then asked who had said what and why.

"Truly, your Majesty," protested one of the ellyn, "we were simply talking amongst ourselves. This one and his friend had no business listening in and if they did not care for what they heard, that is not our problem."

"But it did become mine," Arafinwë said, "when my cousin became injured, though I realize it was unintentional." He paused, looking up at Eärwen standing beside him. Her expression was serene, but the hand on his shoulder had clenched when Ingalaurë was describing what had been overheard and he suspected he would have a nice bruise. He glanced at Glorfindel who had remained remarkably silent through all this. The ellon noticed him and smiled thinly. Glancing at Findaráto, he found himself growing angry, for his son’s expression was one of hurt resignation. He forced himself to take a couple of deep breaths before he ventured to speak.

"And what do you know of this, my Lord Nornoros?" Arafinwë asked respectfully.

"All that Ingalaurë said was true," the Maia replied. "However, Intarion did not attack Master Rómestámo until he made the unfortunate reference to his amillë."

"Ah," was all Arafinwë could say, nodding in understanding. Then, for the record, he had Vardamir give his report on Intarion’s condition. Afterwards, he asked the innkeeper and the others who’d been in the tavern at the time to verify what they had seen. Most of them, the innkeeper included, could only testify to Intarion attacking and what followed. None had overheard the conversation, though one ellon stated that he’d heard similar talk in the market only the other day.

"Though I don’t think it’s anything to worry about, Highness," the ellon said, addressing Finrod directly. "Everyone knows Lady Amarië, for she long resided among us waiting for your return, and many rejoiced when you did and the betrothal was announced, though I can assure you that many tongues wagged at the reason for the continued delay in the wedding."

"I’m afraid that’s my fault," Glorfindel said before Finrod could reply, giving them a wry look. "Lady Amarië’s amillë was being... difficult...."

"Obnoxious, actually," Eärwen interrupted to everyone’s surprise.

Glorfindel wasn’t the only one to raise an eyebrow, though Arafinwë gave his wife a knowing smile. "Yes, well, anyway," Glorfindel continued, "she kept harping about having a Mid-summer wedding. I decided that she needed a good tweaking, so I convinced Findaráto to agree to having the betrothal announced as Lady Almáriel wanted but pointed out that the good elleth never specified on which Mid-summer the wedding should be held."

"And Amarië and I decided this Mid-summer would be the perfect time," Finrod added with a grin and there were several chuckles among the listeners.

"As for the rest..." Here Finrod looked pointedly at the four Elves, all of whom had the grace to look embarrassed. "Even in Amanian society, a wedding is more for the sake of the families and friends of the couple rather than a necessary part of the marriage act, but over time it has become a central part of the ritual, especially where a royal marriage is concerned, so many have forgotten that originally we followed the same marriage customs as those of our Sindarin and Nandorin cousins."

He paused for a moment, stealing a glance at his atar, who simply gave him a nod to continue. "You are, of course, correct that I lost my kingdom, but then all of us who went to Endórë suffered the same loss and I was already dead when my kingdom fell to Melkor’s army. I don’t know if that makes me a bad king or not, but I had hoped...." He gave them a weary sigh and a shrug, then turned to face his parents, his expression now one of exasperation.

"I’m just about ready to take horse to Vanyamar, grab Amarië and high-tail it to Aewellond and be done with it all."

Arafinwë and Eärwen exchanged glances that the others could not interpret but before either could reply to their son’s comment, Ingalaurë burst into tears. Everyone stared at him in concern.

"Háno, whatever is the matter now?" Ingwion asked.

"If Finda and Amarië run away, I won’t be able to give them my present," the ellon wailed.

Finrod stared at the morose look on his cousin’s face and then, for no particular reason, he started laughing, grabbing Ingalaurë and giving him a fierce hug, and the laughter was such a joyous sound that soon everyone was joining in, even Ingalaurë. When they finally calmed down, Arafinwë brought the enquiry to an end.

"I am assuming that since your tavern was set to rights, Mistress," he said to the innkeeper, "that you will not be pressing any charges."

"No, your Majesty," she responded with a curtsey.

Arafinwë nodded, then turned to the two couples. "You are free to go. As no serious harm was intended and Prince Intarion is recovering, I will not exact any punishment, though I would caution you to be more careful of your words in the future when you are in public. You never know who may be listening in." He said this last as he cast a glance at the Maia who rewarded them with a faint, knowing smile. All the Elves understood the implications of that smile and there was much nodding and bowing. Then Arafinwë dismissed them and the guards ushered the people out, leaving the royal family to themselves while Nornoros looked on.

Glorfindel moved to where Finrod and Ingwion were standing with Ingalaurë. "Look, I’m sorry about before," he said with chagrin. "If I hadn’t...."

"It’s not your fault, Glorfi," Ingalaurë said. "I’m sorry I said you weren’t any fun. You’re a lot of fun."

Glorfindel nodded, looking relieved. Finrod and Ingwion exchanged knowing smiles. Arafinwë and Eärwen joined them, the King having removed his coronet and replacing it with his usual gold circlet. "So now that’s all cleared up, do you think we can have lunch now?" he asked in a plaintive manner.

"You and your stomach," Eärwen said with a shake of her head as they began to leave. The others chuckled as Arafinwë gave his wife a kiss on the cheek. Before they reached the door, however, Finrod gave a startled gasp, his face turning white. "Aldundil!" he cried out and before anyone could react, he collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.

****

Ingilincë: Little Ingil, cf. Atarincë ‘Little Father’, amilessë of Curufinwë (Curufin). Ingalaurë was called this by the Maiar in Lórien as a kind of jest, poking fun at their fellow Maia, Ingil, one of Lord Irmo’s chief Maiar.

Chapter the Fifteenth:

In Which They Go on a Picnic and Finrod Let’s His Hair Down

"It was my own stupid fault!" Aldundil groused, gingerly shifting his left leg that was in a splint to a more comfortable position as he lay on a bed in the healing wing of the palace where he’d been brought. His head was bandaged as well and he was drinking willow bark tea, grimacing more at its bitter taste than at the pain he was feeling.

Everyone was there: his parents, Herendil and Vandacalimë, his brother, Vondo, and son, Vorondil, not to mention the Noldorin and Vanyarin royals, with a very pale Finrod clutching at Glorfindel’s arm to keep himself steady.

"So what exactly happened?" Arafinwë asked, frowning at his son staggering. He had only just come to, nearly three hours after his collapse, and had insisted on seeing Aldundil immediately once he learned where he was. "Here, yonya, sit down before you fall down," he said not unkindly, pointing to a chair and Glorfindel helped him to sit. Finrod gave a grateful sigh as Vorondil hastily poured some water from a pitcher into a goblet and handed it to him.

"We were racing," Aldundil admitted, "Vorondil and Vondo and I, through that last stretch of woods before the road opens up into farmland. Silly really, but these two wanted to and I... I’m getting too old for such nonsense."

The others chuckled as Vondo stuck his tongue out at his brother.

"Anyway," Aldundil continued ruefully, "I was ahead and like a fool, I looked back to see where the others were and... and didn’t see the tree limb." Now his expression was more embarrassed.

"The tree was really sorry it didn’t move the limb out of your way fast enough, Atto," Vorondil said in a commiserating tone.

"I’m sure it was," Aldundil said, giving his son a fond smile.

"I still don’t understand why you fainted, Findaráto," Arafinwë said then, looking at his son whose complexion was less pasty and he no longer looked like — what was that expression the Atani always use? — ah, yes: like death warmed over. He had never really understood what they meant by that, but looking at Finrod at this moment, he was beginning to have a glimmering.

"The Life Oath..." Finrod started to say then stopped to take another sip of water before continuing. "When Aldundil hit his head... I felt it." He refused to look at anyone.

Aldundil grimaced. "Sorry, aranya. I had no idea...."

Finrod looked up. "Of course you didn’t," he insisted, "nor do I lay any blame. It’s just a... a consequence of the Life Oath, at least on my part. I have no idea if any of those who’d taken Life Oath to me in Beleriand felt my death."

There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence and then Ingwion gave Aldundil a grin. "Well, you’re in good company, my friend, as my cousin Intarion is lying in the next room with his own head injury."

Aldundil wasn’t the only one to give them a shocked look. "What happened?" more than one voice exclaimed and Ingwion proceeded to explain the circumstances surrounding Intarion’s injuries. Aldundil and his family listened in dismay.

"I had no idea such rumors were going around," Herendil said with a sigh.

"None of us did," Arafinwë assured him. "But now that we do, we are in a position to lay them to rest."

Herendil nodded, his eyes narrowing. "I think I will have to pay closer attention to servants’ gossip from now on."

"Oh?" Arafinwë asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Herendil shrugged. "Nothing of consequence, or at least it didn’t seem so at the time, but now, in light of what we’ve just heard...." he paused and shook his head. "Well, a discussion for another time. If you will excuse me your Majesties, I, for one, am looking forward to a long, hot soak even if these two are not." He gestured to Vondo and Vorondil.

"Oh, I’m ready for a soak, myself, Atar," Vondo said and Vorondil nodded as well. Aldundil just sighed, leaning back on the pillows propping him up. "And I’m reduced to sponge baths for the next week or so," he said morosely.

"Well, as you pointed out, it’s your own stupid fault," Finrod couldn’t help saying, giving his vassal a wicked grin.

The other’s chuckled and just about then, Vardamir walked in, announcing that Intarion was now awake, but he was going to limit visitors to Ingwion and Arafinwë. "And only for five minutes," he said. "I don’t want him overexcited."

Ingalaurë gave Ingwion a pleading look. "Please, can I see him, too?"

Ingwion gave Vardamir an enquiring look. The healer frowned. "Can you promise not to get upset or upset Intarion in any way?" he asked the Reborn.

Ingalaurë nodded. "I promise."

"Very well. Five minutes, no more," Vardamir admonished them. "If he has a restful night and there are no complications, I will release him tomorrow. He can join you for lunch."

Arafinwë nodded, gave his farewells to Aldundil and his family and ushered the others out, with himself, Ingwion and Ingalaurë following Vardamir while Eärwen insisted that Glorfindel take Finrod back to his rooms to rest. "You’re still not recovered from your shock, dear," she said gently, giving him a light kiss on the forehead. "I suggest you have a quiet dinner in your suite and retire early." It was a testament to Finrod’s state that he merely nodded and allowed himself to be led back to his rooms where Glorfindel fussed over him, insisting that, even if Finrod didn’t want to retire to his bedroom, he should just lie quietly on the settee in the sitting room while he, Glorfindel, waited on him.

"I’ll send for dinner and it’ll just be the two of us," he suggested.

"What about Ingwion and Ingalaurë, not to mention Vondo and Vorondil?"

"I’ll ask Ingwion to keep Atar and Ammë company and the other two will be eating with Herendil and Vandacalimë. I heard her tell Vorondil that she had had all his favorite dishes made for their dinner."

Finrod chuckled. "Ginger biscuits for the first course, ginger biscuits for the second...."

Glorfindel laughed. "I’m sure Vandacalimë will insist he eat something green in between."

Finrod joined him in laughter and then shook his head in dismay. "I don’t remember ever experiencing anything like that before, at least not with such intensity."

"But you’ve known when one of yours had been injured or killed before," Glorfindel said, making it more a statement than a question.

"Yes, but now that I’m thinking about it, it was always in the midst of battle."

"And when you’re fighting for your life, all other considerations are shunted aside," Glorfindel said with a nod of understanding. "Well, I’m glad Aldundil only suffered a broken leg and a knock on the head. If he’d died, and so close to the wedding...."

Finrod nodded, leaning back on the arm of the settee. "The same goes for Intarion."

"And that would have been a greater tragedy. Well, we never got lunch, so why don’t I have someone bring us something now and then I think a good night’s rest is in order."

Finrod agreed and two hours later, having eaten, he went to his room and was asleep in minutes. Rather than retire to his own rooms, Glorfindel remained in the sitting room quietly reading, waiting for the inevitable nightmare that was sure to plague his gwador.

Sometime near midnight, Finrod woke screaming.

****

The only people who looked as if they’d gotten any rest at all were Arafinwë and Eärwen. Finrod and Glorfindel stumbled into the dining room for breakfast the next morning to find that Ingwion and Ingalaurë were not joining them.

"Ingil had nightmares about Intarion and, from what I could gather from Ingwion, it was mixed up with memories of his own death," Arafinwë explained when Finrod asked after his cousins.

"I should have been summoned," Finrod said with a frown.

"Nornoros was there," Arafinwë said with a shrug, "and I suspect your own rest was disturbed as well." He gave his son a shrewd look and Finrod reluctantly agreed.

"Will you still be putting together that dinner for Vondo and Vorondil?" Eärwen asked. "Perhaps you should wait another day or so until everyone’s recovered enough. A day of quiet I think is in order."

"You’ll get no argument from me," Glorfindel said with a grin. "What about you, Finrod?"

Finrod shrugged. "I guess." His attitude was one of indifference, or perhaps, resignation, and the others sensed that he wasn’t really ‘there’, for his expression was remote, as if he was only half-listening to the conversation while his mind wandered.

Arafinwë and Eärwen exchanged glances and then the king seemed to come to a decision, for he summoned Marilla from the kitchen and asked that a picnic lunch be put together. "My lady wife and I, along with our sons, will be spending the day in Finwë Park."

Finrod gave them a startled glance and started to protest, but Glorfindel spoke up. "I think that’s an excellent idea, Atar. May we go hawking?"

Arafinwë nodded. "Yes. I think we might do that."

"What about Ingwion and Ingalaurë?" Finrod asked. "Will they be coming? And don’t forget Intarion. Everyone seems to forget him."

"I haven’t forgotten him, yonya," Arafinwë said gently. "I spoke with Vardamir earlier and he’s decided that Intarion should have one more day of rest. When I spoke with Ingwion, he agreed to keep his brother and Intarion company. He thinks Ingalaurë will most likely be sleeping half the day anyway as Vardamir was finally summoned and gave him a sleeping draught."

"I should look in on him," Finrod said with a sigh. "It’s my job, after all."

"For today, it is not," Arafinwë said firmly. "He is in good hands and Vardamir has had enough experience with Reborn to handle anything that might arise. Today, let’s just concentrate on us." When Finrod reluctantly nodded, Arafinwë continued. "You and I have court this morning, but I will cancel the rest of our schedule. We should both be done with our duties by the fourth hour. We can leave then. Glorfindel can help your ammë with the arrangements in the meantime."

"And I will see to the picnic, your Majesty," Marilla said, giving them a bow and leaving.

So it was decided and in short order they finished breaking their fast and went about their duties. Glorfindel promised Finrod he would look in on Ingwion and Ingalaurë. "And Intarion, too," he added and Finrod had to be content with that as he hurried off to attend to his duties.

****

Court for both Arafinwë and Finrod was mercifully short, so there were no delays. Glorfindel had in the meantime spoken with the grooms and the falconers and the guards that would of necessity be joining the family on their outing so that everything was in order when Arafinwë, Eärwen and Finrod joined him in the courtyard fronting the royal stables. Marilla was there with two large baskets filled with food and drink which were being secured in a small wagon that also contained a pavilion and folding camp chairs and other items for the royal family’s comfort. The royal falconers were on hand, carrying the peregrines favored by Arafinwë and Finrod, as well as the gyrfalcon that was Eärwen’s preferred bird. Glorfindel settled for one of the red-tailed hawks that were usually given to youngsters first learning the art of falconry, saying he wasn’t really in the mood to deal with the more temperamental birds.

Then they were on their way. The supply wagon with most of the guards and servants would take the street route to the park while the royal family took the tunnel that connected the palace with the park. Arafinwë had already given instructions as to where the pavilion should be set up. They planned to hunt for a time before stopping for lunch.

Once at the park, they headed off into an area that was favored for hawking and let the birds go, idly chatting amongst themselves. As they wended their way through the park, Finrod felt himself relaxing, releasing tension he hadn’t realized was there. He noticed Glorfindel giving him a searching look and smiled one of his brilliant smiles and saw his gwador visibly relax himself, giving back his own smile.

They hunted for an hour or so before heading to the pavilion set up beside a small lake that had been crafted by the Noldor where swans and other water fowl swam lazily under the sun. The horses were given over to the grooms who were dismissed, along with the guards who had gone with them on the hunt and the falconers, with Arafinwë’s thanks, taking with them the birds and rabbits which had been caught. The guards who had gone with the supply wagon were stationed discreetly around the area to keep others away. The royal family entered the pavilion where servants offered them wine as they sat in the folding camp chairs that faced the lake, allowing them to enjoy the view. A trestle had been set up along one side on which sat various covered dishes for the picnic. A smaller pavilion had been placed at a discreet distance from the site in which a portable privy was set up with basins of water for their refreshment. Once the wine had been served, Eärwen dismissed the servants with her thanks, letting them know that they were free to enjoy their own picnic, for Marilla had sent enough food for all. The guards had already eaten, knowing that they would be required to be on duty once their Majesties returned to the pavilion.

For a time Arafinwë, Eärwen, Finrod and Glorfindel sat quietly sipping their wine and relaxing. Then Finrod, giving a sigh of contentment, set his wine down and began undoing his warrior braids, spontaneously breaking into song as he did so, singing in Sindarin. Glorfindel recognized the tune and joined him in the chorus even as he was undoing his own braids while Arafinwë and Eärwen exchanged satisfied smiles as they listened to the two singing. It was a haunting melody and even those who did not understand the words were moved by them.

          "Ae cenin, cenin in eryd dhaer,

          Ae cenin, cenin in eryd vraind,

          Ae cenin, cenin in imlaid,

          Cenin in aegais nuin hîth."

"What is it you were singing?" Arafinwë asked after the last chorus was sung.

"It is a song of the Exiles," Finrod answered readily enough as he ran his fingers through his hair, combing out the tresses. "In Eryd in Tymmin di Chîth, or ‘The Mist Covered Mountains’, the mountains, of course, being the Pelóri. Macalaurë composed it not too long after we reconciled with the Fëanoreans."

"I still find it hard to believe that my brother was willing to forgive Fëanáro," Arafinwë said with a shake of his head.

"Fëanáro? No, he never forgave Uncle," Finrod said, "and he was dead before we ever reached the shores of Beleriand. No. Uncle Nolofinwë forgave Maitimo and Macalaurë and the others. And Findecáno’s rescue of Maitimo from Melkor went a long way towards healing any rifts between our two groups."

"Did you not welcome Maitimo and Macalaurë when they joined you in the War of Wrath?" Glorfindel asked Arafinwë.

"Reluctantly, and only because there was little choice, and in the end they still betrayed us, betrayed me." He shook his head and then sighed, giving them a rueful look. "Not the sort of conversation I anticipated having on such a fine day as this."

"Then let us speak of other things, my love," Eärwen said. She looked at Finrod, giving him a sad smile. "I am sorry for all that has happened lately with the wedding preparations. I fear I have not appreciated your frustrations enough, and now I wonder if Amarië is feeling equally thwarted."

"Glorfindel wondered if her being sent back to Vanyamar was on purpose, to keep her out of the way while you and Almáriel designed the wedding ceremony to suit yourselves," Finrod replied.

"Well, I didn’t say it in just those words," Glorfindel protested in defense. "I know you only have the best of intentions, Ammë, though I can’t speak for Lady Almáriel, and I just wondered."

"When your ammë and I were to be married," Arafinwë said before Eärwen could speak, "your Anamilli almost came to blows over the wedding, and I’m afraid my atar didn’t help matters."

"What happened?" Finrod and Glorfindel asked almost as one.

Arafinwë chuckled and Eärwen’s expression could only be described as gleeful. "What didn’t happen!" she exclaimed. "My ammë insisted that some of the Telerin customs be observed, but Indis was adamantly against that idea, saying that, since I was marrying into the Noldorin clan, that I had better get used to doing things ‘the proper way’, as she put it."

"Oho!" Finrod said with a laugh. "I can just see her saying that, too."

"I’m afraid that when Ammë married Atar, she set out to become more Noldorin than the Noldor in an attempt to win their approval," Arafinwë added, looking rueful. "She always had the specter of Míriel before her and I fear, in the beginning, many kept comparing her to Atar’s first wife. It could not have been easy for her and in the end she simply decided to make sure everyone forgot she was a Vanya."

"So what did Finwë do?" Glorfindel asked.

"Hmph," Eärwen said with a huff. "What he always did: made pronouncements right and left, telling everyone which way was up and the Valar help the fool who didn’t agree with him. As I recall, Fëanáro refused to even attend the ceremony, though Nerdanel insisted on doing so, along with the children."

"What about Anatar Olwë?" Finrod asked, his expression one of amazement.

"Oh, Olwë just sat back and enjoyed the show," Arafinwë answered with a laugh. "I understand he, Lindarion and Falmaron laid bets as to who would throw the first punch, though it never really came to that."

"So who won?" Glorfindel asked.

"No one," Arafinwë said. "Or rather, Eärwen and I did, though no one ever knew."

"Atto suspected," Eärwen said to him.

"But he never came out and asked," Arafinwë responded.

"What are you talking about?" Finrod demanded.

Arafinwë and Eärwen exchanged looks that were unreadable to the two younger Elves. Eärwen gave her husband a small nod and Arafinwë sighed. "Everyone was yelling at everyone else and no one was bothering to ask us what we wanted. Personally, I didn’t care, but your ammë was very upset by all the haranguing. Finally, I suggested that we simply go somewhere private and have our own ceremony." He gave them a slightly wicked grin. "We managed to sneak away to the hunting lodge where we ate snails — yes, we followed that particular custom — and honey cakes before consummating our marriage. Then we returned to Tirion before anyone realized we were gone. The public ceremony took place about a week later and it was completely Noldorin in style, much to Lirillë’s disgust and Olwë’s amusement."

"So you see, dear, your atar and I beat you to it," Eärwen said with a grin. "If you want to run away with Amarië, I’ll pack the snails and honey cakes for you."

"And I’ll send for Eärendil to come pick you up in Vingilot and bring you back in good time for the wedding," Arafinwë added with his own grin.

For a moment Finrod just stared at his parents in shock and then he threw back his head and started laughing, the sound of it startling the birds on the lake, causing them to take flight. The others joined him and when they eventually calmed down, Finrod stood up and leaned over to kiss his ammë. "Thank you, both of you. I needed that."

"And I promise, you and I will sit down and discuss the wedding arrangements together, all right?" Eärwen said. Finrod nodded.

"Well, now that that’s settled, let’s eat," Glorfindel declared and they all agreed to that.

Anar was slipping into the west by the time they were ready to return to the palace, all of them feeling replete and relaxed.

****

Words are Quenya.

Anamilli: Plural of anamillë: Grandmother.

Anatar: Grandfather.

Note: In Eryd in Tymmin di Chîth, literally, ‘The Mountains that are Covered beneath Mist’. ‘The Mist Covered Mountains’ is a real-world song also known by its Gaelic title ‘Chì mì na mòr-bheanna’. The Rankin Family does a lovely rendition of it that can be heard on YouTube. And for the curious, the Quenya version would be: iOronti yar Túpinë undu Hísië.

The chorus given in Sindarin translates as:

     O I see, I see the great mountains,

     O I see, I see the high mountains,

     O I see, I see the deep valleys,

     I see the peaks under the mist.

Chapter the Sixteenth:

In Which Sador Arrives and a Dream is Revealed

The next morning, as was Arafinwë’s custom on the fourth Anarya of the month, the King was breaking his fast with those nobles who sat on the Privy Council, along with their families. Herendil and Vandacalimë were there with Vondo and Vorondil, Aldundil was still in the healing wing and the family had visited him before joining the royal family for breakfast. Vorondil and Vondo were naturally upset to learn they hadn’t been invited to the picnic, but Herendil pointed out that no one else had been invited either.

"It was just Findaráto and his parents and Glorfindel. Not even Ingwion and Ingalaurë went."

"I slept most of the day," Ingalaurë said then, giving a huff of disgust as he toyed with his food.

"And with Intarion still in the healing wing, I had a very restful day myself," Ingwion said with a grin. Some of the listeners chuckled.

Intarion, who had been released from the healers’ care that morning, was quietly sitting between Ingwion and Finrod, not looking at anyone, but at Ingwion’s quip he started sniffing, trying to fight back tears. Finrod put an arm around his shoulders. "Now, no tears, Cousin. No one is blaming you for what happened. It was just an unfortunate accident."

But Intarion was not so easily consoled and he started weeping harder. Both Finrod and Ingwion tried to comfort him, but to no avail. Then, Eärwen stood up and went to them, gently pulling Intarion into her embrace and rocking him. "We’re all very proud of you, did you know that?"

"Why?" Intarion asked between sniffles, "I was bad."

"No, Intarion, you were not bad. You were very brave, coming to Findaráto’s defense. We’re just sorry you got hurt." She kissed him on the brow and wiped the tears from his eyes with a linen cloth, smiling encouragingly at him. "Now, why don’t you finish your breakfast and perhaps Marilla will let you and your cousins bake some ginger biscuits later on."

"We were going to make a special dinner for Vondo and Vorondil," Intarion said. "I’m helping Glorfindel with the soup," he added somewhat shyly.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," Ingalaurë said with a scowl. "Now you’ve ruined it."

Intarion looked as if he would start crying again, but Eärwen just gave him another hug. "I think you should all make the dinner together," she suggested, giving Finrod a significant look over Intarion’s shoulder, which he returned with a nod, "and Vondo and Vorondil can entertain you with tales of their adventures while camping."

"Oh yes," Vorondil said excitedly. "For once it didn’t rain or snow or anything. Come on, Inti, hurry up and finish eating so we can go make ginger biscuits."

Eärwen released the ellon and he resumed his seat and began eating while she returned to her own seat. One of the ladies of the court who acted as a lady-in-waiting for the Queen, spoke then. "You are quite adept, my lady, at handling the emotions of Reborn. I hope I can be as understanding when my brother is finally released from Mandos."

"It takes much patience," Eärwen replied with a nod, "and it helps to keep a sense of humor."

"And several bottles of wine on hand," Arafinwë added with a straight face. Every Reborn in the room stuck their tongue out at the King at almost the same time, causing a great deal of laughter on the part of the others.

****

Marilla refused to allow anyone in the kitchen until after the noon meal, saying there were too many cooks as it was, so Finrod suggested that they spend the morning in quiet pursuits. Intarion was still feeling a bit shaky and even Vondo and Vorondil were feeling lazy, so they mostly spent the time either reading or visiting with Aldundil. Finrod, in fact, spent a little time with Eärwen going over the wedding preparations, with the Queen explaining what had been decided and what was still not settled.

"I’ve received a few letters from Almáriel but none so far from Amárië," she told him.

"I’m not surprised," Finrod said with a sigh. "Ingwion had to bring a missive from her addressed to me in response to my own letter that I wrote her rather than trust it to the regular courier."

Eärwen gave him a disbelieving look. "You actually wrote your betrothed a letter? Without prompting?"

Finrod laughed. "Yes, Ammë. I wrote a letter to my beloved without anyone standing over me making sure that I did."

Eärwen smirked. "Tell me how you would like to see the wedding ceremony go," she said.

Finrod shrugged. "In truth, I’ve not really given it any real thought and I have no idea what Amarië would like. I think it’s important that this not be a strictly Noldorin affair. Not that I expect to share snails with Amarië," he added hastily, giving his ammë an impish grin which caused her to chuckle, "but certainly the Vanyar have slightly different customs than we do and we need to keep in mind all those who will be attending."

"Surely you don’t intend to cater to everyone who will be attending?" his ammë demanded.

"Oh no! And it would be almost impossible to do so," Finrod agreed. "Still, I noticed that you’ve made no provisions for the fact that, by Vanyarin custom, the bride’s family is to present the groom’s family with their copy of the marriage contract and that the particulars of the contract are to be read aloud and agreed upon by all assembled prior to the giving of vows.

"It’s a small thing, I know," he continued when Eärwen frowned, "and we Noldor have dispensed with that aspect entirely, merely amending the contract with details of the wedding ceremony and who acted as witnesses after the fact, but the Vanyar are a bit more conservative than we in such matters. It was Intarion who actually pointed out the fact that most of us think of Amarië as being a Noldo because she dwelt among you for so long while I was... um... elsewhere, but she’s not a Noldo, except perhaps in spirit, and her parents are definitely not Noldor. I think even Uncle Ingwë would like to see some of the Vanyarin customs observed, though he would be the least offended if they are not."

Eärwen sighed. "I really hadn’t thought about any of that," she admitted. "You are correct that your atar and I long ago thought of Amarië as our daughter." She gave him a slightly wicked smile. "It caused quite the scandal when she adamantly refused to return to Vanyamar after your atar’s coronation. Almáriel was quite beside herself, though Castamir merely shrugged and said she was an elleth grown and was quite capable of making up her own mind about such matters, but it was a long while before the furor died down."

"She stayed because of me," Finrod said a bit sadly. "She stayed because she still had hope, however bitter it might be."

"She stayed because she loved you and us," Eärwen said gently, giving her son a light kiss on the forehead. "And in truth, we welcomed her because she was a small reminder of you. I’d sometimes wondered what would have happened if you’d married before the Trees were darkened."

Finrod shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. "We’ll never know, will we? It didn’t happen that way and so we are left with the consequences."

"Well, I long accepted that," Eärwen said, "but I still can’t help wondering from time to time." She paused and gave him a gentle smile. "So, we will incorporate the reading of the contract into the ceremony. I’m assuming you have no objections to the feast following the giving of vows?"

"No. We did the same when Intarion and Lirulin were married, as I recall, though not a few of the older Elves complained about ‘newfangled customs’." He gave her a knowing grin and she laughed.

"Let’s see? What else?" she said, taking a glance at her list. "What about decorations....?"

****

The rest of the week went by with few upsets. By Valanya, Aldundil was allowed to leave the healing wing and return to his atar’s estate, though his leg would be in a splint for another week according to Vardamir. When Finrod and Glorfindel, along with Ingwion, Ingalaurë and Intarion, attended Lady Vandacalimë’s garden party, Nornoros accompanied them, taking on the guise of a palace guard. If there were other Maiar present, no one knew it, but luckily, the affair ran smoothly and everyone, even Vorondil, was on their best behavior.

During the week, Glorfindel and Ingwion kept the three younger Reborn and Vorondil occupied with workouts in the salle or riding in the park where they were allowed to go hawking and have their own picnic, for, as Finrod had predicted, with the arrival of the Vanyarin cousins, Arafinwë had lifted the house arrest against him and Glorfindel. Plans were even being made for them to take a brief hunting trip into the Royal Reserve, though the actual day had not been decided upon. Finrod, besides consulting with Eärwen and Mistress Terendulë on the wedding preparations, spent a great deal of time with Arafinwë in governing the realm, for though he now lived mostly in Lórien, he was still haryon to the Noldóran and would take up such duties as were required of him whenever he visited Tirion.

Thus, Lotessë was coming to a close and Nárië was nigh when a messenger came from Tol Eressëa letting Arafinwë know that Cáno Sador Bronwegion would be arriving in two days’ time. Everyone perked up at that and there was much excitement and discussion about why Sador was arriving at least a week earlier than anticipated.

"Did he give you any indication that he would be coming here so early?" Arafinwë asked Ingwion as they were finishing with lunch. "My last missive from him said he and Netilmírë would be here on the eighth so Netilmírë could attend the breakfast I have scheduled with the guildmasters the next day."

Ingwion shook his head. "When I left he said much the same. Apparently something happened to change his mind." He gave his cousin a sly grin. "I would think you would be pleased to see more of him before the wedding."

"It’s not that," Arafinwë said with a disdainful sniff. "I’m just hoping that my other sons don’t corrupt him with their foolishness. Sador has matured quite nicely in the last ten years since becoming Cáno and acts far more responsibly than even Findaráto, I deem."

Finrod looked affronted at that but Ingwion just laughed. "Then you don’t know Sador as well as you think you do, Arafinwë. The stories I could tell of some of his escapades on Tol Eressëa."

"Oh?"

Ingwion smirked. "Sador is indeed very responsible for one so young, but he is still little more than a child, even if you count the yéni he spent in Mandos, and sometimes...." he shrugged. "Well, let’s just say that he has a streak of mischief that keeps us oldsters on our toes and highly entertained. Even Morcocáno and Galadhwen enjoy his antics... usually."

"Well, you will have to regale us with some of his more memorable escapades later," Arafinwë said. "In the meantime, the government doesn’t run itself, unfortunately." He rose, as did all who were there, and left with others of the court following him, including Finrod, and Ingwion and Glorfindel, for Arafinwë had scheduled a meeting to discuss certain topics relating to Aewellond and Glorfindel was acting as Eärendil’s representative.

****

Sador’s arrival had something of a festive air to it. Arafinwë had ordered banners to be flown and garlands to be hung and when the Cáno’s party was sighted by sharp-eyed guards, silver trumpets were blown, welcoming the travelers. People gathered along the route that Sador’s party would take, cheering and waving and throwing pink and white mayflower petals in welcome. The royal family, along with the Vanyarin cousins and most of the court stood before the doors of the palace waiting for Sador’s party to approach.

Everyone was dressed in brightly colored garb, suitably crowned with coronets (the ellyn) and flower wreaths (the ellith). Vorondil was smartly dressed in a squire’s tabard showing Finrod’s device, looking both proud and scared at the same time, for Arafinwë (with Finrod’s permission) had granted him the honor of attending to Sador during his stay. This was the first time he was being allowed to act as a squire in full rather than sporadically whenever Finrod had a need for one.

Finrod gave the ellon a warm smile, noticing his nervousness, and gave him a hug. "You’ll be just fine."

"It’s just that I don’t want to embarrass myself, or you," Vorondil whispered.

"You cannot," Finrod said firmly. "And, besides, this is Sador. You know how much he loves you."

Vorondil nodded and started to speak but then stopped to listen, raising an eyebrow at Finrod. "That’s Sindarin," he said.

And it was. Even before Sador’s party reached the plaza they could hear voices raised in song. Finrod and Glorfindel exchanged smiles and suddenly began singing as well having recognized the tune, a song that was first sung among the Exiles at the time of the Mereth Aderthad and swiftly became popular as a song of welcoming. Arafinwë and a few others understood the words, though they did not join in. The song was joyous and even those who knew nothing of the language smiled at the loveliness of the tune. Soon the song grew louder as Sador’s party entered the plaza, the song coming neatly to an end even as Sador brought his horse to a stop. There were glad cries and greetings as the Noldor recognized friends among the Tol Eressëans. Arafinwë and Eärwen came forward to properly greet Sador as Cáno, their words formal but obviously full of love for their other ‘heart-son’. Sador, for his part, merely laughed and raised his hands.

"Please, Atto, Ammë, save the speeches for Morcocáno and Galadhwen. I’m just glad to be home again."

Then there was much hugging and kissing as everyone tried to greet the young Sinda at once. Eventually, the horses were led away and the rest of Sador’s party dispersed to the homes of friends and family, leaving just him and the royal family.

"Where are your grandparents and great-grandparents?" Eärwen asked. "Are they not coming?"

"Oh yes," Sador answered as they all made their way along the lower gallery that led towards the royal family’s wing. "They will be coming on the eighth as planned."

"Which begs the question as to what you are doing here so early," Arafinwë said. "Not that we are not glad to see you, yonya, but you have us all wondering."

Sador gave them a mischievous smile. "Well, you can blame Glorfindel."

"What!" Glorfindel exclaimed in surprise, coming to a halt, looking both angry and affronted. "I didn’t do anything! Why does everyone blame me for everything?"

The others looked at the ellon in shock, not expecting such an outburst. Sador immediately hugged him. "Hush, hanno. I was merely jesting." He stepped back to give his brother a smile. "But you are the reason I’ve come earlier than planned."

"Why?" Glorfindel asked, still scowling.

"I will tell you but only after I’ve washed the dust of travel off me and have had something to eat."

"I’ve given Vorondil leave to act as your squire during your time here, at least until the wedding when Findaráto will need him," Arafinwë said. "He’ll see you lack for nothing."

Sador gave the younger ellon a friendly smile. "You’ll be doing a lot of sitting around banging your heels, my friend. I’m not one to have others do for me what I can do for myself."

"Well, I can always fold your tunics, my lord," Vorondil retorted with a smirk. "I’m an old hand at that," and everyone, even Glorfindel, laughed.

"Why don’t you take Sador to his rooms, then, Vorondil, and the rest of us will meet you in the dining room after you’ve freshened up," Arafinwë suggested and Sador agreed to the plan, putting an arm around Vorondil and asking him about his studies.

About a half an hour later they were all congregated in the dining room, enjoying a clear-broth soup and a collation of cold meats and cheeses and freshly baked bread, sipping on a light yellow wine. Glorfindel, sitting on Sador’s left, gave him a cold look. "So how is it you being here is my fault?"

Sador sipped his wine and slowly put the glass down, not at all upset by Glorfindel’s belligerence. "Only indirectly," he said. "It was perhaps a week or so ago. I had a terrible time sleeping one night and I desperately needed real sleep, for I had been stinting myself lately, trying to wrap up some last minute business before coming here. Well, on that particular night I tossed and turned and did a lot of sighing but towards morning I finally did fall into a deep sleep and then... and then I dreamed."

And the way he said it, his listeners knew that this was not an ordinary dream. No one spoke, all waited for the Sinda to continue, which he did after a moment.

"I’ve never had such a dream before," he finally said. "Even now, I can hardly understand its significance, if indeed it has any, and if it had only been the dream and not what followed, I would have dismissed it."

"What happened?" Glorfindel asked.

"I found myself in a market square here in Tirion, the one where the fishmongers sell their wares," Sador answered. It did not escape his notice that his listeners suddenly looked wary. "Ah, so that means something to you," he said.

Finrod nodded, glancing briefly at Glorfindel. "Perhaps. Tell us your dream, hanno."

"Well, as I was saying, I found myself in the market square and there was Glorfindel but no one else. Glorfindel was standing before the fountain, you know, the one with the seamaid blowing a conch." Everyone nodded. "He was just standing there, and then all of a sudden, the water in the fountain began to bubble and boil and it was as if a storm were brewing on its surface and then... then Lord Ulmo rose out of the fountain and with him came every kind of fish imaginable leaping out of the fountain and quickly filling the square until Glorfindel and I were practically standing knee deep in them."

"Well, that’s almost what happened," Glorfindel muttered and Sador raised an eyebrow but Finrod asked him what happened next and he obliged. "Once the fish stopped leaping around, Lord Ulmo looked at Glorfindel and said, ‘Is that enough?’. Glorfindel nodded, saying nothing and then Lord Ulmo turned to me and said, ‘Stop fishing for compliments, child,’ and then he disappeared into the fountain and that’s when I woke up."

There was a long moment of silence as people digested Sador’s words. Sador turned to Glorfindel. "What did you mean that that’s what almost happened?"

Glorfindel sighed and proceeded to explain. Sador’s eyes widened as he listened. When Glorfindel was done, Sador nodded. "Well that makes what happened afterwards make more sense, I suppose."

"Wait," Ingwion said. "What’s this about fishing for compliments?"

Sador reddened and started hemming and hawing. "Nothing really. I was feeling a bit insecure and just needed some reassurance."

The older Elves gave each other knowing smiles. "So, just what happened afterwards?" Glorfindel asked.

"As I said, I would have dismissed it as just a strange dream brought on by anxiety and wishing to be with all of you and missing Ingwion, but then later that morning I found Anatto kneeling beside the fountain in the courtyard talking to someone even though he was alone....

****

"Anatto, what are you doing?" Sador asked, speaking quietly so as not to upset the ellon. Mallor, once of Doriath, now recently Reborn, tended to become vexed when he thought someone was disapproving of him and Sador was careful not to give that impression.

Mallor looked up with a smile. "I’m talking to the fish."

"Excuse me?"

Mallor nodded and pointed. "He’s very big."

Sador took a few steps towards the fountain and peered in. How on Arda had a fish gotten in the fountain, he wondered. Yet, there it was — a large golden carp happily swimming in the fountain’s shallow pool. "How did he get there do you suppose?" he asked, being very careful not to sound accusatory.

His Anatto, like many a Reborn, had an innocence about him that manifested itself in surprising ways, including playing practical jokes. Only a few short weeks ago, Sador had woken one morning to find the potter’s shed where he and the rest of his family worked on their pottery projects painted a bright red, courtesy of Mallor, aided and abetted by Voronwë, Netilmírë’s Reborn husband, the two of them declaring that they were tired of white (and where they found the paint was anyone’s guess for the ellyn refused to say). Netilmírë had been ready to throttle both her husband and son-in-law and was practically screaming at them for being so foolish, but Sador, himself a Reborn, and much wiser about such things, simply declared that he would have painted it blue with sunflowers and left it at that. He wasn’t at all surprised when a week later he discovered his grandparents, along with Netilmírë and Voronwë, repainting the shed blue.

Mallor looked up at his grandson and shrugged. "I don’t know. I came out here to greet Anor and there was the fish swimming around. It saw me and poked its head out of the water and greeted me."

"Greeted you?" Sador asked in disbelief. "Anatto, fish don’t talk."

"This one does. Here, I’ll show you." Mallor leaned over the fountain a bit. "Master Fish, here is my grandson. Would you like to say hello to him?"

Sador watched in amusement as the fish swam around, apparently ignoring them, wondering how it got there and could he safely have it removed to a nearby pond where it would be better off when the fish swam closer to them and poked its head above the water. "Mae govannen, Sador."

Sador leapt to his feet in shock, for the voice that had issued from the carp’s mouth had sounded very much like Lord Ulmo’s from the dream. He just stared at the fish that he was beginning to realize was not a fish at all. The carp seemed to be laughing at him. "Go to Tirion, child. Your brothers have need of you," it said and then it took a leap into the air before plunging back into the water and disappearing entirely.

Mallor sighed, trailing a finger in the water. "And we were having a lovely conversation, too."

Sador came out of his shock long enough to recognize his anatar’s mood, which was unpredictable at the best of times. "Perhaps he’ll come and visit again," he said, amazed that his voice actually sounded reasonable when his knees were shaking and he had a desire to faint.

Mallor perked up at that. "That would be nice," he said with a smile and stood up. "I’m going fishing," he declared and set off, leaving Sador standing in the courtyard trying to understand what had just happened....

****

Everyone stared at the young ellon as he finished his tale.

"Well, that beats my fish story all hollow," Glorfindel said at last and Sador started to laugh and soon everyone else joined him.

"Netilmírë, when I told her, simply threw her hands up in the air and said, ‘Why not?’ She’s still not used to being surrounded by Reborn and having the Valar drop in for a visit."

They laughed again. When they were calmer, Arafinwë said, "Well, regardless, we are glad you are here. Perhaps between you and Ingwion you can keep your brothers in line. They’ve been up to their own brand of mischief and have been driving us all to distraction."

Sador raised an eyebrow. "You keep forgetting I’m a Reborn, too, Atar. I think you’re just jealous because you don’t get to join in on the fun."

"Does he even know how to have fun?" Ingwion asked, seemingly in all seriousness.

"Atto is a lot of fun," Ingalaurë said. "I don’t remember him being so fun... before." He frowned slightly, as if trying to capture an elusive memory.

"Well, just to show you," Arafinwë said with a huff, "I can be as fun as Ingwë." He stood up suddenly, his eyes bright with mischief. "Last one swinging in a tree is an orc," he declared and before anyone could grasp his meaning, he was running out of the room laughing merrily, his robes flapping behind him.

Finrod was the first to move. "Yes!" he shouted and leapt up, laughing, and soon all the ellyn were scampering after him, whooping and hollering as they ran down the hall towards the gardens, leaving Eärwen still sitting there alone.

"Ellyn," she said with a shake of her head, smiling fondly, and poured herself another cup of tea.

****

Nárië: (Quenya) June-July in the Gregorian calendar.

Mereth Aderthad: (Sindarin) Feast of Reuniting.

Note: In the Language of Flowers, the mayflower, or trailing arbutus, means ‘welcome’.

Chapter the Seventeenth:

In Which Finrod Makes a Confession and Seating Arrangements are Discussed

As the following day was Elenya, both Arafinwë and Finrod had court in the morning, followed by a luncheon meeting with the Privy Council. As Cáno of Tol Eressëa, Sador was asked to attend the council meeting to discuss matters of mutual interest to the Tol Eressëans and the Noldor. Ingwion and Glorfindel were also in attendance as representatives of Ingwë and Eärendil, respectively. Vorondil was permitted to attend, acting as squire to Finrod and Sador, while Ingalaurë and Intarion were also on hand to attend to Ingwion and Glorfindel.

"Mainly because I don’t trust them out of my sight," Ingwion confided to Arafinwë and Finrod when he asked the Noldóran for permission to allow the two Vanyarin Reborn to attend. "And Atar has begun allowing them both to attend some of his council meetings anyway, thinking that it will help mature them faster if they are given some minor responsibilities. He always quizzes them afterwards about what was said and why."

"Then I will continue the practice," Arafinwë said. "Let them know that I will ask them about the meeting afterwards." He turned to Finrod. "And to make it fair, let Vorondil know that he, too, will be quizzed." Finrod nodded.

"I’m surprised Vondo isn’t here as well," Ingwion said.

"He is with Aldundil and Herendil going over estate accounts," Finrod explained. "Vondo is, after all, Herendil’s heir. Aldundil insisted on that once his brother was released from Lórien, though it will be some time before he is capable of assuming that role for real."

So it was late afternoon before any of them were free to pursue their own pleasures. Once the council meeting was adjourned, Arafinwë dismissed everyone except Vorondil, Ingalaurë and Intarion, inviting them to his study while Finrod, Glorfindel, Ingwion and Sador retired to the lower gardens, sitting under an arbor overlooking an ornamental pool surrounded by a riot of late spring flowers.

"So tell me what you have been up to," Sador demanded of Finrod once they were settled. "We’ve been so busy being public since my arrival we haven’t really had a chance to discuss things. Just what did Atar mean about you and Glorfindel causing your own brand of trouble?"

Finrod sighed and proceeded to tell him what had been happening with Glorfindel and Ingwion adding their own bits. Sador did not interrupt other than to ask a clarifying question or two. Once the story was told they sat there in silence for a time, each lost in his own thoughts. Finally Sador stirred and gave them a smile.

"Does Ammë Eärwen know she has fourteen guests more than she’s planning for? And where will you seat them?"

The other three ellyn stared at him blankly for a moment and then Finrod groaned and Glorfindel and Ingwion grinned.

"I didn’t think about that," Finrod admitted. "Do you think we should tell her?"

Now the others gave him a surprised look, for he had sounded even younger than Vorondil at that moment.

"It would be rather fun to see everyone’s expression when they show up unannounced," Glorfindel opined.

"But I would hate for them to be embarrassed because their names are not officially on the guest list," Sador pointed out.

"But who would deny the Valar the right to attend?" Glorfindel countered.

"No one," Sador admitted, "and yet, if there are no provisions made for them with regards to seating at the feast...."

Finrod closed his eyes, leaning back against the bench. "Even when I’m trying to do something right, it comes out wrong."

"You are being too hard on yourself, Cousin," Ingwion admonished him, "but Sador does have a point and I should have thought of it myself when you told me about the invitations." He gave them a rueful look.

"The point is, how best to let Ammë and Atar know so there are no surprises," Sador said.

"I think we... I will just have to come out and tell them," Finrod said, scowling. "You know, when Ammë first asked me who among the Tol Eressëans I wished invited to the wedding, I should have asked her about the Valar, but I guess I just assumed they would be invited."

"They were not invited to my wedding," Ingwion said, "at least not formally, though they did give Olwen and me gifts, but it was afterwards."

"Was there a reason why they weren’t invited?" Glorfindel asked.

Ingwion shrugged. "I never got around to asking. It was all I could do to make it to my own wedding on time, as you may recall. I apologized to them afterwards but they assured me they were not offended. Still...."

"We take them for granted, or rather we do our best to ignore them," Sador said. "The Tol Eressëans are still unused to seeing even Maiar show up, never mind any of the Valar."

"It is less so for the Vanyar, since we are closer to them, both physically and... spiritually, I suppose you can say," Ingwion said, "but even so, I think only those who live in Eldamas and attend to the Valar directly ever really feel comfortable around them."

The others nodded. Finrod stood up. "Well, as they say, there’s no time like the present. I had better track down Ammë and let her know." He gave them a sour grin. "Is there such a thing as a high high table?"

The others laughed and stood as well. "We’ll all go and lend you moral support," Ingwion said.

"Or at the least, help support you to the healing wing after Ammë’s through with you," Glorfindel quipped. Sador slapped him upside the head before either Finrod or Ingwion had the chance. Glorfindel’s grin was unrepentant.

****

They found the Queen in her office, a small suite of rooms from which she ruled the royal household, her ladies-in-waiting acting as her lieutenants, overseeing the running of the palace and keeping tabs on the welfare of the populace. She looked up in surprise to see them but quickly dismissed her staff to give them privacy when she noticed the sheepish looks on Finrod’s and Glorfindel’s faces.

"All right, what did you do?" she asked, deciding to get right to the point as the four ellyn took seats before her.

"Nothing bad, I promise, Ammë," Finrod answered, "but do you remember when you left Glorfindel and me to check over the invitations?"

"Yes, and you both saved me a great deal of time in doing so and I thank you," Eärwen replied. "Something tells me, though, that there’s more to it."

Finrod nodded. "When we were going over the list, I noticed that the Valar were not on it. I figured it was an oversight, so I asked Glorfindel to write up some invitations specifically for them."

Eärwen gave them a frown. "I don’t recall seeing any...."

"They were tied together with blue ribbon," Glorfindel said. "I put them in the basket labeled for Eldamas and Vanyamar."

"I have heard nothing from them, though," Eärwen said. "The invitations specifically state that the recipient should respond so I know exactly how many will be attending, though I cannot imagine anyone purposely missing this particular wedding."

"Ah.... a response was required?" Glorfindel asked, looking upset.

Finrod gave him a shrewd look. "You did send them the same invitation as everyone else, did you not? You were writing them out when I left to attend to Vondo."

"Well, I wrote invitations, but not word for word. I kept messing it up and it was just too convoluted, so I just asked them to come to the wedding." He gave them an almost belligerent look.

"So they are not likely to respond, not knowing that they should," Eärwen said, looking more relieved. "Then perhaps we need not worry about them showing up."

"But Lord Námo thanked Glorfindel and me personally for the invitations," Finrod said. "I would not assume they would not show up just because they don’t specifically state that they will. You had better add them to the guest list just to be safe."

Eärwen scowled at them. "And where do I seat them? Do you know what a headache this wedding already is trying to decide who should and who should not be seated above the salt? As it is, the high table is already too crowded."

"At every other royal wedding, only the immediate families of the bride and groom along with the witnesses sat at the high table. Everyone else was seated below the salt and no one seemed to mind. Why should they mind here?" Finrod asked.

"But these are the Valar!" Eärwen exclaimed. "I can’t just seat them wherever I can find room."

"They may not even attend the feast," Ingwion pointed out. "They rarely eat or drink with any of us except on the high feast days. They may simply attend the ceremony and give Findaráto and Amarië their blessing before leaving."

"Yet I must still plan for the eventuality of them remaining for the feast," Eärwen protested, throwing up her hands in defeat. "As it is, I’ve already determined that there are too many of us to all fit in the feast hall or even the ballroom. Some of the guests will have to dine outside under pavilions and I’m pulling my hair out trying to figure out seating arrangements that will not offend half the population of Eldamar."

"Why not have everyone eat outside?" Finrod asked. "I think that would solve one problem. We’ll mark one pavilion as the... um... high pavilion where our family, Amarië’s family and the witnesses will eat, along with the other royals and Sador and Eärendil as heads of state with their families."

"Then just have everyone choose whichever pavilion they please and sit with whomever they please," Sador added. "As long as you have enough tables and chairs laid out, what will it matter?"

"Except, I had planned to have those who were placed in the pavilions catered to by the Cooks’ Guild," Eärwen said. "It would be impossible for our staff to be running back and forth between the feast hall and the gardens serving everyone. The Master of the Cooks’ Guild has agreed to lend us his people. We will be setting up a second kitchen outside. There simply isn’t enough room anywhere on the palace grounds for everyone who will be attending."

"So have the feast somewhere else," Glorfindel said.

"And where do you suggest we have it?" Eärwen asked.

"Finwë Park," Glorfindel answered readily enough. "If you were planning to set up an outside kitchen anyway, why not set up two or three as needed? Have the pavilions in the park and, as Sador suggested, just designate one as the pavilion for the wedding party and the royal families along with Sador and Eärendil and let the rest fend for themselves, including the Valar. I sometimes have the feeling they would just like to be considered regular folk, neighbors, if you will, instead of the ultimate rulers of all of Arda."

Eärwen gave him a jaundiced look, but Finrod and Sador were both nodding in agreement; Ingwion’s expression was more thoughtful.

"I still have the problem of seating," Eärwen said. "When it was just the three realms, I would have had no problem knowing who should sit where and with whom, but with the addition of Tol Eressëa and Aewellond, the order of precedence established long ago no longer applies."

"Then, employ the same system that is used in the All-Aman General Council in seating people," Sador suggested. "Give each pavilion, other than the one designated for the wedding party, a color. You know how many people will be coming and you know how many can fit within a pavilion. Have the requisite number of stones made for each color and allow people to draw their seating by lottery. There will be plenty of people attending who are already used to the system from attending the Council and would not find it objectionable."

The Queen sighed, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. When she opened her eyes she gave her son a wry look. "Are you sure you wouldn’t like to just run off to Aewellond with Amarië?"

Finrod laughed and stood to give her a kiss on the cheek. "But you’re having so much fun," he said teasingly, "and we wouldn’t want to disappoint Almáriel, would we?"

"The Valar save us, no!" Eärwen exclaimed. "I will think about your suggestions and speak with your atar and Marilla about the logistics. I had planned to have the ceremony itself in the gardens, but perhaps we should just move everything to Finwë Park for convenience."

Finrod shrugged, resuming his seat. "It matters not to me, but I think if we go to the park, we should do so publicly and process through the streets so the people can see us instead of taking the tunnel."

"Have the ceremony in the square before the palace," Ingwion suggested. "That way, the people can come and hear your vows before they scatter to their own amusements while we continue down to the park. Then they will feel as if they’ve been a part of the wedding even if not formally invited. Remember those people at the inn where Intarion was hurt? They were resentful of the fact that they would not be invited to the wedding."

"Well, the ellith, certainly," Finrod said with a cold smile. "I got the impression the ellyn didn’t care."

Eärwen nodded. "I will discuss this with the King but I suspect he will go along with your idea. Now I had better call back my people," she said with a smile. "We were in the middle of a meeting discussing educational requirements for apprentices. I’ve decided they will need to show fluency in Sindarin before they are admitted into any apprenticeship program."

Finrod, Glorfindel and Sador all exclaimed in surprise. "You’ve finally decided to accept our suggestion after all these years? Why now?"

"Nothing is ever done hastily, yonya," Eärwen said with an amused look on her face, "especially where governments are concerned. As it is, I know that Lord Irmo will no longer accept any apprentice unless they can show fluency in Quenya and Sindarin. On Tol Eressëa they already have a language program in place and I’ve been studying it to see how effective it is and how we may adapt it to our own needs. There are very few Sindarin speakers among the mainlanders and we will need to import teachers, at least at first. This is what the next meeting with the guildmasters will be about that Netilmírë wishes to attend." This last was directed at Sador who nodded.

"What about the Lambengolmor?" Glorfindel asked. "I would think they would be of service."

Eärwen shook her head. "The head of the school was less interested in helping me devise a program and more interested in telling me why Sindarin as a language shouldn’t work."

"Excuse me?" Glorfindel asked in disbelief. The others all looked equally nonplused.

The Queen shrugged. "I am as much in the dark as you, yonya," she admitted. "It seems that the prevailing thought among the learned is that Sindarin is a debased tongue. The lambengolmor are more interested in tracing the roots of the... er... debasement from the purity of Quenya than they are in helping us teach the language."

"Do they even know the language?" Sador asked.

"Oh, the headmaster assured me that many of his people are quite fluent in the language, including himself," Eärwen replied, then gave them a slightly wicked smile, "but when I switched to Sindarin in the middle of our conversation, he gave me a rather blank look and asked me to repeat myself slowly."

They snickered at that and Finrod rolled his eyes. "Well, we’ll let you get on with your meeting then," he said. "I’m sorry I didn’t think to tell you about inviting the Valar sooner, but with everything else that’s happened...."

"It’s all right, Finda," Eärwen said with a smile. "I’m glad you told me now instead of five minutes before the ceremony would begin. Now off with you and let me get back to work."

All four ellyn rose and gave her respectful bows before exiting. They headed down the corridor and met Vorondil, Ingalaurë and Intarion coming the other way. "Ah... and how did you three fare with my atar?" Finrod asked, throwing an arm around Vorondil as they continued walking.

"Our cousin is very hard to please," Ingalaurë replied for them all. "He grilled us worse than Atto."

"Even Lord Irmo isn’t that bad," Vorondil added.

"I’ll be sure to tell him so," Finrod said with a laugh. "He’ll be pleased at the comparison."

"So what are we going to do now?" Intarion asked. "Can we do something fun?"

Before anyone else could make a suggestion Sador spoke. "I know this has nothing to do with the wedding or anything, but I’m thinking I’d like to give these lambengolmor a language lesson the way Ingwion gave that music lesson."

"Whatever for?" Ingalaurë asked.

"And just how do you propose to give it?" Ingwion added.

"Well, I’m assuming the wedding ceremony will be in Quenya," Sador replied and Finrod nodded. "Then I’m assuming you plan to have interpreters for those of Tol Eressëa who have not yet mastered Quenya but will be attending the wedding."

Finrod raised an eyebrow. "Very few and mostly Nandor but there will be those who know both languages and can act as interpreters."

Sador nodded. "And that is well, but what if the ceremony were conducted in both languages?"

"You mean have everything said twice?" Vorondil asked incredulously.

"Even if we did it that way, what would it prove, other than we’re being polite to our Sindarin-speaking friends?" Glorfindel commented.

"I don’t know, probably nothing," Sador admitted. "But when Ammë told us about the attitude of the lambengolmor...."

Finrod put an arm around Sador’s shoulders. "Sador, hanno, these people and their prejudices are nothing to get upset about. None of them have actually bothered to live the language; they’ve merely been studying it and in their eyes, Sindarin is a debased version of Quenya. Nothing we do will truly change that attitude. But I rather like the idea of having the ceremony done in both languages."

"I’m still curious to know how you planned to... um... lesson these so-called learned ones," Ingwion said.

"Will the head of the Lambengolmor be in attendance with the other guildmasters at the meeting next week?" Sador asked Finrod.

"I do not think so," Finrod answered with a shrug. "The Lambengolmor are not considered a guild, merely one of the departments in the Academy for loremasters."

"Are you suggesting that everyone at the meeting speak Sindarin?" Glorfindel asked. "I don’t think many of the guildmasters do, though I suspect they will have to learn it eventually once Ammë institutes her language program. No sense having the apprentices learn it if the masters won’t."

Everyone nodded in agreement with that. Sador shrugged. "Oh well, I just thought...."

"Maybe we can come up with something," Finrod said with a sympathetic smile, "but in the meantime, I’m with Intarion. Why don’t we go do something fun."

"Like what?" Ingwion asked.

"Atar told me he’s had the pottery workshop opened for me," Sador said, giving them a smile. "How would you like to play with clay?"

The eyes of all the Reborn, including Finrod, brightened and Vorondil, who was usually lumped in with the Reborn because of his unique status of having been Judged by the Valar, gave a crow of delight. Ingwion, the only true Once-born in the group, rolled his eyes. "Let’s change out of our court garb first," was all he said.

There was a sudden mad scramble as everyone raced to their rooms to change, with much laughter between them. Within half an hour they were all elbow deep in clay, each happily working on his own project.

****

Lambengolmor: Loremasters of Tongues, i.e. linguists. According to Tolkien this particular school was founded by Fëanor.

Chapter the Eighteenth:

In Which the Wedding China is Unveiled and Many are Distraught

It was while they were working with the clay that the question of wedding china arose. Everyone was busy with their own project, either working a wheel (Arafinwë had ordered a couple more put in the workshop after Sador’s grandparents were released from Lórien) or sitting at a worktable. Some, like Finrod and Ingwion, were creating works of art, while others, notably Ingalaurë and Intarion, were just playing and having fun. Sador had not actually begun anything in particular, spending some of the time setting out the clay, showing Glorfindel how to manipulate the wheel, showing Vorondil, Ingalaurë and Intarion how to roll the clay into ropes to create a bowl, and giving Finrod and Ingwion some pointers as they worked.

"So I understand Lady Almáriel commissioned your wedding china herself," Sador said as he watched Finrod throw the clay on the wheel.

"Ammë wasn’t happy about it," Finrod said. "She does not think Almáriel has any taste or sense. And if the garb they are supposedly making for me based on her selection of materials and colors is any indication, then I agree."

"Oh?" Glorfindel said. "That bad? You never did say what the garb they’re making for you looks like."

"Rather hard to describe," Finrod said with a grimace. "However, contingency plans are in place and hopefully I won’t be forced to die of embarrassment at my own wedding and ruin Lord Námo’s day."

The others all laughed.

"Do you know what kind of china they are making and how many pieces?" Sador asked

Finrod shrugged. "I have no idea and it’s not something I’ve thought about."

"Won’t we be using the wedding china at the feast, though?" Glorfindel enquired as he clumsily attempted to make a small bowl.

"Just at the high table," Finrod said, "or perhaps I should say, the high pavilion. Everyone else will have to make do with the usual gold plates."

"I had hoped to be able to make the wedding china," Sador said as he dodged the little clay balls Intarion was lobbing at everyone.

"So, what have you made instead?" Finrod asked with a smile.

"Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?" Sador replied with his own smile. "Suffice to say, that I’m sure you will like it, and more importantly, Amarië will like it."

"It seems silly for anyone to make more china for us," Finrod said as he bent over the delicate vase he was making. "You and your grandparents gave us a complete set three years ago. Ammë always insists on it being used on high feast days."

"That was for the family," Sador said, lobbing a couple of clay balls back at Intarion and Ingalaurë who giggled. "You’ll be setting up your own household, won’t you.?"

Finrod nodded. "Atar has been converting a couple of unused suites into an apartment for us."

"Then you’ll need your own set of china and everything else for when you wish to entertain privately."

"I suppose," Finrod said with a shrug. "Hadn’t really thought about it. When I want to entertain privately, the kitchen staff provides me with all that is necessary."

"That’s because you are a single ellon entertaining at most a handful of friends," Ingwion said as he dipped his fingers in the water bowl to moisten the clay a bit more. "Once you’re married, you’ll be obliged to entertain on a larger scale."

"Unfortunately," Finrod said with a sigh. The others merely grinned as they continued working (or playing) with the clay.

****

The next morning, Finrod was going over accounts pertaining to his personal household with one of his staff when a visitor for his Highness was announced.

"Edrahil," Finrod exclaimed in delight as the ellon was shown into his office. The two greeted one another as comrades."What brings you here? The wedding is still some weeks away."

"I had some business to transact in Eldamas and thought to stop here on my way back to the Southern Fiefdoms and see how you were holding up, aran nîn."

"Well enough," Finrod said as he gestured for Edrahil to take one of the seats built into an embrasure that led out onto a private courtyard where a small fountain sang. The stone seats were covered with plush midnight blue velvet cushions. Finrod went to a sideboard and poured some fruit juice into a couple of goblets, for Edrahil was one who preferred not to drink wine or ale.

Finrod’s former companion on the Quest of the Silmarils gave him a shrewd look as Finrod handed him a goblet before taking the other seat. "What has happened, aranya?"

Finrod raised an eyebrow, then relented somewhat. "Much," he said and then, after taking a sip or two of the peach juice, he launched into an abbreviated version of the events of the past few weeks. Edrahil, to his credit, remained silent and not even his expression gave away what he thought of it all. When Finrod finished there was silence between them for a time before Edrahil made a comment.

"You remember your lady sister’s wedding?" he asked and it was not an idle question, for as Reborn they both knew that some memories just never returned and the why and wherefore of it was unknown, only to be accepted.

Finrod nodded. "Celeborn asked me at one point if the...um.... ‘the level of insanity attendant to the preparations’, and I’m quoting here," — Edrahil grinned — "was normal for a Noldorin wedding."

"What did you tell him?"

"I said no, they were usually much worse."

Edrahil laughed. "Indeed. I remember my own sister’s wedding the year after Fëanor was sent into exile. Talk about insanity." He shook his head, a fond smile on his face.

"Why are you here, mellon nîn?" Finrod asked quietly after several moments of silence passed between them.

Edrahil gave him a sharp look and then sighed. "I never could fool you, could I?"

Finrod shook his head. "A consequence of the Life Oath, I’m afraid. I am more acutely aware of my people’s moods when they are in my presence. You are deeply troubled, so much so that you sought me out."

"I keep dreaming of my death," Edrahil said softly, not looking at Finrod.

"Oh, mellon nîn, I’m so sorry," Finrod exclaimed, moving to sit next to the ellon and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Do you know why?"

Edrahil shrugged. "Not really. It’s always the same scene. We’re in Sauron’s presence and you are battling him and the rest of us are just standing around watching, doing nothing."

"There was nothing you or anyone else could have done," Finrod said softly. "I’ve never blamed any of you for what happened. Indeed, I blame myself for being so arrogant as to bring any of you into peril and eventually your deaths."

"We would have died anyway, Finrod," Edrahil countered. "If not in Sauron’s dungeons, then before the gates of Nargothrond. None of us were destined to live, I deem." He sighed again and leaned back against the embrasure. "I don’t understand why I keep dreaming about this one scene over and over again."

"You do not dream of your actual death, I mean, when the werewolf would come and...."

"Sometimes, but usually not. It’s usually this one scene."

"I think your fae is trying to tell you something, something important that you need to understand about yourself. You say you just stood there and watched, but that is not necessarily true. Did you not tell me afterwards that you and the other Companions sought to shield Beren from the effects of the battle?"

Edrahil nodded, albeit reluctantly.

"He would not have survived the forces being generated between Sauron and me in that battle," Finrod went on. "Even if I had somehow succeeded to best Sauron and we had escaped, it is likely Beren would not have lived and the history of Arda would have been much different than what it is. I have no doubt you and the others wanted desperately to come to my aid, but you were doing a greater service to all of Arda by protecting Beren."

"I know all that," Edrahil said, "at least here," he tapped a finger on his forehead, "but not here," now he was tapping the area above his heart.

"And that is probably why you are having this dream," Finrod said. "You need to come to terms with what happened and why. You and the others did precisely what you needed to do to ensure that the Quest succeeded. Our deaths were a small price to pay to see it so, do you not think?"

Edrahil nodded. "Yes, and I don’t really regret it. I guess I just needed to hear it said... again."

Finrod smiled as he stood. "And I will be happy to remind you when you need to hear it... again."

They both laughed, the tension easing from them.

"Now, why don’t we go hunt up Glorfindel and the others," Finrod suggested. "It’s nearly time for lunch."

****

Edrahil stayed for the night at Finrod’s insistence before continuing his journey to the Southern Fiefdoms where he now resided. Once he’d been formally released from Lórien he had been admitted into the apprenticeship program for the forest rangers who guarded the Forests of Oromë against the evil beasts that occasionally crossed over the Pelóri from the south, as well as husbanding the trees, for those that died naturally or were killed by storms were gathered to provide the wood used in creating furniture and the like.

Edrahil assured Finrod that he was feeling better and thanked him for taking the time to listen.

"I always have time to listen to any of my people," Finrod said, giving him a hug before letting him go.

The rest of the day, though, many noticed the pensive air that surrounded their prince. Glorfindel and Sador asked him if he was all right and he assured them that he was, but the two ellyn looked doubtful. Finrod was ready to reiterate his assurance but was prevented from doing so when a page approached them and announced that a shipment from Vanyamar had arrived and their Majesties wished to see them in the yellow audience chamber.

"Must be something to do with the wedding," Finrod said with a shrug as he thanked the page and sent her on her way. The yellow audience chamber had been set aside to receive the wedding gifts. Already there were some interesting looking packages gaily wrapped with colored paper and bright ribbons sitting on the trestles that had been set up for that purpose. As the three made their way towards the audience chamber they were met by Ingwion, Ingalaurë and Intarion. Ingwion gave them a smile.

"I believe this might be the wedding china," he said. "When we left Vanyamar, Almáriel was having it packed to be sent on."

"Have you seen it?" Finrod asked.

Ingwion shook his head. "I only heard her give Atar a report about it. I have no idea what it looks like."

"Well, I guess we’re about to find out," Glorfindel quipped.

They came to the audience chamber to find Arafinwë and Eärwen there. "Mistress Terendulë is having the china unpacked," the Queen told them. "They should be done soon."

Even as she was speaking, the door opened and a couple of servants came out carrying a large crate. Three other crates were brought out and then Mistress Terendulë stood at the door, giving them a curtsey, stepping aside to allow them admittance. Arafinwë and Eärwen entered first, followed by Finrod and the others.

"Oh dear," Eärwen muttered in dismay as she stood in front of a trestle covered with white linen on which had been placed the china. "Whatever was Almáriel thinking?" She picked up a plate to examine it more closely. It was perhaps ten inches across. The rim was painted a yellow-green with a scattering of rosettes in shades of dark pink, pale rose and light red. The center was white. Smaller plates were the same but other pieces, such as bowls and cups had the pattern all over, even on the inside; there was no white to be seen on them at all.

"A rather interesting color combination," Arafinwë said neutrally, as he picked up a soup bowl. "Are we actually supposed to eat off these?"

Before Eärwen could comment, Ingwion spoke up, his voice full of distress. "Ah, Arafinwë, I think we may have a problem."

Both King and Queen turned and Eärwen gasped in dismay. Finrod, Glorfindel, Sador and Intarion were all standing completely still, their eyes full of horror. Ingalaurë simply looked ill and Ingwion was holding him, quietly instructing him to close his eyes and breathe deeply.

"Finda?" Arafinwë said softly as he went to his son, but Finrod just stood there, evidently in shock, his eyes not seeing anything except a wall in a dungeon covered with a sickly green mold that seemed to glow with an inner pallid light of its own. There was blood splattered on the wall, fresh blood, Edrahil’s blood, covering the blood that had already splattered there from the deaths of three others....

Eärwen went to Glorfindel, running a hand through his golden locks. "Glorfindel, look at me, child," she said, but Glorfindel merely stared unseeing, unaware of her touch as he fought in his first great battle in Beleriand. He was facing one of the treacherous Easterlings who had betrayed them, and by the looks of him, the Mortal could not have seen twenty summers yet. The thought of having to cut down the youth sickened him even as he swept his sword to take the boy’s head, the blood splattering on Glorfindel’s green surcoat, marring the beauty of the embroidered golden flower in the center. He wondered if he’d ever get the blood out even as he launched himself against another enemy....

"What is wrong with them?" Ingwion demanded as he released his brother into Mistress Terendulë’s care to go to Intarion.

"I don’t know but we need to get them out of here," Arafinwë answered.

"Intarion?" Ingwion said, wrapping his arms around his cousin. "Please, Intarion, what is wrong?"

But Intarion did not hear him. All he heard was his own screams as he raced to where Arafinwë was battling for his life, surrounded by three orcs, praying he would be on time, for he could see that his cousin was wounded and could not hold out much longer. He launched himself at one of the enemy and slew him quickly, then managed to get between Arafinwë and another orc, taking the blow that had been meant for the Noldóran. He did not remember collapsing to the ground. His last sight before death took him was that of his life’s blood darkening the green grass before him.....

By now, others were entering the room, for Arafinwë had called out to the guards and issued orders. They would need to get the ellyn away, but it would help if they could bring them out of their fugues first. Vardamir came running in and seeing that all but Sador had someone looking after them, went to the ellon, gently rubbing his back and examining him, speaking softly. "Sador, can you hear me?"

Sador actually blinked and then tore his eyes away from the china to stare into Vardamir’s eyes. "These will definitely not go with what I’ve made for Findaráto," he said, his expression more pained than anything. Vardamir took a quick look at the display and grimaced. "Get them out of here now," he ordered, "even if you have to pick them up and carry them."

"Where?" Arafinwë demanded even as he took his son in his arms and headed for the door.

"Outside," Vardamir replied. "As far as possible from this room."

Arafinwë nodded, issuing orders for wine to be brought immediately to the gazebo in the lower rose garden where he led the others. Ingwion picked Intarion up while Calandil took Glorfindel. Eärwen and Terendulë gently led Ingalaurë. Vardamir was doing the same with Sador. Even as they reached the gazebo, Marilla was coming quickly with a decanter of wine while Ailinel followed with several goblets on a tray. Other servants and courtiers, alerted to the crisis, also came running to see if their help was needed.

"What are they seeing?" Eärwen asked worriedly. "Why do they not respond?"

"Are they attempting to flee their hröar?" Ingwion enquired. "Glorfindel hasn’t had such an episode in years."

"I do not think so," Vardamir replied, checking on Finrod.

"Why did they go into shock like that all at once do you suppose?" Arafinwë asked, brushing a hand through Finrod’s hair.

"You did not see the pattern on the china?" Vardamir asked.

"Of course," Arafinwë said with a frown, "but I see no...."

"Perhaps you’ve forgotten the way blood looks when it’s splattered over a surface," Vardamir retorted. "Those rosettes scattered on that green background reminded me rather vividly of that."

Arafinwë grimaced. "I admit I was caught off-guard by the pattern, but not to this extent." He gestured to the three ellyn who were still in states of shock.

"But then, you never died, did you?" Vardamir retorted in a distracted tone as he attempted to get Glorfindel to drink some wine. "This is not working," he said, standing up. "We need to bring them out of their state but I hesitate to do anything that can damage them psychically. We do not want their fëar fleeing."

Sador, looking less distraught than before as he sipped on the wine that Marilla had given him, spoke then. "You may need the Valar’s help. Lord Irmo, perhaps."

"Do you know why you or Ingalaurë weren’t affected by the pattern?" Vardamir asked.

Sador shrugged. "I cannot speak for Ingil...."

"Ingalaurë," the Reborn ellon corrected half-heartedly as he sat by his brother sipping his wine.

"Ingalaurë," Sador said with a smile, accepting the correction, "but I was more shocked by the fact that the color scheme is all wrong for Findaráto, and it certainly doesn’t go with the pieces of pottery I created as a wedding gift."

"And I just felt sick to my stomach," Ingalaurë offered. "All that blood... I mean...." He gave them a shrug. "It really isn’t a very pretty pattern," he ended, looking chagrined. Ingwion hugged him and encouraged him to drink more wine.

Vardamir was about to speak again when there was a powerful floral scent and three Maiar were suddenly there, all of them wearing the emblem of Lord Irmo on their surcoats. One of them spoke, giving them a bow.

"Greetings, I am Ingil of the People of Irmo."

"You see," Ingalaurë said, pointing to the Maia. "He’s Ingil. I’m Ingalaurë."

The Maiar smiled and Ingil spoke again. "Our Lord Irmo sent us to help."

"What can you do for them?" Eärwen asked, as she sat between Finrod and Glorfindel, her arms around them both.

"What we can," Ingil replied. With that he asked everyone to leave the gazebo to give him and his fellow Maiar room, each Maia standing before one of the ellyn. Ingil stood before Finrod and placed his hands on either side of Finrod’s face. The other two were doing the same with Glorfindel and Intarion. There were no words spoken but those looking on felt a rush of power come from somewhere and nowhere and then first Intarion and then Glorfindel and finally Finrod all shuddered and gasped and they were blinking their eyes as if coming out of a deep sleep. The Maiar stood for another minute or two, keeping their hands on the heads of the ellyn, bending low to speak with them. Then Ingil stepped back and turned to those waiting and gestured for them to approach.

"They are back," he said. "The rest is up to you." Before anyone could muster a thank-you the Maiar were gone, leaving behind a mingling of floral scents that brought refreshment to the fëar of all there.

Eärwen moved first to check on Finrod and then the others crowded around as well. More wine was poured into the goblets and only when the servants and courtiers had been dismissed with Arafinwë’s thanks, did anyone speak.

"What happened, yonya?" Arafinwë asked Finrod, his tone gentle, yet there was an undercurrent of worry to it.

"That... that pattern," Finrod whispered. He had to stop and take another gulp of wine before he could continue. "I... all I could see was Edrahil’s blood splattered on the dungeon walls." Eärwen hugged him.

"And all I could see was my own blood flowing across the grass," Intarion offered. "I remember thinking as I lay there how bright grass looks in early Spring." He shook his head. "Stupid thing to think about when you’re dying."

"Glorfindel?" Vardamir asked. He was going to each ellon and checking their vitals. "What did you see?"

But Glorfindel shook his head. "Not important."

"No, child," Arafinwë said, his voice stern. "You need to speak of it, now."

Glorfindel sighed. "The Nirnaeth. There was an Easterling, a boy actually. His blood splattered on my surcoat. I kept wondering if I’d ever get the blood out." He snorted derisively and closed his eyes. "I’m slaughtering children and wondering if I can get their blood out of my surcoat." Then his face crumpled and he started weeping and Vardamir, who was standing before him, took him into his arms and held him.

"It’s all right," the healer said softly, rocking the ellon gently. "It’s going to be all right."

"What are we going to do about that wretched china?" Sador asked.

"Do we actually have to use it?" Ingwion asked.

"Maybe it won’t be too bad if we pile our plates with lots of food," Ingalaurë suggested, "and don’t eat any of it."

For some reason, that struck them all as funny and even Glorfindel was laughing.

"Well, I know what I want to do with it," Finrod said when they were calmer, "but really, what can we do? Almáriel will be expecting us to use it."

"For now, though, I’m having it repacked," Arafinwë said, "and then I’m having it placed in storage. We’ll decide later what is to be done."

The others nodded and at Vardamir’s suggestion, they remained in the gazebo for the rest of the afternoon. More wine was sent for and court musicians came and began playing softly while those in the gazebo enjoyed the music and spoke quietly amongst themselves until it was time to go inside and dress for dinner.

****

Words are Sindarin unless otherwise noted:

Aran nîn: My king; a phrase used by several of Finrod’s former subjects from Nargothrond when addressing him, sometimes using the Quenya form, aranya.

Mellon nîn: My friend.

Fae: Spirit, soul; the Quenya equivalent is fëa (pl. fëar)

Hröar: (Quenya) Plural of hröa: Body.

Chapter the Nineteenth:

In Which the Bride Disappears and the Groom Departs

True to his word, Arafinwë had the china packed up and put into a store room and nothing more was said about it publicly, though Arafinwë and Eärwen discussed it between themselves.

"I never thought Almáriel could be so vindictive," Arafinwë opined when he and Eärwen were alone later that evening.

His wife gave him a sour look. "I doubt that she is. She obviously wished to repeat the color scheme of the wedding garb."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow. "You expected our son to wear those colors? Are you and Almáriel insane? He should be wearing his house colors, as should Amarië."

"If you think that color combination is bad, you should have seen what Almáriel originally picked out," Eärwen retorted, getting angry. "I’ve done my best to curb her bad taste, my lord, but, unlike the Valar, I cannot just dictate my wishes and turn them into law."

"Well, I can," Arafinwë responded, getting equally angry. "I’ve stayed well away from the wedding preparations, knowing that my presence would be unappreciated and unwelcomed, but I thought you had a better grip on things. Almáriel... well, I do not care whom I offend here, but that china will not be used on our son’s wedding day."

"Yet tradition demands...."

"Tradition be damned!" Arafinwë nearly shouted. "Do you want another episode like the one we had this afternoon? And what about the other Reborn who will be attending the wedding? What will their reactions be on seeing that particular pattern? No. On this, my word is law. That china stays where it is. If Almáriel finds that pattern pleasing to her, she may have it back."

"Then we will have to use our china," Eärwen said, her eyes flashing, "and be the laughing stock of Eldarin society."

"I can live with that, and so can Findaráto. Indeed, he has had to these last few weeks. Don’t think I’m unaware of how some of the courtiers have treated him during his time working in the kitchen."

"I’ve never accused you of not knowing what goes on under your own roof, Arafinwë."

"Well, apparently I don’t know everything," he snarled, his expression one of anger and disgust mixed. "I had no idea about the wedding garb. I cannot believe you think our son will allow himself to be humiliated in that manner. I’m half inclined to tell Findaráto to just show up for the wedding wearing that blue tunic his friend made for him. At least then, people will only go half blind if they just have Amarië’s garb to contend with."

Eärwen’s only response to that was a raised eyebrow.

****

Finrod, Glorfindel and Intarion remained subdued over the next couple of days and even Vorondil and Vondo could not lighten their mood. Ingalaurë was also less exuberant and Ingwion kept a close watch on his twin. Sador spent most of his time in his pottery workshop when court protocol did not demand his presence elsewhere and soon the others gravitated there, quietly working on their own projects. There was little talking or playing about but the atmosphere was not tense and by Valanya even Finrod seemed more himself, cheerfully humming a spritely tune as he worked at the pottery wheel.

That good mood did not last though. Later that evening, as the royals gathered for a quiet meal together in the family dining room, a page brought a courier from Vanyamar who handed Arafinwë a diplomatic pouch tied with red ribbons and sealed with the High King’s seal, the color of the ribbons indicating urgent business. Arafinwë sighed and excused himself, taking the courier with him. The others continued eating, each of them wondering what disaster could have befallen that demanded the King’s immediate attention.

Five minutes later Arafinwë returned, clutching a missive, his expression set in a scowl. "Amarië has disappeared," he announced baldly.

"WHAT!!" Finrod cried out, leaping to his feet. "What do you mean, disappeared?"

There were several moments of pandemonium as everyone competed with one another in asking questions and demanding answers. Arafinwë raised his hand imperiously, his expression gone cold and silence fell among them. The King waited another minute before speaking. "She went to her parent’s estate, The Clouds I believe it’s called, or at least, that is what she intended. She never arrived."

"What does Ingwë say?" Eärwen asked. "Are there no clues? Surely she did not travel alone. What of the others with her?"

"They, too, have disappeared," Arafinwë answered, sitting down at the table. "According to Ingwë, Amarië and her party left shortly after breaking their fast and should have arrived at The Clouds by the third hour but they never did. Oddly enough, only one guard accompanied them."

"How many were in the party?" Finrod demanded.

Arafinwë glanced at the missive. "Three other ellith accompanied Amarië."

"Four ellith and only one ellon to escort them?" Eärwen asked in disbelief. "Whatever was Almáriel thinking to let her daughter leave the city with so few guards?"

Arafinwë shook his head, but before he could reply Finrod spoke. "It matters not. What matters is learning of their whereabouts. Does Uncle say nothing?"

"There was a search, but nothing conclusive."

"How long ago did they disappear?" Glorfindel asked. "That courier would have taken at least four days to get here if he did not stop to rest and had at least three horses with which to switch off."

"They left the city last Aldúya," Arafinwë answered, "but no alarm was raised until late in the evening of Menelya when Castamir and Almáriel went to the estate as is their habit to spend Valanya away from the court. No one at The Clouds was aware that Amarië was coming so they did not look for her."

"Odd," Eärwen said. "I’m sure a message would have been sent at least the day before to alert the staff of her arrival so all would be in readiness. Almáriel, at least, would have done so even if Amarië failed to."

"Unless it was a spur-of-the-moment decision on her part," Ingwion suggested. "She’s known to do that."

"Who else was in her party?" Finrod asked.

"This is where it gets worse. Intarion, Sador..." Arafinwë paused, giving them a grimace, then his expression became more sympathetic, and when he spoke it was with great gentleness. "Lirulin and Alassiel were with her."

"My wife!" Intarion exclaimed, going suddenly pale.

"Alassiel!" Sador cried out almost at the same time, leaping to his feet.

"And the other elleth?" Ingwion asked even as he and Ingalaurë were attempting to comfort Intarion while Glorfindel went to comfort Sador. "You said four ellith and an ellon."

"The other elleth is one of Amarië’s maids," Arafinwë said.

"So, my betrothed leaves Vanyamar, ostensibly to go to her parents’ estate, accompanied by Lirulin and Alassiel, with a single maid and a single guard," Finrod enumerated, his eyes narrowing. "Alassiel is capable of taking care of herself, but Lirulin...."

"And don’t forget the servants at the estate had no prior warning of their arrival," Glorfindel pointed out.

"So they would not know to raise the alarm when the party did not arrive as expected," Finrod finished the thought. "She planned this." He nodded, a grim smile of admiration if not approval on his face. "She must have told her parents that she had sent a message to the people at The Clouds to allay any suspicion and then at a convenient place, she left the road. But where did she go? Certainly not here."

"And Lirulin and Alassiel were her co-conspirators," Ingwion said. "The guard and the maid would do what they were told, or perhaps they were willing to go along, though if I catch up with the ellon he’s going to regret it."

"Do not be too harsh in judgment, Cousin," Finrod said. "Amarië has a way of getting people to do as she pleases, and the guard may not have realized what she was about until it was too late. One ellon, however armed, would be no match for three determined ellith, four, if one assumes the maid was in on it from the beginning."

"And what of Olwen?" Ingwion asked. "She was staying with Amarië when I left, helping her with the linens and all."

"She was not there at the time," Arafinwë said. "Ingwë apparently anticipated your question because he states that she was spending the day with Elindis and Indil, so knew nothing about it."

"But where would they have gone and why?" Finrod demanded in frustration. "It’s useless to go all the way to Vanyamar to begin the search, the trail would be too cold even for Vondo to find. If I recall, The Clouds lies to the southeast of the city, sitting upon a low ridge of the mountains. Intarion, you and Lirulin helped Amarië to escape from the estate when Almáriel was keeping her there, do you remember?"

"Vaguely," Intarion admitted. "I recall that we left the road and headed down into the plain and made our way towards Eldamas. We didn’t actually enter the city, at least the ellith didn’t. I went in and gathered some supplies and then we circled to the east until we met up with the road to Tirion on the other side of Valmar."

"So Amarië would know where to turn off the road," Finrod said, nodding to himself. "I must assume their destination was neither Eldamas nor Tirion, yet where else could they have gone? If to the west, there is only Lórien."

"Or Lady Nienna’s," Ingwion offered but Finrod shook his head.

"As with Lord Námo’s demesne, no one approaches Lady Nienna’s house without an invitation," he said, "and they would have no reason to go there. Lórien would be a logical choice, but my heart tells me they did not go that way."

"Then they went east, somehow avoiding Tirion yet still making their way down the Calacirya without anyone being the wiser," Arafinwë said.

"Olwen and I were able to do just that coming the other direction," Ingwion reminded them with a smile. "It’s possible Olwen told them about the route we took."

"Do you think Olwen was in on it?" Finrod asked.

But Ingwion shook his head. "If Olwen says she had no prior knowledge of Amarië’s intent, then she did not. She would not lie."

"Yet, if she were in on it...."

"Then she would have insisted on going with them," Ingwion said with assurance. "She would not wish to be left behind and I imagine she is even now saving up some choice words with which to inform your future wife of her feelings of being left behind." This last was said with a dry tone and a wry smile and there were knowing chuckles from the others.

"I’m going after them," Finrod announced.

"Where would you look?" Arafinwë asked.

"If they meant to go to Alqualondë, they would have brought Olwen with them, but as they didn’t the only other place they could go is Tol Eressëa."

"But why?" Eärwen demanded. "Why not just come here where they know they would be welcomed."

"I’ll have to ask her when I catch up with her," Finrod said. "Who’s with me?"

"I’m coming with you," Glorfindel said.

"As will I," Intarion chimed in, scowling at Ingwion who looked ready to protest.

"I want to go, too," Ingalaurë insisted. "Inti can’t have all the fun."

"Neither of you is going," Ingwion said forcibly.

"You have no right to tell me what to do, Cousin," Intarion retorted angrily. "Lirulin is my wife and Alassiel my daughter and I’m going after them."

"And I’m not going to sit here being bored by you while Inti gets to have fun," Ingalaurë insisted, scowling at his twin.

"Now just a minute," Ingwion started to say but was interrupted by Marilla’s unexpected appearance.

"Yes, Marilla, what is it?" Arafinwë said somewhat impatiently.

"Forgive the interruption, your Majesty, but I’m somewhat in a quandary. I’ve lost two of my apprentices."

"Lost? How have you been so careless as to lose two apprentices?" Arafinwë demanded, getting angry. "Is this a day for everyone to get lost on? I must have missed seeing the notation on my calendar."

Eärwen gave her husband a disapproving look while the others just gaped at him, most of them unused to seeing this side of the King.

"Oh, not in the way you think, my lord," Marilla replied smoothly. "I only meant that I’m short a couple of hands as two of my people have gone to visit with their families and won’t be returning until the day after tomorrow. I wondered if you knew of two likely... um... volunteers who could help out in a pinch."

There was a moment of complete silence. Glorfindel stared at the Head Cook with narrowed eyes, wondering what was going on. Her request was too... providential, for he could see both Intarion and Ingalaurë wavering in their resolve to go with him and Finrod to Tol Eressëa. Intarion, especially, seemed particularly torn and he had a sudden sympathy for the young Reborn. He wondered just what his relationship with Lirulin and Alassiel was, for surely he was too emotionally young yet to take on the responsibilities of being husband and father. Still, he had to wonder just how Marilla knew to come when she did. If she were short of staff she would’ve just applied to the guild for temporary help; she would not be seeking ‘volunteers’ among the nobility. He had a sudden suspicion that Mistress Marilla was more than she seemed.

Arafinwë appeared to understand Marilla’s intent, for he went to Intarion, laying his hands on the ellon’s shoulders and giving him a gentle smile. "I have every faith that Lirulin and Alassiel are well. There is no need for everyone to go haring off to Tol Eressëa to bring them and Amarië back. I think you and Ingalaurë are better off staying here. Neither of you have been to Tol Eressëa and I think the experience may prove overwhelming. Why don’t you two help Marilla out, while Findaráto and Glorfindel go fetch the ellith?"

Glorfindel could see both ellyn wavering, not willing to give in. "Atar is correct," he said, stepping forward to lay an arm around Ingalaurë’s shoulders. "Tol Eressëa is far different from Tirion or Vanyamar and we don’t need everyone to help bring the ellith back. You and Intarion can be of better service helping Mistress Marilla out."

The two Vanyarin Reborn eyed one another and then gave reluctant nods. Arafinwë gave Intarion a hug. "Then it’s settled." He turned to look at his son. "Do you mean to set out tonight?"

Finrod nodded. "I want to get to Tol Eressëa sooner rather than later."

"I’ll have a writ of passage written up so you may commandeer any ship in harbor."

"What about you, Sador? Care to join us?" Glorfindel asked with a wicked grin.

"I just came from there," Sador said almost plaintively. "Why do ellith insist on making things so difficult?"

Both Eärwen and Marilla gave him disbelieving looks. "Usually it’s the ellyn who cause all the trouble," the Head Cook said with a sniff and Eärwen nodded in agreement.

"Let’s get going, then," Finrod said and began issuing orders for the horses to be readied while he, Glorfindel and Sador went off to change into riding gear.

****

The night was strewn with stars and Isil had only just risen, his light illuminating the Calacirya so the riders had a clear road before them. Glorfindel glanced at the dark towers lining the cleft, wondering if Nyéreser stood sentinel on one of them and how boring it must be for the Maia. They were nearly halfway to the harbor when they were suddenly accosted by bright lights and the mingled smell of several floral scents. The horses shied and they were all hard-pressed to bring them under control. Then the lights faded and before them was a contingent of Maiar, every one of them with swords of light out. Every one of them taller than the tallest Elf, so much so that even on horseback the Elves were forced to look up.

"Go back, Arafinwion," one of the Maiar said. "Thou canst not continue this way."

Glorfindel looked to see if perhaps Nyéreser or even Manveru were among the Maiar, and was surprised when he realized that he did not recognize any of them. He noticed that most, if not all, wore the emblem of Tulkas upon their surcoats and that surprised him even more.

"By what right do you detain me?" Finrod demanded angrily. "Am I an enemy of the Valar to be treated thus?"

"It is our masters who command us," the Maia responded. "Thou shalt not pass. Returnest thou to Tirion for this way is forbidden thee."

Now there was uncertainty in Finrod’s expression and Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to take the ten on the left, while I take the ten on the right?"

"But that does not leave me with any," Sador protested, his tone one of mild disapproval, as if they were arguing over who would have the last sticky bun.

Finrod snorted. "I’m rather tempted to do just that, but I have a sneaking suspicion that Lord Tulkas would be a tad upset if we took out his Maiar."

"And you do not want to upset our lord," the Maia responded with a feral grin, speaking less formally. "You are not likely to survive the experience and then you will have Lord Námo to contend with."

That last threat was not idle and they all knew it. "I suppose we’ve had enough fresh air for the night," Sador said diffidently. "Shall we race each other home?"

Finrod stared at the Maiar for a long moment before nodding. "Yes. By all means, let us return to our gilded cages like good little thralls."

The acerbic tone caught them all off-guard and Glorfindel noticed that several of the Maiar looked uncomfortable at Finrod’s words. The Maia who had spoken to them sighed, returning his sword into its sheath, the other Maiar doing the same. He stepped forward, his expression more sad than anything.

"Do not be too harsh in your judgment, Findaráto," he said quietly. "Our masters are not capricious in their commands. You are needed back in Tirion. I, Ramandor of the People of Tulkas, promise you that your beloved and the others with her are well and will come to Tirion when they are ready to do so. For now, you must trust that there is a good reason why you cannot go to them at this time."

There was a long moment of tense silence and then without another word, Finrod turned his horse about and headed back to Tirion. Glorfindel and Sador gave hasty bows to Ramandor and followed their gwador, none of them speaking. When Glorfindel turned his head back the way they had come he was unsurprised to see the Maiar gone but he had no doubt they would return if necessary. He sighed and turned to face forward, his expression troubled, wondering why they were needed back in Tirion when they had left it only two hours ago.

****

Their return so soon after departing caused quite a stir and Arafinwë demanded to know what had happened as they all met in the royal family’s sitting room. Finrod refused to speak, leaving Glorfindel and Sador to explain.

"Yet, why?" Arafinwë asked after hearing them out. "Nothing untoward has occurred while you were gone."

All three ellyn shrugged. But before anyone could speak, there was the almost overpowering smell of rosemary mixed with the fresher scent of asëa aranion and then in their midst stood the Maia Olórin.

"Ah, good, you’re back," he said without preamble.

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow. "Olórin, what is this all about?"

"What this is all about, Pityahuan, is that Findaráto needs to leave for Lórien as soon as possible, preferably within the hour."

"Lórien? I’m not going to Lórien," Finrod protested, his expression one of anger. "I refuse to be pushed about by the Valar in this manner. First I’m forbidden to go to Tol Eressëa and now I’m bidden to go to Lórien. Why? The wedding is only two weeks away. We could never get there and back in time."

"I assure you...."

"Assurance be damned!" Finrod shouted and without another word he stormed out of the room.

"Stop!" Olórin shouted, and such was the force of his command that Finrod did just that. Everyone else just stared at the Maia in shock, but Olórin’s attention was on Finrod. "Come back here, elfling."

Finrod cringed at the words but obeyed, looking rebellious. Olórin, for his part, merely nodded. "Lord Irmo has need of you in Lórien," he said. "That’s all you need to know. Take Glorfindel and Sador with you for the company."

An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Glorfindel noticed the wide-eyed looks on Ingalaurë’s and Intarion’s faces while Ingwion’s expression was less readable. Arafinwë and Eärwen both looked troubled. Sador appeared more resigned than anything. "I’ll go order the horses readied... again." He gave Olórin a sniff and the Maia smiled.

Arafinwë shook his head. "Not before we get an explanation," he said, giving Olórin a determined look.

If the Maia was upset, he did not show it. "Explanations can wait." He waved a hand in dismissal, his attention still on Finrod. "Be on the road within the hour and ride as swiftly as you can. Fresh horses will be provided along the way and I meant what I said. The Valar will see that you return in good time for the wedding." With that, the Maia faded from their view, leaving behind the scent of rosemary and kingsfoil.

"I’ll have Marilla prepare something for your journey," Eärwen said after a moment, exiting the room.

"I’ll see to the horses," Sador said and then Glorfindel and the Vanyarin cousins made their own excuses, leaving Arafinwë alone with Finrod. He took Finrod in his embrace and hugged him. "Being apprenticed to the Valar can be hard at times," he said, giving his son an understanding smile. "I do not think Lord Irmo would send for you at this time unless it was of the utmost importance."

Finrod nodded, but said nothing. After another moment, Arafinwë released him. "At least you’re already packed," he said, giving Finrod a sly grin. "That will save a lot of time."

Finrod’s only comment was a low-muttered oath in Sindarin that Arafinwë pretended not to hear. "I’ll see you to the gates," was his only comment as he steered his son out of the room.

An hour later, Finrod was riding out of Tirion with Glorfindel and Sador, but this time, they were heading west, not east.

****

Asëa aranion: (Quenya) Athelas or kingsfoil.

Chapter the Twentieth:

In Which Finrod Comes to Lórien and Receives an Early Wedding Gift

Glorfindel kept a worried eye on Finrod as they rode through the night. His gwador was too quiet and he could feel his anger seething just below the surface, though Finrod appeared outwardly calm. Only his eyes, blazing with a cold light, betrayed his true emotions. Glorfindel glanced over at Sador, riding on Finrod’s other side and saw the ellon shrug and shake his head. He sighed and concentrated on the road ahead, wondering at the Valar’s timing, for he thought he knew what this was all about, but then again, he might be wrong.

The journey from Tirion to Valmar usually took three or four days, depending on how swiftly travelers wished to arrive at their destination. Finrod got them there in two. Even Glorfindel was reeling by the time they reached the city of the Powers some time after the sun had set. Valmar glowed in the distance as they came around the last bend of the road and Glorfindel sighed with relief. The three reached the eastern gate of the city to find a Maia waiting for them. He wore the emblem of Lady Estë upon his surcoat.

"Greetings. I am Súrilindë of the People of Estë," he said, giving them a brief bow. "I have been directed to bring you to where you may rest before continuing your journey."

Finrod merely nodded and the Maia led them down the Landamallë Valion past the mansions of Ulmo and Oromë and Nessa and into the garden surrounding the mansion of Irmo and Estë where other Maiar were there to take their horses. Súrilindë did not lead them into the mansion, itself, but led them behind the edifice into another garden where two pavilions had been set up on the sward, one larger than the other.

"Here you may take your ease," the Maia said. "Food and drink will be brought to you shortly. The blue pavilion over there contains the privy."

Finrod thanked him and Súrilindë bowed before walking away. The ellyn made their way into the larger pavilion where they found tubs of hot water waiting for them. They wasted no time in availing themselves of the baths and a half an hour later, they were clean and dressed in soft robes that had been provided for them. Stepping outside the pavilion, they found a table had been set for them under a spreading oak where colored lanterns hung from the branches, offering them a rainbow of illumination. It was their first real meal since leaving Tirion, for they had eaten trail rations on the way to save time.

There was little in the way of conversation, for each was lost in his own thoughts. Finrod, Glorfindel noticed, was not eating, merely pushing his food around his plate. "What is it, hanno?" he asked. "Why are you still angry?"

Finrod looked up at him. "Why are you not?" he demanded. "Why are you and Sador taking this so calmly, being pushed about in this manner?"

Glorfindel shrugged. "Perhaps because we’re not the object of Lord Irmo’s concern?"

"Or perhaps, we’re not the one about to get married and his beloved has disappeared," Sador added, giving Finrod a significant stare.

"Are you not concerned for Alassiel?" Finrod shot back.

"Yes, but not for the same reasons as you," Sador replied. "Alassiel is, after all, quite capable of taking care of herself. You saw to that when you took her as your squire. And it is not as if they are traveling through enemy territory with the threat of attack from orcs and evil Men. I have no doubt Amarië went to Tol Eressëa for a reason and when they come to Tirion, as they will, we’ll learn what that reason is."

Finrod sighed. "It makes no real sense. The wedding party from Vanyamar will be setting out in a matter of days. It will not do to have the bride missing at that time."

"I have no answers for you, hanno," Sador said with a sympathetic look. "All I can say is that it will work out in the end. Amarië loves you and will not abandon you at this late hour. Now, why don’t we finish this lovely meal and then get some rest? The rest of the trip will be a nightmare even with the Maiar providing us with extra mounts."

The other two agreed and they continued eating in silence. They did not linger afterwards but retired to the pavilion where they found three comfortable cots waiting for them. Such was their exhaustion that they were all slipping onto the Path of Dreams even before their heads reached the pillows.

****

They were up before dawn, a hot breakfast waiting for them. Súrilindë came just as they were finishing, and led them out and across the Landamallë to the western gate that sat between the mansions of Námo and Nienna. In the pre-dawn light, the silver and emeralds of the gate glowed mutely. Several Maiar were there with six mounts, the extra horses carrying their haversacks. Their own horses would remain in Valmar to recover from the grueling pace Finrod had set for them.

"My Lord expects you in Lórien in three days’ time," Súrilindë said. "We will have camps set up for you along the way with a hot meal waiting for you."

"Thank you," Finrod said, speaking for them all, and then they were on their way, riding along the Númenya Tëa, past the Ezellohar and the Máhanaxar and on towards the demesne of Lord Irmo and Lady Estë. They rode swiftly, eating up the miles, stopping once to switch horses and a second time to take some ease, but in a short while they were on their way again. They had covered about a third of the way when they came upon a camp off to their left. There was no one there, but a small fire was burning and a venison stew was bubbling. They quickly saw to their horses and then tended to their own needs, nearly falling asleep as they ate.

And so the cycle was repeated the next day and some hours after dark on the third day they approached the gates of Lórien to find its Lord waiting for them, along with several Maiar. Glorfindel felt weak with fatigue, for he had not pressed himself in such a manner in too long a time. His brothers were no better. Even in the wan light of torches he could see how grey Finrod and Sador looked. Irmo wasted no time in pleasantries but ordered the horses away and escorted them himself to the grove which was Finrod’s when he resided in Lórien. They did not bother with a meal. In truth, Glorfindel did not think he had the strength to eat. All he wished for was to fall into bed and sleep for a decade or three. He suspected his brothers were of like mind.

"We’ll discuss the reason for my summons in the morning," Irmo told them as he bid them a good night.

Finrod nodded wearily, apparently too tired to speak, though Glorfindel suspected his brother was burning with questions. They barely took the time to undress before slipping between the sheets of the cots. Finrod and Sador fell asleep almost immediately. For some perverse reason, though, Glorfindel found himself feeling wide awake and he lay there for some time staring at the ceiling of the pavilion thinking of what the morrow would hold for them. He had no answers, only suspicions. He never knew when sleep finally took him.

****

Birdsong woke Glorfindel and it took him a moment or two to remember where he was. He glanced to his right to see Finrod still sleeping but Sador’s bed was empty. He rose and stretched, then quietly left the pavilion in search of the privy. There was no sign of Sador but he was not unduly concerned. No doubt the ellon was visiting with friends or simply wandering through the groves enjoying the morning. Returning from the privy he found Finrod just waking.

"I’m off to the baths," Glorfindel said by way of greeting as he gathered up a towel and other items sitting on the clothespress that was at the foot of his cot. "Sador is up and about but I haven’t seen him yet."

Finrod nodded. "Give me a minute and I’ll come with you. I can’t believe I slept so late."

"We were all just about dead by the time we reached Lórien," Glorfindel said. "I was surprised not to see Sador still in bed. By the look of things, he’s been up for some time." He nodded to Sador’s cot where the bedclothes were neatly made up and a wet towel hung from a clothes tree set up for that purpose.

Finrod grinned. "Ah, the resilience of youth."

Glorfindel chuckled. "I’ll meet you at the baths," was all he said and left.

****

An hour later, bathed and dressed, the two were sitting outside the pavilion letting their hair dry in the sun. There was still no sign of Sador. They had returned to the grove to find a light repast of bread, cheese, fruit and small beer set out for them and they wasted no time breaking their fast. Now, they were relaxing in the sun.

"When will we be summoned to Lord Irmo, do you suppose?" Glorfindel asked as he began braiding his hair.

Finrod shook his head, braiding his hair as well. "Your guess is as good as mine. I just wish he would hurry up and come so I can do whatever he wants me to do that no one else in Lórien apparently can do so we can be on our way back to Tirion. If we leave tomorrow we can reach Tirion late in the evening of the day before the wedding."

"That’s assuming you can do what needs doing today so we can leave tomorrow," Glorfindel said with a snort.

Finrod nodded. "There is that."

Even as they were finishing braiding their hair, Sador entered the grove. "So you’re finally awake," he said by way of greeting.

"And where have you been?" Finrod asked with a smile.

"Wandering about and visiting with friends," came the reply. "I met Lord Irmo and he said for us to come to his pavilion by the lake whenever you’re ready."

"Well, I’m all set," Finrod said. "Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel nodded, standing. "Let us go see what this is all about."

They left the grove, turning left down the sward then right along an intersecting sward that led directly towards the lake where Lord Irmo’s colorful pavilion (courtesy of a couple of elflings and three Reborn) overlooked Lórellin and Lady Estë’s island. As they approached the pavilion, they could see Lord Irmo was already there waiting for them. He smiled benignly as they each gave him their obeisance, gesturing for them to take a seat around the table. Without a word, he poured some hawthorn juice into crystal goblets.

"Please drink and refresh yourselves," he said. "I know you have many questions and I will answer them shortly, but first we must address this anger you hold within you, Findaráto. I have received reports from both Ramandor and Olórin of your reaction to their messages. I find myself rather disappointed in you."

Finrod had the grace to blush, but did not speak.

"No defense?" Irmo said, lifting an eyebrow. "No excuses? Not even an apology?"

"What would you have me say, lord?" Finrod retorted, keeping his eyes down. "My betrothed disappears without explanation and I’m forbidden to search for her but am summarily summoned here without any explanation. I guess I’ve gotten just a little tired of being told what to do and where to go as if I were an elfling of twelve."

"First of all, Amarië and the others with her are perfectly safe and presently enjoying the hospitality of Lady Meril," Irmo said, "and from what I gather, your presence would have been most unwelcome by all the ellith, including your betrothed."

All three ellyn raised eyebrows in disbelief. "So why didn’t they have the courtesy of leaving a note behind explaining all this?" Glorfindel asked.

"Actually, they did," Irmo replied with a smile. "Unfortunately, the letter was... um... misplaced by one of the servants who was unaware of its significance. It was discovered by Almáriel only two days ago, and if she was unhappy before, she’s even more unhappy now and is not afraid to tell anyone."

"Almáriel is never happy," Finrod pointed out. "At least not where I’m concerned."

"That may be as it may be," Irmo said with a nod, "but the fact remains that the mystery of their disappearance has been solved, though not to everyone’s satisfaction. I tell you this to ease your minds, especially yours, Sador." He cast a fond look at the youngest ellon who blushed slightly, murmuring a thank-you.

"So now, to the reason for my summoning you," Irmo said briskly, standing. The three Elves scrambled to their feet. "Come along and I will show you. You may consider this an early wedding gift from the Valar."

With that, the Lord of Lórien strode out of the pavilion with the others right behind. Irmo led them into the area of Lórien generally reserved for the Reborn, coming upon a grove where a Maia in the livery of his Lord stood guard before its entrance. Irmo smiled as the Maia saluted.

"Any problems, Nornotavaron?"

"None to speak of, lord," the Maia answered with a grin, stepping aside to let them enter. "The two younger ones attempted to leave through the trees while their atar tried to keep me occupied with inane questions but Cucuandur put a stop to that. He’s presently keeping them amused with some long tale about his exploits during the War of Wrath. Most of it is pure lies, of course."

"Of course," Irmo responded with a knowing smile. "Thank you, Nornotavaron. You may resume your other duties." The Maia bowed and strolled away as Irmo gestured for the Elves to precede him into the grove.

Finrod was the first to go with Glorfindel and Sador right behind him. He only got a few steps in when he stopped in shock. Sador almost ran into him and uttered a curse in Sindarin that made Glorfindel glare at him in disapproval, while Irmo merely smiled as the ellon blushed. Finrod paid them no mind. He was rooted on the spot and the blood had drained from his face. Sador took his left elbow to steady him. Glorfindel looked to see four people sitting outside a red and yellow pavilion. One was a Maia, Cucuandor of the war lies, no doubt, along with three ellyn who were now standing, looking a bit uncertain. Glorfindel wasn’t sure, but he thought he recognized them.

Irmo came behind Finrod and put a hand on his right shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Will you not greet your uncle and cousins, child?" he asked gently.

Glorfindel felt his heart racing with excitement. So! Fingolfin and Fingon. Two more kings of Beleriand to be reborn. Now that was a pretty little pickle the Valar had landed them in. But who was the third ellon? And why hadn’t Atar Arafinwë been asked to come as well? Fingolfin, after all, was his own brother. For that matter, why hadn’t the Lady Anairë been summoned? He had never met the lady, only knew that shortly before Finrod was returned to Life, she had retired to one of the royal estates in the Southern Fiefdoms where she apparently preferred to preside over her rose garden and oversee the running of the estate for her brother-in-law. She, above all, should have been here.

Glorfindel stole a glance at Sador and saw that the ellon’s eyes were wide with surprise.

Finrod did not immediately respond to Irmo’s request. He turned to look at the Vala and Glorfindel could see the shock being replaced by anger once again. "Now?" he demanded harshly. "You spring them on me now? Why couldn’t this have waited until afterwards when so much else is going on? And why didn’t I know about their release earlier? What game are you playing here, my lord?"

Before Irmo could respond, one of the Reborn standing by Cucuandor cried out, speaking Sindarin. "You see, Ada. They don’t want us. No one wants us." And then he burst into tears. Cucuandor immediately gathered him into his arms to soothe him. The other ellyn stood there looking equally distressed and Glorfindel could see them fighting back tears.

Almost at once the anger drained from Finrod’s face, replaced by compassion and sorrow. Without a word he went to the weeping Reborn and Cucuandor surrendered him into Finrod’s embrace.

"Hush now, Cousin," Finrod said soothingly, rocking the ellon slightly. "Of course we want you. We love you. It’s just a little complicated right now." He then turned to look at the other two ellyn. "Welcome back to Life, Uncle Fingolfin. Do you remember me?"

Fingolfin nodded slowly. "You are... Finrod." His expression lightened to one of relief at having remembered something.

"Yes. I’m Finrod. Shhh... Fingon. Come. Dry those tears. It’s going to be well, I promise you."

"You... you hate us," Fingon sobbed, wiping a sleeve across his face while the ever resourceful Sador fished out a piece of linen from an inner pocket of his tunic and handed it to him. "You don’t want us. Everyone hates us."

"Am man... um... theled Fingon... ah... er... nainëa, Atto?" the third ellon stuttered, mixing Sindarin with Quenya, looking frustrated. "Pedil lai... lá... an... cheleg?" This last was said hesitantly, as if unsure of his words.

"It’s all right, Aracáno," Irmo replied in Quenya. By convention the others were now forced to switch to Quenya, for in the polyglot society that was beginning to form among the Eldar in Aman, the one with the most rank in a group determined which language known to all would be spoken. Irmo gave the ellon a sympathetic smile. "Your brother thinks everyone hates you." He turned to the still weeping ellon. "No one hates you, Findecáno."

"Lord Irmo is correct," Finrod said, giving his cousin another hug. "We’ve long awaited this day. It’s just that...." He turned to the Vala, his expression more troubled. "Why now and why only me? Should not the rest of the family be here?"

"Normally, yes," Irmo admitted, "but your parents could not have easily left Tirion at this time, and... well, we felt it better that you come alone. As for why now and not later...." Here the Lord of Lórien shrugged, giving them a sly look. "You wouldn’t want them to miss your wedding, now would you?"

Fingon smiled, his former tears forgotten. "You’re getting married! How wonderful. Anyone I know?"

Finrod just sighed, shaking his head. "And what do we tell Anairë?"

"Anairë?" Fingolfin and his two sons said almost at the same time, all of them looking puzzled. "Who’s Anairë?"

****

Words are Quenya unless otherwise noted:

Landamallë Valion: Avenue of the Valar.

Hanno: Colloquial form of háno: Brother.

Númenya Tëa: Western Road.

Ezellohar: Green Mound of the Two Trees.

Máhanaxar: Ring of Doom.

Ada: (Sindarin) Hypocoristic form of Adar: Father.

Note: In Peoples of Middle-earth, Christopher Tolkien gives us the following note:

"The third son of Fingolfin, Arakano (Argon), emerged in the course of the making of the genealogies. A pencilled note on the last of the four tables says that he fell in the fighting at Alqualonde; this was struck out, and my father noted that a preferable story was that he perished in the Ice. It is curious that this third son, of whom there had never before been any mention, entered (as it seems) without a story, and the manner of his death was twice changed before the remarkable appearance here of ‘the first battle of Fingolfin’s host with the Orks, the Battle of the Lammoth’, in which he fell. In the account in the Grey Annals (XI.30) Fingolfin, after the passage of the Helkaraxe, ‘marched from the North unopposed through the fastness of the realm of Morgoth, and he passed over Dor-Daedeloth, and his foes hid beneath the earth’; whereas in the present note his host was attacked in Lammoth ‘at unawares as they marched southwards’ [Peoples of Middle-earth, The Shibboleth of Fëanor: ‘The Names of Finwë’s Descendants’, Note 38].

The passage in the Silmarillion describing Fingolfin’s arrival in Beleriand and his march to Angband (Chapter 13) agrees with that of the Grey Annals quoted above. Thus, I have Aracáno dying while crossing the Helcaraxë, since there was no ‘Battle of the Lammoth’ in which he could have fought and died.

Here we see Aracáno stumbling with Sindarin, which his father and brother have obviously been teaching him, but he is not yet proficient and makes mistakes or uses a Quenya term because he doesn’t know the Sindarin equivalent. This is known as code-switching.

Am man theled, Fingon nainëa?: (Sindarin/Quenya) ‘Why (literally, ‘for what purpose’) is Fingon weeping?’; however, nainëa (present continuous form of naina ‘weep’) is Quenya.

Pedil lai... lá... an cheleg: (Sindarin/Quenya): ‘You-all speak... very... no... too hasty’. The correct Sindarin would be either Pedil allint or Pedil allagor ‘You-all speak very/too fast’. The phrase an cheleg should properly be acheleg, the nasalized form of celeg, but this word usually refers to the swiftness of running water. Lai is Quenya for ‘very’ and its Sindarin cognate is dae, though there it has a deeper intensive meaning of ‘exceedingly, extremely’ as in the phrase dae-deloth ‘extreme horror’. Lá ‘no’ is also Quenya.

Chapter the Twenty-First:

In Which Three More are Added to the Wedding List and New Seating Arrangements are Made

Finrod stared at his uncle and cousins in disbelief. "Oh, this just gets better and better," he muttered while Glorfindel and Sador exchanged amused glances.

Nolofinwë looked uncertainly at Lord Irmo. "Is... is there something wrong, lord? Did we say something wrong?"

"No, child," the Lord of Lórien said with a gentle smile. "If you and your sons are ready, we should get you all on your way. You don’t want to miss the wedding, do you?"

Nolofinwë and Findecáno shook their heads. Aracáno, however, wasn’t paying much attention. He was staring at Glorfindel and Sador, looking a little puzzled, as if trying to place them. Then, his expression cleared and he gave them an innocent smile. "Hello. My name is Aracáno. Do you want to play I-hide-and-you-find?"

Glorfindel smiled back. "Hello, Aracáno. My name is Glorfindel and this is Sador. We would love to play, but I think Lord Irmo wants to get rid of us."

Irmo chuckled. "Well, not that quickly, but quickly enough. I want to keep Lórien intact a while longer, so the sooner we get rid of you lot, the better."

Sador stuck his tongue out at the Vala and made a rude noise. Finrod, almost as an automatic gesture, slapped him on the back of his head. "Behave," he said.

"Peace, hanno," Glorfindel said, giving his gwador a stern look. "This isn’t about you."

"That’s right, hanno," Sador said, rubbing the back of his head. "Now give your uncle and cousins proper greetings and at least pretend that you are happy to see them."

Finrod stared at him in disbelief and even Glorfindel blinked in surprise at the ellon’s tone. "You sound just like Atar Arafinwë," he said, almost with awe.

"Comes from dealing with the likes of Morcocáno and Galadhwen," Sador replied with a sour grin.

"Arafinwë!" Nolofinwë exclaimed. "I know that name. Wait! Don’t tell me. He... he is my... my brother!" He gave them a triumphant grin.

"Very good, Nolofinwë," Irmo said approvingly. "Now, why don’t you and your sons go pack and we’ll get you on your way to Tirion."

Nolofinwë and his two sons nodded and headed into the pavilion with Cucuandor following them. The sounds of clothespresses being opened and shut and soft murmurings filled the air while the others waited. Irmo gave Finrod a piercing look. "You think we’re doing this capriciously."

"The timing is suspect," Finrod retorted, speaking low.

"The timing is merely what it is," Irmo replied. "These three were due to be released about now regardless of outside circumstances."

"Anairë should have been here at least," Finrod said, not willing to give in. "She has more right to be here than I."

"Perhaps, but we felt it best that you bring them back to Tirion. Your uncle is nervous and feeling uncertain, though he hides it well. He remembers that he once was a king but he does not know what his reception will be. Here, he’s just another Reborn. Outside Lórien... well, it remains to be seen, doesn’t it?"

"With both Fingolfin and Fingon released, does that mean I can stop being Cáno?" Sador asked before Finrod could reply to Irmo’s words.

They all looked at him with varying degrees of sympathy. "No, Sador," Irmo said gently. "I’m afraid you’re stuck being Cáno for now. Neither Nolofinwë nor Findecáno are ready for that kind of responsibility. You know this."

Sador nodded reluctantly. Glorfindel put an arm around the ellon’s shoulders and gave him a hug. "Is it really that bad?" he asked solicitously.

Sador shrugged. "Not really. It’s just.... I don’t know. I still think I’m the wrong person for the position."

"You’re the only person for the position," Finrod said firmly. "Everyone respects you even if they don’t agree with you. I’ve received any number of reports to that effect."

"I just wish Alassiel could join me in exile," Sador retorted.

"Exile? Is that what you think?" Finrod demanded, looking both troubled and surprised. "Oh, hanno. Why would you think that?" He reached out his arms and Glorfindel released his hold on the younger ellon, allowing Finrod to take him in his embrace and give him a hug.

Sador just shrugged. "It feels that way sometimes."

"Well, if you want to feel exiled, you should come to Aewellond," Glorfindel retorted with a grin. "You’re literally in the back of beyond there. If it weren’t for the road that was built linking us to Alqualondë, we would really feel cut off from the rest of Aman."

"Well, a discussion for another time," Irmo said. "I think our latest Reborn are ready."

Even as he spoke, Nolofinwë, Findecáno and Aracáno exited the pavilion, each carrying a small haversack, all three with expectant looks on their faces. Irmo gave them a beatific smile and gestured for them to approach him, somehow gathering all three into his embrace. He leaned down and gave each a kiss on his forehead.

"You have all done very well here and we’re proud of you," he said. "Now it is time for you to go from here and enter into the life that Ilúvatar meant for you to live. You will have many adventures and there will be those who will guide you and help you along your way. Findaráto is one such, so I want you all to mind him."

"But he’s younger than I am," Aracáno protested. "At least, I think he is."

"Actually, I’m older by two yéni," Finrod said, giving them an amused look.

"But he is older still in that he has been Reborn the longest of all of you," Irmo said. "You are to mind him as you have minded me."

"Which probably wasn’t that much," Glorfindel couldn’t help adding, giving the Vala a knowing smile.

Cucuandor was seen rolling his eyes, though his own expression was one of amusement. Irmo actually laughed. "Come. Let us get you on your way," was all he said and he led them out of the grove. They made their way through Lórien past the lake and into a region rarely visited by any of the Eldar.

Glorfindel frowned. "Why are we going this way, lord?" he asked. "The stables are in the opposite direction."

"It is not what you think," Irmo replied. "This just happens to be the shortest way back to Valmar. You, Sador and Findaráto have been here before, but last time you made this journey from Valmar. Ah, here we are."

They came upon a particular grove and Irmo ushered them all inside. All the Elves stopped just inside the entrance, the three new Reborn looking bemused. Sador’s expression was set and he looked pale. Glorfindel felt a queasiness in his stomach, for he remembered the last time he’d been here. Finrod seemed the least affected by the atmosphere and continued on into the center. Irmo gestured for the others to follow, which they did, some more reluctantly than others.

"There is naught to fear," the Vala assured them. "Rarely are any of the Eldar invited to this particular grove but time is short and this is the quickest way back to Valmar for you. Now, come into a circle and hold hands. I suggest you close your eyes as you may feel a bit disoriented."

They did as they were bid. "It’s all right," Finrod said solicitously to his uncle and cousins, for they all looked nervous and unsure. "Sador, Glorfindel and I have done this before and suffered no ill."

The others nodded and closed their eyes. Glorfindel, knowing what was to come, took several deep breaths and then there was a sense of the universe going sideways and then righting itself and he knew, even before he opened his eyes, that they were no longer in Lórien. He was not surprised to see they were now in a small clearing surrounded by tall hedges and Lady Estë was there waiting for them, giving them all a smile.

"Perfect timing," she said. "Your horses are waiting just outside."

"Wh-where are we?" Nolofinwë asked, his eyes wide with fright. Findecáno and Aracáno looked equally distressed.

"Fear not!" Irmo said. "You are in my demesne still. This is Valmar and we are inside a maze. Follow Estë and we will be out of here shortly. Hold hands and keep your eyes focused on the back of the person before you. It will be easier for you."

"Come along." Estë said as she took Nolofinwë's hand and headed towards a tunnel through the hedge. The others followed, with Irmo taking the rear position. There was no hesitation on Estë’s part and in a matter of a few minutes they were stepping outside of the maze into a garden. Nolofinwë and Findecáno gazed around them in wonder, but Aracáno clutched his haversack and he had a panicky look on his face. Glorfindel, who was the closest to him, wrapped an arm around the ellon’s shoulders.

"It’s all right," he said quietly. "Take a deep breath and let it out slowly. That’s it. Again. All is well. You are safe."

Aracáno nodded, giving him a shy look. Glorfindel smiled back and gave him a hug before releasing him. Irmo stood by, giving them all a clinical look, then nodded. "I would not advise you to try to reach Tirion in record time. If you get there by Isilya, you will still have three days before the wedding. That should be plenty of time to acclimate yourselves. Nolofinwë, Findecáno, Aracáno, I want you to listen to Findaráto, Glorfindel and Sador. They have been where you are now and know what it feels like to be newly released from my care. You will meet people who were once very dear to you. You have no need to fear. They love you and want only the best for you. I know that this is not the best time for this, the wedding may be a bit much for you to handle, but we Valar believe it necessary for you to be there. Now, go with our blessings and we will see you at the wedding. Findaráto, you may lead them out to the Landamallë. Your horses are waiting for you there."

Estë took each of them in her embrace and kissed them, murmuring words of love and encouragement before releasing them. The Elves gave the two Valar their obeisance, then, Finrod led them through the garden and out onto the avenue where they found a couple of Maiar and six horses waiting for them. In a matter of minutes, they were mounted and heading towards the eastern gate and on their way to Tirion.

****

It had been mid-morning when they left Lórien, but in Valmar it was nearly noon. The difference in time was disconcerting to them all but as the day progressed, they forgot about it. There was little talking during their ride, for, in spite of Lord Irmo’s advice, Finrod was pushing them a bit more than he needed to, but no one begrudged him. Thus they made good time and only stopped when the sky was full of stars. As they were sitting around a fire waiting for the stew to cook, Nolofinwë peppered Finrod with questions, the two of them speaking in rapid Sindarin. Aracáno tried to follow the conversation but gave up after awhile. Sador, sitting next to him, gave him a sympathetic smile and spoke softly to him in Quenya about his own misadventures in learning the language of Aman. Glorfindel was tending the stew as he listened to the conversations around him, noticing that Finrod was being purposely vague in his answers to his uncle’s questions.

"The stew smells good."

Glorfindel looked up from adding a bit more wood to the fire to see Findecáno standing there. "It should be ready soon."

"You and Sador both called my cousin ‘hanar’ but you are not kin, that I know of," the eldest son of Nolofinwë said after a moment, speaking Sindarin. It was not an accusation, merely a statement and Glorfindel could see the questions in the ellon’s eyes.

Glorfindel nodded. "I met Finrod in Mandos and we became gwedyr," he explained. "When I was finally released from Lórien, there were none to take me in except for Finrod and his family. The same was true for Sador, whom I befriended in Lòrien. Finarfin adopted us unofficially. In fact, Sador, being as young as he was, became his ward. We all got used to referring to one another as ‘brothers’."

Fingon nodded. "The others... his own brothers... they have not....?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "They still reside in Mandos and his sister remains in Ennor."

"Turgon and Aredhel are also in Mandos," Fingon said with a sigh.

"At least you and Aracáno have each other," Glorfindel said.

Fingon nodded. "I think the stew is ready. Let me help dish it out."

****

The next day they continued on their way. Finrod did not set such a grueling pace as before and he and Nolofinwë rode together now, reminiscing about the people and places they once knew. Sador apparently had taken Aracáno under his wing and his brother was happily giving the Noldo a Sindarin lesson that left them both laughing at Aracáno’s mistakes. That left Findecáno to ride with Glorfindel which he did not mind. He remembered Fingon at the Nirnaeth and had grieved to see so puissant an Elf fall before the Enemy. They did not speak much between themselves for Glorfindel could see the other was deep in thought and gave him the space he needed. When Findecáno did speak, it was to ask questions about his brother Turgon and his sister Aredhel. Glorfindel readily spoke of their lives in Gondolin, but shied away from how they had all died, preferring instead to speak of the years of peace that they had enjoyed. Of Tuor, Idril and Eärendil, he spoke not at all.

****

The next day found them on the outskirts of Tirion. Without comment, Finrod led them off the main road at one point and they found themselves riding along a tree-lined lane. Sador and Glorfindel exchanged knowing glances, for they recognized where Finrod was leading them. Eventually they found themselves coming upon the estate owned by Herendil, who welcomed them with some bemusement, for he was too young to remember Nolofinwë or his sons. He agreed to send a messenger to Tirion at Finrod’s request while the travelers were shown to baths so they could freshen up.

An hour later Glorfindel and Sador followed Finrod and Herendil out into the courtyard in time to see Arafinwë riding up the lane with Eärwen. Some distance behind them he could see several other riders trying to catch up and Glorfindel realized with some amusement that the King and Queen had outridden their escort. Finrod had decided to meet his parents first and Aldundil and his ammë volunteered to help keep the newly-released Reborn occupied in the meantime.

"Where are they?" Arafinwë cried out before he even came to a halt. Grooms were on hand to take the King’s horse and help Eärwen from hers. "Where is my brother?"

"Peace, Atto," Finrod said, grabbing Arafinwë by the shoulders to stay him from running into the house. "Vandacalimë and Aldundil are entertaining them. You need to calm down. You know how upset Reborn get when confronted with emotional people."

Arafinwë nodded reluctantly, taking several deep breaths before Finrod released him.

"How did you get back here so quickly?" Eärwen asked as she joined her husband. "By rights you couldn’t possibly be here until perhaps the night before the wedding."

"You may thank Lord Irmo," Finrod said with a quirk of his lips. "You remember that maze of his?"

Arafinwë and Eärwen both nodded, their eyes wide. Arafinwë gave his son an uncertain look. "How... how are they?"

Finrod actually smiled. "Why don’t we go see?" And he took his atar’s arm and led him into the house while Glorfindel offered Eärwen his arm. Sador and Herendil followed them. They made their way to the main gathering room where Vandacalimë had ordered some refreshments laid out, but there was no sign of anyone.

"That’s odd," Finrod said with a frown. "I left them right here not ten minutes ago."

"Perhaps they went out into the gardens," Herendil suggested, and led the way through one of the arched openings on one side of the room that led out into the gardens. As they wandered down the path they could hear laughter ahead and no one was all that surprised to find the three Reborn happily taking turns swinging from a large maple tree while Aldundil and Vandacalimë looked on with amusement. At the moment it was Nolofinwë swinging while Aracáno was practically jumping up and down, saying, "My turn, now, Atto, my turn."

Almost as one Finrod and the others stopped several feet away where they were not immediately noticed. "Oh, Valar," Arafinwë whispered almost in dismay. Finrod gave his atar a sympathetic look.

Just then, Findecáno happened to look around. "Hey! We have visitors." He came bounding over, his face wreathed with a wide grin. "Do you want to play?" he asked.

"Fin?" Arafinwë said, looking upon his nephew whom he had last seen trudging northward towards his doom.

Findecáno nodded slowly, the smile slipping from his face, replaced by a look of puzzlement. "Do I know you?"

Arafinwë smiled. "Perhaps. You used to call me ‘Uncle Arfin’ when you were very small."

Findecáno frowned, then shook his head. "Sorry. I don’t remember."

"It’s all right, child," Arafinwë said gently. "There’s no rush. I’m Findaráto’s atar and this is his ammë."

By now Nolofinwë and Aracáno had joined them. Aracáno’s expression was one of wariness and Sador, noticing, went to him and drew him into his embrace, quietly speaking to him words of assurance. Nolofinwë and Arafinwë stood there staring at one another while everyone else watched the meeting of the two brothers, waiting to see who would make the first move. And then Nolofinwë’s expression crumpled and he burst into tears.

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry...."

Immediately, Arafinwë took him into his embrace. "No, hanno. There’s nothing to be sorry about."

"But... but I deserted you," the Reborn wailed.

"No, hanno," Arafinwë insisted. "You did not desert me. If anything, I deserted you. Now, dry your tears unless they be tears of joy, for this is a day for rejoicing, not sorrow."

"You... you still love me?" Nolofinwë asked as he wiped the tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his tunic, causing both Eärwen and Vandacalimë to cluck in dismay, the latter fishing out a piece of linen from her bodice and handing it to the Reborn.

"I never stopped loving you," Arafinwë assured him, kissing him on his forehead. "Now why don’t you give your greeting to Eärwen — you remember Eärwen, don’t you? — while I say a proper hello to my nephews." With that he handed his brother over to Eärwen, who hugged him. Arafinwë turned to Aracáno, who was still looking wary and unsure.

Arafinwë gave him a warm smile. "So, Ara, do you still like to paint?"

Aracáno gave him a surprised look and then he smiled broadly. "Oh yes! Painting class was my favorite, but everyone else hated it. I don’t know why."

Several people started laughing. "You’re probably one of the few who actually enjoyed it, then," Finrod said. "I spent a lot of time trying to avoid it myself. Gave the Maiar and my minders a merry chase through Lórien, let me tell you."

"Why don’t we go back inside and have some refreshments before you return to the city?" Vandacalimë suggested.

"But I didn’t get a chance to swing on the tree," Aracáno protested. "Atto and Fin got to swing, but I didn’t."

"Don’t be such a baby," Findecáno said in disgust and Aracáno gave him a murderous look and would have attacked him, but Glorfindel intervened, grabbing the ellon’s arm and pulling him away from his brother.

"You can swing later when we get to Tirion," he said. "I know the perfect maple tree and I’ll take you there, just the two of us. You won’t have to share with your atar or brother."

"Truly?" Aracáno asked, his eyes now dancing with delight.

"Truly," Glorfindel said, "but only if you come inside with the rest of us and have some refreshments before we go."

Aracáno nodded, sticking his tongue out at his brother, as if to say ‘See. I’m special’, and allowed Glorfindel to steer him back inside while the others followed, the Once-born shaking their heads in bemusement at the volatility of Reborn emotions.

Arafinwë, Nolofinwë and Findecáno walked together, their arms linked, with Finrod and Eärwen behind them while Sador brought up the rear with Herendil, Vandacalimë having gone ahead to alert the servants. Finrod noticed his ammë frowning. "What’s wrong?" he asked.

The Queen gave an exasperated sigh. "I was just thinking what a bother all this is. I’m going to have to re-do the seating arrangements all over again and no one is going to be happy about it. And whatever do we tell Anairë when she comes?"

Nolofinwë, having overheard Eärwen, gave his brother a puzzled look. "Who’s Anairë?"

****

Words are Sindarin:

Hanar: Brother, the equivalent of the Quenya háno (colloquial form: hanno).

Gwedyr: Plural of gwador: Sworn-brother.

Ennor: Middle-earth.

Chapter the Twenty-Second:

In Which We Return to Tirion and Finrod Dresses Up

"We cannot sneak them into Tirion," Arafinwë said for about the fifth time. They were all foregathered in the main room of Herendil’s mansion, munching on fruit and cheese and drinking a mellow wine. The discussion of how to get the three newly-released Reborn into Tirion with as little fanfare as possible had been going on for nearly a half an hour. Noticeably silent were the three Reborn in question as they listened to the others discuss their fates.

"Why not?" Finrod demanded. "Do you not realize the chaos this is going to cause? Orc-spit! I don’t care what Lord Irmo said, this couldn’t have come at a worse time."

"Why don’t we bring them through Finwë Park?" Glorfindel suggested. "Finrod can open the tunnel for us and we can bring them into the palace grounds without anyone being the wiser."

"And then what?" Arafinwë retorted. "We keep them hidden for the next three days until the wedding and then spring them on everyone? No. I will not do this. Chaos or not, we will deal with this forthrightly. The way you are speaking, Findaráto, it seems almost as if you’re ashamed of your uncle and cousins."

"Of course I’m not ashamed of them," Finrod replied, his expression one of shock at the idea. "It’s just...."

"Complicated," Nolofinwë said, entering the discussion for the first time. The others looked at him with various degrees of sympathy and Finrod even gave him a rueful look. "Perhaps, with Lord Herendil’s permission, we can stay here until after the wedding," the once High King of the Noldor-in-Exile suggested.

"But I wanted to go to the wedding," Aracáno exclaimed, looking distraught. "And wedding gifts! I don’t have a wedding gift."

Immediately, Finrod went to his cousin and gave him a hug. "You’re my wedding gift, all of you, never doubt it. Yet, I don’t think any of you truly appreciate what your being here means. We haven’t been given time to prepare the populace for your return, especially the Tol Eressëans, quite a few of whom were once your subjects, Uncle. They’re going to be rather shocked when they learn of your return."

"It’s not fair," Aracáno said with a pout before anyone could respond to Finrod’s words. "Everyone got to be a king but me. All I got to do is die and not even in battle where I might have at least won renown. Instead, I drowned because I was too stupid to watch my footing on the ice. There’s nothing noble about that. It’s just not fair."

"We lost many to the ice," Finrod said, giving his cousin a kiss on the forehead, "and each death was as a mortal wound to our hearts that never fully healed. You died, as did we all. I died as a prisoner of Sauron and not in any great battle as did your atar and brother."

"But you died a king," Aracáno insisted.

"I gave up my kingdom," Finrod said. "But let us put this aside for now. We need to decide how to proceed from here."

"If I might make a suggestion," Herendil said then.

"By all means, my friend," Arafinwë said. "Let us hear what you have to say."

"Perhaps their Highnesses would like to stay here and rest," Herendil said, "and then ride with us to the city the day after tomorrow. We will be a sizeable party for my parents and grandparents will be joining us. It is unlikely that anyone will pay much attention to our arrival. You can stay at the townhouse with us. There’s plenty of room."

"And we just sort of sneak in anyway," Findecáno asked, shaking his head.

"No," Herendil assured him. "You will simply be riding with my family instead of yours into the city. What others think of it and you is their concern. And I think you would do better to remain here on the estate for a couple of days. Tirion is presently a hotbed of activity with the wedding so near; I fear you might become overwhelmed."

Nolofinwë nodded reluctantly. "Lord Herendil is right. Even now I am feeling fatigued and it’s barely noon. I’m not sure I even want to continue on to Tirion at this point."

"Well, none of this explains why Eärwen and I rushed here, though," Arafinwë said. "People are going to wonder."

"Let them wonder," Finrod retorted. "You are the Noldóran and the interesting thing about being Noldóran is that you don’t have to explain yourself to anyone. I certainly learned that while I was king of Nargothrond."

Eärwen chuckled. "He’s right, dear. Haven’t I said as much?" The others looked on in amusement.

Arafinwë nodded, looking chagrined. "I know, but I vowed that I would never act as my atar and Fëanáro acted when they ruled here. I do not like treating people with that kind of contempt."

"Then if people ask, tell them it’s a surprise," Glorfindel suggested.

"But you hate surprises," Sador said somewhat unnecessarily.

Glorfindel sniffed. "Only when they apply to me, otherwise I like surprises as much as anyone."

There was a moment of silence and then Arafinwë looked at Nolofinwë. "Is that all right with you, hanno? Would you and your sons be willing to remain here and come with Herendil and his family? It would give us time to return to Tirion and order your rooms aired out, if nothing else."

"And I’ve just thought of a way to deflect people’s attention," Sador said, looking rather pleased with himself. "You and ammë came rushing out here because there was an accident involving one of us as we were returning to Tirion. That’s what the message was about and that’s why you both came."

"So which one of us is the unlucky victim of an accident and what kind should it be?" Glorfindel asked, giving Sador a wicked grin.

"Why? Are you volunteering?" Sador retorted with a wicked grin of his own.

"Nay. I think it should be Finrod. Then everyone will be too concerned over the groom’s condition and wondering if he will make it to his own wedding to pay much attention to the comings and goings of others."

"That makes sense," Findecáno said. "With the wedding only days away, anything that happens to either the groom or the bride is going to be a cause of concern for all."

Finrod threw up his hands. "Fine. But let’s make it a minor injury so I’m not forced to hobble to my own wedding in a splint, or worse, have to give my vows from my bed and miss the feast entirely."

"Huh! You’re no fun," Glorfindel said, sniffing in mock disdain.

"Careful, gwador," Finrod retorted in Sindarin, his eyes narrowing, "or you might just be leaving here in splints for real."

"Promises, promises," shot back Glorfindel, giving him a sneer.

"Enough, you two," Arafinwë said quietly, and it escaped no one’s notice that Nolofinwë and his sons all raised eyebrows at the embarrassed looks on the faces of both Finrod and Glorfindel. "I think we’ll dispense with anyone being injured, though that was a good idea you had, Sador. I’ll have to remember it for next time."

"Next time?" Nolofinwë asked.

Arafinwë gave his brother a sour grin. "As Lord Námo is fond of saying, with these two," — he gestured to Finrod and Glorfindel — "there’s always a next time."

"Násië!" Herendil muttered. His wife poked him in the ribs, giving him a disapproving look, and he had the grace to blush, but Arafinwë and Eärwen merely laughed.

"So what happens when we finally do come to Tirion?" Findecáno asked after a moment.

"We’ll work something out," Eärwen answered before Arafinwë could speak.

"The person whom I’m most concerned for is Anairë," Arafinwë said.

"Everyone keeps mentioning her name, but no one explains who she is," Nolofinwë said, looking frustrated.

It was Eärwen who answered him, giving him a gentle look. "Anairë is your wife."

Nolofinwë gave her a blank look. "My wife? I have a wife?"

"Come, come, hanno," Arafinwë said somewhat testily. "Did you think your sons simply sprang up out of the ground at your command? You’re good, but you’re not that good. Yes, Anairë is your wife, the wife whom you left behind when you followed our late but not lamented brother into Exile."

Nolofinwë sat there looking stunned, his face pale, tears beginning to fall. "Why don’t I remember her? Why don’t I remember my own wife?"

Finrod went to him and took him into his embrace. "It’s all right, Uncle," he said soothingly while giving his atar a disapproving look. "When I first was released from Lórien, I barely remembered Atto and Ammë and I remembered Amarië not at all and we had once been betrothed. I suspect when you see Anairë for real, your memories of her will begin to return."

"I don’t remember her, either," Findecáno said quietly, looking distraught. Aracáno was nearly in tears, shaking his head.

"But you will, I promise," Finrod said firmly, releasing his uncle and giving his two cousins hugs to comfort them. "You know how tricky memories are. Lord Irmo has no doubt warned you about this."

All three nodded somewhat reluctantly. Finrod then turned to his atar. "We’d best be going. There is much to be done. Has there been any news concerning Amarië?

"None, dear," Eärwen said, rising, "but I wouldn’t worry. I suspect she’ll be here soon. But let us away. We left poor Ingwion alone to deal with all the Reborn for Vondo is there with Vorondil."

"Oh dear, let us hope the city is still standing then," Finrod said in mock dismay.

"We’ll learn soon enough," Arafinwë said, then he went to Nolofinwë and gave him a hug. "I’m sorry for what I said earlier. It’s not your fault that you don’t remember Anairë."

"Isn’t it?"

"No, hanno, it isn’t. Now, while you are here I would like you three to listen to Herendil and Vandacalimë. They will tell you about Tirion as it is today and not as you may remember it and will explain about the five realms of Eldamar."

"Five? But there are only three," Nolofinwë exclaimed.

"Not any more," Arafinwë said with a smile. "We’ll see you in Tirion the day after tomorrow." He gave his brother a kiss and then they were all saying farewell. The escort was called and horses brought and within ten minutes they were on their way.

****

When they came to the city, Glorfindel could see that much had been done in their absence. Garlands of flowers and streamers of ribbon were being hung on every door and along the streets. In the plaza before the palace itself carpenters were busy constructing the platform on which the wedding ceremony would take place before the populace. He smiled when he saw Ingwion directing his brother and cousin, as well as Vondo and Vorondil, in helping to carry planks of wood or tools for the workers. Everyone looked up at their arrival and almost as one, the Reborn dropped whatever they were doing (much to the dismay of the workers) and ran to them with Ingwion following behind shaking his head in amusement.

"You’re back!" Ingalaurë said somewhat unnecessarily. "How did you get back so quickly from Lórien?"

"And why did you go?" Intarion asked.

"Long story," Finrod replied as he dismounted, handing his horse over to one of the grooms who was on hand. "Let’s go inside and we’ll tell you what has happened."

In a short while they were all foregathered in the larger of the sitting rooms set aside for the royal family, sipping on wine or cider and nibbling on fruit and cheese. Finrod told them of their mad rush to Lórien and what they found there and what had been decided when they reached Herendil’s estate.

Ingwion looked nonplused at the news, while Ingalaurë and Intarion seemed less affected. "They released them now?" Ingwion asked in disbelief. "Without any warning to the rest of us? And Atar... how is he going to react to this?"

"We’ll find out soon enough," Arafinwë said with a shake of his head. "By my estimation, your parents should be here in a matter of hours, for they were planning to depart Vanyamar around the same time Findaráto and the others were leaving Valmar for Tirion."

"Well at least their rooms are in order," Eärwen said, "but I had better inform Mistress Terendulë of the imminent arrival of three more unexpected guests to the wedding. Anairë isn’t expected until the evening before the wedding so there isn’t much time with everything else going on to give her the news." She gave them a shake of her head. "Honestly, the more I think on it, the more I have to agree with Findaráto that this couldn’t have come at a worse time. Whatever were the Valar thinking?"

"Well, it’s too late to complain, my dear," Arafinwë replied. "We have to deal with it as it is and not as we would like it to be. Ingwë will be here by sunset and I have things I need to do before he gets here, so if you will all excuse me." He rose from his chair and gave them a short bow before leaving.

Eärwen sighed then turned to Finrod. "While you were gone, Mistress Cucualindë informed me that they are ready for a final fitting of your wedding garb. Why don’t we go and get that out of the way?"

Finrod groaned but made no further protest and the other ellyn, deciding they had nothing better to do, joined them, much to Finrod’s dismay and Eärwen’s amusement. Thus, when they entered the Sewing Room at the top of the tower, the workers stood around with their mouths agape in surprise while Mistress Cucualindë frowned in irritation.

Eärwen simply gave her a smile. "The ellyn want to see what Findaráto looks like in his wedding garb."

"I see," said the elleth. "Well, your Highness, your garb is hanging up behind that curtain there. If you would be so kind...."

Finrod sighed but complied. The other ellyn all offered to help him with the garb but in the end, Finrod asked one of the male tailors to assist him. "Then you can all be surprised together," he told them. He went behind the curtain and they could hear a sudden intake of breath and then nothing but the soft sounds of movement as Finrod apparently was removing his clothes and donning the wedding garb. After about five minutes the ellon who had assisted him came from behind the curtain, his expression carefully neutral and then they all heard a deep sigh before Finrod stepped into view, refusing to look at anyone.

Glorfindel blinked a couple of times to be sure he was seeing correctly. He glanced around to see what everyone else’s reactions were. The younger Reborn and Vorondil were hard pressed not to burst out laughing and indeed, Intarion had actually turned away, fighting for control. Ingwion just stood there with his mouth gaping open while Eärwen’s expression was totally unreadable to him. He noticed the other seamstresses and tailors were studiously not looking at their prince, but kept their eyes supposedly on their work, though he could see one or two nearby snatching quick glances their way before looking away again. The only one who seemed unaffected was Mistress Cucualindë who nodded and gestured to Finrod.

"Please stand over here on this box, Highness, so I can check the hems."

With a sigh, Finrod complied, stepping up onto a small platform that was in the middle of the room and obviously used for modeling clothes. Glorfindel took the opportunity to walk around it so he could see the garb from every angle, hoping the view would improve, but it didn’t. Finrod stood stoically dressed in an ankle-length tunic of yellow-green brocade upon which had been embroidered rosettes of various shades of rose. The hem and neck were trimmed with what looked to be squirrel fur dyed a deep emerald green. The sleeves of the tunic were narrow and slashed to show the sleeves of the rose silk shirt underneath that puffed up through the slashes. The collar of the shirt was high and stiff and embroidered with gold thread. Over all this was a sleeveless coat in the same yellow-green brocade, open to the front and lined with the rose silk. The arm holes were overlarge, extending almost to his waist and trimmed with the same emerald green fur. Thankfully, there were no rosettes embroidered on the coat. But the worst thing of all, to Glorfindel’s mind, was the wreath. This was a roll of fabric, the same yellow-green brocade, tightly stuffed to form a crown. A thin strip of gold trim was banded around it and a peacock feather was stuck in the front, held in place by a large emerald cabochon pin.

"Please stand straight, Highness, so I can check the hems," Mistress Cucualindë ordered, apparently unaware or uncaring of the effect the garb was having on everyone else. Finrod straightened his shoulders and stared grimly at the wall, refusing to catch anyone’s eyes. Mistress Cucualindë fiddled with the hem of the tunic and coat for another minute or so until she was satisfied, then stepped back with a nod of her head. "Very well, Highness, you may step down and change. Please be careful of the pins."

Finrod stepped off the platform and went behind the curtain. This time, Glorfindel joined him. No words were spoken and Glorfindel kept his expression neutral as he helped his gwador out of the garb, being careful to hang it up when what he wanted to do was chuck it down the nearest privy. A few minutes later, they came back around the curtain and Finrod simply started walking out without so much as a glance at anyone, leaving Eärwen to thank Mistress Cucualindë as she ushered the other ellyn out and down the tower stairs.

No one said a word. No one dared. All had seen the dark expression on Finrod’s face and no one was tempted to relieve it with levity. Even Ingalaurë and Intarion, both emotionally younger than Vorondil, kept their thoughts to themselves. As they reached the ground floor, Eärwen put a hand out to stay her son, who simply stopped, refusing to acknowledge anyone.

"I’m sorry, dear," Eärwen began to apologize, but Finrod raised a hand and stepped away from her.

"No," he said and stalked off, leaving them standing there in dismay. Sador started to go after him, but Ingwion stayed him, shaking his head.

"He needs to be alone right now," he said, then he gave the Queen a sour look. "Do you and Almáriel really hate your son that much, Eärwen? Is this your revenge for his leaving you all those yéni ago?" He didn’t bother to wait for an answer, if, indeed, any was forthcoming, for he grabbed Ingalaurë and Intarion and hustled them away. Neither ellon offered any protest.

Eärwen watched them go, her own expression more sad than upset, then she quietly dismissed the others. Glorfindel and Sador each gave her a hug and kiss while Vondo and Vorondil bowed and then Glorfindel led them in the same direction as Ingwion had gone, meaning to catch up with the Vanyar, leaving the Queen to return to the royal apartments alone.

Chapter the Twenty-Third:

In Which Finrod Has Nightmares and Námo Comes to the Rescue

Finrod was not seen by anyone for the better part of that day. Glorfindel, Sador and Ingwion, along with the other ellyn, attempted to track him down after an hour or so had gone by but had no luck.

"He’ll show up eventually," Ingwion said, attempting to reassure everyone but his expression was doubtful.

Glorfindel sighed. "So who gets to kill Almáriel first?" he asked rhetorically, stomping off before any of them could muster a reply, going back into the garden to sit in the maple tree and think. Finrod’s horse was still in the stables, so he hadn’t ridden out, nor had any of the guards at the various gates seen the prince leave the palace grounds. He wasn’t in the training salle beating someone with a sword and he was nowhere in the gardens or anywhere else. Where could he have gone?

Glorfindel didn’t know and he was afraid for his gwador. The look on Finrod’s face when he walked away had been frightening. He’d never seen him that way before. But, then again, he had never known Finrod when he was King of Nargothrond. Glorfindel sighed and closed his eyes, leaning against the tree that seemed to sense his mood for it swayed its branches and sang to him a soothing song and eventually he fell asleep, waking only when one of the gardeners found him and told him that the High King’s party was even now approaching Tirion. Glorfindel reluctantly went back to the palace to change into more appropriate clothes for greeting Ingwë and the Vanyar.

There was still no sign of Finrod.

****

"Where’s Findaráto?" Ingwë asked Arafinwë after he and Elindis and the other Vanyar had given the Noldor their greetings. Accompanying them was Lady Indis, not seen in Tirion since the Darkening, for she had retired to Lórien and rarely left it. However, her grandson’s wedding was something she refused to miss and so she had gone first to Vanyamar to visit with her brother and his family. There had been many exclamations of surprise among the people of Tirion as they recognized their former queen in the High King’s party. She patently ignored everyone, her expression unreadable, but her greeting for her youngest son and his wife had been warm and effusive.

They were making their way to the royal dining hall where dinner was waiting for them. There would be no welcoming feast for them with the wedding so close. The kitchen staff was too busy preparing for the wedding to do more than offer simple fare for those living in the palace. Indeed, most of the people who normally joined their Majesties for one meal or another were now eating at nearby taverns; only the royal family still ate in the palace.

"And where’s Amarië?" Lady Almáriel demanded angrily. "I had expected her to be here by now."

"Findaráto is... um... missing," Arafinwë replied, "and Amarië is still on Tol Eressëa as far as I know."

"Missing?" Ingwë asked in disbelief. "How is he missing?"

"I’m afraid that’s a rather long story and not necessarily the most important one at the moment," Arafinwë answered.

Ingwë stole a glance at his sons and Intarion walking beside him. Arafinwë laughed. "No, they’re not the problem. Ingalaurë and Intarion have been very good while they’ve been here. Some minor upsets, but nothing to really speak of. No, I’m afraid it has to do with my brother."

That stopped everyone in their tracks. "What do you mean?" Ingwë asked. "Not Fëanáro!"

"No, Ingwë. Not Fëanáro," Arafinwë assured him. "Nolofinwë has been Reborn, along with Findecáno and Aracáno."

"What!?"

Arafinwë nodded. "They are presently staying with Herendil until the wedding. We still haven’t told Anairë. She’s not due to arrive until the evening before the wedding."

"Oh, the poor dear," Indis exclaimed with a shake of her head. "She’s going to be in shock."

"You don’t seem particularly surprised, Ammë," Arafinwë said, giving her a shrewd look.

"Lord Irmo warned me some time ago that they would soon be re-embodied, just as he warned me about Findaráto. He felt it a courtesy as I reside there. However, as much as I desired to see them, as with Findaráto, I stayed away from those areas reserved for the Reborn. They were not ready to meet me. But now that they’ve been released, I am very anxious to see them."

"They may not remember you," Arafinwë said, giving her a gentle hug. "They don’t remember Anairë at all."

"Oh dear. That’s going to be a real problem, isn’t it?" Indis sighed.

"I’m sure we’ll figure it out," Eärwen said. "Perhaps you, Elindis and I and Lirillë when she comes tomorrow can sit down and figure out how best to approach this so neither Anairë nor the ellyn are too overwhelmed."

"Yes, I think that would be an excellent idea," Indis said and Elindis nodded in agreement.

Ingwë gave them a thin smile. "You’ll have to tell us all the details over dinner."

Arafinwë simply nodded and they continued on their way.

****

It was actually Glorfindel and Sador who supplied the details of the rush to Lórien and all that followed afterwards. Their audience sat in rapt attention to their tale and they were still discussing the ramifications of the release of two more kings of Beleriand at this particular time when Finrod showed up. The unexpectedness of his appearance brought all conversations to a halt.

Glorfindel saw that Finrod had not bothered to change for dinner, still wearing the same day-tunic he had been wearing earlier. He did not look at anyone, but gave Ingwë and Elindis a stiff bow, barely polite, before going to his usual seat next to Glorfindel.

"So, the groom finally shows up," Almáriel said from where she was sitting with Castamir and other Vanyarin nobles, casting Finrod a disapproving look. "Let us hope the bride does as well or this will be a very short affair."

"Enough, Almáriel," Castamir said, giving his wife a shake of his head. "Findaráto is not your concern."

Almáriel gave him a scathing look. "Not my concern? And you, are you not concerned? Amarië goes off without so much as a by-your-leave, forcing me to handle everything and...."

"I said enough, madam," Castamir interrupted, speaking more firmly than most had ever heard him speak before. "This is neither the time nor the place and I will not allow you to embarrass either me or their Majesties with your tirade. If Amarië left when she did, you only have yourself to blame. Now be silent. Prince Findaráto’s comings and goings are not your concern." He looked towards the high table and gave a slight nod of his head. "My apologies, your Majesties."

An uncomfortable silence followed. Then, after a minute or two, Arafinwë turned to his son. "Where have you been, yonya?"

Finrod merely shrugged, refusing to answer. One of the servants came with a plate of food and set it before him. Finrod thanked him but did not actually eat anything; he simply sat there staring at the plate. Glorfindel put a hand on Finrod’s shoulder and leaned over to whisper in his ear.

"Don’t let the Balrog win."

Finrod gave him a sharp look, but then nodded, turning to his atar. "I’m sorry I’m late," he said smoothly enough. "I fear I had too much on my mind with the wedding and all and lost track of the time. Was your journey fair, Uncle?"

Ingwë gave him a shrewd look but answered readily enough. "Fair enough. I understand you had a bit of an adventure concerning some new Reborn. Glorfindel and Sador were telling us all about it."

"Yes, it came as rather a shock," Finrod said. "I think I’m still trying to process the idea that I’m no longer the only king of Beleriand now residing in Aman. It’ll take getting used to."

"No doubt," Ingwë said with a nod. "Well, I’ll have to put it on the agenda for the All-Aman Council meeting. I think that would be the proper time to... um... introduce them to the rest of Eldamar."

"Oh, Valar!" Arafinwë said with some feeling. "I’d forgotten all about that."

Ingwë gave him a wicked grin. "Which is why you have me around to remind you, yonya." The others laughed and the tension that had been noticeable among them all was relaxed somewhat and even Finrod found his appetite returning. The rest of the meal was more congenial for most, though it escaped no one’s notice that Almáriel continued to glower at them all.

****

"Where were you?" Glorfindel asked Finrod later that evening when he, Sador, Ingwion and the other ellyn were foregathered in Finrod’s sitting room, having escaped their elders who were still discussing politics. "We looked everywhere, but you were nowhere to be found."

"I was here," Finrod said.

"In your rooms? But we looked here, and more than once," Ingwion said.

Finrod shook his head. "I was here in the palace, but in a place where few would know to look."

"And you’re not going to tell us where," Sador said, giving him a shrewd look.

Finrod gave them a thin smile. "Not at this time, hanno. Where I was, was my own personal refuge."

"Fair enough," Ingwion said. "We all have our own such refuges, I think." The others all nodded. "How are you feeling now, though? I’m surprised you didn’t attack Almáriel on sight. I certainly was tempted to give her a piece of my mind, but I was afraid she might lose it."

That set everyone laughing. "I admit the thought had crossed my mind that I would like nothing better than to stuff that horrid garb down her throat," Finrod admitted, giving them a sheepish look.

"I think we should sneak up to the sewing room and burn it," Sador said.

"Ooh, can we?" Intarion asked, his eyes bright with anticipation.

"No, we cannot," Finrod said with a laugh that was unforced. "Besides, with the wedding only days away, that place is going to be a beehive of activity trying to get everyone else’s garb done on time, so there is no way for us to sneak up there, for I suspect they will be working through the night to get everything ready."

"Are you really going to wear it, though?" Ingwion asked.

Finrod shrugged. "We’ll see," was all he said. "Now, if you will excuse me, I think I’ll retire early. The last week has been too exciting and I need some true sleep."

The others reluctantly left, wishing him pleasant dreams.

****

Finrod decided to take a soaking bath first, settling into the bathing pool with a sigh of contentment, allowing the lavender-scented water to ease his body and soul. This past week had been very emotional with the unexpected reunion with his uncle and cousins. That had been bad enough, but then to have to endure the humiliation of a fitting for his wedding garb in front of his gwedyr. He could tell as he stood there while Mistress Cucualindë fiddled with the hems that some of them were trying hard not to laugh while the others simply gaped at him with looks that bordered on horror. Only his ammë’s expression had been unreadable. But what was worse was the studious non-reactions of the other seamstresses and tailors. He couldn’t have felt more embarrassed if he’d been forced to stand before them all stark naked.

He sighed, shifting his position a little to get more comfortable. He had to smile in spite of everything, remembering Sador’s suggestion of sneaking into the sewing room and burning the offensive garb. If only! Well, perhaps if the plans he’d set in motion a month ago bore fruit, he wouldn’t have to suffer such humiliation again.

Deciding he’d soaked long enough, he climbed out of the bath, dried himself off and made ready for bed. In a matter of minutes he was falling asleep. His last thoughts were about Amarië and wondering how she was faring and if she would make it to her own wedding on time....

****

It was a familiar dream, one that he’d had since his early Reborn days: Finrod battling against Sauron with Songs of Power. Sometimes the dream would follow the events as they had actually occurred and usually Finrod would awake about the time the werewolf was about to attack Beren and he, himself, would break his bonds and slay the monster. Other times — and Finrod knew this was merely wishful thinking on his part — he would prevail against Sauron or, if not prevail, he would still somehow survive to help the Mortal in his quest. It was a game of ‘what if’ that he sometimes indulged himself in, but in the end he knew it was simply that: an indulgence.

At any rate, the dream was an old one and in spite of its terror, something of a familiar friend, for he often had it whenever feeling stressed or deeply troubled or simply angry for whatever reason, and certainly he had cause to be angry now. Sometimes — and admittedly, these were very rare — Finrod would recognize this particular dream for what it was and he would wake himself up before it got too far, spending some time reading or simply meditating until he felt it was safe to return to the Path of Dreams. But tonight he decided to let the dream run its course....

Finrod found himself standing before the throne of Sauron as he usually did in this particular dream. He did not have to turn around to know that Edrahil, Beren and the others were huddled behind him.

     "Veils of enchantment will I pierce,

     open before my eyes what hidden be,

     revealing treachery, uncovering betrayal.

     Let this glamour be undone…"

Sauron’s voice filled the throne room as he began singing a Song of Power. Finrod attempted to cast a counterspell of his own, but somehow the dream did not follow the same course as history and suddenly, he and the others all found themselves standing there naked.

Sauron smiled, and it was a devastatingly wicked smile. Oddly enough, his appearance kept shifting, so that first he was the dread Maia and then he was Mistress Cucualindë. And it was while he was in the shape of the sewing mistress that he made a negligent gesture and spoke another spell:

     "Veils of another kind do I bid ye wear,

     clothe ye all in shades of yellow-green and rose,

     and let ye die of shame anon..."

Then to Finrod’s everlasting horror he found himself clothed in the hated wedding garb and worse, all the others of his party were clothed in them as well and all around them the orcs started laughing, hooting and hollering with unbridled glee. Beren suddenly burst into tears. And then, as dreams do, the scene shifted and he now found himself chained, not to the expected wall of a dungeon, but to the wall of the Sewing Room. And chained to the wall beside him was not Beren but Amarië, the yellow-green and rose of her gown a match for his own garb. She appeared to be unconscious.

He started to speak to his beloved when Lady Almáriel entered the room, giving them a triumphant smirk.

"So, now you will both be my victims," Almáriel said and then she gave an unearthly howl and began to turn into a werewolf, except it still had Almáriel’s face and that was more horrible than anything Finrod had ever experienced before. The werewolf gave another howl and launched itself at the still unconscious Amarië and Finrod strove to break his bonds.

"No!" he shouted. "You shan’t have her." And with that, he tore the chains from the wall and leaped upon the werewolf, strangling it with his bare hands until it died. He turned to succor Amarië, only to find that she was gone and so was the werewolf. He decided to remove the hateful garb, but found that he could not. No matter how many times he attempted to remove his robes, he still ended up being clothed in them.

"I must find Sauron and destroy him to remove the spell," he said to himself and was not too surprised when he discovered a sword in his hands. He smiled ferally and went hunting for his prey....

****

Mistress Cucualindë was finishing up the last of the hemming on the prince’s wedding garb which hung on a wooden model of a male Elf. She sighed and shook her head.

"It is rather ugly."

Cucualindë turned her head to see Artamir, one of the journeymen ellyn, standing there with a wry look on his face. All around them others were busily working on finishing up the various gowns and robes to be worn by other members of the royal family or by those courtiers who had not commissioned their garb for the wedding elsewhere.

"I fear his Highness isn’t too happy with us," she acknowledged ruefully. "Frankly, I would like nothing better than to...."

"Sauron!"

There were cries of alarm from the other workers and Cucualindë and Artamir turned to see a rather naked Finrod with a sword in his hand.

"Your Highness, what...."

"I have come to kill you, Sauron, and this time I mean to prevail," Finrod shouted, but none of them understood what he was saying, for he was speaking in Sindarin.

Artamir stepped forward, his hands raised in a conciliatory manner. "Your Highness, please put the sword down and let me...."

But Finrod either did not hear or simply ignored the ellon, for he raised his sword above his head and to the consternation of all began Singing.

"What’s he doing?" someone shouted.

Then all of a sudden a mighty wind appeared from nowhere and objects began flying about, causing people to duck.

"Someone run for help!" Artamir shouted and the two or three who were closest to the doorway ran past an uncaring Finrod still Singing while others crouched under tables trying to avoid the various sewing objects — scissors, pin cushions, rulers, and fabric — flying about.

Then, Finrod’s wedding garb burst into flames.

"No!" Cucualindë shouted, grabbing some fabric with which to beat out the flames, but Artamir pulled her away and she was forced to drop the velvet she’d been holding as it began smoldering. Mistress and journeyman found themselves huddled under one of the cutting tables watching all their hard work go up in flames.

And all the while, Finrod continued Singing, a center of calm in the vortex his spell was creating. Smoke was beginning to fill the room as flames continued to sprout here and there, though the open embrasures helped to relieve some of the discomfort everyone was feeling and the whirlwind actually blew much of it outside. Still there was a definite danger of them perhaps dying of smoke inhalation.

The distant sound of shouting alerted those trapped in the sewing room that help was on the way and into the maelstrom came Glorfindel, a night robe pulled hastily around him, a sword in his hand. One glance was all he needed to take in the situation and he shouted, "Finrod, daro! Daro, ion Finarfin!"

Finrod turned and the wind died so that everything dropped to the floor with resounding clangs and dull thuds. "Not this time, Sauron," he snarled. "This time I have you where I want you." With that, he launched himself at Glorfindel who managed to raise his sword in time to block Finrod’s attack and then the two of them were going at each other fast and furious. Or, at least, Finrod was; Glorfindel was merely trying not to get himself killed or cause any injury to his gwador.

And then, Finrod once again began Singing.

"You idiot!" Glorfindel screamed. "Wake up, you orc-brained fool!"

Finrod, however, was too caught up in his nightmare to hear and Glorfindel was forced to counteract his gwador’s spell with one of his own. And now the conflict escalated, for the two of them brought titanic forces into play as the room was filled with flashes of lightning and the rumble of thunder. Still Finrod Sang and Glorfindel desperately attempted to stop him. Just as Finrod’s Song began to crescendo, there was a sudden flash of multi-hued lights, blinding nearly everyone, and then Lord Námo was standing there, looking less than pleased.

"Stop him!" Glorfindel pleaded, even as he dodged one of Finrod’s more effective strokes, barely getting out of the way of the sword. "He thinks I’m Sauron."

Námo raised an eyebrow at that but then nodded, raising his hands to shoulder height and to the absolute amazement of the onlookers began to Sing his own Song, and as powerful as Finrod’s Song was, the Vala’s was even more so. All who heard it could never afterwards remember the words or even recall clearly the tune; they could only stare in wonder as the Song took hold and cancelled Finrod’s spell until the ellon was standing mute with tears running down his face and it surprised many to discover themselves weeping as well.

Finally, Námo came to the last note of his Song and lowered his arms. Silence that was almost physical fell upon them. Glorfindel found himself reeling, suddenly feeling exhausted, and it was all he could do to stumble over and take the sword out of Finrod’s hand. His gwador simply stood there, his eyes unseeing, weeping. All the smoke was gone and the fires out, leaving behind the smell of scorched fabric. Finrod’s wedding garb was a blackened ruin.

"What in the name of all that’s holy just happened?"

Glorfindel looked up to see Arafinwë, Ingwë and several others crowding the entrance, their expressions one of shock and disbelief mingling with fear.

Námo did not answer, merely raised a hand imperiously to command silence as he walked over to Finrod and gently placed one hand over the ellon’s eyes while the other hand held the back of his head. The Lord of Mandos spoke not a word, yet everyone felt power leaving him and then Finrod gave a strangled moan and collapsed. Námo quickly gathered him into his arms.

"Explanations later," the Vala said as he headed towards the stairs with people scrambling out of his way. "Let’s get our little arsonist back into bed and then we can sort it out in the morning."

Námo headed down the stairs but no one else followed. They all stared at the wreckage around them. Artamir crawled out from under the cutting table where he and Mistress Cucualindë had taken refuge, helping her to her feet. Others also came out from hiding and a couple of the seamstresses began picking up the clutter on the floor.

"Leave it," Arafinwë commanded. "There is naught you can do here tonight. We’ll deal with it in the morning." With that, he gestured for everyone to leave the room, with himself, Ingwë and Glorfindel bringing up the rear. Glorfindel found himself feeling dizzy and clutched the wall as he made his way down the tower stairs. When he reached the bottom, Sador and Ingwion took hold of him and Arafinwë ordered them to see him to bed.

"And I was having such a nice dream, too," Glorfindel muttered as he allowed himself to be led away. "Damn Almáriel for this. It’s all her fault."

"How do you figure that?" Ingwion asked.

Glorfindel gave him a disbelieving look. "Finrod set fire to his wedding garb, didn’t he?"

To that, no one had an answer.

****

Finrod, daro! Daro, ion Finarfin!: (Sindarin) ‘Finrod, stop! Stop, son of Finarfin!’

Note: The first verse of Sauron’s Song of Power is taken from the Lay of Leithian. Obviously, the second verse is not. My thanks to Ellie for suggesting Finrod’s nightmare after having to try on the wedding garb.

Chapter the Twenty-Fourth:

In Which Finrod Tells of His Dream and Some Go Shopping

Finrod opened his eyes to sunlight pouring into his bedroom window, blinking away sleep, wondering why they were even closed. He must have been more tired than he thought and he had had such strange dreams: battling Sauron over his wedding garb and setting it on fire. He smiled at that, wishing it were so, then shook his head against such fancies. He pulled back the bedclothes to rise and stopped midway in doing so when he realized he had a visitor who was sitting calmly in a chair in the corner of his room reading.

"Good morning," Lord Námo said brightly without bothering to look up from the page he was perusing.

"Ah.... um...."

"No doubt," Námo said congenially, finally looking up, his expression totally unreadable to the Elf. "Why don’t you get dressed. I will let the others know you are finally awake."

"Others?"

Námo closed the book and put it aside as he rose. "Don’t dawdle. Everyone is simply dying to hear all about your dream." Finrod felt the blood drain from his face while Námo gave him a knowing smile before leaving, calling out to Finrod’s body servants that their prince was ready for them.

****

A half an hour later, bathed and dressed, Finrod made his way to the family dining room. In spite of the lateness of the morning, for it was well past the time in which his family normally broke fast, he found the dining room bustling with activity and the sideboard still brimming with food. Apparently, everyone had slept late... or perhaps they had merely postponed breakfast until he was awake.

All motion stopped as he entered the room. He was surprised to see Lord Námo there, sitting between his Atar and Ingwë at the High Table, though he appeared to be the only one not eating. Besides the usual courtiers and guests, Finrod could see Mistress Cucualindë and what appeared to be most of her staff sitting at their own table and wondered at the expressions of dismay they all gave him. At another table were Lord Castamir and Lady Almáriel. The lady glared at him, which was nothing new, but Castamir actually gave him a wink, which surprised him.

He looked about for his gwedyr and was glad to see them all sitting together. Glorfindel and Ingwion gave him friendly smiles, and Ingalaurë even waved, which relieved some of his nervousness. Some, but not all. He had the distinct feeling he was in serious trouble, but he didn’t know why.

Eärwen finally broke the spell his arrival had caused by standing and going to him, giving him a brief hug and a kiss. "How are you feeling, Finda?" she asked quietly.

"Confused," he answered readily enough, then gave her a look of chagrin. "Did I do something bad?"

The very tone, so elflingish, seemed to affect people in various ways. He heard a few quickly suppressed giggles and not a few loud sighs and saw even one or two people rolling their eyes, but Eärwen just smiled at her first-born and gave him another hug. "Why don’t you get some breakfast and come sit with us?"

Finrod nodded and, trying not to blush and refusing to look at anyone, he went to the sideboard to fill his plate, though he really had no appetite. He made his way to the High Table where he sat beside his ammë and then just stared at his plate while everyone else continued eating, though he could feel eyes upon him from every direction.

"You shouldn’t let your food go cold, dear," Eärwen said.

"I’m not really hungry," Finrod replied softly, not looking up. "Just get it over with."

"What do you mean?" Arafinwë asked.

Finrod looked up, his expression bordering on anger. "I mean, whatever I did wrong, just tell me what my punishment is so I can get on with it. I’m supposed to be getting married in two days. I’d like to be done with whatever you have in mind for me before that."

There was absolute silence throughout the hall. Námo gave Arafinwë a wry look. "Reminds me of you when you were dumping cold water over Manwë."

Everyone had the rare pleasure of seeing the Noldóran blushing. "Not my finest hour," he muttered.

Námo shrugged. "Depends on one’s point of view. I was ready to stand up and cheer."

"Well, this is neither the time nor place," Arafinwë retorted, giving the Vala a meaningful look before turning his attention to Finrod. "Yonya, I have no intention of punishing you or anyone else for that matter. I’m still waiting for an explanation as to what happened last night."

"What happened last night?" Finrod asked, looking puzzled. "Did something happen while I was sleeping?"

"You don’t remember?" Glorfindel spoke up. "You don’t remember fighting me?"

"Fighting you? Why would I do that? Wait!" he shook his head as if to clear it then turned to Lord Námo. "You said something about everyone wanting to hear about my dream."

"It was quite spectacular from what I could tell, though my brother Irmo would be more cognizant of just what was going on."

"I don’t understand."

"Why don’t we begin with you telling us what you remember of your dream," Arafinwë suggested, "and then we’ll go from there."

Finrod suddenly felt a great reluctance to say anything and he found it difficult to breathe for some reason with the room slowly spinning as his vision went dark. There was a flurry of incandescent lights and then Lord Irmo was standing behind him, placing a hand on his head.

"Breathe slowly, child," the Vala commanded. "There’s no need to panic. Nothing is going to happen to you. Take a deep breath and let it out slowly. That’s it. And perhaps some water will help."

Finrod found a goblet being thrust into his hands and he drank its contents eagerly, feeling his world righting itself once again. Irmo bent down to look at him, giving him a warm smile. "It really was quite amusing and very inventive."

"So tell us your dream, already," Sador demanded impatiently. "I told you mine."

"But your dream didn’t end up setting the palace on fire," Glorfindel retorted.

"I set the palace on fire?" Finrod exclaimed, feeling faint once again.

"No, yonya. You did no such thing," Arafinwë assured him, giving Glorfindel a stern look. "Glorfindel is exaggerating. Now, please tell us what you remember of your dream as it has a bearing on what happened in reality."

Irmo patted Finrod on the shoulder and that simple gesture helped him to find his equilibrium. Without looking at anyone, and speaking softly, he began to describe his dream. "It’s one I’ve had numerous times before, but this time it did not follow its usual course." As he described the dream, there were gasps of shock and surprise from more than one throat and when he got to the part where Lady Almáriel turned into the werewolf, the said lady began screaming invectives at Finrod and had to be removed from their presence by order of Arafinwë. When order had been restored once again, Finrod continued describing the dream as he remembered it.

"And then there was this Song," he concluded, his expression one of wonder. "It was so beautiful and so heartbreaking, all I could do was weep, but after that I don’t remember anything else."

Silence reigned for a long moment as people digested Finrod’s tale. Finrod turned to Glorfindel. "So, all the time I thought I was battling Sauron, it was really you?"

"Yes, and I was hard put to keep up with you," Glorfindel admitted. "I’m not as proficient with Songs of Power as you are and it was all I could do to hold you at bay until Lord Námo came to the rescue. It was his Song you heard at the end."

"And... and the wedding garb?" Finrod asked faintly, staring down at his plate of untouched food, now gone cold.

"Burned to a crisp," Glorfindel said with a laugh. "Along with several others that were being worked on when you showed up in all your glory."

Finrod cringed and felt his ammë wrap a comforting arm around his shoulders. "That’s enough, dear," she gently admonished Glorfindel. "Your brother is feeling guilty enough, I’m sure, without you making him feel worse."

"Sorry," Glorfindel apologized meekly enough.

"So now we know why Findaráto went to the sewing room in search of Sauron," Námo said, rising from his chair. The Elves started to rise as well, but he gestured for them to remain where they were. "Vairë and her people have repaired the gowns and robes that were damaged and have set the Sewing Room to rights" — here he nodded to Mistress Cucualindë who returned it with a grateful smile — "but she has flat out refused to repair Findaráto’s wedding garb." He gave them a wicked smile. "She used language I wasn’t even aware that she knew."

No one knew quite how to take that so they all remained silent. Námo and Irmo exchanged amused glances. "Yes, well, I imagine you have much to do in the next couple of days," Námo then said, rather too cheerfully to everyone’s thinking. "No need to get up. We’ll see ourselves out." And with that he and Irmo simply faded from their presence.

Silence reigned once again for several minutes. Finrod just sat there wondering what could possibly go wrong next in his life. He was beginning to regret ever having agreed to a royal wedding. He should have just taken Amarië into his household from the beginning and forgotten about a stupid wedding. He felt, rather than saw, Glorfindel rise and come to stand behind him, leaning forward to wrap his arms around him and give him a hug.

"It’s going to be all right, hanno," he said softly. "No one but Almáriel liked that garb, so you did Eldamar a favor by destroying it."

"Lord Glorfindel is correct, your Highness."

Finrod looked up to see Castamir standing. "Amarië had a similar reaction to her own wedding gown, which is why she fled Vanyamar. I have no idea what possessed my wife to choose those particular colors when you should be wearing your house colors, as is only proper." He shook his head. "Well, I’d best go see if Almáriel has calmed down enough to be civil. Honestly, she was never like this before."

"I’m afraid I’m to blame for that," Finrod said with a rueful look. "She’s never quite forgiven me for deserting her daughter."

"Hmph. Well that may be as it may be, Highness." Castamir gave a bow towards the two kings and their queens. "By your leave, your Majesties."

Both Ingwë and Arafinwë nodded and Castamir made his way to the door.

"Castamir," Finrod called out, staying the ellon. "I’m marrying your daughter in two days. When are you going to start calling me by my name instead of addressing me as ‘your Highness’ all the time?"

Castamir gave him an amused grin, "About the same time as you start calling me ‘Atya’, I would imagine."

There were chuckles throughout the room as he gave them a bow and left. That seemed to be the signal for everyone else to leave as well, for most of the people breakfasting with the royal family would normally be at their work by now. When the room had emptied out, leaving just the royal family, Arafinwë spoke to his son. "As I said, I have no intention of punishing anyone for anything. I am hoping that we won’t have any more upsets between now and Valanya. I would like Tirion to still be standing after you and Amarië are wed."

"What are you going to wear to the wedding though?" Ingalaurë asked. "You could borrow my clothes. I can find something else to wear."

"Thank you for the offer," Finrod replied, giving the Vanya a genuine smile, "but I’m sure I can come up with something appropriate." He leaned back in his chair, sighing. Glorfindel, still standing behind him, gave him another hug and a kiss on the top of his head.

"We just have to keep you out of trouble for two more days," he said. "I’m sure we can manage that."

"Olwë is expected to arrive around noon," Arafinwë said.

"Which means Beleg will be with him," Glorfindel said, giving Finrod’s shoulder a squeeze.

"Along with Laurendil and his family and Eärnur, and your brothers," Ingwion said, looking at Olwen who sat next to him. "We should reserve a private parlor at one of the inns and have a welcoming party for everyone, take our minds off the wedding for a few hours."

"That sounds like a good idea," Sador said, giving them a sly grin. "We can gather at the Rose and Lily," naming the tavern where Ingalaurë and Intarion had had their ill-fated meeting with four gossiping Noldor.

Several people groaned and Finrod gave a snort of amusement. "I don’t think the innkeeper would appreciate us all showing up."

"Well, you’ll have to postpone the get-together anyway," Arafinwë said. "As soon as Olwë gets here, we need to discuss my brother and nephews. Which means, that as Cáno, you’ll need to be in on the discussion, Sador, and Glorfindel as well, since Eärendil isn’t here yet."

"You’ll be introducing them to the All-Aman Council after the wedding, though," Finrod said with a frown. "What really is to discuss?"

"Why don’t we wait for Olwë and worry about it then?" Arafinwë said. "In the meantime, I’ve sent a note to Herendil to bring them to the city today rather than tomorrow. I want certain things settled before Anairë comes."

"As much as I would like to see my son and grandsons, I think it best that we don’t renew our acquaintance with them all at once," Indis said. "Perhaps we ladies can wait until Anairë comes and then we will handle that reunion ourselves. You ellyn are bound to mess it up."

Arafinwë turned to Ingwë with a smile. "She hasn’t changed, has she?"

"Not that I can tell," Ingwë retorted with a laugh while Indis gave them both an arch look.

"Well, Olwë and his party won’t be here for another couple of hours," Ingwion said briskly, deciding to divert everyone’s attention. "So why don’t we remove ourselves to the gardens and wait for their arrival."

Everyone agreed and those who did not have business to attend to otherwise went out to the gardens where they spent the time quietly entertaining themselves. And no one discussed anything having to do with the wedding.

****

With Olwë and the Teleri came Laurendil and Manwen with their first-born, Irmondil, now nearly eleven. They had been visiting with Eärnur and his family for the last couple of months. With the Teleri were several people from Tol Eressëa, including Gilvagor and Haldir, who was accompanied by his wife, Gwilwileth, and their infant son, Finglor. Beleg was also there and immediately went to the other Reborn to give them his greetings. While people were still milling about, greeting friends and discussing their journey, Arafinwë asked Olwë, Lindarion, Laurendil, Eärnur and Gilvagor to join him and Ingwë in the Noldóran’s study once they had freshened up.

"There is something that you must know," he told them but refused to say anything more, so they agreed to meet in half an hour’s time.

With Finrod, Glorfindel, Sador and Ingwion also at the meeting, the study was a bit crowded but no one minded.

"So what is this all about?" Olwë asked once they were all together.

"The Valar have... um.... given Findaráto an early wedding present," Arafinwë replied, "in the form of my brother, Nolofinwë, and two of his sons."

Several people gasped in surprise at that revelation, though Laurendil and Eärnur simply nodded.

"Excuse me?" Olwë said in disbelief, glancing at his grandson. "Now? Why now?"

"That was my question," Finrod replied with a sour grin. "Naturally, Lord Irmo wasn’t very forthcoming with an explanation, simply saying that they were due to be released at this time regardless of what else was going on in our lives."

"At any rate," Ingwë said, "we felt you needed to know before we spring them on the rest of Eldamar."

""Eärnur and I have known about their release for some time, having worked with them," Laurendil said, casting an apologetic look towards Finrod. "We were told to keep their presence a secret, aranya. Sorry."

"I lay no blame on you or Eärnur, Laurendil," Finrod said.

"So why am I here?" Gilvagor asked.

"You are a respected member of the Tol Eressëan Council and I believe you were Findecáno’s liegeman," Arafinwë answered and the ellon, who was looking somewhat pale, nodded. "As for you two," the Noldóran addressed Laurendil and Eärnur, "I hate to do this to you, but I think I need to recruit you to keep an eye on my brother and nephews during the next several days. Things are going to be hectic enough with the wedding, but then there is the All-Aman Council meeting to get through and we’ll be officially introducing them to everyone at that time."

"And being newly released, they are going to be overwhelmed by all the activity around them," Eärnur said with a nod. "More so than usual with the wedding and all."

"So where are they now?" Olwë asked.

"Presently staying with Lord Herencáno’s family," Arafinwë replied. "We felt it better all around if they were simply considered part of his household for now. Herendil, in fact, is hosting them and I asked him to bring them here at this time."

"Is that wise?" Olwë asked. "People are bound to recognize them."

"It is less a hazard than all of us trooping over to Herencáno’s townhouse to visit," Arafinwë said with a shrug. "I instructed Herendil to disguise them as guards. No one looks at guards any more than they look at other servants."

They all nodded, recognizing that particular truism. "At any rate, we thought it best to prepare you ahead of time before seeing them," Arafinwë continued. "They are presently waiting for us in the green audience chamber. Shall we go?"

They all nodded and followed Arafinwë out. "Do you think it wise for all of us to show up at once, though?" Laurendil asked as they were making their way down the corridor. "These are Reborn and they’re going to be very nervous without having to deal with all of us at the same time."

"We’ll take it slowly," Arafinwë assured him. "I’ll send Findaráto, Glorfindel and Sador in first since they were the ones who brought them back from Lórien. Then I think Ingwë and Olwë and their heirs should be introduced next and we’ll fit the rest of you in as we can." Everyone chuckled at that.

When they reached the green audience chamber, Finrod, Glorfindel and Sador went in with Arafinwë, while the others waited outside.

"Oh, there you are," they heard Nolofinwë say with some exasperation as they entered. "I was wondering if you’d forgotten us."

Arafinwë went to his brother and gave him a fierce hug. "Never, but I had some business to attend to first. Now, how are you three doing? Any problems?" This last was directed at Herendil, who shook his head.

"None to speak of," he replied with a smile. "Vondo and Vorondil have kept them amused and Aldundil has kept them in line."

"There are some people we would like you to meet," Arafinwë said.

"Anairë?" Nolofinwë asked, looking a little pale.

"No, not yet. You won’t meet her until tomorrow evening, but there are others who wish to greet you. Is that all right with you? If you don’t feel you can do this, that is fine. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. If things get overwhelming for any of you, you are to let us know immediately."

Nolofinwë exchanged glances at Findecáno and Aracáno and then gave Arafinwë a nod. The Noldóran smiled and gestured for Sador to call in the other two kings, who entered with Ingwion and Lindarion trailing them.

"Do you remember Ingwë and Olwë?" Arafinwë asked. "And here are Ingwion and Lindarion."

Findecáno and Aracano both had puzzled expressions on their faces, and Aracáno shook his head. Nolofinwë, though, was staring at Ingwion. "There should be two of you," he said.

Ingwion raised an eyebrow at that and nodded. "That’s right. My twin brother, Ingalaurë. He’s here, but he is with our cousin Intarion at the moment. You’ll see them later."

Nolofinwë nodded then turned to Ingwë, giving him a shy look. "I’m sorry. I didn’t do very well, did I?"

Ingwë took him into his embrace and kissed him. "From what I’ve heard, you did well enough. You got your people to Beleriand and you protected them as best you could. That is all that matters."

"I was a fool," Nolofinwë said with a shake of his head. "Oath or no oath, I should never have left."

"But you did," Olwë said, "and all else flows from that. I wish you had not left either, child, but the important thing is that you, all of you, have returned."

"Except Turucáno and my sister and others," Findecáno said. "Lord Námo said it wasn’t time yet."

"And Lord Námo knows of what he speaks," Arafinwë said. "That you are here is a joy and a wonder for us, for we did not look to see you released so soon."

"But we died before Findaráto," Aracáno said with a frown. "How is it he was released before us?"

"I have no answer for you, Nephew," Arafinwë said. "I only know that the decision for who is reborn when is a joint one between Lords Námo and Manwë in consultation with Ilúvatar, who has the final say. I think Findaráto was released when he was because he was needed at a particular time."

"At any rate, how are you three faring?" Finrod asked.

"Well enough, I suppose," Nolofinwë admitted. "Herendil and his family have been very solicitous of our needs and have told us much of what has happened during our... um... absence. I noticed they filled in certain details of history that those of Lórien failed to mention." He gave them a knowing look.

"On purpose," Finrod said with a smile. "I know, it’s frustrating and I found it equally frustrating, but I understand the reason for it better now. Some things it is best for family to explain rather than strangers."

"So what now?" Findecáno asked. "What happens to us now? Atto and I were kings, but that’s not what we are now. Now we’re just.... hangers-on, I guess, just like before."

"I think for the moment we should take things slowly," Arafinwë replied. "Let us get past the next week. Between Findaráto getting married and the All-Aman Council convening afterwards, there is too much to do."

"We don’t want to be a bother," Nolofinwë said.

"You are not a bother," Arafinwë insisted. "In fact, you three could be very helpful to me."

"How?"

"Findaráto is haryon, but he is rarely here, for he has other duties and resides mostly in Lórien, so I don’t have his help as often as I would wish. If you are amenable to the idea, I would appreciate you acting as my assistants once Findaráto returns to Lórien."

"All three of us?" Nolofinwë asked, looking doubtful.

"All three of you," Arafinwë assured them. "You little know how much I value having you here. You and Findecáno have administrative experience in running a kingdom and I assure you that even if you have little memory of it now, working with me will help regain those memories sooner. And Aracáno, as I recall from before, had an excellent grasp of the nuances of our laws and customs. You would all be an asset to me."

Aracáno gave his uncle a pleased look and Findecáno straightened his shoulders while Nolofinwë merely nodded. "Then, we would be glad to help in whatever manner you see fit."

"Good. For now, though, I suggest you just relax and enjoy yourselves. Have you had a chance to find wedding gifts, yet?" He gave them a sly smile.

All three Reborn shook their heads, giving them shy looks.

"Well, I have some other people I would like you to meet who can take you to the markets. Would you like that?"

They nodded and Arafinwë bade Laurendil, Eärnur and Gilvagor to enter. The Reborn brightened at the sight of the two Lóriennildi. Gilvagor was merely introduced as a member of the Tol Eressëan High Council who had lived in Beleriand, for Findecáno did not seem to recognize him and that was not surprising, for Gilvagor had not been a lord of the land and had not been high in the councils of the Noldor-in-Exile.

"So do we have to play at being guards still?" Nolofinwë asked. "It would seem rather odd for mere guards to be buying wedding gifts for their prince."

"But I like playing being a guard," Aracáno protested. "Can’t we be guards for a little while longer?"

"Sador’s begetting day is fast approaching," Gilvagor said.

"Please, don’t remind me," Sador retorted with some feeling and everyone else chuckled.

"Yes, well, as it happens, I need to find a gift for him, so why don’t we pretend we’re buying gifts for Sador and Laurendil, you can pretend to be buying a gift for your wife and we, being hopeless ellyn will naturally ask the opinions of other ellyn as to the appropriateness of the gifts." He gave the three Reborn a knowing look.

"Oh, and that’s when I say, ‘No, my lord, I think that is a better gift’ and point to something I like," Findecáno said with a laugh, having gotten Gilvagor’s meaning.

"Exactly," Gilvagor replied with a smile.

"Well, if you’re going shopping, I’ll go with you," Glorfindel said. "In all the excitement of late, I’d forgotten about Sador’s begetting day."

"I’ll come too, and we can bring Ingalaurë and Intarion as well," Ingwion said. "I don’t really like to have them out of my sight for very long and this will take their minds off getting into mischief."

"If it’s all the same with you, though, I would prefer not to go," Eärnur said. "I think I’d better stay here and keep an eye on Beleg. He’s been acting strangely lately and I’m not sure why. I think he’s remembering things but refuses to tell me about them."

"I had noticed that," Olwë said, "but certainly I or my sons can handle him if something triggers an adverse reaction."

"No, Eärnur is correct," Laurendil said. "I’ve noticed Beleg withdrawing from everyone lately and I think an experienced Lóriennildo should be on hand. There’s no telling what may happen when he’s in this mood."

Olwë nodded. "Perhaps you are correct."

"Then it’s settled," Arafinwë said briskly. "Go and have fun. And it’s just as well that you are planning to shop for gifts for Sador, because I need him here and Findaráto also."

"Bother!" Sador said with a scowl. "And I was looking forward to shopping for my own begetting day gift."

They all laughed and in a few minutes, Ingwion went to find his brother and Intarion and soon those who were going into the city were on their way. As they saw everyone off with Nolofinwë, Findecáno and Aracáno happily playing guards, Finrod turned to his atar with a resigned look. "How much do you want to bet that before the day is over we’ll be regretting letting that lot loose on Tirion?"

Arafinwë chuckled and Ingwë rolled his eyes while Olwë said with great feeling, "I’m so glad I was able to convince Beleg not to go with them. Thank the Valar Eärnur suggested to Falmaron that he have Beleg and Vondo help him plot their next voyage to the south."

"And intimating that perhaps Vorondil might be able to go with them, so he doesn’t mind staying behind with his uncle and Beleg," Finrod said with a smile.

"Do you object?" Olwë asked.

"No, I do not, but Aldundil might unless we can convince him to go with them."

"Well, we’ll worry about that later," Arafinwë said. "In the meantime, let us go see what the queens are up to and then we need to discuss certain matters." Everyone agreed and went back inside, but Finrod, looking back to where he could see the others just leaving the square, couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen.

****

Atya: (Quenya): My father, the form of address, according to Tolkien, that was in ‘family use’; contracted from atarinya.

Chapter the Twenty-Fifth:

In Which Aracáno Drowns and Findecáno Reminisces

It was Glorfindel who suggested they head for a particular street where various shops were situated. "I’m sure we can find something appropriate for the wedding and for Sador’s begetting day," he said and the others agreed.

As they walked, Glorfindel and the three Once-born kept a close eye on Nolofinwë and his sons. Glorfindel could see that all three were finding it difficult to remain in character as guards, for they were gaping at what they saw and muttering things like, "I don’t remember that fountain" or "That’s where we met those ellith who were so cute" or "I think I know that person".

"Easy now," Laurendil said quietly, not actually looking at the ‘guards’ as they walked through a square towards the street where Glorfindel was leading them. "The city has changed in some ways since you were last here and you are all bound to recognize some people, or think you recognize them."

"Stay calm," Gilvagor said. "Remember, you’re supposed to be palace guards, not some farmers from the Southern Fiefdoms."

"Hey! I used to live in the Southern Fiefdoms," Intarion said in mock protest.

"And there you go," Gilvagor retorted with a laugh. "You’ve just proved my point."

That made Ingalaurë snigger and Glorfindel was glad to see Nolofinwë and the other two ellyn relax somewhat and gave Ingwion a wink. "Here we are," he said, pointing ahead. "There are several good shops along this way."

They stopped for a moment to get their bearings. Glorfindel noticed Aracáno looking a little paler than he should and surreptitiously stepped closer to him. "Take a deep breath," he whispered, not actually looking at the ellon, "and another. That’s it. There is nothing to fear. You’re safe and with friends."

Aracáno nodded even as he continued taking deeper breaths than normal until his color returned and the panic he’d been feeling faded. "Thank you," he whispered, not looking at anything in particular.

Glorfindel nodded. "I’ve been where you are. I promise it does get easier. It just takes time to remember how it was before."

"So which shop should we invade first?" Ingalaurë asked.

"And it would be an invasion if we all went in together," Ingwion said with a smile.

"Yet, dare we split up?" Laurendil asked, casting a clinical eye over the three recent Reborn.

"And guards usually stand outside the shops while their masters are within," Nolofinwë said. "I remember that much protocol."

"But if we’re outside, we can’t see what to buy for Findaráto and Amarië," Findecáno protested, then gave them all a puzzled look. "Do I know Amarië?"

"Yes, and you will remember her eventually," Ingwion assured him. "Don’t force the memories. Let them come when they will."

"Look, while usually guards remain outside, it’s not necessarily required or demanded," Glorfindel said. "There are nine of us with three pretending to be guards. Why don’t we split into three groups and each of us take one of the guards? Ingwion, you and Ingalaurë can be one group while Gilvagor and Intarion are another."

"And I’ll take this one," Ingwion said, pointing to Nolofinwë, being careful not to speak the ellon’s name there on the street.

"And we’ll take this one," Gilvagor said, pointing to Findecáno.

"And that means we get to have you," Laurendil said with a smile at Aracáno, who’d been looking very sad, for it seemed to him that his atar and brother were always getting picked first in their games, "which is well, for, as I recall, you have better taste than your brother or your atar."

Aracáno suddenly brightened at that and stuck his tongue out at Findecáno who returned the favor.

"All right, you two," Nolofinwë said, sounding very mature at that moment. "Stop it or I’ll stop it for you."

Several eyebrows rose at that and Nolofinwë smirked. "I do remember being an atto," he said smugly.

"Only when he’s not being an elfling," Laurendil said with a knowing grin. Nolofinwë gave them a sheepish look.

"Well, let’s get going then," Ingwion said. "I see there is a silversmith here. I want to check that shop out first. Shall we agree to meet in an hour’s time, say at that tavern we passed in the square back there?"

"The Laurel and Harp," Glorfindel said with a nod. "They do a very good fried fruit pastry."

Everyone perked up at that and it was agreed to meet and have dinner there rather than at the palace since it was late enough in the day.

"Let’s check out the leatherworker’s shop," Laurendil suggested to Glorfindel. "I want to get Sador’s gift first and then we can concentrate on helping our friend here find the right wedding gift."

"I see there is a goldsmith," Findecáno said. "Can we go there first? I want to see if I can get some gold strands to plait in my hair. I seem to recall I liked braiding my hair with gold, but they don’t let you wear anything fancy in Lórien. I had to make do with some stupid yellow ribbon." He gave them a sour face.

Gilvagor nodded. "Let’s go then, and perhaps you will find something appropriate as a wedding gift there as well."

And so the three groups split up, each going to a different shop. At the leatherworker’s shop Glorfindel and Laurendil discussed an appropriate gift for Sador, deciding on a new belt for Sador, while Aracáno stood by the door trying to pretend indifference as was proper with a guard. He kept eyeing the shop’s contents with a wistful look and Glorfindel could tell he was just aching to explore the shop with them.

"Let’s make this quick," he whispered to Laurendil. "Our guard is getting anxious."

Laurendil stole a glance at Aracáno who was shifting from one foot to the other. He picked up a couple of the belts he was looking at and walked over to the Reborn. "What do you think, my friend? Do you think Lord Sador would like either of these?"

Aracáno gave him a surprised look which mutated to one of gratitude and he examined the two belts carefully. "I do not know Lord Sador well, but he strikes me as one who cares little for ostentatiousness. Not like my brother," he couldn’t help adding with a smirk and Laurendil chuckled. "I think this one with the simple knotwork design would suit him better. This other, while quite lovely, is too ornamental."

"Thank you. I think you are correct," Laurendil said, giving him a nod before turning to speak with the shopkeeper to discuss the price. Glorfindel stayed by Aracáno, giving him a wink and a nod of approval. Aracáno began to relax a bit more. In a few moments, Laurendil’s purchase was made and they were stepping outside the shop.

"Where do you want to go now?" Glorfindel asked.

"Let’s try that pottery shop," Laurendil said, pointing further down the lane. "I’d like to compare their work with Sador’s and Netilmírë’s."

Glorfindel grinned. "There can be no comparison, surely?"

"Perhaps not," Laurendil said with a shrug, "but that’s not to say that other potters are not equally talented and should be rightly patronized."

Glorfindel nodded, accepting the rebuke. "Well, then, let us go and see what we can find."

The pottery shop was three doors down on the left. Entering, the three ellyn found themselves surrounded by vases and bowls and figurines in all shapes and sizes, in a myriad of colors, from fine china to earthenware.

"You might find something here that is appropriate," Laurendil said quietly to Aracáno who simply nodded, looking around.

"I’m almost afraid to move," the ellon said in a tight whisper. "There are so many fragile things here and I still feel clumsy at times. I’ve not quite gotten used to a hröa yet. Atto says it’s because I’m so tall but Fin says it’s because I’ve always been clumsy, which is why I fell in the Ice." He gave them a chagrined look. "Why are older brothers so mean?"

Glorfindel and Laurendil exchanged amused looks. "Your brother was probably not feeling well when he said that to you," Glorfindel surmised. "I’m sure he was sorry he said it as soon as he spoke."

Aracáno nodded. "He did apologize. He said he’d been dreaming of the Ice. I... I try not to dream of the Ice."

"Neither do I," Glorfindel said in a commiserating tone, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

"If you feel uncomfortable, we can leave," Laurendil said. "I can always come back here on my own and there are other shops that are suitable for finding a wedding gift."

"No. I’m all right," Aracáno insisted, straightening. "I’ll just stand here where I can see most of the shop and if I see something I like, I’ll tell you."

"Good enough. Why don’t you stay with him Glorfindel and pretend you’re bored while I look around. I do want to compare this work with Sador’s and perhaps even find another gift for him. He does lovely work, but like most artists, he specializes in one area and lets others excel in other areas of the craft. He might appreciate a piece from another artist."

Glorfindel nodded. "No doubt."

So Laurendil wandered about while the two Reborn stood to one side out of the way, quietly speaking of what they remembered of crossing the Helcaraxë. Aracáno had died in the same mishap that had taken his brother Turucáno’s wife.

"I’m glad Itarildë was saved," Aracáno said at one point. "When Uncle Arafinwë was planning to turn back, I tried to convince Turucáno to send Elenwë and their daughter back with him but he refused and Elenwë, stubborn elleth that she is, wouldn’t hear of it."

"Yet, it worked out in the end," Glorfindel said, "for Itarildë met the Mortal Tuor and they had Eärendil, who was the saving of us all."

Aracáno nodded. "So I’ve since heard. I am curious to meet this Eärendil who is my brother’s grandson and my great-nephew."

"He should be here tomorrow and...."

"What do you think?"

The two Reborn looked up to see Laurendil standing before them, holding a delicate statue of an elleth. She had her arms held above her head with her palms up and wrist touching so that it was obvious that one would place a candle on them. Only her upper body was shown, for the base of the statue was what appeared to be flames, as if she were rising out of them.

Or sinking into them if the flames were mistaken by some as shards of ice, instead.

"Elenwë! Nooo!" Aracáno screamed, blindly reaching out as if to save the elleth. Laurendil quickly stepped out of the way and placed the statue on a nearby shelf even as Glorfindel grabbed Aracáno who suddenly seemed to be having trouble breathing and was struggling in his hold.

"He’s drowning!" Glorfindel shouted.

"Let’s get him outside," Laurendil said, moving quickly to the door.

"What is wrong with him?" someone in the shop called out but neither Laurendil nor Glorfindel bothered to answer as they hustled the still gasping Aracáno out the door and into the street.

"Breathe, Aracáno," Laurendil ordered. "It’s not real. You’re not drowning. Open your eyes and see. Come, meldonya, breathe. That’s it."

Aracáno stopped struggling as if for breath and finally began to breathe normally but then he started shivering as if from extreme cold. "At-atto. H-help me, Atto. H-h-help...." He swayed as if dizzy and then simply collapsed. Glorfindel was able to catch him in time, scooping him into his arms.

"The tavern," Laurendil said tersely. "I’ll run ahead and alert them."

Glorfindel just nodded and followed after the fleeing Laurendil. Luckily, they did not have far to go and in minutes they were seated at one of the outside tables. Aracáno had come to by then and was simply weeping. Laurendil forced some wine down him and eventually he calmed down.

"Shh... it’s all right, meldonya," Glorfindel said soothingly, rubbing Aracáno’s back while Laurendil quietly encouraged the ellon to have more wine. "It was just a memory. You’re safe now." He looked up to see a number of people who’d been in the square standing around gawking at them and felt anger rise within him. "Have you good folk nothing better to do than stand here watching us enjoy a glass of wine?"

There was a flurry of motion as the bystanders quickly dispersed, their expressions ones of embarrassment. Soon, the three of them were alone.

"I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking," Laurendil said ruefully.

"It’s not your fault," Glorfindel assured him. "We were comparing notes about the Crossing and I think he mistook those flames as shards of ice and...."

"And saw Elenwë falling to her death," Laurendil finished the thought for him, nodding.

"And his death," Glorfindel reminded him. "Aracáno also drowned in the same accident."

"How are you feeling now?" Laurendil asked Aracáno.

"I want to go home," the ellon said quietly, his tone plaintive. "I don’t want to play anymore."

"We shouldn’t leave without the others, though," Laurendil said. "Why don’t you and Glorfindel stay here and enjoy this wine while I go see what the others are up to."

"But then I won’t be able to get a wedding gift," Aracáno said mournfully.

"I saw a lovely fruit bowl that I think would make an appropriate gift," Laurendil said. "It has a blue glaze that is almost the same shade as Findaráto’s house color. Why don’t I go and purchase that for you."

Aracáno nodded reluctantly, still looking mournful. Laurendil exchanged a look with Glorfindel who nodded. "We’ll just sit here quietly and wait for the others to show up."

Laurendil stood up and gave them a smile. "Just don’t eat all the fried fruit pastries before we return."

Even Aracáno was able to scare up a weak chuckle at that and Laurendil nodded approvingly before heading back to the street of shops in search of the others.

****

Gilvagor, Intarion and Findecáno entered the goldsmith’s shop and looked around. "You might find an appropriate gift here," Gilvagor said to Nolofinwë’s oldest son who shrugged.

"It’s my brother who is all agog about the wedding and getting a gift. I really don’t care if I go to the wedding or not."

Gilvagor gave the ellon a sharp look. "I did not think you disliked your cousin so much that you would refuse to go to his wedding."

Findecáno shrugged again and Gilvagor recognized the diffident expression on the ellon’s face. He’d seen it before on the faces of many Reborn: a pretended indifference masking deeply ambivalent emotions.

"I don’t recall there being any animosity between you and Finrod when we all resided in Beleriand," Gilvagor said in Sindarin.

Findecáno gave him a startled look. "Do I know you?"

Gilvagor shook his head. "Unlikely, my lord. Though I owed my allegiance to you, I was just a lowly warrior who fought under your banner. You have no reason to know me, for I was not a part of your war council, though later, out of necessity, I rose to command positions during the War of Wrath and was a close confidant to Gil-galad."

"Who? Oh, you mean Ereinion. Never cared for Gil-galad, myself... as a name, I mean. The ellon was able enough, though a bit too Sindarin in his sensibilities for my taste. Guess it comes from living all those years with the Shipwright."

Gilvagor kept his expression neutral. "No doubt. He has proved an able king who rules wisely and well."

"And yet you are not there by his side," Findecáno said with a shrewd look.

"I was suffering from Sea-longing. Gil-galad himself insisted I sail. It was his last command to me as my king."

Findecáno nodded and was about to say something when Intarion interrupted. "Are we here to discuss history or buy gifts? It’s boring just standing about talking."

"It’s always boring for you unless you are moving," Gilvagor said with a smile. "You must learn some patience, my friend. But you are correct. Let us see what we can find here." With that he led them further into the shop. "Sador is rather fond of white gold, as I recall. I was thinking of finding a cloak pin or something done in that particular metal."

They made their way through the small shop which consisted of a few shelves containing larger items of gold — plates, goblets and bowls of various sizes, intricately worked carcanets of spun gold with different gems sewn into them displayed on wooden heads, even a few statues. There was also a long display table with a glass top under which were placed smaller objects: rings, brooches, pendants and the like.

The proprietress of the shop was busy with another customer so they simply wandered about, speaking softly, admiring the wares. They were examining a pair of gem-encrusted gold goblets and discussing their suitability as wedding gifts when the proprietress approached them.

"May I help you, my lords?" she asked and Gilvagor enquired after cloak pins or brooches in white gold. She led him over to the glass counter and pulled out a number of small items. Findecáno and Intarion continued wandering through the shop in the meantime. Intarion pointed to a shelf further along where they could see a number of shallow bowls on display tripods. One in particular attracted their attention. It was approximately two feet in diameter and only about six inches high, the outside of the bowl was unadorned. The inside, however, told a different story, for just below the rim was set a circle of emerald and sapphire cabochons and the sides were etched with a processional scene of Elves celebrating, though it was unclear to the ellyn what the celebration might have been. In the center of the bowl was a carving of the sun with a face smiling at them.

"I remember when Anar first rose," Findecáno whispered, his expression one of delight.

Intarion nodded. "As do I."

"We were crossing through Mithrim on our way to Angband," the former High King of the Exilic Noldor said. "What were you doing?"

"Crowning Arafinwë as Noldóran," Intarion answered.

Findecáno gave him a puzzled look. "But that was years after he returned. Why the delay?"

"A long story and I don’t remember it all anymore," Intarion replied. "I just remember standing before the gates of Tirion as we were conducting the coronation ceremony with Anar rising. It was a glorious sight."

Findecáno nodded and with the bowl in his hands, went to where Gilvagor and the shop owner were still discussing cloak pins. They both looked up at their approach and Gilvagor smiled.

"Did you find something?"

Findecáno nodded, then shyly handed the bowl to Gilvagor, looking suddenly uncertain. Gilvagor smiled as he examined it. "It’s beautiful, though I’m unsure what it can be used for."

"It’s meant to be purely ornamental," the proprietress said. "One of my apprentices created it, commemorating the crowning of our king." — Both Intarion and Findecáno started at that but the elleth ignored them as she continued speaking — "He had heard the stories about it and decided to do a piece centered around the event. There’s a stand that goes with it so it can be properly displayed."

"Oh, I can get it," Intarion said and went back to where they’d found the bowl and returned with a golden tripod on which the bowl sat.

"Do you think it appropriate?" Findecáno asked anxiously, speaking in Sindarin.

"Yes. I think it very appropriate," Gilvagor replied in the same language. "Lord Finrod would appreciate this, for, of course, he was not there to see his adar crowned, though Lady Amarië was." He turned to the proprietress. "We would like to purchase this bowl and I’ll take the brooch with the rubies."

"And don’t forget gold filaments for my hair," Findecáno said in a plaintive voice.

The proprietress raised an eyebrow and it was clear to the ellyn that she wondered about the ‘guard’, but good manners forbade her from saying anything except, "What thickness would you like, sir?"

Findecáno grinned and told her and in a short while the three ellyn were leaving the shop. At the last minute, Intarion decided he wished to buy the pair of goblets they’d been admiring earlier, asking the elleth to have Ingwion’s and Ingalaurë’s names incised on the bases. "Their begetting day is some months away, but I might as well get them something now as later," he explained to the other ellyn. The proprietress assured him that she would have the goblets readied before he left Tirion. As they were leaving the shop, they spied Laurendil coming towards them, carrying a package.

"We’ve had a bit of trouble," the Lóriennildo said without preamble. "Glorfindel and Aracáno are at the tavern. Why don’t you go there now and I’ll round up the others."

"Serious?" Gilvagor asked.

"Under control," Laurendil replied with a shake of his head.

"My brother?" Findecáno enquired, looking upset.

"He remembered something that upset him," Laurendil said soothingly. "He’s much better now. I need to find the others. They were at the silversmith’s shop earlier but they are not there now."

"They could be anywhere then," Gilvagor said. "Why don’t...."

But whatever he meant to suggest was lost as they all heard a sudden roar of voices coming from further down the street. They could not see what the commotion was about for the street curved to follow the contours of the hill so part of it was hidden from them. Gilvagor and Laurendil exchanged knowing glances. They both thrust their packages into the hands of the two Reborn.

"Go to the tavern," Laurendil ordered them. "We’ll see what this is about."

"But...." both Reborn began to protest.

Laurendil, however, was not in the mood. "GO!" he shouted at them, pointing imperiously back towards the square and such was the force of his command that the two Reborn went, albeit reluctantly, while he and Gilvagor set out quickly in the opposite direction, all of them wondering what mischief Ingwion, Ingalaurë and Nolofinwë had gotten themselves into.

****

Words are Quenya:

Hröa: Body.

Meldonya: My (male) friend.

Notes:

1. Glorfindel’s ‘fried fruit pastry’ is a medieval dish known as a ‘rissole’ or ‘rysschews’ of fruit: ground figs, dates, currants and pine nuts with various spices in a turnover pastry and deep fried. The recipe can be found at medievalcookery(dot)com.

2. Findecáno’s reference to braiding his hair with gold is taken from The Peoples of Middle-earth: ‘The Shibboleth of Fëanor’, HoME XII. My thanks to Ellie for finding me the reference.

3. Itarildë became known as Idril in Beleriand.

4. A carcanet is a begemmed headband usually made of gold worn by Elven women and later by Dúnedain women of high rank.

Chapter the Twenty-Sixth:

In Which Nolofinwë is Recognized and There is a Riot

Ingwion led his brother and cousin into the silversmith’s shop where they stopped to admire the items displayed upon the shelves — plates, bowls and goblets, vases and candelabra, even the circlets that were favored by the ellyn of all classes to hold their hair in place.

There were several people already in the shop, which was not overly large, so Ingwion suggested that the two Reborn stay by the door. "I simply wish to check on something and then we can leave."

"Can we not look around, though?" Nolofinwë asked. "I might find something appropriate as a gift."

"Do you have a particular gift in mind?" Ingwion asked.

"Not really. I keep trying to remember Amarië, but nothing comes to mind, so I’m not sure what kind of elleth she is. I would like to get something I know they both would appreciate."

"Many of the gifts will be of the sort we can see here," Ingwion said nodding towards the various wares on display. "What they probably won’t get is something that has nothing to do with their household but has everything to do with them as a couple."

"Like what?" Nolofinwë asked, his brow furrowed in puzzlement.

"Let me check on something and then we’ll go see what we can find," Ingwion suggested and Nolofinwë nodded. Ingwion moved toward a display of brooches, carefully checking them over. The silversmith came over and spoke with him and the two spent a good five minutes in discussion but neither Nolofinwë nor Ingalaurë were paying any attention. Instead, they were eyeing the rest of the shop and making quiet comments about what they could see. Then, Ingwion joined them.

"What was that all about?" his brother asked.

"Something private to me," Ingwion answered. "You remember Ammë’s talk about respecting other people’s privacy, don’t you?"

Ingalaurë nodded, reddening slightly. "I remember," he said.

"Good. Now, let’s go see what other shops there are here. I’m sure we can find something unique for the happy couple."

"Are they happy?" Nolofinwë asked unexpectedly as they exited the shop and moved further along the street.

"Why do you ask?" Ingwion said, looking baffled.

"Findaráto seems... haunted," came the surprising answer.

"Much has happened lately and not all of it pleasant," Ingwion replied in a somewhat neutral voice. "And I suspect with the wedding only a couple of days away he’s feeling suddenly nervous." He gave them a conspiratorial smile. "I have no doubt my cousin is thinking being surrounded by orcs without a weapon would be preferable to standing before family and friends and speaking his marriage vows."

The other two laughed in agreement.

"Oh, look, a woodworker’s shop," Ingalaurë said, pointing to a particular storefront. "Let’s see what they have."

The others agreed and soon they were breathing in the resinous smell of wood as they wandered through the shop admiring the various items on display. There was furniture of different sorts, everything from simple but beautifully crafted folding chairs ideal for traveling to ornately carved bookcases. There were privacy screens richly carved with various scenes of everyday life in Aman and even sculptures of various kinds, the woodworker obviously skilled in finding a shape within the wood and bringing it to the surface.

"Do you see anything you might like as a wedding gift?" Ingwion asked Nolofinwë but the Reborn just shook his head.

"I don’t remember Amarië at all, although I recognize the name, and Findaráto... I barely remember him. I don’t think buying a gift this late in the day is going to help. I’m really just going along for the children’s sake, Aracáno especially." He frowned slightly. "I know we Reborn act very much like elflings at times, but Aracáno seems particularly young."

"He did not live to have the same types of experiences as you and Findecáno or even Findaráto did," Ingwion said carefully. "I know the Crossing of the Ice was a terrible ordeal, but it was not necessarily the worst that any of you experienced and Aracáno was still considered young by our standards when you Noldor left. If he seems more childish than you remember him being, I think it’s a consequence of having died when he did."

Nolofinwë nodded. "So Lord Irmo said as well, but there are times when I find myself growing impatient with him and I want to tell him to grow up except that would be the pot calling the kettle black in my case." He gave his Vanyarin cousins a wry grin and they smiled back.

"Still, I think Findaráto would appreciate the gesture," Ingwion said. "I don’t think a gift from you need be elaborate. Indeed, I think a single gift from the three of you would be acceptable."

"As would I, but Aracáno had his heart set on buying his own wedding gift and I did not wish to spoil it for him," Nolofinwë said. "All the time we were staying with Lord Herendil’s family he kept going on about what kind of gift he could find. Findecáno doesn’t care and will just go along but Aracáno... he just seems different from what I remember him being."

"I think we are all different from what we were before, we who have been through Mandos," Ingalaurë spoke up, his expression sober. "I do not know if that difference is really significant. I try not to think about it too much and simply accept what is rather than what used to be or what could have been had I not died when I did." He shrugged at Ingwion’s nonplused expression. "I know I’m more like a little brother to you and Indil instead of being your twin. I know it will be a long time before I catch up with you, if I ever do."

Ingwion said nothing, simply giving his brother a fierce hug. "I’m just glad to have you back," he said softly.

"Well, enough of this maudlin talk," Nolofinwë said briskly. "We’re here to find a wedding gift for my nephew. Best get on with it. The hour is almost up and the others will be waiting for us."

Both Vanyar gave him bright smiles. "Now that’s the Nolofinwë I remember," Ingwion said with a laugh.

The once High King of the Exilic Noldor gave them a sheepish look. "Sorry."

"Don’t be, Cousin," Ingwion insisted. "I’m glad to see you reclaiming yourself. Now, if nothing here strikes your fancy we can go elsewhere. There are plenty of other shops."

Nolofinwë and Ingalaurë both nodded and the three exited the shop, taking a moment to decide on a direction once they were outside. "Let’s try this way," Ingalaurë suggested, pointing to another street that met their street and the other two agreed.

It turned out that what they thought was another street of shops was merely a short arcade connecting the street with a small square but as the square was lined with other shops they decided to look around. Turning to the right they walked under the colonnade that gave pedestrians protection from the elements, stopping before one shop or another but not bothering to go inside. Nolofinwë was content simply to wander and the Vanyar let him.

"I’d forgotten how... lively Life is," the once king mused, giving them a sheepish look. "Sorry. I can’t think of a better word."

Ingwion smiled. "I know what you mean, Cousin. From listening to other Reborn, I gather that Mandos is not so... lively."

"Oh, it has its moments," Nolofinwë said with a smile. "I remember having an actual argument with two Maiar and Lord Námo. I apparently wanted to go where I wasn’t supposed to and refused to take ‘No’ for an answer."

"What happened?" Ingwion asked.

"Oh, I lost the argument," Nolofinwë answered with a self-deprecating grin, "and then was not permitted to leave my sleeping chamber for some time afterwards." He gave Ingwion a shrug. Ingalaurë simply nodded, as if he’d had a similar experience. "As I was being sent to my room," — Ingwion couldn’t help laughing at that — "I overheard Lord Námo say to one of the Maiar, ‘Even when they don’t remember being kings, they still act like one’ and he didn’t sound very pleased as he said it. Of course, I had no idea what he was talking about, for I had no memory of my life before."

Ingwion thought about his cousin’s words, stealing a glance at his brother, trying — and failing — to picture Ingalaurë in Mandos. It was an exercise in futility, he knew, for he himself had no direct experience and all the descriptions he ever heard of Mandos were too vague from which to draw a picture. He started to say something to that effect but was stopped when someone came up to them, an ellon, who stared at Nolofinwë with grave intensity. Nolofinwë just stood there looking nervous.

"It’s you," the ellon finally exclaimed. "I wasn’t sure before but...." and then to their amazement, he gave Nolofinwë his obeisance. "Your Majesty."

Nolofinwë just shook his head. "My friend, you are mistaken. I am not...."

But the ellon was paying no attention, for he had run out into the square yelling, "The King has returned! The King has returned! Nolofinwë has returned to us!"

Ingwion grabbed Nolofinwë by the arm. "We need to get you out of here," he said and the Noldo gave him no argument.

They headed back the way they had come with Ingalaurë ahead of them, but they were foiled in their attempt to reach the arcade, for the ellon who had accosted them was still shouting the news that Nolofinwë had returned. Suddenly others were blocking their path, many of them crying out in surprise as they, too, recognized Nolofinwë. Ingwion attempted to shield his cousin who was now beginning to panic as people pressed all around them, wishing to touch him, to acknowledge him, and he could see Ingalaurë also becoming more and more agitated, his expression fearful.

"Stand back!" Ingwion shouted, trying to force a path through the crowd. "Let us through. How dare you importune us in this manner. Are you Elves or orcs?"

A few who were closer heard him and tried to comply but the crowd was now grown too large and most never heard him over their own voices as they shouted, some apparently disputing with their neighbors whether it truly was Nolofinwë standing before them or someone who just looked liked him. Indeed not a few altercations broke out when various knots of people began arguing one way or the other as to the truth of the matter. The only direction left open to them was to their left and Ingwion grabbed both Reborn and pushed them against the wall of a shop where musical instruments were being sold and stood in front of them.

"I want to go home," wailed Ingalaurë, crouching against the wall. "Make them stop, make them stop."

"And never a Maia around when you really need one," Ingwion muttered in disgust. He stole a glance at Nolofinwë who had his arms around Ingalaurë, his face white and his eyes full of terror and felt himself growing angry where before he’d only been annoyed. He turned back to face the still clamoring crowd. "Enough!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, sounding and looking very much like his atar at that moment. "Be silent!"

Such was the force of his command that those in the front actually went still, now looking ashamed. Others, further back, were still clamoring for a view of the king, but now their neighbors were attempting to hush them. Ingwion ignored them, his expression one of fury and those directly facing him were unable to look at him.

"For shame!" he called out. "You call yourselves Elves? You are naught but rabble. Now go your way and allow us to leave in peace."

"But it’s Nolofinwë!" someone shouted. "The King has returned!"

"You have a king and it is not I."

Ingwion turned to see Nolofinwë straightening, his expression reminding him of Finwë at his most imperious and silently rejoiced to see, not a frightened Reborn, but a Prince of the House of Finwë standing there.

"You are the eldest," the same person cried out. "To you belongs the crown."

"And my brother? What of him? Has he been so terrible a ruler that you would dismiss him so callously?"

There were sheepish looks among some in the crowd and a few attempted to leave the area but the press of bodies made it impossible.

"It matters not," another exclaimed. "You are the eldest of the House of Finwë. You are the Noldóran."

"No, I am not," Nolofinwë insisted. "I am but newly Reborn. I am not interested in usurping my brother’s titles. He is your King, for better or for worse. I have no desire to accept the crown. Now go, all of you, and leave us in peace."

"You heard him, people of Tirion. Disperse or be dispersed."

Ingwion looked up in relief to see Laurendil and Gilvagor pushing their way through the crowd, neither of them looking at all pleased.

"And who are you to tell us what to do?" one ellon demanded.

Laurendil stopped and gave him a cold smile. "I am your worst nightmare come true, friend, if you don’t do as you’ve been bid and be on your way." Then he looked about him, his expression even colder than before as he addressed the crowd. "Is your loyalty to your king so frivolous, so weak-willed that you would dismiss the one who brought you out of the shadows and into the light and gave you back your dignity as Noldor simply because another has come who might have a claim to the crown? I expected better from my fellow Noldor. Prince Nolofinwë," — and he stressed the title — "is newly released from Mandos. He’s a Reborn, in case that little detail slipped your minds. Do you truly want a Reborn ruling over you? Would you allow a child of twenty to dictate to you?"

"I’m not that young," Nolofinwë protested.

Laurendil turned and gave him a smile. "My apologies." He gave the Reborn a short bow before addressing the crowd again. "I stand corrected. Would you allow a child of twenty-five to dictate to you?"

"Lord Irmo said I was thirty," Nolofinwë said with a huff, then turned to Ingalaurë. "These Once-born are so boring, aren’t they?" Ingalaurë nodded vigorously but said nothing, not quite over his fright. Nolofinwë gave him a hug as he turned to Ingwion. "This is no fun anymore, Ingwi. Let’s go get some fried fruit pastries. You promised us a treat if we were good. We’ve been good, haven’t we?"

Everyone listening to him went still. Some actually looked shocked, seeing this proud Noldo who had once ruled as the Noldóran’s regent and then led his people in exile sounding like a petulant child; others simply looked embarrassed.

Ingwion recognized what Nolofinwë was doing and nodded. "Yes, you’ve been very good. Arafinwë will be pleased to know how good you’ve been. As soon as these good people allow us to leave, we’ll go get your treat."

"I told Glorfindel not to eat all the fried fruit pastries before we got there," Laurendil said with a grin.

"Then we had better hurry," Ingwion said. "You know Glorfindel is not known for his patience."

As they were speaking, slowly, reluctantly, people began drifting away, some with backward glances. The ellon who had started everything was still there, frowning. "You are the eldest," he snarled. "You should be king, Reborn or not."

Before any of the others could respond, Nolofinwë was on the ellon, grabbing him by the placket of his tunic and pushing him up against the wall of the music shop. His expression was one of righteous anger and his voice was low and menacing. "Friend, you speak treason. My brother, by the grace of the Valar, is Noldóran and I would have it no other way. Now, be on your way before I have you arrested for disturbing the King’s Peace." He pushed the ellon from him, making him stumble. No one offered to help him up. Nolofinwë apparently had already dismissed the troublemaker from his mind for he turned to the others with a smile. "Let’s go see if Glorfindel has eaten all the fried fruit pastries."

The others nodded and without a backward glance they made their way back through the arcade and down the street to the tavern where they found the others anxiously waiting. There were looks of relief on their faces when they saw them approaching and there were demands for explanations. Ingwion gave them a terse account of what had happened as they sat around the table.

"You laid it a bit thick there," he said to Nolofinwë with a grin, "whining like a ten-year-old about getting a treat."

Nolofinwë just laughed. "It worked though."

"You know people are not going to take you seriously now," Laurendil pointed out. "You may have damaged your image more than you think."

"I did it as much for Findecáno as for myself," Nolofinwë countered. "He, too, was king and many will respond to him as those people responded to seeing me. By acting more elflingish than I needed to, I’ve given him protection against the fools who will want him to take up the kingship."

"Being a king is boring," Findecáno said with a whine in his voice. "You can’t swing in trees or have any fun at all."

The Once-born all rolled their eyes but then they caught Findecáno’s smirk and realized what he was about and they started laughing.

"Well, now that that’s settled, let’s eat," Glorfindel suggested and they all agreed, with Gilvagor signaling the serving elleth.

"You didn’t get a chance to buy a wedding gift," Ingwion said to Nolofinwë after they had given the elleth their orders.

Nolofinwë shrugged. "Perhaps I can find something later."

"Do we tell Arafinwë about what happened?" Gilvagor asked then.

"We’d better," Glorfindel said and when the others gave him enquiring looks, he nodded. "If I know Atar Arafinwë, he probably already knows what’s happened. Nothing escapes his notice. Findaráto and I are convinced he must be half-Maia. It’s uncanny how he just seems to know things. If we don’t tell him, he’ll tell us, and I, for one, do not wish to be on the other end of his telling."

"Násië!" Ingwion exclaimed with some fervency and everyone else laughed as the serving elleth came with their drinks. The rest of the time was spent in congenial conversation and when they finished their meal and made their way back to the palace they were all in a better frame of mind.

****

Násië: (Quenya) Amen.

Chapter the Twenty-Seven:

In Which There are Family Meetings and the Bride Makes an Appearance

In the end, Nolofinwë, at Findecáno’s insistence, agreed that they could give the carved commemorative bowl as a wedding gift together, for Nolofinwë decided he was no longer in the mood for shopping. When Findecáno showed him the bowl, he gave it a wistful look. "I wish I’d been there," he said, tracing some of the images with a finger.

"If you’d been there," Ingwion pointed out with a smile, "You would’ve been the one being crowned."

Nolofinwë shrugged. "Perhaps." And the matter was dropped as they left the tavern and made their way back to the palace. By now it was close to the time when the royal family normally sat down to dinner. No one in their party was hungry, but they dutifully joined the others and told them of their adventures.

"I shouldn’t have gone out," Nolofinwë said at the end of their narrative. "I should have stayed here."

"The damage is done and cannot be undone," Arafinwë said philosophically. "I am just glad you were not hurt." Then his expression became more troubled. "I did not realize some would see me as just...." He gave them a helpless shrug.

Nolofinwë stood up and went to his brother, pulling him out of his chair. "You are Noldóran. You did what I could not. You came back of your own accord and took up the crown and led our people out of Darkness. I do not know who the ellon is who accosted me. Perhaps he was one who initially followed my banner and turned back or came back with the other Exiles after the War of Wrath. I do not know, but I suspect his sentiments will not find favor among most of the Noldor. At any rate, I have already decided that at this All-Aman Council I keep hearing about, I and my sons will formally give you our oaths of fealty and then there will be no question as to who is Noldóran."

Arafinwë said nothing but gave his brother a heartfelt hug as everyone else looked on with approval.

"Of course," Nolofinwë said, giving his brother a sly look, "If you ever get tired of being Noldóran...."

Arafinwë laughed. "Then I will seriously consider handing the crown over to you, hanno, unless Findaráto objects."

"You’ll get no argument from me," Finrod exclaimed with a laugh.

Everyone else chuckled and the tension eased as the conversation drifted to other subjects.

****

The next day dawned fair but there was an air of anxiety within the palace. Over the last several days the wedding guests had been making their way into Tirion. Sometime in the early dawn, Eärendil arrived with Elwing and many from Aewellond and others came across the Bay of Eldamar from Tol Eressëa or from the Southern Fiefdoms but as yet, there was no sign of Amarië and none of those from Tol Eressëa had any news.

"I wasn’t even aware she was on the island," Haldir said to Finrod. He and his wife, Gwilwileth, along with Gilvagor and several other friends, had come to the palace to give their greetings after they had settled in their rooms at one of the city’s inns. Haldir was holding his infant son, Finglor, the elfling, only three, fast asleep in his atto’s arms.

"We haven’t seen Meril in a while," his wife chimed in, giving Eärwen a hug.

"The wedding is tomorrow," Finrod said with a sigh. "She should have been here two days ago."

They gave the ellon sympathetic looks. "She’ll be here, mellon nîn," Gilvagor assured him, "if for no other reason than Meril would sooner kiss an orc than miss this wedding."

The others laughed at that, knowing the Lady Meril all too well.

With Eärendil and Elwing’s arrival, all the rulers of Eldamar were now in Tirion. Arafinwë took the opportunity while Eärwen and the other Queens oversaw the final preparations for the wedding to introduce them to Nolofinwë and his sons. It was a somewhat awkward meeting, for Eärendil had much of his grandfather Turgon about him, not so much in his coloring, for he was golden-haired and blue-eyed where Turgon was dark-haired and grey-eyed, but in his features and the way he stood and spoke. Findecáno, when he saw his great-nephew, burst into tears and refused to be comforted. That upset Aracáno who became agitated over his brother’s weeping. Arafinwë finally had to send for Vardamir to take the two brothers in hand. Nolofinwë watched as the healer led his charges out of the room, his expression troubled.

"I’m sorry."

He turned to Eärendil who was looking upset himself.

"It’s not your fault, inyo," Nolofinwë said with a sigh. "Findecáno was very upset when his brother simply disappeared with their sister. Turucáno came to me to let me know what he planned, for he sought my permission to take Írissë with him. He refused to tell me where he had built his city, though, only saying that, when the time came, he would lead his people out to glory."

"And he did," Glorfindel said, for he, along with Finrod, Sador and their Vanyarin cousins were also there, "in the battle where Findecáno lost his life. Turucáno was able to rally the remnants of his brother’s army and bring them to safety, at least for a time."

Nolofinwë nodded, then turned to Eärendil, giving him a tentative smile. "Do you like swinging in trees?" he asked.

Elwing stifled a giggle at her husband nonplused expression. "No," he finally answered, "but Glorfindel does. He can tell you which are the best trees for swinging in." He gave the balrog-slayer a knowing smile and the ellon blushed.

"I thought you didn’t approve," Glorfindel muttered, not looking at anyone.

"I don’t, on principle," Eärendil said soberly. "But neither do I disapprove. You’re your own Elf, Glorfindel. How you choose to spend your free time is your affair. I know the children enjoy having you join them in their play."

"There’s nothing wrong with swinging in trees," Nolofinwë chimed in, giving them a haughty sniff. "It’s very relaxing. I do most of my best thinking swinging upside down."

"Which probably explains why you never seemed to think very clearly," Arafinwë said with a bland expression on his face. "All that blood rushing to your brain... can’t be a good thing."

Nolofinwë stared at his younger brother in disbelief and then, seeing the slightest glint of amusement in Arafinwë’s eyes, smiled wickedly. "Run," was all he said and then to everyone’s surprise, Arafinwë stuck his tongue out, making a rude noise, before rushing to the door with Nolofinwë right behind him, both of them laughing with manic glee as they ran down the hall.

Ingwë and Olwë just stared at one another for a moment and then burst out laughing, the younger Elves joining them.

****

Eärendil decided to see how Findecáno and Aracáno were faring and went in search of them, finding them in a small courtyard where a fountain played. They were sitting rather dejectedly on a bench while Vardamir knelt before them, speaking softly. All three looked up when Eärendil approached.

"I am sorry I upset you," he said without preamble. "I remember Anatar, though admittedly, my memories are those of a small boy. I regret I never had the opportunity to know him as an adult. I would like to share my memories of him with you if you are amenable and perhaps you can share some of yours."

"I think that would be a good thing," Vardamir said with an encouraging smile as he stood up. "What do you think?" he looked at the two brothers.

Aracáno shrugged uncertainly, looking at Findecáno for his reaction. The older brother stared at his lap, not speaking for a moment, and then he looked up at Eärendil and nodded. "You sound just like him," he said and then moved slightly to his left, implicitly inviting Eärendil to join them.

"That’s what Ammë always said," the Mariner said with a smile as he settled between the two Reborn, "especially when I was arguing with her about something."

The two Reborn chuckled. "Turucáno was a great one for arguing," Aracáno said, grinning hugely. "I remember this one time when...."

Vardamir watched the interplay between the three ellyn for a couple of minutes until he was satisfied that things were well between them, then silently left. None of the ellyn apparently noticed as they continued trading memories of one who still slept in Mandos.

****

Later that afternoon, a group of people were seen coming up the road leading to the Southern Fiefdoms. One of them was recognized and a runner was sent from the city gate to the palace to alert the Noldóran. Thus, when Lady Anairë arrived at the palace, she found a welcoming committee consisting of Arafinwë, Eärwen and Finrod. She greeted her brother- and sister-in-law warmly and gave Finrod a fierce hug.

"I knew you’d been re-embodied,"she said to him, "and I’m sorry I never made the effort to come see you, but I’m afraid I was feeling rather ambivalent about your being released. I hope you understand and forgive me."

"Of course, I understand, Aunt, more than you can guess, and there’s nothing to forgive," Finrod replied graciously, giving her a warm hug and kiss.

"We have a bit of a surprise for you Anairë," Arafinwë said as he offered his arm to the elleth to escort her into the palace. Eärwen and Finrod followed.

Anairë gave the Noldóran a jaundiced look. "I’ve told you before Arafinwë, I do not care for surprises. They have a nasty way of upsetting one’s life. I’m too comfortable and set in my ways to deal with any surprises you might care to foist on me."

"I’m afraid this surprise is not something you can avoid, nésanya," Arafinwë said gravely.

Anairë stopped in consternation. "What does that mean?"

"Come, dear. It is better if we show you," Eärwen said gently, taking the other elleth by the hand, which Anairë reluctantly allowed as they continued making their way towards the family’s quarters.

When they reached the main sitting room, Arafinwë paused before opening the door, giving Anairë a searching look. "I have thought long and hard about this, trying to find a way to soften the blow and prepare you for what is behind this door, but I could not, and so...." He opened the door and gestured for her to enter, which she did, giving him a puzzled look.

"Oh, Valar!" Anairë cried, stopping abruptly when she saw who was in the room waiting for her.

Arafinwë, Eärwen and Finrod joined her. Standing on the other side of the room, looking uncomfortable and nervous was Nolofinwë, flanked by his sons, with Findecáno on his right and Aracáno on his left. Vardamir was there as well as Court Healer in charge of the welfare of the three Reborn.

Arafinwë came up behind Anairë and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Findaráto was summoned to Lórien a couple of weeks ago to bring them back to Tirion," he said softly. "They’ve only been here a couple of days."

Anairë just stood there, staring in shock at her husband and sons returned, while Nolofinwë fidgeted, not quite looking at anyone, unsure of himself or his welcome. Aracáno was staring at Anairë with unalloyed confusion as if he weren’t quite sure what was going on but Findecáno’s expression became closed and unreadable.

"Will you not greet your husband and sons, Anairë?" Arafinwë asked gently. "I fear they have little memory of us as yet but I know from experience that the memories will return if we are patient."

Anairë did not reply. Slowly, as if she were in a dream, she crossed the space separating her from her family, standing before Nolofinwë, who looked upon her with a mixture of trepidation and hope in his eyes. He gave her a tentative smile, which smile seemingly broke through the elleth’s shock, for without any warning she hauled off and soundly smacked him one and then burst into tears, hiding her face in her hands.

For a moment everyone just stood there in shock. Nolofinwë rubbed his cheek where Anairë’s hand print was still visible and glared at his wife. "What was that for?" he nearly shouted.

Anairë looked up, her expression equally one of anger. "What do you think? You left me and now you’re back and you expect me to welcome you with open arms? Well, pigs will fly first."

"You didn’t want to come," Nolofinwë retorted with a sneer.

"And I suppose now that you’re back you expect everything to be the way it was before, don’t you," Anairë shot back. "No doubt you expect to share my bed as well." She gave him a disdainful sniff.

Nolofinwë reared back, his anger now turning to confusion. "Why would I want to do that? I have my own bed."

That apparently was the wrong thing to say, for Anairë raised her hand intending to smack him again but Arafinwë forestalled her, grabbing her arm.

"Enough," he said quietly but with authority.

Findecáno glared at Arafinwë. "She’s our amillë? I don’t like her. I don’t want her to be my amillë. She’s mean."

Anairë stared at her oldest child in shock which only deepened when Aracáno chimed in with, "Me, too. Why can’t Eärwen be our ammë? She’s nice and she doesn’t hit people. It’s not nice to hit people."

"You hit me all the time," Findecáno said to his brother.

"I do not," Aracáno protested.

"Do, too," Findecáno retorted.

"Well, anyway, I only hit you because you deserve it," his brother said with a sneer.

"Do not!"

"Do, too!"

"Whoa, youngsters!" Arafinwë said, grabbing Findecáno, who was about to launch himself at his brother, while Finrod took Aracáno in hand. The two brothers glared at each other and then Findecáno burst into tears.

"I do not deserve being hit," he said sobbing. "I’m being good. I promise."

Arafinwë rolled his eyes even as he gave the Reborn a hug and Finrod chuckled. "Aren’t you glad Lord Námo didn’t release my brothers with me?"

"The Valar help us!" Arafinwë exclaimed. "If he had, I would have sent myself to Mandos just to get away from you all."

Vardamir meanwhile, was attempting to comfort Nolofinwë, leading him to a settee where they sat together. Nolofinwë had ignored his sons’ argument, casting a confused look at Vardamir.

"Why does she think I want her bed?" the Reborn asked. "I have a perfectly good bed of my own."

Vardamir was at a loss to explain and finally said, "She was just being angry and didn’t know what she was saying."

"Oh," Nolofinwë said. "I guess that makes sense." Then he gave the healer a shy look. "Is she really my wife? She seems very... angry."

"Yes, she is, and she’s a very nice person. She’s just upset because she wasn’t expecting to see you and her sons. You have to allow her to get over the shock."

Nolofinwë nodded. "I guess," he said with a sigh. "I still don’t understand why she thinks I want her bed, though."

Vardamir just shook his head and tried not to laugh. In spite of all the high emotions, this had been a rather amusing encounter to witness.

Eärwen, meanwhile, had led Anairë to the other side of the room to give her a chance to compose herself. The elleth looked confused and bereft at the same time. "What’s going on, Eärwen? Why are they all acting like... like...."

"Like elflings?" Eärwen smiled. "Because they are, at least emotionally, even Nolofinwë. It will be close to a yén before they regain the maturity they had at the time of their deaths."

"Why now and why wasn’t I informed?"

"I have no answers for you, dear," Eärwen replied. "I can only tell you that you will need a great deal of patience. For some reason none of them actually remember you, though I promise the memories will return. You just have to give them time."

"But Nolofinwë... he’s my husband, yet... I couldn’t possibly take him back, not after all this time, not yet. He’s not the ellon I remember."

"No decision need be made yet," Arafinwë said, coming towards them. He had relinquished his hold on Findecáno, giving him over to Finrod to deal with as his son attempted to get the two brothers to reconcile. "I think it best if they remain here in Tirion and re-acclimate themselves to life here."

"And what do I do?" Anairë demanded. "Do I just return to the estate as if nothing has happened?"

"You were planning on staying for a while after the wedding, weren’t you?" Eärwen asked. When Anairë nodded she continued. "Then do and spend this time reacquainting yourself with your husband and sons. As Arafinwë said, no decisions need be made as yet. Let us take one day at a time. The wedding is tomorrow, assuming Amarië shows up and...."

"What do you mean?" Anairë asked in surprise. "She isn’t here?"

"No, she’s not and it’s too long a story to tell at the moment," Eärwen said. "Right now, let’s just concentrate on you and your family. Now, we’ve put the ellyn in a separate suite from yours so you needn’t worry about that."

Anairë nodded, then sighed, looking across the room to where her nephew was quietly speaking to her sons and Vardamir and Nolofinwë were speaking. She gave Arafinwë and Eärwen a rueful look. "I’d best start mending some fences," she said and went to her sons first. Finrod stepped away to give them some privacy. The two ellyn stared at their amillë warily.

"I’m sorry I hit your atto," she said contritely. "I promise not to do it again."

Findecáno nodded, looking suddenly shy. "I’m sorry I said you were mean. Findaráto says I don’t know you well enough to say that you are."

"Findaráto was always very wise," she said with a grateful smile to her nephew. "Now, why don’t you and your atto and I go somewhere and we will talk."

"What should we talk about?" Aracáno asked, looking doubtful.

"Well, you can tell me about...." She cast a questioning look at Finrod who smiled.

"You can tell your ammë all about your adventures in Lórien and pretending to be guards."

At that, her sons brightened, nodding enthusiastically. Nolofinwë, having overheard their conversation, stood and joined them, giving his wife a shy look. "Would you like to hear about my adventures, too?"

Anairë smiled, though her eyes were somewhat sad. "Of course, dear. I would love to hear all about it."

"I think it’s a great idea," Arafinwë said. "Why don’t you go to the gazebo. I’ll have Vardamir accompany you just in case and I’ll order the kitchen to bring you some wine and sweets while you are getting reacquainted."

In a few moments, Anairë and the ellyn departed, leaving Arafinwë, Eärwen and Finrod alone. Arafinwë gave a long sigh. "Well, one more crisis down."

His wife and son snorted in amusement, but before either could comment, Glorfindel came rushing in. "We’ve just gotten news that a party has arrived from Tol Eressëa," he announced, "and Amarië is with them. Sador, Ingwion and the others are already on their way to greet them."

Finrod gave a glad cry and ran out with the others following a bit more sedately. When they arrived at the front portico, they found most of the three royal families gathered there, along with Almáriel and Castamir. A group of people were seen crossing the plaza with Lady Meril and Amarië leading. Finrod went directly to Amarië and helped her down from her horse, giving her a warm hug.

"Oh, meldanya, how I missed you," he said warmly.

Amarië, however, did not return his greeting and he stepped back, giving her a puzzled look. "Amarië?"

"Lady Meril insisted I come and tell you myself," the elleth said somewhat coldly.

Finrod shook his head in confusion. "Tell me what?"

Amarië did not answer, looking instead at Lady Meril who had come to stand beside her. Finrod noticed the lady was looking rather amused, but he couldn’t see what was funny. He turned back to his betrothed. "Amarië, what is going on?"

The elleth straightened and gave Finrod a cold look. "I’m sorry, Findaráto, but the wedding is off. I don’t wish to marry you after all."

****

Words are Quenya:

Inyo: Grandchild, descendant.

Anatar: Grandfather.

Nésanya: My sister.

Yén: An elvish century of 144 solar years.

Note: Írissë , Nolofinwë and Anairë’s daughter, was known in Beleriand as Aredhel.

Chapter the Twenty-Eight:

In Which the Bride and Groom Make Up and Arafinwë Breaks Down

Finrod stared at Amarië in disbelief, his eyes wide with shock. Glorfindel, seeing the hurt and confusion on his gwador’s face became incensed and before anyone else could respond to Amarië’s announcement, he rounded on her.

"How dare you!" he nearly shouted, his expression one of fury that was frightening to see as he grabbed her and started shaking her. "You ungrateful little... you dare to do this to him? Now? I thought you better than that, Amarië, but you’re definitely your amillë’s daughter. He deserves better than this. You and Almáriel...."

"Glorfindel, stop shaking my betrothed," Finrod yelled, pulling at him.

Glorfindel turned to look at his gwador. "According to her, she’s no longer your betrothed," he snarled.

"Amarië, what nonsense are you spouting?" Almáriel demanded in the meantime. "Do you have any idea what trouble you are causing? Do you even care that we’ll be the laughingstock of all of Eldamar because of this little stunt of yours?"

"That’s all you care about is your precious image, isn’t it, Ammë?" Amarië responded, pulling herself out of Glorfindel’s grasp to confront Almáriel. "You don’t care about me. You don’t care about how I feel. All you care about is your reputation and what others will think of you. And you never listen to anyone else."

Before anyone could respond to her, she turned to Finrod. "Did you see your wedding garb? Did you see how ugly it is?"

"Actually I burned it."

Amarië stood there stunned, her eyes wide, and then she burst out laughing. "Why didn’t I think of that?"

"I didn’t do it on purpose, meldanya," Finrod protested. "It was an accident."

"And the china? Did it ever arrive?" Amarië asked once she calmed down.

Finrod shuddered and it escaped no one’s notice how Glorfindel and Intarion suddenly paled. Amarië gave them a shrewd look. "What is the matter? I know the pattern was ugly — and how Ammë convinced the poor potter to design something so ugly I’ll never know — but still...."

"That particular pattern proved upsetting to a number of Reborn," Arafinwë said. "I’ve had the china put into storage for now. It will not be used at the wedding feast."

"Now see here, Arafinwë, tradition demands...." Almáriel started to say, but Arafinwë cut her off with a glare.

"Madame, that china is an offense to the senses, and that wedding garb you were planning on having my son wear was a travesty of good taste. As Noldóran, I am denying you the pleasure of humiliating my son any further than you already have. I half suspect that this is your way of getting even with him. Well, that little game stops right here and now." He turned to Amarië. "And you, Daughter. I expected better from you. Your own actions of late leave much to be desired and I am very disappointed in you." With that, he took Eärwen’s arm and together they entered the palace leaving everyone standing there with their mouths open in surprise.

A most uncomfortable silence followed and no one could meet anyone else’s eyes. Finally, Amarië moved toward Finrod who gave her a cold look. "Is that what you want, to cancel the wedding? Fine. You may have the pleasure of telling everyone to go home." He turned to follow his parents into the palace.

"Where are you going?" Amarië demanded.

Without bothering to stop, Finrod answered, "Back to Lórien where I belong."

"Finda, wait!"

Finrod turned around, his expression colder than the snows on Taniquetil. "I don’t know what game you and Meril are playing — yes, Meril, I recognize your not so subtle touch in all this so don’t looked so affronted — but quite frankly, I’ve had enough of it all. Do you know how many times I wanted to just ride to you and spirit you away and forget all of this madness? Do you know how much I fantasized about our life together? And then, on the eve of the wedding you dare to show up to say you no longer love me and no longer want to marry me? Well, fine. So be it. Your Ammë can have the pleasure of ripping up the betrothal contract a second time and to the Void with the whole lot of you!"

He strode away, refusing to acknowledge anyone’s pleas to stop and was only aware that someone was following him when he was well away from everyone else. He turned to see Glorfindel striding right behind him. He stopped to confront his gwador. "If you think you can convince me...."

"I’m not here to convince anyone, Finrod," Glorfindel said. "I’m here to help you pack."

"Oh?"

"And then I’m going to go pack myself and join you. This farce has gone on long enough and I’m as sick of it as you. I think some time in Lórien is just what I need for myself."

"You have duties...."

"So do you," Glorfindel retorted, "but if you can shirk them, well so can I. Atar and Ammë will understand if no one else does and frankly I don’t really care what anyone else says about it."

Finrod closed his eyes and sighed. "It’s been one disaster after another. I don’t recall anyone else’s wedding being so fraught with this much trouble." He opened his eyes. "Why? Why doesn’t she love me any more? What did I do to...to...." He tried to stop the tears from coming, but it was a lost cause and Glorfindel wrapped his arms around his gwador and held him as he wept.

"What’s happened? Did someone die?"

Glorfindel looked up to see Nolofinwë with Anairë and their sons coming down the corridor. He shook his head. "Amarië finally arrived and announced she no longer wished to be married," he explained.

"What? After we went to all the trouble of finding appropriate wedding gifts?" Findecáno exclaimed. "What an ungrateful little orc!"

The absurdity of that statement was too much and Finrod was torn between tears and laughter. Anairë made a disapproving sound and fished out a piece of linen, handing it to her nephew. "Dry your tears, Finda. Remember who you are."

"Right now, he’s a groom without a bride," Glorfindel retorted, keeping his arms around his gwador to give him comfort. "What is it about ellith that they always have to cause trouble?"

"It’s usually the ellyn who cause all the trouble," Anairë said with a sniff.

"What are you going to do now?" Findecáno asked. "I was really looking forward to the wedding feast." Aracáno nodded in agreement.

"I’m leaving for Lórien as soon as I can," Finrod replied.

"Oh! Can we come with you?" Aracáno asked excitedly. "I don’t like it here. I’d rather go back to Lórien."

"Me, too," Findecáno said. "It’s too confusing here and everyone is always yelling at us."

"You were going to come with me back to the Southern Fiefdoms," Anairë said, sounding a little hurt.

"Oh, yes. I forgot," Findecáno said, giving Finrod a rueful look.

"You should go with your Ammë," Finrod replied gently. "I’ll be fine. Glorfindel is going with me so I won’t be alone."

"It’s not right, though," Nolofinwë said with a scowl. "You should be getting married." With that he strode away, his expression one that some like Finrod remembered from earlier times and felt a frisson of dread.

"Wait, Uncle!" Finrod called out as he followed Nolofinwë with everyone else trailing behind. Nolofinwë did not respond. By the time everyone caught up with him, he was already outside, glaring at the crowd. Glorfindel, when he got there noticed that Ingwë was berating Almáriel, Amarië and Meril while everyone else looked on. Only Amarië was in tears. At Nolofinwë’s appearance, there was a collective gasp from many of the Tol Eressëans and not a few of the Amaneldi who had not known of this son of Finwë’s release from Mandos. And then when Findecáno appeared, there were even more shocked looks.

Surprisingly, Nolofinwë did not hesitate but went right to Amarië, grabbing her arms and shaking her much as Glorfindel had. "You have a lot of nerve, Amarië Castamíriel, coming here at this late date to declare yourself no longer in love with my nephew. I was never happy about your betrothal before and now I see why. You’re not worthy of Findaráto."

"Ah... Nolofinwë, kindly remove your hands from my daughter," Castamir drawled, looking more amused than angry. "If everyone keeps shaking her like that, her brains will become addled."

"They’re already addled, as far as I’m concerned," Nolofinwë said, turning to Castamir, giving him a shrewd look. "Do you still insist that Elemmírë is a better poet than Macalaurë?"

Castamir raised an eyebrow. "If only because she’s still alive."

Nolofinwë’s eyes widened as he turned to Finrod. "Maglor is dead?" he asked in Sindarin.

"No, or at least, we haven’t heard. As far as I know he still lives. He did not return to Aman," Finrod responded, though he spoke in Quenya for the benefit of the others.

Nolofinwë turned back to Castamir. "Then your argument is specious."

"No. My reasoning stands. Those who reside in Endórë might as well be dead. Elemmírë resides here in Aman and here is what counts. The day Macalaurë returns, if he ever does, then we can discuss who is the better poet. Until then...." He gave them an elegant shrug.

"Well, a discussion for another time," Ingwë intervened before Nolofinwë could respond. "In the meantime, I’m still waiting for an explanation." He looked at the three ellith whom he’d been berating. "Lady Meril, I do not know you, except by hearsay, but I have the impression that you are something of a meddler in other people’s affairs. Pray explain your role in all this."

"My role, your Majesty, has been to be a sympathetic ear to Lady Amarië," Meril said with a disdainful sniff, apparently unimpressed by the High King.

"Oh come, madame," Nolofinwë said with a sneer. "You can do better than that."

"Perhaps we should take this to a more private venue," Elindis, standing by her husband, suggested. "This is a family concern and we don’t need all of Tirion listening in."

"No," Finrod said. "I think we should have it out right here and now in the open." He glared at Meril and Amarië. "Explain," he demanded, speaking that one word in Sindarin, thereby alerting everyone that he was in ‘King-of-Nargothrond’ mode. Those looking on had the dubious pleasure of seeing Lady Meril wincing, having recognized the tone.

It was actually Amarië who spoke, though, casting a rueful look at Meril. "It’s all my fault," she said. "Meril really had nothing to do with it except to lend a sympathetic ear and shoulder."

"Do you truly no longer love me?" Finrod asked softly, looking less the king he’d been and more like a forlorn lover.

Amarië stepped forward to face him more directly. "I will always love you, but I find I cannot marry you."

"But why? What have I done....?"

"You have done nothing," Amarië insisted. "It’s others who are at fault." She cast a sideways glance at her amillë standing there looking affronted. "I love you too much to let you be hurt any more by my ammë. The wedding garb was bad enough but when I saw that china...." She sighed.

"You’re cancelling the wedding because your trying to... to protect me from your ammë?" Finrod asked in surprise. When Amarië gave a slight shrug Finrod just stood there blinking for a moment before speaking. "I don’t believe it."

"Well, at least Lord Manwë didn’t send three of his Maiar to do the protecting," Glorfindel said with a wicked grin. "That would have been beyond embarrassing."

Finrod turned to look at Glorfindel, his expression one of confusion. "What are you blathering on about, hanno?"

"Never mind," Glorfindel said, "it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that Amarië is trying to be noble, wishing to protect you from... um... others." He glanced sideways towards Almáriel standing by her husband fuming.

Finrod nodded, turning back to his beloved. "That’s very sweet of you, meldanya," he said gently, "but I don’t need protection from anyone. I’m not marrying your ammë, or even your atar...."

"I should hope not!" Castamir interjected amidst much laughter from the onlookers, though Almáriel merely glared at her husband, who ignored her. Finrod gave him a warm smile before continuing. "I’m marrying you, or at least I’d hoped to." The last was said with a mournful sigh, looking dejected.

"Oh Finda!" Amarië cried, throwing her arms around his neck and weeping. Finrod held her close, murmuring softly into her ear.

Glorfindel nodded in satisfaction. "Well, I guess the wedding’s still on."

"Good," Nolofinwë said with a nod. "I hate to think of all those wedding gifts having to be sent back without even opening them."

"But you’re not the one who would be opening them, Uncle," Finrod said with a laugh, still holding onto Amarië, whose weeping had quieted.

"Well, watching then. It’s almost as fun."

Elindis gave Ingwë a kiss on the cheek. "Why don’t I go tell Arafinwë and Eärwen the good news."

"We can all go," Ingwë said. "We’ve stood out here in public long enough." With that he began issuing orders and soon the plaza was emptying out and those who would be staying at the palace allowed themselves to be escorted to their rooms while Ingwë and Olwë, along with the rest of the royal family and the bride’s family, made their way to the royal wing to inform the Noldóran and his Queen that the wedding was still on.

*****

"Do you think the wedding is truly cancelled?" Eärwen asked her husband as they strolled through their private garden. "If so, we had best alert the staff, Marilla in particular, as the cooks have been at it for almost three days now, getting everything ready."

Arafinwë gave her an elegant shrug. "Something about the entire affair doesn’t seem right to me. I’m not entirely sure what game is being played here. I suspect Amarië is attempting to get back at her amillë and using Finda as the... um... not sure what you would call him but I think you know what I mean."

Eärwen sighed. "Unfortunately, I do. And if what you say is true, I don’t think our son is going to be happy at being manipulated this way. In fact, he’s more likely to take everything at face value and not realize that Amarië’s little act is just that, an act."

"Too true," Arafinwë averred with his own sigh. He gave his wife a wry look. "I don’t recall our wedding being this... complicated."

"That’s because neither of us had Almáriel as their amillë," Eärwen retorted with a wicked grin.

"For which I thank Eru every day," Arafinwë quipped and then they were both laughing.

"So what should we do about this?" Eärwen asked when they were both calmer.

"I honestly don’t know," Arafinwë replied.

"Do nothing. It’s out of your hands anyway."

They both gasped in surprise, for they had thought themselves alone. Turning, they saw Olórin standing there, giving them a wry look, bowing slightly. "Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you."

"I swear you Ainur do that on purpose," Arafinwë snarled in anger at being startled. "Can you not approach us like normal people or is that concept beyond your capabilities to understand?"

The Maia raised an eyebrow, giving Arafinwë a shrewd look. "Take a deep breath, Pityahuan, and let it out slowly. Come, come. We’re all friends here. That’s it. You, too, Eärwen. Nice and slow. That’s it. Feeling better?"

The two Elves nodded though neither looked happy. "What are you doing here, anyway?" Arafinwë demanded, refusing to be polite. "Haven’t you lot given us enough grief lately?"

Now Olórin actually looked alarmed and even Eärwen was looking concerned. "Husband? What is wrong?"

"Everything!" Arafinwë snarled and strode away, making for an arch of stone that led into the more public gardens, leaving Eärwen and the Maia staring at one another in dismay.

"I’ll go after him, my dear," Olórin said gently.

"I’ve never seen him like this," she said with a sigh.

"I have, though mind you, the last time, your husband was gleefully plotting Lord Manwë’s demise. I’m not sure what is going through his mind at the moment."

Eärwen just stared at the Maia with incomprehension, causing Olórin to smile. "Never mind, child. It’s a long story. I only came to alert you to the fact that the bride and groom have made up and the wedding is still on. Ingwë and the others are even now scouring the palace to let you know."

Eärwen nodded. "I’d best go find them. Arafinwë...."

"I’ll tell him. It may go a long way towards diffusing his anger."

"I still don’t understand...."

"Best let me handle it, then, for I do. Now, according to those on watch — oh yes, on Lord Manwë’s orders with so many Reborn, and recent ones at that, in one place — you’ll find everyone in the upper gallery. I’ll take care of your husband, never fear."

With that Eärwen nodded and left to find the family. Olórin looked after her for a moment before sighing. "It’s like dealing with elflings, only worse," he said to himself, then smiled as he went looking for the Noldóran.

****

Arafinwë got only as far as the lower rose garden before Olórin caught up with him. The Noldóran suddenly found himself being held in arms from which there was no escape.

"Unhand me!" he screamed, struggling in Olórin’s embrace. "How dare you! Maia you may be but you have no right!"

"I have every right, Pityahuan," Olórin said somewhat coldly. "Especially when you are like this."

"And stop calling me that! I’m not your damn thrall anymore!"

Suddenly, there was a flurry of incandescent multi-colored lights that blinded the Elf momentarily. When he could see again, it was to find Lord Manwë standing before him, his expression one of concern. "Let him go, Olórin." The Maia complied and Arafinwë found himself staggering a bit to get his balance, for he’d not stopped thrashing about, trying to get out of the Maia’s hold. Manwë reached out a hand and took his elbow to steady him, then led him to an arbor where he made the ellon sit. "See that none disturb us, Olórin," the Elder King commanded without ever taking his eyes off of Arafinwë who simply sat there with a mutinous look on his face.

"Of course, my lord," the Maia said with a bow and then unclothed himself, leaving the Elder King alone with Arafinwë.

Manwë did not speak for a moment or two, merely gazing upon the Elf with concern, gauging his emotional state. Arafinwë refused to look at him, glaring at nothing in particular, his hands clenched in fists, his breathing still harsh.

"He had no right," Arafinwë said, breaking the silence between them. "Who does he think he is, anyway?"

"One of my Maiar," Manwë replied equably, his tone one of amusement, "and he was only doing his duty."

"Holding me prisoner?" Arafinwë demanded, finally looking at the Vala.

"Attempting to calm you down," Manwë corrected. "Move over, son. I wish to sit in comfort instead of standing over you like this. I’m sure you’re getting a crick in your neck looking up at me."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow but complied readily enough and Manwë sat beside him. For a long moment, neither spoke, but then, Manwë started talking and it seemed to Arafinwë that what the Elder King had to say had no bearing on what was happening now, yet he could not help but listen.

"You were never my thrall except in your own mind. I never thought of you as such. You were simply a wayward ellon in need of my tutoring. And you have to admit you needed much tutoring in the ways of governing, did you not?"

Arafinwë nodded somewhat reluctantly.

"But that is not the reason for your anger now, is it?"

"No."

"Do you know why you reacted as you did when Olórin came to you?"

Arafinwë shrugged, refusing to look at Manwë, who gave him a shrewd look.

"Arafinwë, look at me," the Elder King commanded and the Elf reluctantly obeyed and then before he realized it he was weeping and Manwë held him close, patting him on the back.

"It’s your brother, isn’t it?" Manwë said softly, divining the ellon’s distress.

"Th-there was no warning and... and I wasn’t the... the one to greet him," Arafinwë stammered.

"And that has upset you," Manwë said, giving the ellon a hug. "I am sorry. I felt it best that Findaráto be the one to bring your brother and nephews home. He was about to do something foolish and this was my way of assuring that he didn’t."

Arafinwë pulled himself out of Manwë’s embrace, giving him a puzzled look. "Foolish? What...?"

"It matters not, for we were able to stop him in time, him and his two brothers." Manwë gave him a smile. "In truth, Nolofinwë and his sons shouldn’t have been released at all. Irmo and Námo both agreed to wait until after the wedding and things had calmed down a bit, but I decided to take a gamble and ordered Findaráto to Lórien. Dealing with his reborn uncle and cousins has left him little time to do other things."

"Like go after Amarië," Ararfinwë said. "But why...?"

"Ah, well, Amarië had a plan and if Findaráto had succeeded in going to her, the plan would have failed."

"She does not really mean to call off the wedding," Arafinwë responded, giving the Elder King a shrewd look, his tears forgotten.

"No, and Olórin was sent to let you know that, for the rest of your family is looking for you to tell you that the wedding is still on."

"I don’t understand though why you needed to send a Maia to tell me that which others are quite capable of telling me on their own." Arafinwë gave Manwë a suspicious look.

Manwë returned the suspicious look with an enigmatic smile. "Ah, well, as to that... I had my reasons." He leaned over and planted a brief kiss on the Noldo’s forehead. "I’m glad we had this little chat," he said and before Arafinwë could respond, the Elder King was gone.

Arafinwë sat there blinking, not sure just how to react, but was saved the trouble when he saw Olórin making his way along the garden path to where he was sitting.

"Is this better?" the Maia asked with a smirk.

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow and uttered a few choice phrases in Sindarin that set Olórin laughing.

****

Words are Quenya:

Amaneldi: Plural of Amanelda: An Elf of Aman.

Ainur: Valar and Maiar.

Note: Elemmírë is mentioned in the Silmarillion as a Vanyarin Elf who composed the Aldudénië ‘The Lament of the Two Trees’.

Chapter the Twenty-Ninth:

In Which There are Final Preparations and the Wedding Day Arrives

Rumors had been spreading throughout the palace that the wedding was canceled. Those working in the royal kitchen and in the make-shift open-air kitchens that had been set up in Finwë Park, looked at one another in dismay, thinking of all their hard work going to waste.

Marilla went about assuring her staff that they had nothing to fear. "Trust me, this wedding will still go forward," she said and such was her air of authority that most believed and went back to work with a good will.

Isildil, however, was not one of them. In fact, he returned to his duties with a scowl, which was typical of him and everyone else ignored him. He had spent the ensuing weeks since his demotion plotting his revenge on Prince Findaráto, wondering in what manner he could sabotage the wedding without implicating himself. He’d been disappointed in how his previous attempts to cause the prince and his friend embarrassment had failed. Watching them both rebel, though, had been rather fun. He smirked to himself as he grabbed another pot to scrub.

But with Findaráto and Glorfindel no longer doing kitchen duty, he’d had no chance to implement other plans to bring the arrogant ellyn down. He was still pondering this when Marilla approached him. He gave the elleth a wary look.

"I’ve decided you’ve done enough scrubbing of pots, Isildil," the Head Cook said with a smile. "And since you’ve been behaving yourself lately, I think I will reward you."

"Oh?" Isildil said, still suspicious. He could not help wondering who this person was who wore three stars on her guild tabard. To the best of his knowledge no master had that many. The most was two.

Marilla nodded. "I understand that you are known for your artistry in creating subtleties and confections."

Isildil nodded. "Once," he said. "Now I’m just a scrubber of pots."

"Come, come, Isildil," Marilla retorted with some exasperation. "I assigned you to scrubbing pots and such on the orders of Master Cook Huorë."

Isildil raised an eyebrow. "The Head Guildmaster?"

Marilla nodded. "Which is just as well, for if it’d been me, I would have ousted you from the guild forthwith, but since I am not the duly elected head of the Cooks’ Guild, it was not my decision. Now, enough. I would like you to oversee the decorating of the wedding cake. All the pieces are done, they just need to be put together and iced appropriately. I’ll have Ailinel and Carnimir help but you will do the major part of the work yourself. Think you can handle that? It has to be ready by the morning. Her Majesty and Prince Findaráto have decided that when the wedding party processes through the city to Finwë Park for the feast, the wedding cake will be a part of the procession so everyone will be able to see and admire it, even if they don’t get to eat any of it." She gave him a sly grin and he couldn’t help echoing it even as he nodded.

"I can do it, Mistress."

"Good. Go dry off and take yourself and your two helpers to the second pantry. You will have the place to yourselves. I’ll check in on you later to see how it’s coming along." With that, Marilla moved away to speak with one of the journeymen about something and Isildil quickly did as the Head Cook had ordered.

The wedding cake. And it would be seen by most of the populace. Now, that had possibilities.

He smiled to himself, deciding how best to implement the plan that was slowly formulating in his mind. It looked as if he might be able to avenge himself on the damn princeling after all.

****

When Eärwen found Finrod and Amarië and was assured by them that the wedding was still on, she gave them both a hug. Most of the others with them dispersed to their own amusements on Ingwë’s orders, for they were guests and their input was not needed. Glorfindel and Sador remained but did not really participate in the discussion between Eärwen, Finrod and Amarië as they went over certain details concerning the wedding, in particular, the order in which the ceremony would be held and what would be done. Amarië was appreciative of the fact that some of the Vanyarin customs would be included and thought the idea of the wedding vows being spoken in Quenya and Sindarin an excellent touch, assuring them that she would have no trouble on that score.

"I’ve gotten quite fluent," she said proudly, and Finrod gave her a loving kiss.

"We still have to figure out what you will wear," Eärwen then said to her son.

"Well, I won’t be wearing what Ammë intended for us to wear, I assure you," Amarië said with a huff.

Finrod gave her a knowing smile. "So that’s why you hightailed yourself to Tol Eressëa, is it?"

She gave him a sniff. "But of course. Why else would I have gone there?"

"What are you two talking about?" Eärwen asked. "What plans have you made behind my back?"

Finrod gave her a sheepish look. "It’s not what you think, Ammë. When I saw what was planned for my wedding garb without anyone even bothering to ask me my opinion on it, I took certain steps to rectify that mistake on other people’s part."

"Meaning me, no doubt," Eärwen said with a raised eyebrow.

"Meaning everyone," Finrod responded. He turned to Amarië. "So it’s all set?"

"Yes. Meril is staying at the Golden Harp. If you can be there an hour before dinner...."

"I’ll be there."

"What are you two up to?" Eärwen asked in exasperation.

"Sorry, Ammë. It’s our little surprise," Finrod replied. "I promise, though, that you will be pleased and not embarrassed."

Eärwen sighed and nodded reluctantly. "There is one thing, though," she said, pursing her lips. "With so many Reborn in our midst, and especially with three very young Reborn, I am not sure...."

"Have no worries about that, either," Finrod assured her. "I’ve spoken with Brethorn and the Reborn Council. They will take it upon themselves to watch over any of the newly released Reborn, those who have been out for less than twelve years. Ingwion has let me know that Valandur and Findis will take over watching Intarion and Ingalaurë and we have a number of Lóriennildi on hand who are experienced in dealing with excitable Reborn. My main concern is Uncle Nolofinwë and my cousins. They will need special watching over and Anairë is unused to dealing with Reborn of any stripe. This wedding, even if everything goes smoothly, may prove too much for them to handle emotionally."

"That is your atar’s concern as well," Eärwen said, "but I think it unfair to ask our guests to be minders of grown Elves when they should be able to enjoy the wedding."

Just then, Arafinwë found them. With him was Olórin, who smiled on them. "And that is the other thing I was commanded to tell you. Lord Manwë is aware of the problems that might arise with so many Reborn in one place and has ordered several Maiar to keep watch. They will not be seen, but if any of the Reborn become upset, they will be there to calm them. Three Maiar have been assigned specifically to keep an eye on Nolofinwë and his sons, and I am one of them."

"For which we are grateful, and if you will let Lord Manwë know, I would appreciate it," Arafinwë said, speaking for them all.

"So now we just have to endure the rest of this day," Finrod said with a sigh. "I will be so glad when tomorrow is over with."

"Násië," came the reply from more than one person and then they were all laughing.

****

Ingwë insisted that a brief rehearsal was in order, considering that certain elflings would be involved, for Finrod was determined to have the five elflings who had been in his service some years before be a part of the wedding party. They and their parents were now in Tirion and so later that afternoon, while people continued to work on last minute details, the wedding party congregated in the throne room. When Finrod entered with Glorfindel, Sador and Ingwion, he saw the elflings already there and threw out his hands and smiled, implicitly giving them permission to approach him without giving obeisance. They came to him gladly and those looking on smiled with indulgence as he greeted each of them.

"But you saw us just two months ago, lord," Sorondil, the oldest at forty, protested, when Finrod exclaimed that they all looked taller. "We couldn’t have grown that much."

Finrod laughed. "But in my mind I see you as you were when first we met. You will always be my elflings no matter how tall you get."

"That’s what Emmë says," Veryandur, the youngest at thirty-three, said with a grin.

"And it’s true," Ingwë said with a smile as he joined them. "Shall we? I know there are many other things that must be done today, so let us start."

The elflings, along with Vorondil, would process directly in front of Finrod and Amarië, with Lindorillë throwing rose petals, while Veryandur and Eruanna carried the wedding rings. Sorondil and Oromendil would follow with coronets, for Amarië would be crowned a princess of Tirion and together she and Finrod would take fealty to Arafinwë and Eärwen and be acknowledged as the heirs to the Noldorin throne. Vorondil, acting as Finrod’s squire, would carry his sword.

The rehearsal did not take long, though there was a brief discussion as to protocol and how the ceremony could be conducted in two languages without making everything awkward. In the end, it was decided that just the giving of vows and the oaths of fealty would be spoken, first in Quenya, and then in Sindarin, but the rest of the ceremony, for the sake of brevity, would be conducted in Quenya. Sador assured them that most of the Tol Eressëans had at least some knowledge of Quenya and would be able to follow along.

"And there are plenty of people who speak both and can translate if necessary," he added. "I wouldn’t worry about it too much. I think people will be pleasantly surprised that even some part of the ceremony is conducted in Sindarin."

The only upset involved Nolofinwë. While Anairë was not officially part of the wedding party, she was still family and she and Nolofinwë and their sons had been encouraged to attend the rehearsal. "If only so we can keep an eye on them," Arafinwë had confided to the others earlier. "Anairë has no idea what she’s getting herself into, having three Reborn to deal with. I have no objections to them spending time with her on the estate in the Southern Fiefdoms, but she’s not going to be alone with them. Vardamir has already agreed to go with them, and I’ll ask Lord Manwë to have at least one Maia in attendance."

The others nodded, knowing that the Noldóran’s precautions only made sense.

So, as the rehearsal progressed, the three Reborn looked on with interest, with Aracáno making whispered comments to Findecáno, the two of them giggling. Nolofinwë seemed to be acting more maturely and was ignoring them while Anairë kept telling them to hush, sounding more and more exasperated by the minute. The others looking on rolled their eyes or smiled at one another knowingly. Then, they got to the part of the ceremony where Amarië would be crowned and she and Finrod would give their oaths to Arafinwë and Eärwen.

Even as Finrod slipped the coronet on Amarië’s head and the two of them knelt before the Noldóran and Noldotári and began speaking the words of the oath, Nolofinwë suddenly rushed forward, screaming, "No! No oaths! No oaths!" He grabbed Finrod and pulled him to his feet, hugging him. "No oaths. Not again. Not again." And then he was weeping, still holding on to Finrod, who did not try to extricate himself from his uncle’s embrace, but wrapped his arms around Nolofinwë.

"Shh.... It’s all right, Uncle," he murmured as everyone looked on with various degrees of understanding. The elflings were wide-eyed but did not appear unduly upset. If anything, they gave each other knowing looks and nods, as if they had expected nothing less. It was actually the adults, or at least some of them, who seemed more upset by Nolofinwë’s outburst, Anairë in particular, and Eärwen was quick to go to her and speak softly to her while Findecáno and Aracáno looked on. They did not appear to be too upset, themselves, or perhaps the calm manner of the elflings kept them in line, not wanting to appear less mature than they.

"It’s all right," Finrod continued crooning, rocking Nolofinwë. "It’s not the same. It’s the oath you said you would give to Atar at the All-Aman Council. Do you remember saying that?"

Nolofinwë nodded, his tears abating. "I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me," he said as he stepped out of Finrod’s embrace, giving them an abject look.

"It’s all right, hanno," Arafinwë said gently, giving his brother a hug. "We understand more than you can know. Now, I’m sure Findaráto and Amarië are quite familiar with the words of the oath and don’t need to practice them. Why don’t we just pretend they’ve given me their oaths and we’ll continue on from there. All right?"

Nolofinwë nodded. "Sorry," he muttered, now looking embarrassed.

"There’s nothing to be sorry about," Arafinwë assured him. "Now once the oaths have been given and received, I believe we are to process from the viewing platform through the plaza and down Hwarin Mallë to the park...."

****

Once the rehearsal was over, Finrod, with Amarië, Glorfindel, Sador and Ingwion, made their way to the Golden Harp where they were warmly greeted by Lady Meril, who ushered them into one of the parlors where they met Morwen and a couple of other ellith. Finrod gave them a warm greeting.

"It’s good to see you again, Morwen," he said, giving the elleth a fond look. "I hope you weren’t too inconvenienced by my request."

"Not at all," the elleth assured him. "In fact, while I understood the Queen’s reasoning for not wanting me to do your wedding garb, I indulged myself with drawing various designs and looking over fabric, so when your letter came, I actually had everything set. I’m sorry you weren’t able to see the sketches I’d made. I would’ve liked to have had your actual approval."

"I trust you," Finrod said. "Now, let us see what you were able to do in so short a time."

Morwen nodded and went over to where a privacy screen had been set up, pushing it aside to reveal two wooden elf-sized clothes dummies garbed with Finrod’s and Amarië’s wedding finery. The visitors stared at Morwen’s creations in silence for a moment and then Sador gave a low whistle.

Glorfindel smiled at Finrod, who was still staring at the garb in delighted surprise. "I think we have a winner," he said.

Finrod looked at Glorfindel and smiled back. "I think you’re right and won’t everyone be surprised." Then he laughed and hugged, first Amarië, then Morwen and finally Meril, while Glorfindel, Sador and Ingwion looked on with wide grins on their faces.

****

And then the day everyone had been waiting for for so long finally arrived. Even before Anar rose out of the sea, the cooks were already up, making final preparations. Workers were putting the finishing touches on the viewing platform in the plaza or making sure there were enough chairs in the pavilions. Maids and grooms scurried about on last-minute errands while the guards made sure all was secure. The royal family and their guests rose shortly after Anar’s light breached the Calacirya to make their own preparations for the wedding that would take place at noon.

And all the while, Maiar kept invisible watch while the Valar awaited the time when they could make their own appearance.

****

Words are Quenya:

Emmë: An alternate form of ammë: hypocoristic form of amillë: Mother.

Hwarin Mallë: Crooked Street.

Chapter the Thirtieth:

In Which the Couple are Married and Isildil Exacts Revenge

Around mid-morning, a small group of people came to the palace bearing a number of boxes. On Finrod’s orders, they were quickly admitted, with some being shown to Amarië’s suite, while others were taken to Finrod’s where they found the prince with Glorfindel, Sador, Ingwion, Ingalaurë, Intarion and Vorondil, all acting as Finrod’s body servants. The boxes were placed on the bed and once they were alone again, the ellyn swiftly opened them and withdrew Finrod’s wedding garb. Those who hadn’t seen it the night before oohed and aahed over it as Glorfindel and Sador quickly laid the garb out.

"It’s a pity Morwen works for Meril," Sador said as he fingered the fine brocade. "She should be working here."

"She has no desire to leave Tol Eressëa," Finrod said as he doffed the morning robe he’d been wearing after bathing and began dressing. "She’s quite happy where she is and Meril takes very good care of her, as she does all who work for her."

The others nodded. Vorondil picked up the shirt of fine lawn dyed a lovely shade of green and handed it to Finrod. "I think the only one who won’t be happy to see you wearing this will be Lady Almáriel." He gave a snigger and the others grinned.

"I’m glad she’s not my ammë," Intarion said with a convincing shudder. "She’s quite formidable. I think even Uncle Ingwë is a bit afraid of her."

"Atto’s not afraid of anything or anyone, even that old dragon," Ingalaurë insisted.

"No, he isn’t," Ingwion interjected smoothly, "but he is respectful of her and we should be the same. Lady Almáriel has many faults, and which of us doesn’t?" — Almost at the same time, everyone pointed at Glorfindel, including Glorfindel, and they all started laughing while Glorfindel smirked — "Yes, well, present company excepted," Ingwion continued after a moment, "but in spite of her faults she is an able councillor and one of Atto’s staunchest supporters. You need to remember that, hanno."

Ingalaurë nodded, giving a sigh. "I still think she’s an old dragon, though."

The older Elves just shook their heads. "Well, let’s forget about Lady Almáriel for now," Finrod said. "I still need to finish dressing." And that was everyone’s cue and they spent the next half hour helping Finrod dress, keeping the conversation to generalities about the upcoming All-Aman Council and how they thought people would react to the presence of Nolofinwë and his sons.

****

Others were also making last-minute preparations. Isildil had spent the better part of the day before putting together the wedding cake, overseeing the making of the frosting and all the decorations. For once, he did not act authoritative as he directed Ailinel and Carnamir in helping him, but treated them more as his equals. This, of course, was a ruse on his part, for he needed to make people believe that he was a new and humbler Elf. It was vital if his plan was to work.

Ailinel and Carnamir were putting the finishing touches to the wedding cake, placing fresh garlands around the base as Isildil watched when Marilla stopped by to see how they were doing and praised them for their efforts, saying it was the loveliest wedding cake she’d ever seen.

"Now, the plan is that once the ceremony itself is over with, the wedding party will come down from the viewing platform and make their way towards Hwarin Mallë. So we will wait for them at the top of the street where it meets with Malta Landamallë. To that end, I will need four ellyn to help carry the cake. Carnamir, perhaps you would like to be one of them."

"Thank you, Mistress," the young apprentice said with a pleased smile.

"Good. Isildil, Ailinel, you’re free until it’s time for the feast. You both know to which kitchen you’ve been assigned?" At their nods, Marilla smiled. "Then off you go and enjoy the wedding. If you hurry, you might even find a good spot in the plaza, but I wouldn’t dawdle; the plaza is already filling up and the ceremony is still a good two hours hence."

They both thanked the Head Cook and left the kitchen, but on the way out, Isildil took a minor detour and, casting a glance around to make sure no eyes were on him, snatched a small bag from the counter, quickly hiding it under his tunic as he left.

****

The plaza was indeed filling up with the citizens of Tirion, along with a sprinkling of Elves from the other kingdoms and the Southern Fiefdoms. Guards were everywhere keeping order. About a half an hour before the start of the ceremony, those specially invited were escorted from the palace to a place along one side of the platform reserved for them. These included Eärendil and Elwing, along with a select group of nobles from the kingdoms and those members of the various royal families not directly involved with the ceremony. Everyone stared in wonder at Eärendil as he walked by, wearing the Silmaril on his head, eliciting many whispered comments. Eärendil kept his eyes on the guard walking before him. Elwing, recognizing his discomfort, reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. He squeezed back but never looked at her.

The sight of Nolofinwë, Findecáno and Aracáno walking with Anairë caused many a comment as well, but no one was so foolish as to call out to them. The Reborn kept their eyes to the front, but they were all looking a bit pale. Laurendil, Eärnur and Vardamir were walking beside them, whispering encouragement and assuring them that all was well so they made it to the platform without incident and were soon seated with the others, giving grateful sighs of relief.

When all were seated, it escaped no one’s notice that there were fourteen seats in the front row that were as yet unoccupied and many people counting those empty chairs were not slow in wondering if the Valar would actually show for the wedding, but as the hour of the ceremony approached and there was no sign of them, most simply assumed that the chairs were a symbolic gesture on the part of the Noldóran.

Another group exited the palace. These were primarily elflings, most of them around forty years old, though there were a few who were much younger and some who were older. Led by Mistress Lindessë of the Musicians’ Guild, they made their way to the opposite side of the platform from where the guests were seated. And now the excitement among the spectators was reaching its peak, for Anar was nearly at zenith and the ceremony was due to start. Finally, the main doors of the palace opened, and the choir burst into a paean of praise to the Valar to bless this occasion.

First came the royals with Arafinwë escorting Lady Almáriel while Lord Castamir escorted Eärwen. Olwë and Lirillë followed with Ingwë and Elindis bringing up the rear. Then Vorondil followed wearing a squire’s tabard and carrying Finrod’s sword. Finrod came after, escorted by Glorfindel, Sador and Ingwion.

There was much oohing and aahing at Finrod’s wedding garb — a blue-green brocade robe slit along the sides to the waist with wide, trailing sleeves, under which was a lawn shirt dyed green and fawn leggings tucked into ankle house-boots of the same brocade. Intricate gold-thread knotwork embroidery along the robe’s hem, collar and sleeves was interspersed with small emeralds, sapphires and pearls, matching those twined in his warrior braids. The front of the robe was appliquéd with his personal device of a harp and torch in a teal-blue lozenge with an alternating border of silver and gold. He wore a garland of greenish-yellow linden flowers twined with blue-green linden leaves upon his head.

There was a brief pause in the procession while everyone found their place on the platform. All this while the choir had been singing the paean of praise to the Valar. Now they switched to a different hymn, the traditional Lind e-ndíneth, ‘the Bride’s Song’, composed originally by Daeron in Doriath in honor of Elu Thingol’s lady, Melian, and adopted among all the Sindar and the Noldor of Beleriand. Many in the crowd who hailed from Tol Eressëa smiled in approval and even joined in. This was the signal for the bride to make her entrance. First came the five elflings, all of them wearing tabards especially created for the wedding, showing the house devices of both Finrod and Amarië, with Lindorillë leading, carpeting the aisle with rose petals. Amarië followed after the elflings, escorted by Alassiel, Meril and Indil. Like Finrod, she wore a gown of blue-green brocade trimmed with the same knotwork embroidery but the gems were diamonds and turquoise, symbolizing her own house colors. Her head was crowned with linden flowers and leaves as well.

As they reached the platform, Finrod met Amarië at the bottom of the steps and led her to stand before Ingwë, who as High King, and by virtue of the fact that Finrod was his great nephew and Amarië was one of his subjects, would preside over the ceremony. The final verse of the hymn was sung and silence reigned over the plaza for a moment or two before Ingwë spoke.

"This day has been a long time in coming, and there was a time when we thought it would never come, for circumstances conspired to delay this happy event. But that is in the past and today we are able to rejoice in the union between Findaráto and Amarië and so, with that in mind, I would have the betrothal contract read one last time."

This was Ingwion’s signal to take up one of the copies of the betrothal contract and move forward so all could see and hear him as he read out the terms. When he had done so, he asked if the contract met with everyone’s approval and the crowd shouted out with yeas, some of them even clapping.

Once the contract was read and approved with an amendment made to it detailing the marriage, which was signed by all necessary parties, Finrod and Amarië exchanged vows and rings. Finrod then removed his wreath and exchanged it for his coronet, a simple circle of white gold with an emerald cabochon. In the meantime, Amarië knelt before her husband, allowing him to remove her own wreath and replacing it with a similar coronet, but the gemstone was sapphire. Then Finrod helped his wife up and together they walked over to where Arafinwë and Eärwen were standing and gave them their obeisance before kneeling.

Thus, the time for giving and receiving oaths of fealty arrived and, remembering the dress rehearsal, Laurendil, sitting next to Nolofinwë, leaned over to whisper in the ellon’s ear, even as he casually placed a comforting arm around Nolofinwë’s shoulders, speaking calmly and reminding the Reborn to breathe, for in spite of everything, Nolofinwë was starting to panic at the thought of his nephew giving any kind of oath. Anairë, sitting on the other side of her husband, took his hand and gave it a loving squeeze, smiling at him, and that seemed to calm him more than Laurendil’s words. So, trouble was diverted. Findecáno and Aracano seemed less affected by the ceremony, though Vardamir and Eärnur were sitting next to them just in case.

At last, the oaths were done and the couple stood surrounded by their parents who hugged and kissed them, even Almáriel, and then they were led to the front of the platform by Ingwë who proudly announced, "Here before you are Prince Findaráto, haryon of the Noldóran, and his beloved bride, Princess Amarië, once of the Vanyar, but now of the Noldor."

And as people broke out into cheers, the choir sang the glorious Lirilla Veruo, the ‘Song of the Spouses’ composed by Elemmírë of the Vanyar in praise of Lord Aulë and Lady Yavanna and a favorite at weddings among the Eldar. Finrod and Amarië stood there for a moment before Finrod leaned over to kiss his bride, much to everyone’s delight. In the meantime, an honor guard formed up before the foot of the platform ready to escort the wedding party through the city to the park. As Finrod and Amarië joined the guards many in the crowd began throwing rose petals — red, pink and white — and joined in the singing.

Arafinwë, escorting Eärwen, with Castamir and Almáriel behind them, followed while everyone else left the platform in no particular order, though both Eärendil and Elwing elected to walk with Nolofinwë and Anairë, all of them ignoring the crowd, concentrating on each other and commenting softly on the ceremony.

"I’m rather disappointed that the Valar never showed," Arafinwë said to Eärwen, though he spoke loud enough for others to hear him. "After we went to the trouble of seeing that seating was provided for them."

"I’m sure they had reasons not to be there physically," Finrod said without looking back. "But I have no doubt they were there in spirit. I think it was the gesture of being invited that was important to them rather than actually showing up."

"Maybe they decided to skip the ceremony and just meet us at the park," Glorfindel said from where he was walking, escorting Meril.

"We’ll know soon enough," Arafinwë said with a nod. "Ah, here is Hwarin Mallë and I see Marilla is waiting for us with the cake."

They all looked to see Marilla standing beside four ellyn with the seven-tiered cake set on a platform with poles on either side with which it was carried. As soon as they saw the wedding party, Marilla signaled for the ellyn to head down the street, then stood there beaming at them all as they filed past.

****

Isildil had eschewed watching the ceremony, electing to spend the time at the Hart and Hound, an inn not far from where Hwarin Mallë and Malta Landamallë met. He had chosen that spot specifically because it would give more time for the effects of what he planned to do to take hold and also because he was known to the innkeeper who welcomed him and gladly invited him to join others who were standing on the balcony overlooking the street waiting for the wedding party to pass by. Those already there gave him polite greetings but their attention was mostly on the street below and when they saw the procession coming towards them they started throwing rose petals at the happy couple. Isildil was also throwing something but not rose petals. Instead, he took out the bag he’d stolen from the kitchen and as the cake passed underneath him he quickly took a handful or two of salt and threw it upon the cake.

No one seemed to notice, all of them intent on the wedding party, oohing and aahing and calling out glad wishes. Isildil, in fact, did not linger, but made his way downstairs, thanking the innkeeper, saying he needed to get to the park to take up his position at one of the outdoor kitchens, and could he sneak out the back and avoid the crowds? As he made his way through the inn’s kitchen, he left the rest of the bag of salt on a worktable and then made his way down the alley to another street that would eventually take him down to the park but from a different direction. He wanted to be there to see his handiwork and grinned with delight at the thought of the embarrassment all would feel as the icing melted away under the salt, leaving a soggy mess.

He was unaware of the fact that his deed had not gone unnoticed after all.

****

The procession was near the end of the street where it went towards the park when Finrod frowned. "Something’s wrong."

"What do you mean?" Amarië asked as she smiled and waved at the people still lining the street.

"The cake. Look at it."

"Hey! It’s melting!" They heard Sador exclaim from behind. "How can it be melting? It’s not that warm today. In fact, it’s much cooler than I was expecting."

"We can’t stop here to examine it," Arafinwë said with a tinge of anger. "Let’s get to the park first."

Even as he was speaking they were entering the park and the ellyn carrying the cake quickly made their way towards the pavilion reserved for the wedding party, more than one of them looking up anxiously at the cake with its icing melting in rivulets, the colors running together looking like an ugly bruise. Poor Carnamir looked especially distraught. The citizens who were waiting by the park entrance stared in dismay at the ruined cake, the melting icing turning everything into a soggy mess. Some people were seen sniggering behind their hands at the sight, though the expressions on the faces of the royal family were anything but amused.

As soon as they reached their destination Arafinwë ordered the cake placed on the table that had been set up for it and they were all able to get a closer look. Glorfindel, seeing Carnamir nearly in tears as he stood with the other three apprentices, went to him.

"I don’t know what’s wrong," he heard the ellon exclaim through his tears. "And we worked so hard on it. Why is it melting?"

"Who worked on it with you, Carnamir?" Glorfindel asked quietly.

"Ailinel," the ellon answered, wiping the tears from his face, "we did most of the work, but Mistress Marilla had Mas... I mean Isildil supervise."

"Isildil, of course." Glorfindel glanced at Finrod, whose own expression became unreadable as he listened to the exchange.

"You think Isildil....?" Carnamir stared at Glorfindel in dismay. "But why? How?"

"As to how, I have no idea," Glorfindel replied. "As to why, you’re looking at him," and he nodded towards Finrod who was now speaking softly to Amarië, assuring her that the cake was not important. "All that matters is that we’re married. The rest is just... er... icing on the cake." He gave her a rueful look and that forced a laugh out of her and they hugged each other.

Others, however, were not as sanguine. Almáriel was heard to exclaim rather loudly that they would be the laughingstock of all of Eldamar, but most ignored her, for their attention was on Arafinwë whose expression could only be described as deadly. He’d overheard the conversation between Glorfindel and Carnamir and now was speaking to the ellon.

"Do you know where Isildil is now?" he asked the hapless apprentice.

"I know where he’s supposed to be, lord," Carnamir answered. "Mistress Marilla assigned him to the second kitchen. That’s the one closest to the lake."

Arafinwë nodded and turned to Calandil, who had led the honor guards. "Find Isildil and bring him here. If he’s not at the kitchen, find Marilla and tell her what has happened, though I have no doubt she already knows."

Calandil gave his liege a puzzled look even as he saluted and then ordered three of his men to follow him while the other guards kept everyone but the royals out of the pavilion.

In the meantime, Arafinwë was speaking to the other apprentices, determining where they were supposed to be once they had delivered the cake. All of them had been assigned to a different kitchen. "Tell whoever is in charge to go ahead and begin serving the other pavilions, but they are to hold off serving us here until we get this straightened out. Carnamir, you should stay." The other three apprentices bowed and left, giving Carnamir sympathetic looks as they went. Glorfindel gave Carnamir a hug, quietly assuring him that he had nothing to fear.

"None of this is your fault," he said.

In the meantime, Arafinwë was calling for his Chamberlain. "Axantur, make the announcement that all are to go to whichever pavilion they have been assigned and let the feast begin. Make sure the musicians are in place. Assure everyone that all is well and we will open this pavilion to others shortly."

Axantur bowed and went to carry out the Noldóran’s orders. Arafinwë addressed those who were in the pavilion. "We might as well get comfortable while we’re waiting and someone bring wine."

All this time, Nolofinwë, Findecáno and Aracáno had remained quiet, each of them staring at the cake with expressions of wonder and dismay on their faces. Aracáno sighed and turned away, muttering something about wanting to go back to Lórien where things weren’t so confusing. Findecáno just stood there fingering the gold strands braided into his hair. Nolofinwë, accepting a glass of wine from a servant, turned to his brother, his expression now more ‘kingly’ as Vorondil put it later when he was describing the scene to his atar and uncle who were seated elsewhere in the park.

"Who is Isildil and what does he have to do with all this?" he asked.

Arafinwë sighed and began filling his brother in while everyone else listened with rapt attention, for the story was new to most of them as well.

****

Unbeknown to everyone, Isildil had been part of the crowd waiting at the park entrance and had looked upon his handiwork with delight, just stopping himself from laughing out loud and clapping in glee. Instead, he whispered in spiteful tones to those standing near him that it looked as if the prince might have his cake but wouldn’t be able to eat it, causing a few to laugh, the laughter quickly suppressed with guilty looks upon their faces. Isildil merely smirked as he sauntered away.

He did not get far, though. His first thought had been to go to the kitchen to which he’d been assigned where he would’ve spent the time washing pots and pans. He’d had enough of that. Instead he decided to leave the park and find himself an out-of-the-way inn and celebrate his victory, however minor, over that arrogant princeling. At this point he didn’t care if he ever regained his master’s status in the guild. The revelation concerning Master Huorë ordering that he spend his days scrubbing pots had been something of a shock, though in retrospect it didn’t surprise him. Huorë never liked him and the feeling was mutual.

"Hey, Isildil!"

Isildil stopped at the sound of his name and looked up to see three of the ellyn who’d helped carry the cake coming towards him. He gave them a wary look. "Shouldn’t you be at your stations?" he asked, somewhat imperiously.

"No more than you," one of them said somewhat belligerently. "Are you responsible for what happened to the cake?"

"Cake?" Isildil echoed, attempting innocence. "And to what cake are you referring?"

"Don’t give us that, Isildil!" another ellon said with a scowl.

Isildil drew himself up, giving them an imperious look. "Master Isildil to you, Estelindo,"

"Not according to Mistress Marilla," came the retort. "They’re looking for you, you know. They know you’re responsible."

"They know nothing!" Isildil snarled. "Now be off with you before I...."

"Oh no, Isildil," Estelindo said. "I think you should come with us to see the King." And before Isildil could object or escape, the three ellyn grabbed him. He yelled out in defiance and attempted to push his way to freedom, but there were three of them and when someone nearby demanded to know what was happening, Estelindo told her.

"He ruined the cake?" the elleth demanded and when Estelindo answered in the affirmative she started shouting to others. "Here’s the culprit. Here’s the one who would embarrass their Majesties and Prince Findaráto." And before even the apprentices knew it, she was on Isildil, giving him a slap in the face and she would have done worse but Estelindo managed to push her out of the way. Then others were surrounding them, angrily demanding a piece of Isildil. Someone actually managed to hit Isildil in the solar plexus, causing him to nearly fall to the ground in pain. Another started pulling his hair. Estelindo and his friends were now in the dubious position of actually having to protect Isildil from the mob and began pushing people back.

"We’re taking him to the King," Estelindo shouted and with that he and the other two hustled Isildil along with everyone else following, shouting angry epithets at the former master.

****

Malta Landamallë: (Quena) Gold Avenue.

Note: In the language of flowers, linden is a symbol of conjugal love and marriage.

Chapter the Thirtieth-First:

In Which the Valar Make an Appearance and There is Yet Another Trial

Arafinwë was just finishing telling Nolofinwë and the others about Isildil and his role in all this when he was interrupted by the sounds of shouting and angry voices just outside the pavilion. Grimacing slightly he went to see what was going on when there was a sudden rush of bodies pushing the guards out of the way and it seemed as if half of Tirion was attempting to enter. Even before the first person crossed the threshold, Glorfindel was already there, standing before the King, a knife slipping into his hand from where it had lain hidden under his sleeve. Arafinwë raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing, for now the pavilion was crowding with an angry mob and there in the midst of it, looking a little worse for wear, was Isildil. Estelindo and the other two apprentices weren’t looking much better, for in their attempts to shield Isildil, they had suffered the brunt of the mob’s wrath.

"SILENCE!" the Noldóran cried, but the people were too incensed to listen and, in their anger at Isildil and their attempts to get to him, they were heedless of the King’s words or his presence.

Glorfindel, in fact, had unceremoniously pushed Arafinwë back towards the others and then launched himself at some hapless ellon trying to land a punch on Isildil, forcing him and a few others to the floor.

"Glorfindel! No!" Finrod shouted.

Then, out of the blue, Findecáno started screaming, "Men gweriennin! Men gweriennin! Gurth an gwerth!" And before anyone could comprehend what the ellon was shouting, Findecáno ran to Vorondil, still acting as Finrod’s squire, still holding onto Finrod’s sword, and grabbed the sword out of the ellon’s hands, unsheathing it, the fire of battle in his eyes as he gave a wordless cry and jumped atop one of the tables before leaping into the fray.

"Valar! Someone stop him!"

And then even as Findecáno was about to swing his sword, there was a flash of multi-hued lights that temporarily blinded them all and when they were able to see again, the pavilion was even more crowded with all fourteen of the Valar and twice as many Maiar. Eönwë in fact was holding Findecáno by the scruff of his tunic, calmly taking the sword from the ellon’s hand. Olórin and Manveru were untangling the huddle of Elves on the floor where they found Glorfindel near the bottom. Some others were calmly separating Isildil and the three apprentices from the rest of the crowd and herding them to one of the tables where they were made to sit. Cold compresses appeared from nowhere and were applied to their bruises. Still others were seeing to the poor guards who had been pushed aside by the mob and then the rest of them, all of them with swords of light out, were herding the others who were involved in the fracas to one side.

Those who happened to still be outside the pavilion (for the size of the mob had made it impossible for them all to enter) made good their escape, or at least they thought they did, for they were unaware of the other two hundred unclad Maiar taking note of everyone who had been a part of the mob. Later, the list would be given to the Noldóran to do with as he pleased.

And as the Maiar went about their business, the Elves inside the pavilion stood in absolute shocked silence while the Valar watched with clinical disinterest. "Anyone seriously injured?" Manwë asked at last, breaking the silence once it appeared that all was in order. "No? Then, Morimando, they’re all yours."

And then their shock deepened even more when Námo, who’d been somewhat hidden by the other Valar stepped between Aulë and Nessa and they stood there blinking, not sure what they were seeing, for the dread Lord of Mandos was not wearing his usual black or even one of the dark shades of blue or burgundy that he was sometimes seen to wear, not even the forest green that he was wont to sport at the yearly tournaments. No. The dread Doomsman of Arda was wearing royal blue robes of silk velvet trimmed with silver-thread embroidery. An azure blue silk shirt peeked out from beneath the robe’s sleeves. And like all the wedded Valar, his head was wreathed in linden flowers and leaves.

Námo gave them a sardonic smile. "What? This is a wedding, not a funeral." And then his mien darkened somewhat and the Elves quailed. "Yet," he amended coldly. He raked his amaranthine gaze over them all, landing on Findecáno still in Eönwë’s grasp blinking somewhat owlishly, as if not sure what was happening. Námo nodded to the Maia who put the ellon down and then the Vala took Findecáno into his embrace and whispered something that none could hear. When he released the Reborn, Findecáno’s expression was more embarrassed than anything. Námo gave him a sympathetic smile and then shooed him towards Anairë who gave her first-born a hug and soft words.

In the meantime, Námo’s attention had shifted. "We’re missing someone," he said. "Where’s Marilliën?"

"Overseeing the kitchens," Olórin answered. "She said she would be here as soon as she was sure the kitchens were secure. Ah, here she comes now."

Everyone turned to see Mistress Marilla enter the pavilion, giving the Valar her obeisance. "Sorry I missed the show, but duty called."

"Wait!" Glorfindel exclaimed. "Marilliën? But you don’t look anything like her."

Marilla gave him a wide smile. "Well, if I’d walked into the royal kitchen as myself, that would’ve ruined everything now, wouldn’t it?" And even as she was speaking, her form shimmered and then before them stood a Maia wearing the emblem of a fountain on a grey surcoat, announcing her allegiance to Lady Nienna.

The Elves, especially Isildil and the apprentices, stared at the Maia in disbelief. Finrod, looking at his atar, noticed that the Noldóran seemed unfazed by what he was seeing. He narrowed his eyes in thought. "You knew," he said accusingly.

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow at his son’s tone of voice. "Of course I knew, yonya. I am Noldóran, after all. It’s my business to know these things."

"Yes, well, all that aside," Námo said with a small smile before Finrod could offer a retort, "we still have a trial to get through."

"Excuse me?" Now it was Arafinwë’s turn to look nonplused.

Námo, however, did not deign to answer, merely gesturing and then he was sitting upon a wood-carved throne while the other Valar stood around him with Manwë on Námo’s left. "Now normally, we Valar would ignore all your petty doings and let you handle them as you saw fit," Námo said in a conversational tone, "but we decided to intervene in this instance as it looked as if there was some danger of our Peace being disrupted and we don’t want that now, do we? We all remember the last time, don’t we?"

The Elves actually found themselves shaking their heads at the first question, and nodding quite vigorously at the second even though it was clear the questions were purely rhetorical. Námo gave them a brilliant smile which was not at all comforting.

"Good. Just so we understand each other." He glanced at the ones who’d been rioting, most of them looking suitably shame-faced, unable to meet the Vala’s eyes. "And just what did you think you were doing, my Children, attacking Isildil, rather than letting your King — you do remember you have one, don’t you? — handle him?"

Now there was a great deal of shuffling of feet and those looking on felt no sympathy for them. Námo gazed upon the crowd for a long moment before turning his attention to Glorfindel who paled somewhat under the Vala’s regard. "And you, best beloved? What’s your excuse?"

"None really," Glorfindel replied with studied nonchalance, "except I’ve been aching to punch someone for a long while now, and this seemed as good a time as any."

Manwë actually snorted in amusement and Tulkas boomed out a laugh. "He’s got you there, Brother," he said, giving Námo a wicked grin. Námo grinned back then gave Manwë a wry look. "I’m so glad he’s your apprentice and not mine."

Manwë’s smile merely deepened but he did not speak. Námo then turned his attention to Vorondil, who was standing by Finrod, looking shaken. Finrod had his arm around him. "And how are you faring, child?" he asked solicitously.

"He... he just took it and I couldn’t stop him," Vorondil replied, almost in tears. "I’m sorry... I..."

"It’s all right, Vorondil," Finrod said soothingly. "No one blames you. My cousin is very forceful and you had no warning. There is no reason for tears. Findecáno, I think you should apologize to Vorondil for your rudeness."

Findecáno gave them a rueful look. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I was... suddenly, I wasn’t here but...we... we were betrayed and..."

Glorfindel moved to take the ellon into his embrace. "Yes, we were betrayed, but that was then, not now. It’s all right. You were just having a flashback, and no one is angry at you. All is well now."

Findecáno did not look too convinced but he quieted down and after another moment Glorfindel released him, giving him a warm smile. Námo, apparently satisfied that all was well in that corner, turned his attention to Isildil and the three apprentices. "Estelindo, you and your companions are to be commended for braving the... um... ire of your fellow Elves in protecting Isildil. Please tell us why you did so."

Estelindo gave the Vala a puzzled look. "I don’t understand, lord. We didn’t do anything special. We were taking Isildil to the King, for only the King has any right to decide guilt or innocence."

"You obviously thought Isildil guilty, though, if you were taking him to the Noldóran," Manwë interjected mildly.

Estelindo actually stood up, giving the Elder King a cold look. "What I or anyone else thought of the matter was of no account. I knew his Majesty had ordered that Isildil be found and brought to him and that was what I was doing."

"And I appreciate you and your friends for doing so," Arafinwë said, stepping forward, "but next time, you might want to let my guards handle such matters. It’s what I pay them for, after all."

Estelindo and the other two ellyn gave sheepish apologies. Arafinwë gave Manwë and Námo a wry look and the Valar returned it with ones of their own before the King stepped back.

Námo turned his attention back to Estelindo. "I asked you to explain your motives so it is clear to everyone what has taken place. How is it that these others became involved?"

Estelindo shrugged. "We were attempting to take Isildil to the King and he was objecting rather loudly. Some elleth coming along asked what was going on and I told her and then the next thing I know she’s hitting Isildil and calling to her friends and then... well, you know."

"Yes, we do," Námo said with a nod. "Thank you." Estelindo hesitated for a moment and then resumed his seat. "And so, we come to you, Isildil. Anything you wish to say in your defense?"

"Wait," Finrod exclaimed. "How do we even know he’s guilty? We don’t even know how the cake got ruined."

"Salt," Marilliën said, looking disapprovingly at Isildil who all this while had been sitting there with a dazed expression on his face as if he wasn’t quite sure what was happening. One of the Maiar wearing the harp-emblem of Lady Estë was easing the pain from the blow on the head he’d received. "He threw a couple handfuls of salt on the cake as it passed the Hart and Hound where he was watching from the balcony fronting the street."

"And you know this for sure?" Finrod asked, narrowing his eyes.

Marilliën nodded. "Of course, dear. Where do you think I was while you were processing down the street? I knew Isildil was up to no good."

"And you didn’t think to stop him?" Finrod demanded in disbelief.

"But where’s the fun in that?" the Maia shot back, giving him a convincingly innocent look that didn’t fool any of them.

Finrod just stared at her for a moment then turned his attention to Manwë. "And were you aware of all that was happening?"

"Yes, we were," the Elder King replied.

"And you just let it go on," Finrod said with a look of disgust on his face. "I hope we gave you good entertainment. I would hate to find that our performance was lacking in amusement."

"Now you sound like me," Glorfindel said.

There was a sigh that came from nowhere and everywhere. Manwë was seen shaking his head and muttering something that none of the Elves could hear, though the other Valar did and they were hard-pressed not to start laughing out loud. Finally, Manwë looked at Finrod. "While there were some entertaining moments, I assure you we were not amusing ourselves at your expense. We simply allowed certain events to go on and made sure other events didn’t arise. Why do you think we sent you to Lórien when we did?"

Finrod stole a glance at his uncle and cousins standing nearby and then looked at Glorfindel, giving him a significant look. Glorfindel was not slow in catching on for he could see that the three newly released Reborn were fidgeting and there was a glazed look in their eyes that said that they were fast becoming bored with all of this and mischief was on their minds. He nodded to Finrod and turned to the Valar.

"All very interesting, but we’re supposed to be having a feast," he said with a supercilious sniff. "Do you think you could hurry along with whatever you’re doing so we can all sit down? The children are getting restless."

The children, consisting of Finrod’s five elflings and a handful of others belonging to the youngest generation of royals, all looked affronted.

Manwë sighed and Námo smirked, but before either could speak, Carnamir, who’d remained silent all this time suddenly moved to stand before Isildil, his expression one of dismay and confusion. "Why?" he demanded. "We worked so hard on it and it was so beautiful? Why did you do it?"

Isildil, in spite of the bruises purpling his face, sneered. "I don’t have to answer to you, seldo."

"But you do have to answer to me," Arafinwë said coldly, "and to Master Huorë, who should be here but I understand he volunteered to help at one of the kitchens." He looked at Marilliën for confirmation and the Maia nodded.

"He seemed quite delighted to be put to work and was singing a merry song as he was scrubbing a pot when I left him," Marilliën said.

"Well, we know why Isildil did what he did, wishing to revenge himself on Findaráto for his supposed humiliation," Námo said. "The question remains what to do with you."

"He’s not returning to the royal kitchen," Arafinwë said, addressing the Vala. "I won’t have him there any longer. What the guild does with him is their business and I leave them to it." He gave the former head cook a disgusted look. "We were willing to give you a chance to redeem yourself, Isildil, but you were too full of your own arrogance to see these past weeks as an opportunity and not a punishment."

"I’m a Master Cook," Isildil snarled. "I shouldn’t be scrubbing pots and pans. It’s beneath me."

"Indeed?" Arafinwë replied with a lift of an eyebrow. "How strange, considering that I’ve done everything from scrubbing floors to whitewashing walls and I’m Noldóran. If such menial tasks are not beneath me, Isildil, they are certainly not beneath you."

Most of the onlookers, including Isildil, just gawked at the King calmly standing there giving them all an imperious look, while the Valar forced themselves not to laugh at their nonplused expressions.

"What does Master Huorë have to say about this?" Námo asked Marilliën. "I’m sure the two of you have had a word or two between you about Isildil."

"Master Huorë agrees with me that Isildil is, in his own way, very good at what he does, but he is concerned that his appointment as the royal head cook made him arrogant to the point that he forgot that the appointment was a privilege and not a right. His petty attempts to embarrass Prince Findaráto especially have not gone unnoticed and we of the guild feel that he needs a bit of... um... retraining."

"Which means Isildil will be coming to me and spending some time in my kitchen," Nienna said with a grim smile. "I’m sure we can... ah... rehabilitate him."

Isildil paled at the look the Valië gave him and one of the Maiar put a solicitous hand on his shoulder, giving it a pat.

Námo nodded. "And we have every confidence that you will be able to do so, Sister. Therefore, Isildil, you are remanded into the custody of the Lady Nienna until such time as she deems you are able to rejoin your fellow Elves. Tiutalion will escort you to your apartments so you may pack. You may leave as soon as you have."

Tiutalion gave the Valar a bow and then gently, but firmly, pulled the hapless ellon up and shooed him out of the pavilion before he could utter much of a protest. Once he was gone, Námo gave Arafinwë a sly grin. "You can deal with your other subjects, I’m sure."

"But you are having so much fun, my lord," Arafinwë replied with a smile, "and I am enjoying watching you deal with these people who seemed to have forgotten that this is a day of celebration." He cast them a cold look that was almost, though not quite, as intimidating as the one Lord Námo gave them.

"So do you wish for me to pronounce judgment on these people as well?" Námo asked and not a few of the people under his regard moaned in distress.

"No, actually I...."

But whatever he was going to say, he never got to say it, for at that moment, a soggy lump of cake went sailing by, hitting Námo smack in the face. There was a collective gasp as everyone stared in shock at the Lord of Mandos and then they heard a tittering of laughter coming from Aracáno and Findecáno. They all looked to see the two of them, their expressions gleeful, eagerly accepting hunks of cake from Nolofinwë, ready to lob them at their next victims.

"No! No! No!" Anairë nearly screamed in mortification, knocking the cake out of her sons’ hands and giving her husband a stern look. "You three behave yourselves or you’ll be on bread and water for the next yén."

The three Reborn stared at her in surprise, then gave each other sheepish looks before muttering (even Nolofinwë), "Yes, Ammë. Sorry, Ammë."

Anairë gave them a frustrated look, rolling her eyes. "And apologize to Lord Námo. Now."

Lord Námo meantime was wiping cake off himself, using a towel that Vairë had called up while she hovered over him, tsking in dismay, muttering about getting the stains out of the velvet. Yet, with a single thought, the velvet was pristine again and there was no sign of the cake. Námo motioned for the three Reborn to approach him, which they did with understandable reluctance.

"Sorry," they muttered, looking suitably chastened.

Námo just nodded, then gave them a slight smile. "Next time, go for Lord Manwë. He’s more used to elfllings pulling stunts like that on him than I."

"Please don’t encourage them, Námo," Manwë said with a pained look. Námo just smirked and the other Valar smiled.

"Are we done?" Glorfindel asked plaintively. "All that good food is going cold while we’re standing around."

Arafinwë glanced at Lord Manwë, who nodded. Then the King looked at those involved in the rioting. "Given that this is a joyous occasion, We are willing to turn a blind eye to what has happened. Go and enjoy yourselves."

The people bowed and curtsied and made to leave as quickly as possible until finally only the wedding party and the Valar remained, the Maiar having been dismissed by Manwë.

"We missed you at the wedding," Arafinwë said conversationally to Manwë and Varda as people began finding seats so the servants could come in and serve the feast, "but I appreciate that you did not show."

"Oh, we were there, never fear," Manwë replied. "It was quite a lovely ceremony."

"We just didn’t want to overshadow the lovely bride and her handsome husband with our presence. It’s their day, after all," Varda added with a smile for the said bride and groom, both of whom flushed with pleasure at her words.

"So I figured," Arafinwë said. "I kept wondering, though, given everything else that’s happened of late, if something would happen to spoil it, other than this business with Isildil."

"Such as what?" Varda asked.

Arafinwë shrugged. "Oh, I don’t know. A blizzard, maybe." He cast them a wry look and they all laughed, but the laughter died when an ominous rumble filled the air.

"What was that?" Amarië asked with some trepidation in the silence that followed.

And that’s when they all noticed the light beyond the pavilion darkening.

****

Words are Quenya unless otherwise noted:

Men gweriennin!: (Sindarin) ‘We are betrayed!’

Gurth an gwerth!: (Sindarin) ‘Death to the betrayers!’

Morimando: ‘Dark Mandos’, Námo’s title when sitting in Judgment.

Seldo: Boy; used pejoratively.

Chapter the Thirtieth-Second:

In Which It Rains and Our Tale Comes to an End

They all rushed out of the pavilion to find the sky darkening with storm clouds rolling up the Calacirya, the wind whistling loudly. Trees were bending against the gale and many people were just standing there gaping in disbelief as lightning flashed in the distance and thunder rolled across the sky. The force of the wind increased as the storm drew near and one of the pavilions under which people had been eating suddenly collapsed. Screams of surprise and fear echoed across the park and people rushed to rescue those trapped inside.

Arafinwë turned to Manwë, his expression beyond furious. "What does this mean?" he screamed over the wind. "Did you deliberately...."

Manwë held up a hand, his own expression unreadable. He turned to Ulmo. "I thought you diverted this storm away from the coast?"

"I did," Ulmo protested with a growl. "It should be halfway to Endórë by now, though I intended for it to die out before it did too much damage there."

"Then how did it end up here?" Manwë demanded.

"Ossë!" Ulmo shouted, his voice echoing through the land, setting off a minor quake that sent the Elves scrabbling for balance.

It was not Ossë who appeared before them, though, but Uinen, looking distraught. "I tried to stop him, lord," she said, nearly wailing. "I told him he was going to be in trouble, but he wouldn’t listen. I tried...."

"Not your fault, dear," Ulmo said gently, "but your husband is going to be spending some time with my brother Námo until he’s learned a bit more self-control." He gave Námo a sour look and the Lord of Mandos merely nodded. "In the meantime, you and Salmar are to gather the others and shift this storm. It’s too late to prevent it from coming, but we can mitigate its effects somewhat." He turned to Manwë, scowling. "If you’ll excuse me, I’d best see if I can track down a certain Maia."

Manwë gave him a nod and the Lord of Waters was no longer there.

"Well, we can’t stay here," Arafinwë said then. "We need to get everyone inside the city."

"My people will help make sure there is an orderly retreat," Manwë said and Arafinwë was wise enough not to argue. Instead, he turned to the others and only then noticed his son and new daughter-in-law clinging to one another with Amarië weeping uncontrollably, proclaiming that they were obviously cursed. And then, as if in answer to her words, there was a brilliant flash of lightning that seemed to be right on top of them for it was immediately followed by a loud clap of thunder and then the skies opened up and it started pouring.

Everyone’s immediate reaction was to rush back inside the pavilion but even as they were doing so, there was the sound of cloth ripping and before they realized it, the pavilion was flying away, the guy ropes having been torn from their anchors. Trenchers, goblets and cutlery flew about and everyone was ducking but the Valar who raised their hands as one and then a shimmering half-globe of light surrounded them all. It took a moment for the Elves to realize that not only was the rain not touching them, but no sound of the storm reached them. They stared about in wonder, absently wiping rainwater from their brows. As quickly as the Valar had acted, they were still all soaked to the skin with the water dripping off their clothes, forming soggy pools at their feet. Only the Valar appeared dry.

Everyone muttered in disgust as they attempted to wring the water out of their clothes. The ellith especially were distraught. Almáriel actually had the gall to say to Eärwen, "This wouldn’t have happened if we’d had the wedding in Vanyamar as I kept insisting."

"Madam," Castamir said coldly before Eärwen could respond, "if you do not keep quiet, I will ask Lord Manwë to open up this barrier long enough to chuck you outside into the storm." His wife gave him a shocked look of disbelief but wisely remained silent.

Finrod, meanwhile, was glaring at the Valar. "Great. Just great. First the cake, now this. I’m beginning to think Amarië is correct. We’re cursed, or at least, I am."

"You are not cursed, Findaráto," Manwë said. "This was just unfortunate."

"Unfortunate?" Finrod nearly screamed in frustration. "Unfortunate? Losing the rings is unfortunate. Forgetting the words of the vows is unfortunate. But this? This is beyond unfortunate." He swept his hand to encompass the storm still raging silently around them.

"I don’t remember our wedding being this exciting," Nolofinwë interjected as he looked at Anairë. "Was it?" He gave her a puzzled look.

Anairë lifted an eyebrow. "It was exciting enough, dear. You fainted, after all."

"I never did!"

"Oh yes you did, hanno," Arafinwë said with a laugh, "right into my arms. Atar was so disgusted he was ready to disown you on the spot but Ammë was more practical. She tipped a vase of water over you to bring you around." He grinned at Indis who merely smiled while the older Elves laughed, remembering the incident. The younger Elves, especially Findecáno and Aracáno, just stood there gaping, not sure how to react.

Nolofinwë looked mortified and was almost in tears. Anairë wrapped her arms around her husband and gave him a hug. "It’s all right, dear. No one thinks the less of you. When you fainted, my first thought was, ‘Bother. He beat me to it’." She gave him a sly smile and then the two of them started laughing.

In the meantime, the storm continued to rage around them. They watched under the safety of the Valar’s barrier as tree limbs snapped and went flying, along with chairs and tables and everything else. More than one pavilion was down or simply gone. All the guests were gone, leaving only those of the wedding party still in the park. When Arafinwë asked Manwë, he was assured that all had safely reached shelter and the city itself would suffer little damage.

"Well, are we just going to stand here and watch this storm?" Glorfindel suddenly asked. "Or can we not make it to the palace so we can dry off?"

"All that good food wasted," Sador said with a scowl, "and we didn’t even get a chance to eat any of it."

"Not to mention the wines," Ingwion added with a sigh.

"Or the cake," Ingalaurë chimed in, staring at the spot where the cake had stood. All that was left of it was a single lump that somehow hadn’t been blown away or washed away.

"It’s too dangerous to remove this barrier," Manwë said with a sympathetic smile. "The storm’s center will reach here in about an hour. That will give you time to make it back to the palace."

"An hour," everyone sighed dejectedly at the same time.

The Valar exchanged amused glances, then Manwë gestured and to their utter amazement people found themselves completely dry; not even the ground inside the barrier was wet. Chairs and a table appeared from nowhere. On the table was a wedding cake and several bottles of wine. There were plates and goblets as well and in minutes, Finrod and Amarië were cutting the cake while Glorfindel and Sador helped pour the wine. Soon they were all seated, happily eating and drinking while the Valar looked on in satisfaction.

And while the storm continued, the Valar entertained the Elves with tales of times before the Eldar had ever woken under the stars....

****

Dawn light was peeping into the Merethrond as Glorfindel finished his tale. The others stared at him in disbelief, except Mithrandir, who sat there with an enigmatic smile on his face. Glorfindel took a sip of wine and gave them an arch look.

Finally, Elrohir stirred. "That’s it?"

Glorfindel responded with an elegant shrug. "Not much more to say. As Lord Manwë predicted, the storm’s center reached us in about an hour, at which time we made our way back to the palace where we discovered that Marilla, I mean Marilliën, had a hot meal waiting for us, so we finally did have something of a feast, just not what had been originally planned. The storm came back and once it passed, the three kings began organizing everyone for cleanup duty. I spent the better part of that night clearing tree limbs that had been downed and picking up broken pieces of crockery and whatnot. The only people not involved were Finrod and Amarië. They had... um... other things on their minds." He gave them a knowing grin.

There were snorts of amusement from more than one throat. Galadriel turned to Mithrandir. "And you can vouch for the veracity of Glorfindel’s story?"

"Every word was true," the Wizard responded.

"And thank you for supplying some of the details of which I was not entirely aware, old friend," Glorfindel said, lifting his goblet in salute.

"My pleasure," Mithrandir said with a nod.

"And here I thought living in Valinor was bound to be ... um... dull," Erestor said with a grin for Glorfindel.

"Not with Finrod around," Glorfindel responded with a snort of amusement, "or the Valar."

"I can’t believe Uncle Finrod actually set fire to his wedding clothes, though," Elladan said with a smirk, "and thinking he was battling Sauron." There were titters of laughter from the others.

"And whatever happened to the wedding china?" Lindir asked.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Well, do you know they make excellent decoys?" He gave them a sly grin. "Once the cleanup was accomplished and things were a bit more normal, Finrod dragged the china out and we had a grand time perfecting our aim, trying to see how many we could hit with our arrows as they were thrown up into the air. Beleg won the contest, of course."

"You destroyed the china?" Elrohir asked, his eyes wide.

"Every last ugly piece of it," Glorfindel said with great satisfaction. "And then, Sador had the larger shards collected and took them back home to Tol Eressëa where he created a number of windchimes and gave them to the rest of us as... ah... remembrance gifts of the wedding, as if any of us could possibly forget." He gave them an elegant shrug. "For all I know, mine is still hanging in my bedroom window in Aewellond."

Silence followed that statement as everyone contemplated the import of Glorfindel’s words. Finally, Elrond stirred, looking about. "I see the servants are ready to lay out the breakfast. I suggest we all go and refresh ourselves and give the servants a chance to clean up."

There were nods all around and the Elves thanked Glorfindel for his tale as they left. Glorfindel and Mithrandir remained seated while the servants bustled about. The Elf stared moodily into his goblet, his thoughts elsewhere and elsewhen.

"You miss them," Mithrandir said, breaking the silence between them.

Glorfindel shrugged, not bothering to look up.

"If there are any messages you wish to convey to your gwedyr or anyone else, I would be honored to deliver them for you."

Glorfindel looked up. "Thank you. I appreciate your offer."

Mithrandir nodded and stood. "Why don’t we go freshen up? Aragorn and Arwen will be arriving soon enough."

Glorfindel drained his goblet and set it on the table as he stood. "Please make my excuses to the happy couple. I think I prefer to be alone at this time." He gave the Wizard a brief bow and walked out of the feasthall without a backward glance.

Mithrandir watched the Elf-lord walk away and sighed, shaking his head before following, while servants cleared the table where the Elves had sat, readying it for the breakfast feast to come.

-Meth-