Prologue: The Road

Year of the Trees 1190 (546 solar years after the Noldor and Vanyar arrive in Aman):

The road between Vanyamar and Tirion-on-Túna made surprising detours along the way, Valandur Voronwion of the Vanyar thought as he followed in the train of the other Vanyar following the High King. Much like my life. He forced himself not to think about that. Instead, he reflected on the road. Leaving the southern gate of Vanyamar, it wended its way southwest through fields and farmland before turning almost due west until it met with a track that led north.

And track it was, barely visible yet there nonetheless, leading nowhere in particular save to the royal hunting lodge that was nestled in the midst of the royal preserve, a stretch of forest that ran for several leagues north and south and westward for many more. The road, upon meeting the track, veered south again for a little way before bending southeast, crossing through low-ranging hills before again heading southwest so that it entered the town of Eldamas (where those Elves who served the Valar resided) from the north. The road then continued through the town to the north gate of Valmar, made of black meteoric iron studded with diamonds.

From there the road, as a road, disappeared and one entered the city of the Powers between the mansions of the Elder King and the Smith of the World, crossing the upper region of the Landemallë Valion to pass between Lord Manwë’s mansion and that of the Lord of Waters, before reaching the eastern gate of mithril and pearls. After that, the road was straightforward enough, heading almost due east until it reached Tirion, the city of the Noldor.

Valandur paused in his contemplation. Once Tirion had been the only city of the Eldar who had settled in Valinor, but with the founding of Vanyamar, that had changed. Now there were three cities — three cities for three clans — for Alqualondë had been built for the Teleri. Indeed, it was only just completed. Vanyamar….

Valandur remembered the hurt looks of his Noldorin friends when he had told them of Ingwë’s decision to move closer to the Valar and settle on Taniquetil and that the Vanyar had agreed to join him.

“But we just finished building this city,” his otorno, Calandil, had protested, his grey eyes full of confusion. “Why would you want to leave it?”

Valandur had no easy answer. He hesitated to speak of the growing restlessness that the Vanyar had felt among the Noldor. Even his atar had commented on it and Voronwë was not one to notice anything or anyone outside the small circle of like-minded poets and bards with whom he associated. If even someone like his own atar noticed it then it was obvious that the restlessness among the Noldor was more widespread than one would believe. He silently agreed with Ingwë that it was better for the Vanyar to remove themselves from such influence.

But he could not tell his friends that. “We wish to draw closer to the Valar,” was the answer he gave and it was true enough as far as it went but it was not the whole truth. It had not been an easy decision, by any means, and the consequences were still reverberating among them. Naturally, there had been some hard feelings on both sides, though some of the younger Noldor had traveled to Taniquetil to help with the initial laying down of the foundations, but they did not stay to finish the job, leaving the Vanyar to do that.

And the Vanyar would probably still be at it, Valandur reflected sourly, if Lord Manwë had not taken pity on them and offered the services of his Maiar to help with the building. That had not sat well with the Noldor. Never mind that in the building of Tirion, Maiar had helped as well, but, in truth, the bulk of the work had been done by the Elves. It escaped no one’s notice, Ingwë’s especially, that when Olwë finally led his people from Tol Eressëa, Finwë sent his finest masons to help with the building of the city which the Teleri desired.

The Vanyar were not invited to help.

Valandur frowned at that thought, then shrugged. It was the past and whatever resentment there might be between the Vanyar and the Noldor had dissipated in the Peace of the Valar. With Ingwë’s invitation to Finwë to come to Taniquetil for rest and healing after Mírel’s untimely departure and his meeting with the Lady Indis, Ingwë’s sister, and their subsequent marriage, the breach that lay between the two clans had healed to some extent and relations were further improved once Ingwë had begun instituting trade agreements between the three clans.

Or rather, they had been much improved.

Which thought brought him to remember his present predicament. He felt himself blushing with embarrassment, glad that he was riding in the back where none could see. He had been so amazed when he had been selected to join Lord Ingoldo’s trade delegation to Tirion, he who had only recently been awarded the title of Loremaster from the Academy, and had felt such pride in that accomplishment.

He snorted quietly to himself. Pride. Yes, a whole lot of pride and arrogance and now he was heading home in disgrace because of it. He shook his head, wondering how that had happened. Well, of course, he knew how it had happened. What he didn’t know was why. All he did know was that Ingwë was not pleased and that thought hurt more than anything, even more than the disappointment of his parents when they learned what had happened.

And it had started so well when the Ingaran had summoned him to his study one day….

****

Landemallë Valion: Avenue of the Valar.

Atar: Father.

Ingaran: High King of the Elves; Ingwë’s title.

1: A Royal Summons

Valandur was walking in the gardens attached to the Academy when the summons came. It was just past the height of Laurelin’s flowering and soon it would be Second Mingling. He was mentally reviewing the class he had just finished teaching, revising the lesson he had planned for the next time. As a newly minted Loremaster, he was assigned to teach the younger students who were less attentive than he would have liked, but then he probably had been no more attentive than they when he was first a student, he acknowledged to himself with a smile. Well, he needed to find ways to make them attentive.

He was contemplating the ways in which his own teachers had kept him and his classmates interested in the subjects they were teaching when one of the senior students, nearly ready to take the grueling exams that would lead to a provincial degree leading to the coveted title of ‘Loremaster’, approached.

“Your pardon, Loremaster,” the student said, giving him a proper bow, “but there is a message for you.” She handed him a thin piece of parchment, folded in half and sealed with a curious seal, one he had never seen before. His name was neatly written on the front.

Now who would be sending him a message?

“Thank you, Therindë,” he said as he took the missive from her. The elleth bowed again and walked away. For a long moment, Valandur merely stood there staring at the piece of parchment, trying to decipher the seal. Finally, though, he walked over to a nearby bench and sat, taking out his knife to slit the seal and began reading. It took him three tries to get through the short message for prominently displayed at the bottom of the sheet was the signature of the High King.

Ingwë! Why would the Ingaran be sending him a note? How did the High King even know of his existence? Well, that was easily accounted for. His atar was a well-respected poet, known to all the Vanyar. It stood to reason that Ingwë would at least know of Valandur’s existence. They had never met, as far as he could remember, though he had seen Ingwë on more than one occasion, though always at a distance.

He stared at the words at the top of the page. It was a summons, couched in polite words, but a summons nonetheless. He was to report to the palace on the third hour past First Mingling. He was to show the guards this letter. And that was all. Nothing about why he was being summoned. He sighed as he folded the letter and tucked it inside his tunic. He did not think he had done anything that would merit the High King’s attention and his advancement to Loremaster had occurred long enough ago that there would be no reason for Ingwë to summon him simply to congratulate him on his promotion. He was at a loss as to why he was being asked to see the Ingaran.

Well, he would have to practice patience and wait. He glanced toward the south, gauging the quality of the light and knew that Second Mingling would be soon. Standing, he made his way through the gardens, back toward his small cubicle of an office where he would lay out his plans for the next day’s classes. His meeting with Ingwë was scheduled for the third hour and his first class of the day was at the fifth. Hopefully, his audience with the High King would not last long and he would not be late.

****

The Academy lay to the east of the palace, nestled in a fold of the mountain’s flank, surrounded by gardens. The walk to the palace occupied part of an hour, the road making its way past modest townhouses owned by merchants or craftsmen. Valandur detoured around two ellith who were herding several young elflings along, giving them a small bow of his head and a smile as they passed. He was dressed in his finest garb: a tunic of golden-yellow silk lovingly embroidered by his ammë. It had been a graduation gift.

“Now that you are a Loremaster and not a disreputable student,” his ammë had said, giving him a sly smile, “you need to look your best.”

He glanced down at the tunic, carefully brushing away imaginary creases. Underneath it he wore a figured silk shirt of pale green, its high collar heavily embroidered in metallic gold thread, its full sleeves with gold-washed buttons running from the wrist to the elbow. And over all he wore his Loremaster’s robe of deep blue with the silver braid on his shoulder signifying his specialty: languages. As he neared the main gates of the palace, his pace slowed and he felt a twinge of nerves, his hands suddenly sweaty. He forced himself not to wipe them on his robe, fearing to stain it. Gathering his courage, he moved to the line of people waiting to enter, each person questioned by one of the guards before being admitted. When he reached the front of the line, he silently handed the guard the missive.

“You have been expected, Loremaster,” the ellon said, giving him a respectful nod of his head. He turned and called out a name and a young elleth dressed in a page’s tunic hurried over from where she had been sitting with other pages on a bench beside the guardhouse. “Here is Loremaster Valandur,” he said to the page.

“Loremaster, if you would come with me,” she said and with a nod of thanks to the guard, he followed her across the plaza and up the steps and into the palace. Valandur gazed about him in wonder, never having been inside. The lofty pillars of white marble were carved with a variety of motifs, both floral and animal. The floors were inlaid with marble veined in blue and green and tapestries hung from the walls. There was a fountain merrily singing in the central foyer underneath a cupola of stained glass that sent ripples of color around them so it seemed almost as if they were walking in a sea of colored light.

The page led him up the main stairway, down one corridor and around another, then down another set of stairs until he was completely lost. He doubted he could have found his way back to the main foyer without a map.

“This way, Loremaster,” the elleth said, gesturing down yet a third hall. “His Majesty’s study is just here.”

“Thank you,” he responded in a strained whisper. With their goal in sight, his stomach threatened to do terrible and quite embarrassing things and he had to swallow hard several times. The page gave him a sympathetic look. “His Majesty does not bite, my lord, and he rarely barks. You have naught to fear from him, I assure you.”

Valandur took a deep breath and nodded. “I thank you for your courtesy,” he said.

The page nodded and as they came to a door at the end of the short hall, she rapped on it, waiting for the summons, opening the door and bowing. “Loremaster Valandur Voronwion, Sire.” Then she stepped aside to let him pass. Squaring his shoulders he stepped under the lintel then stopped to bow to the person sitting at the desk before him.

“My lord, you summoned me and I am here,” he said, using the formal greeting of a vassal to his liege. “What is your will with me?”

He felt, rather than saw the door behind him close and forced himself not to look back, keeping his eyes on the ground, waiting for the High King to speak.

“Ah, Valandur, welcome,” Ingwë finally said. “Come and sit and we will talk.”

Valandur looked up and saw the High King gesturing to a chair before him. Stealing a glance around as he sat he could see that this was probably Ingwë’s favorite place. It was warm and inviting and very lived in. The outer wall was a series of arches leading out to the gardens, but the inner walls were lined with shelves crammed with books and scrolls and the odd statue — ‘useless ornaments’ his ammë would call them even as she half-heartedly dusted her own. Ingwë was pouring some yellow wine into a couple of goblets, handing one of them to him as he spoke.

“I know you are very curious as to why I have called you here,” the High King said, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip. Valandur also drank, reveling in the cool sweetness of the wine, far superior to any he could afford to buy.

“Yes, Sire,” he managed to say, “for I did not think you even knew of my existence.”

Ingwë smiled. “Your atar, Voronwë, is well known to me, though we have only met personally twice if memory serves. Yet, I have long admired his work and have even petitioned Lord Manwë to accept him as a Manwendur.”

Valandur raised a surprised eyebrow. “Does Atar know this?” he asked, stunned by the honor being accorded to his family. That the High King himself was acting as his atar’s sponsor was something Valandur had never thought could happen.

“No,” Ingwë answered with a sly smile, “and I prefer to keep it that way.” He gave the younger ellon a significant look and Valandur nodded in acknowledgment.

“I thank you on behalf of my atar and my family, Sire, for your generosity.”

“Generosity has nothing to do with it, child,” the High King said with a snort. “Now, as to your being here, I read your thesis on, what was the title again? Oh yes, ‘Linguistic Politeness and the Socio-Cultural Variations of the Notion of Face’. A most intriguing work. I especially liked your analysis of Eldarin-Maiarin interactions. I thought you might also include something about the Valar, but I realize you may not have had the experience of dealing with them face-to-face as much as you may have with their Maiar.” He flashed him a wicked grin. “So, if you ever wish to revise your thesis along those lines, feel free to come to me for information. I would be more than happy to relate my own experiences in face-saving before the Valar.”

Valandur could only sit there and stare in stupefaction, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. “You... you read my thesis?” he managed to whisper, for that was the only thing that Ingwë had said that had registered with him.

Ingwë’s smile widened as he took another sip of his wine. “And you thought all I did was sit around running the kingdom, didn’t you?”

Valandur felt himself grow warm and kept his eyes on his lap. Ingwë apparently took pity on him for he dropped all levity as he spoke again. “I like to keep tabs on all my loremasters, child.”

“Your loremasters?” Valandur repeated, feeling a little confused.

“Well, who do you think created the Academy in the first place?” Ingwë retorted. “Yes, my loremasters, though, mind you, I don’t actually employ most of them. However, I like to keep tabs on all the younger ones, for there might be a time when I would require their expertise.”

“Why the younger ones, Sire?” Valandur felt bold enough to ask, and it was a legitimate question, after all. He would think the High King would call upon those with more experience.

“I find that newly minted loremasters are less set in their ways of thinking than the older ones,” Ingwë replied readily enough. “They are more open to new ideas and ways of looking at the world about them. Which brings us to you.” He paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. “You are aware of the trade negotiations that I have implemented between the various clans.”

It was not a question but Valandur nodded anyway.

“Yes, well, I wish for you to join the one that will be headed for Tirion.”

“But why?” Valandur could not help asking. “I have no knowledge of trade or even diplomacy.”

“I am aware of that, but I have another role for you to play, and at the same time, it will afford you some experience in diplomacy. The delegation will be headed by my brother, the Lord Ingoldo and his wife, the Lady Tinwetariel. They will deal with the negotiations, but what I want you to do is watch how everyone responds to these negotiations. I want you to use your knowledge of linguistic interactions between different societies to determine how the negotiations might go better in the future.”

Valandur furrowed his brow in confusion. “You want me to spy on everyone?” he finally asked.

“No, Valandur,” Ingwë said firmly. “Spying is not what I want from you at this time. What I want is for you to observe how the Noldor and the Vanyar involved in the negotiations interact, or don’t interact. I want you to analyze how far we have strayed from common social norms, if we have strayed at all. I want to know if how we Vanyar perceive things is so very different from how the Noldor do. We have been separated from one another long enough and have had little interaction between our two clans that I fear that there may be some unintentional conflict and misunderstandings as the two groups interact.”

He paused for a moment, as if deciding what to say next, or how to say it. He gave Valandur a rueful look. “My brother, to say the least, is not as diplomatic as I would like, but he is a member of the royal family and Finwë has insisted that he would only deal with someone of equal rank to himself. Well, I cannot go, but Ingoldo can and he will speak in my stead. That being said, I still need someone who will be able to look upon all parties dispassionately and without any bias. I need someone who will be able to see the two groups interact and come up with ideas about what we can do in the future to avoid any misunderstandings because we have grown far enough apart in our thinking that we cannot communicate effectively anymore. Does that make sense?”

Valandur thought for a moment before nodding. “Yes, Sire, it does. I know from my own experience with my Noldorin friends, whom I only see occasionally and then usually only during festival time, that sometimes we seem to be speaking different languages.”

“Exactly,” Ingwë said. “Now, as for the public reason for your joining the delegation, we will say that I wish for you to gain experience in diplomacy and such as I am contemplating on asking you to join my household and specifically be a part of future diplomatic missions. That is not a lie, actually, for I think someone with your gift of understanding will be an asset to my household.”

“I am honored, my lord,” Valandur said sincerely, “and I will endeavor to do as you have commanded.”

“Not commanded, asked,” Ingwë corrected. “I will not force you to do this thing if you feel uncomfortable with it.”

“No, Sire, I am willing to do this.”

Ingwë smiled and stood. Valandur hastily rose to his feet as well. “Good,” the High King said. “Now, let me introduce you to my brother, who, by the way, does not know your real mission to me and I prefer to keep it that way. As far as Ingoldo and everyone else are concerned, you are an apprentice diplomat sent to learn the ways of negotiation and I would not be sorry if you did pick up a thing or two about such matters along the way.”

With that, he gestured for Valandur to join him as he stepped out into the courtyard. “It is quicker going this way than back through the hallways,” he explained as they went left, skirting a fountain. The courtyard was open on two sides and Valandur could see gardens further on. They walked down one side until they reached the corner and Ingwë led the way through another arch down a short arcade that led to a hallway. Turning right, he went past two doors on his left before stopping at the third door, giving it a perfunctory knock before opening it, gesturing for Valandur to precede him. Valandur found himself in another office or study, though this one was not as large and it opened out into an enclosed rose garden. There was a desk and some chairs and a wall of shelves. Seated at the desk was an ellon whose features were similar to Ingwë’s, but whereas Ingwë was all bright gold like Laurelin at the height of her flowering and his eyes were a sharp blue like that of a mountain lake, this ellon’s features were paler, his hair more a pale gold, almost white, and the blue of his eyes was nearly washed out so their color was indistinct.

“Ah, Ingoldo, let me introduce you to Loremaster Valandur Voronwion who will be accompanying you to Tirion,” Ingwë said brightly.

Ingoldo had risen upon his brother’s entrance and now gave Valandur a cool stare, inclining his head just barely in polite greeting. “Loremaster.”

“My lord,” Valandur replied, giving him a proper bow. He swallowed nervously, wondering what he was getting himself into by agreeing to this.

“Ingoldo, Loremaster Valandur is an expert on group dynamics,” Ingwë said. “His task will be to observe how everyone interacts during the negotiations and pinpoint possible sticking points of protocol and such so that in the future we have a better idea of how to go about such things.”

“I’m sure that Finwë or whoever he appoints to meet with me will be polite, Ingwë, as will I,” Ingoldo said with a sardonic smile. “I do not need a loremaster to tell me how to be polite.”

“No, you do not,” Ingwë agreed. “However, politeness may be used as a weapon as much as a spear or a bow, and I am interested in having someone who has been trained to observe such politeness to tell me about it. Also, as I told you earlier, I am thinking of expanding my household. We will need more people trained in negotiations eventually. You cannot be everywhere at once and my sons have other duties at this time.”

Ingoldo nodded. “Intarion should be coming with me,” he said. “My son is old enough to do so and learn from the experience.”

“By all means, I think that would be well,” Ingwë replied. He turned to Valandur. “My nephew Intarion is young but he is past his majority.”

Valandur nodded. Young indeed! He himself was considered young by the standards of his people, but he could at least claim to have made the Great Journey. He had been an elfling when Lord Oromë had summoned the Eldar to follow him to Valinor and had matured along the way. A time would come, he suspected, when whole generations of younger Elves would look upon those like himself who had been born in Endórë with no little wonder. At least, he hoped so. Even now, the memory of the darkness of Cuiviénen and the terrors of the journey were fading from his memory, replaced by the bright light of the Trees and the benevolence of the Valar’s Peace. It almost seemed as if he had been living a dream then, a very real and sometimes terrifying dream, but a dream nonetheless and only upon reaching these shores had he truly awakened. He could not imagine ever returning to Endórë. His life was here and he was glad.

He said nothing of this, of course, but simply nodded. “I look forward to meeting your son, my lord,” was all he said.

“The delegation leaves one hour after First Mingling two days from now,” Ingwë said.

“That gives me little time to arrange for others to take over my classes and to pack,” Valandur said with a slight frown, mentally reviewing the list of loremasters whom he might approach.

“Do not concern yourself with that,” Ingwë said with a wave of his hand. “I have already alerted your superiors and they will see that your students do not suffer from your absence.”

Valandur gave the two royals a sly look. “If anything, my absence will be seen by many of my students as cause for celebration.”

Ingwë laughed outright though Ingoldo only smiled. “Then, I will let you go to prepare yourself,” the High King said once he calmed down. “Come. I will escort you out. Brother.” He gave Ingoldo a brief nod and Valandur gave him a bow. Ingoldo merely nodded in acknowledgment.

Several minutes later, Valandur found himself back in the main foyer of the palace. “Please give your parents my respect,” Ingwë said, “and I will see you two days hence.”

Valandur bowed and made his way across the plaza, wondering just how he was going to explain all this to his parents. As he reached the other side of the plaza something made him stop and turn around to look back and he noticed Ingwë still standing at the portico. To his surprise, the High King raised his hand and waved. Feeling somewhat embarrassed, he waved back, then resolutely turned around to continue on his way.

2: Arrival in Tirion

The first thing Valandur did after his meeting with Ingwë was to make arrangements with the head of the Academy to have his classes covered by other newly minted loremasters.

“I will have lesson plans laid out for them,” he told the headmaster, “but only for the next few classes. After that they can simply follow the syllabus and perhaps resurrect their own notes from when they took the same classes.”

The headmaster chuckled and assured him that he would see to everything.

“I do not know when I will be back,” Valandur said apologetically but the headmaster assured him that he would still have a position with the Academy.

“Unless, of course, His Majesty offers you a position in his household,” he added, “but that is for the future to decide. Go well, my son, and remember all that we taught you.”

He then spoke with his parents who received the news with some surprise. “And Ingwë specifically asked for you,” his ammë said, “not for just any loremaster?”

“He read my thesis,” Valandur replied shyly. His parents looked at one another before his atar spoke.

“Then you are obviously the ellon for the job,” Voronwë said.

Valandur then spent some time going over his woefully inadequate wardrobe. He could take his two best tunics, but even the best one, the one he’d worn to Ingwë’s meeting, was barely acceptable court garb. Still, he would wear his loremaster’s robe over all and that would hide a multitude of inadequacies. He would also pack a couple of work-a-day tunics as well.

Thus the day of departure arrived and his parents and sisters gave him good wishes for a successful journey. He bade them farewell and headed for the palace, arriving in good time. There was a great deal of bustle as grooms and guards scurried about. Ingwë had told him that a horse would be provided for him, so he need not worry about that. He identified himself to one of the guards who led him inside the palace to a chamber that proved to be a small audience room where the High King was wont to entertain friends or members of his council. The guard turned him over to a page who was standing by, taking Valandur’s haversacks with him, promising to see that they were safely stowed. Valandur thanked him and allowed the page to lead him to where Ingwë was standing with Ingoldo, the High King apparently giving his brother last-minute instructions.

Both royal brothers looked up at Valandur’s approach. Ingwë smiled but Ingoldo simply gave him a supercilious look. Beside him stood an elleth, dressed in riding garb, whom Valandur suspected was the Lady Tinwetariel. She was more golden-haired than Ingoldo and even by Elven standards would be considered a beauty, at least, she would have, Valandur thought, if her beauty was not marred by a cold, haughty look.

“Ah, Loremaster Valandur,” Ingwë said in greeting as Valandur bowed to him. “You are right on time. Good. You have met my brother, let me make you known to his wife, the Lady Tinwetariel.”

“My lady,” Valandur said, giving her a proper bow.

The lady stared down her aristocratic nose and sniffed. Ingwë’s smile slipped a bit, but then he apparently decided to ignore Tinwetariel’s rudeness and turned to another ellon standing next to him. “And this is Lord Intarion, my brother’s son.”

Valandur greeted the young lord who smiled at him. Intarion was a brighter version of his atar, his hair like spun gold, his eyes a blue-green full of curiosity and humor. “I am glad to see that I will not be the only youngster on the journey,” Intarion said fervently.

Valandur raised an eyebrow. “I can hardly be considered a youngster, my lord. I was an elfling during the Great Migration.”

Intarion looked abashed at his gaffe, muttering an apology. Valandur took pity on him and gave him a conspiratorial grin. “But I am glad to see I am not considered old and therefore boring.”

Intarion gave him a shy smile, recognizing the words for what they were. Ingwë chuckled, clapping him on a shoulder. “I’m sure you and Valandur will get along just fine, Nephew. Now, it is time for all of you to be off.”

With that, they trooped out of the room and out into the plaza where the horses were readied. Ingwë had one of the guards show Valandur to his horse. Besides Ingoldo, his wife and son, there were four others who were members of the delegation, two of them ellith. The rest of the party was made up of a suitable contingent of guards who would also be responsible for setting up their camps and cooking their meals along the way.

Ingwë joined then with his queen, the Lady Elindis, and his twin sons, Ingwion and Ingalaurë, who were somewhat older than Intarion, and their young sister, Indis, who appeared to be barely out of elflinghood, and gave them a blessing for a safe journey and a fruitful mission, invoking the Valar in his prayer.

“Go well with the Valar’s blessings and with mine,” he said, raising a hand and Ingoldo gave him a nod of acknowledgment before signaling for the delegation to move out. Several of the guards headed along one side of the plaza and Valandur followed with the others as they took a side gate out and made their way down to the south gate that led out of the city. Just before he passed the gate into the street, Valandur looked back and saw Ingwë still standing there, an arm around his queen with his three children surrounding them. Then, he passed through the gate and lost sight of them.

“And now we are on our way.”

Valandur turned to see an elleth riding beside him and nodded. “I am Laurelindalë,” the elleth introduced herself. “The other elleth in our company is Nolondilmë. The two ellyn are Sorondur and Aldamir.”

“Thank you,” Valandur said politely. “I am afraid in the bustle of departure I was not properly introduced to everyone except Lord Ingoldo and his family. I am Valandur.”

Laurelindalë nodded in greeting and then they continued riding in silence until they had passed the south gate and were on the road. “So what role do you play in this delegation, my lady?” Valandur finally asked.

“Well, Sorondur and I are members of the High King’s diplomatic corps, such as it is. We have been specializing in trade. We’ll be the ones doing the actual work of hammering out the details of the trade agreements with our Noldorin counterparts while Lord Ingoldo and Lady Tinwetariel are entertained by the Noldóran.”

“And the other two? What are their duties?” Valandur asked.

“Well, Nolondilmë is well versed in the laws and customs of the Eldar and her role is to assure that all is legally done. Aldamir is acting as Lord Ingoldo’s personal secretary. Now, you know about us, but what about you? What role do you have in all this?”

“His Majesty wishes for me to observe how the trade agreements and diplomacy are done with the idea that I will eventually join you in the diplomatic corps,” Valandur answered. As Ingwë had insisted, he did not tell her the real reason for his being there. “I am a lambengolmo and so it makes sense that someone conversant with how language works would be an asset in any diplomatic venture.”

“Yes, I can see that. Well, I hope that you learn as much as you can while you are with us. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask me or Nolondilmë or Sorondur.”

“What about Aldamir?”

“Oh, he thinks he’s too good for the rest of us because Lord Ingoldo chose him to be his secretary,” the elleth replied with a disdainful sniff.

Valandur only nodded.

“When we stop for camp I will introduce you to the others,” Laurelindalë said.

“I would like that very much,” Valandur replied and then the two spent much of that first day’s journey speaking on a number of different subjects. At one point, Valandur asked the elleth if she had ever been to Tirion, but she denied it.

“I was born in Vanyamar,” she replied, “and have not traveled any further than Valmar and then only twice. And you?”

“I helped build the city,” Valandur said.

Laurendilmë gave him a surprised look. “Then you are older than I had suspected. I thought you were close to my age since you say you only just achieved your loremastership.”

Valandur shook his head. “I was an elfling when we made the Great Journey. I had little in the way of schooling except how to survive in the wilderness. Then, when we came here I was too busy helping to build, first Tirion, and then Vanyamar. My parents are not wealthy. Atar is a poet and a bard and Ammë weaves. I helped her to sell her tapestries and other weavings and apprenticed myself to a woodworker, saving the coin so that eventually I had enough to apply to the Academy.” He flashed her a wry smile.

“But the Academy is free,” Laurelindalë protested.

“Now, yes, but at first those who ran the Academy charged prospective students an entrance fee, to help defray expenses of upkeep. When the Academy was first founded, it was quite small. I think there were only four or five qualified loremasters who taught. Over time, the Academy has grown and when the High King became its patron, then it was not money that allowed one to enter its hallowed halls but talent. I assume you had to take the entrance exams?”

The elleth nodded, giving him a grimace. “I was so sure I’d failed, they were that hard. I was never so surprised than when I was granted admission.”

Valandur chuckled and she gave him a puzzled look. “What is so funny? Did you not find them hard?”

“I never took them,” he replied.

“But surely....”

He shook his head. “As I said, in the beginning, one needed a certain amount of coin to gain admission. The entrance exams were created much later when the Academy became subsidized by the Crown.” He gave her a shy smile that was nevertheless full of pride. “I helped design the exams.”

“You?!” the elleth exclaimed.

Valandur nodded. “I was still a student myself, you must understand, but one of the senior students, and we were asked to help contribute to the exams.”

“So I have you to blame for my sleeplessness and worry and near going insane over them?” she asked with a wicked gleam in her eyes.

“Well, only for the part of the exams that deal with languages,” he replied with a sniff, feigning disdain. “I cannot answer for the other parts.”

Laurelindalë snorted in good humor and then they were both laughing. About that time, one of the guards started singing a favorite ballad known to all and sundry and others, including Valandur and Laurelindalë, joined in. Valandur noticed that neither Ingoldo nor Tinwetariel sang, but Intarion did and when he happened to catch the ellon’s eye, the High King’s nephew gave him a warm smile, but he never stopped singing.

****

When they came to Valmar, a Maia wearing the sky-blue surcoat of the Elder King and who gave his name as Fionwë invited them to join Lord Manwë and Lady Varda for refreshments at their mansion. Valandur did not think that invitation included him and he started to join the guards and other support personnel who were being directed by a second Maia to a pavilion that had been set up on the other side of the east gate.

“The invitation includes you, Valandur Voronwion,” Fionwë said, giving him a knowing smile.

Valandur paled somewhat but dutifully dismounted from his horse and followed the others into the mansion. While he had been to Valmar a number of times, he had never been inside any of the mansions of the Valar and he found himself awestruck at the beauty and grandeur of the place, for it was apparent that the mansion had not been built with the Eldar in mind. Fionwë led them down a hall toward a set of doors made of beaten gold and incised with what Valandur thought were scenes of life among the Valar and Maiar, for he saw no semblance of the Eldar in any of them. He wasn’t given much time to examine the door more carefully, for they opened of themselves and Fionwë was announcing them.

Lord Ingoldo and Lady Tinwetariel stepped past the Maia and made their way into the room with everyone else following, Valandur being last and the most reluctant. Fionwë gave him a wink as he passed him and somehow that helped, for he felt less anxious. He bowed along with the others and when the Elder King had greeted them, found himself being led to a chair and given a goblet of wine while Lord Ingoldo and Lord Manwë conversed in soft tones. He took a sip and began to relax even more, stealing glances at the room and its occupants.

The chamber was small and intimate and Valandur suspected it was often used for gatherings such as this one. Lord Manwë and Lady Varda sat on throne-like chairs yet they were on a level with the other chairs that faced them. He wondered suddenly if the Valar often met here to discuss the doings of the realm in a relaxed setting rather than in the throne room in Ilmarin or at the Ring of Doom.

“Indeed we do, young Valandur,” Manwë said, breaking off his conversation with Ingoldo.

Valandur started, tensing again as he saw Ingoldo’s sour expression and the wary looks of the others. Even Intarion seemed surprised that the Elder King would address him who was the least of this company. “M-my lord?” he stammered.

Manwë smiled gently at him. “We Valar often meet here to discuss matters. It is more intimate and less, shall we say, daunting than our throne room, which we only use when absolutely necessary. I much prefer our meetings here.”

Valandur nodded. “Thank you, my lord,” he said, not knowing what else to say. “It... it is a very beautiful room.”

Manwë just nodded and returned his attention to Ingoldo. Valandur took another sip of the wine to steady him, for he was shaking. Laurelindalë, who was sitting on his right, reached out a hand and patted him on the arm. He gave her a small smile and tried to relax. The meeting did not last much longer after that. Manwë gave them his blessing and then they were outside where Maiar were waiting with their horses. They continued on through the east gate where their guards were waiting and then they went on. It had been decided that they would stop shortly after Second Mingling, now a few hours away, to rest, resuming their journey an hour after First Mingling.

There was no talking or singing as they traveled down the Rómenya Tëa and Valandur was grateful for that, wishing to be alone with his thoughts. But when they did stop to rest and have a meal, true to her word, Laurelindalë introduced him to the others in the delegation. Nolondilmë and Sorondur proved personable and friendly. Aldamir was a bit stand-offish, giving him a brief nod of greeting. Valandur decided that the ellon was simply shy and unsure of himself, rather than being arrogant. There was something in his eyes that belied the impression that he was in any way as self-important as Laurelindalë had suggested. Valandur vowed to himself to win over the ellon and hopefully they would become friends.

While they were sitting together around one of the small fires, Intarion joined them. They all rose to their feet to give him a proper greeting but he waved them back down. “Please, it’s bad enough when we’re at home, can we not dispense with so much courtesy out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“We’re hardly nowhere, my lord,” Aldamir replied somewhat pedantically, though Valandur thought he caught a glimmer of sly amusement in the ellon’s eyes. “We passed an inn not two hours ago and we’re camped beside a road.”

“Yes, I know,” Intarion answered as he sat with them, “but if it’s not Vanyamar then it’s nowhere.”

They all laughed at that. When they had calmed down, Intarion turned to Valandur. “I understand you used to live in Tirion.”

“A long time ago, my lord,” Valandur admitted. “I have not been back since we Vanyar went to Vanyamar, though I do have friends there. If you are asking me what I know of the city, I can only tell you what I remember of it. I am sure it has changed after all these yéni.”

“Perhaps to some degree,” Intarion acknowledged, “but its layout would not have. So, tell us what you remember of it if you will, for none of us have been there.”

“Not even you?” Valandur asked in surprise. “But I know that the High King....”

Intarion nodded. “Yes, but I have never gone,” and there was a bitter edge to that statement.

Valandur swallowed the questions he wanted to ask and simply nodded. “Well, Tirion, of course, was built upon a hill, a single hill that rises above the plain of the Calacirya. It is surrounded by the estates of the nobles on the west, north and south sides, but not on the east where lies a large garden....”

****

They stopped one more time along the way before they reached the city. Valandur watched it rising before them as the road took a final curve to reveal Tirion in all its glory. There was the Mindon, the Tower of Ingwë, with its lamp forever burning down the Calacirya. There were the walls that circled the lower parts of Túna, pierced by three gates. Valandur felt a rising sense of excitement and trepidation as they came to the west gate with Ingoldo greeting the guards and identifying himself and his entourage. He wondered about his friends, especially his otorno, Calandil. There had been no time to send a message alerting them of his arrival. He hoped he would be given some free time to look them up and imagined their surprise when they saw him.

Yet, he could not help feeling some trepidation at what he would find on the other side of the gate. Would the first city of the Eldar have changed all that much? He doubted it, and yet....

“Well, is it as you remember it?” Sorondur whispered to him as they passed through the gate and made their way up the street that would lead to the palace.

Valandur looked about him in dismay. “It looks so empty,” he whispered back. “Where are all the people?”

Sorondur gave him a shrewd look. “I imagine back in Vanyamar,” he said.

Valandur started at the words and then nodded mutely. Yes, of course. The city had been originally built to accommodate all the Vanyar and the Noldor, but when the Vanyar left.... He sighed, recognizing the truth of Sorondur’s statement and he could not fail to notice that those Noldor who were on the streets watching their progress gave no greetings of welcome or cheer, their expressions wary and closed. He feared that many of the people looking on had yet to forgive the Vanyar for deserting them as they had, though he had never thought of it as desertion. Certainly his friends when they had met on occasion during festival time had given no indication that they believed the Vanyar had abandoned them. Still, it was something to keep in mind at the negotiating table. He would have to speak to Laurelindalë and the others about it.

If the ordinary people on the streets had been less than welcoming, that could not be said of those at the palace of the Noldóran. They were greeted with much fanfare and pomp, with flowing speeches of welcome. Valandur, ever alert to the undertones of what was said and not said, found the welcoming ceremony wearying and thought that the silence of the common people had been more honest. He began to see just why the High King wanted him to be a part of the delegation. As he followed the others through the halls of the palace to the north wing where they would reside he had the feeling that he would have his work cut out for him.

****

Noldóran: High King of the Noldor, i.e. Finwë.

Lambengolmo: Loremaster of Tongues.

Rómenya Tëa: East Road.

3: First Meetings

Once everyone was settled, a welcoming feast for the delegation was announced. Valandur sighed at the thought as he pulled out his best tunic, knowing that, while it might be fine to wear to an audience with the High King, it was woefully lacking in style for a high feast.

“It will be fine,” Aldamir said as he donned his own sumptuous garb of green patterned silk with his house device embroidered on the front. Over this he wore a flowing robe of blue and green studded along the collar, hem and cuffs with citrines and emeralds. He, Sorondur and Valandur were sharing a suite. Sorondur was also dressed in rich garb in shades of blue and purple.

“My ammë made it for me,” Valandur said by way of explanation, feeling embarrassed. “It was a gift for finally becoming a loremaster. It’s the best garb I have.”

“It is beautifully done,” Sorondur said with a smile. “Your ammë is very gifted. It is obvious that every stitch was done with love.”

Valandur smiled in thanks at those words.

“And it is just fine,” Aldamir repeated, “especially with your loremaster’s robe over it. People are going to see that before they see anything else and treat you accordingly. And did you not say you wore this to your audience with Ingwë? Well, if it was good enough for the Ingaran, it’s good enough for the Noldóran and anyone else in his court. So do not worry so much about it. As a member of the delegation, you are entitled to certain funds. So, if you wish for more appropriate garb, we can have one of the palace seamstresses make you some. Now, hurry up. You do not wish to keep Lord Ingoldo waiting. He is not a patient ellon.”

Valandur nodded and in a few short minutes was dressed. The three ellyn left their suite and joined the others of the delegation in the main sitting room for the wing. Laurelindalë and Nolondilmë smiled at them but did not speak, for Lord Ingoldo arrived with Lady Tinwetariel on his arm. Intarion trailed behind. Ingoldo looked them over, nodding in approval at their appearance, though Valandur thought he frowned slightly at him. His dark blue loremaster’s robe was very plain in cut and style and its only ornamentation was the silver knotting on the shoulder that indicated his specialty as a loremaster. He tried not to blush in embarrassment, for what did he have to be embarrassed about? He had earned this robe with much sweat and tears and hard work. And with that thought, he straightened his stance, noticing Aldamir nodding at him in approval.

Then they were being escorted to the feast hall by squires. Valandur had little or no experience with royal feasts. Certainly there were the feasts which the Valar declared on occasion to which all were invited, but they were not solemn affairs and he suspected this one might be rather stuffy and even boring. Still he had little choice in the matter and decided to enjoy it as much as possible.

They were led to an antechamber from which they would be announced. Valandur tried not to feel nervous, for he had never been in this type of situation before. He steadied himself by reviewing the lessons he planned to give his students on his return. Soon, though, the chamberlain came in and announced that it was time to seat them. He then went back out into the hall and, banging with his staff, gained the attention of those already there. Valandur was surprised when his name was called first.

“Loremaster Valandur Voronwion,” the chamberlain called out and Valandur squared his shoulders and stepped forward. His first impression of the hall was that it was large and crowded. A page was standing next to the chamberlain and Valandur followed him through the throng of Noldor who were standing before their chairs until he was brought to a table just below the high table. In the meantime Sorondur, Laurelindalë and Nolondilmë were also announced and joined him. Aldamir came next. Then Lord Ingoldo and his family were announced together and were led to the high table. After that it was the Noldorin royal family who were announced.

“Lady Findis Finwiel,” the chamberlain called and Valandur craned his neck to see. This must be the daughter and first born of the Lady Indis. Findis came from a different direction into the hall. He saw a tall, willowy elleth with golden hair carefully braided with gemstones. She wore an undergown of pale rose with an overgown of a deeper rose that shaded almost to purple. Her expression was solemn as she climbed the dais to stand before her chair. Her gaze swept the hall and for an instant fell upon him and Valandur felt his heart racing. Then the moment passed and he remembered to breathe.

By then, the chamberlain was calling out another name. “Prince Fëanáro Finwion.”

Valandur looked eagerly toward where the firstborn son of Finwë and Míriel was coming. He hoped to have a chance to speak to the young prince during his time here, for as young as Fëanáro was, he already had a reputation for being a fine loremaster, having recently founded the Lambengolmor, the school of Linguists. Fëanáro was as dark as Findis was light and he walked to the dais with a purposeful stride, ignoring his half-sister, not even giving her a bow as one would expect, but moving to stand on the other side of the two thrones in the middle of the table, nodding politely to Lord Ingoldo and his wife.

Finally, Finwë and Indis were called together and they made a regal pair, a study in contrasts, for Finwë sported black hair, a rarity among the Eldar, and was like a storm cloud to Indis’ sunny golden features. They climbed the dais and Finwë escorted Indis to her chair before going to his and began to speak.

“Welcome, and thrice welcome, Lord Ingoldo, Lady Tinwetariel and all who accompanied you here. We hope that your time here will prove fruitful as our two clans draw ever more closely together for our mutual benefit.”

“Your words are gracious, Brother,” Ingoldo replied with a short bow of his head. “I am sure we will both come away happy with the outcome of our negotiations.”

Finwë nodded and then sat, thereby signaling the start of the feast. Valandur pulled Laurelindalë’s chair out for her as Sorondur did the same for Nolondilmë and then they were all seated as pages began bringing out the first course: a cold cherry soup and white bread with several types of cheeses and a cool white wine to go with it. Minstrels began playing from an upper balcony and Valandur and the others began introducing themselves to those who were also at their table. It turned out that they were the ones who would be attending the negotiations on behalf of the Noldor.

“I am surprised that Olwë did not send anyone to attend,” Sorondur stated after introductions were made.

“You know the Teleri,” one of the Noldor said with a grin. “They like to keep to themselves. I believe King Finwë did invite them to attend but they declined. There is talk that a separate agreement will be made with them later.”

“So it is with the Vanyar,” Aldamir said. “I believe King Ingwë is waiting to see how these negotiations go first before he approaches the Teleri.”

“A pity,” Nolondilmë said. “I think it is important that all three clans be involved.”

“Perhaps in time that will happen,” a Noldorin elleth replied. “I think it is important that we take this slowly. These negotiations were a long time in coming, for I think Finwë was initially reluctant to have them.”

“You mean, Fëanáro was reluctant,” one of the other Noldor stated with a shake of his head. “Rumor has it that the young prince was rather vehement against dealing with the Vanyar. He has never forgiven his atar for marrying Lady Indis.”

“Well, Fëanáro is not the Noldóran,” another ellon said with a sniff. “Finwë did well to listen to his queen in this rather than his son, who everyone knows is too much indulged by his atar. No good will come of that, mark my words.”

Valandur remained silent during this exchange, carefully observing gestures and facial expressions as well as the tone of the conversation, especially among the Noldor. He had been unaware that Finwë had not initially welcomed Ingwë’s overtures and wondered if Ingoldo knew this as well. Glancing at the high table, though, it was difficult to tell if Fëanáro felt any resentment toward the Vanyar, for he appeared to be conversing quite politely with Intarion. What they were saying to one another Valandur did not know.

He glanced down the high table to where Lady Findis sat with Lady Tinwetariel between her and the queen. Tinwetariel and Indis were conversing quietly between them, but Findis appeared to be ignored, for she did not contribute to the conversation, concentrating on her soup. When a page approached her to fill her wine goblet, she smiled brightly at the youngster, looking more animated than she had before. She said something that made the page blush but as soon as he moved away to fill another goblet, her expression became still and she returned to her soup.

The feast progressed and Valandur allowed himself to be drawn into the conversations at the table, discussing the finer points of sound shift theory with one of the Noldor who confessed an interest in becoming a lambengolmo. Between removes, people left their tables to visit with friends. Some came to where the Vanyar were seated and introduced themselves. Valandur thought that perhaps he might know some of them, but they were all strangers. He was somewhat disappointed, hoping to see a familiar face, but most of his Noldorin friends did not associate with the nobility, so their absence at the feast was understandable. He would have to make a point of looking them up, especially Calandil, as soon as he was able. If nothing else, he could have messages sent to them. As he was contemplating this, another came to their table and every ellon was rising to his feet. Valandur belatedly rose to his and found himself staring into the startling blue-grey eyes of the Lady Findis.

“Greetings, kinsmen, and so I call you,” she said, her voice a pleasing alto, “for are not all Vanyar kin to one another?”

Valandur felt his eyes widening in surprise and he smiled in delight at the sound of her voice, for her intonation was… different. It seemed to be neither Noldorin nor Vanyarin but somewhere in between. The way she said certain words made them seem… unique. But then, he reminded himself, the Noldor were notorious for their linguistic inventions and he wondered if Findis was prone to it as well. It didn’t matter; he was still intrigued by her accent.

“Greetings, my lady,” Aldamir replied, being the senior member of their group, giving her a proper bow. “You honor us with your presence.”

She smiled. “The honor is mine, my lord. Tell me what fares in Vanyamar? Is my uncle and his family well?”

“Should you not ask Lord Ingoldo for information about the High King?” Valandur asked, breaking all protocol, but he was curious about her answer.

She gave him a cool look. “Uncle Ingoldo is... busy.”

“And then there is Lord Intarion, your cousin,” Valandur said, speaking as if he hadn’t heard her. “I’m sure he would love to visit with you and tell you all about your family.”

He noticed, but ignored, the concerned looks on the faces of the others. Aldamir was frowning in rank disapproval, but Valandur kept his gaze on the elleth before them, wishing to gauge her reaction. He was not sure why he was being so confrontational, yet, the fact that she had patently ignored even her young cousin to come here for information about Ingwë and his family intrigued him.

There was an awkward moment of silence and then Findis shrugged. “Perhaps I will, my lord.”

“No lord am I, my lady,” Valandur said quickly, “just a humble loremaster.”

“Hardly humble,” Findis retorted with a slight smile. “My lords, my ladies,” she said in farewell, dipping them a proper curtsey before moving away, and Valandur was amused to see her heading straight for Intarion who was sitting idly at one end of the high table being ignored by all. When Findis appeared before him he brightened considerably and Valandur was pleased at that, for he liked the personable young ellon.

“You were out of line, Loremaster,” Aldamir said coldly.

Valandur gave him a quirk of a smile. “Perhaps, but it had the desired effect.”

“What do you mean?” Sorondur asked, clearly confused. “You practically insulted the daughter of the Noldóran.”

Valandur only nodded in the direction of Findis and Intarion chatting amiably with one another. “Now Intarion will not feel so out of place. No one has spoken to him since before the last remove.”

They all looked in time to see Intarion and Findis laughing over something one of them had said. Laurelindalë gave him a shrewd look. “You mean you did that deliberately?”

Valandur merely shrugged, not willing to answer. “If you will excuse me, I wish to take some air before the next remove.” He gave them all a bow and wended his way between the tables and out of the hall, making his way toward one of the many gardens surrounding the palace. He wandered along a stone-crushed path, thinking of the encounter with Lady Findis. She was obviously an intelligent elleth with a sense of humor. That was always a good combination in any person. He wondered if he would have the opportunity to speak with her further during his stay here. The thought excited him and he spent a little time fantasizing about how and where they would meet and what they would talk about.

Thus, lost in his thoughts, he was not paying much attention to his surroundings. As he rounded a curve of the path he nearly ran into someone coming in the opposite direction.

“Fool! Watch where you are going.”

Valandur gaped at the sight of Prince Fëanáro standing there glaring at him. “Your Highness, forgive me,” he said with a proper bow. “I fear my mind was on other matters.”

“You should pay closer attention to where you are,” Fëanáro retorted. “You are one of the Vanyar come with Ingoldo.” It was a statement rather than a question but Valandur nodded.

“Yes, Highness. I am Valandur Voronwion, Loremaster. In fact, I am a Lambengolmo. I am hoping to have the opportunity to speak with you and the others of the school you recently created. I am most intrigued by—”

Fëanáro cut him off with an impatient gesture. “I have little use for those with pretensions of knowing anything about language and how it works. You name yourself a lambengolmo, but the Vanyar are not noted for being that intelligent.”

With that he swept past the stunned Valandur, who stared after him in shock and dismay, feeling suddenly small and unworthy. Perhaps if he had been a lord, the prince would have at least granted him some courtesy, but he was not of the nobility, he was only himself. He sighed and retraced his steps, but at the last moment, he veered, deciding he had had enough of the feast and everyone in it. He was not sure what his reception would be anyway, for he had no doubt that Aldamir, at least, would speak to Ingoldo about him and his conduct with the princess and if Finwë heard of it.... He suspected that he was in for a dressing down and wished to avoid it for as long as possible. He took a moment to get his bearings and then strode purposely away from the palace until he found a side gate leading into the city. He nodded at the guards as he passed them, then stopped and asked if they knew of a particular inn, one he had frequented when he had last lived here.

“Yes, lord,” one of the guards answered readily enough. “The Rose and Crown still stands. If you take this street to your right and go to the second square you will find it readily enough.”

“Thank you,” Valandur said politely and headed away. He would no doubt hear about it from Aldamir or even Ingoldo, but he didn’t care. He would seek out his friends of old and forget about the stuck-up nobles for a time.     

4: At the Rose and Crown

Valandur hesitated for a moment before stepping into the Rose and Crown. This had been a popular place for him and his friends to meet and talk and he wondered if any of them were there now. The thought both excited and frightened him and he wasn’t sure why. Squaring his shoulders and silently castigating himself for several kinds of fool, he opened the door and went in.

The inn was not as crowded as he thought it should be, but perhaps that was just as well, for he would not have to hunt for a place to sit. Instead, he found a small table by a window overlooking the street. He didn’t see anyone whom he recognized and was both disappointed and relieved. He scowled to himself. This ambivalence was getting him nowhere. He looked up as someone approached him. It was one of the serving ellith.

“And what is your pleasure, fair sir?” she asked.

“Do you still carry some Tirion white?” he asked politely.

The elleth nodded. “Indeed we do. Shall I get you some?”

Valandur nodded and she headed for the bar, returning a few minutes later with a bottle of wine and a clear crystal goblet. She poured a small measure of the wine into the goblet and he took a sip, declaring it acceptable. She smiled, poured some more into the goblet and left the bottle on the table. For some time he sat there, idly staring out the window, sipping his wine and watching the people moving up and down the street going about their business and only half listening to the quiet conversations around him. Then someone said something that caught his attention.

“... sure that this trade agreement will work.”

Valandur casually shifted his position so he was facing more toward the bar, stretching out his legs as if he were settling in for a while. He took a long sip of his wine, eyeing the rest of the room over the rim of his goblet. Yes, there, two tables away were three Noldor sitting together. Two of them looked to be of the older generation while the other might belong to the second generation of Elves, those born soon after the Eldar had come to Aman. Almost by default, anyone who had made the Great Journey was considered part of the first generation whatever their actual age. The Great Journey had proved to be a defining line between those who remembered the stars above Cuiviénen and those who knew only the Light of the Trees. One of the older ellyn seemed familiar to Valandur but he could put no name to him.

The younger ellyn spoke. “Why shouldn’t it work? Do you not think that trade between the two clans is a good thing?”

“I do not know,” one of the older ellyn said and Valandur recognized it as the first voice he had overheard. “I only know that there is still resentment among us for what the Vanyar did.”

“And what exactly did they do?” the younger ellon asked.

The two older ellyn gave him disbelieving looks. “No, I’m serious,” the younger ellon said. “What exactly did they do to warrant mistrust and resentment from you?”

The first ellon scowled. “Look around you, seldo. How many houses stand empty, their gardens untended, houses once lived in by the Vanyar, who up and left, deciding they wanted to be closer to the Valar?” He sneered at that.

The younger ellon shrugged. “And so? In time, those empty houses will be inhabited by the younger generations of Noldor and the gardens will bloom again. Indeed, I have several friends who have already taken over empty houses where they can raise their own families.”

“They abandoned us,” the second older ellon retorted with a growl.

The younger ellon shrugged again. “Or perhaps we abandoned them.”

The two others raised eyebrows at that outrageous statement and even Valandur couldn’t help wondering where the young ellon’s logic lay. The younger ellon smiled at the discomfiture of his elders. “At the last festival held by the Valar, I overheard some Vanyar speaking about how they could see the restlessness of our clan becoming more prominent, especially among the younger generations. One of them commented that it was a good thing Ingwë had convinced the Vanyar to move away from Tirion and the influence of the Noldor, for the High King was wary of that restlessness, feeling that we may regret it in some manner.” He paused and shrugged. “Well, that was what I overheard. I did not stay around to hear more, for what I heard upset me and I needed to go away and be alone to think about it.”

“And what did you conclude?” the first ellon asked.

“That perhaps the Vanyar were wise to leave Tirion when they did,” the younger ellon replied. “I have noticed the restlessness of spirit that seems to permeate our people. We are always searching for more, many of us making far journeys in search of the secrets of the land.”

“And is that a bad thing?” the second older ellon asked with a smile.

“No. Not necessarily,” the younger ellon answered. “But what happens when we have searched out every secret? What happens when we decide Valinor is not enough, that the land is too small to contain us? Where do we go then? What do we do? Nay. A time may come when our restlessness will prove our downfall and I doubt me that not even the Valar will be able to stop it from happening.”

The two older ellyn looked pensive. “So you think this trade agreement will do what exactly?”

“If nothing else, perhaps it will draw our two clans closer even as we have drawn close to the Teleri. Finwë’s marriage to Indis did not bring our two clans together as closely as they might have wished. I think the resentment of the older generation was too new and raw, but times change and now Ingwë is holding out the hand of reconciliation. It seems silly to me to ignore it.”

Silence settled between the three ellyn and Valandur contemplated all that he had heard, knowing that he would need to speak to Lord Ingoldo about it. He frowned slightly at that thought. Ingoldo did not strike him as someone who would listen sympathetically to anything he might say. He suspected that the prince had been against his inclusion in their delegation from the beginning. He wondered just how effective he could be in helping both parties to come to a mutual agreement. In the end, though, he knew that his ultimate purpose was to keep his eyes and ears open for Ingwë’s sake.

He was startled out of his reverie by the sound of the door opening and a familiar voice calling out. “So, here is where you are hiding.”

He looked up to see Aldamir and Sorondur standing over him, grinning at him. “You are in deep trouble, my friend,” Aldamir said in mock seriousness.

“Sit down,” Valandur ordered and he raised his hand to get the attention of the serving elleth who came over to enquire of his needs. “More wine for my friends,” he said.

“We don’t have time for this,” Sorondur said. “We were told to bring you back forthwith.”

“It can wait,” Valandur retorted. “Sit down,” and the tone of his voice was such that the two ellyn did just that. The serving elleth returned with two more goblets and another bottle of wine. Valandur poured for them. “I want you to listen to me very carefully,” he said in a low, conversational tone. “We may have a problem.”

“Besides the one sitting across from us?” Aldamir demanded before he took an appreciative sip of the wine.

Valandur sighed. “Will you just listen? How popular is this trade agreement among the Vanyar? Do you know?”

Both ellyn gave him a quizzical look. “What do you mean and why does it matter?” Aldamir asked. “I’m sure the merchants are behind it as it will only benefit them in the long run.”

“And the Noldor?” Valandur pressed. “How popular is it with them, do you know?”

“Why do you ask?” Sorondur demanded, looking confused. “If they didn’t want this agreement, they wouldn’t have asked us to come here, would they?”

“Finwë, perhaps, but I’m speaking of the common people. How much are they behind this agreement between our two peoples?”

“I would think the Noldorin merchants would welcome it,” Aldamir stated. “They would be fools not to. But why this sudden interest as to what the common people think? They do not create policy. Their opinions are not important.”

“If you believe that, Aldamir, then you are a fool,” Valandur said in a harsh voice.

The other two straightened in their chairs, scowling almost as one. “We should get back to the palace,” Aldamir said. “Prince Ingoldo was not pleased to know you had left the feast so precipitously. So finish up and let us be on our way. Because of you, we’re missing the music and the dancing.”

Valandur sighed but did not argue. Perhaps it was not important what the common people thought of it all, but the conversation he had overheard had disturbed him. He hoped that the views put forth by the younger ellon were prominent among the Noldor, but he very much doubted it. Taking a last sip of the wine, he nodded and stood, fishing some coins from a pouch and placing them on the table even as Aldamir and Sorondur were heading for the door. Valandur began to follow them but on a sudden impulse he made his way to the bar and spoke softly to the barkeep. “Who is the young ellon sitting over in that corner?”

The barkeep glanced idly to where Valandur was nodding. “And you wish to know this why?”

“He seems very familiar to me but I do not wish to introduce myself if it turns out that he and his companions are not who I think they are,” Valandur replied. “I would not wish to embarrass myself or them.”

The barkeep gave him a considering look and Valandur schooled his expression to one of polite interest. “The young ellon is Nambarauto Eldacánion,” he finally said. “That’s Eldacáno on his right and across from him is his anatar, Minalcar.”

“Hmm… No, those names are not familiar,” Valandur said nonchalantly, giving the barkeep a rueful look. “Apparently the ellon just looks like someone I once knew when I lived in Tirion. Well, thank you for your time, good sir. I see my friends are waiting impatiently for me.” He nodded to where Aldamir and Sorondur were standing just outside the door glaring at him.

The barkeep chuckled. “And a good day to you, sir,” he said.

Valandur joined the other two outside. “What was that all about?” Aldamir growled.

“I needed some information and barkeeps are a fountain of information,” Valandur replied calmly. Yet, inwardly, he was feeling elated. Minalcar! Of course. He should have remembered the older ellon who had traveled with him and his parents across the wilds of Endórë. He was not surprised that he did not recognize him immediately. It had been many yéni since he had last seen Minalcar and Eldacáno had not even been born. As he walked behind Aldamir and Sorondur, he realized he should have asked as to their professions and was tempted to go back to the inn for the information but knew how ludicrous that idea was. He knew their names; it would be easy enough to make enquiries about them. He would enjoy renewing his friendship with Minalcar and his indyo Nambarauto whose views intrigued him.

“Well, are you coming?” Aldamir demanded impatiently and Valandur realized he had slowed his pace as he reminisced about Minalcar.

Sorondur smiled wickedly. “No doubt he wishes to delay the inevitable.”

“And we are missing the dancing because of you,” Aldamir retorted with a scowl.

“Forgive me,” Valandur said with sincere contriteness. “I truly did not mean to cause trouble for anyone. I just needed to get away for a time.”

Aldamir just snorted and kept on walking. Sorondur gave him a sympathetic look but did not comment. Valandur resisted a sigh as he followed along, hoping Lord Ingoldo would not be too harsh with him.

They entered the palace grounds through the same side gate he had used to leave, making their way to the feast hall where the dancing was in full progress. Aldamir nodded to where Laurelindalë and Nolondilmë were standing. They both had wistful looks on their faces as they watched the couples passing them. “Sorondur and I have already done our duty to them,” he said. “I suggest you do the same.”

Valandur nodded and wended his way past others, keeping a wary look out for Lord Ingoldo and Prince Fëanáro. He was in no mood to confront either of them just yet. Laurelindalë looked up at his approach.

“I see they found you,” she said.

“Unfortunately,” Valandur replied somewhat stiffly. “I have been told in no uncertain terms that I am to do my duty to you both.”

“You needn’t sound so reluctant, Loremaster. I would be happy to take your place.”

Valandur turned to see a grinning Intarion who bowed to the ellith. “Your pardon, my ladies. I would have asked you both for a dance sooner but I was otherwise engaged. Loremaster, perhaps if you were to escort Lady Laurelindalë I will escort Lady Nolondilmë and then we can switch partners in the next set.”

“I would be honored,” Valandur said graciously, giving Laurelindalë a bow, extending his arm so she could take it. Then they were joining other couples for a pavane in which the couples moved up and down the line. The next dance was a double circle dance with the ellith on the inside and was much livelier. Valandur laughed with Nolondilmë as he swung her around before grabbing her by the waist and lifting her up so as to move her to his right to stand in front of Intarion while a Noldorin elleth he did not know took her place before him. Eventually, Nolondilmë returned to him after having gone all the way around and the music came to an end. They were all a bit breathless by then and they eagerly headed for a side table where drinks could be had.

“There now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Intarion asked Valandur, giving him an impish grin.

Valandur blushed, accepting the implied reprimand as he handed Nolondilmë some fruit punch. Intarion nodded, looking out across the hall. “Atar was rather upset when you failed to return. He was all set to introduce you to Finwë and his heir.”

“I have already met Prince Fëanáro,” Valandur replied, blushing slightly at the memory of his humiliation.

Intarion gave him a shrewd look. “The meeting did not go well, I take it.”

Valandur shook his head. “To say the least.”

“Well I can tell you that Atar is about ready to send you packing for embarrassing him as you did. Luckily, Finwë was not as upset though I did notice Fëanáro sneering, as if he knew something the others did not, and now I know why. My advice to you, Loremaster, is to tell my atar that you are unused to feasts of this nature and became overwhelmed. You stepped out for some fresh air and then decided to reacquaint yourself with the city and lost track of time… and I would say nothing about Fëanáro.”

Valandur gave the younger ellon an appreciative look. “Thank you for the advice, my lord. You are shrewder than first appearances might suggest.”

Intarion shrugged, giving him a shy look which made him seem even younger than he was. “Comes from growing up in the High King’s household. Now, I think you should make your apologies to my Atar and the Noldóran.” He nodded to where Ingoldo and Finwë were seated with their wives at the high table conversing.

Valandur resisted a sigh, drained his goblet and handed it to Intarion before making his way across the hall to the high table. Ingoldo looked up and scowled at him, but Valandur gave them all a proper bow and spoke before anyone else could.

“I pray pardon, Your Majesties, Your Highnesses, for leaving the feast as I did. I fear I am not used to such affairs and became overwhelmed.”

Ingoldo did not seem convinced but Finwë nodded graciously. “No harm done, Loremaster. I trust that you are done with being overwhelmed?”

Valandur forced himself not to cringe at the tone, recognizing what Finwë was truly saying. “Yes, Majesty. It will not happen again.”

“Good, good. Now that that has been settled you needn’t send Loremaster Valandur packing in disgrace as you had threatened to do, Brother.” Finwë cast an amused look at Ingoldo, who nodded, though he was obviously less than pleased with Valandur.

“Of course,” he said through tight lips. “All is forgiven.”

Forgiven, perhaps, Valandur thought to himself, but not forgotten. He would need to take care in the future not to do anything that would give Ingoldo the excuse he needed to send him back to Vanyamar. He bowed to the royals. “Thank you, Your Majesties, Your Highnesses.”

Finwë waved a hand in dismissal. “Go and enjoy the rest of the dancing, Loremaster.”

Valandur bowed again and as he straightened his eyes fell upon the Queen Indis who startled him with a wink. He kept his expression neutral, not wishing to give himself away, but he couldn’t help wondering what that wink meant as he left the high table to rejoin his friends.

****

Seldo: Boy.

Anatar: Grandfather.

Endórë: Middle-earth.

Indyo: (Vanyarin Quenya) In this context, ‘grandson’. The Noldorin form would be inyo.     

5: Calandil

The first session of the trade negotiations was scheduled to begin three Second Minglings after the feast. Valandur spent the time exploring the palace and its grounds with the others, including Intarion. Some of the others were not impressed with what they saw as they compared the Noldóran’s palace with the Ingaran’s.

“Ingwë’s palace is much grander,” Nolondilmë opined. “I am surprised how small this place is.”

“And not as ornate,” Sorondur added.

“It is the oldest building in the city,” Aldamir pointed out. “By the time Ingwë came to have his own palace built, we had more experience in the art of building in stone and were able to employ some architectural features that we had not thought of previously.”

“I think it’s quite lovely, myself,” Valandur ventured. Unlike the others, he had no immediate experience of living and working in any palace. “This palace may be smaller, but that is not a bad thing. The one time I visited the Ingaran’s palace I was thoroughly lost in a matter of minutes.”

“Still, you have to admit there’s something… shabby about the place,” Sorondur said.

“I have to admit to no such thing, Sorondur,” Valandur said mildly. “You need to be less haughty in your opinions. This is the oldest Eldarin-built edifice and we should all be proud of the effort that went into building it. Unlike any of you, I was there when the cornerstone was set and I was there when the final capstone was put into place. We were all very proud of ourselves for accomplishing such a feat when all our previous experiences in building anything had been rude huts and flets in the trees.”

The others had thoughtful looks on their faces. Valandur noticed Intarion smiling at him in approval as they sauntered out into one of the gardens and smiled back.

During the same time, Valandur also sent messages to his friends, informing them of his presence and suggesting that they all meet at the Rose and Crown for dinner. He was pleased when replies began trickling in with warm words of welcome and agreement to meet but the one reply he was looking for did not come: he heard nothing from Calandil and wondered if he had lost his otorno’s love in some manner. He could not imagine what he might have done for Calandil to snub him and he fretted over what to do. Thus, he was surprised when one of the pages approached him as he was about to sit for lunch two days after the feast, telling him that he had a visitor. He followed the youngster through the wing and back to the front foyer where he discovered an ellon standing before the fountain admiring it.

“Calandil!”

The ellon turned and held out his arms in greeting and the two embraced, giving each other hearty hugs before stepping back. “I decided to deliver my reply to your message in person,” Calandil said. “Valar! But it is good to see you again, otorno.”

“I did not know what to think when I heard nothing from you,” Valandur admitted. “All our other friends responded to my messages but…”

“I am sorry if I upset you in any manner, Valandur,” Calandil said sincerely. “As I said, I wanted to deliver my reply in person. But look at you! A loremaster and a member of the trade delegation. The first I can understand but the second makes no sense. You know nothing of trade and are ignorant of the finer points of bargaining, as well I know from the many times I’ve gotten you to do my bidding without you demanding something from me in return.”

Valandur laughed. “I was about to sit down for lunch. Why don’t you join me and I will tell you all about it.”

“I have a better idea. Why don’t you join me instead?”

Valandur hesitated. “I’m not sure…”

“Is your presence required at the meal?” Calandil enquired and Valandur shook his head. “Then I see no problem. Come. We will not go far. There is a small tavern nearby that makes an excellent venison pie.”

“I will just have someone inform the others,” Valandur said in capitulation. “The last time I left without leaving word, I got into some trouble with Lord Ingoldo.”

Calandil raised an eyebrow. “You will have to tell me about it. Honestly, Valandur, there are times when I despair for you.”

It was Valandur’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that sometimes I wonder at your innocence. There are times when I think you are younger than the elfling born yesterday.”

Valandur blushed. “I’m sorry. I’m completely out of my depth here. I still think Ingwë was wrong to ask me to be a member of the delegation. I have no background in any of this and all these nobles make me… ill at ease.”

Calandil gave his otorno a sympathetic look and clapped him on the shoulder. “You know I am only teasing. You are an estimable ellon and I am very proud of your achievements. Now, leave your message and let us go.”

Valandur nodded and looked about to see if there was anyone whom he could send and spied one of the pages hurrying through the foyer heading toward the north wing. He called to the elleth who stopped and gave him a courteous bow.

“My lord wishes something?” she asked.

“No lord am I, child,” Valandur replied with a smile. “I am just a humble loremaster.” He ignored the quiet snort from Calandil. “I need to leave a message for Lord Ingoldo that I am leaving the palace to dine with a friend and will return by First Mingling.” He cast a look at Calandil who nodded.

The elleth bowed. “I will gladly relay the message, Loremaster.”

“Thank you,” Valandur said and the page left. Calandil took Valandur’s arm and linked it with his own.

“Let us wait until we are at the tavern before you tell me all about how you happen to be here,” he suggested and Valandur nodded and they occupied their time as they walked out of the palace, crossing the plaza and into the street that bordered the palace leading to the south gate, speaking of inconsequential things until Calandil brought him to a small tavern that abutted against the palace wall. Valandur looked at the sign hanging over the door.

“The Golden Hare?” he asked, looking at his friend in surprise. “I do not recall ever seeing this place before.”

Calandil grinned as he ushered Valandur inside. “It was originally some Vanya’s home. I have no idea whose. The present owner of the place converted it into a tavern and lives upstairs with his family. It’s quite popular with the younger generation and they do make the best venison pie.”

“Then why is it not called ‘The Golden Hart’ instead?” Valandur asked as Calandil opened the door for him. “That would make more sense.” Calandil just shrugged, unable to give him an answer.

Inside, Valandur saw a very warm and welcoming place with tables laid out covered with colorful cloths, which was unusual. It was rare even in his own home for his ammë to cover their dining table with cloth except on special occasions. He could not imagine how much washing had to be done to clean all the inevitable spills from the patrons. Calandil led him to a small table in the corner that was covered with a dark green cloth. An oil lamp sat in the center and one of the servers came over and lit it for them. Calandil ordered the venison pie with frumenty and some Tirion red for them both. The server soon returned with a bottle of wine and a couple of goblets assuring them that their meal would be forthcoming.

“So tell me how you came to be here,” Calandil said as he poured the wine.

“I was summoned to attend the High King. He admitted having actually read my thesis.”

Calandil gave him a warm smile. “It is a worthy thesis. Have you had the chance to discuss it with Prince Fëanáro or one of the lambengolmor here in Tirion?”

Valandur shook his head. “Not yet.” And truth to tell, he did not care if he ever discussed anything with the prince or his fellow loremasters. Calandil gave him a shrewd look as if he could tell what Valandur was thinking.

“So what exactly is your purpose here? You’re a lambengolmo, not a merchant.”

“I will not be involved in the actual negotiations,” Valandur answered after taking a sip of wine. The server came just then with the venison pies and frumenty and Valandur waited until he was gone to speak again. “My task is to observe only, to pay attention to the way people are speaking or not speaking as they work on the agreement.”

“Yet why?” Calandil asked, obviously confused.

“Ingwë is aware that our two clans have drifted apart in many ways, including language. He wishes to know to what extent there has been a drift and how it may affect the way we communicate with one another. There is the danger of unintended confusion because we may no longer be speaking the same language.”

“If that is the case, then it seems odd that you and I are conversing quite nicely,” Calandil retorted with a grin.

“Oh we are still comprehensible to one another. Our languages have not drifted that far apart, but we are already seeing dialectal differences. Your insistence on using súlë in place of the older and more correct thúlë is a case in point. It’s a minor change but I know from discussions with my friends in Vanyamar that many of them think the pronunciation uncouth.”

Calandil shrugged. “Yet, that change occurred some yéni ago. It was a slow change as I recall. I am not even sure when I started unconsciously using the new pronunciation.”

“And that’s my point. The changes are not immediate and most people are unaware of them. Only the loremasters who are interested in such things have been more aware of what has been happening as our two clans drift further apart. And I suspect the changes are even more prevalent among the Teleri.”

“Actually, my experience the few times I’ve conversed with any of the Teleri is that they maintain an even more ancient usage than the Vanyar. I think it’s because of their isolation.”

“No doubt,” Valandur said.

“As for the Noldor, even we are not consistent with our pronunciations. There are some, like Prince Fëanáro, who champion the older pronunciation, though I think it has less to do with the possibility of confusing root bases, which has been the main argument against the change, than it has to do with his ammë. Neither Finwë nor Indis use the older pronunciation and that irks the prince to no end.”

“Hmm… that’s interesting. I did not know that, but then I haven’t spoken to the queen yet. I did notice Finwë using súlë. I could see a number of those in our delegation trying not to wince.”

Calandil gave him a disdainful look that was ruined by the gleam of humor in his eyes. “You Vanyar are a haughty bunch.”

“Comes with long practice,” Valandur retorted. “Hmm… this pie is excellent. Thank you for bringing me here. Next time I want venison pie, I’ll be sure to come here.”

Calandil nodded. “It’s a good place and close to the palace in case you want to step out for a short time to indulge in a quiet cup of wine or ale without half the palace inhabitants breathing down your neck. In fact, I don’t think most of them are even aware of this place.”

“Just as well,” Valandur said, then decided to change the subject. “I overheard a conversation between three ellyn the other day when I snuck out of the welcoming feast and went to the Rose and Crown. Do you remember Minalcar? He traveled with my family when his parents and siblings decided to follow Lenwë rather than brave the river and the mountains.”

“Of course! Minalcar! Why I haven’t thought of him in a very long time. I don’t think we even run in the same circles.”

“Snob,” Valandur retorted with a grin and Calandil chuckled.

“So, you met Minalcar at the inn. I bet he was surprised to see you.”

“Actually, I did not speak with him. He has a son now and a grandson. I did not even know who he was at first. I had to ask the barkeep for his name. I would have spoken to him then but my friends who hunted me down were waiting to return to the palace. I have thought to enquire as to where he lives and works and perhaps drop in to give him my greetings.”

“And why haven’t you?”

“I haven’t really had the time and frankly I’m not sure of the propriety of it all. It’s not really Minalcar I’m interested in but his grandson, Nambarauto.”

Calandil’s eyes widened. “Interested in what manner?”

“As I said, I happened to overhear their conversation and some of Nambarauto’s views intrigued me. I wish to speak to him about them, but, of course, I would need an introduction from Minalcar.”

“I can make enquiries,” Calandil suggested. “It should not be hard. Do you know the name of Nambarauto’s atar?”

“Eldacáno.”

“Eldacáno! Why he is one of the best coppersmiths in the city. He does exquisite work. I did not realize he was the son of Minalcar. And now I recognize the name Nambarauto. He works with his atar and is nearly as talented as Eldacáno. I do not know about Minalcar, though.”

“Do you know Eldacáno personally?” Valandur enquired.

“No, but Aldarion does,” Calandil replied, naming one of their friends. “He can give you an introduction.”

Valandur nodded. “Then I will ask him when we meet at the Rose and Crown for dinner. You will be there, won’t you? You never said.” He gave his friend a sly grin and Calandil laughed.

“Yes, otorno, I will be there, I promise.”

They continued visiting with one another, enjoying their meal and the wine, but eventually, Valandur decided he needed to return to the palace, reluctant though he was to bring their visit to a close. “Tomorrow is the first session of the negotiations,” he said, “and there is a lot of preparation. I’m not really involved, but I think I should be there, since I am a member of the delegation.”

“Yes, we do not wish you to be in trouble with Lord Ingoldo,” Calandil said.

“I do not think he likes me, or at least, he does not like me here. I have the feeling Ingwë forced me on him and he resents it.”

“Do you think he thinks Ingwë asked you to spy on him?”

“Probably. That would explain his hostility toward me. Either that or he just doesn’t care to associate with anyone who isn’t a noble.” Valandur shrugged. “At least his son, Intarion, seems genuinely to like me and I like him. He helped me out of a bad spot with his atar and Finwë, giving me good advice.”

“What about the others? Do they resent you?”

“Not as far as I can tell. They’ve been kind and speak to me as if we are equals.”

“And you are equal to any of them,” Calandil insisted hotly. “You earned your loremaster’s robe. I know how hard you studied and worked to become one. You have nothing to be ashamed of, Valandur. You were on the Great Journey and, except for Ingoldo, I doubt anyone else in the delegation can say the same.”

“They were all born here,” Valandur said.

“So you see? You are older and wiser than they and they should be grateful for your presence. You remember what it was like for us before we reached these shores, you know what we endured to get here and you know what we had to do once we got here to make a home for ourselves. So what if your family is not noble? How did we even decide who was and who wasn’t in the first place?”

Valandur gave him a sly grin. “Probably those of us who refused to lift a finger to help in building Tirion became its nobles.”

Calandil laughed. “You’re probably right about that. But you see my point, Brother? You are as worthy, if not more so, as anyone else and don’t let anyone else tell you differently.”

Valandur nodded, then gave his friend a shrewd look. “Do you resent us leaving? The Vanyar, I mean. Do you resent us abandoning you for Vanyamar?”

For a long moment Calandil did not answer, staring into the depths of his goblet as if he were searching for something. Finally, he looked up. “I admit that at first I was hurt and confused. I did not understand why anyone would want to leave this place and when you told us you were, I felt... betrayed.”

“I am sorry—” Valandur started to say but Calandil waved away his apology.

“There’s no need to apologize, Valandur. Over time I began to see things in a different light and I realized that perhaps the Vanyar seeking their own place was a good thing for their own sake, if not for ours. I will not lie and say that after you all left, walking the near empty streets was not difficult and depressing. For some time afterwards I kept finding myself walking up Alvemallë to your house, wishing to share something with you, only to stop in dismay when I realized you were no longer there.”

“And there were times when I would be occupied with some task and turn to speak with you or one of our friends to find that I was alone. It was not easy for me, either,” Valandur reminded him.

“No, of course not. I know how long you agonized over the decision to leave. Not all the Vanyar did, you know. Some remained behind out of love for us, but they were few and everything was different. As I said, it took some time to reconcile myself to it all.” He brightened a bit. “But that is the past and we remain otornor and that is all that matters, right?”

“Yes, that is all that matters.”

“So, let’s get you back to the palace before Ingoldo sends out the guard to hunt you down.”

Valandur laughed. “He would, too.”

Calandil insisted on paying for their meal, saying that Valandur could get the first round of drinks when they and their friends met at the Rose and Crown. “After all, you’re the one who invited us, not the other way around.” He gave his friend a sly look and Valandur laughed. They parted at the front gate leading into the plaza that fronted the palace.

“I will ask Aldarion about Eldacáno,” Calandil said in parting.

“Thank you and thank you for the meal.”

“You are most welcome, otornya,” Calandil said with a smile, giving him a final hug before leaving. Valandur watched him saunter off, sighing as his friend disappeared around a corner, and then he went through the gate and headed across the plaza to the palace.

****

Alvemallë: Elm Street.

Otornya: My (sworn) brother. Contracted from otornonya; cf. atya from atarinya and yonya from yondonya.

6: The Opening Session

The opening session of the trade negotiations was more ceremonial than anything. Valandur resigned himself to boredom. Standing with the other Vanyarin delegates, waiting for Finwë and Ingoldo to make an appearance, he felt completely out of place. Certainly he was underdressed in his plain dark blue loremaster’s robe surrounded as he was by the others in their court finery. He really was going to have to hunt up a tailor and order at least one court tunic, wondering just how much he could spend of the delegation’s money on what to him was a frippery and not an absolute necessity.

“You look fine,” Laurelindalë whispered to him. “Stop fidgeting. You’re acting like a bored elfling.”

Valandur grinned. “Well the bored part is right.”

The elleth giggled behind her hand while Sorondur shot them a quelling look. Valandur stuck his tongue out at him and the ellon rolled his eyes while Laurelindalë giggled some more.

“They’re coming,” Nolondilmë said and both Laurelindalë and Valandur settled down.

Valandur craned his neck to see Finwë’s chamberlain come striding down the aisle that had been formed by the delegates with the Vanyar on one side and the Noldor on the other. The chamberlain stopped in the midst of them and, banging with his staff, announced, “Their Majesties, King Finwë and Queen Indis, Their Highnesses, Prince Ingoldo and Princess Tinwetariel.” He then continued up the aisle to the negotiating table, stopping behind the throne where Finwë would sit. In the meanwhile, Finwë entered the chamber, escorting his queen, and behind them were Ingoldo and Tinwetariel. Trailing them were Fëanáro, Findis and Intarion. Fëanáro was scowling and obviously did not wish to be there. Intarion was escorting Findis. Right behind them came an elleth wearing a servant’s tabard carrying a dark-haired elfling who could not have been even a year old. Valandur realized that this must be the recently born Nolofinwë. Coming behind them were several people wearing royal tabards, armed with sheaves of foolscap and carrying portable desks. These, Valandur knew, were the scribes who would record the words of the delegates for future reference. They ranged themselves around the perimeter of the room where they sat in chairs set aside for them, fiddling with inks and quills.

Everyone bowed or curtsied as the royals swept by, taking their seats at the round table. When they were settled, Finwë gestured. “Please join us,” he said graciously and Valandur followed the others to his assigned place, seating himself between Intarion on his left and Nolondilmë on his right. Aldamir was seated on the other side of Intarion next to Ingoldo, acting as his secretary, while Sorondur was seat between Nolondilmë and Laurelindalë. Tinwetariel was seated between her husband and Finwë with Indis on his other side. The Noldorin delegates were ranged around the other half of the table. Valandur saw Findis taking the seat next to Fëanáro, who patently ignored her. She gestured to the elleth holding her baby brother and took him from her, giving him a loving look as she settled him on her lap, bending over to speak to him softly. Fëanáro scowled at them both.

“Greetings to you all,” Finwë addressed them. “I declare these negotiations open and I ask that the Valar look kindly on our endeavors to bring our two clans ever closer together.” He gave Indis a loving look which she returned. Then he resumed his speech. “The purpose of these negotiations is to formulate legal and binding agreements between our two peoples for the mutual benefit of us all. While we live apart, each clan going its own way, still do we live together here under the benevolence of the Valar and the Light of the Trees. It behooves us, therefore, to cooperate with one another in trade and in diplomacy so that our peoples may continue to flourish without one clan taking advantage of the other.”

He paused for a moment before continuing. “While you have had time to introduce yourselves to one another privately, let us take this opportunity to allow the delegates to introduce themselves formally for the record. Should we start with your people, my brother, or with mine?” he asked Ingoldo.

The Vanya made a gracious gesture. “As you are our host, Brother, it would only be fair for your people to introduce themselves first.”

“Very well,” Finwë said. He looked pointedly to his left and Valandur wondered if Fëanáro had been chosen by his atar to head the Noldorin delegation and that was why the prince was looking so unhappy. But Fëanáro just sat there, remaining silent, and it was Findis who rose, much to Valandur’s surprise and delight, holding the baby in the crook of her arm.

“I am Findis Finwiel and I am pleased to meet you all. This is Nolofinwë.” She jiggled him and he giggled, grabbing for her cap of silver lace netted with small emeralds. She deftly took his hands and held them away from her. “He will not be joining us in the negotiations as he has not yet learned the meaning of the word ‘share’.”

There was laughter at that as Findis resumed her seat. Valandur noticed Finwë shaking his head and rolling his eyes, while Indis looked fondly upon her daughter. Tinwetariel sniffed with an obvious air of disdain, while Ingoldo frowned slightly. Intarion gave Valandur a merry look and he grinned back. Then the ellon seated on Findis’ left rose and gave them a bow. “I am Lord Herencáno and I will act as Lady Findis’ secretary…”

One by one, the Noldorin delegates introduced themselves and then it was the turn of the Vanyar. Ingoldo nodded to Aldamir, who stood and gave his name and position, then Intarion rose. “I am Intarion Ingoldion. I am here in an unofficial capacity as an observer and to sit in my atar’s stead when he is not able to attend the meetings.” He then sat and gave a look at Valandur who resisted a sigh as he stood.

“I am Valandur Voronwion, Loremaster and Lambengolmo.”

“And why is a so-called loremaster a part of the Vanyarin delegation?” Fëanáro suddenly asked, shooting him a dark look.

“Like Prince Intarion, I am here merely as an observer and will not be involved in the negotiations themselves.” Valandur forced himself to answer calmly, silently seething at the implied insult the prince had delivered to him.

“My esteemed brother, the Ingaran, appointed Loremaster Valandur to attend these negotiations for reasons of his own,” Ingoldo said, giving Fëanáro a pointed look, though Valandur detected a note of disapproval in Ingoldo’s words at Ingwë’s decision.

Fëanáro shrugged, giving Valandur an insolent sneer. “Then who am I to gainsay the Ingaran?”

“Who indeed?” Finwë replied rhetorically before nodding to Valandur who sat while Nolondilmë stood to give her name.

With the introductions out of the way, Finwë then announced that there would be a short recess before the actual negotiations would begin. He rose and everyone rose with him. Both royal couples then exited from the room through a side door even as servants entered through the main door bearing trays of food and drink which they placed on a long table set against one of the walls. The delegates began mingling and drifting over to the table. Fëanáro did not stay but stalked out of the room, leaving by way of the same door the royals had taken. Findis handed the baby back to the servant who promptly took the now crying child out of the room. Valandur stood by his chair, still feeling angry and embarrassed, wishing he could just leave.

“Do not mind Fëanáro,” Intarion said to him, speaking softly. “He’s an arrogant snob and has no love for the Vanyar, believing that Indis stole his atar from him.” He shrugged. “Anyway, we will not see much of him as he has nothing to do with this.”

“Only because he flat out refused when Atto asked him to head the Noldorin delegation.”

The two ellon turned to see Findis and they gave her polite bows in greeting. “Is that why you have been selected to lead the Noldor, Cousin?” Intarion asked with a smile.

“Oh, I wasn’t Atto’s second choice or even his third,” she said with a self-deprecating grin. “He was ready to appoint one of his courtiers, Lord Herencáno, actually, but Ammë practically had to browbeat him into appointing me. She said it was only fair since Atto won’t be attending any of the meetings and it would look odd if the head of our delegation was not one of the royal family. Atto was ready to order my brother to attend but Fëanáro told him in no uncertain terms that he would have nothing to do with it or with the Vanyar so in the end he had no choice but to appoint me since his other son is only a babe.”

“Well, I, for one, welcome you to the table, Cousin,” Intarion said. “I am sure you will do well, but what of Lord Herencáno? Is he upset that he is not acting as the head of your delegation and has been relegated to be your secretary?”

“Not at all,” Findis replied as the three gravitated toward the refreshments. “In fact, I got the distinct impression that he was rather relieved when Atto told him and it was he who suggested that he act as my secretary. He’s very knowledgeable about our laws and customs.”

As she spoke, Valandur noticed a subtle change in her intonation. When she first joined them her accent was very much Noldorin in flavor, but the longer she spoke the more her accent began shifting toward that of the Vanyarin. He suspected it was an unconscious thing on her part and he idly wondered if she spent more time with her amillë than with her atar and that was why the change in accent was occurring. He thought to ask her about it and then gave himself a mental shake; he really needed to stop thinking like a loremaster all the time.

“How long do you anticipate these negotiations to take?” he asked instead as he handed Findis a goblet of fruit punch and helped himself to his own goblet.

“Hopefully not too long,” Findis said, giving them an impish grin. “The next Feast of Double Mirth is due sometime this yén and I don’t want to miss it.”

Valandur and Intarion both laughed. “And we wouldn’t want that,” Valandur said. “I, too, hope these negotiations do not last too long. My students will forget what I look like.”

“Do you enjoy teaching?” Findis asked.

“Very much so,” Valandur replied. “It was long a dream of mine to become a loremaster. I spent many yéni working as a woodworker to save enough coin to be able to atend the Academy. I was very much older than my fellow classmates.”

“It must have been difficult for you,” Intarion said sympathetically.

Valandur shrugged. “I managed. I had hoped while I was here I would have an opportunity to speak with other lambengolmor but Prince Fëanáro…”

“Oh I heard all about that,” Findis said with an unladylike snort. “Stupid git. He went on about how some Vanya with delusions of being a loremaster importuned him and how he set him straight. Atto said nothing but I could tell Ammë was angry at Fëanáro for his rudeness.” She gave them a sly look. “I recognized you from his description and my brother is wrong. There is nothing delusional about you. You’re haughty as all Vanyar are and think you’re better than the rest of us, but you’re not delusional.”

Valandur forced himself not to smile at the elleth who was putting on her own airs. “And I thank you for that… um… unqualified endorsement.”

Findis smirked and Intarion laughed. Before anyone could make a further comment, the doors opened and Finwë and Ingoldo were entering, escorting their wives. Everyone returned to the table and when they were all seated, Finwë spoke.

“So, let us begin by setting out the parameters of the negotiations and what our particular goals are. To that end I will have Lord Herencáno remind us of the relevant laws pertaining to trade. Lord Herencáno.”

Herencáno rose and bowed to Finwë before addressing them all. “When first we came to these shores….”

****

Once Herencáno finished boring them all with the relevant details of law and custom, Finwë then outlined what he perceived as the goal of the negotiators and the parameters of the trade agreement that was to be hammered out between them with Ingoldo elucidating the wishes of Ingwë, speaking solely as Vanyaran, as to what he hoped would be achieved.

“My royal brother instructed me to say that as Ingaran he hopes that these negotiations will bring our two clans closer together in mutual accord and that we all remember that, whatever our clan affiliation, we are all Eldar and should conduct ourselves accordingly,” Ingoldo stated, then gave them a sly smile. “At the same time, as Vanyaran, my brother urged me to, and I quote, ‘not let those Noldor take advantage of us poor Vanyar’.”

“Poor Vanyar?” Finwë muttered, shaking his head. “I’ll give him ‘poor Vanyar’, the insufferable little git.”

Ingoldo chuckled. “Ingwë figured you’d react that way, Brother.”

Finwë gave him a rueful look. “Ingwë knows me too well, I fear. Well, in the interest of maintaining familial harmony between us, I order you, my daughter, to play nicely with the poor Vanyar.”

“Yes, Atto,” Findis said meekly, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle, and everyone laughed.

Valandur sat back, analyzing the byplay between Finwë and Ingoldo. It seemed obvious to him that the two were on good terms, yet, there was an undercurrent of something else that was barely detectable. It wasn’t distrust or even dislike. It was more a wariness, yet not on Finwë’s part, but Ingoldo’s. He wondered at that. Of what did Ingoldo need to be wary… or of whom? He watched the interaction between the royals as the meeting progressed. Lady Tinwetariel was indeed somewhat haughty in her manner, though she appeared to be genuinely warm and pleasant toward Indis and her daughter. Ingoldo was unfailingly polite, but that was perhaps all that could be said of him and the same was true of Finwë. The King of the Noldor may well have accepted the necessity of these negotiations but it did not necessarily follow that he actually approved of them. Certainly Fëanáro did not, but Valandur dismissed the prince as unimportant in this. Fëanáro’s antipathy was based solely on his hatred of Indis and her children rather than on any real arguments against having these negotiations take place.

He watched Indis. The Noldotári was no one’s fool, which made sense, considering whose sister she was. He was intrigued by her. That wink she gave him at the feast still haunted his thoughts, wondering what was behind it. He watched her interacting with both her husband and brother and, though it was subtly done, he realized that she was the one who was in control of this meeting for all that she barely spoke. Yet, her glances at both Finwë and Ingoldo told him everything he needed to know: Indis, not Finwë, was the power behind it all. Oh, not in everything, he suspected, but certainly it was her will that drove these negotiations. What had Findis said, that her amillë had to practically browbeat her atar to get him to appoint his daughter to lead the Noldorin delegation? That right there told him much of the dynamics between the two of them.

Indis, then. She was the key and it was she against whom Ingoldo was wary. He tried to remember who might be considered the older and was unsure. Not that it truly mattered in this instance. Indis could wield the power that was hers as Noldotári and she was in her own place, whereas Ingoldo was merely the brother of the Ingaran and the title ‘prince’ was a mere courtesy without any real power behind it. In truth, only Ingwë’s two sons were rightfully regarded as princes, for Ingwë had declared them both his heirs, an unusual move on his part and Valandur felt a sense of uneasiness at the thought, though he was unsure why. Dismissing the thought, he concentrated on paying attention to what was being said — and more importantly, not being said — among the delegates.

At the moment, very little of any real import was being said. This was a preliminary meeting on a very polite level, solely to introduce the delegates formally to one another and lay out the parameters by which future meetings would be conducted. Nothing more would be accomplished beyond that.

Finally, Finwë drew the meeting to a close and thanked everyone for their courtesy and patience. “Tomorrow we will meet an hour after we have broken our fast and begin the real work. We bid you all a good day.” He rose and all rose with him, the delegates and scribes giving the royals bows and curtsies as they exited from the room. Most of the Noldor also made their exit, leaving the Vanyar to fend for themselves.

Valandur let out a sigh of relief as he joined the others making their way back to the north wing. “I am so glad that is over with,” he said sincerely to Intarion who was walking beside him. “It’s worse than departmental meetings at the Academy.”

Intarion snickered. “Well, the rest of the meetings should be more interesting, certainly less formal and stiff. I, for one, cannot wait to get out of this court finery and into something more comfortable.”

“Aldamir told me that I could use some of the delegation’s funds to order more appropriate court garb. I fear what I am wearing now is the best I can do at the moment.”

“By my advice, I would not bother,” Intarion said. “Your loremaster robe may be plain and unassuming, but its very plainness stands out among all us popinjays. That, I think, is very important. You lend an air of sobriety and earned wisdom that will be very much needed in the days to come.”

Valandur gave him a doubtful look. “Still, I cannot continue wearing this same garb at every formal court event. I should have at least one other good tunic for that.”

Intarion shrugged. “If you feel you need to, then, by all means, seek out one of the seamstresses or tailors attached to the palace and order a new tunic, but in truth, what people will see will be your robe and what it represents and not what you wear underneath.”

“I just do not wish to be an object of embarrassment for you and the others. Image is as important, if not more so, as fair words and polite manners.”

Intarion nodded. “Then I will have some money set aside for your use.”

“You?” Valandur couldn’t help asking.

Intarion gave him a wry look. “I may only be an observer, but Uncle Ingwë entrusted me with the delegation’s purse. Anything you need that you cannot supply on your own, you are to come to me and if I think it a reasonable expense, then I will give you the money toward it. I deem one new tunic for court an acceptable expense. When you speak to whomever will do your garb, merely tell them to send the bill to me and I will see it paid.”

“Thank you,” Valandur said gratefully. “I promise not to go overboard and buy the most expensive silks and velvets.”

Intarion waved a hand in dismissal. “Choose whatever you feel is appropriate.”

They entered the main dining room for the north wing, following the others. “Ah, I see that a cold repast has been set out for us.” Intarion observed. “Why don’t we enjoy it and speak of other matters? I am interested in the thesis you wrote. Uncle Ingwë couldn’t stop talking about it. I will confess I have little knowledge of such things, but please tell me something of your work while we enjoy our meal. First, though, I truly will go and change. I wish to be comfortable while eating.”

Valandur smiled. “That sounds like a good idea.”

He and Intarion walked out, each heading for his own room. Valandur wasted little time in getting out of his court garb and donning a less restrictive tunic that was old and comfortable before returning to the dining room. Intarion was already there, working his way along the buffet. Valandur joined him and soon they were sitting together and after a little encouragement Valandur told him something of his study of politeness and face. Intarion seemed genuinely interested and even asked one or two discerning questions. It was a pleasant hour spent between them and it continued as they wandered through the lower gardens still discussing the social aspects of language usage and for the first time since joining the delegation, Valandur felt himself relaxing.

****

Vanyaran: King of the Vanyar; Ingwë’s title when he is not speaking as High King of all the Elves.

Noldotári: Queen of the Noldor.

7: Valandur Speaks Out

“This is not good,” Sorondur whispered to Valandur as they entered the negotiation room the next day.

Valandur nodded in complete agreement. At the last minute, as they were all ready to head for the next meeting, Ingoldo announced that he would not be there. “Prince Fëanáro has invited us on a hunt,” he said, gesturing to Tinwetariel. “My son, Intarion, will sit in my place.”

Intarion actually paled and Valandur thought the poor ellon was going to faint on the spot. He took Intarion’s arm to steady him. No one commented, but from the frowns on the faces of the others, he could tell that they were displeased, not with Intarion, whom they all liked, but with Ingoldo, who ignored them, taking his wife’s arm and leading her away.

“Why would Fëanáro invite them anywhere?” Sorondur continued as they sought their seats. The Vanyar were the first to arrive at the table, though the scribes were already in place. “The prince hates all Vanyar. It’s as plain as the nose on your face. So, why invite them to a hunt and why now?”

Valandur had no ready answer. He smiled sympathetically at Intarion sitting nervously next to him, for he had refused to sit in his atar’s throne, and patted him on the arm. “It’s all right,” he said softly. “Let Laurelindalë and Sorondur do most of the talking. They are the ones who will be working on the trade agreement with their Noldorin counterparts. You are just here in an official capacity to be consulted if necessary.”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this for a while if at all,” Intarion whispered back even as the Noldorin delegates entered the room. The Vanyar all stood and gave them bows of greeting, which the Noldor returned. Findis gave them a searching look.

“Will Prince Ingoldo be joining us?” she asked somewhat stiffly and Valandur narrowed his eyes as he realized that the elleth already knew the answer to the question. He was unsure why she was asking it unless it was for the benefit of her companions and for the scribes who, he knew, would be listing the names of all the attendees to each meeting. He could get no sense of whether she approved or disapproved of Ingoldo’s absence.

Intarion bowed again. “My atar and amillë will not be joining us today,” he said, speaking almost as stiffly as Findis. “Shall we begin?”

Valandur approved of Intarion not explaining his parents’ absence and gave the younger ellon points for diplomacy. It was not of any import save that the burden of leading the Vanyarin delegation now rested with Intarion who was ill-prepared for it. Findis, meanwhile, merely nodded and sat, thus allowing the others to take their seats as well.

“Yes, by all means, let us begin,” Findis said briskly. “The question, the main question, before us is: What do the Vanyar have that we want and what do we have that they want and how can we both get what we want without making enemies of one another? Does that about sum it up?” She gave them a coy smile and several people grinned, including Valandur who could not help himself. He had to admire the elleth’s approach, diffusing any possible tension between the two parties right at the beginning.

Lord Herencáno chuckled. “Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that, my lady,” he said, “but you are essentially correct.”

“Thank you, Lord Herencáno,” Findis said with a gracious nod. “So, how do we go about implementing all this? I confess that this is all rather new to me.”

“It is new to us all,” Intarion replied. “We have never felt the need to create such agreements between us before this. I am not entirely sure why we are doing it now. My uncle did not deign to explain it to me, though he may have explained it to my atar.”

“If I may, my lady?” Herencáno said and when Findis nodded, he spoke. “What you say is true, my lord. Until now, we have been happy enough to ignore the Vanyar even as the Vanyar have ignored us.” He shrugged. “I do not say this as an indictment against anyone; I am merely stating a fact. However, with the marriage of the Lady Indis to our King, that has begun to change. There has been more commerce between our two cities since then and I believe that there has even been a spate of marriages between Noldor and Vanyar, at least among the lower classes.”

“And do you disapprove?” Valandur couldn’t help asking. Those unions had been a topic of conversation even in his own home and not all the Vanyar had voiced approval of them, though there was no outright hostility toward any who had married outside the clan. He was interested to know how the Noldor felt about them.

“Disapprove?” Herencáno exclaimed. “I neither approve nor disapprove, Loremaster. It is simply what it is. That being said, it cannot be denied that not everyone has approved of those unions, but as I said, so far, they have occurred only among the lower classes, mostly among the merchants from both clans, which only makes sense since they, more than anyone else, have had more contact with one another.”

“It strikes me as odd, though, that none of our delegates are themselves merchants,” Valandur said. “I would think that we would want to have at least a couple of merchants since, after all, they will be the most affected by what we decide here.”

“But they do not dictate policy,” one of the Noldor said. “That is the purview of the nobility.”

“Governmental policy, I can see,” Valandur retorted with a frown, “and I have no objections to that.”

“Thank you,” Findis interjected with a disdainful sniff.

Valandur smiled. “I do question our competence in devising an equitable trade agreement when none of us, and I include myself in this, know a thing about trade. Indeed, my own otorno has accused me of being incapable of knowing how to bargain and I’ll admit as much and I doubt anyone else in this room is an expert in it either. And why should you be? That is not something you need to do on a daily basis. But merchants live and breathe bargains. I have walked through the markets in Vanyamar and I have seen the eyes of merchants lighting up when they encounter someone who can give as good as they get and knows how to bargain shrewdly. So, why aren’t they here at this table? Why aren’t the very people who will be affected the most by our decisions here to lend us their expertise?”

There was an uneasy silence for a time. Valandur ignored the scowl that Aldamir sent his way, his eyes solely on Findis. “So, what do you suggest, Loremaster? That we go out onto the streets of Tirion and seek the advice of merchants?” she asked.

“It would be a start,” Valandur said, “though somewhat impractical. What of the guilds? Surely there are guildmasters whom you could consult.”

“Very likely,” Herencáno said with a nod, “but if we do so, that gives us an advantage over you, for you cannot consult with your own guildmasters, unless, of course, we delay these talks long enough for you to ask for their attendance.”

“And that would also be impractical,” Valandur said. “Yet, you see the flaw of our meeting like this. It’s not enough for those in authority to simply say this or that will be done. That can only lead to resentment and the main argument will be ‘Why were we not consulted in this?’ And they would be right to be angry.”

“Even if the agreement is favorable to them?” Sorondur asked. “How can they complain about that?”

Valandur shook his head. “It isn’t the agreement that will upset them; it is the fact that they were not allowed to voice their own concerns. Do any of you know what they are?”

Some of the delegates on both sides shook their heads.

“So what can we do?” Intarion asked. “It’s too late to bring the merchants in on the discussion.”

“These discussions, yes,” Valandur agreed, “but not on future discussions. I think that whatever agreements are made between us will need to be ratified by the merchants themselves or there will be much resentment and neither the Ingaran nor the Noldóran will be happy about that.”

Several people sighed in discouragement.

“I am sorry,” Valandur added in true contriteness. “I do not mean to stop these negotiations before they even get started, but I feel you need to be aware that dictating policy that affects everyone, nobles and commoners alike, is one thing; dictating policy that affects only a single group without consulting with that group is something else entirely. It’s unfair to everyone.”

“Well, abandoning these talks is not an option,” Findis said with something of a huff of discontent. “We, and only we, have been chosen to come up with an equitable agreement that will be binding between our two clans. I agree that it would have been better to have included at least some of the guildmasters in this and perhaps in the future they will be, but for the moment we should concentrate on presenting a trade agreement to our respective kings and let them worry about whether the merchants will accept it or not.”

Several people, both Vanyar and Noldor, nodded in agreement.

Valandur sat back, keeping his expression neutral. He had voiced his concern, one he had felt almost from the very beginning when Laurelindalë had introduced him to the others as they made their way to Tirion, realizing that Ingwë, for all his wisdom, had failed to include at least one reputable merchant in their delegation. Had he been given more time, he would have spoken to Ingwë about it, but he doubted that the Ingaran would have done anything. It was obvious to him that the constitution of the two delegations had been planned and approved between Ingwë and Finwë ahead of time.

“Where then do we begin?” Intarion asked. It was Sorondur who answered.

“Contrary to what Loremaster Valandur may think, the merchants of Vanyamar were consulted as to what they would like to see in this trade agreement. Lady Laurelindalë and I spent many hours speaking with the heads of various merchants’ guilds, soliciting their opinions and ideas. We then constructed a list of concerns that we can share with you.”

Findis nodded. “Please,” she said.

Sorondur fished out several sheets of parchment from the pile before him. “It has been agreed that there has been little real trade between our two cities, but what trade there has been has been primarily luxury goods for the nobles of both clans rather than goods that would be accessible to all classes….”

****

The list was long and thorough and much of the time was spent in discussing each point. Some of what Sorondur said set off fierce debates among them. Valandur did not contribute to any of the discussions, content to sit back and observe the interactions of the others. Finally, though, Findis suggested that they adjourn for the day as it was past the time when they normally would break for lunch.

“I would like a copy of that list for ourselves,” she said as the delegates rose to leave the table and Aldamir quickly assured her that a copy would be sent before Second Mingling. The two groups parted ways at the juncture between the north and east wings and the Vanyar continued on. Valandur was thinking of his dinner with his friends which was scheduled for later and was not paying much attention to the others. When they reached their apartments, Valandur made to leave, wishing to spend some time in the gardens attached to the wing before leaving for his rendezvous, but Aldamir grabbed his arm and pulled him into the main sitting room with everyone else following.

“You were out of line, Loremaster,” Aldamir exclaimed angrily before Valandur could protest. “You had no business speaking as you did, embarrassing us all, including the Noldor. You are here to observe only, so from now on keep your mouth shut and your opinions to yourself.”

“I felt that the issue about the merchants had to be addressed,” Valandur retorted stiffly. “I thought it odd that a delegation sent to discuss a trade agreement didn’t include any merchants who would be directly affected by the treaty. I was unaware of the fact that you had solicited views from the merchants beforehand, though I still believe it would’ve been better had Ingwë asked some of the guildmasters to join us.”

“Why didn’t you just ask us about it then instead of practically accusing us of snobbery?” Laurelindalë demanded, looking both affronted and disappointed.

“You are snobs, all of you, to one degree or another,” Valandur responded. “I’m a snob as well, as my students will readily tell you. That is not the point. The point is, neither group includes anyone who is intimately acquainted with the day-to-day affairs of being a merchant. Your list is fine but it’s only that, a list, no doubt pared down from several pages of notes. It may or may not address all the concerns of the merchants, but in the end, it is simply a list and it seemed to me that the concerns that were the most hotly contested by both sides were the ones that appeared to be the most reasonable, at least from the standpoint of a merchant.”

“And you would know?” Nolondilmë asked. “You are a loremaster. What do you know of trade?”

“I helped my amillë sell her tapestries and other woven goods and I spent several yéni working as a woodcarver before I was able to join the Academy. Granted, I was not directly involved with the selling of our products. I left that in the capable hands of my master, but I certainly had the opportunity to watch him in the buying and selling of goods and am probably more aware than any of you of what it means to be a merchant.”

“Well, what I said earlier goes,” Aldamir proclaimed. “From now on you are to remain silent during the negotiations. If you have a concern, you may speak of it in private with us either before or after but not during. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly,” Valandur replied through gritted teeth.

“It had better be,” Aldamir threatened. “Sorondur, give our loremaster that list. He can copy it out for Lady Findis.”

“I am not a scribe,” Valandur protested even as Sorondur was fishing out the list and handing it to him.

“You are whatever I say you are,” Aldamir shot back. “As Lord Ingoldo’s secretary I have that authority. I promised to have the list for Lady Findis by Second Mingling. I suggest you get started and when you are finished, you may deliver the list to the lady in person.” With that he turned and walked out of the room and everyone else joined him. Everyone but Intarion who gave him a rueful look.

“You were out of line, you know that, don’t you?” Intarion asked.

“So you think I should have just sat there?” Valandur shot back angrily. “I honestly don’t know why I’m here. Your uncle’s instructions to me were too vague, too nebulous, and I hate it. I hate being here with you all, not really a part of any of this and everyone treating me with suspicion.”

“Suspicion?”

“Oh, don’t think I’m unaware of the whispers behind my back, wondering if I was really sent to spy on you all, though why any of you think you’re important enough to be spied upon is beyond me.”

“You needn’t be so nasty about it,” Intarion exclaimed, looking hurt. “I never thought you were here to spy on us.”

“Sorry,” Valandur said contritely. “I know you don’t think so, but you cannot deny that others have thought it. If I had an actual position with the delegation, that might be different, but I’m an outsider and in more ways than one. Until now, I’ve had little congress with the upper classes and frankly I have little patience with them. I struggled for too long and too hard to get where I am to be too impressed by those who sail through life without needing to lift a finger.”

“Now you’re being unfair,” Intarion said, “and you accuse us of being snobs. Second Mingling will be soon. I suggest you get started on that list.” With that he turned and left before Valandur could utter a word, leaving him standing there silently cursing his own stupidity. Intarion didn’t deserve his ire, he knew, and he hoped he hadn’t ruined their friendship with his thoughtless words. He sighed and stared at the sheaves of parchment in his hands, wishing he could just throw them away, knowing that he couldn’t.

Damn Aldamir! He was going to be late for his own dinner engagement because of this. He went to the secretary in the corner of the room and fished out some fine vellum and hastily scribbled a note, folding it and, lighting the candle used for that purpose, dripped wax on it, sealing it with his loremaster’s signet ring, then writing Calandil’s name and address on one side. He went to the door and opened it, looking about, hoping to find one of the pages or other servants, but the hallway was empty. He strode down the hall toward the main foyer but did not have to go far when he spied the mistress of the household responsible for the upkeep of the north wing coming out of one of the rooms off the hall.

“Ah, Mistress, I need to have this missive sent immediately. I wasn’t able to find a page and…”

“You need only to have used the bell rope that can be found in any of the rooms, Loremaster, and someone would come.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot,” Valandur admitted ruefully. “I am afraid I am unused to palace life.”

“No matter, Loremaster,” the elleth said kindly. “I can take the letter for you. We have a fine messenger service attached to the palace and they can send someone promptly.”

“Thank you,” Valandur said, handing the missive over. “I appreciate it very much.”

The elleth just nodded and continued on her way. Valandur resisted a sigh as he returned to the sitting room and sat before the secretary, grabbing some foolscap and dipping his quill in ink. He began writing out the list, hoping it would not take him too long. He wondered if he should just have one of the servants deliver the copy to Lady Findis so he could get on to dinner with his friends, in spite of Aldamir’s orders, but then the thought of seeing the fair elleth again and hearing her lovely voice set his pulse racing and he decided he could afford to detour long enough to bring the list to her.

****

It took Valandur longer than he had anticipated to even reach the private wing of the royal family, much less see Lady Findis. He was stopped all along the way, questioned by the guards who were assigned to protect the royal family’s privacy. Eventually, he found himself standing before two more guards who gave him polite greetings but there was an undertone of suspicion in their voices when they questioned him.

“Please give Princess Findis my respect,” Valandur said after identifying himself. “I was asked to deliver these documents to her by Second Mingling.”

“We can see that the lady receives the documents, Loremaster,” one of the guards said, holding out his hand.

“I was told to deliver the documents into Princess Findis’ hands personally,” Valandur lied smoothly.

The guard hesitated for a few seconds before nodding. “I will see if Her Highness is receiving visitors,” he said, leaving his partner with Valandur who forced himself not to fidget or otherwise appear nervous. He chafed at the delay, wishing he had just given the list to some page to deliver. He was ready to just hand the list over to the guard so he could be on his way when his partner returned. “Her Highness will receive you, Loremaster.”

“Thank you,” Valandur said and followed the guard to a door further down the hall. The guard knocked on it once and then opened it, allowing Valandur to enter.

He was in a small sitting room, tastefully appointed. The outer wall was a series of arches leading to a balcony overlooking one of the gardens. Lady Findis was wearing a simple day frock of green-dyed muslin with sprigs of yellow flowers carefully embroidered on the hem, collar and sleeves. Her hair was loosely braided, flowing down her back like spun gold, caught with a simple coronet of plain white gold. She stood with a book in her hands and he wondered if it were poetry. The thought of hearing her recite poetry excited and intrigued him and he wondered how her shifting accent would alter and enhance the voice of the poetic form. He ruthlessly clamped down on his imagination as he gave her his obeisance.

“Loremaster,” she said, her tone cool and somewhat distant.

“Forgive the intrusion, Your Highness, but you wished for this list by Second Mingling.” He held out the copy of Sorondur’s list.

For a moment she hesitated and then, placing the book on a table, stepped closer to take the proffered pages. “That’s very kind of you, Loremaster,” she said, “but why did you bring them yourself? One of the pages could have done so.”

Her fingers brushed against his as she took the sheets from him and Valandur felt his breath catch in his throat. Findis blushed pink, looking flustered as she turned away to place the sheets on the table next to the book. Valandur took a few gulping breaths before answering.

“Punishment, Your Highness,” and he was amazed that his voice sounded so normal.

Findis looked up in surprise and raised an eyebrow. “Punishment?”

Valandur shrugged. “Aldamir was less than pleased with my… um… observations earlier and told me in no uncertain terms that from now on I was to keep my mouth shut. He had me copy out the list that Sorondur had read and told me to deliver it to you in person. And now I have done so and I will leave you, for I was to meet with friends for dinner and I am already late.” He bowed again and started to leave.

“Wait!”

Valandur turned. “Your Highness?” He gave her an appraising look. Findis stood there hesitantly with the Light of the Trees shining around her, limning her with a soft golden-silvery glow as Laurelin’s light waned and Telperion’s light waxed. There was an innocence about her, a freshness of spirit that caused his heart to stir. He silently castigated himself for several kinds of fool. She was not for him and never could be. They were from two separate worlds. Yet he could not deny the desire growing within him to take her into his arms and kiss her. It was all he could do to stand there evincing cool indifference.

“I am sorry you were reprimanded by Aldamir,” she finally said. “You were correct in your observations and I, for one, appreciate your candor. I hope that you will continue to make your observations for the benefit of us all. I think you lend these negotiations a unique viewpoint that the rest of us do not have.”

“I was told to keep my opinions to myself,” Valandur retorted. “I do not think anyone will want to listen to me anyway. I really have no part in the negotiations.”

“Then they are fools,” Findis said hotly. “If no one will deign to listen to you, I certainly will. I have already arranged a meeting with some of our guildmasters to discuss this list to see if they agree with it.”

“I am pleased that you have taken that step, Your Highness,” Valandur said sincerely. “I think it important to solicit the opinions of the guilds on this matter.”

“Aldamir may have effectively silenced you as far as your own people are concerned but I would appreciate hearing any further thoughts you might have on the subject.”

“That would exceed my orders from the Ingaran and would give the Noldor an unfair advantage,” Valandur pointed out.

“Perhaps if you were to share your thoughts with Intarion as well?”

“I fear that I offended Prince Intarion,” Valandur admitted ruefully. “He was very angry with me.”

“He will not stay angry long,” Findis assured him. “Intarion is not Uncle Ingoldo. Speak with him and tell him what I have told you. Let him decide for himself if he wishes for your input. But you are correct that sharing your views with me and me alone would not be fair. I think I may have a solution to that. I will think upon it.”

Valandur nodded, giving her a bow, and started to leave but stopped. Findis gave him a puzzled look. “Was there something else, Loremaster?”

For a long second, Valandur just stood there feeling foolish. Finally he pointed at the book. “I could not help but wonder what you were reading, Your Highness.”

She raised an eyebrow at that and, smiling, went over to the table and picked up the book, bringing it to him. “You may borrow it if you would like,” she said.

Valandur glanced down at the thin book. It was bound in red leather with what appeared to be a parma tengwa with a diagonal slash through the closed bow done in gold leaf. He gingerly took the book from Findis and opened it, feeling both surprised and elated at what he saw. It was not poetry, but it was beautiful.

“It is a treatise by Rúmil on how he constructed the earliest forms of tengwar,” Findis explained. “Can you read it? It is in the older form of Quenya.”

“I am surprised you can read it,” Valandur said without thinking as he turned the pages, quickly scanning the text.

“Oh? And why is that, Loremaster?” Findis retorted.

Valandur blushed. “Your pardon, Highness. I only meant that since your brother revised the tengwar which is now almost universally used by us, few of the younger generations have bothered to learn the older forms. I know that Ingwë has commissioned a number of scribes to transcribe our older texts using the newer form so that their contents will not be lost because no one can read them. As a loremaster and a lambengolmo, I have naturally studied Rúmil’s works, though I do not recall reading this one before. I did not know you were interested in such things.”

“I confess that I find it hard going at times, but I admire Master Rúmil. He is our greatest loremaster, though there are some who are claiming my brother is far greater than he.” She gave him a wry look. “I don’t agree with their estimation, though I believe Fëanáro exceeds Master Rúmil in one talent, at least.”

“And what talent is that, Highness?”

“Arrogance.”

Valandur forced himself not to smile, for he was in complete agreement, but did not wish to say anything disparaging about the prince in Findis’ presence. That would not be politic. Instead he closed the book and handed it back to her.

“No, please take it. I have read it before. I would be interested to know what you think of this book. Have you ever met Master Rúmil?”

“A long time ago and only in passing. I cannot say that we have ever actually met.”

“Then perhaps I can arrange an introduction.”

“Thank you. I would like that.”

“I will see what I can do. Now, I believe you said you had friends waiting for you?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes!” Valandur blushed, having completely forgotten about his dinner engagement. He glanced out the embrasure, noticing that the light was now definitely silvery as Telperion’s light waxed. “I should leave now.” Yet for some reason he felt a great reluctance to do so, but Findis nodded and wished him a good day and he gave her a bow and left, clutching the book in his hand.

He asked the guards for directions to the nearest exit that would take him to one of the palace gates and then continued on his way, his thoughts centered more around Findis than about meeting with his friends.

****

Note: The description of the tengwa on the book cover is that of the letter ‘r’ as devised by Rúmil, the Noldorin sage who composed the Ainulindalë and was the first deviser of written characters, according to Tolkien [see Parma Eldalamberon 13, ‘The Alphabet of Rúmil and Early Noldorin Fragments’]. In the Fëanorean system ‘r’ is either untrilled (No. 21) or trilled (No. 25), and the parma tengwa is No. 2 [see ‘Appendix E’].

8: Dinner with Friends

Valandur entered the Rose and Crown and looked about for his friends, but did not see them in the crowd of people. His shoulders sagged. Obviously, his friends had given up on him. Damn Aldamir and Findis both! He started to turn away, ready to return to the palace but was stopped by one of the servers.

“Were you looking for someone, master?” he asked.

“Friends,” Valandur replied. “I was unavoidably delayed and sent a note but I fear they gave up on me.”

“We have two parties in private parlors. Shall I see if either is expecting you? What name should I give?”

“Valandur.”

The server nodded and made his way past the crowded tables and down a short hall, stopping before a door and opening it. He stuck his head in for a second and then retreated, looking back at Valandur with a shake of his head before moving further down the hall to another door on the opposite side. He opened it slightly and poked his head in and then stepped back quickly as the door was flung open and Calandil came out. At the sight of his otorno, Valandur felt a great weight lift from him and he smiled as Calandil quickly reached him, giving him a brief hug.

“Métimavë! I did not think you would ever come,” he exclaimed, drawing Valandur with him to the parlor.

“I’m sorry. I got away as quickly as I could,” Valandur said.

“Well you are here now and that is all that matters.”

Calandil ushered him into the parlor and everyone there greeted him warmly, hugging him.

“I was so surprised to get your note,” Simpandil said, being the first to reach him. “I even composed a tune in honor of the occasion.” He held up the flute that he always carried with him.

“I look forward to hearing it,” Valandur said with a grin. “Aldarion, it is good to see you again, meldonya.”

“And you.” Aldarion gave him a brief hug and then stepped back to allow Cemendur, Ferenion and Amandil to also greet him.

“I took the liberty of ordering for us all so as to save time,” Calandil said to Valandur as they all took seats. “Dinner should be arriving soon.”

“Thank you,” Valandur said. “I apologize for the delay.”

“What’s the book?” Ferenion asked as he poured some wine into an empty goblet and handed it to Valandur.

Valandur passed the book to him and he opened it. “Rúmil! Valar! I can barely read it, it’s been too long and I’ve forgotten much.” He handed the book back to Valandur.

“We all have,” Cemendur observed. “When we first came here, Rúmil hadn’t even begun to create his writing system.” He chuckled. “Do you remember us all struggling to learn it?”

“Some of us learned it faster than others, as I recall,” Aldarion said, giving Valandur a wink and Valandur resisted a sigh, for in truth, he, more than the others, had had a difficult time learning the art of reading and writing.

“It was an interesting time,” Calandil said with a faint smile, giving Valandur a squeeze on his arm, which let Valandur know that none of his friends thought the less of him, that they were all proud of his achievements.

“And now one of us is a loremaster,” Simpandil exclaimed, giving Valandur a bright smile.

“And about time, too,” Cemendur retorted with a huff. “I almost despaired of ever being able to begin a sentence with ‘As my friend the loremaster would say…’.”

The others laughed, including Valandur. “Well, I’m glad I am able to oblige.”

“So what exactly are you doing here?” Aldarion asked. “And why were you delayed? Were you busy with the negotiations?”

Valandur gave them a rueful look. “No. I am not involved with the negotiations at all. I am only an observer sent by Ingwë to determine the extent to which our two clans have parted ways linguistically and how that might affect the negotiations.”

The others looked confused. “Then you are not part of the Vanyarin trade delegation?” Simpandil asked somewhat hesitantly, as if afraid of offending him.

“Not officially,” Valandur replied. “To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure why I am here. I made the mistake of voicing a concern that I felt needed to be addressed before the negotiations went too much further and was relegated to scribal duties for my pains. That’s why I was delayed.”

“I thought… I mean, I just figured that you being chosen to be a member of the trade delegation was because the Vanyar recognized your worth, that you were being honored, but it sounds as if your own people have no respect for your talents,” Simpandil said, looking upset.

Valandur shrugged. “Ingwë does. He even admitted to having read my thesis, which, if I recall, none of you ever have,” he said with a straight face and the others gave him chagrined looks.

“Well, I tried reading it, honestly I did,” Calandil admitted, “but I don’t….”

Valandur laughed. “Oh, I would’ve been very surprised if any of you had read it. It’s not light reading, by any means, and I was genuinely surprised, not to say shocked, when Ingwë told me he had read it and even understood it.”

Calandil started to comment but the door opened and a couple of servers entered bearing trays filled with several dishes and for a while Valandur and his friends busied themselves with eating. After several minutes as the seven ellyn filled themselves with the fish stew, which was followed by a venison custard with frumenty and a sallet, Calandil picked up the conversation again.

“Well, I do not care why you are here, meldonya. I am only glad that you are. How many yéni have we all tried to get you to come to Tirion for a visit and it took the High King himself to do it.”

“And why did none of you bother to come visit me in Vanyamar, hmm?” Valandur retaliated with a knowing smile.

“You forget we saw you at the feasts given by the Valar,” Calandil rejoined.

“That was on Taniquetil,” Valandur shot back. “As I recall, none of you actually entered the city, you went around on the road instead. Well, it hardly matters. You are correct, Calandil, to say that it took Ingwë asking me to come here for me to do so and, in spite of how things are between me and certain members of the delegation, I’m glad he did.”

“And I say, good enough for him and me that he did.” Calandil raised his goblet. “To the Ingaran.”

“To the Ingaran,” they all intoned, raising their own goblets to drink the toast.

“And why did you bring the book?” Ferenion asked. “Did you think to impress us with your erudite knowledge now that you are a loremaster?”

“No. I was given the book as a loan from Princess Findis whom I happened to visit on a matter concerning the trade negotiations before I came here. There was no time to return the book to my chambers so I brought it with me.”

They all looked suitably impressed, though Cemendur, ever the most sensible and down-to-earth of them all, gave him a shrewd look. “You’re smitten.”

“What?!” Valandur exclaimed with a nervous laugh.

Cemendur nodded. “You went all dreamy-eyed when you mentioned Princess Findis’ name.”

“I did not!” protested Valandur.

“Oh yes you did,” Cemendur crowed. “Your eyes sparkled and you had a silly look on your face. Didn’t he?” He turned to the others for confirmation but most of them just shrugged. Simpandil, however, nodded.

“Cemendur is speaking truly, Brother,” he said. “I recognize the signs. You are taken with the fair princess. So what is it about her that causes you to be smitten? Her hair? Her eyes? Her…”

“Her voice,” Valandur said without thinking and then blushed at being caught out.

The others gave him appraising looks. “She’s a little beyond your reach, though,” Calandil said gently.

Valandur nodded. “Yes. I know. There can be nothing between us for she is too high above me. Now, can we change the subject?”

The others gave him knowing smiles and Aldarion asked Valandur about his parents and how he was finding life as a loremaster teaching at the Academy. Valandur gratefully answered and the subject of Princess Findis was not raised again that evening. Once they finished their meal and were relaxing with wine, Simpandil gave them an impromptu concert which they all enjoyed.

“I remember when you had your Essecilmë ceremony,” Valandur said to Simpandil. “I thought your choice of name was most appropriate.”

“I was surprised at yours,” Simpandil replied. “I remember thinking: Valandur? That’s a bit presumptuous of you, for are we not all devoted to the Valar and eager to serve them?”

Valandur shrugged. “I thought it was the proper name for me at the time,” he said diffidently.

“Oh, I agree, now, but then, I wasn’t sure. Yet, you Vanyar have ever been closer to the Valar than the rest of us, I deem.”

“In spirit, perhaps,” Calandil said, “but we are all beloved of the Valar.”

“Yes, we are,” Valandur said firmly, “and just because I live in Vanyamar at the foot of Taniquetil, do not think I converse with the Valar or the Maiar every day. I can count on one hand the number of times I have actually spoken face-to-face with a Maia and never with a Vala, and that holds true with most of us unless we live in Eldamas and serve the Valar directly.”

“I think that all of us have done well in our name-choosing,” Ferenion said. “I have to think about what my name was before. It was rather uncouth as I recall: Nelyahilmo and my older brothers were Minyahilmo and Tatyahilmo. Atto had no imagination.”

The others chuckled. “Yet at the time the names given to us by our parents served us well, but I know that when we finally reached these shores I wanted a new name with which to celebrate our new lives,” Calandil said and the others nodded in agreement.

Eventually, the party broke up with promises that they would get together again soon. “I belong to a flute choir,” Simpandil said to Valandur as he was making his farewell, “and we are scheduled to give a concert in Finwë Park soon. I will let you know when.”

“I would like that, thank you,” Valandur said, giving him a hug.

Then Ferenion, Cemendur and Amandil were also making their farewells until only Aldarion and Calandil were left. “Aldarion, if you could stay for a moment,” Calandil said as the ellon was about to follow the others out.

He gave Calandil and Valandur an enquiring look. “What is it?”

“You know Eldacáno.” It was not a question, but Aldarion nodded. “Well, Valandur would like an introduction to him, him and his son, Nambarauto.”

Aldarion gave them a puzzled look. “But why not just go to Minalcar and have him introduce you to his son and grandson?”

“I had thought of that,” Valandur replied, “but I have no idea if Minalcar would even remember me. Calandil says you know Eldacáno and I would like to meet him and his son. Can you take me to them and if Minalcar is there then it will be a pleasant surprise for all.”

Aldarion gave him a shrewd look. “It seems rather convoluted and underhanded.” He gave Valandur a sly grin. “Almost Noldorin. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Both Valandur and Calandil laughed. “I suppose it is, but I have my reasons. Will you help? If you feel uncomfortable doing so, say so. I will not be offended. I can easily discover where Minalcar lives and visit him on my own.”

Aldarion waved a hand in dismissal. “There is no problem. When are you next free? I can take you to Eldacáno’s shop. Minalcar gave it over to him some yéni ago and pursues other interests so he is rarely there, but Nambarauto will be.”

“I am not sure of my schedule,” Valandur replied. “I know that most of the sessions for the negotiations are planned for when Laurelin is waxing, but we are generally finished within an hour or so after she reaches the height of her blossoming. Let me send you a note once I know when I will be free.”

“Send me a note as well,” Calandil said, “and I will join you.”

Valandur gave him a surprised look. “What reason do you have to join us?”

Calandil shrugged. “Curiosity? Boredom? A need to make sure you don’t do anything stupid or foolish? I’m in need of a copper bowl and…”

Valandur rolled his eyes and Aldarion laughed as the three friends left the parlor and made their way out of the inn. At the first cross street they parted company with Calandil and Aldarion turning toward their residences while Valandur continued up Hwarin Mallë to the palace.

****

Métimavë!: Finally!

Meldonya: My (male) friend.

Essecilmë: Name-choosing; a ceremony whereby a person would name him- or herself according to lámatyávë ‘sound-taste’, i.e. an individual pleasure in the sounds and forms of words.

Hwarin Mallë: Crooked Street.

Note on the dinner:

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.

Frumenty: a thick wheat porridge often served with venison.

Sallet: spinach, leeks, onions and currants cooked in a sweet spice mix of cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and ginger.

Note on names:

Calandil: Light-friend/lover

Aldarion: Son of the Trees

Cemendur: Earth-servant

Simpandil: Flute-friend/lover

Ferenion: Son of the Beech-tree

Amandil: Aman-friend/lover

Valandur: Valar-servant

Minyahilmo, Tatyahilmo, Nelyahilmo: First-son, Second-son, Third-son; hilmo ‘son’ is Qenya; in LOTR-style Quenya it would be yondo.

9: A Day of Rest

As it was, Valandur was not able to get away as quickly as he wished. Aldamir apparently had told Ingoldo about him and Ingoldo had not been pleased.

“You are here merely on sufferance, Voronwion,” the prince said to him when Valandur was called before him shortly after they had broken their fast. “I did not wish for you to be a part of this delegation, for I saw no reason that made any sense for you being here. However, as my brother is my king as well as yours, I had no choice, but that does not mean you have any right to speak out during the negotiations. You are to remain silent unless asked to speak. In the meantime, continue your observations if you must, though frankly I do not see where there is any problem. Our two clans haven’t strayed so far from one another that we are incomprehensible to one another. However, after each session, you may help Aldamir with organizing the notes for the meetings so we have a clear record of what was said and done.”

This meant that once the meeting was over for that day, he would be spending most of the time taking the notes made by the scribes who were at the meeting and collating them, for each scribe was charged with recording the words of a particular person or group of people and then all the notes had to be put together into a coherent whole. That meant hours of work for both Aldamir and Valandur. It had been decided after some discussion that the Vanyar would be responsible for this, given that the Noldor were supplying the scribes, something that Ingwë had failed to take into account when creating the delegation. So poor Aldamir was left to handle this particular task as part of his duties as Ingoldo’s secretary.

“And in truth, I welcome the help,” Aldamir said to Valandur as they were going over the scribal notes. “Some of these scribes leave much to be desired in terms of their writing skills.”

Valandur, in spite of his dour mood, couldn’t help smiling at that, for he agreed. He remembered how awkward he had first felt when learning to scribe the tengwar which Rúmil had devised and it had taken him longer than most of his friends to get the hang of it. Even now, he admitted to himself, he wrote more slowly and carefully than most. Yet more than one person had praised him for his legibility, so he figured that was not a bad thing.

For a time there was little speech between the two ellyn as they worked side-by-side in attempting to collate that day’s meeting, which had gone not as anyone had planned, for Princess Findis had decided to re-examine the list of concerns that the Vanyar had brought with them and which Valandur had copied out for her. With the Noldor were two high-ranking guildmasters, one from the Miners’ guild, a Master Mahtan, and the other from the Clothiers’ guild, a Master Palarran, who admitted that the name was given him by his parents when, as a very young elfling of three, he had been discovered heading toward Valmar, apparently bent on visiting the Valar.

“No one could figure out how I managed to make my way past the gates without anyone seeing me,” he said with a laugh and the others grinned.

“How far did you get, and who found you?” Intarion asked.

“Hmm… I think I got as far as the last estate. I’m not sure who found me. By the time I got that far I was tired and curled up under a tree to take a nap. When I woke up I was back in my own room.” He smiled shyly and everyone else chuckled and then Ingoldo asked Findis why she had invited the guildmasters to the meeting.

Both ellyn had evinced surprise that no one had thought to consult them about the trade negotiations until then.

“Which I thought odd, considering that the shipment of raw metals is a major sticking point in any negotiations there have been before this,” Master Mahtan exclaimed. “And I believe Master Palarran’s guild has also had some problems with shipments of cloths.”

“One of the complaints our own Clothiers’ guild had was that they would like to see lower tariffs on the importation of the new looms your guild has developed,” Sorondur said. “They feel that you are disadvantaging them so that they cannot compete on an even level with you, for they cannot weave as quickly on their looms as you can on yours and there is the question of why you will not allow any of the Vanyar to learn how these new looms are constructed so they can simply make them and save you the problem of shipping them.”

“And it seems odd that none of your people have studied the new looms to see how they work,” Master Palarran retorted. “Our guild has not forbidden any to learn the making of the new looms, but you Vanyar are not known for your engineering skills.”

One or two of the Vanyar bristled at that but the guildmaster ignored them. “And even for us,” he continued, “making these new looms is time-consuming. It takes nearly ten First Minglings to construct just one and the wood that we get from the southern forests also has to be collected and cured before it can be used. That also takes time.”

“Well, at any rate, I asked Masters Mahtan and Palarran here so we can go over the list of concerns,” Findis said smoothly before anyone could comment on Palarran’s words. “So, why don’t we take each point one at a time?” And so the rest of the session was spent on going back over the list a second time with the two guildmasters giving their opinions on the concerns raised by the Vanyarin guildmasters.

Now, hours later, Valandur and Aldamir were attempting to decipher the scribal notes on the meeting, though in truth, Valandur was having trouble concentrating. He had been charged with organizing the speeches of the Noldor and found himself lingering over Findis’ words recorded by one of the scribes, remembering, as he read, the way her eyes sparkled with intelligence and humor, the musical lilt of her voice, how her accent kept shifting between Noldorin and Vanyarin in a completely unconscious manner, the way she used certain phrases that were completely her own. He was fascinated by that, for they were not idioms commonly shared by most of the Eldar regardless of clan; they were unique to her and he wondered idly where she had come across such phrasing.

He found himself blushing slightly as he remembered their conversation as they were all departing for the day.

“Have you had a chance to read the book I lent you, my lord?” she had asked him before they left the conference room. He had noticed Ingoldo and the other Vanyar, as well as Lord Herencáno, lingering to listen to their conversation. Both Ingoldo and Tinwetariel had frowns and Intarion had raised an eyebrow, while the other Vanyar had simply gaped. Herencáno, he noticed, had a slight smile on his face. He tried to ignore them all as he gave the princess a courteous bow.

“I have only just begun perusing it, my lady,” he answered. “It has been a while since I last read anything written in Rúmil’s tengwar so the going is slow and Rúmil writes in an earlier dialect of Quenya, one that I have not spoken myself in a very long time.”

“When you have finished the book, I would be interested in hearing your thoughts,” Findis said.

“And I will be happy to share them with you, my lady,” Valandur responded with another bow.

They had parted company then, with the Vanyar moving toward the north wing. For a time, as they traversed the wide hallways, no one spoke, but finally Intarion had given him a diffident look. “Rúmil?” he asked.

Valandur began to resent the smirks and the looks of disapproval on everyone’s faces. “When I went to deliver that list Aldamir had me write out to Princess Findis, she was reading a treatise by Master Rúmil and we had a short conversation about him and his works. As I was leaving, the princess insisted on loaning the book to me as I had admitted that I had not had an opportunity to read that particular treatise, for it is a very rare volume.”

“And of course you couldn’t wait to get your hands on it, could you?” Tinwetariel said with a sneer as she walked beside her husband who gave Valandur a leer.

“I could hardly refuse her offer without offending her, now, could I?” Valandur retorted, becoming angry. “Had she been reading a volume of poetry by… by Terendul Mavor,” — naming a shepherd from the Southern Fiefdoms who fancied himself a poet; he noticed most of his listeners wincing at the name — “I would not have refused and would even have read it, knowing she would want to discuss it.”

An uneasy silence fell among them and finally Tinwetariel sniffed in disdain as if the matter no longer concerned her and Ingoldo just shrugged and the matter was dropped.

“If you continue staring at that piece of paper we’ll never get this done.”

Valandur jerked at the sound of Aldamir’s voice breaking into his reverie and he blushed as he focused on the notes before him and began writing them out in a fair script. “Sorry. I was… er… thinking about what had been said during the meeting. Master Mahtan appeared to know far more about things than I was expecting.”

“He has the ear of Lord Aulë,” Aldamir said, giving a nod. “Master Palarran was a bit impolitic with his remarks.”

“You mean accusing us Vanyar of stupidity?” Valandur retorted with a grin.

Aldamir chuckled. “Something like that.”

“Well, he was partly right,” Valandur conceded. “We are not as gifted in inventiveness as the Noldor, or at least not with material matters. I doubt even Prince Fëanáro would dispute the fact that the Vanyar are more gifted in the composition of song and poetry than the Noldor, with one or two exceptions.”

Aldamir nodded. “Still, he does have a point. I wonder why no one from our Clothiers’ guild has been able to duplicate this new loom that apparently has them all agog?”

Valandur shrugged. “Well, when we return to Vanyamar, you’ll have to ask the guildmasters. Now what do you suppose this word is?” he asked, shoving the foolscap Aldamir’s way, pointing to a scribble. Aldamir squinted at it and for several minutes they held a debate on what the word might be, finally giving up with Aldamir suggesting that Valandur just choose the most obvious word that would make sense in the sentence.

“And if it’s wrong?” Valandur asked.

Aldamir shrugged. “Then we’ll make a correction, but honestly, do you think anyone actually reads this stuff?”

“If so, then why do we bother?”

“Because we’ve been told to do it, and that is all we need to know about it. What others do with this is their business and none of ours.”

Valandur sighed and Aldamir gave him a sympathetic look. “I entirely agree, my friend. Come, let us finish this up and go find an inn where we may drown our sorrows and you can tell me about this book of Rúmil’s. I met him once, did you know?”

Valandur gave him a surprised look and then nodded. “Yes, let’s get this over with. I would be interested in hearing your thoughts on the ellon for I have never had the pleasure of actually speaking with him, though I hope to do so while I am here.”

Within the hour, they were done and shortly thereafter they were ensconced in the Golden Hare, happily sipping on some Tirion white while Aldamir regaled Valandur about his one and only meeting with the famed loremaster.

Later, as they were walking back to the palace, Aldamir said, “I am not sorry that I told Prince Ingoldo about what happened yesterday. I knew that if I or Prince Intarion did not tell him, he would have heard it from one of the Noldor and that would not have been good. I am sorry that you’ve been saddled with helping me, for it is not your task.”

“But it is yours?” Valandur asked. “I would think it would be the task of the scribes.”

Aldamir shrugged. “Well, I knew what I was getting myself into when I agreed to act as Prince Ingoldo’s secretary, so I don’t actually mind.”

“I think it is unfair that you have to do this all by yourself,” Valandur said. “I wondered why you had not joined us after the daymeal for conversation and song. I figured it was because you were either too shy or too full of yourself to associate with the rest of us.”

Aldamir gave him a wry grin. “I am shy, and I find such gatherings uncomfortable. Working on the notes is preferable to pretending I am actually enjoying myself. People want you to sing along or recite poetry or play an instrument or something. I just want to be left to myself.”

“Well, with me helping things should go a lot faster and then you’ll have more time for yourself to do what you want rather than do what everyone thinks you should be doing. What do you like to do in your spare time?”

“Paint,” came the surprising answer. Valandur lifted an eyebrow at that and Aldamir blushed. “Being Prince Ingoldo’s secretary is only a temporary position. I’ve applied to the Illuminators’ guild. I hope to be accepted by them when we return to Vanyamar.”

“So you wish to be an illuminator?”

“Not necessarily, but apprenticing myself to one of the masters will help me improve my painting and drawing skills. At the same time, being an illuminator will bring me some income so I am not dependent on my parents all the time.”

“How do your parents feel about you becoming an apprentice?” Valandur asked. “Your atar is a member of Ingwë’s court, is he not?”

“And ammë is a lady-in-waiting to the queen, as is my sister. I am the second-born son. My brother, Artamir, is our atar’s heir and is already a member of the Crown judiciary. My parents are happy enough that I have found a purpose in my life.”

“Then I wish you every success,” Valandur said sincerely and Aldamir thanked him.

****

It was actually three days before Valandur was free from scribal duties, at least for a time. Unfortunately, it was Valanya, a day of rest and relaxation for all and so not even the shops were open for business. Valandur felt frustrated in his attempt to meet with the coppersmith and his son. Finwë had sent an invitation to Ingoldo and the rest of their delegation to join him and his family for a day of hawking and picnicking at the park named after him. Valandur was torn between joining them, knowing that Findis would be there, and seeking out his own friends. In the end, though, he knew that he had no choice, for to refuse the Noldóran’s invitation would not be politic. He sent a hurried note to Calandil and Aldarion, explaining his predicament, stating that he hoped to find a day sometime in the next week or so when he could meet with them.

The day began with the people gathering in the plaza fronting the palace an hour after First Mingling to sing paeans to the Valar while the royal family looked on. Valandur, standing with the other Vanyar, joined in with the singing, as did they all, for the songs were well known among the Eldar and the Vanyar held a similar concert each Valanya, but in front of the Ingaran’s palace. Once the singing was over, Finwë blessed the populace and then everyone dispersed to pursue their own pleasures. For those at the palace, this meant a sumptuous breakfast, more elaborate than was served during the rest of the week and lasting nearly three hours as people lingered over their meal, taking their time.

Finally, though, they departed for the park, taking the tunnel made of trees which connected the palace with Finwë Park. The younger members of their party were astounded by the structure, asking how it had been formed. Valandur smiled at their obvious delight, well remembering the patient grooming by the royal gardeners as they encouraged the young trees to grow in a particular manner.

Thus, they made their way down the tunnel with the Noldorin royals leading. Valandur had hoped to walk beside Findis, ostensibly to speak to her about Rúmil’s book, but he had to content himself with walking with the other Vanyar. Earlier, servants and guards had taken the horses, hunting birds and other supplies down to the park and were waiting for them when they came out of the tunnel. Immediately, those who were planning on going hawking retrieved their birds and horses and headed southward where hawking generally took place while others wandered away to enjoy the day.

Valandur had been glad to know he did not need to go hawking, and indeed, had no knowledge of the sport, for it was something done by the nobles or guildmasters who could afford both hawks and horses. Valandur, in fact, had brought along Rúmil’s book with the intention of finding a likely tree to sit under and spend the time reading. He had taken care, though, to hide the book in a small satchel in which he had also placed a small bottle of hard cider purchased at the Golden Hare the day before along with a wooden goblet.

Most of the other members of the Vanyarin delegation were all going hawking as were the Noldorin royal family and nobles, but as they rode away to the south, Valandur realized that only a few people were still standing near the tunnel entrance. One of them was Princess Findis with a few of her ladies-in-waiting, the other was Aldamir who carried his own satchel.

“You do not join the others in hawking?” he asked the ellon.

Aldamir shrugged. “I prefer to do some sketches,” he said. “I brought some supplies and this is the first opportunity I’ve had to do any sketching.” He gave him a shy look.

“It is Valanya after all,” Valandur said with a smile. “We work hard enough the other four days of the week, you should be able to do what you wish on your one day free.”

“What about you?” Aldamir asked. “I get the feeling you were not happy to join us for this picnic.”

Valandur shrugged. “I had hope to get together with some friends but I deemed refusing the Noldóran’s invitation would not have been wise. I am just glad that he did not insist that we all go hawking, for I have not the experience.”

“So what do you plan to do?” Aldamir asked.

Valandur started to answer but was interrupted by Findis who joined them. The two ellyn gave her bows in greeting. “I could not help overhearing you say something about sketching, Aldamir.”

“Yes, Highness. It is a… um… hobby of mine, at least for the moment,” Aldamir replied. “I am hoping to be admitted to the Guild of Illuminators at our Academy when we return to Vanyamar.”

“A worthy goal and I wish you every success,” Findis said sincerely.

“You are not going hawking with the others, Princess?” Valandur asked politely.

“It is not something I care to do,” Findis replied diffidently. “And you, Loremaster. What plans have you for the day?”

“I was about to ask Aldamir if he minded if I joined him. I have brought something to read.” He gave her a shy smile and she smiled back with a knowing look.

“Ah… well, I don’t really mind,” Aldamir said. “I thought to sketch the lake.” He pointed to the northeast where a small elf-made lake took up a fair portion of that section of the park. There were shade trees, mostly willows, gracing the shore along the west side, leaving the rest open to the park. Water fowl and swans swam lazily in the still waters and elflings were wading in the shallows under the watchful eyes of their parents. All around were others enjoying the park, for it was a favorite place for picnics and small gatherings. Further away, they could even hear the sounds of a lute and a harp and the clear voices of an elleth and ellon singing a favorite ballad about the Great Migration.

“Then let us hence,” Findis said, nodding to her entourage of ellith and the two guards which propriety and good sense demanded to follow her, while Valandur and Aldamir flanked her. “Where would you like to sit?” she asked Aldamir.

“I want to get the trees in, so I was thinking of sitting over there.” He pointed to a spot to his right about fifty paces from the southern shore of the lake where a few maple trees covered a small knoll.

Findis nodded and they headed that way. Soon, Aldamir was sitting under one of the maples, pulling out a large tablet of foolscap and some charcoal pencils, ignoring the others who kept their distance. Findis, in fact, had settled herself under another maple so that she was actually facing back toward the city with her ladies gathered around her. One of them carried a small lap harp and was softly strumming it while the other two pulled out embroidery hoops from their own satchels and began stitching. Findis, much to Valandur’s surprise, did the same.

He stood somewhat uncertainly, not sure where he was expected to sit. Findis saved him the trouble of deciding. Without looking up from her stitching, she said, “Come and sit with us, Loremaster, and tell me what you think of Rúmil’s treatise, at least the part you have already read.”

One of the ellith gave him a coy smile and moved her position so that there was a space beside the princess. The guards were stationed several feet away, facing in different directions, apparently ignoring them all, though Valandur knew that wasn’t true. Blushing slightly, he settled himself gracefully on the sward, acutely aware of Findis’ ladies looking at him by not looking at him. He cleared his throat somewhat nervously.

“I have only read up to the part where he begins speaking of how he studied the different sounds which make up our speech and devising suitable sarati.”

Findis nodded, still not looking at him. “Rúmil’s writing system appears to be more complex than the one my brother devised. I notice that his does not incorporate all the sounds Rúmil insisted were part of our speech patterns.”

Valandur nodded. “I am aware of that, for it was something we had to study at the Academy. Prince Fëanáro’s system is less phonetic than Rúmil’s system, for in actuality our speech patterns have changed over time and we have dropped many of the earlier sounds or have incorporated them into others. Prince Fëanáro simplified the writing system to reflect this. Also, in our earliest writings we tended to write vertically rather than horizontally, though this was by no means a universal practice. Your brother and the other lambengolmor decided eventually to change to a horizontal form, though I understand that the Teleri still utilize Rúmil’s sarati and continue writing vertically.”

“Well, they are rather… um… conservative in their views,” Findis said with a sly smile.

Valandur chuckled. “Some people would even say that they are somewhat backwards and uncouth compared to the Noldor and Vanyar.”

“And do you consider them so?” Findis asked, frowning somewhat.

“No, or actually, I have no real opinion, for I have never met them. My family had no friends among them, you see.”

Findis nodded. “I remember the yelling back and forth when my brother was trying to convince our atar that his writing system was far superior to that of Rúmil’s.” She gave him a wry look. “I often wondered what Master Rúmil thought of it all, but I never got to ask him, for he left Tirion some time ago to live in Valmar and is rather reclusive.”

“I did not know that,” Valandur said with a dispirited sigh. “I had hoped to meet him while we were here. I remember struggling over learning his sarati when they were first put forth for general use. Aldamir met him once, though.”

He turned to speak with the ellon but was surprised to find that he was no longer sitting nearby but had moved somewhat closer to the lake. He wasn’t sure if that meant he found their discussion distracting or if he simply desired to paint from a different angle. Now he started feeling awkward again, realizing he was the only ellon among the ellith (the guards did not count). He was tempted to excuse himself, but knew that he had no legitimate excuse to do so without offending the princess. Findis seemed to pick up on his unease, for she put her embroidery down and stood, forcing everyone else to do the same.

“Why do we not stroll through the park?” she suggested. “Perhaps we will meet some others along the way. It will be some time before those who went hawking return and then we will have our picnic.”

They all agreed to that. Findis surprised Valandur by actually slipping an arm around his in a very forward manner. “So, tell me about the early days when you first arrived in Valinor. What was it like?”

For a moment Valandur did not speak, feeling somewhat embarrassed to be walking so intimately with the princess, while her ladies and the guards trailed them. Eventually, though, he knew he had to answer. “I remember crossing the pass that brought us through the Pelóri into the plains of Valinor, for this was before the Calacirya was created. I was stunned by the Light and the colors. I remember collapsing on the ground weeping. Then to my everlasting surprise, there was a Maia kneeling beside me, giving me a hug and welcoming me….”

****

Palarran: ‘Far-wanderer’.

Mavor: Shepherd.

Sarati: Plural of sarat: The ‘letter’ or any individual significant mark in the Rúmilian Alphabet, from *SAR ‘score, incise’ > ‘write’. The Fëanorian letters were always called tengwar in Quenya [see The War of the Jewels].

Note: The Elves of Aman, prior to the creation of the Sun and Moon, adopted the five-day week of the Valar but gave them different names. The seven-day week was invented by the Númenóreans, according to Tolkien. The days of the week in Aman are: Elenya (Star-day), Eärenya (Sea-day), Aldúya (Two-Trees-day), Menelya (Heaven-day) and Valanya (Powers-day).

10: At the Coppersmith’s

They strolled through the park while Valandur related to Findis his earliest memories of Valinor and the building of Tirion. Findis proved an interested and attentive listener, encouraging him to speak further with insightful questions when he faltered in the telling. After a while, he felt less awkward and tense and began to relax, enjoying the closeness of the elleth on his arm. When he had run out of things to say, they continued walking in companionable silence for a time, stopping once in a while to admire a certain flower or to speak to someone whom they met along the way.

They were coming to a hedgerow that formed an arch over part of the path, creating a leafy tunnel when there came a screech from some young elleth’s throat and then they heard, “Calilassë! You come back here!”

Valandur and Findis stopped and gave each other knowing grins and Valandur noticed that the ellith and the guards trailing them also were grinning. Then they saw an elfling who appeared old enough to have seen at least a full Valian year running pell-mell down the tunnel straight toward them. The child was too bent on escaping his minder to pay attention to where he was going and only noticed them at the very last minute. Giving a squawk of protest, he tried to elude them but Valandur was too quick, having anticipated his move. He grabbed the elfling and wrapped one arm around him as if he were carrying a parcel.

“Whoa, youngster!” he laughed as the child squirmed in his hold, attempting to get loose.

Then they saw an elleth running awkwardly toward them, her wet skirts clinging to her legs and even from a distance they could hear her muttering maledictions, describing in detail what she planned to do with the culprit when she caught up with him. The culprit in question had since gone very still in Valandur’s hold.

“Yours, I take it,” he said amiably as the elleth approached, holding the elfling out to her.

The elleth blew a wet strand of hair out of her eyes and glared at the child. She was much older, perhaps a yén, but not much more than that by Valandur’s estimation, and given the close resemblance between the elleth and the child, he suspected they were siblings.

“Unfortunately,” the elleth said in exasperation, and then, looking down at her wet and soiled clothes, she started weeping. “My new dress. It’s ruined and it’s all your fault, you little monster.”

“Now, now, child, I don’t think it’s as bad as all that,” Findis said sympathetically, taking the elleth by the shoulders. “Where are your parents?”

“They’re visiting with… with friends,” the elleth said between sniffles. “I’m supposed to… to be minding Cali. Ammë’s going to be so angry when she sees my dress.” Now she was crying in earnest.

“What’s your name, dear?” Findis asked, holding out a piece of linen which the elleth took.

“Mel…Melulissë,” she stuttered, attempting to dry her tears.

“A lovely name,” Findis said. “Come. Let us see if we cannot dry you off and rescue your lovely gown. Did your ammë make it for you?”

Melulissë nodded. “It… it was my begetting day gift from her and Atto.”

Findis nodded, then turned to one of her ladies. “Olórëa, hie you hence to the palace and bring back a change of clothing for our young friend while we take her to the pavilion to dry off. See if you can’t find Mistress Silmerossiën and ask her to attend us. We will see what we can do to salvage this lovely dress.”

“Should I take the street or the tunnel back, my lady?” Olórëa asked.

“Hmm… the tunnel will be faster. Here, Thúlindë, take Melulissë to the pavilion while I open the tunnel for Olórëa.”

“And what should I do with young Master Cali?” Valandur asked with a smile, looking down at the elfling, who was starting to squirm again.

“Drown him,” Melulissë muttered angrily, glaring at her brother.

Findis shook the elleth lightly. “Now, hina, that’s not nice and I’m sure you were no better at his age. Now, go with my ladies. Valandur, perhaps you could entertain this rascal in the meantime?”

“Of course, Highness,” Valandur said with a smile. “I’ll take him back to the lake and we’ll watch the swans and see how Aldamir is coming along with his painting.”

“Good. We’ll catch up with you later.” Findis gestured for Olórëa and the guards to follow her and the other ladies, with Melulissë in their midst, headed to where the royal pavilion had been set up. Valandur glanced down at the child he was still holding.

“I’m going to put you down and don’t even think about running away,” he said sternly, and the child gulped and nodded as Valandur released him and stood him upright. “Good. Now take my hand and we’ll go see the swans. Whatever possessed you to do such a naughty thing, hina?”

“Melu was being boring,” the ellon muttered, then looked up at Valandur with a worried look. “Am I in trouble?”

“What do you think?” Valandur asked, shaking his head.

“I guess,” Calilassë replied with a heavy sigh.

Valandur forced himself not to smile at the child’s demeanor. “Well, I think you were very naughty. Your sister may be boring but she didn’t deserve what you did to her. Your parents will have every right to be angry with you for ruining Melulissë’s pretty gown.”

“Is it pretty?” the ellon asked in confusion.

“Very pretty. I suggest you think about what you did and how you can make it up to your sister. What punishment your parents will exact is up to them. Now, here we are and I see Aldamir has moved once again.”

They came to the lake and Valandur saw Aldamir now sitting under one of the willows he’d been painting earlier, idly watching the swans, ducks and geese floating on the water. He looked up as Valandur approached, giving him a smile.

“Who’s your friend?” he asked.

“His name is Calilassë, brother of Melulissë, who is even now at the royal pavilion where the princess and her ladies are attempting to dry her off and rescue the elleth’s dress. Seems young Master Cali here thought his sister needed another bath.”

Aldamir raised an eyebrow at Valandur’s dry tone, then gave the elfling a considering look. “I see. And you have been relegated to the role of nanny in the meantime. Your prospects are improving.”

Valandur snorted in amusement at Aldamir’s drollness as he settled himself down beside his fellow Vanya. “So, becoming a nanny is a step up from being a loremaster?”

“Not just any nanny, but a royally appointed nanny,” Aldamir retorted in mock seriousness.

Valandur chuckled and turned to Calilassë. “Take off your shoes and socks and roll up your leggings and go play in the water but you are not to let the water get any higher than here on you,” and he tapped one of the child’s legs just above the ankle. Calilassë nodded and soon he was happily wading in the water looking for interesting stones. Valandur opened up his satchel and pulled out the bottle of cider and the goblet. “We can share if you like.”

“I’ve brought my own goblet,” Aldamir said, reaching into his own satchel while Valandur uncorked the bottle and poured. They toasted one another and drank.

“So how did the painting go?” Valandur asked while keeping an eagle eye on the elfling now crouched down for a better view of something he’d found of interest in the water.

“I made a fair start, getting some sketches in,” Aldamir answered. “I need to come here around Second Mingling a few times to study the fall of light on the trees and the water before I do any actual painting.”

Valandur nodded and they lapsed into companionable silence, watching Calilassë play in the water. Eventually, though, Valandur called the child back and had him sit between them, letting his feet dry before putting his socks and shoes back on. Valandur allowed him a little sip of the cider when he complained of being thirsty and then he promptly fell asleep, much to their amusement. It was close to Second Mingling when one of the guards came looking for them, assuring them that the royals had returned from their hunt and a picnic supper was being laid out.

“Princess Findis says for you to come and bring the child with you,” the guard said. “She was able to locate the parents and they wish to collect their son.” He gave them a wry smile which they returned.

“Were they able to salvage the elleth’s dress?” Valandur asked as he gently lifted the still sleeping elfling into his arms.

The guard nodded as they headed for the pavilion. “Mistress Silmerossiën came and assured the poor dear that the dress was not completely ruined. She promised to have it returned to her in a day or two.”

When they reached the pavilion, they found it crowded with the returned hunters. Valandur and Aldamir were introduced to the parents of Calilassë and Melulissë, now dressed in a borrowed gown. The father took the still sleeping ellon from Valandur, the two of them sharing a smile, while the mother apparently was trying to apologize to Findis for all the trouble her children had put her through. Findis merely waved a hand in dismissal.

“It was my pleasure,” she said, “and a lesson learned.”

When they gave her puzzled looks, she chuckled. “I’ll remember to stay well away from fountains whenever my little brother is around.”

Everyone but an embarrassed-looking Melulissë laughed and Findis gave her a hug, whispering something in her ear which seemed to mollify the young elleth, for her expression became less tearful. Eventually the little family went on their way while everyone else gathered around the buffet. Valandur found himself standing between Findis and Sorondur as they made their selections from the several dishes laid out. “So, all is well that ends well, hmm?” he asked.

“Yes, though I have no doubt that little rascal will not think so after his parents are through with him,” she replied with a sly grin.

Valandur chuckled. “No, I doubt it, too.” Then he turned to Sorondur and asked him how his day had been and the ellon gladly described the hunt and what came of it.

****

It wasn’t until the following Aldúya that Valandur had an opportunity to get away from his scribal duties early, for the delegations encountered an impasse when Ingoldo refused to consider the suggestion put forth by one of the Noldor that the road toll between Valmar and Vanyamar be eliminated. Ingoldo insisted that he had no authority to consider the matter, though Valandur had his doubts about that. The toll had been instituted by the Vanyar as a means of providing income to maintain the road and the fee was nominal. The Noldor, however, thought it was an economic imposition on the rest of Eldamar, for there was no toll between Tirion and Valmar; the maintenance expenses came out of the Noldorin royal treasury.

The discussion became somewhat heated on both sides and finally Findis suggested that they take a break and reconvene on the following Elenya.

“That will give us all time to cool off and rethink our positions,” she said, giving them a haughty glare. “I am sure we can come up with an equitable solution if we maintain calm.”

Valandur silently agreed, though the expressions on both sides seemed to tell a different tale. Only Findis and Herencáno among the Noldor and Intarion, and Aldamir among the Vanyar, appeared unaffected by the acrimonious discussion and, indeed, neither Intarion nor Aldamir had contributed to it. Valandur, of course, had remained silent, though once or twice he had been tempted to add a biting comment after someone had made a rather vacuous remark. He had refrained himself, but only just. At one point he caught Findis’ eye and she gave him a brittle smile. Herencáno actually appeared bored, his eyes half-closed as if he were sleeping, ignoring everyone, though Valandur suspected that this particular Elda was not at all inattentive. Herencáno was perhaps one of the most intelligent Elves Valandur had ever met and he highly respected him.

Ingoldo, for his part, took Findis’ suggestion, which was actually an order and they all knew it, with ill grace, but a whispered word from Tinwetariel calmed him down enough and he agreed. “Until Elenya,” was all he said as he stood, giving them a bow that bordered on the insulting in its brevity and stalked out of the room with Tinwetariel following him, looking less than pleased by her husband’s attitude. Most of the Vanyar joined the exodus, though giving more proper bows and, with a nod from Findis, the Noldor followed suit. Valandur remained in his chair, as did Findis and Herencáno, who opened his eyes only when the door to the chamber closed.

“Are they finally gone?” he asked, giving them a sly grin.

Findis gave him a disbelieving look. “You faker,” she exclaimed, hitting him lightly on the arm. “I thought you’d fallen asleep for real.”

Herencáno laughed joyously and Valandur smiled. “I assure you, my dear, I was quite wide awake,” the Noldo said. “I was attempting to hear what wasn’t being said underneath all that verbiage and rhetoric being bandied about on both sides. As Ingoldo said, the toll is nominal and since most of those using the road are Vanyar, who do not seem to mind paying the toll, then there should be no real complaint from those few Noldor who bother to travel it.”

“Still, I wonder why Uncle Ingwë instituted the toll when Atar just takes the maintenance fee from the royal treasury?”

“And where do you think some of that money comes from, your Highness?” Herencáno asked. “Those fees are generated by taxes, which we all pay to the Crown. Ingwë’s system only importunes those people who actually use the road, no one else.”

“But surely, if that is the case, what income is generated from the tolls cannot cover all the expenses for maintaining the road?” Findis objected.

Valandur shook his head. “It does not and Ingwë makes up the difference from income garnered from the royal farms in the Southern Fiefdoms. Ingoldo may be correct that he has no authority to consider dropping the tolls. The road between Valmar and Vanyamar is considered to belong to the High King and only he can decide how the moneys needed to maintain it will be collected. On the other hand, he does have the authority to contemplate alternatives which he can present to Ingwë. Remember, ultimately, Ingwë has to ratify whatever agreement we devise here, even as the Noldóran must.”

The two Noldor nodded. Findis rose with Herencáno and Valandur following suit. “Well, perhaps this cooling off period will help,” she said.

“One can only hope,” Valandur retorted with a sigh. “And now, if you will excuse me, I needs must help Aldamir with today’s notes.” He gave them a bow and left, making his way to the north wing, stopping first at his suite to draft a short note for Calandil and Aldarion, giving it to one of the pages running errands before heading for a sitting room on the second floor that had been put aside for his and Aldamir’s use. He found the ellon already working when he entered.

“I wondered if I was going to have to do this alone,” Aldamir said, looking up at Valandur with a frown.

“I would never leave you to deal with this on your own, Aldamir,” Valandur replied as he joined the ellon at the table. “I was speaking with Princess Findis and Lord Herencáno. They wanted some clarification about the road tolls that Ingwë instituted without everyone shouting at everyone else.”

“I see.” Aldamir gave him a considering look then shook his head, as if to clear it of whatever thoughts he might have had on the subject. “Well, we don’t have much to collate this time,” he said, shoving several sheaves of foolscap his way. “So, let’s get this out of the way and then we have two whole days free. I want to go back to the park and do some more sketches, maybe even get started on painting. What about you?”

“I promised some friends I would get together with them when I was next free to do so. In fact, that is what delayed me. I stopped to write a letter to let them know I was free to meet with them tomorrow.”

Aldamir nodded, then gave him a sly grin. “Do you think two days is long enough for everyone to calm down?”

Valandur chuckled. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

****

A message came to Valandur later as he was on his way to join the others for the daymeal. It was from Calandil stating that he and Aldarion would meet him at the Golden Hare two hours past First Mingling. Thus, the next day, he came to the inn to find his two friends standing outside waiting for him. They greeted one another warmly and then Aldarion led the way.

“Eldacáno’s shop is in the Paca Aulendurion,” he said, naming a square where many of the various smiths had their shops. Valandur was familiar with the place from when he’d once lived in the city. It was one of the larger squares lined with shops belonging to those who worked in gold, silver or jewels. A peculiarity of the square’s architecture was that the most prestigious shops were not at street level, but situated below the street and one reached them by stairs at each corner of the square. The ‘street’ that was thus formed was about six feet wide, providing plenty of room for pedestrians to walk in either direction. Those shops whose entrances were at street level were reached by short spans of pavement linking the door of a shop to the square, thus forming a semi-covered arcade for those walking below.

It turned out that Eldacáno’s shop was on the opposite side of the square from where they had entered it and was below the street level. Aldarion led them to one corner where they descended and walked two-thirds around the square to where the coppersmith’s shop was. Valandur saw a small copper kettle hanging outside the shop entrance, thus alerting passersby as to what type of shop it was. Like all the shops they had passed, this one had its door open and the three ellyn entered.

Inside, Valandur saw that the shop extended back some way, so in spite of its narrowness, it was much larger than it appeared from the outside. The front part of the shop consisted of low shelves along the walls on which were placed the wares to be sold, pots and trays and the like, as well as some less utilitarian items, such as cleverly sculpted windchimes which hung from the low rafters. Further back was a long table that spanned most of the shop’s width. It was partly made of nessamelda wood but one end had a glass top that took up a third of the table’s surface and beneath it lay a shelf on which were displayed smaller items, such as brooches and rings.

Looking about, Valandur recognized young Nambarauto arranging some items on a shelf to their left. Of his atar, there was no sign, but they could hear voices coming from behind a curtained area on the other side of the display table, their words low and indistinct. At their entrance, Nambarauto looked up and smiled.

“Aldarion, it’s good to see you, meldonya.” He came over and the two hugged each other in greeting. “I do not think I’ve seen you since my sister’s begetting day party.”

“I know,” Aldarion said, “and I apologize. I’ve been busier than usual lately. I’ve brought some friends to meet you and your atar. This is Calandil. I think you’ve heard me speak of him and this is our otorno, Valandur, who is a loremaster from Vanyamar.”

Nambarauto smiled at Calandil. “Greetings. Aldarion has told me much about you and your other friends. I am glad to finally get to meet one of them. For some reason Aldarion has been rather shy about bringing any of you around.”

Valandur watched in amusement as Aldarion blushed while Calandil simply gave his friend a shrewd look before speaking to Nambarauto. “I am assuming it’s because he does not wish to share you with us… or perhaps your sister?”

Nambarauto laughed, clapping his hands. “Ah, you are most perceptive, Master Calandil. Aldarion has been, shall we say, courting Merilindë for some time now.”

“That would explain the times when he would mysteriously not be able to join me and our friends for our usual foregatherings. Mysteriously, because he would offer no explanation for his absence other than he was too busy at that time to meet with us, though we knew full well that that was not the case. And now, the mystery is solved.”

Aldarion continued to stand there blushing, saying nothing in his defense, while Calandil and Nambarauto traded knowing smirks. Then Nambarauto turned to Valandur, giving him a bow. “And I welcome you to Tirion, Loremaster. Are you part of the trade delegation? I believe I saw you some time ago at the Rose and Crown.”

Valandur gave him a surprised look. “I was there. I did not think you had noticed me.”

“Only when you left with your two friends. Seeing three of the Vanyar together is very unusual here in Tirion,” came the explanation. “So you know Aldarion as well?”

“Yes. We all made the journey to Valinor, though I do not think I knew Aldarion until after we arrived.”

“That’s right,” Calandil said. “It was Ferenion who knew Aldarion before the rest of us and we all knew your anatar Minalcar, Master Nambarauto. It is why we are here, to renew old acquaintances.”

Nambarauto raised an eyebrow. “If you know my anatar, why did you not greet him when you were at the inn?” he asked Valandur.

“That is what I would like to know,” came a voice from behind them. They all turned to see Minalcar and Eldacáno stepping from behind the curtain, the older ellon frowning. “Art thou too ashamed to acknowledge past friendships with the Noldor, Quisero?” Minalcar demanded.

“Quisero!” Calandil exclaimed with a laugh. “Valar! I’d forgotten that was your original name, Valandur. How ironic, seeing as how you are now a loremaster.”

Valandur scowled at his friend. “Enough, Tyulinhilmo.” He had the satisfaction of seeing Calandil cringe while everyone else grinned. Then he turned to Minalcar. “You are mistaken, Aikaldamor. I have never been ashamed of my friendship with the Noldor.”

“Your name was originally Aikaldamor, Anatto?” Nambarauto asked in disbelief.

“How… descriptive,” Eldacáno chimed in with a sly grin.

“Enough,” Minalcar growled, not looking at his son or grandson, both of whom started laughing.

“And what was your original name, Aldarion?” Nambarauto asked. “Enquiring minds want to know.”

“Well you can continue in ignorance, seldo, because I will never tell, and don’t you two go blabbing it to all and sundry either,” Aldarion growled.

Both Calandil and Valandur stuck their tongues out at Aldarion at the same time. Minalcar and his son and grandson laughed and soon the others were joining them.

“So, my friend, what brings you here?” Minalcar asked Valandur when they had all calmed down. “It has been long and long since I last saw you and are you truly a loremaster now? That is hard to believe, considering what a wretched student you were.”

Valandur blushed, unable to deny the truth of the ellon’s words.

“Well, let us not stand about yapping at one another,” Eldacáno said smoothly. “Why don’t we close up shop and hie ourselves to the Lark and Swallow where we can visit in comfort.”

To that, they all agreed, and in minutes they were leaving the shop and heading for the tavern.

****

Yén: An Elven century of 144 solar years.

Hina: Vocative form of hína: child; generally used for a very young child, so Findis is speaking to Melulissë as if she were her brother Calilassë’s age.

Paca Aulendurion: Court of the Servants of Aulë: Aulendur: ‘Servant of Aulë’, applied especially to those persons, or families, among the Noldor who actually entered Aulë's service and in return received instruction from him. This is an attested word.

Nessamelda: ‘Nessa-beloved’, a type of tree that grows in Valinor; an attested word.

Notes:

1. The elfling, Calilassë, having seen one Valian year, would be the equivalent of a 4-year-old. Attentive readers may recognize the name as the Quenya version of the character better known as Lasgalad, whom we meet in Elf, Interrupted: Book Two, chapter 75. The characters are one and the same.

2. The following names are derived from Qenya [Parma Eldalamberon 12: ‘The Qenya Lexicon’]:

Quisero: Whisperer, from quis- ‘to whisper’ [originally written as qise-] + -(e)ro ‘masculine agental suffix’. Tolkien later changed the verb form to hlussa- (Exilic Quenya: lussa-), h/lussë ‘a whispering sound’. Since the Noldor were known for their linguistic inventiveness, one could postulate that the earlier form was dropped for the later as being more melodious in sound, hence the different verbal forms.

Tyulinhilmo: Tall-son.

Aikaldamor: Broad-shoulder; an attested name, originally given in its Noldorin (pre-Sindarin) form Egalmoth, ‘a hero of Gondolin, Lord of the House of the Heavenly Arch, one of the survivors, later slain at the Havens of Sirion’; Egalmoth did not survive into the published Silmarillion [Parma Eldalamberon 15 ‘Sí Qente Feanor and other Elvish Writings: Name List to The Fall of Gondolin’].

11: Renewing Acquaintances

It was early enough in the day that the tavern was virtually empty so they had no trouble finding a table. Minalcar ordered a bottle of Aramalina, a popular yellow wine served chilled, and once they were served and left alone, he gave Valandur a shrewd look.

“So, Quisero, why did you not come and greet us when you saw us at the Rose and Crown?”

“Why didn’t you, Aikaldamor?”

“Seriously, that was your name, Atto?” Eldacáno asked, disbelief warring with amusement in his eyes.

“And Quisero,” Nambarauto chimed in, “what kind of name is that, or Tyulinhilmo? Do they even mean anything?”

The older Elves gave each other amused looks. Finally, Valandur spoke, putting on his ‘loremaster-mien’, as his students liked to call it. “You have to understand, our language has evolved from very primitive roots over time and in the time of our sojourning at Cuiviénen and later, during the Great Migration, we were constantly inventing new words, discarding older forms when we discovered a more mellifluous way of saying something. That was as true for our names as for anything else.”

“But what do those names mean?” Nambarauto demanded. “And your name, Aldarion, what was it? It’s not fair that we’ve learned everyone else’s secret name. You should tell us yours.”

“Sorry, but that’s my secret,” Aldarion said somewhat haughtily.

Valandur, sitting next to Nambarauto, smiled wickedly and leaned over to whisper in the younger ellon’s ear.

“Hey!” Aldarion protested, divining what the Vanya was doing.

Nambarauto’s eyes widened. “Seriously? But why?”

But Valandur refused to say, simply grinning widely, while Aldarion glared at him.

“So what was his name?” Eldacáno asked, looking frustrated.

“Luksondil,” Nambarauto replied.

Eldacáno raised an eyebrow. “Well, I see some words didn’t change in all this time. So just why were you called that, my friend?”

“A long story,” Aldarion said. “My atto was… inventive in the names he gave his children.”

“Well, yours was quite descriptive of your interests,” Minalcar retorted. “You still play with mud even today.”

“Clay,” Aldarion corrected. “I work in clay.”

Minalcar waved a hand in dismissal. “Mud, clay, it’s all the same to me.”

Aldarion muttered something too low for any of them to hear and the others grinned.

“So just what do your names mean?” Eldacáno asked after taking a sip of his wine.

“Well, Quisero has the same meaning as hlusser,” Valandur said, “and no, I will not explain why my parents named me that. Minalcar’s name would probably be rendered as Pallapanto if anyone was foolish enough to give any child such a name and Tyulinhilmo would most likely be rendered as Hallion.”

“Hmm… the things you never know about your own family and friends,” Eldacáno said.

“Now you know why we changed our names once we came here,” Minalcar responded. “I chose my name in honor of the light of the Trees, which, when I first beheld it, was a glory I had never anticipated experiencing.”

“As you can probably guess from the names we have now, many of us chose new names in honor of either the Trees or the Valar,” Calandil said, nodding to Valandur and Aldarion. 

Both Eldacáno and Nambarauto had considering looks on their faces.

“Well, as interesting as this discussion on ancient naming practices is, I am still waiting to hear your answer to my question… Quisero,” Minalcar said, giving Valandur a pointed look.

“And I’m still waiting to hear yours of mine… Minalcar,” Valandur retorted mildly, refusing to be baited. From the expressions of approval Minalcar’s son and grandson gave him, he thought he had scored a point in his favor. “But to answer your question, I hesitated to do so because I was not entirely sure. Indeed, I had to ask the barkeep who you were, for while you seemed familiar I could not put a name to you.”

“But when you found out, why didn’t you come over and greet us?” Nambarauto asked.

“I fear I was not in a position to do so,” Valandur replied. “Those two friends of mine whom you saw with me… they were sent to bring me back to the palace. I had left a feast given in honor of the Vanyarin delegation without telling anyone where I was going. Aldamir and Sorondur were sent to find me. They were not happy to be missing the dancing.”

“Hmph,” Minalcar said, clearly not believing Valandur’s explanation. “Still, it wouldn’t have hurt to at least greet us in passing.”

“And if you knew who I was, why didn’t you come and greet me instead?” Valandur asked, raising an eyebrow.

Now Minalcar looked somewhat sheepish. “To tell the truth, I was no more sure of you than you were of me. It has been a long time since those days when we traveled together with me keeping an eye on you for your parents’ sake. As I recall, you were always hieing off to explore the surrounding lands whenever we stopped for a time.”

“I did not need looking after,” Valandur said with a scowl. “I was not that young and I never went exploring alone. Calandil often went with me, as did others. Why Atto insisted you follow us I will never understand.”

“He was concerned, and rightly so,” Minalcar said. “None of you were not all that old, barely out of elflinghood, and the journey was full of dangers most of us had never encountered before. Your atar could not follow you as he would have liked, for he had your ammë and your sisters to worry about, so he asked me to keep an eye on you lot. It’s a good thing, too, or have you two conveniently forgotten that little incident with the bear or when you got lost in the marshes?” He gave Valandur and Calandil an arch look.

Valandur found himself reddening at the memory Minalcar’s words had evoked and Calandil also looked embarrassed.

“Bear? Marshes?” Eldacáno asked. “Do tell.”

“You’ve never really spoken about those times, Anatto,” Nambarauto added. “We’re all ears.”

“Never you mind, younglings,” Minalcar admonished son and grandson. “This is neither the time nor the place for such tales. They were dark times in many more ways than one and I, frankly, have no wish to relive them even in tales told under the Light of the Trees. Our lives are here and here we will stay.”

“Násië!” Valandur said with all sincerity and both Calandil and Aldarion nodded in agreement.

“Well, regardless, I am glad to see you,” Minalcar said, giving Valandur a smile. “Your parents and sisters are well? And you, what have you been up to?”

“Yes, everyone in the family is well and they will be pleasantly surprised to hear about you and your family. I did not even know you had finally married.”

“Ah, well… it was after you had left the city and there were enough hard feelings about that from many quarters that I felt it prudent not to send an invitation. Indeed, we had no means of doing so, if you recall. It wasn’t until the roads were built that any type of courier system was developed between us. And after a while, it just didn’t seem important to let your family know.”

“And I am sorry about that,” Valandur said. “Cal and Dari will tell you that they’ve tried for yéni to get me to come visit them here, but I was reluctant to do so.”

“You never told us why, though,” Aldarion said softly.

“I was afraid of what I might find,” Valandur replied just as softly, not looking at anyone, so he did not notice the raised eyebrows.

“And what did you fear to find?” Calandil asked.

Valandur was saved from answering by the approach of the server asking if there was aught else that they needed. Minalcar ordered another bottle of wine and Nambarauto decided he wished to have something to eat, so for a few minutes they all took the time to look over the menu and give their orders. Finally, the server left, returning a few minutes later with the wine, assuring them that their meals would be out presently. Only after they were left alone again did their conversation resume with Calandil again asking Valandur what he had feared to find on returning to Tirion.

“You have to understand,” Valandur finally said, after remaining silent for a few minutes more, his eyes dark with memory, “despite what any of you might think, the decision to remove ourselves from Tirion did not come easily and there was a great deal of rather heated debate that occurred behind closed doors. My own parents agonized over the decision, and while I and my sisters were certainly old enough to decide for ourselves, we chose to abide by whatever decision our parents made.

“In the end, though, we left along with the vast majority of the Vanyar. I think a small number remained behind because they were married to Noldor and they did not wish to be separated from their loved ones, and I know that some Noldor joined us for the same reason. At any rate, leaving was hard, harder than you can imagine, yet, at the same time, looking back, I think it was the right thing for us to do.”

“Yet, that does not explain your reluctance, nay, your fear of returning even for a brief visit,” Calandil protested.

“No, it doesn’t,” Valandur agreed, “but think about it. Minalcar said that there were enough hard feelings among the Noldor about us leaving that he felt it prudent not to invite me or my family to his wedding. We Vanyar, contrary to popular opinion, are not as flighty as you would like to believe, nor are we clueless as to what is going on around us. However enamored of the Valar we may be, we are quite aware of the resentment that many Noldor still have for us, believing we somehow betrayed and abandoned them. I simply did not wish to subject myself to that.”

“We always visited you, though,” Aldarion put in. “We never resented your decision, though I will admit I did not understand it and was hurt by it, but I refused to let it destroy our friendship.”

“And for that I am very grateful,” Valandur said sincerely. “But, you never visited me in Vanyamar. Neither you nor Cal or any of our friends have ever been to my city. We always met on the slopes of Taniquetil or in Valmar when the Valar would declare a time of feasting for all. I never faulted you for your reluctance to enter the city, for it was the same reluctance that prevented me from coming here. Only because Ingwë asked me to join the trade delegation am I here at all or we wouldn’t be having this discussion.”

“And why are you a part of the delegation?” Minalcar asked. “I will tell you, I think you are wasting your time with it.”

Valandur gave him a brief smile. “Yes, I know. I overheard you at the inn. In fact, it was your conversation and especially Nambarauto’s observations that caught my attention. It is why I sought you out, beyond wishing to renew our friendship.”

Three sets of eyebrows were raised at that statement. “You sought me out?” Nambarauto asked in disbelief.

Valandur nodded. “But to answer your question, Minalcar, I recently achieved my mastership and now teach at the Academy. I am a lambengolmo, in fact, and Ingwë felt that someone with my expertise would be useful, not so much during the negotiations, but afterwards.”

“How?” Eldacáno asked, clearly puzzled.

“Ingwë is aware that the yéni of separation between our two clans may have altered us linguistically as well as socially, so that a time may come when there is enough change between us as to make us incomprehensible to one another. Ingwë wishes to know to what extent that is already happening so we might avoid misunderstandings in the future.”

“It all seems rather… vague,” Minalcar said with a frown.

“Indeed it is, and I could cheerfully strangle the Ingaran right about now for even thinking to send anyone for that purpose,” Valandur retorted with a grimace that wasn’t entirely faked.

Minalcar leaned back in his chair and grinned wickedly. “So, you’re a loremaster. You, who could barely read or write, who was about as articulate as a three-year-old. How ever did you manage to convince them to let you into the Academy at all?”

Suddenly Valandur was angry. The yéni he had spent struggling to meet the qualifications to be admitted to the Academy, the malicious (to him) laughter of his Vanyarin friends when he failed time and again, the years of apprenticing himself to a woodworker just to scrape up the entrance fees, all the doubts and hurts that he had suffered in pursuit of a dream that many, even some in his own family, thought ridiculous, and then the slowness of his advance to loremaster status once he was finally admitted, sometimes despairing that he would never accomplish his goal — all that came rushing to the fore of his mind and now here was one whom he had long admired and considered a friend sneering at him and ridiculing him before the others.

It was too much and before they knew what was happening, he stood abruptly, knocking his chair to the floor in his haste to rise, and stalked out of the tavern without a word. He was halfway down the street when someone caught up with him. Minalcar grabbed him from behind and Valandur snarled an oath as he pushed the ellon from him.

“Valandur, forgive…”

“I don’t want your apology, Aikaldamor!” Valandur fairly shouted, ignoring the surprised and concerned looks of passersby. “You don’t know how much I struggled to get where I am today. You have no idea how hard it was to watch everyone else around me master the art of reading and writing and pursuing their dreams with nary a trouble, while I struggled and struggled and…”

By now he was nearly in tears and Minalcar took him into his embrace and held him close, saying nothing as Valandur continued weeping. Finally, though, the tears abated and he felt drained of all emotion, wishing he could just pack up and leave. He longed to return to the Academy and take up his teaching and research duties once again and forget all about the damn trade delegation and the Noldor.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he pulled himself away from Minalcar.

“No, it is I who am sorry,” the Noldo said remorsefully. “I should never have teased you as I did. That was both stupid and mean-spirited. I do not know what possessed me to say such things to you. I long admired your determination to conquer your… shall we say, inability to communicate effectively?”

“Now you sound like a loremaster at his worst,” Valandur couldn’t help saying.

Minalcar grinned. “Come back with me. Calandil and Aldarion were ready to strangle me for insulting you as I did and my son and grandson were right behind them. You are fortunate to have such staunch friends come to your defense.”

“They’re more than friends,” Valandur said. “Cal and Dari are my otornor as I am theirs.”

“And for that I am glad. But come, the meal you ordered was being brought out even as you left. You do not want to let it go to waste and I insist on paying for it. Consider it my feeble attempt to make up for hurting you as I did.”

Valandur felt reluctant to return to the tavern, but Minalcar would not take ‘no’ for an answer and before he knew it he was back among the others. Calandil and Aldarion gave him concerned looks and Aldarion even went so far as to give him a hug. Eldacáno and Nambarauto appeared embarrassed and the atmosphere between them all was strained, no one wishing to break the silence that had fallen as they ate.

Valandur had little appetite, though, and he ate only a small portion of the stew before putting down his spoon, refusing to look at anyone. Calandil jabbed him with his elbow.

“If you don’t finish your stew, you don’t get dessert,” he said without even looking his way.

 “Maybe I don’t want any,” Valandur retorted.

“Oh good,” Aldarion responded as he lifted his goblet to take a sip. “That means more for us.”

“I’ve never known you to pass up sweets, Valandur,” Minalcar said. “Are you sure you are feeling well?”

Nambarauto snorted in humor and Eldacáno grinned. Valandur glared at them both and then saw Minalcar wink at him and suddenly, the anger and resentment he’d been feeling dissipated and he realized that he was among friends who wished only his happiness. Calandil finally looked up and gave him a smile that was warm and welcoming and full of brotherly love and understanding and he knew that, no matter what, he had friends who would always be there for him.

Without a word, he picked up his spoon again and began eating. The atmosphere became less tense and awkward, and they continued eating in companionable silence. After a few minutes though, Nambarauto turned to Valandur, giving him an enquiring look. “What was it like for you when you first came to Valinor?” he asked. “Anatto just says it was wonderful, but he never really explains why.”

Valandur realized that in his own way the young ellon was attempting to apologize for earlier. He sat back and took a sip of his wine before answering. “I remember sitting on the side of the pass that we had just climbed and weeping, but whether from sorrow or joy, I did not know….”

By the time they finished their meal, Calandil and Aldarion had shared their own memories and Minalcar offered an observation or two on his own feelings upon reaching Valinor. No one mentioned the trade negotiations or Valandur’s role in it, not even Valandur, and when they left the tavern, Minalcar invited him to join him and his family for their usual Valanya celebration.

“Nothing grand,” Minalcar assured him. “We usually ride down the Calacirya and have a picnic on the shore.”

“It sounds wonderful. Thank you. Where should I meet you?”

“We’ll be at the palace for the hymn-singing. We’ll stand by the central fountain and you can join us afterwards,” came the reply.

“Until then,” Valandur said.

Calandil and Aldarion stated that they had to get back to their own work, each promising to get together with him soon, so Valandur was left to his own devices. Not wishing to return just yet to the palace, he decided to wander through the city, perhaps do a little bit of shopping. The one street he refused to go down, however, was the street where he and his family had once lived.

****

Aramalina: Royal-yellow.

Luksondil: Mud-friend/lover. In modern Quenya graphology this would be written as Luxondil.

Pallapanto: from palla ‘wide’ + pantë ‘back (of something)’ with masculine ending.

Hallion: from halla ‘tall’ + -ion ‘patronymic suffix’.

Minalcar: First-glory, an attested name.

Eldacáno: Elf-bold, an attested name, though in the form Eldacan.

Nambarauto: Hammerer of copper, an attested name; Damrod is the Sindarin form.

Násië: Amen, so be it.

12: A Day at the Beach

When Valandur returned to the palace he asked to see Aldamir and Intarion and informed them both of his intention of spending Valanya with Minalcar and his family.

“You will have to make my excuses to Prince Ingoldo and anyone else who enquires. Whatever activities King Finwë has planned for us, I will not be there and frankly, I really don’t care if that meets with anyone’s approval or not. As I am constantly being reminded by all sides, I am here on sufferance and have no real role in these negotiations, so I might as well take advantage of that fact and visit with old friends whom I have not seen in many yéni. They at least appreciate my company.”

Without giving either ellon a chance to respond, he walked out of the sitting room where they had met and returned to his own bedroom, ignoring the pounding on the door, refusing to answer it. He sat on his balcony with a bottle of Aramalina, watching the ever changing play of Light as the Trees slowly waxed and waned, reminiscing on earlier times when starlight was all they knew and his parents’ friend had watched over him and his sisters as they made the arduous march across Endórë.

Only when Laurelin’s Light was beginning to fade did he leave the balcony and ready himself for the day’s outing, leaving the north wing without encountering anyone and slipping out of the palace, walking across the plaza to the central fountain where he sat on the lip and waited. Even though First Mingling was still at least an hour or so away, the plaza was already filling up with people dressed in their Valanya finery, many of them carrying large hampers filled with food, no doubt planning to spend the day at Finwë Park.

Valandur greeted people with nods as they sought a place to stand, smiling at the elflings as they fidgeted, no doubt wondering why they always had to do such boring stuff as stand around singing when there was a whole park just waiting for them to explore. He chuckled at that thought. By the time the custom of singing paeans of praise to the Valar on Valanya had developed, he had long ceased to be a fidgeting elfling and actually looked forward to joining the rest of the city in singing the hymns. He suspected that those of the earlier generations did so with more fervor than those generations that had been born in Valinor. Certainly some of his friends complained how their children seem to have no appreciation for why they bothered to sing such praises once a week. He idly wondered if later generations would even cease to bother with the custom, leaving it only to those who remembered the Great Migration to carry on the tradition.

It was a sobering thought, but he refused to allow it to dampen his spirit, for as the Light shifted toward silver-gold and Laurelin ceased to blossom completely, he felt a rising sense of excitement, standing and looking about for Minalcar, for the plaza was filling rapidly. He spied the ellon escorting an elleth with Eldacáno escorting another. Nambarauto was also there along with another much younger ellon and two ellith and he suspected these might be Eldacáno’s other children.

He waved as they came nearer and Minalcar smiled, holding out his arms to greet him. “And how long have you been hanging about the fountain waiting for us like an impatient elfling?” he asked as the two kissed each other’s cheeks.

“I was the first one here,” Valandur admitted laughingly. “I am afraid I upset certain people when I informed them that whatever plans they had for me today were not to be realized, so I’ve been avoiding everyone.”

Minalcar frowned. “Please do not get into trouble on our account. I would not wish that for you.”

“I really don’t care and you should not blame yourself if I do,” Valandur said firmly. “Ingwë, I think, really had no idea what trouble he would cause having me join the delegation. I am barely tolerated, for I have no concrete purpose or duties, other than to help Aldamir collate the notes on the day’s meeting and that is punishment for daring to speak out at the negotiations one time with a concern that I felt needed to be addressed.” He shrugged. “Now enough. Why do you not introduce me to your family and then we will sing our praises to the Valar with everyone else.”

Minalcar still looked troubled, but complied readily enough with Valandur’s request and introduced the rest of the family: his wife, Helinillë, and Eldacáno’s wife, Almiel. Their younger son was Laiqualassë, who was just past his majority, having seen about seven Valian years. The daughters were Mirillindë and Marillindë, or Miri and Mari, as they were generally called. Mirillindë was perhaps a few yéni old and Valandur could see why Aldarion was enamored of her, but Marillindë had not yet seen an entire Valian year.

Then, the royal family stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the plaza and the singing began. Valandur put aside all his worries and concerns and sang with great feeling, grateful as he always was for the Valar bringing them away from the dangers that beset Endórë — for he well remembered the terror of the Dark Rider that even now sometimes haunted his dreams — to live in peace in the Light of the Trees. He noticed Prince Ingoldo and the Lady Tinwetariel standing beside Finwë and Indis while Intarion was standing between Findis and Fëanáro. He could not see Aldamir or the others, but assumed they were somewhere in the crowd.

Once the singing was done and the king blessed them, people began filing out of the plaza. Minalcar suggested they wait a bit to let the crowd disperse. “We rent horses from a nearby stable,” Minalcar explained to Valandur. “Do you wish to retrieve your own horse?”

“Nay, I will rent one as well. I do not wish to encounter anyone I know who may be at the royal stables.”

Minalcar gave him a troubled look, but Valandur ignored him, turning to speak to Nambarauto and his siblings, enquiring of Laiqualassë if he was following his brother and father in becoming a coppersmith — he wasn’t, for he was more interested in learning the art of jewel-making and was apprenticed to a jewelsmith — and asking Mari what her favorite games were — hide-and-find came at the top of the list. Merillindë acknowledged that she was a journeyman potter when he asked.

“Which is how she and Aldarion met,” Nambarauto explained to Valandur. “She’s one of his apprentices. I think once she receives her mastership, he will ask her to marry him. Until then, their relationship has been low-key for obvious reasons.”

Valandur gave the elleth a sympathetic smile. “I hope it works out for you both.”  

By now, the crowds had thinned enough for them to leave the plaza and Minalcar led them to the stable where Valandur quickly negotiated for the loan of a horse. Soon they were on their way down Hwalin Mallë and through Finwë Park, passing through the gates which led onto the plains fronting the Calacirya. They headed down the cleft that led to the Sea and Valandur noted with interest the way the colors began to dim, becoming less vibrant as they moved further away from the Light of the Trees. When Almiel enquired, he admitted he had never returned to the shore to look upon the stars.

“Once we came onto the plains, I had no desire to return,” he told her, eschewing to explain how the memories of the dread Dark Rider and the other dangers they had encountered while living under starlight still haunted his dreams, especially those concerning the loss of his playmate, wondering what ill fate had befallen him.

Almiel admitted that she and Eldacáno had befriended some of the Teleri during the time when the Noldor had helped built Alqualondë, long after many of the Vanyar had left Tirion. “Perhaps while you are here, we can take you there to meet our friends.”

“I would like that. I have often wondered what their city looks like. I was surprised when Olwë did not bring his people into Eldamar proper but elected to live on its fringes, barely within sight of the Light.”

“The Teleri have always loved the Sea and did not wish to desert it entirely,” Minalcar answered. “Many of them are Ulmonduri, even as some of the Noldor are Aulenduri and the Vanyar are Manwenduri.”

Valandur nodded and little Mari shyly asked him if he was a Manwendur. He smiled and shook his head. “I have not had the privilege of being asked by Lord Manwë to enter his service. Perhaps someday he will.”

The further down the Calacirya they went the darker the sky became until, passing between the high cliffs that marked the original pass over which the Elves had entered Valinor, Valandur looked up with a gasp, beholding the stars for the first time in more yéni than he cared to remember. By mutual consent the others stopped, allowing him time to reacquaint himself with the stars.

After a few minutes, Minalcar said, “Come, let us go further on. There is a spot where we like to picnic and you can see the stars in all their glory. Here at the beginning of the pass, the Light still hinders our view. We’ll leave the horses here to graze as there is little for them to eat further on.”

Valandur tore his gaze from the glory above him and nodded, alighting from his horse and helping to carry their packs, following the others as they wended their way northward. Across from them, blocking a good portion of the eastern horizon rose the dark cliffs of Tol Eressëa where none now dwelt, though Minalcar assured Valandur that the Teleri often stopped at the island to replenish their water and other supplies as their fishing boats plied the southern waters. They reached the small cove where they meant to picnic, rounding a headland that blocked the Light streaming out onto the Sea. Tiny glints of sapphires, rubies, emeralds and diamonds strewn about the sand sparkled under starlight, mirroring the glints of color shining above them.

“I sometimes wish we had not been so flagrant in strewing these gems about,” Minalcar said with a smile as he helped Helinillë spread the blanket on the sand, after the children had dutifully raked it to remove the gemstones, leaving a smooth surface on which to sit. They gathered the stones and threw them elsewhere, laughing with delight. “It makes picnicking a chore sometimes.”

Valandur laughed and Nambarauto invited him for a walk along the shore. The younger ellon had already removed his shoes and was rolling up his leggings. “We will not go far,” he assured the loremaster and in minutes the two of them were walking barefoot in the surf. Mari was already busy building a sand castle under the watchful eye of Laiqualassë who sat nearby playing a recorder, while Miri danced, slipping in and out of the surf in a graceful pavane in time to the music. Minalcar, Eldacáno and their respective wives sat on the blanket quietly conversing.

Valandur could not stop looking up at the stars. “I’d forgotten how beautiful they are,” he said softly.

“Atto and Ammë felt it was important that we not forget them, which is why we usually spend Valanya here rather than in Tirion. As you can see, we have the entire place to ourselves. I especially like to wander up and down the coast. I find the starlight soothing in a way that the Light of the Trees can never be.”

Valandur merely nodded and the two fell into companionable silence. Nambarauto stooped down occasionally to retrieve a shell or a water-smoothed stone brought up by the Sea and they would stop to examine the item for a moment before putting it back and continuing on. They only went as far as the end of the cove where it curved around another headland and it was only as they were heading back to the others that Nambarauto spoke.

“How do you feel about the trade negotiation?” he asked quietly.

 “I was going to ask you the same question,” Valandur replied with a smile. “I overheard you and your atar and anatar discussing the trade negotiations and was intrigued by your views. But to answer your question, I think ultimately it is a good thing. Whether it will be effective in bringing our two clans closer remains to be seen. I was disturbed by the fact that none of the guilds were invited to join the negotiations. They are being conducted at the highest level with very little input from those who will most likely be the most affected by whatever is decided between us.”

“I know Atto is suspicious of the negotiations. He does not seem to have any faith that those involved will have our best interests at heart, that they will negotiate out of expediency rather than out of fairness.”

“And Minalcar? What does he think?”

Nambarauto shrugged. “I am not sure. He left the business to Atto to pursue other interests. I think he would like to see closer relations between us, between us all, Noldor, Vanyar and Teleri. He thinks that our insistence on remaining separate will ultimately prove fatal to us.”

“Fatal? How?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think even Anatto knows. I think he just sees that if we continue as we have, the issues that lie between us will become more and more divisive until we cannot truly say that we are a single people. He foresees a great danger in that attitude.”

Valandur mulled over the ellon’s words as they continued strolling along the beach. Nambarauto suddenly pointed to the southwest. “Look! There’s Menelmacar rising.”

Valandur looked and saw the Warrior of the Sky rising majestically from behind the mountains. Already he was more than two-thirds visible and the sight brought Valandur to a halt and he had to remember to breathe. Nambarauto remained politely silent, allowing him the space he needed.

“I had forgotten how magnificent he is,” Valandur whispered.

Nambarauto nodded. “It is magnificent and I always thrill at the sight, more so than any other astinwessë, though I could not tell you why.”

Valandur merely nodded and then they were resuming their walk and were soon back with the others. Valandur stopped to admire the sandcastle Mari had built, exclaiming over her architectural skills. “I think you would be an asset to the stonemasons’ guild,” he said, causing the child to blush with pleasure while the grown-ups chuckled.

“Come and eat,” Helinillë said and no one had to be told twice.

There wasn’t enough room for them all on the blanket so Valandur and Nambarauto sat on a nearby flat rock, accepting goblets of wine from Eldacáno and trenchers from Almiel. Valandur happily began eating the fruit-and-custard pie, roasted chicken and hard-boiled eggs which appeared to be the main dishes of the picnic, along with a crusty bread and several kinds of hard and soft cheese. Dessert was gingerbread, almond biscuits and several kinds of fruit, including grapes and apples.

There was little talking while everyone ate and what conversation there was centered on the doings of the family and their neighbors: the progress Laiqualassë was making in his studies in gem-making, Mari’s upcoming gymnastics competition, Almiel and Eldacáno deciding if they wished to bring forth another child, rumors that a neighbor who seemed to spend much of his spare time in the company of a particular elleth might finally ask for her hand in marriage.

“Just as soon as he finds the courage to speak to Suriel’s atar,” Eldacáno said with a wicked smile and the others laughed, apparently well acquainted with the ellon.

Valandur listened avidly, enjoying the company, reminded of his own family and how they gathered around the dining table and had similar conversations. Suddenly, he felt homesick and wished he could just get up and leave and return to Vanyamar. He shook his head, as if to clear it of such thoughts, silently castigating himself for being such a fool. He wasn’t an elfling, after all, and it wasn’t as if he was never going to see his family again. The negotiations would not last for very much longer and then he could return to Vanyamar and pick up his life again. That thought comforted him and when Eldacáno asked him how the Vanyar normally celebrated Valanya, he answered readily enough.

“We do much as you do, gathering before the palace and singing praises, and then afterwards, we have picnics and games. Many of us wander along the slopes of Taniquetil and not a few of the nobles have private estates to which they retire away from the city. My family often goes to visit friends who own a farm and spend the day with them.”

As Almiel started to make a comment, Nambarauto looked around in confusion. “Where is that singing coming from?”

Now everyone went still, and then Miri pointed out to sea. “Look! A swan ship!” she cried and immediately, she and her sister leaped up and began running toward the water. Everyone else quickly followed them and now Valandur could clearly hear someone singing, though the words were still indistinct. He gasped in amazement as he stood on the shore with the others and watched as a ship rounded the headland to the north, pale and shimmering under starlight. He could see oars dipping into the water as the ship glided as silently as the swan for which it had been named and an ellon was standing at the prow, plucking a harp. It was he who was singing, the song seeming to be a hymn of praise to Lord Ulmo.

Everyone stood silently, mesmerized by the sight as the ship made its slow way toward them and Valandur could now see that the ellon singing was richly dressed in an ankle-length white silk tunic slit on the sides to the waist and belted with pearls. The sleeves were long and flowing and the collar was high. His silver-white hair was crowned with a mithril coronet studded with pearls and emeralds.

As the ship came abreast of them, Helinillë gasped. “Look!” she whispered. “That’s the royal standard hanging from the main mast.”

Before any could comment, though, the ellon ceased his song and the rowers brought the ship to a halt. It was still some distance from the shore but they could see the sailors well enough. Someone dropped an anchor and the ellon who had been singing came to the side and hailed them, waving, and everyone waved back.

“What news of Tirion?” he shouted.

“”For that you must come ashore, my lord,” Minalcar returned, “for I refuse to shout myself hoarse trading tales.”

The ellon laughed merrily and to the utter astonishment of the onlookers he leaped over the rail without even bothering to remove any of his clothes and they watched him wading to the shore.

“But my lord, you have ruined your lovely tunic,” Helinillë exclaimed in dismay.

The ellon laughed as he reached them, apparently unconcerned with his dripping appearance. “I assure you, mistress, that neither I nor my tunic mind. But come, who are you? I see that you have one of the Minyai with you as well. What brings you to these shores?”

“May we have your name as well, my lord?” Minalcar asked politely.

“Ah, I am quite forgetting my manners, am I not?” the ellon said without rancor. “I am Lindarion, haryon to the Lindaran.” He gave them a short bow.

“Your Highness! Forgive us. We were unaware…” Minalcar started to apologize while everyone else stared at the prince in awe, but Lindarion merely waved a hand in dismissal.

“Tut, tut. No need to apologize. Now, I’ve told you my name, perhaps you could return the courtesy.”

After a moment of hesitation, Minalcar shyly introduced himself and his family, the ellith giving Lindarion curtsies while the ellyn gave him bows. When he would have introduced Valandur, the Vanya took the initiative.

“I am Valandur Voronwion,” he said with a bow. “Minalcar and I are old friends from Before.”

Lindarion raised an eyebrow, clearly understanding what Valandur meant, for whenever anyone spoke of ‘Before’ it always meant ‘Before we came to Valinor’.

“Old friends, indeed,” was Lindarion’s only comment. “I was not expecting to see anyone here,” he continued. “Do you come here often?”

“Almost every Valanya,” Minalcar replied. “We were just finishing our picnic and were about to return to the city.”

Lindarion nodded. “I have never been to Tirion, myself.”

“We have friends in Alqualondë whom we visit on occasion, though Valandur has yet to see your city,” Eldacáno said.

“Indeed? Then you must come and visit.”

“I would like that,” Valandur said. “Perhaps I can plan to come in a week or so when I…”

“But nay, you should come now,” Lindarion insisted. “It is, after all, the reason I am here.”

Valandur was not the only one to gawk at the prince. “Wh-what do you mean?” Valandur asked, feeling suddenly faint.

Lindarion smiled. “I was told to come and bring you back to Alqualondë with me.”

“T-told?” was all Valandur could say.

Now the Teler’s expression softened to one of sympathy. “Yes, my friend. Lord Ulmo specifically sent me here to fetch you.”

Valandur nearly reeled and Nambarauto, standing next to him, grabbed his elbow to steady him. “But… but… I can’t!” Valandur protested. “I must return to Tirion. If I am not back in time for the next trade session I will be in more trouble than I care to contemplate. I am already on shaky ground with Prince Ingoldo.”

“If Lord Ulmo has asked for you, Valandur, it isn’t wise to refuse him,” Minalcar said gravely.

“But I can’t,” Valandur said, distraught, starting to back away. “I can’t.”

Lindarion stepped forward and took Valandur in his embrace. “Shh… do not be afraid, my friend. I assure you all will be well. Come, let us hence. The sooner you speak with Lord Ulmo, the sooner you will be back in Tirion.”

“What of us?” Minalcar asked. “Should we wait for you?”

“No, do not wait, for I cannot guarantee when I will return your friend to you,” Lindarion replied, pulling a signet ring from his finger and giving it to Minalcar. “Give this to King Finwë and explain to him what has happened.”

“As if the Noldóran will deign to see me,” Minalcar sneered.

“Ask to speak with Aldamir or Prince Intarion,” Valandur said, pulling his own ring from a finger. “Show them this ring. They will recognize it.”

Minalcar nodded, accepting Valandur’s ring and stowing it along with Lindarion’s into a pouch. “Not the way I thought our time together would go,” he said with a lopsided grin. Valandur could only sigh and Minalcar embraced him. “It will be well.”

“Everyone keeps saying that, but I know in my heart that it will not be well with me when I return to Tirion.” He turned to Lindarion, becoming angry. “If Lord Ulmo is so bent on speaking to me, why could he not do so here instead of making me come with you? Has he no idea what trouble his summons will cause me, or doesn’t he care?”

“Careful, yonya,” Minalcar cautioned. “The Lord of Waters is not to be trifled with.”

“Lord Ulmo does nothing on a whim,” Lindarion said. “If he wishes you to come to Alqualondë to speak with him, he must have a reason. And, whatever you may think to the contrary, it will be well. Not even your Prince Ingoldo can blame you for being derelict in your duties when it is one of the Valar who has summoned you.”

“This makes no sense,” Valandur protested. “Why would Lord Ulmo wish to speak with me? I don’t even know him.”

“For the answer to that, you will have to come with me,” Lindarion said in a reasonable tone, taking Valandur by an elbow. “Come. We need to be away. Can you swim?” Valandur shook his head. “Then I will assist you. The water is not too deep here. Worry not for your clothes. We have dry clothes aboard and we will see that your own clothes are properly dried.” He turned to the others. “I am glad to have met you all. May the Valar bless your days.”

Everyone bowed or curtsied and Minalcar assured Valandur that he would let Aldamir know what had happened. “And when you get back, you must tell us all about it.”

Then, Lindarion was leading him into the water, calmly speaking to him, telling him not to fear as the water reached ever higher. Soon, he could no longer feel the bottom and Lindarion expertly rolled him on his back and told him to remain still. “Let me do the work. We are not far from the ship,” he instructed the Vanya and shortly thereafter Valandur found himself being lifted aboard the ship, two of the sailors hoisting him easily onto the deck while a third threw an absorbent towel around his shoulders. Lindarion then climbed aboard and with a soft word commanded the sailors to man the oars and set sail. As the crew complied and the ship began to slowly turn back to the north, Valandur stood at the rail and watched Minalcar and his family waving at them.

He didn’t have the strength to wave back. Lindarion standing beside him, clapped him on the shoulder.

“It will be well,” he whispered, but Valandur’s heart sank and a sense of dread rose within him even as the ship sailed around the headland and his friends were lost to his sight.

****

Endórë: Middle-earth.

Helinillë: (Qenya) Violet.

Almiel: Daughter of blessedness.

Laiqualassë: Green-leaf, the Quenya form of Legolas.

Mirillindë: Shining-jewel-song.

Marillindë: Crystal-song.

Aulenduri: Servants of Aulë; the singular Aulendur is attested and designates an individual or families who actually serve Aulë and receive instruction from him. Manwenduri ‘Servants of Manwë’ and Ulmonduri ‘Servants of Ulmo’ are based on this concept but applied to the Vanyar and the Teleri, respectively.

Menelmacar: ‘Swordsman of the Sky’, Orion.

Astinwessë: ‘With-stars’, the literal meaning of our word ‘constellation’. In Qenya, Tolkien gives us letinwessë [le ‘(together) with’ + tinwë ‘star’ + -sse ‘locative suffix’; Parma Eldalamberon 12]. I have updated the word to LOTR-style Quenya, where le has become as. Tinwë, according to Tolkien, was the word (like Sindarin gil) used to denote the stars in the heavens ‘in place of the older and more elevated el, elen- stem’ [Vinyar Tengwar 42].

Note: Nambarauto is not in error when speaking of Menelmacar rising in the west. In the Silmarillion, the Moon and Sun are first seen rising from the west, which is the direction all stars would rise if the planet were rotating in a clockwise direction, instead of in the counterclockwise direction it actually rotates. When later the Valar have the Sun and Moon rising in the east, it must be assumed that the planet’s rotation was changed to reflect this event; that is, if you accept a more scientific explanation, rather than a mythological explanation, for these celestial phenomena.

Minyai: Old plural for the First Clan, later known as the Vanyar. The singular would be Minya.

Haryon: Throne-prince, heir to the Crown.

Lindaran: King of the Lindar, the name by which the Teleri call themselves; Teleri is a Noldorin term. Cf. the attested titles Ingaran and Noldóran.

Yonya: My son, contracted from yondonya.

13: An Audience with Lord Ulmo

Once the cove was out of sight, Lindarion clapped Valandur on the shoulder and suggested they go dry off. “I have a change of clothes for you. I don’t think you want to go to your audience before Lord Ulmo dripping, though, seeing as how he is the Lord of Waters, I doubt he would actually mind.”

The prince’s attempt at levity failed to mollify Valandur, but he nodded dutifully and followed Lindarion to his cabin where absorbent towels were on hand and soon he was divested of his wet clothes and dressed in a silk tunic that was far richer than anything he had ever worn before. Lindarion handed him a comb for his hair so he could replait it.

Once they were dressed, Lindarion invited him to join him on deck, and they stood at the prow, out of the way of the crew. One of the crew came with goblets of mead and for a moment or two they sipped the honey-wine as they looked out upon the dark Sea. “We will be in Alqualondë in a few hours,” the prince told him.

“I still do not understand why Lord Ulmo wishes to speak with me or why he simply could not have done so at the cove instead of making me go all the way to Alqualondë when he must know that Prince Ingoldo will not appreciate my absence from the negotiations. There is no way that I can return in time for the next session and I am already in trouble with his Highness.”

Lindarion gave him a sympathetic look. “I am sorry. Believe me, I had other plans myself, but when Lord Ulmo appeared to me and told me what he wished, I could hardly refuse.”

Valandur gave him a puzzled look. “You had to have left hours ago to reach us when you did, yet I did not know we would be at that particular cove until we arrived there.”

Lindarion nodded. “I left Alqualondë before the time of Mingling. We Lindar do not keep time as you do, but we long calculated the ebb and flow of the Light and matched it with the rising and falling of certain stars. I was on my way to join my family in celebrating Valanya when Lord Ulmo summoned me.” He gave Valandur a wry look. “I was not even given a chance to change into something more appropriate.”

In spite of himself, Valandur smiled. “I thought you were a bit overdressed for fishing.”

Lindarion laughed. Valandur took another sip of the mead and sighed, his expression one of worry. Lindarion squeezed his shoulder. “I promise you, all will be well.”

“How can you promise me that?” Valandur asked.

“Because Lord Ulmo told me to tell you so.” Lindarion gave him a considering look. “You seem a bit uneasy at the thought of meeting Lord Ulmo, yet you are a Minya and it is said that the Minyai converse with the Vali all the time.”

Valandur snorted. “I have never conversed with any of the Valar, and I have only spoken to a Maia once or twice. It is not the thought of speaking with Lord Ulmo that troubles me so much as the manner in which he wishes to do so.”

“I cannot help you there, my friend,” Lindarion said sympathetically. “But come, tell me of yourself. Why are you in Tirion at all, for I have heard that all the Minyai left that city to commune with the Vali while walking through the forests which cover the lower slopes of Taniquetil, eating roots and berries and sleeping in trees.”

Valandur gave him a jaundiced look. “Wherever did you hear such nonsense? We live in a city which we named Vanyamar, and while it is true that the lower slopes of the Mount are covered with forests, I have never wandered through them eating roots and berries and sleeping in trees, nor do I know anyone who has. Think you we Vanyar are such primitives?”

Lindarion just shrugged. “I only tell you what I have heard. So what do you do in this city of yours? And if you do not commune with the Vali on a regular basis, why did you even bother leaving Tirion? I thought the whole idea of doing so was so you could be closer to the Powers.”

Valandur resisted a sigh, wondering how he could explain what had driven the Vanyar from Tirion, a process that had taken nearly two yéni, for they had not all left at the same time.

“My family did not leave Tirion with the first wave that followed Ingwë, for we had many friends among the Noldor. You met Minalcar. He traveled with us, for his own family had chosen not to continue on but to follow Lenwë when we came to the Great River. Minalcar desired to come to Valinor and so he remained with us.”

“That must have been hard for him,” Lindarion said.

“Hard for us all,” Valandur replied. “Leaving the only home we knew was not something any of us decided lightly. Well, anyway, I was most reluctant to leave Tirion, for I had, still have, otornor among the Noldor.”

“But none among your own clan,” Lindarion said shrewdly.

Valandur shrugged. “It just fell out that way. There was another Vanya in our group, Kampo we called him. Can’t remember his real name. He was always leaping around from one thing to another, seemingly never standing still.”

“You speak of him in the past,” Lindarion said softly.

Valandur nodded, staring out across the dark waters reflecting starlight. “We were in the mountains,” he finally said in a whisper. “There was a violent storm and then there was an avalanche and…”

Instinctively, Lindarion hugged him. “I’m so sorry,” he said softly.

Valandur just nodded, his gaze still on the ocean. After a moment or two, he sighed. “Well, anyway, my family was one of the last to leave Tirion, reluctantly, but we left, for we sensed an uneasiness, a restlessness of spirit, fall upon our Noldorin friends and we worried that it might spell danger to us, though if you asked any Vanya they would be unable to tell you why.”

“I have had little to do with either the Minyai or the Tatyai so I cannot say for myself if what you felt about them is true.”

“True or not, it is what we felt, and truthfully, I think it was wise of Ingwë to remove his people when he did. Each clan, I believe, has its own destiny and had we remained in Tirion, I don’t think things would have gone well between us. I know many among the Noldor were upset with our leaving, but we did not part in animosity. Part of the reason for the trade negotiations is to help bridge the gap between our respective clans, draw them closer.”

“And what is your role in this?” Lindarion asked.

Valandur gave him a snort. “I am beginning to wonder.” He quickly explained his background and his audience with Ingwë and what had happened so far with the delegation. “I do not know what Ingwë really expects from me,” he concluded. “Ingoldo barely tolerates my presence and I have been relegated to the position of being the secretary to the secretary.”

Lindarion looked pensive. “I cannot help you there, my friend. I fear any advice I give would be next to useless, for I have no knowledge of any of the people of whom you speak.” He gave the loremaster a sly grin. “But tell me more of the Princess Findis. Is she fair? I find it passing strange to think of one who has the blood and humors of two clans flowing through her veins. She must be always at odds with herself.”

Valandur gave him an amused look. “Princess Findis has the golden locks of her amillë’s people, but the fiery spirit of her atar’s. She is herself, whole and complete, and is no more at odds with herself than any of us are. She does have an interesting talent for adopting the intonations of the person with whom she is speaking, very unconsciously mind you, sounding like a Vanya one minute and a Noldo the next and she has some interesting idiomatic ways of saying things.”

Lindarion gave him a disbelieving look and then chuckled, clearly amused. “Ah, trust a loremaster who specializes in languages to speak of a fair elleth as if she were an interesting verb form.”

Valandur blushed, only then realizing what he had done. “She is quite fair,” he muttered almost apologetically.

Lindarion laughed, clapping Valandur on the shoulder in a friendly manner. “Of that, Etta, I have no doubt.”

Valandur gave the prince a surprised look, for Lindarion had used an old term that had been reserved for those who were considered part of one’s family even if not closely related. The Vanyar and Noldor had abandoned its usage for the more intimate tyenya. Lindarion merely smiled at his discomfiture. “When we reach Alqualondë, after your audience with Lord Ulmo, perhaps you would like to speak with our own loremasters,” he suggested and Valandur could only nod.

“Ah, I think we have arrived,” Lindarion said, pointing and Valandur gasped at his first sight of Alqualondë, Olwë’s city of swans.

At first, all he could see was a rock wall which Lindarion told him enclosed the city, forming a basin of quiet waters. As the ship sailed eastward around the ring of rocks he saw that the wall sank somewhat and there was a mighty arch of living stone. So great was this that Valandur suspected that, except for the mightiest ships, two might pass through, nor would the mast-tops come nigh to grazing the rock. Looking south before the ship passed through the arch he saw that little of the Light of the Trees came nigh by reason of the wall, and now as they came within the harbor he could see how it was lit with a ring of lamps of gold, and there were lanterns of many colors tokening the wharves and landings of the different houses. Lindarion pointed to one particular quay with lanterns of blue glass which betokened the royal landing and it was there that the ship was heading.

The harbor seemed strangely empty though, and Valandur wondered aloud where the ships were, for there were only a few in sight.

“Most of our fleet is out fishing,” Lindarion explained. He pointed to a particular constellation. “They will return with their catches when Wilwarin crosses over and begins to sink into the Sea.”

By now their ship had reached the landing and ropes were being thrown over to secure it. Lindarion led Valandur down the gangplank. “Your clothes will be washed and dried and returned to you before you leave,” he told the loremaster. “Now, I was told to bring you directly to my atar first. He will take you to speak with Lord Ulmo.”

“And what about you?” Valandur asked.

Lindarion shrugged. “I believe my part in all this is over,” he replied. “At any rate, Atar is the one who should properly introduce you to the Lord of Waters, for he communes with him on a regular basis. I have only done so occasionally and always in Atar’s presence.”

Valandur said nothing to this, concentrating on trying not to gawk at the city as they walked along the walkways and over bridges that crisscrossed the canals linking the city to the harbor. He admired the simple architecture that nevertheless was exquisite in detail with various marine motifs carved over doorways, which Lindarion explained were used to describe a particular person’s address.

“So, someone might say that they live on Celma Lirillo in the house of the three clam shells as opposed to the house with the dolphin.”

“The canals are named?” Valandur asked.

Lindarion nodded. “They are as streets to us.”

Soon, they were coming onto a wide plaza, the Arna Paca that fronted the palace of the Lindaran to find Olwë waiting for them. He smiled at his firstborn and heir, embracing him warmly, then he turned to Valandur and gazed upon him with interest as the Vanya gave him his obeisance.

“Welcome to Alqualondë, Loremaster,” Olwë said in greeting, his voice rich and deep, deeper than Valandur was expecting. “You are the first of the Minyai to ever grace us with your presence. Not even Ingwë has bothered to visit. Not that I blame him,” he continued, surprising Valandur with a wink, “especially if it meant getting his feet wet. He always hated getting his feet wet, as I recall, complaining every time we came to a stream that needed to be crossed.”

Valandur had no idea how to respond to that, and the image of the Ingaran which Olwë’s words evoked was such that he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing out loud. Olwë seemed to know what he was thinking for he smiled broadly, his eyes full of mischief.

“But come, enough of ancient history,” he said, gesturing for the two ellyn to follow him. “You are here to meet with Lord Ulmo.” He led them into the palace, walking swiftly so that Valandur had little time for looking about and was left with only a fleeting impression of translucent walls, marble tiles and fluted columns. They crossed a short covered bridge that linked the public part of the palace with the private apartments of the royal family situated on its own island. Valandur could see that the only way to reach the island was across the bridge, making it quite defensible, though he could not imagine why it would need to be defended or against whom. He put such troubling thoughts aside, deciding he was reading too much into things. It had probably been nothing more than an architectural decision not to provide any other link to the island save by way of this single bridge, thus providing the royal family a modicum of privacy.

“Lord Ulmo is expecting you,” Olwë said and Valandur started, suddenly aware that they had stopped before a closed door. “Lindarion will wait for you. When your audience is completed, he will bring you to meet the rest of the family and you will join us for a meal before we send you on your way. I fear we will not be able to return you to Tirion before Eärenya or possibly Aldúya.”

“I suggested that Lord Valandur might wish to speak with some of our own loremasters before he left,” Lindarion told Olwë who nodded and said that such a meeting could be arranged.

“I am no lord,” Valandur protested. “Please do not accord me titles to which I have no right. Loremaster is the only title I need or want.”

Olwë merely nodded and walked away, leaving Valandur with Lindarion. Valandur stared at the door, not willing to move. Lindarion gave him an amused look. “Lord Ulmo doesn’t bite,” he said and opened the door. Realizing he had no choice in the matter, the Vanya squared his shoulders and entered the chamber, trying not to wince when he heard the door close behind him.

He found himself in a small receiving room, tastefully, though sparsely, furnished with a couple of low-back chairs facing an open arch that looked out onto one of the wider canals. Someone was standing looking out but turned at his entrance and Valandur beheld, for the first time in his life, the Lord of Waters. He was somewhat taller than the Vanya, his long hair and beard the blue-green of seaweed, trailing nearly to the floor. His eyes were a deep purple. He wore a sleeveless robe that fell to mid-calf. It glittered with cold iridescence in the fitful light of the candles which illuminated the room, reminding Valandur of fish scales. The robe was belted with coral in shades of pale pink and deep red. His head was crowned with a wreath of pale yellow water-lilies. His feet were bare as were his legs.

Valandur gave the Vala his obeisance and Ulmo smiled, gesturing for him to come closer. “I am glad you accepted my invitation,” the Vala said, his voice deep and rumbling.

Valandur gave him a puzzled look. “Invitation? It sounded more like a summons… my lord.”

“From your perspective, perhaps,” Ulmo said with a nod. “You could have refused.”

“Refuse a summons from one of the Valar?” Valandur exclaimed. “I am many things, my lord, but I would hope stupid was not one of them.”

Ulmo chuckled and gestured for the Elf to join him in sitting. On the low table between the chairs were two cut-crystal goblets, into which Ulmo poured wine from a matching carafe, handing one of the goblets to Valandur.

“Was your trip pleasant?” Ulmo asked politely.

Valandur was unsure how to respond to the question so he asked one of his own. “Lord, why am I here? Why did you summon me? Could you not have met me at the cove? I do not understand why I had to come here to meet with you. Prince Ingoldo….”

“Ingoldo is not important,” Ulmo interrupted dismissively. “I will see to it that you are not unduly chastised for coming here. It was, after all, my idea. As for why here and not elsewhere… hmm… well, for now, let us say that you will only benefit from visiting with the Lindar. In the meantime, let us discuss certain matters between us.”

Valandur resisted a sigh and stared out the embrasure where he saw a small boat gliding along the canal with an ellon standing at the back poling while two people sat in the middle, an ellon and elleth holding hands, the ellon singing what appeared to be a song of love, though Valandur was unfamiliar with the tune or the words. He did not see Ulmo smiling at him.

“Quisero,” the Lord of Waters said, startling Valandur, who blushed. “An interesting name. I take it you were named thus because of your shyness?”

Valandur nodded. “As an elfling I tended to speak rather softly. Atar claimed that not even Eru could hear me, let alone anyone in the family.”

Ulmo laughed, the sound of it deep and rumbling yet full of bells echoing through eternity. “And then you came here and changed your name,” he said once he calmed down. “Why did you choose to name yourself as you did?”

Valandur shrugged, not entirely sure where the Vala was going with his question. “It just seemed right. I am not even sure what prompted me to choose to name myself thus. My friend, Simpandil, was the first among us to declare that he no longer wished to be known by his original name, which was Gwilindo.” He gave Ulmo a grin. “His ammë named him thus, for even at a very young age he was imitating the songs of the many birds that lived at Cuiviénen.”

Ulmo nodded. “And then there is your name.”

“Yes, well, I think I was the last among my friends to choose a new name. I can’t really say why I chose the name that I did. I remember trying different combinations of words, but none of them sounded right, at least not to me. When I stumbled upon ‘Valandur’ it just seemed right. I liked the sound of it.”

Ulmo nodded. “It suits you well, I deem. And its meaning is not lost on you, I would hope.”

Valandur gave him a puzzled look. “I am not sure what you mean, lord.”

“I mean only that anytime you hear your name being spoken you are reminded that ultimately you are our servant. Oh, not in any negative way, I assure you, but your greatest joy is in serving us, though you may not realize it.”

“But I don’t serve you, or at least… I hope someday to be granted the title of Manwendur, but still…”

“Whether you are ever accorded such an honor, I cannot say, for I do not know my brother Manwë’s will in this, but you serve us, all of us, in simply doing what you are doing, being a loremaster, but more than that, being a lambengolmo who sees the deeper implications of the drifting apart of the three clans, a drifting apart about which we Valar are concerned.”

“There is certainly a linguistic shift occurring between our three clans. The Noldor seem bent on devising new linguistic forms every time we turn around. It caught me by surprise to hear Prince Lindarion and King Olwë use older forms of speech that are no longer prevalent in the speech patterns of the Noldor or even the Vanyar, though we Vanyar have not adopted all such forms as the Noldor have devised.”

“And that linguistic shift is a sign that there are other cultural shifts that are occurring between the clans,” Ulmo stated. “These shifts are a concern to us.”

“Yet why?” Valandur asked. “Oh, I will admit that it’s sometimes frustrating to be listening to the Noldor lisping away, garbling their speech, and certainly I have noticed some customs of behavior that the Noldor have adopted that, frankly, appall me…”

“Such as?”

Valandur shrugged. “I notice a lessening of respect toward the Valar, at least, in day-to-day instances. The Noldor seem reluctant to begin any endeavor with a prayer or a hymn to the Valar asking for success in whatever undertaking is about to be done. I know it disturbs even Prince Ingoldo that Princess Findis does not begin every session with an invocation. I do not know if this is something endemic with all Noldor or simply an oversight on the part of the princess. No Vanya would begin even the smallest undertaking without asking the Valar to look favorably upon their efforts.”

“As if we had any real control over such trifling matters,” Ulmo said with a chuckle, “but, be that as it may, your point is well taken. These cultural differences are not in themselves a bad thing, but they can lead to misunderstandings. The Vanyar, for instance, may look upon the Noldor as being disrespectful toward us when the Noldor do not see it that way. They may excuse their lack of respect, if that is what it is, by pointing out, and quite truthfully, that the Valar have more important things to be doing than blessing every little thing that the Eldar do. It matters not who is correct in their thinking, only that such thinking can be a cause of contention among you and that possibility troubles us. Hence the reason for you being here.”

“I am not sure I follow,” Valandur admitted.

“Ingwë was wise to send you to observe the way the two clans interact while negotiating a trade agreement, but you are seeing only part of the picture. I wish that Olwë had agreed to send his own delegation. That way you would have had an opportunity to observe all three clans interacting. As it is, I decided that if the Lindar would not go to you, you should come to them. I think you need to see how they live to be able to make a correct and full comparison.”

He paused for a moment, taking the time to refill Valandur’s goblet before continuing. “The Lindar deem themselves uninterested in the doings of the other two clans and prefer not to bother with them, but such isolationistic thinking can be dangerous in the long run. Ingwë needs to be more assertive in his role as Ingaran and not just as Vanyaran. He needs to encourage more interaction between all three clans, not just between the Vanyar and the Noldor. That is where you come in. Hopefully, by giving him a more complete picture of how you are all drifting away from one another linguistically and culturally, he can do something about it, make sure that misunderstandings are minimized by proper knowledge of why the differences are there.”

Valandur nodded in understanding. “I know that Ingwë will be concerned about the Noldor dropping certain customs which we Vanyar consider important.”

“If you mean that you are concerned by the seeming lack of respect the Noldor have toward us, we Valar do not deem them as being any less pious than the Vanyar or the Lindar,” Ulmo retorted mildly. “In fact, I can truthfully say, that we find their attitude refreshing. It gets rather tiresome having to sort out all the petitions and invocations and what-not and try to figure out just what the Eldar want from us. We are not, after all, Ilúvatar; we are but his servants in Eä, and we have far more important things to be doing than listening to every prayer sent our way.”

Valandur gave the Vala an uneasy look, remembering the many times he had invoked the name of one Vala or another to help him as he struggled with his studies. Ulmo seemed to know what he was thinking for he smiled benignly. “Do not be overly concerned, child. I find it rather amusing myself, though some of my brethren do not, yet we love you all in spite of how much you exasperate us, no less, I believe, than your own parents love you in spite of how much you exasperate them at times.” He gave Valandur a wink and the Vanya snorted softly, seeing things in a different light.

“At any rate,” Ulmo continued more briskly, “I brought you here so you may spend a little time observing the Lindar. They are looked upon by you Vanyar and even by many of the Noldor as somewhat uncouth, perhaps even primitive in comparison to the other two clans.”

“Prince Lindarion thinks all Vanyar wander through the forests covering the lower slopes of Taniquetil, eating roots and berries and drinking from streams and sleeping in trees,” Valandur said with a wry grin. “Wherever did they get such ideas?”

“For that, you’ll have to ask the Lindar,” Ulmo replied. “Obviously, being isolated as they are except for minimal trade with the Noldor, they rely solely on rumors of the doings of others.”

“Hmm… those rumors could only have come from the Noldor with whom they interact, for none of the Vanyar trade with the Teleri, at least, I am not aware of any. My impression is that all trade with Alqualondë goes through Tirion with the Noldor acting as middlemen. At any rate, I am thinking that such rumors were started out of anger at our leaving Tirion in the first place. Odd. I never felt that from my own friends, whom I consider my otornor.”

“Then you have your work cut out for you,” Ulmo said. “The time for dispelling such rumors is long overdue. I am sure the Vanyar have their own views about the Lindar that do not coincide with reality. There is a danger in that, and I think I do not need to spell out why.”

“No, I quite see what you mean, lord,” Valandur responded. “Perhaps while I am here I can begin rectifying the presumptions of the Teleri…”

“And you can begin by referring to them with their proper name,” Ulmo interrupted. When Valandur gave him a puzzled look the Vala sighed, shaking his head. “And you call yourself a lambengolmo,” he muttered. “The term Teleri was foisted upon the Third Clan by the Noldor because of their tendency to lag behind on the March and then refusing to leave Tol Eressëa to come all the way into Eldamar. Finwë, I believe, coined the term and it stuck, but the Third Clan refer to themselves as the Lindar. I would caution you not to use the word Teleri when addressing them; they find it insulting, however true it might be.”

Valandur nodded. “Thank you. I had noticed Prince Lindarion referring to the Third Clan as the Lindar but did not have time to ask him about it.”

“And now you know,” Ulmo said, rising. Valandur followed suit. The Vala gave him a warm smile. “Learn all that you can of the Lindar while you are here and speak to Ingwë of it. Tell him from me that we hope he will assert himself more as Ingaran and truly become the High King of the Eldar that he must be if your people are to flourish. There must be greater communication between your respective clans or I think the misunderstandings will only grow worse over time. Now, I will leave you. Do not worry about Ingoldo. I will deal with him.”

With that, Ulmo bent down and embraced Valandur, giving him a kiss in benediction, and then stepped over to the embrasure and calmly walked into the canal, sinking into its dark waters, leaving Valandur staring after him in stunned surprise. It took him a moment to recollect himself and then he was opening the door to find Lindarion still there, giving him a smile. The prince, he noticed, had changed his tunic and was dressed even more elaborately than he’d been when they first met.

“Your audience went well?” he enquired politely. Valandur could only nod. Lindarion did not seem too concerned by his silence. “Good. If you will follow me, I’ll show you to your room so you may freshen up before joining us for a meal.”

Valandur thanked him and followed the prince down the hall. He was grateful for the fact that Lindarion did not press him to tell of his audience with Lord Ulmo, for he needed time to process all that he had learned from the Vala. And, in spite of Lord Ulmo’s assurances, he still wondered just how much trouble he was in with Prince Ingoldo.

****

Vali: Attested alternate plural of Vala.

Kampo: (Qenya) Leaper.

Tatyai: Old plural form for the Second Clan, later known as the Noldor.

Etta: (Qenya) Cousin, in the general sense. Tolkien gives us gender-specific terms: ettanu/ettaréro ‘male cousin’ and ettani/etarressë ‘female cousin’.

Tyenya: Literally, ‘my thou’ = dear kinsman (as a form of address); tye is the second person intimate/personal form reserved for relatives and close friends.

Wilwarin: Butterfly, the constellation we call Cassiopeia.

Celma Lirillo: Lirillo Canal. Celma actually means ‘channel’, from which ‘canal’ is derived. Lirillo is the attested name of a Maia of Ulmo.

Arna Paca: Royal Court.

Gwilindo: (Qenya) Bird, with masculine ending.

Vanyaran: King of the Vanyar.

Teleri: The Hindmost.

Lindar: The Singers.

Notes:

1. According to Tolkien’s Timeline of the Silmarillion, the building of Tirion was completed in the Year of the Trees 1140 and shortly thereafter the Vanyar began to leave, but the process of leaving occurred over a period of twenty-five Valian years or 239.5 solar years (1.66 yéni).

2. The description of Alqualondë is based on that found in The Book of Lost Tales I, ‘The Flight of the Noldoli’.

3. Valandur’s description of how he chose his name is based on the idea that a person would name him- or herself according to personal lámatyávë ‘sound-taste’, i.e. the individual pleasure in the sounds and forms of words.

14: Alqualondë

After he had freshened up and been provided with yet another watersilk tunic to wear that was even more elaborate than the first, Valandur followed Lindarion down the hall and around the corner until they came to a dining hall, which Lindarion assured him was reserved for the royal family.

“There is a feast hall, but we rarely use it just for ourselves,” he said as he ushered Valandur in. “And we don’t stand on too much ceremony, so you needn’t act too formal.”

“Ah… just in time, I see.”

Valandur gave Olwë his obeisance as the King walked over and raised him to his feet. “Now, none of that,” he admonished the Vanya. “It’s bad enough I get that sort of nonsense from everyone else around here, I don’t need it from an honored guest. Now, come meet the family.” With that, he led a bemused Valandur over to where an elleth stood smiling at them. Her hair in the candlelight was nearly white and elaborately braided with strands of pearls and a pearl necklace graced her throat. She wore a gown of sea-green silk that matched Olwë’s own tunic. Flanking her were an ellon and elleth, who were obviously Lindarion’s younger siblings. The ellon looked to be about a yén or two but the elleth was still a few years shy of her majority.

“My love,” Olwë said, “this is Loremaster Valandur of Vanyamar. Loremaster, my beloved, Lirillë.”

Valandur gave her a courtly bow. “Your Majesty.”

“Welcome to Alqualondë, Loremaster,” Lirillë said with a smile. “I trust your audience with Lord Ulmo went well.”

“I suppose,” Valandur answered with a shrug. “I’m still unclear as to why I am here, but Lord Ulmo has given me much to think upon.”

“Loremaster Valandur wishes to converse with our own sages while he is with us,” Olwë explained. “I will arrange a meeting with them for tomorrow and we will have him on his way back to Tirion the next day.”

Valandur tried not to sigh at that. The longer his absence the worse it would be for him, whatever Lord Ulmo said to the contrary. Ingoldo was not going to be pleased with him and neither was anyone else. He wouldn’t be surprised if the prince simply sent him packing. Olwë seemed to sense something of his dismay for he gave him a sympathetic look.

“I am sure that it will all work out to your benefit, child,” he said. “In the meantime, let me introduce you to my other children. This is Falmaron and Olwen.”

Valandur gave them a bow. Falmaron returned it with one of his own and Olwen curtsied. Then Lirillë was directing them to sit, insisting that Valandur take the seat next to her while Lindarion sat beside him. Olwë sat at the other end of the table with Falmaron and Olwen sitting across from Valandur and Lindarion.

“We usually have one or two of our courtiers join us for a meal,” Lirillë said to Valandur even as servants appeared bringing the first course, a fish stew with oysters in their shells floating on top, “but I thought you would appreciate not being too overwhelmed with strangers.”

“Thank you,” Valandur responded as he watched how the others opened the shells and dug out the meat inside. He tried to open one of the shells floating in his own stew but wasn’t having much success. Olwen giggled at his attempt, much to his embarrassment. Both Lirillë and Olwë shot their daughter a disapproving look. Lindarion calmly showed Valandur how to open the shell, never saying a word, which Valandur appreciated. Once he saw how it was done, he had no trouble with the other shells. There was no conversation among them as they concentrated on eating their soup. Valandur found it rather odd but forbore to break the silence. Thus, he was surprised when, upon opening the last of the oyster shells in his bowl and discovering a pearl everyone began exclaiming in delight.

“It’s considered good luck to find a pearl in your soup,” Lindarion explained, taking the pearl out of Valandur’s hand and examining it with a critical eye before handing it to Olwë. “It’s quite lovely and rather unusual.”

“How so?” Valandur asked.

“It’s somewhat larger than usual,” Olwë answered even as he was handing it to Olwen who then passed it to her brother. It finally reached Lirillë, who quickly undid her pearl necklace, holding it up in one hand while she held Valandur’s pearl in the other so he could see that indeed his pearl was a shade larger than those in the necklace. And, whereas they were pure white, his was darker in color, a lustrous bluish-black.

“A black pearl, no less,” Lirillë said. “That’s even better.” She gestured to one of the servants, who accepted the pearl. “We’ll have it cleaned for you,” Lirillë told him, “and you can take it with you when you leave.”

After that, the conversation flowed with the wine as the meal continued and Valandur decided that the silence during the first course was a custom, but whether of the royal family or of the Tel… Lindar, he corrected silently to himself, in general he did not know and did not ask, not wishing to cause offense. The conversation centered primarily on Valandur’s life in Vanyamar and his duties at the Academy where he taught. Olwë was particularly interested in anything Valandur had to say about Ingwë, which was little enough.

“Until I was asked to join the trade delegation, I had never even met the Ingaran or anyone who belonged to his Court,” Valandur admitted. “It surprised me that he even knew who I was or what my field of specialty was.”

“Ingwë has always been a shrewd one,” Olwë replied, “and little gets past him.”

“Lord Ulmo thinks he is not doing enough as High King,” Valandur revealed. “He wishes me to tell him so. I can just imagine how well the Ingaran will take me reprimanding him in Lord Ulmo’s name.”

Several eyebrows went up and Olwë gave him a knowing look. “I am sure you will find a way to tell him tactfully what he needs to hear. You are, after all, a lambengolmo.”

“A very new lambengolmo,” Valandur pointed out, “and totally out of my depth. Ingwë would have been better served if he’d sent one of the older masters, someone who is used to dealing with the nobility.”

“But he chose you,” Lirillë said with a sympathetic smile, “and I know Ingwë well enough to know that he does nothing without due deliberation. If he thought you would serve him better than others who might or might not be more qualified than you, then you should accept that he knows what he’s about.”  

Valandur nodded reluctantly. Then Falmaron asked him what it had been like to cross the wilds of Endórë. “Atto and Ammë don’t like to speak of it that much,” the young ellon stated.

“It is rather difficult to put into words what we experienced,” Valandur said. “When I think back to that time, my overwhelming emotion is wonder bordering on terror.”

All three of the royal children gave him disbelieving looks but both Olwë and Lirillë nodded knowingly.

“Terror?” Lindarion finally asked, looking at his atar.

“You cannot appreciate how very… new everything was for us as we journeyed. Mountains and rivers and even the forests and plains, all were beyond our comprehension at times.” He paused for a moment and chuckled. “I remember several people nearly coming to blows as they argued over how to describe things when we were forced to invent new words for what we were seeing or experiencing.”

“What is your best memory of that journey, Loremaster?” Olwen asked.

“Coming over the Pelóri and beholding the plains of Valinor and the Light of the Trees,” Valandur replied without hesitation. “Reaching Valinor and realizing that I was finally home.”

The three younger members of the family had thoughtful looks on their faces while Olwë and Lirillë merely smiled. After a few moments of silence, Lirillë asked Valandur to describe the city of Tirion, which none of them had ever seen, not even Olwë, and how it differed from Vanyamar and Alqualondë. Thus, for the remainder of the meal, they happily compared notes on the differences and similarities of the three elven cities with Valandur also describing the city of the Valar.

****

Later, Lindarion and Falmaron took Valandur on a short tour of the city, followed by two discrete guards. “We’ll take one of the celmaveni,” Lindarion said. “It’s the best way to see the city.”

Valandur figured the princes would simply order one to be readied for them, so he was mildly surprised when they led him along a street to where two striped poles stood before a landing where some people stood waiting to board one of the small boats that plied the canals. One such came abreast of them and the group before them laughingly boarded, telling the pilot their destination. No one seemed to pay much attention to the ellyn.

“Another boat should be along soon,” Lindarion told Valandur.

“You do not have your own?” Valandur could not help asking.

Lindarion gave him a smile while Falmaron snickered. “The luntequeni are all employees of the Crown. We own the celmaveni.”

“Ah…” was all Valandur could think to say, now feeling embarrassed at his ignorance.

“Here we go,” Lindarion said, raising his hand in a hail to the elleth who brought her boat to the landing. “We are showing our friend the city,” he explained to her even as Falmaron was helping Valandur into the boat, then nimbly climbing in while the two guards joined them. Lindarion was the last in. “So take us on a grand tour, but avoid the harbor. We’ll do that separately.”

“As you wish, my lord,” the elleth said and competently pushed off and began poling.

Valandur clung nervously to the seat, thankful that they had placed him in the middle with the two princes flanking him. One of the guards sat forward of them while the other sat behind them. The boat rocked slightly and Valandur gave an involuntary gasp. Lindarion smiled at him warmly, patting him on the shoulder

“You’re quite safe, Etta,” he said. “Now, look.” He pointed to his right and Valandur saw a wide plaza strung with lanterns and covered with small stalls. “That’s the main market square,” Lindarion continued.

“Do you buy your foodstuff from the Noldor?” Valandur asked. “I wouldn’t think you could farm anywhere around here.”

“Some of our foodstuff is bought from the Noldor,” Lindarion averred, “but we have our own farms in the Southern Fiefdoms which supply us with all that we need.”

Valandur gave him a surprised look. “I cannot imagine any of your people willingly forsaking these shores. You were all so reluctant even to leave Tol Eressëa, never mind joining the rest of us in Eldamar.”

Both princes looked at Valandur in disbelief. “Do you think we are all the same?” Lindarion finally asked. “Even among us there are those who ply trades other than fishing or shipbuilding and those who work on the royal farms do so willingly. There are even some of us who live and work in Eldamas, serving the Vali, or more correctly, serving Lord Ulmo.”

“Sorry. I guess I am as guilty of misperception as any,” Valandur apologized, then gave Lindarion a jaundiced look. “I still cannot believe you thought I spent my time wandering in a forest living on roots and berries and sleeping in trees.”

“You actually said that?” Falmaron asked his brother in surprise.

Lindarion laughed. “You should have seen your face when I did. It was too funny.”

Falmaron snickered and when Lindarion gave him an innocent look he realized he’d been the victim of a jest. “So why did you say such a thing?” he finally asked, feeling confused.

“The Noldor are our friends but even they see us as somewhat uncouth and unsophisticated in comparison to them. None of you Vanyar have ever deigned to visit us…”

“No more than you have deigned to visit us,” Valandur shot back.

Lindarion nodded. “At any rate, I wished to see how you reacted to such an outrageous idea that any self-respecting Elda would do such a thing.”

Now Valandur laughed. “But we did and for far longer than you can imagine. There were no cities in Endórë. We constructed rude huts made of animal skins that could be easily set up and taken down as we journeyed. We had no concept of cities then, it was something that the Valar taught us. We didn’t even have a word for it. In fact, we merely extended the meaning of os, which was our original word for coa, and modified it to osto.”

“So even Atto and Ammë…?” Falmaron shook his head as if to clear it of certain images.

Valandur gave him a sympathetic smile. “We all did and there is no shame in it. Our civilization is courtesy of the Valar, for they taught us much of what we now take for granted. Now, I thought you were giving me a tour, not me giving you a history lesson.”

Both princes chuckled. “You are correct, Etta,” Lindarion said. “So, if you look to your left, you will see one of our Halls of Singing. There is one in each district where the people who live and work there go for entertainment. This one is not the largest but it is the oldest. In fact, it’s even older than the palace, being one of the first buildings constructed. And straight ahead….”

****

They returned to the landing where they had originally boarded the boat and as Falmaron and the guards were helping Valandur out, Lindarion was thanking the elleth, pressing upon her a small coin, which she took with many thanks.

“The luntequeni are paid through the treasury, but it is customary to give them a small gratuity as a thank-you,” Lindarion explained to Valandur as they made their way back to the palace. “Poling these boats is hard work, as you can imagine. Now, I imagine you would like to rest for a time. It’s been quite a busy day for you.”

Valandur started to protest, but then realized that he was feeling fatigued and nodded. “I have lost all count of time,” he admitted. “I do not even know if this is still Valanya.”

“It is not,” Lindarion stated categorically. He pointed upward. “Atar had our loremasters watch the movement of the stars and coordinated them with the waning and waxing of the Light. See you. There is the star Alcarinquë, just cresting the Pelóri, and with its rising it is no longer Valanya but Elenya. Atar will summon his loremasters for you to meet later, once you have rested and eaten.”

Thus, they returned to the palace and the two princes escorted Valandur to the same room where he had changed his clothes earlier, leaving him to his own devices, assuring him that if he needed anything in the meantime, someone would be available to see to his needs. At first, Valandur was feeling too restless to lie down, finding himself pacing in the small sitting room attached to the sleeping quarters.

He thought of what Lord Ulmo had told him and what the Vala hoped Valandur would do, still unconvinced that any would listen to him, even Ingwë. He gazed out the embrasure to the canal and the part of the city that could be seen. He was looking toward the harbor, which Lindarion promised they would look at more closely later on before he left for Tirion. From his room he could see the tall masts of some of the ships and further out the arch of living rock that marked the harbor entrance.

Craning his neck, he looked upward at the stars, noting how Menelmacar ruled the southern sky while northward was the Valacirca. He remembered watching the stars over Cuiviénen and during the Great Journey and how he had thought of them as intimate friends watching over him and he marveled once again at their beauty, a beauty he had forgotten while living in the Light of the Trees. Closing his eyes, he stilled his own thoughts and listened attentively, trying to block out the sounds of the city about him. Faintly, almost imperceptibly, he could hear it: the high, cold song of the stars themselves.

It was a moment or two before he realized that his cheeks were wet with tears and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. He yawned just then and decided he should try to get some rest. It had been a long and eventful day. Five minutes later he was undressed and climbing into bed, slipping onto the Path of Dreams where starsong dominated.

****

Valandur woke some hours later to find a hot bath waiting for him and yet another watersilk tunic to wear. Olwen came to escort him to the dining hall where he was greeted warmly by the family.

“Once you have broken your fast, I will introduce you to our loremasters,” Olwë told him. “I have scheduled the meeting for when Laurelin is at full bloom, so there is no rush. Take your time.”

“I wish to show Valandur the harbor afterwards,” Lindarion said then. “We did not get to it yesterday during our tour.”

Olwë nodded. “I see no problem with that. In fact, it saves me a trip, as I wished to check with the harbormaster about the sea storm that is reported heading our way. As long as you are going to be there, you can stop and speak to him for me. I need to ascertain how many ships are still out and when they are due back. The storm is due to strike later today, or so the shipmasters believe.”

“How long will the storm last?” Valandur asked worriedly, wondering if he would even be able to leave the city as planned.

“That is hard to say,” Olwë stated, casting a sympathetic look his way. “I promise, hinya, that I will get you back to Tirion as soon as I can. I already sent a messenger to Finwë explaining your absence, so I would not worry too much about it.”

Valandur resisted a sigh, concentrating on eating. Afterwards, he went with Olwë and Lindarion to meet with the loremasters, who were waiting for them in the library. There were three of them, an elleth and two ellyn. Olwë made the introductions, naming them and their specialties. “They are also lambengolmor and have a particular interest in how our language has changed over time. I confess I have no idea what they are talking about half the time, but perhaps you will have better luck.”

He winked at the three loremasters, all of whom smiled. Valandur sensed that these three were on intimate terms with the King, for their demeanor was open and relaxed in his presence. “If you had paid more attention to your studies, your Majesty, you would know what we are talking about,” one of the ellyn said with a sly look.

“Hah!” Olwë retorted. “I had a difficult enough time figuring out how to read and write without compounding the problem with trying to figure out what you lot were going on about. Now, as much as I would like to stay and chat, I have court to deal with. Lindarion will remain.” He gave them a brief bow and left.

Valandur stared after him, wondering at the revelation of the Lindaran struggling to learn to read and write even as he had. When he heard someone clear his throat, he turned his attention back to the three loremasters. “Did he truly have difficulty in learning to read and write?” he asked without even thinking.

Several eyebrows went up and, realizing what he had said, he started to apologize. “It’s just that I had a difficult time as well and my friends never let me forget it.”

“His Majesty was more interested in other matters, claiming that he had scribes trained in the art of reading and writing and did not need to know how to do so himself,” the elleth said in a diplomatic tone. “We were able to convince him that it was to his best interest to learn, so he could not be taken advantage of.”

It took a moment for Valandur to understand what the elleth was saying, and nodded.

“At any rate, you are here to speak with us and so let us make ourselves comfortable,” she said and soon they were seated in comfortable chairs, sipping on some wine. The Lindar insisted that Valandur tell them about his own studies and for a time they traded stories about their love of lore and their particular interests. Lindarion made his own comments and the respect which the loremasters showed him told Valandur much about this unassuming ellon who was Olwë’s heir.

As they spoke, though, Valandur was often interrupted by one or another of the Lindar to explain a particular turn of phrase or a word with which they were unfamiliar. “I notice you no longer form your plurals as we do and you use words we’ve never heard,” one of them said, “though it is easy enough to determine what you mean from context.”

“Blame it on the Noldor,” Valandur said with a smile. “They are forever inventing new words and new ways of saying them. We Vanyar have perforce adopted most, if not all, such innovations.” He shrugged. “I have to stop and think just how we used to say things when we first came here, especially when confronted with older texts. But I think change is inevitable, even here in the Blessed Realm, though it probably occurs more slowly than in the Outer Lands. Certainly, our language has become more sophisticated over time from the simple words we used to describe things.”

“More simplified, you mean,” the elleth said with a grin.

“And that is not necessarily a bad thing,” Valandur retorted mildly. “I think that’s a natural tendency, especially where spoken language is concerned. We are less deliberate when speaking than when writing and in our haste we drop certain linguistic conventions that are still preserved in the written language. Indeed, I have made a study of the different patterns of speaking and the context in which certain language is used from the very formal language of, say, the royal court to the very informal language of the markets.”

The other loremasters nodded and they shared some of their own observations about the phenomenon and they spent a pleasant hour or so comparing notes before Lindarion declared that he needed to attend to some business for the King and the meeting broke up with promises on both sides to keep in touch with letters. “For we should continue sharing our knowledge and observations between us,” Valandur said and to that they all agreed.

After the loremasters left, Lindarion led the way to the harbor where they found much activity for most of the fishing fleet was back earlier than was their wont and a hasty conference with the harbormaster and a few of the captains told them that at least three ships were still out on the Sea, but only one was still in the vicinity of the storm; the other two were north.

“But they need to come in very soon or they may have difficulty reaching the city if the storm engulfs us as it is likely to,” said the most senior of the captains.

“Can we send word to them?” Lindarion asked.

The captain nodded. “Already it has been sent, Highness. I spoke with the Lady myself for we met her on the way in. It was she who warned me that there were still ships plying the waves.”

Lindarion nodded. “When next you speak with her, you must thank her on my atar’s behalf,” he said matter-of-factly and the captain nodded.

As they were speaking, Valandur realized that the Lady had to be Lady Uinen and suppressed a shudder. Only twice had he ever spoken with any of the Maiar and he knew no one personally who spoke to any of them on a regular basis. Apparently Lord Ulmo’s People were less reticent in their dealings with the Elves of Alqualondë.

“How strong is the storm and how long will it last?” Lindarion next asked. The captains all opined that the storm was fairly strong and could damage the coast to some extent if it made landfall but none could confidently predict how long it would last. “Then we will need to alert those living in the outlying districts so they may prepare for the worse even as we hope for the best,” Lindarion continued and Valandur watched as plans were made and orders given and he realized that this was not the first such storm these people had endured. There was no sense of panic, only a sense of purpose. The harbormaster, who apparently had the ultimate authority, ordered a particular bell be rung.

“It is the warning bell and the number of times it is rung alerts us to a particular danger,” Lindarion explained to Valandur as they were leaving the harbor. “Listen! He is ringing it twelve times. That means a sea storm. If it were a fire, it would be rung only six times.”

“How much danger are we in?” Valandur asked.

“The wall that surrounds us has protected us for the most part. The greatest danger lies at the arch where the harbor meets the Sea. The storm could cause waves to swamp us, though it has only happened once in all the time we have lived here. I would not concern myself too much, my friend. We are safe enough, I assure you. We built this city with these sea storms in mind.”

Valandur nodded in understanding, though he was still not sanguine about remaining in Alqualondë during the storm. “Is there no way for me to leave now before the storm hits?”

Lindarion cast him a sympathetic look. “No ships are allowed to leave the harbor once the warning bell has been rung and there is no way for you to travel on land except afoot and you would find no shelter along the way when the storm hits. I know you are frustrated and I regret that we cannot return you to Tirion as we promised, but I assure you that all will be well. Now, put such worries aside. With the ringing of the warning bell, there will be a meeting of the magistrates who are in charge of overseeing the various districts and I must attend. You are welcome to join me or you may amuse yourself as you please.”

“I will join you,” Valandur said. “I am interested in seeing how your people handle this situation and I fear left to my own devices I will only just wear a hole in the floor with my pacing.”

Lindarion chuckled. “Then I welcome your company. The meeting will take place at the Hall of Singing.”

“Not at the palace?”

Lindarion shook his head. “The Hall of Singing has always been the traditional place where such meetings take place simply because it was the first building completed even before the palace and we Lindar are nothing if not traditional.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Valandur shot back with a sly grin.

Lindarion laughed, clapping Valandur on the shoulder. Then he pointed to a set of striped poles. “Here, we’ll take a canal boat. It’ll be faster than walking.” And a few minutes later Valandur once again found himself sitting in a boat but this time there were other passengers besides him and Lindarion and the time was spent as they traveled down the canal with the prince trading news with the other passengers, all of them speaking calmly about the coming storm.

****

Celmaveni: Plural of celmavenë: Small canal boat [celma ‘channel’ + venë ‘small boat, vessel, dish’].

Luntequeni: Plural of luntequen: Boatman; cf. the attested ciryaquen ‘sailor, shipman’.

Os: (Qenya) Cottage, house. Coa (Quenya) has the same meaning.

Osto: City, walled town.

Alcarinquë: ‘The Glorious’, Jupiter.

Valacirca: ‘Sickle of the Valar’, Ursa Major.

15: The Sea Storm Cometh

Valandur stood back and watched as Lindarion competently spoke with the magistrates who came to the Hall of Singing. He realized that the coming storm, while not a common occurrence, was something with which these people were familiar and had devised ways of protecting themselves against it. A large map hung on a wall showing the different districts in a variety of colors and neatly labeled, with the palace district, in which this particular hall was located, painted blue. Once the magistrates were gathered, Lindarion outlined what needed to be done.

“The storm is predicted to come from the southeast, so we need to be extra vigilant,” the prince told his audience. “It could shift to the east and then we’ll have flooding along this area.” He pointed to a part of the map and many of his listeners nodded in agreement. “So, those of you who are from the harbor and any whose districts border the canals here and here need to warn your people of that. We’ll open the sluice gates to the north and hopefully that will help.”

There were one or two questions from people, mainly asking for clarification, which was given, and then they were dismissed. Lindarion gestured for Valandur and they exited the hall and headed back to the palace. The prince eschewed taking a boat, deciding he wished to walk back. Neither spoke, and truthfully, Valandur was lost in his own thoughts, wondering what the others in the delegation must be thinking about him being absent for so long, wondering if Princess Findis ever gave him a thought, wishing he were back in Tirion trying to decipher some scribe’s scribbles as he and Aldamir collated notes on the day’s discussion rather than being stuck in a city of strangers about to be inundated with a violent sea storm.

Already the stars to the southeast had disappeared behind clouds heralding the storm front. The wind had picked up and rain lashed at them, so that they were soaked to the skin before they reached the safety of the palace. Lindarion immediately ordered hot baths and drinks for them both. By the time they were presentable the storm was upon them in full fury, the sound of it almost frightening. Valandur noticed that all the embrasures looking to the south and east had been covered by thickly woven reed screens cleverly hung on hooks which he had not noticed earlier, effectively blocking out both wind and rain. It made the rooms dimmer but more candles were lit. The royal family was gathered in the main sitting room, the Queen and Olwen working on embroidery with their ladies while Olwë and Falmaron were entertaining them with music with the King playing a lute and singing while Falmaron accompanied him on an instrument that Lindarion called a fenrotsë, which appeared to be eight thick reeds of different lengths, bound together by a colorfully woven band near the top, with the bottoms plugged. The sound of the pipes was eerie and sent shivers down Valandur’s spine.

Lindarion inveigled Valandur into a game of draughts to occupy their time and take their minds off the storm now raging in full force. Valandur was surprised how calm and unconcerned everyone was, but then realized that either Olwë’s steward, Eällindo, or his chief guard, Elennen, periodically entered the room and gave the King an update, quietly speaking so as not to disturb the others. Olwë would respond with whispered commands of his own and then resume playing the lute.

Then, unexpectedly all sound of the storm ceased and Valandur looked up from the game in surprise. Lindarion shook his head. “We are in the eye of the storm where all is calm, but it will not last. Soon the other side of the storm will approach. But come. During the interval we can help check on any damage.”

So saying, he stood and headed for the door. Valandur followed with Falmaron behind him and the three ellyn made their way outside where Valandur just stood gaping at the stars shining down upon them with cold indifference. There was no sign of the storm at all, not even clouds. Lindarion took his elbow as the two princes set out for the harbor. “For that is where the most damage will have occurred,” Lindarion explained. “The storm did shift to the east more than was anticipated so the harbor most likely has suffered major flooding. Look! The water in the canal is higher than it should be. I know we opened the sluice gates to the north to allow water to flow out so there shouldn’t be too much damage from flooding.”

All along the way, they encountered others out checking for structural damage to houses and buildings. The buildings were well constructed but here and there Valandur noticed tiles had been stripped from some of the roofs and there was debris all around, making maneuvering through the walkways slow and difficult.

“Clean-up is always a bother,” Falmaron commented sourly as they passed two ellith shifting broken tiles out of the way of passersby.

“And the storm is not yet done with us,” Lindarion retorted with a smile.

A few minutes later they came upon the harbor. It was a mess. Two of the swan ships were beached with one actually upside down on the roof of one of the warehouses that lined the wharves. The colorful lanterns were mostly out, some apparently swept away for they were missing completely. Dead and dying fish littered the quays and the smell was terrible. Valandur forced himself not to gag. Lindarion gave him a sympathetic look and fished out a clean piece of linen and handed it to him.

“Breathe through your mouth,” he said and Valandur found it easier to breathe with the linen over his nose. “Why don’t you stay here?” the prince suggested. “I just need to speak with the harbormaster and see what other damage has occurred. Falmaron, stay with Valandur. I’ll be back shortly.”

Valandur found he had no objections to Lindarion’s suggestion. Falmaron just nodded. “We’ll make our way over to the Hall of Singing. The magistrates will be reporting there soon enough.”

“Good. Take their reports, will you, and I’ll meet you both back at the palace.”

So saying, Lindarion headed off in one direction while Falmaron and Valandur headed in the opposite. As predicted, they reached the Hall of Singing to find several of the magistrates already there, waiting to give their reports. Those whose districts lay to the east reported some flooding in spite of the sluice gates being open.

“No buildings were destroyed, but we’ll be a while shoveling the mud out of the homes and businesses along Kuluin Canal,” one of them commented. Valandur checked the map and found the canal which apparently ran north from the harbor bordering the seawall to the east. Falmaron nodded and assured the magistrate that the King would have crews out just as soon as the other side of the storm had passed. Satisfied that they were on top of things, he dismissed the magistrates with his thanks and then he and Valandur headed back to the palace where they found Lindarion giving Olwë his report.

“This storm is more violent than we expected,” the prince was saying. “Even part of the seawall has been eroded. We’ll be awhile cleaning up and repairing the harbor. We’ve lost three ships completely and at least a dozen are severely damaged. The fleet will not be returning to the Sea any time soon, I’m afraid.”

Olwë nodded, looking a bit grim. “At least no lives have been lost and we can thank the Lady for her timely warning. What do you have to report, Falmaron?”

Falmaron quickly recapped what the magistrates had told him and, once the final report was given, Olwë thanked his sons. “The cooks have put out some meat pies and soup. Let us join your ammë and sister. How are you holding up?” he asked Valandur and the Vanya assured him he was fine as they headed for the dining room.

“How soon do you think I’ll be able to leave?” he asked.

“I must first ascertain which ships are still seaworthy,” Olwë replied. “No sense sending you back just to have the ship start sinking before you are even halfway there. It’d be a long trip otherwise.”

“You mean, it’ll be a short one,” Valandur retorted somewhat sourly, “as I have no idea how to swim.”

“Well, that too,” Olwë said with a deadpan expression and when Lindarion and Falmaron started snickering, Valandur couldn’t help smiling, recognizing that he really had no choice but to accept the delay with as much grace as he could muster. They entered the dining room and joined Lirillë and Olwen at the table. As they ate, Olwë discussed clean-up and repair plans with his wife and children while Valandur listened.

They were still eating when the other half of the storm arrived.

****

When the storm finally passed, clean-up began. Valandur excused himself to go to his room and exchange his begemmed watersilk tunic for his own plain wool one which had been returned to him freshly laundered. Then he joined the two princes and the King, who were also dressed in plain tunics, along with Elennen and another guard named Eäralato, in walking from district to district, examining the effects of the storm, speaking with the magistrates and the people and taking stock of the extent of the damage, praising everyone for their efforts in cleaning up and succoring those who needed it. Outriders had been sent to check the state of the small fishing villages that ranged to the north.

“Not everyone wishes to live in the city,” Olwë explained to Valandur, “so there are a number of fishing villages along the north coast.”

“But not to the south.” Valandur made it a statement.

Olwë shook his head. “To the south lies the Calacirya and the Light of the Trees. My people prefer the darkness under the stars. It is, after all, our natural environment.”

“So are you saying that the Light of the Trees is unnatural?” Valandur couldn’t help asking, casting them a smile to show he was not being entirely serious.

Both Lindarion and Falmaron looked at him askance, but Olwë merely chuckled. “Well, I always suspected the Minyai and the Tatyai were just a little… odd.”

The two princes snickered, while Olwë’s expression was entirely deadpan. Valandur snorted good-naturedly and soon they were all chuckling.

Their last stop was the harbor where lay the most damage. Valandur looked upon the scene in dismay, for, if anything, it was worse than before. Neither Olwë nor his sons seemed unduly upset. Olwë went straight to the harbormaster to speak with him while Lindarion, Falmaron and Valandur began to make themselves useful by grabbing shovels and joining the others who were removing the mud and the dead fish and seaweed. The mud would be returned to the Sea from which it came while the dead fish and seaweed would be gathered and taken outside of the city to be burned in a pyre made from the wood of those ships that were irrevocably damaged.

Of the fleet, five ships were so much firewood while nearly a dozen would need some repair but were otherwise seaworthy. Miraculously, or so it seemed, Olwë’s own ship, the one in which Valandur had come to Alqualondë, was undamaged, as were a few others.

“We can send you on your way within the hour if you wish,” Olwë told Valandur after he finished speaking with the harbormaster. “I can have a crew ready and Lindarion and Falmaron will go with you.”

“Thank you,” Valandur said, then sighed as he looked about him, knowing the decision he was about to make would just make things worse for him, or so he believed. “However, you need everyone here to help with the clean-up, so I will wait until you can actually spare your people to return me to Tirion.” He had a sinking feeling that when he finally did return to Tirion, he would be summarily sent on to Vanyamar in disgrace, but in all conscience, he could not leave just yet. It smacked of desertion in an hour of need.

Olwë gave him an approving smile. “I promise we will have you back where you belong soon. I will leave you for the nonce, for I have much to do elsewhere. Do not work overlong, my sons. When you see Alcarinquë on the eastern horizon, return to the palace and get some rest.”

“Yes, Atya,” Lindarion said with a smile. Olwë returned the smile with one of his own and then left with Elennen while Eäralato stayed behind with the princes.

The task of cleaning up was indeed tiring and by the time Lindarion called a halt in their endeavors in helping with the clean-up, Valandur was soaked through with sweat and stank of fish. Every muscle in his body seemed to ache, he discovered, and it was all he could do to put one foot before the other as they walked back, for Lindarion informed him that the canals were closed to traffic until the water level had lowered. By the time they came to the plaza fronting the palace, Valandur was reeling and Eäralato was holding him by the elbow to keep him upright. Lindarion wasted no time in ordering hot baths for them all and soon they were soaking in the bathing pool. The hot water seemed to help and Valandur sighed in relief, but once they were done, he excused himself and went back to his room, falling into bed, too tired even to eat the meal that had been set out for him.

****

He woke with no idea of how long he’d slept. Without the waxing and waning of the Light he could not easily gauge the time and looking at the stars did not help, for he had forgotten to check their positions before sleeping. He went through his ablutions and dressed, making his way down the hall to the dining room, hoping he would be able to get something to eat, for he was starving. The dining room, however, was empty and he went in search of the kitchen, hoping to find a sympathetic cook. He had no trouble finding it, for delectable smells wafted down the hall and he simply followed his nose.

He stopped just inside the large room, taking in the bustle of activity, trying to identify the head cook. One of the helpers noticed him and smiled.

“Are you looking for someone, Master?” she asked.

“Actually, I’m looking for something to eat,” Valandur replied. “I missed the last meal, or maybe the last two. I have no idea how long I’ve slept.”

The elleth nodded in understanding. “His Majesty left orders that we were to feed you when you awoke. Would you care to eat here or in the dining room?”

“Here is fine. Do you know where Their Majesties are or the princes? The place seems strangely empty of people.”

The elleth gestured for him to follow her and she led him to a trestle. “I have no idea, Master,” she said. “I can enquire for you, if you wish, while you eat. I imagine the King is overseeing the repairs to the harbor and the princes are with him. I think the Queen and the princess are visiting the people of the city as is their wont whenever a major storm hits.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Valandur said, feeling oddly chagrined at the idea that while he slept the royal family had been busy seeing to the welfare of the city.

“Would soup be to your liking, Master?” the elleth asked. “And perhaps a loaf of bread and some new cheese. We also have small beer or wine.”

“Whatever you have available, mistress, will be fine,” Valandur said. “I would not wish to inconvenience you, as I know you have your own work to get back to.”

“It is no inconvenience,” the elleth assured him. “I will bring you something shortly.”

With that, she left and Valandur sat looking about at the activity around him. He could see several birds on a spit roasting away over a fire, the spit being turned by a young ellon. Others were busy putting together what appeared to be pies, though what kind he could not tell. Everyone ignored him and he was grateful for that. In a short while, the elleth returned with a large bowl of thick broth soup filled with vegetables and clams. A loaf of dark bread and a sizeable chunk of yellow cheese and a mug of small beer accompanied it. Valandur thanked the elleth who then returned to her own duties.

While he was eating, Lindarion entered, giving him a smile. “Awake at last,” he said as he sat across from him. The elleth who had brought Valandur’s meal came over to enquire if the prince needed anything. Lindarion shook his head, stating he was fine and she left them alone once again.

“How long did I sleep?” Valandur asked.

“Today is Aldúya and it is already half over,” came the reply.

“I slept an entire day?” Valandur asked in disbelief.

“Just about,” Lindarion said, pulling off a hunk of the bread and some cheese to eat, seemingly unaware of Valandur’s dismay. “I slept nearly as long, for I went to bed directly after the daymeal. I only woke up about two hours ago.”

Valandur felt a little better at that revelation and went back to his soup and the two sat in silence for a time. “So what now?” he asked once he had polished off the soup and was taking a sip of the beer.

“Now, we get you back where you belong,” Lindarion replied. “Atar has ordered the royal ship to be readied. We can leave as soon as you like. You can be back in Tirion tomorrow.”

“Should I not stay and help?” Valandur asked, suddenly reluctant to leave.

Lindarion shook his head. “You have done more than enough and we all know how anxious you are to return to Tirion.”

“Not that anxious,” Valandur said with a sigh. “I do not think I will be let off very lightly, whatever your atar says. Prince Ingoldo will be wroth with me and I wouldn’t be surprised if I were sent packing almost as soon as I arrive.”

“I would not be overly concerned,” Lindarion said. “Atar will see that you are not unduly punished for your absence. Now, if you are finished, why don’t you go pack and I’ll let Atar know you are ready to leave.”

“I don’t have anything to pack,” Valandur said with a grin, “except for my own clothes, which are probably still being laundered.”

“Don’t worry about them. I meant the tunics we gave you to wear. You are welcome to take them with you.”

Valandur gave him a surprised look. “But I couldn’t possibly…”

“Now, now. You might as well. You’ll be doing Ammë a favor.”

“Excuse me? How would I be doing your amillë a favor by taking such rich looking tunics with me?”

Lindarion gave him a wide smile. “Because she’s been begging Falmaron and me to get rid of our old tunics so she can order new ones.”

“Your old tunics.”

“Old only because we’ve worn them a time or two,” Lindarion assured him. “They’re not cast-offs and it’s not charity. Atar said that since you came here with nothing but the clothes on your back, that we should pick out some of our better tunics to give you as recompense. Besides, you told me you were going to order some tunics for court. Well we’ve saved you the trouble.”

“I was going to order one tunic and it certainly wouldn’t have been as fine as these but it would have been finer than what I own.”

“And now you don’t have to bother spending your delegation’s treasury,” Lindarion said. “Please. Accept them and the other clothes as our gift for helping us after the storm. I will tell you that Atar regrets that he was not able to return you to Tirion as he promised.”

Valandur shrugged. “Not his fault. It isn’t as if he ordered that storm to delay my departure.”

Lindarion laughed. “No. He did not, but that is not to say others didn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“I suspect that perhaps Lord Ulmo ordered it, though why he felt you needed to remain here even for another day or two, escapes me. Perhaps he just wanted you to know us better.” The prince shrugged. “Regardless, Atar feels bad that you were forced to remain longer than planned.”

“I don’t really mind,” Valandur said. “It has been an interesting experience and I have much to think about. Still, I dread returning to Tirion. I have very little faith that it will go well with me whatever the King or Lord Ulmo say.”

“I cannot help you there, Etta,” Lindarion said gravely. “I can only tell you that Lord Ulmo has ever been our friend and has never lied to us. If he says all will be well, then it will be, whether we believe it or not. But come. Let us get you on your way.” He stood and Valandur followed him, the two of them returning to Valandur’s room where the prince helped him pack, having ordered a haversack for his use.

“My main concern is how do I even reach Tirion?” Valandur asked at one point. “The horse I rented would have been returned to its owner. I’ll have to walk and I don’t really fancy having to do so.”

“I’m sure arrangements have been made,” Lindarion answered. “Don’t forget that Atar sent a messenger who will be awaiting us for the storm would have prevented his return. I have every confidence that it will all work out.”

Valandur forbore to reply to that, not feeling at all confident but realizing he would just have to deal with the situation as it arose. If he had to walk all the way back to Tirion, so be it. In the meantime, he and Lindarion made their way to the harbor where they found the rest of the family waiting for them. Olwë had his luggage, such as it was, taken aboard the swan ship while he and the family made their farewells. Lirillë handed him a velvet bag.

“You mustn’t forget your pearl,” she said with a smile.

He opened the bag and gasped when he saw that the pearl had been mounted on a mithril band inscribed with the phrase ‘Et ëarello tulë estel’. Slipping it on his finger, he discovered that it fit perfectly. “But how…?”

“Oh, I had one of our jewel smiths make it for you,” Lirillë said, giving Olwë a sly smile, who smiled back.

Valandur blinked. “You?” he asked Olwë while everyone else just grinned at his nonplused expression.

“One of my little hobbies,” Olwë replied with an offhand shrug. “Now, we’ve kept you here long enough, Loremaster. Go with our blessing and with the favor of Lord Ulmo, Lord Ossë and the Lady Uinen.”

Lirillë and Olwen gave him kisses and then he was aboard the ship with Lindarion and Falmaron beside him. Soon, the ropes were cast off and the sails raised and they were leaving the harbor. Valandur’s last sight of the city as the ship passed under the arch of living stone and veered to starboard was of Olwë, Lirillë and Olwen standing at the quay waving.

The trip was not long for a fair wind filled the sails. Valandur was surprised that they did not stop at the cove where he had picnicked with his friends, but continued further south until they came to the small harbor that was maintained for the benefit of the Telerin ships that plied the Bay of Eldamar. Awaiting them were a number of people, one of whom was Olwë’s messenger according to Lindarion, while the others turned out to be Intarion, Aldamir and Calandil, which really surprised him. The captain brought the ship neatly to the single dock and Valandur made his way down the gangplank after saying farewell to the two princes who stated that they would not come ashore. Instead, as soon as Valandur left the ship, the messenger boarded and then the ship was leaving, heading back to Alqualondë. Valandur stood waving as Lindarion and Falmaron waved back. When the ship disappeared behind a headland, Valandur turned to greet the others.

“How did you know to come here?” he couldn’t help asking.

“We were told,” was Intarion’s only answer. His demeanor was somewhat stiff as was Aldamir’s, and neither of them offered him any real greeting, which Valandur found ominous. Only Calandil seemed genuinely glad to see him, giving him a hug as they exchanged kisses as between brothers.

“Did you enjoy your trip?” Calandil asked, giving Valandur a smile.

“It was interesting, especially meeting Lord Ulmo,” Valandur replied with studied nonchalance and was pleased to see both Intarion and Aldamir give him surprised looks. “And the royal family as well,” he continued. “King Olwë and Queen Lirillë were most hospitable. Those were their sons, the haryon, Prince Lindarion, and his younger brother, Prince Falmaron, who escorted me back.”

“Well, you’ll have to tell us all about it when we get back to the city,” Calandil said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Your other otornor are anxious to see you and so are Minalcar and his family. When you did not return as it had been promised us, we were all somewhat upset.”

“There was a sea storm that prevented me from returning when I had hoped. His Majesty sent me on my way as soon as it was convenient to do so.”

“Well, let us get going then,” Intarion said, still with little warmth in his voice, which troubled Valandur, for he considered the young prince a friend and sorrowed at the thought that he had lost that friendship. Calandil gave him a sympathetic look as the two of them followed Intarion and Aldamir to where the horses were waiting, along with a couple of guards. In moments they were headed up the Calacirya to Tirion.

****

Fenrotsë: (Qenya) Literally, ‘reed pipe’, what we would call a panpipe, from fen ‘reed’ + rotsë ‘pipe, tube’.

Kuluin: (Qenya) Goldfish.

Atya: My father; a reduced form of atarinya.

Et ëarello tulë estel: ‘From out of the Sea comes Hope’.

16: Return to Tirion

Valandur was grateful for Calandil’s presence, though he was unsure how the ellon had come to be with them. He had no standing with Finwë’s court and Ingoldo would not care whose otorno he might be. All the way up the Calacirya, neither Intarion nor Aldamir spoke a word or even looked in his direction and when Valandur tried to strike up a conversation with Calandil, the ellon merely shook his head, putting a finger to his lips, leaving Valandur with nothing to do but think and his thoughts were mixed.

On the one hand, he was glad to be back, but on the other, he wished he was in Alqualondë where his welcome was assured and for a time he lost himself in memory, remembering the canal boat rides under the stars. As the towers of Tirion came into view, however, Valandur focused on the present and he looked upon the city with a critical eye, seeing it in a different light.

In many ways, Tirion seemed the same, but in others, it did not. It took Valandur a few minutes as they made their way through Finwë Park and up Hwarin Mallë to the palace to realize just what was different, and it wasn’t the city so much as it was him. He realized that, in the short time he was away, he had changed. Oh, not in any dramatic way, or at least he didn’t think so, but in small ways. His worldview had widened and he now saw how straitened his life had been, how narrow his thinking. Tirion and Vanyamar were not all there was to Eldamar. Alqualondë was as much a part of their world as Valmar and to forget about the former was almost as dangerous as to forget about the latter and those who dwelt there.

The Noldor, at least, kept some semblance of communication with Olwë and his people, but it was limited. And the Vanyar had no communication with the Teleri whatsoever, being content to deal with them through the Noldor and that was just plain wrong. He could see that now. Somehow, the Vanyar needed to make contact with the Teleri directly and not through the Noldor, but he was at a loss as to how that could be effected. Well, it was something he would lay out for Ingwë to deal with. It was, after all, his job as High King.

Valandur put aside his ruminations as they reached the palace. They dismounted and grooms came and took the horses. Silently, Intarion and Aldamir led the way inside. Calandil remained by Valandur’s side, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. They wended their way to the north wing and Intarion brought them to the main sitting room used by the Vanyar as a common meeting room. Valandur swallowed nervously as he saw Ingoldo sitting with Tinwetariel at a table while Sorondur, Laurelindalë and Nolondilmë stood behind them. Intarion joined his parents at the table while Aldamir stood beside Nolondilmë. Valandur and Calandil remained standing.

“So, you finally deigned to return to us,” Ingoldo said in a cold voice.

“It was not my choice to leave,” Valandur replied quietly, “and I returned as soon as I was able.”

“Yes, so we were told,” Ingoldo retorted with a sneer. “Lord Ulmo wished to speak with you and for some reason he could not be bothered to speak with you at the cove where you were picnicking with your friends, and I should tell you that King Finwë was not best pleased to learn that you had refused his kind invitation to join him and his family in their own picnic.”

“King Finwë does not know me,” Valandur shot back hotly. “I doubt he even remembers my name and refers to me as ‘that Loremaster of yours’ or some such.”

“Nevertheless…”

“Nevertheless, I regret any inconvenience my absence caused. I was promised that I would be returned by Eärenya at the latest, but unfortunately a sea storm hit before I could leave and King Olwë could not spare a ship.”

“Did you really speak with the Lord of Waters?” Intarion asked before his atar could respond and Valandur could see the doubt clouding the prince’s eyes.

“Yes, I did.”

“But why? I mean why you and what did you speak on?”

Valandur shrugged. “Perhaps because I was convenient, since I was already there at that cove. As to what we spoke on, well, it was mostly private though he did give me a message to deliver to King Ingwë.”

“And what message would that be and why couldn’t he simply speak with my brother himself?” Ingoldo demanded.

“The message is for the High King’s ears only,” Valandur said stiffly. “As for the whys and wherefores, I do not know. I only know what Lord Ulmo told me.”

Silence hung between them. Valandur stole a glance at Calandil who gave him a smile. Ingoldo and Tinwetariel were frowning while Intarion looked thoughtful. What the others were thinking was anyone’s guess for their expressions were shuttered and Valandur thought they were waiting to see how they should respond.

“And that, of course, assumes we believe you,” Ingoldo finally said.

“Why would I lie?” Valandur asked in dismay. “In my wildest dreams I could never imagine seeing one of the swan ships and being summoned to Alqualondë to meet with Lord Ulmo.”

“And you actually believed the Teleri when they gave the reason for their presence?” Tinwetariel asked, looking unconvinced.

“When the person speaking is haryon to the Lindaran, yes,” Valandur shot back, becoming angry. There were several raised eyebrows at that.

“So you say,” Ingoldo returned coldly.

Valandur went still, trying to gauge the mood of his interrogators. Those standing were unreadable to him and he dismissed them from his mind. It was Ingoldo, more than anyone else, whom he had to convince. Intarion appeared more thoughtful and he suspected the prince was willing to give him the benefit of a doubt, but in the end Ingoldo was the only one who mattered.

“I know that King Olwë sent a message to King Finwë explaining why I was in Alqualondë without leave of either him or you,” he finally said.

“Yes,” Ingoldo said, “and if it weren’t for that I would have you on your way back to Vanyamar this very hour. As it is, Olwë insisted that you were not to be punished for your absence. Well, as Olwë is not here he will not know. Until I say otherwise, you are not to leave the palace grounds. You will not even leave this wing except to accompany us to our meetings where you will sit with the scribes rather than at the negotiating table. You will then transcribe the notes yourself. Aldamir has other duties. And if you have any spare time left over, you may spend it here in this room quietly reading. On Valanya, you will not join your friends,” he gave Calandil a cold glance, “nor us in any pleasure activities or feasting, but will remain here. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly,” Valandur replied, forcing himself to remain calm. So much for Lord Ulmo’s promise that all would be well and he would not suffer for his absence, he thought sourly.

“Then say farewell to your friend, who insisted on accompanying my son and Aldamir to meet you, though he has no business here.”

“In that you are mistaken,” Calandil retorted mildly. “I am here as Valandur’s friend, which he apparently needs since he will find none among you.”

Valandur saw Intarion blush and the other younger members of the delegation looking uneasy.

“At any rate,” Calandil continued, “you may prevent Valandur from leaving the palace but you cannot prevent me or anyone else from seeing him.”

“Indeed?” Ingoldo sneered. “And how, pray tell, will you be able to do so if I leave orders that no visitors are to be allowed?”

“We would just have to see, wouldn’t we?” Calandil returned and Valandur wondered at his friend’s demeanor. Calandil was not a Noldorin lord, had no standing with the Noldorin court, yet he spoke to Ingoldo almost as an equal and that was very puzzling. Ingoldo, for his part, merely raised an eyebrow as he looked upon the Noldo standing confidently before him.

“Regardless,” Ingoldo finally said, “it’s time you got back to work, Loremaster.”

It was a dismissal. Calandil clapped a hand on Valandur’s shoulder. “Come see me out,” he said and without giving the Vanyarin prince the courtesy of a bow, he turned, pulling Valandur with him. They walked through the halls to the central foyer in silence. Valandur felt at a loss. He could understand Ingoldo’s attitude and was not unduly surprised by it, but Calandil’s attitude made no sense; he was acting completely out of character.

The object of his thoughts looked at him, giving him a sly smile, even as they reached the foyer. “You must not be too worried,” Calandil said. “All will be well.”

Valandur stopped, scowling at his friend. “That is what everyone from Lord Ulmo on down keeps saying, but it’s obviously not true, as you well know. I am effectively a… a… I don’t even have a word for it! All I know is that, Lord Ulmo’s promises to the contrary, I might as well be sent back to Vanyamar because I am obviously unwelcome here in Tirion.”

“Only by your own people,” Calandil responded gravely. “You do have friends here, Valandur, who care for your well-being. Do not despair. All is not hopeless. And the word you are looking for is ‘prisoner’, which you are not, I assure you.”

Valandur closed his eyes, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “All the time I was in Alqualondë I wished only to be back here, but now that I am, I wish I’d never left Olwë’s city. There, at least, I was welcomed.” He felt Calandil take him in his embrace and hug him, planting a kiss on his forehead.

“It will be well,” the Noldo whispered before releasing him, fishing something out of a pouch on his belt. “Here is your ring back that you gave to Minalcar. I will tell him you are well. Now I must leave, but I will return. I promise. Neither Ingoldo nor anyone else can prevent me from doing so.”

Valandur gave him a dubious look but before he could question his friend, Calandil walked out and was soon lost to his view. Valandur sighed and turned back toward the north wing but stopped, not wishing to return just yet. Defying Ingoldo’s orders, he wended his way down another hall that led out into one of the gardens. He wandered through it, not really seeing its beauty, too busy thinking, wondering what he would do. He was half tempted to simply return to Vanyamar, but that way played into Ingoldo’s hands. He was even tempted to return to Alqualondë but he had no idea what he would do there other than to be a burden to the royal family.

He was sitting on a bench, idly watching one of the numerous fountains playing, deep in thought, when Aldamir found him.

“You did not return after seeing your friend out,” he said without preamble. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Why? Did you think I would run away?” Valandur retorted angrily. “Believe me, I wish I had.” He stood up and attempted to leave.

Aldamir grabbed him by the arm to stay him. “Please, Valandur…”

“Please, what?” Valandur snarled, pulling himself away, glaring at him. “Please, what? Please be a good little prisoner and return to your prison? Please don’t anger Ingoldo any more than he is or we’ll all suffer for it? Please, what, Aldamir? Do you think I planned this? Do you think I purposely stayed away? All the time I was there I was wishing I were here, helping you with the transcriptions or playing draughts with Laurelindalë or whatever, but now that I’m back and see that none of you believe me when I say I was summoned by Lord Ulmo himself, I wish I had never returned. Ingoldo…”

“Prince Ingoldo,” Aldamir insisted, looking dismayed.

“Ingoldo can order me about as he pleases,” Valandur continued, ignoring the interruption, “but don’t think I will ever forgive any of you for disbelieving me.” With that, he brushed past Aldamir, refusing to listen to his pleading, and made his way back to the palace, returning to his own room where he found his bags neatly placed at the foot of the bed. He took a few minutes to unpack the tunics and breeches that Lindarion had insisted he take with him. Once he was done, he lay on his bed and stared up at the satin tester. Somewhere in the distance, bells rang and he knew that soon a meal would be set out, but he was not hungry and when Sorondur knocked on his door inviting him to join them for the meal, he refused even to answer.

He felt weary, not of body, but of soul, his fëa heavy, his thoughts full of dismay and anger: anger at Lord Ulmo for summoning him, anger at the storm for delaying him (and he had to wonder at that), anger at those he had thought his friends, especially Intarion, disbelieving him. That last hurt the worst, their disbelief. He did not care what Ingoldo thought of him, but he had hoped the others would know he would not purposely desert them.

He sighed and closed his eyes to better call to mind Alqualondë and all that he had done and seen there. Somewhere along the way, he fell asleep.

****

Valandur woke, puzzled as to why his eyes were closed, and by the quality of the light, realized that he must have slept through most of the previous day. He went through his ablutions and made his way to the dining hall attached to the wing where he found the others already eating. No one gave him a greeting, though he saw Intarion looking at him sorrowfully. He ignored them all, sitting at the end of the table, keeping his eyes on his plate. As it was Valanya, the others were apparently making plans to spend the day in idle pursuits and in a short while they all got up to leave. Intarion stopped by him as if he wished to say something but Valandur refused to look up and a moment later he was left alone.

Once he finished eating, he retired to the upstairs sitting room where he spent a few hours transcribing the notes from the last session held two days earlier on Aldúya. Apparently no session had been held on Menelya, though there was nothing in the notes to indicate why. The notes were dull and uninteresting and it appeared that the two parties had once again come to an impasse. This time it appeared that the sticking point was something to do with revenues from the Southern Fiefdoms. Valandur had never been there but knew that all three kings owned substantial property in that region, the farms generating income for their respective treasuries as well as producing necessary foodstuffs for the populace.

He didn’t really care. Once he had finished transcribing the notes, he idled away his time wandering about, spending most of the day in one of the gardens with his book, though he probably didn’t read more than a page or two, his thoughts elsewhere. He was tempted to leave the palace altogether and go find Calandil or Minalcar, but decided not to risk it. He wouldn’t have put it past Ingoldo to leave instructions with the gate guards that he, Valandur, was not to leave the palace grounds.

Thus, the day was dreary and joyless and when the others returned from whatever they had been doing all day, he returned to his room, not interested in listening to them laughingly tell about their day.

On Elenya, he followed everyone to the chamber where the negotiations were taking place, joining the scribes sitting on benches against the wall, refusing to look at anyone, especially Findis.

“I see your wayward loremaster has returned,” one of the Noldor said as everyone took their seats after the delegates had given one another their greetings.

“Yes,” Ingoldo replied shortly.

“Why does he sit with the scribes?” Herencáno asked.

“Because I wish him to,” came Ingoldo’s reply in a tone that none dared to contradict.

“Well, welcome back, Loremaster Valandur,” Findis said, sounding friendly, but Valandur refused to look up or respond to the princess’s greeting. After an awkward moment or two of silence, Findis spoke again. “Well, shall we get started?”

The session was as dull as dust to Valandur who sat in stony silence only half paying attention to what was being said around him. When the session broke up after only a couple of hours due to the fact that they still could not resolve certain issues involving the Southern Fiefdoms, Valandur remained behind to collect the notes from the scribes.

“Not much to transcribe,” one of them said ruefully.

Valandur shrugged, not really caring. He turned to leave only to find that his way was blocked by Findis and Herencáno, both of them giving him concerned looks.

“Valandur, what happened?” Findis asked. “Why do you refuse to look at anyone or speak to them?”

“Nothing happened, princess,” Valandur replied stiffly. “Now if you will excuse me, I have work to do.”

Findis suddenly grabbed the sheaves of foolscap from his hands and flung them away, her expression one of anger. “Forget them,” she snarled. “They are not important. You are. Herencáno, bring him.”

Then she turned and stalked away. Valandur just stood there gaping after her while Herencáno looked amused. Valandur started to gather up the papers scattered all about but Herencáno took his elbow and pulled him away. “Leave them. As the princess says, they are not important. You can retrieve them later. Come. I would not tarry. Findis in this mood is not to be trifled with. In that, she is definitely her atar’s daughter.”

Valandur allowed himself to be led away, wondering how Ingoldo would react, but finding he no longer had the strength to care. They made their way to the east wing which housed the royal family, following Findis as she came upon a door and flung it open. Inside, Valandur recognized the same sitting room where he had had his conversation with the princess. Herencáno released his hold on Valandur, closed the door, and then without waiting for orders or permission, crossed to a sideboard and began pouring some wine into goblets, handing one to Findis who stood glaring at Valandur who glared back. Herencáno handed him a goblet and gave him a wink which Findis did not see.

“Sit,” Findis ordered and the two ellyn found seats while Findis still remained standing. “Now, I want you to tell me what happened,” she said, still obviously angry. “Tell me everything, from the moment you left the palace to the moment you returned.”

Valandur sighed, taking a sip of the wine before speaking. “I joined friends of mine on a picnic to the beach when we spied a swan ship heading our way….”

****

For the most part, neither Findis nor Herencáno interrupted except to ask clarifying questions. When he came to describe his audience with Lord Ulmo, he spoke in generalities, stating that some things that had been spoken between him and the Lord of Waters were private to him and he would not discuss them with anyone. Herencáno seemed to take it in good grace but Findis obviously wanted more details and started pestering him for them, but Herencáno gave her a hard look.

“We must respect Valandur’s privacy, Findis,” he admonished her, “just as we would respect your own.”

Findis had the grace to blush and apologize and asked Valandur to continue his narrative. It was quickly told and he was describing his audience with Ingoldo and what had come of that when there came a knock to the door. Before Findis could call out, the door opened and Prince Fëanáro was there, sneering at them.

“Have you forgotten, Sister, that you and Prince Intarion were to go riding after your meeting? I little like being asked to act as your page. Ah, I see the so-called loremaster has returned. What you see in him, I have no idea, but since you’re only part Noldorin, I suppose one must make allowances.”

And with that stunningly rude comment, the heir to the Noldóran left, still smirking, not even bothering to close the door.

“Bother!” Findis muttered crossly. “I’d forgotten all about the ride. Lairelossiel!”

An elleth, obviously one of Findis’ ladies-in-waiting, arrived at the door and gave her mistress a curtsey. “Lossi, be a dear and seek out Prince Intarion with my apologies and say that I will join him within the hour.”

Lairelossiel curtsied again and left, closing the door behind her.

“Your friend, Calandil, is correct, Valandur,” Findis said once they were alone. “You have friends here. Herencáno is one,” and the Noldorin lord nodded, “and I am another. I think you must be very special for one of the Valar to take notice of you and summon you to him. Lord Ulmo has always been a friend of the Eldar, or so the tales tell us. You should feel privileged…”

“But I don’t!” Valandur nearly shouted, leaping up in anger as he faced the princess. “I feel… I feel… I don’t know what I feel. I only know that Lord Ulmo’s promises that all would be well when I returned here are false. It is not well. It will never be well. Now I suggest you don’t keep your cousin waiting. I have work to do.” He gave a stunned Findis a short bow and turned to leave, but Herencáno reached him before he made it to the door and barred his path.

“No, Valandur. Do not leave us in anger. We’re your friends and I know right now you feel betrayed by those whom you thought your friends — and it really surprises me that the Vanyar who live in such close proximity with the Valar are the ones who disbelieve your tale rather than we Noldor who have little or no commerce with them — but you must have faith that what Lord Ulmo told you is the truth, for the Valar do not lie. All will be well.” He gave Valandur a warm, sympathetic smile, taking him by the shoulders and giving him a kiss of benediction on his forehead.

“Now, let us leave her Highness to ready herself for her ride with her royal cousin, while you and I retire to my townhouse for a quiet meal and conversation.”

“I am not allowed to leave the palace grounds,” Valandur reminded him.

“Tush! What do I care for that,” Herencáno said. “Ingoldo cannot refuse your being summoned by a Noldorin lord to attend him. We’ll go back and retrieve the notes for the day’s session and you can bring them along. I’ll help transcribe them for you. I imagine some of those notes are nigh indecipherable.”

“Sometimes,” Valandur conceded.

“Then let us away. Your Highness,” Herencáno turned and gave Findis a bow and Valandur followed suit. Findis nodded and then the two ellyn made their way back to the meeting room, retrieved the papers still lying on the floor and then left the palace. Valandur half expected to have the gate guards stop him, but they only saluted and allowed them to pass.

And all the while as they wended their way through the streets of Tirion, Herencáno spoke about his one trip to Alqualondë.

17: Repercussions of an Unexpected Kind

Herencáno’s townhouse was situated several streets from the palace, on the north side of Túna, surrounded by similar townhouses belonging to the nobility. It was a narrow, three-storied affair of white stone and mullioned windows on the ground floor.

“It’s not very grand,” Herencáno said almost apologetically as they climbed the front steps to the oak door, “but it serves our purpose. We have an estate off the East Road as well.” They entered a narrow hallway with stairs leading up to the next floor. Doors opened on either side revealing a comfortable drawing room to the left and what appeared to be a library on the right. The hall floor was beautifully tiled in shades of green and blue and the walls were painted white with a dark oak wainscot. Coming down the hall from the back was an elleth with the typical features of the Noldor. Herencáno’s eyes lit up at the sight of her. “Ah, my dear, I brought a guest for luncheon. I hope you don’t mind. This is Loremaster Valandur of Vanyamar. Valandur, this is my wife and the light of my life, Telperiën.”

Valandur gave the elleth a bow. “Be welcome, my lord,” she said, her voice a pleasing alto. “Why don’t you show the loremaster where he can freshen up while I have another place set. We’re eating in the garden.”

“Excellent!” Herencáno exclaimed. “Come, my friend.” He led Valandur up the stairs to the next floor where he showed him to a bathing room, pointing out the privy at the end of the hall. “I’ll see you downstairs,” he said. “Just make your way down the hall.” With that he left him and a few minutes later Valandur was joining Herencáno and Telperiën in the back garden for lunch.

The meal was simple, yet excellently done: cold cherry soup followed by a capon cooked in lemon and rosemary and a sallet, with gingerbread and almond biscuits as an after, all washed down with a bottle of Tirion White. Their conversation was limited to gossip between Herencáno and Telperiën on the doings of their neighbors and discussing their upcoming trip to Valmar. Valandur contributed little to the conversation, content to listen, being reminded of the conversations his own parents often had as they sat down for a meal. He did describe his impressions of Valmar, though.

“It is not like either Vanyamar or Tirion. One looks upon the buildings and one realizes that they were not built with any of us Eldar in mind; they were built for the pleasure of the Valar and the Maiar. I would like to have stayed longer for there is always something new to see, either in Valmar proper or in Eldamas,” he admitted, “but we were expected here and could not linger.”

“Perhaps before you return to Vanyamar you’ll be able to stay in Valmar for a few days,” Telperiën suggested.

Valandur simply nodded, not being able to say one way or the other. Then the meal was over and Herencáno excused himself and Valandur, leading the Vanya inside to the library, a tall room lined with shelves filled with books and scrolls. Herencáno gestured at a large oak table that sat in the middle of the room even as he closed the door behind them. “We can work here undisturbed,” he said and in minutes they were seated across from one another working through the notes. Herencáno clucked in dismay at the scribbles, trying to decipher the handwriting. “Some of these scribes should be doing other work that does not involve writing anything,” he commented at one point and Valandur chuckled in agreement.

It did not take them long to complete the transcriptions, though, with the session having been cut short, and Valandur found himself leaning back in his chair and relaxing with some wine that Herencáno had offered him once they were done. For a time they sat in companionable silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Valandur wondered how much trouble he was in for leaving the palace. Something in his expression must have alerted Herencáno, for the ellon gave him a shrewd look.

“I know you are concerned about Prince Ingoldo’s reaction to you leaving the palace, but there is no need. The princess will see to that.”

“How?”

“We’ll have to see, won’t we?” Herencáno replied with an indifferent shrug. “Now, why don’t we head back to the palace with these transcriptions so as not to overstrain Ingoldo’s patience. I do wish Ingwë had chosen another to head your delegation. Ingoldo is being stubborn for the sake of being stubborn. If he would just bend a little, most of our differences could be resolved to everyone’s satisfaction.”

Valandur had no comment to that. He had paid little attention to that day’s session, lost as he had been in his own misery and said as much. Herencáno nodded in understanding but did not otherwise comment. Instead, he stood, grabbing the sheaves of foolscap they had used for the transcription, and headed for the door with Valandur following. They were met by Telperiën who insisted that the loremaster come again for a longer visit. “A visit that does not involve work,” she said at the end, giving her husband a knowing smile which he returned with one of his own. Valandur bowed, thanking her for her invitation.

The return trip was done in silence and the two ellyn were entering the plaza fronting the palace when they spied Findis and Intarion riding in through a different gate. The four greeted each other as Findis and Intarion dismounted while grooms came to lead the horses away. Findis smiled at them, but Intarion frowned.

“I thought my atar forbade you to leave the palace grounds?” he said to Valandur.

“And are you going to tell him?” Findis demanded, giving him a hard stare.

Intarion blushed slightly under her regard, but did not back down. “I suspect he already knows,” he shot back, then turned to Valandur. “I do not understand why you continue defying my atar. It is almost as if you desire to be punished.”

“He should not be punished at all, my lord,” Herencáno said. “Loremaster Valandur is not an elfling needing correction. He did not purposely defy Prince Ingoldo. I insisted he join me and my wife for a meal and afterward I helped him with the transcription of the day’s session.” He held out the sheaves of paper he’d been carrying. “I tell you quite honestly that I find the scribes who have been commissioned to record our sessions to have terrible penmanship and should be remanded to their guild for further study. If it weren’t for the fact that I was actually there and heard every word I doubt I would’ve been able to figure out just what had been said based on the notes given us.”

“And what has that to do with the fact that Valandur left the palace grounds without permission?” Intarion asked.

“Permission that would never have been granted no matter that it was asked by one of the highest nobles of my atar’s court,” Findis chimed in, giving Intarion a glare. “Now, I suggest we take this inside and away from so public a venue. Come, Cousin. Lend me your arm.”

She held out her hand for Intarion and with a great show of reluctance, he extended his elbow. She put her hand lightly upon it as they entered the palace with Valandur and Herencáno right behind, the Noldo giving Valandur a wink, which did not exactly mollify him but he nodded anyway.

They made their way toward the north wing where they encountered Ingoldo coming out of the common room for that floor. Upon seeing them, his expression turned to one of fury and before anyone could react, he was in their midst, grabbing Valandur by the placket of his tunic and hauling him into the room he had just exited where the other Vanyar were congregated, ignoring the cries of protest from Findis, Herencáno and Intarion. Ingoldo shoved Valandur hard against a sturdy gaming table, forcing an involuntary gasp of pain from him as his lower back hit its edge.

“You dare to defy me, seldo?” Ingoldo yelled, slamming Valandur against the table again, practically forcing him to lean back.

“Atar, please!” Intarion pleaded.

“Uncle Ingoldo, for the love of the Valar, stop!” Findis demanded.

“Stay out of this, all of you!” Ingoldo shouted. “This is between me and this recalcitrant ellon.”

“Ingoldo, enough!”

Valandur looked up to see Calandil standing at the door and wondered how the ellon had gotten there. Ingoldo turned with a snarl. “And you! I left orders that you weren’t to be permitted inside the palace. You have no business here. Begone!”

Calandil laughed and Valandur felt a thrill of fear or awe sweep through him, for he had never heard his friend laugh quite that way before. “Oh, you don’t get rid of me that easily,” Calandil said with a smile. “Now let Valandur up. Tinwetariel, take your husband in hand. He’s being rather naughty.”

Everyone just gaped at the ellon who calmly entered the room. He gently, but firmly pushed an unprotesting Ingoldo from Valandur and into Tinwetariel’s arms, who led her husband to a settee while Calandil helped Valandur to straighten, the loremaster grimacing at the bruised feeling of his back where the edge of the table had dug in. Valandur stared at his friend, who smiled knowingly at him.

“You’re not Calandil, are you?” he finally whispered fearfully.

Calandil continued smiling as he helped Valandur to a chair. “And what makes you think I am not, my friend?”

“For one thing, you’re too… too… not like Calandil to be Calandil, though you bear his face and speak with his voice.”

“And the other?” Calandil asked. “You said ‘for one thing’, which presupposes that there must at least be a second thing,” he said by way of explanation when Valandur just gave him a blank look.

“Oh, I guess I just meant that you’re not acting like the Calandil I know. You’re too… too authoritative or something,” Valandur explained, looking apologetic. “So, who are you?”

“Yes, that is what I would like to know,” Ingoldo said angrily. “Who are you?”

“Someone who is looking after Valandur’s interests, which none of you who claim to be his friends seem capable of doing.”

“You forget yourself, Noldo,” Intarion said, bristling. Aldamir, Sorondur, Laurelindalë and Nolondilmë all looked abject.

“Nay. It is you who forgets himself,” Calandil shot back. “Prince you may be, but not of Tirion, and neither is your atar. His mandate does not give him leave to forbid anything where the Noldor are concerned.”

“But it does where members of my delegation are concerned,” Ingoldo retorted. “I have the right to dictate to them and that includes your precious loremaster.”

“Not my precious loremaster, I assure you,” Calandil, whom everyone was beginning to understand was not Calandil, said with a laugh. “My masters, however, have a proprietary interest in Valandur’s well-being.”

“Your masters?” Ingoldo demanded. “And just who are your masters, Noldo?”

“No Noldo am I, nor even an Elda,” Calandil said and then before their wondering eyes, his features began to shift and standing before them was a shining Maia wearing a pure white ankle-length tunic and a sky-blue surcoat with the Eagle emblem of the Elder King embroidered upon it. Everyone gasped in surprise. Those who had been sitting were on their feet. No one spoke. Intarion actually took a step or two back. Valandur could only stand there staring at the Being before them.

“No, you’re definitely not Calandil,” he said faintly.

The Maia laughed and it was so joyous that everyone, even Ingoldo, relaxed and there were faint smiles on more than one face. “Nay. I am not Calandil, though I hope you will forgive me for taking your friend’s image in vain. I am Olórin of the People of Manwë, sent at my Lord’s behest on behalf of Lord Ulmo to insure that you were not unduly punished for what is not your fault. My Lords Manwë and Ulmo feared that Prince Ingoldo would be… reluctant to believe your story and sent me to see to it that the truth be known to all. My Lords had hoped that, even if Ingoldo did not believe you, others would and that they would stand by you. Sadly, whether because they did not believe you or out of fear for themselves, those whom you deemed your friends failed you. Thus, I am here.”

“But… why the guise of my otorno?” Valandur asked. “Why the charade?”

“I wished to see how everyone would react before deciding on a course of action. I had hoped that I would not have to reveal myself to any of you, but circumstances have forced my hand.”

“And Calandil?” Valandur demanded.

“Oh, have no fear for him, my friend,” the Maia assured him. “Calandil does not even know you have returned as yet. None of your Noldorin friends do, for no one thought to inform them.” Here he looked directly at Aldamir, who blushed, looking away and refusing to offer an apology or an explanation.

“And I did not because I thought you were Calandil and would naturally tell the others,” Valandur said with a nod. “So, now what?”

“Nothing,” came the surprising answer. “My task is finished. I was told to make sure that you were believed and I am here to tell all of you that everything that Valandur has said about his journey to Alqualondë and his meeting with Lord Ulmo and the delay in returning due to the sea storm is true. And you, Ingoldo of the Vanyar, are wrong to censure him as you have, treating him as a servant rather than as your equal.”

“He will never be my equal,” Ingoldo snarled. “He is nothing and no one, just someone my dear brother foisted on me for reasons of his own, reasons I find specious. I have no doubt this one was set upon us to act as Ingwë’s spy.”

“And in that you are wrong,” Olórin stated categorically. “Valandur is just who and what he claims to be: a loremaster who specializes in the way in which the Three Clans have evolved and drifted apart, both culturally and linguistically, and how that may affect future relationships between you. At any rate, regardless of your personal feelings about the matter, my masters wish to impress upon you, upon all of you, that they are not pleased with how you have treated one of your own. Such behavior is unbecoming of any of the Eldar, you who are blessed by the One to be called His Children.”

He looked upon them all with benevolence, holding them with his eyes, though only Findis, Herencáno and Valandur could long endure his glance; the others found themselves looking away almost at once.

“Well, I have said what I have come to say and will leave you,” the Maia said when he released them from his regard. “Keep this thought in mind, my children: the Valar do not appreciate being called liars and they will call upon any whom they wish for reasons that are best known to them. Nor do they need to apologize or seek your permission to do so. Remember that for next time. I do not wish to have to come back to remind you again.” He gave them a significant look and then he was simply not there, leaving behind the mingled scents of ëarrossë and asëa aranion.

For several long moments, silence hung in the air with the floral scent as everyone just stood there staring at the space where the Maia had been. Findis was the first to speak, her voice cold and there was a fire in her eyes that reminded everyone of her atar. “When I learned the truth of what happened I was appalled that you Vanyar who actually live at the feet of the Valar disbelieved Valandur. Actually, that’s not entirely true,” she amended. “I was unsurprised at Uncle Ingoldo’s reaction, but I was dismayed at yours.” She raked her gaze upon the four younger members of the delegation, all of whom looked suitably chastened. “And yours,” she added, glaring at Intarion, who bristled slightly but did not contradict her. “That you would punish someone by humiliating them as you have, relegating an honored member of your delegation to the status of a servant, is appalling. Others may ignore it or even applaud it, but I will not condone it. The next time we meet in session I expect to see Loremaster Valandur sitting at the negotiating table,” she concluded, stressing Valandur’s title.

With that, she turned away, obviously dismissing them all from her mind. “Come along, Herencáno. You may escort me back to my apartments.”

“I am yours to command, Highness,” Herencáno said, thrusting the sheaves of paper still in his hands at Ingoldo who was just surprised enough to take them without protest. Herencáno gave Valandur a warm smile. “I will see you later, my friend,” he said and then offered his elbow to the princess, the two of them exiting without another word to anyone.

Ingoldo threw the papers onto the gaming table with a snarled oath, and taking his wife’s hand, stalked out of the room, leaving Valandur alone with Intarion and the four other members of their delegation all staring at one another in uneasy silence. Valandur wasn’t sure what he was feeling. On the one hand he was grateful that the Elder King and Lord Ulmo had been looking out for him, but on the other, he was embarrassed by the manner in which they had done so, sending a Maia in disguise as his close friend. He would have preferred to have fought his own battles without the aid of the Powers. This smacked too much of a parent reprimanding elflings ‘to play nice or not at all’ and he would not be surprised if there was resentment on the part of others for such highhandedness on the part of the Valar.

It was Intarion who finally broke the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them. He gave Valandur a rueful look. “That’s the second dressing down today,” he said. When Valandur just gave him a puzzled look the prince smiled more genuinely. “My cousin spent the entire time we were riding telling me what she thought about me. It was not pleasant hearing.”

“I am sorry,” Valandur said sincerely.

Intarion held up a hand to forestall anything else he wished to say. “No. It is I who am sorry, sorry for treating you as I did, for not giving you the benefit of the doubt. Quite frankly, I did not know what to think when Master Minalcar showed up with your ring, explaining what had happened. It seemed too… fantastic and my first unworthy thought was ‘what makes him so special to be summoned by one of the Valar?’” He sighed, looking more chagrined.

Valandur had to smile. “That was my thought as well,” he admitted. “I could not imagine why any of the Powers would deign to notice my existence, never mind speak with me face-to-face.” He shrugged. “I do not really blame any of you for being skeptical about what happened, but I had hoped that you would have given me the benefit of a doubt and would have stood by me, even if all you could do was to commiserate with me. I would not have expected any of you to have spoken up against Prince Ingoldo’s decisions, but it hurt that not one of you who I thought were my friends let me know that you believed me.”

All of a sudden, he felt a great weariness descend upon him and he found he was not interested in listening to their apologies or explanations. Without giving them a chance to speak, he left and returned to his own room where he lay upon the bed fully clothed, wondering what would happen now. How would Ingoldo treat him after this? How would the others? He sighed, thinking he needed to contact Calandil — the real Calandil, he thought with sour amusement — but he could not find the energy to get up and send a message.

Later, he thought. I’ll do it later. And with that, he found himself drifting off. His last thoughts were of being home and sitting down for a meal with his parents and sisters. Yet, when he slipped upon the Path of Dreams, he found himself sitting in a boat that floated on a canal under starlight while all around him he heard singing though there was no one in sight.

****

Seldo: Boy, used pejoratively.

Eärrossë: ‘Dew of the Sea’, i.e. Rosemary.

Asëa Aranion: Athelas, kingsfoil.

18: News from the South

The next morning found Valandur in better spirits. He had woken sometime in the night to discover that someone had come into his room and covered him with a blanket. He was still feeling too weary to wonder who it might have been and remained awake just long enough to pull the blanket around his shoulders before slipping back into sleep. When he woke again, it was just before the time of Mingling and he felt refreshed. He took a leisurely bath and dressed slowly, not in any real hurry, donning one of the tunics given him by Olwë’s son before shrugging on his loremaster’s robe.

A bell rang softly somewhere letting people know that breakfast was now available and he made his way to the dining room where he found Intarion, Aldamir, Sorondur, Laurelindalë and Nolondilmë already there. Thankfully, neither Ingoldo nor Tinwetariel were present. Valandur nodded in greeting as he headed for the buffet to fill his plate, ignoring the uncomfortable silence that had settled around them when he came in. He finished making his selections and started to take a seat at the other end of the table from where the others were sitting.

“You needn’t avoid us, Valandur,” Intarion said with a huff of annoyance where he presided at the table’s head. “Come and join us. I don’t fancy yelling and there are some things we should discuss before this morning’s session.”

Reluctantly, Valandur moved up the table, sitting beside Aldamir and facing Laurelindalë who gave him a shy smile. “I would rather eat than talk, if you don’t mind,” Valandur said. “My last meal was sometime yesterday.”

“So eat and I’ll talk,” Intarion said rather imperiously.

Valandur raised an eyebrow at the ellon’s tone but instead of commenting, he slathered butter onto his sticky bun and dug into his shirred eggs.

“First of all, I think we need an understanding between us, all of us,” Intarion said. “My royal cousin was correct about one thing. We should be friends and we should trust one another. I know that some of us wondered at Valandur’s inclusion in this delegation, but I know my uncle well enough to know that the High King does nothing without purpose. If Valandur is here, it is because Ingwë believes his insights and his knowledge are of vital importance. And, of course, we have the testimony of a Maia as to the interest the Valar have in him, and by extension, in each of us. After reflecting on it for most of the last several hours I have come to the conclusion that, in the Valar’s eyes, we are all special and worthy of their attention. I suspect that it was simply because Valandur happened to be visiting the shore with friends that the Valar took advantage of the situation and had him go to Alqualondë. Am I wrong in thinking that, Valandur?”

Valandur shook his head, taking a sip of hawthorn juice before answering. “No. I think you have the right of it. Even so, when you remember that Prince Lindarion was told hours before I ever joined my friends for the picnic to sail to where he would find me, it makes you wonder about the extent of their powers.”

“Undoubtedly,” Intarion said with a nod. “It is a scary thought, but what I am trying to say is that it could’ve been any of us, or none of us, whom the Valar summoned. We are all Vanyar and we should trust one another enough to believe what any of us say about our experiences. My atar and amillë are of the first generation and so they are somewhat set in their ways, but we who are younger should be more open-minded about what is happening.”

“I am glad you place me among the younger generations, Intarion,” Valandur said with a smile, “but I’m not that much younger than your parents, if it comes to that.”

“Perhaps, but you were born, were you not? You did not simply awaken fully grown as my parents did, as my Uncle Ingwë did.”

“That is true,” Valandur acknowledged. “My own parents were also born very shortly after the Awakening. I am actually of the second generation of those born at Cuiviénen.”

“I understand that it was only a few hundred years after the Awakening that the Eldar were discovered by Lord Oromë,” Sorondur said.

“Yes,” Valandur replied with a smile. “In those early days we were unaware of our longevity and being young we had not achieved the wisdom which age and experience gives us, so we were, shall we say, very eager for new experiences.”

“You mean you were breeding like rabbits,” Aldamir said with a wicked grin.

“That too,” Valandur retorted with a laugh and the others snickered.

“Yet, you did not?” Nolondilmë asked.

Valandur shook his head. “I was still an elfling. I reached my majority while making the Great Journey.”

“Well, at any rate,” Intarion said, “I would like all of us to be friends and to support one another to the best of our abilities. I, frankly, would like nothing better than to return to Vanyamar. I find I do not care for Tirion much.”

“That makes two of us,” Laurelindalë said with some feeling, her expression somewhat wistful. “I felt very honored to be chosen for this mission and looked forward to it, but now, with the negotiations at an impasse and everything that’s happened of late, I find myself wishing I were home in my own garden.”

Silence settled around them. Valandur finished the last of his eggs and juice, wondering if he had time for a cup of tea, but then bells rang the hour and he resisted a sigh. “I think it’s time for today’s session,” Intarion said with a rueful grin and stood. Valandur and the others rose as well, following Intarion out the door, leaving their empty plates for the servants to collect.

They made their way through the wing and up the stairs to the next floor where they went down one corridor and crossed over to the east wing which held mostly administrative offices as well as Finwë’s council chamber and, further down, the chamber being used by the delegates. They reached it just as the Noldorin delegation arrived from the opposite direction. Valandur saw Findis and had to force himself to breathe and not look away from her regard. He still felt embarrassed at the way she had defended him before the others. One part of him (a small part, he admitted to himself) wished that she hadn’t, yet another, larger part could only stand back in awe and admiration at her fiery spirit and her fearlessness in standing up to Ingoldo as she had.

Findis, for her part, gave them all a warm smile. “Fair day to you, Cousin,” she said, properly addressing Intarion. “I trust that you and your people are rested and eager to get on with our task.”

“Thank you, Cousin, we are,” Intarion said, giving her a slight bow in greeting.

“But where are Lord Ingoldo and Lady Tinwetariel?” she asked as they entered the room and began taking their seats.

“In truth, Cousin, I do not know,” Intarion admitted. “Neither came to break fast with us nor was any message sent to me letting me know if they would be here or not.”

“Should we wait for them, then, Highness?” Herencáno asked.

“We will give them a few minutes,” Findis replied. “Perhaps they are merely delayed. In the meantime, I would like to talk about that Maia who pretended to be your friend,” she said, looking at Valandur, her eyes bright, her demeanor almost elfling-like in her excitement in wishing to talk about Olórin. “I do not know about any of you, but I just about fainted when he… um… changed. Do they do that often? Pretend to be someone else, I mean? Do you think that when you believe you’re speaking to your best friend or even a complete stranger that it’s really one of them in disguise?” Her bright, inquisitive look darkened a bit at the implications of her own question.

“I doubt it,” Valandur said with a smile. “Or rather, I hope not. Yet, if they do, can we claim any harm from it? I truly believed that it was Calandil who was with us, right up to the last moment when he began doing and saying things that I know Calandil would never do or say, particularly in the presence of certain people.” He paused and gave them a shy look. “To tell you the truth, I was appalled that the Valar felt I needed help to fight my own battles.”

“A battle you were sorely losing, my friend,” Herencáno said with a chuckle. “I do not think even with her Highness’s support, you would have won without a little… er… outside help.”

Valandur nodded, giving them a rueful look. “I suspect you are correct, my lord. Still, it makes me cringe a bit. I would prefer to win or lose my battles on my own, for then the victory or the defeat is truly mine and no one else’s.”

“Defeat, perhaps, but victory is never won single-handedly,” Herencáno said in all seriousness. “If we are wise, we will acknowledge that our victories are won because there are others, allies, who support us and lend us their strength and courage as we fight our battles. If we lose at all it is usually because we prefer to stand alone without allies, believing, falsely, that victory shared with others is no true victory.”

“Yet, do not people share in defeat as well?” Aldamir ventured to ask.

Herencáno shook his head. “No, for most people spend their time blaming others for their defeat instead of acknowledging their own culpability.”

“So, I should be grateful for small favors, is that what you’re saying, my lord?” Valandur asked, giving his new friend (as he thought him) a sly smile.

“Gratitude is always a good choice in any circumstances, Loremaster,” Herencáno replied in a sober tone though his eyes were bright with suppressed amusement.

Before Valandur or anyone else could comment on that the chamber door opened and Valandur was surprised to see Prince Fëanáro standing there.

“Brother!” Findis exclaimed, looking suddenly wary. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence?”

Fëanáro did not answer immediately as he looked about. When his gaze fell on Valandur, he seemed to sneer and Valandur forced himself to return the look with a bland one of his own, as if the prince’s presence was of little concern to him. He still cringed mentally at the way the Noldo had treated him earlier. Fëanáro’s only response was a slight lifting of an eyebrow and then he turned his attention back to his sister, his expression more grave.

“Forgive the interruption, Findis, but I thought you should know that word has come from the Southern Fiefdoms that a mountain storm caused considerable damage to many of the farms. Atar is sending people to investigate.” He looked at Intarion. “Your atar plans to go with them to see for himself, for it appears that much of the damage was to crops belonging to Ingwë.”

“Do they know how badly?” Intarion demanded, looking distraught.

Fëanáro shook his head. “The first reports arrived only an hour or so ago and most of them were contradictory, but what we’ve been able to gather is that a powerful wind swept through, knocking down trees and even houses. And apparently there was also lightning which struck some trees causing them to burst into flame, but there was no rain and before people realized what was happening, the fire began to spread. Whole areas are now in flames.”

Valandur felt something like horror rise within him at the prince’s description and he could see that same horror mirrored on the faces of the others.

“Nothing like this has ever happened!” Findis exclaimed. “Why would the Valar allow—”

Fëanáro shrugged. “I do not know, nor do I particularly care. I am merely letting you know what has happened, and now, if you will excuse me, I must be away myself. Atar wishes for me to go to the Fiefdoms and learn what has happened and I still have to pack.” With that he strode away, not bothering to close the door.

They sat in stunned silence for a long moment, each trying to grasp the enormity of what they had been told. Valandur wondered at the storm. In all the yéni in which they had resided here, while there had been storms aplenty sent by the Valar, they had been renewing and life-giving, helping the crops to grow; never had there been any kind of destruction. He had to wonder at that, remembering the sea storm and how parts of Alqualondë had suffered from it. The Teleri appeared to take such damage in their stride, apparently willing to accept the price of living by their beloved Sea with all its wonders and terrors. He suddenly realized that in many ways, the Elves of Eldamar proper, living behind the Pelóri as they did, were coseted and protected like elflings from the natural harms of the world.

He found he did not like that thought much.

Herencáno was the first to stir, giving Findis an enquiring look. “What do you wish to do, Highness? Should we continue with our negotiations or shall we adjourn for now?”

Before Findis could muster a reply, Tinwetariel appeared at the door.

“Ammë!” Intarion exclaimed, rising to go to her. “Have you heard?”

“Of course I have, child,” Tinwetariel said, giving her son a frustrated look. “Where do you think I’ve been all this time? Your atar and I were summoned to Finwë’s study before Second Mingling. We’ve been in conference ever since, trying to sort out all the reports that have been pouring into the city from the Fiefdoms. Now, let us take our seats. Findis, dear, we will go on with the negotiations.”

“Seems rather pointless, doesn’t it?” one of the Noldor asked. “Should we not concern ourselves with what is happening in the Fiefdoms? I have a brother who is a steward on one of the royal estates. I would like to go and see how he and his family are faring.”

“That is, of course, your choice, Alducalmo,” Findis said, “but I think Lady Tinwetariel has the right of it. There is naught any of us can do for or against what has happened and others are already on their way to see for themselves. My main concern is how any damage to crops and destruction of property will affect our negotiations.”

“Most of what is farmed is not traded,” Valandur said. “The Fiefdoms were originally established by the three kings to provide us with necessary grains, vegetables and fruits that could not be grown elsewhere or could not be grown as easily elsewhere. What is produced on the royal estates is then brought to the cities for distribution. Others who prefer farming and husbandry to city life have migrated there and formed villages, working land for themselves while supplying us with wool and meat and other animal byproducts. If most of the damage is to the Vanyarin royal estates, that means that we of Vanyamar will most likely not see a plentiful harvest.”

“You have farms surrounding your city, though, just as we do,” Findis pointed out.

“Yes, and they should help provide us with foodstuffs, but I imagine some items will be scarce for a time.”

“Well, once we’ve learned the extent of the damage, we might be able to negotiate for some of the surplus,” Tinwetariel said. “In the meantime, perhaps we should concentrate our efforts on the shipment of metals. I believe my husband has been insisting on certain points that, quite frankly, I find to be rather unimportant. Findis, perhaps you could reiterate your people’s position on this matter and we will see what we can do about it.”

Findis raised an eyebrow but readily complied with her aunt’s suggestion. “Yes, well… as you know….”

Valandur sat back and listened to Findis outline the Noldorin position with regards to shipping ores from the Pelóri mines to Vanyamar, all the while thinking about Tinwetariel. He had paid little attention to the elleth, believing that she was merely an ornament to the delegation, Ingoldo’s wife and nothing more, but watching her now interacting with Findis, asking shrewd questions and making bold but reasonable suggestions, he realized he had wronged her. Tinwetariel had as sharp a mind as any and apparently, when not in the company of her husband, was willing to use it.

“… that should be fair compensation.” Tinwetariel finished summing up the Vanyarin position, offering her own solution to the sticking points on which Ingoldo had held out.

Valandur was amused at the almost awed look Intarion gave his amillë. Obviously even her son was unaware of her talents.

The Noldor held a brief, whispered conversation among themselves while the Vanyar waited. After a few minutes, Findis addressed them. “I think what you propose will be acceptable to us,” she said. “Of course, anything we decide on here will need to be approved by both kings, but I do not see that to be a problem. Thank you, Aunt, for your contribution. Would that you had been appointed to lead your delegation instead of Uncle, then we would have been done with all of this much sooner.”

“Then I suppose that storm coming up when it did was a good thing,” Tinwetariel said somewhat smugly. “Otherwise, my husband would be here and not on his way to the Fiefdoms and we would still be at an impasse.”

Even Valandur was unsure how to respond to such an outrageous statement. Wisely, no one commented. Findis merely nodded and stood and everyone followed suit.

“Well, we’ve accomplished much today, but I think we can adjourn. I am anxious to learn if any other news has come from the Fiefdoms.”

“So are we all, dear,” Tinwetariel said. “Why don’t you and I go find Finwë or perhaps Indis would be a better source for information and see what we can learn. If most of the damage has been to the Vanyarin royal estates, Ingwë needs to know as soon as possible.”

“He may already know if Maiar were about and witnessed the storm,” Herencáno said. “I am sure they would have reported to Lord Manwë who would certainly have informed the High King.”

“You may be correct, Lord Herencáno,” Tinwetariel acknowledged. “At any rate, let us see what news is at hand.” She looked to Intarion, who offered his arm. Herencáno offered his to Findis and the four exited the room, leaving the others to fend for themselves.

Valandur watched Findis leave with Herencáno, wishing it was he who was escorting her. Then he shook his head in disgust at the turn of his thoughts. Ridiculous! He was just a loremaster, a commoner. He could never hope to be any more than that to her or anyone else.

He nodded to the scribe who handed him a bundle of foolscap, thanking him softly, turning to see Aldamir shuffling other papers. Everyone else had left.

“Well, let’s go get these sorted out,” he said to Aldamir, “and then maybe by then we will have news.”

Aldamir nodded, giving him a grimace. “I hope the damage is not as bad as everyone is saying.”

“It will be what it will be, Aldamir, and we will deal with it as it is and not as we would like it to be.”

Aldamir gave him a considering look. “That sounds rather... uh… not exactly uplifting.”

Valandur grinned. “No, it’s not, nor is it meant to be. It is, however, realistic. One learns to be a realist when one has to contend with one’s limitations as I have had to do. Also, it was a lesson driven home to us who made the Great Journey. Things did not always turn out as we had thought they should.”

Aldamir nodded. “Someday, I would like to hear about it. It sounds exciting.”

“Yes, I suppose for you it would,” Valandur said as the two exited the room. But silently he prayed he would never experience such ‘excitement’ in his life again.

19: The Southern Fiefdoms

Valandur and Aldamir were finishing up with their duties and looking forward to some lunch when Sorondur came to them. Aldamir was in fact drawing up a rough draft of the trade agreement, basing it on what had been agreed upon earlier while Valandur went through their notes to ensure that the other ellon had all the particulars correct. Both looked up when Sorondur came in, looking anxious.

“The king has summoned us,” the ellon said without preamble. “We are to come at once. I’ve already spoken to the ellith.”

Aldamir nodded, carefully cleaning his quill and capping the ink, while Valandur gathered all the papers and placed them in a cupboard for safekeeping.

“Do you think Finwë has news for us about what is happening?” Aldamir asked.

“I am assuming so,” Sorondur replied with a shrug. “He would not bother summoning all of us otherwise. Ah, there are the ellith.”

Laurelindalë and Nolondilmë were exiting their suite and stopped to let them catch up. Without another word they traversed the halls. Sorondur apparently knew where they were going, for he led them without hesitation across the main foyer and into the west wing and soon they were standing before a set of doors with two guards, one of whom opened the door for them without challenging them and Valandur found himself entering a small audience chamber. Finwë was sitting on a throne, less ornate than the one that graced the main throne room and above it was a stained glass window depicting the Two Trees, filtering green and golden light throughout the room.

The chamber was somewhat crowded with courtiers and they could see Intarion and Tinwetariel among them, speaking with Herencáno and Findis. Valandur could not help noticing how haggard everyone looked. As soon as they entered, Finwë called Tinwetariel to him. She stood before the throne with Intarion by her side. Valandur and the other Vanyar crowded around.

“We have been receiving reports from the Southern Fiefdoms,” Finwë said without preamble. “The latest seems to suggest that the fire is spreading and endangering the Forests of Lord Oromë.”

“It’s spreading southward, then?” Tinwetariel asked.

“And west,” Finwë replied. “I know that most of Ingwë’s farms are closer to the Forests than my own. I do not know if any of them can be saved. What I do know is that if the fire is not contained more farms will be lost and perhaps even the Forests. I am sending every able-bodied ellon and not a few ellith to help fight the fire. Your people are welcome to join with mine if they so desire.”

“Have you heard from my husband?” Tinwetariel asked.

Finwë shook his head. “Not directly. My son sent a messenger back as soon as he saw how dangerous the situation is, to let me know that they will need more help than they have to contain the fire.”

“Why are the Valar not doing anything about it?” Findis exclaimed. “Surely they must know what is happening? Why do they not help us?”

Valandur gave her a sympathetic look, recognizing in her outburst the cry of a bewildered child, and he suddenly realized just how young she truly was. Without thinking he spoke before Finwë could answer her.

“When I was in Alqualondë there was a sea storm and the city sustained considerable damage afterwards. None of the Teleri asked why Lord Ulmo had not sent the storm elsewhere or even why he allowed the storm to exist at all. They simply made what preparations they could to mitigate the damage and then went about calmly cleaning up afterwards. Perhaps the Valar are waiting to see what we do about the crisis before they step in. I doubt Lord Oromë will allow his Forests to burn.”

Tinwetariel gave him an irritated look, but Finwë actually nodded. “Yes, I suspect you are correct, Loremaster,” he said. “At any rate, I’ve sent a message to Ingwë informing him as to what is happening. I expect to hear from him soon.”

“I fear whatever message he sends you will arrive too late to do us any good, Brother,” Tinwetariel said.

Finwë smiled thinly. “And normally you would be correct, Sister, but I called upon my right as king and was able to importune a passing Maia to relay my message.”

More than one person raised an eyebrow at that statement. Valandur hid a smile, wondering if that Maia had been the one who had impersonated Calandil. At the thought of his otorno, he realized he had yet to contact him and let him know that he was back in Tirion. He silently castigated himself for being so lax in his duty toward his friends. And Minalcar must be contacted as well. He resisted a sigh as he listened to the discussion around him, making his own plans. He would volunteer to go to the Fiefdoms and help.

He recalled an incident during the Great Journey when they had witnessed a conflagration. As in this case, it had begun with a lightning strike and soon an entire forest was enflamed. The Elves had not been in any danger themselves, Lord Oromë had assured them, but Valandur never forgot the terror he had felt as he watched those flames hungrily consume the forest and even from a distance he could hear the screams of the trees.

“… leave at First Mingling.”

Valandur blinked, realizing that he had let his thoughts wander and had not been paying strict attention to what was being said around him. Finwë was standing and Valandur joined the others in stepping back and giving the Noldóran their obeisance as the king exited the chamber, along with Findis and Tinwetariel. Intarion motioned for the Vanyar to remain behind while the Noldorin courtiers filed out after the king.

“If you wish to join with the others, you have my permission,” Intarion said to them. “I will be going as well, but my amillë will remain here. I would caution you ellith to think carefully about going. It will be extremely dangerous and, for myself, I would not wish my amillë to be without the company of other ellith.”

“But you do not forbid us from going,” Laurelindalë said.

“No. I do not have that right, even if by default, I have the power. The decision is yours, is all of yours. Do not think that you have to come if your heart bids you stay. With so many of the courtiers leaving as well, Finwë will be running his kingdom with little help. I know ammë will do what she can but still….”

He left the rest unspoken, for they understood. “At any rate,” he continued after a short pause, “be in the plaza an hour before the next First Mingling if you decide to go. If you ellith wish to join us, I would recommend that you borrow some leggings and tunics from us. Your gowns will never do.” He gave them a nod of dismissal and Valandur left with the others, already formulating his own plans.

The first thing he did was to send off messages to Calandil and Minalcar, telling them what had happened and where he was going. He suspected that some of his friends would be joining those heading to the Fiefdoms and suggested that they meet at a particular spot in the plaza. With that done, he began packing, choosing the oldest of his tunics to wear and putting away his loremaster’s robe. He then joined the others in the dining hall, for Intarion had ordered a meal before they left. All the others were there. Laurelindalë looked somewhat embarrassed dressed as an ellon, the sleeves of the tunic rolled up and the hem nearly to her knees. Her hair had been braided simply with bits of ribbon rather than with gemstones and a colorful kerchief covered her head. Valandur gave her a bright smile and a nod of approval. Nolondilmë was still dressed in her gown and she explained that she had decided to remain behind to keep Tinwetariel company.

The meal was eaten quickly and in silence and soon they were making their way to the plaza, joining with others. Valandur excused himself from their group. “I made arrangements to meet with some friends who might be going with us,” he explained. “I will catch up with you later.”

“We’ll be over here by this pillar,” Intarion said, pointing to his left and Valandur nodded, making his way through the crowd toward the main fountain which graced the center of the plaza.

He did not have to wait long before he saw Calandil coming toward him, along with Aldarion, Simpandil, Ferenion, Cemendur and Amandil. With them were Minalcar, his son and grandson. All of them were carrying rucksacks and several waterskins.

“Welcome back!” Calandil called out with a smile, and several moments were spent in greetings while Valandur quickly explained what had happened to him in Alqualondë as they wended their way through the milling crowd to where Intarion and the other Vanyar were waiting for them. Introductions were quickly made as they waited for the signal to depart.

People were still streaming into the plaza from all directions, most of them carrying rucksacks, some of them lugging shovels or pick-axes. Valandur was surprised to see entire families gathering, though thankfully there were no very young elflings among them, just older ones who were close to their majority, looking excited and scared at the same time. There was almost a festive air to it all as friends and neighbors greeted one another, but the reason for their gathering cast a pall over them and voices were muted.

A horn sounded and the plaza went completely silent. All looked to see a cavalcade enter the plaza from the royal stables and Valandur was surprised to see Finwë at the head of it. He was dressed in a hunting tunic and he wore no crown, his hair braided into a single queue as most of the other ellyn had theirs. Beside him rode Findis, dressed for riding. Like Laurelindalë and many of the other ellith who were going, she was dressed in a tunic and leggings, her hair braided simply with ribbons, but instead of a kerchief, her head was covered with a wide-brimmed hat in which was stuck a beautiful peacock’s feather.

Finwë ignored the crowd, glancing up at the balcony overlooking the plaza and nodding once to whoever was there. Where Valandur was standing, he could not see and assumed that the queen was there to see them off, so he was surprised when one of Finwë’s heralds called out.

“Hear ye! His Majesty has decreed that any who wish to join him to the Fiefdoms to help battle the fire be organized into companies under the command of one of the nobles who will accompany the king. If you reside between the fish market and Rose Square you will follow Lord Rialcar. If you reside south of Rose Square and east of…”

The herald continued to quarter the city and as each lord’s name was mentioned that worthy rode forth accompanied by a retainer bearing his personal banner and there was a great deal of jostling as people attempted to join whichever lord had been designated. It took more than an hour and First Mingling was well over before the only ones left were the Vanyar and Valandur’s friends, as well as those from the palace who would be accompanying the king.

“Come on,” Intarion said to them.

They made their way across the near empty plaza to where they saw Herencáno, standing beside Finwë’s horse, the king apparently giving him some last-minute instructions.

“… know you would rather come with me, my friend, but I need someone here whom I trust. I will not be long but I need to see first-hand what the situation is.”

“I am yours to command, my liege,” Herencáno said with a bow. “Go and know that I will make sure Indis doesn’t move the palace in your absence.”

Finwë laughed. “And she would, too, if given half the chance.” He cast a merry look at Findis who smirked.

“I’ll see that more wagons are sent along as well,” Herencáno continued. “You’ll need more provisions than you’ve sent ahead, I deem.”

Finwë nodded. “Yes. See if you can scare up more shovels and buckets and as many water barrels as possible. The cooks of the royal kitchen are working hard to bake more coimas and other travel food to send along as well.”

“I’ll see to it, Sire,” Herencáno said simply. “Go with the blessings of the Valar.”

Finwë reached down and the two clasped hands in farewell. Then the king straightened and seemed to notice the Vanyar standing with the other palace functionaries who were waiting for him to set out.

“You do not ride, Lord Intarion?” he asked.

“We prefer to walk, Majesty,” Intarion answered with a bow. “Once there, horses will be of little use, I deem, for I do not think you will be able to bring any horse too near the fire.”

“True,” Finwë averred. “We ride only because We do not intend to stay, for We will be needed here regardless of what is happening elsewhere, and We desire to be able to return quickly.”

“Then the sooner you are off, Finwë, the sooner you can return and relieve me of my burden of keeping Indis in line,” Herencáno said with a grin.

“Ha!” Finwë retorted, smiling back. Then he nodded to his standard bearer who set off and the king and his entourage followed. Herencáno pulled Valandur to one side while the others went on, giving him a sober look.

“What is it, Herencáno?” he asked.

“Keep an eye on the princess,” Herencáno said softly.

“And why should I be her minder?” Valandur couldn’t help countering, wondering what the Noldo was about.

“I didn’t say to be her minder, I said to keep an eye on her.” Herencáno huffed in frustration. “I know Findis, better than you. She’s rather impulsive and Finwë will have his hands full dealing with the crisis without having to deal with his daughter. I can tell you that Finwë was less than pleased when she announced that she was coming with him and their argument was long and loud. I’m surprised you didn’t hear it from the north wing. Anyway, I know you and she are friends and she respects you, as she respects few others. She’ll listen to you before she listens even to her atar. Keep her safe, Val, for all our sakes.”

Valandur nodded, touched by Herencáno’s concern for Findis and his faith in him. “I will do my best.”

“Nai iValar aselyë,” Herencáno intoned, giving him a brief bow.

Valandur returned the bow and then hurried to catch up with the others who were already on the street that led to the south gate. His friends gave him quizzical looks. “What was that about?” Calandil asked.

“Just some last minute advice from a friend,” Valandur replied and thankfully no one importuned him with any other questions. In minutes they were past the gates and heading south. Valandur could see the royal cavalcade well ahead of their company and wondered just how he was supposed to carry out Herencáno’s instructions.

They walked under the soft light of Telperion and Valandur took an interest in his surroundings, admiring the lush fields of grain and the neat orchards that marked the estates of the nobles, though he knew that most such estates were to the north and west. Soon, the last estate was passed. One of the palace gardeners named Cememmírë, walking with them, pointed to a narrow track to their left.

“That leads to the granaries,” she said. “They were only half full last I heard. If this storm and fire has destroyed most of the grain…”

She left the implication unspoken, looking troubled. No one had any words of comfort for her. As they continued on, Calandil spoke to Valandur. “You did not finish your tale about your adventures in Alqualondë or why you did not contact any of your friends when you returned.”

Valandur sighed and proceeded to explain how he was delayed by the sea storm in returning to Tirion. “And when we reached the quay, you and Intarion were there to meet me,” he said to Calandil.

“But I was never there!” the ellon exclaimed in surprise.

“No, I agree. You were never there. In point of fact, it was a Maia who disguised himself with your features, making us all believe that it was you.”

“A Maia?” Calandil gave him a disbelieving look and his other friends were equally nonplused.

Valandur nodded. “Yes. He was very good. I was completely fooled right up to the end when he began saying and doing things you would never say or do.”

For a long moment silence hung over them as they digested what Valandur had told them. Finally, Calandil gave him a concerned look. “I wonder how many times I thought I was speaking to a friend or even a stranger, never realizing I was, in fact, speaking to a Maia in disguise?”

“I suspect not at all,” Minalcar said, giving the younger ellon an amused look. “It does little good to be suspicious of people, wondering if they are who you think they are. I believe this was a one-time event for Valandur’s sake. Do not destroy your trust of others with such thoughts.”

“Minalcar is correct,” Valandur said. “We must not live without trust in one another. I do not believe the Valar or Maiar take on disguises lightly and always for a great purpose rather than as a whim. In my case, the Valar were concerned that certain people would ill-treat me because of my going to Alqualondë.”

“He means my atar,” Intarion said ruefully, joining the conversation for the first time. “And they had good reason to believe it in his case.”

“I do not blame Lord Ingoldo for his disbelief, or even really for yours and everyone else’s. If it hadn’t happened to me, I doubt I would have believed it either. At any rate, I would like to put the entire incident behind me and concentrate on the here-and-now. And is it my imagination, or does the air feel tainted somehow?”

The others began sniffing the air.

“Smoke,” Minalcar said.

“Already?” someone asked. “We’re barely a league from the city. Are all of the Southern Fiefdoms burning?”

“It’s the wind,” Simpandil replied, pointing. “See? It’s shifted from the west to the south, bringing with it the scent of smoke.”

“Still, to smell it so soon seems a bit ominous,” another commented. “Let us hope that when we get there we don’t find that we are too late.”

To that, they all agreed and they fell silent, each lost in his own thoughts.

About the time that Telperion was reaching his height of brilliance and beginning to fade toward Second Mingling, they had covered nearly half the distance to the Fiefdoms. Finwë called a halt and allowed everyone to rest for a time. In the far distance Valandur could make out a mass of people still striding along and realized it must be the group that was following Lord Saelmir, the Royal Exchequer.

“Here, have some coimas.”

Valandur turned his attention to Minalcar who held out the travel bread. Valandur thanked him. “Laiqualassë did not come?” he asked, speaking of Minalcar’s other grandson.

“Oh, he wanted to come, but my son felt he should remain behind and look after the ellith.”

“As if Ammë needs looking after,” Nambarauto said with a grin. Minalcar snorted in amusement and Eldacáno rolled his eyes.

“That was just the excuse I gave,” Eldacáno said. “In truth, I just did not wish to risk him or your sisters, who also wanted to come.”

“But you do not mind risking me,” Nambarauto said. His tone was not argumentive, only curious.

“You are well able to take care of yourself, but your brother is just young enough to be careless of his life. Besides you know what a handful Mari is. Your ammë cannot handle her on her own, or so she constantly tells me.” He gave them a sardonic look and they all chuckled.

“And I left Miri minding the shop,” Aldarion said. “As she is my senior journeyman, I left her in charge of the apprentices.”

“And rightly so,” Eldacáno said in approval.

A few minutes later, the call came for them to set out again and Valandur noticed that Finwë had not bothered to remount but walked with Findis, their horses trailing after them. Their guards did likewise. This effectively slowed their march and Valandur recognized Finwë’s intent: he wished to keep his group separate from Lord Saelmir’s about two miles ahead of them.

Most of those around Valandur walked in silence and there was no singing other than birdsong. About an hour later they came to the eaves of what Cememmírë said was the royal preserve, a stretch of woods where Finwë would go hunting.

“It borders the northern most part of the Fiefdoms,” she explained. “We’re not far now.”

All the while they could smell the smoke and the acrid tang made them cough at times and they all drank more water than they normally would to soothe their parched throats.

In spite of Cemmemírë’s assurances, it was almost Second Mingling before they came to the first farming village. The road, which had dipped into a narrow valley, now rose along a gentle swell of hills and as they came to the top of the rise, they could see the land spread before them. A small village nestled at the base of the hill they were on surrounded by fields ripe with grain and orchards laden with fruit. It was picturesque and even quaint to Valandur’s eyes, long used to living in a city. Looking down from their vantage point, though, he had a sense that the village was deserted, for he did not see anyone about.

Someone gasped and Valandur looked to where they were pointing. At first he was not sure what he was seeing. Everywhere he looked the land appeared tranquil. Well past the village he could see Lord Saelmir’s group still moving and even beyond that was another group walking under the banner of another of Finwë’s nobles, but then his eyes were drawn to the horizon and, with a rising sense of horror, Valandur realized that the entire southern horizon appeared smudged and indistinct, yet not from distance.

“The Valar save us!” he exclaimed without thinking as he watched thick black smoke rise, turning the blue skies an ugly grey. He heard someone sobbing and, tearing his eyes from the horizon, saw Findis standing beside her atar as she wept in his arms, and knew the same sense of despair as she.

They had arrived too late.

****

Coimas: ‘Life-bread’, the attested Quenya equivalent of the Sindarin lembas, which actually means ‘travel-bread’.

Nai iValar aselyë: ‘May the Valar be with you’.

20: Nordomas

Valandur watched as Finwë released Findis from his embrace and mounted, issuing orders. “Follow as quickly as you can. I am going ahead to see what the situation is.”

With that, the king rode off, joined by half of the guards and the standard bearer, the others remaining with Findis, who pulled herself together and also mounted. Without a word, she nodded to one of the guards, apparently the leader of their particular contingent, and everyone set off.

Intarion turned to Laurelindalë. “Are you sure you want to go on?”

“Of course,” she said, giving him a surprised look. “Do you think I would just turn around and walk back to Tirion on my own while everyone else went forward? What do you take me for… Your Highness?”

Intarion grinned. “I deserved that,” he said with equanimity. “Very well. Let’s all try to stay together. I would not like any of us to get separated.”

Everyone else agreed to that. Findis, meanwhile, had stepped up their pace, urging everyone to greater speed.

“But there’s no sense getting there all hot and bothered,” someone grumbled softly. “We’ll be that soon enough once we start fighting the fire.”

Still, they quickened their pace and soon they came to another village, this one somewhat larger than the last. Those who had come before them were still more or less congregated in groups, everyone standing quietly with little talking as they were gathered in a field just to the northwest of the village. Valandur could see Finwë standing under a wide nessamelda tree that overlooked the field. He was surrounded by the nobles who had led the other groups. Among them were Ingoldo and Fëanáro, both of them looking less than pristine, their faces and tunics smudged with ash, apparently giving the king a report of the situation. Findis dismounted and went to join them. Valandur wished he could as well, as much to be near her as to hear what was being said.

This much closer to the fires, the air was heavy with smoke and ash and several people were already pulling out kerchiefs or scarves and covering their faces. Valandur did the same, taking a moment to wet the cloth before tying it around his head. Breathing through the wet fabric helped ease the acrid sting in the back of his throat. A few minutes later, he saw the group around Finwë breaking up, though neither Fëanáro or Ingoldo moved. Findis, after a brief moment, came back their way and took to horse again, turning to address them.

“The fires have spread to the west and are also threatening Lord Oromë’s Forests,” she told them. “The king wishes us to head to the next village west of here and help with the firebreak.”

“What about the rest of the Fiefdoms?” someone asked.

“According to my brother, all the villages south of Carnilótsenan have been evacuated.”

Several people murmured at this. Valandur was not sure of its significance, not being familiar with the geography of the Fiefdoms, but he could tell that the news was not well received by the Noldor. He glanced at his friend, Amandil, who leaned over and whispered, “That means that nearly half the Fiefdoms are in danger of burning. Carnilótsenan is only six leagues from here, if I’m not mistaken.”

Valandur nodded, thanking him for the information, then turned his attention to what Findis was saying.

“…. our way west to the village of Nordomas where we will set up camp.” She gestured to the captain of her guards and they set off, crossing the fields until they came to a track that led southwest.

It took them the better part of two hours to reach Nordomas, a small hamlet of only a dozen or so houses surrounded by a stand of golden oaks, apparently an outlier of the great Forests that could be seen further to the west, perhaps two leagues away. They were directed to a field where others were already setting up camp. Valandur helped with the tents, competently giving directions to the other Vanyar, for it turned out that even Intarion had little first-hand knowledge of how to set up a tent. As they worked, Valandur, Minalcar, Calandil and the other Noldor with them who had made the Great Journey began to exchange reminiscences about the various types of tents and camps they had built as they crossed the breadth of Endórë, while the younger Elves listened eagerly to their tales.

Once the camp was set up, people began milling about, wondering what they were supposed to do next, but no orders were forthcoming. The smell of smoke lay heavily upon the air, though here at Nordomas, the sky was a pristine blue under the Light of the Trees. By now, Laurelin was reaching full bloom and soon she would begin to fade. To the south they could see a trail of smoke across most of the horizon and a few of the more sharp-sighted claimed that they could see flames under the clouds of ash and smoke.

“Intarion, let’s find Findis and see what’s going on,” Valandur suggested. “We should be heading for the firebreak and helping out instead of standing about looking like a bunch of lost Teleri wondering where their boat is.”

One or two, hearing Valandur, snickered at that. Intarion just nodded. “I think I saw her heading for the village itself. Come, you and I will go see what is going on, and perhaps some of you Noldor would like to join us.”

“Minalcar will represent us,” someone said and others nodded. Minalcar gave them a sardonic look but did not object and the three wended their way through the crowd toward the village square where a single large oak stood sentinel over the village well. Valandur saw Findis standing there, a mug of something in her hand, as she spoke to several people who must be villagers by their dress.

Three of Findis’ guards were also there, including the captain, who tried to stop Intarion from approaching. Intarion gave him a disbelieving look. “Wouldst forbid me from speaking to my cousin, sirrah?” he demanded. “Findis, tell this ellon to move aside. I wish to speak with you.”

“Intarion, can you not see I am busy?” Findis turned about, her expression one of annoyance, but when she saw them, or rather, when her gaze fell upon Valandur, her expression softened and Valandur swore she blushed, looking away. “Captain Ornendil, my cousin Prince Intarion is to be allowed access to me at all times, as is Loremaster Valandur.”

That surprised said loremaster, but he schooled his expression to one of cold indifference. Ornendil, for his part, gave them all a searching look, as if memorizing their faces, before stepping aside, giving them a brief bow. “Highness,” he said.

“Captain,” Intarion acknowledged with a gracious nod.

“So what brings you here, Cousin?” Findis demanded. “As you can see, I am rather busy.”

“I wished merely to ascertain the status of our situation, Findis,” Intarion replied. “As Valandur pointed out to me, we should be assisting at the firebreak instead of standing about like lost sheep.”

“Well, as I was atellin’ Her Highness, sir, we be knowin’ naught of any firebreaks hereabouts,” said one of the villagers, a smith by the looks of him.

“And as I was telling these fine people, this is where my atar, the king, sent us,” Findis said with a smile that never reached her eyes, stressing Finwë’s title. “I have yet to determine just how far away the fire really is, but it must be close enough to threaten Lord Oromë’s Forests, else Atar would never have sent me here.”

Valandur exchanged a knowing look with Intarion, suddenly realizing what Finwë had done, and one part of him applauded the Noldóran for executing such a ruse in an attempt to keep his daughter out of harm’s way, but another, larger, part felt nothing but anger, anger at Finwë for squandering a large number of helpers who could be of use in battling the fires and anger on Findis’ behalf, that Finwë would treat his daughter so shabbily.

“Why don’t we send out scouts to ascertain just how far the fire has gotten and see what can be done to keep the Forests safe?” Valandur suggested before anyone else could comment.

“That’s an excellent idea, Loremaster,” Intarion said. “What say you, Cousin? Should we send out scouts to see what is what?”

“And what if there is no real threat to the Forests?” Findis asked, looking troubled. “What if this is all a ruse to keep me out of the way?”

“Or me,” Intarion said and several eyebrows went up. He gave them a mirthless grin. “Don’t think you’re the only one who is to be kept safe, Findis. I have no doubt my atar is just as happy to have me out of harm’s way as is yours.”

“Foolishness, all of it!” Findis exclaimed in anger. “And in the meantime, these people who came to help are being punished because of us.”

“Well, just because we’ve been sent out of the path of the fire doesn’t mean we’re safe,” Minalcar said, speaking for the first time. “The wind can shift at any moment.”

“Even if your supposition is correct, my lady, all of the Fiefdoms are under siege by this fire,” Valandur said, nodding in agreement to Minalcar’s words. “As Minalcar reminds us, the winds can shift without warning and send sparks in a direction unforeseen. That is why the fire has spread so quickly from a single lightning-struck tree to vast tracts of land. You said yourself that all the villages south of Carnilostenan have been evacuated.”

“Be this true?” one of the villagers asked in dismay. “My sister and her family live in Tarwalalmeon. That be only a couple hours’ walk south of here.”

Findis gave the elleth a compassionate look. “So I was told, but fear not! I have heard no reports of injuries, so I am sure your sister and her family are well. But to get back to the matter at hand, you are correct that we should send out scouts to see what is happening.” She turned to the ellon with whom she had been speaking. “Can you spare someone to join the scouts? You know the countryside better than we and will know where best to go.”

The ellon nodded. “I will go myself.”

“Thank you,” Findis said sincerely. “So who else will go?”

“I think we three will be enough, assuming Valandur and Minalcar are willing,” Intarion said.

Valandur nodded as did Minalcar and the villager introduced himself. “I be Oromendur, the village smith.”

“Let us away, then,” Intarion said after he, Valandur and Minalcar introduced themselves. “Findis, perhaps you should tell the others where we’re going and have them organize themselves into teams. Even if the fire isn’t heading this way, I still think it wise to create a firebreak just in case.”

“Yes, I agree,” Findis said. “Thank you, all of you.”

They set off, heading directly south. “Just how much danger are the Forests in, do you think?” Intarion asked at one point as they crossed a small stone bridge that spanned a stream. They had been walking for almost an hour. To the southwest the land rose in gentle swells and the Forest beyond stood upon highlands overlooking the Fiefdoms, but as one traveled eastward the land fell again into plains. They could see the Forest extending along the horizon but the southern reaches of the Pelóri were too far away to be seen.

“Lord Oromë’s Forests extend along the southern border of the Fiefdoms, hard against the mountains,” Oromendur told them. “These woods here be an outlier of the Forest further south. When we first settled here, the woods were not here, but one of Lord Oromë’s Maiar came to us and said as we were not to farm any further than where we have. Over time, the trees have marched north.”

“So, if the Forests are in danger it will be to the south of us,” Valandur said. “Unless the Maiar are battling the flames on the other side, the Forests may well be doomed, for none can possibly reach them.”

“Unless we come at it from this end,” Minalcar said. “Look!” He pointed southeast to where the smoke seemed thickest. Valandur gazed in the direction indicated and saw with mounting horror a wall of flame sweeping across the fields consuming everything in its path. It was still many miles away but it was closer than they were expecting.

Oromendur pointed to his right. “See those hillocks? There be a vineyard there. It belongs to some Vanyarin lord. Makes good wine. Be a shame if it be destroyed.”

“Then let us form a break to the east of the vineyard,” Intarion suggested. “We also need to get further south and into the Forest and see how we can keep the fire from taking it. I do not understand how the fire could spread so quickly.”

“The land be dry,” Oromendur said. “The last rain was some time ago. This be the time when we would have harvested the wheat and the corn.” He shook his head sadly. “There will be little left.”

“Then let us save what we can,” Minalcar said. “Why don’t Oromendur and I return to the village and let the Lady Findis know what we need to do while you two continue scouting. Check the vineyard to see if anyone is there. They might have a better idea as to where we should start forming the break.”

Intarion nodded. “That sounds good. Have everyone come as soon as possible.”

Minalcar and Oromendur set off for the village while Valandur and Intarion continued toward the vineyard. They found a villa nestled on the southern side of the hills and several people milling about in the courtyard, looking east. Valandur saw that they were mostly Vanyar with one or two Noldor in the mix. Intarion hailed them.

“We’ve been sent by King Finwë to secure this part of the Fiefdoms,” he said by way of introduction. “There are many people now camped in Nordomas who will be here shortly to form a firebreak.”

“Best to speak with the mistress, then,” an ellon said, motioning them toward the house. He led them into a wide vestibule and asked them to wait. A few minutes later he returned with an ellith with the golden hair of the Vanyar and Valandur could not help noticing how Intarion’s eyes brightened at the sight of her. When she saw them, she dipped them a curtsey.

“Your Highness! Forgive me. Thúlimondil did not tell me who was here.”

Intarion gave the ellith a surprised look. “You know me, mistress?”

She gave them a coy smile. “Indeed, I do, Highness, though it is unlikely you know me, but I suspect you know my atar, Lord Nolondur. I am his daughter, Lirulin.”

“Nolondur! Yes, of course. He’s a member of Uncle’s Privy Council, and your amillë is Lady Yáviën, if I recall correctly.”

“Yes.”

“But what do you do here, lady, so far from home?” Intarion asked.

“I help oversee the vineyards for Atar,” she supplied. “Indeed, Atar is due to arrive soon to check the latest crops and then I will return to Vanyamar with him.” She gave them a frown. “But with this fire, I fear we will be hard put to save anything. Thúlimondil tells me the fire is only a few miles away.”

“Which is why we will be setting up a firebreak here,” Valandur said, speaking for the first time. “If your people can help us with that, some of us need to go further south to see if we can save anything of Lord Oromë’s Forests.”

Lirulin nodded. “Of course. Thúlimondil is my atar’s steward. He will coordinate everything with you. I had best start organizing the rest of the household. Cook will need to be informed. If you will excuse me, Highness.” She gave them another curtsey.

“Intarion, just Intarion,” the prince said, reaching down to lift her up. “There’s no need for formalities out here, lady.”

“Lirulin,” she said, giving him a shy look.

“A lovely name,” Intarion responded, smiling back.

“And you can gaze into each other’s eyes later,” Valandur said with a roll of his eyes. “We have a fire to fight.”

Intarion blinked and nodded, blushing slightly. “Yes, yes, of course… um… Thúlimondil, if you would show us the best place to start setting up the firebreak?”

“This way,” the steward said and the three of them exited the house. Thúlimondil led them out past the vineyards and an orchard to where a track led north and southeast. “This lane will take you back to Nordomas and continues on to several villages to the east. If we widen it enough it might keep the fire from spreading.”

“But only if sparks do not cross over,” Valandur said. “I do not understand why the Valar have not sent rain to put the fire out.”

“Or Maiar to help with battling the flames,” Intarion added with a shrug. “Perhaps it is as you told Findis. They do not stop those sea storms from battering Alqualondë, so why should they step in and stop the fire here? At any rate, this looks to be our best option. I will return to the villa with Thúlimondil. You want to stay here and figure out how wide we need to make this? As soon as people arrive, I will send them to you.”

“Good enough,” Valandur said, suspecting that Intarion was more interested in seeing Lirulin again.

While the two ellyn returned to the villa, Valandur eyed the lane. It was barely wide enough for a single cart. He wondered if it met up with the track they had used to reach Nordomas. If they were to keep the fires from going any further north, they would need to widen the lane more.

“Or back burn,” he said out loud to himself, and then paused, wondering where that idea had come from. Yet, the more he thought of it, the more sense it made. The effort to widen the lane would be strenuous, though it would not hurt to do so. Still, the amount of labor involved was more than they had even if they recruited every villager and all the workers at Lord Nolondur’s estate.

He gazed at the fire, which did not seem to have moved, and even looked to be dying down somewhat. Rewetting the scarf that he still held over his mouth and nose, he noticed that the wind, which had been more a gentle breeze and had come almost directly from the west, was picking up and now seemed to be shifting slightly so that it was coming more from the southwest. Even as he watched, the fire seemed to spring to new life and to his dismay he saw sparks flying northward to land in the grass, which began smoldering. Soon enough, small flames could be seen and now the fire was that much closer.

“This is impossible,” he muttered to himself. “We need rain and lots of it.” But the skies remained cloudless.

“Valandur!”

He turned to see Intarion running toward him, along with Thúlimondil.

“The fire has gotten closer,” he said to them.

“Minalcar is right behind me with our people,” Intarion said as he and the steward reached him.

“We need to back burn this field and all along this lane,” Valandur said, then turned to Thúlimondil. “Does this lane meet up with the one that goes east? There was another village about two hours walk from Nordomas.”

“Orvamas,” the steward said with a nod of his head. “It connects with the road leading to Tirion.

“And the villages south of here?” Valandur asked.

“The next village is Tarwalalmeon, about a half mile from here and then there’s Ando Tarassëo,” the steward said, “about seven miles further on. It sits on a small lake and a stream runs by it on the east heading south.”

“That could well stop the fire from getting any closer from that direction,” Valandur said, “but it could still continue northward. I was thinking of back burning along this lane rather than trying to widen it.”

“Back burn?” Intarion asked, looking confused.

“Yes,” Valandur said. “Even as I stood here watching the fire, the wind shifted enough that it sent sparks in this direction. Look! Already the fire has moved closer. This lane is too narrow. The fire, when it reaches here could easily jump the space and then we’ve lost these vineyards and orchards. But if we set fires all along this side of the lane from Nordomas to Ando Tarassëo there will be little material that can burn once the main fire reaches the burnt area.”

They gave him dubious looks. Thúlimondil shook his head. “It’s easily ten miles between Nordomas and Ando Tarassëo. That’s a lot of territory to cover. And what about the road between Nordomas and Orvamas?”

“We cannot worry about that,” Valandur said. “King Finwë sent us here to secure this area of the Fiefdoms. Others will have to look after the rest.” He forbore to say anything about their suspicions as to the true reason they had been sent to Nordomas.

There was a hail and they looked to see Findis leading the Noldor down the lane with Ornendil riding beside her. As they reached Valandur and the other ellyn, she dismounted and left the horse with the captain. “We came as quickly as we could,” she said without preamble. “Where do you want us to start?”

“That is what we are deciding,” Valandur said before Intarion could speak. “I was telling Intarion that we should back burn to keep the fires from reaching this far. This lane is too narrow to use as a firebreak. If we start a string of fires from where this lane meets the one that leads back to Orvamas down to Ando Tarassëo which sits on a small lake with a stream running south we can save these vineyards and Nordomas. It will be faster than trying to widen this road.”

Findis frowned, staring at the distant fire which had come closer and appeared to be spreading. “How far is this Ando Tarassëo from here?”

“About seven miles give or take,” Lirulin’s steward informed her. “You’re talking a stretch of almost ten miles between there and Nordomas. I doubt we have enough people to cover it.”

“If we recruit the people of Tarwalameon and Ando Tarassëo, they can deal with their part of the road,” Valandur suggested.

“Well, whatever we decide, we had better decide quickly,” Intarion said. “The wind is shifting again.”

It was true and they all took a moment to gauge it. “It’s coming from the west,” Minalcar said. “If we back burn now it will send the sparks eastward. That will make our work easier.”

“Even so, vigilance must be held to see that the fire does not somehow jump the break,” Findis reminded them. “The wind can shift again without warning.”

“That goes without saying,” Valandur said. “So shall we do it? I know the thought of deliberately starting a fire of this magnitude does not sit well with you, with any of us, but it may be our only chance of controlling the fires if the Valar have no intention of helping us.”

“But who is to say they are not?” Findis asked, giving him a shrewd look. “Where did you come up with the idea of back burning?”

Valandur blinked at the question. “In truth, I do not know. I was standing here watching the fire, wondering how effective we would be in stopping it if all we did was attempt to widen the road as a firebreak when the idea just sort of popped into my head. Yet, the more I thought about it the more sense it made.”

“It sounds as if you were inspired,” Intarion commented, giving him a somewhat suspicious look.

Valandur just shrugged.

“Well, while we’re standing about debating the issue, the fire is coming closer,” Findis said. “We need to alert the people at the other villages. Oromendur, would you coordinate your people, organize them into teams and have them be responsible for a particular stretch of the road?”

“Yes, Highness,” the Nordomas smith said. “How, though, should we be lighting the fields and should we all do it together or as the opportunity arises?”

“It would be impossible to coordinate it so that everyone sets fire to their part of the fields at the same time,” Findis replied. “Have them start as soon as they may. As for how to light it, you’re a smith, Master Oromendur. I’m sure you’ll think of something.” She turned away, effectively dismissing him. Valandur watched in amusement at the ellon standing there gaping at the princess. Oromendur caught Valandur’s eye and blushed, turning away to speak with the other villagers who began to disperse into small groups, most of them heading back up the road, while those from Tirion remained.

Findis, meanwhile was speaking to Intarion. “I will ride on to the next village and begin coordinating things there.”

“Take Valandur with you,” Intarion suggested, much to the loremaster’s surprise. “He is gifted in persuasion. I will stay here and coordinate with the Lady Lirulin, whose atar owns these vineyards.”

Valandur raised an eyebrow, amused by how Intarion did not quite meet Findis’ eyes as he mentioned the fair elleth’s name and trying not to sound too eager. Findis gave her cousin a shrewd look but did not comment.

“We’ll take half of our people,” Valandur said, “and station them along the way.”

Findis nodded, turning to the crowd waiting for orders. “We are going to back burn along this lane. Divide into groups of no more than five or six and spread yourselves out. Each group will be responsible for back burning a particular stretch of the road, but most of your attention should be focused on making sure that the fires do not jump the break. Stay vigilant. Half of you will follow me and station yourselves along the road. There should be at least one person in each group that has tinder and flint. Start the fire as soon as you are able, but keep watch on how the wind is blowing. If it shifts, you must take care.”

“Also, for safety’s sake, start the fire several feet away from the road,” Valandur added.

“What about the trees?” someone asked. “There’s that copse over there to the north and I see another stretch of woods further on.”

“We cannot concern ourselves with them,” Findis answered. “Ultimately, they are already doomed.”

Most of her listeners looked troubled at that thought, but no one offered any other protest. Findis turned to Captain Ornendil. “Captain, Loremaster Valandur needs a horse.”

“Telemnar, lend Loremaster Valandur your horse,” the captain called out to one of his men. “You will stay here and help Prince Intarion.”

“Sir,” the guard said, dismounting and leading his horse — a roan with a white blaze on its forehead — to Valandur, giving the loremaster a shy look. “He is called Lossenar.”

“A worthy name,” Valandur said. “Thank you.” He took a moment to speak to his friends before mounting. “Do you wish to follow us or remain here?”

“We’ll head south,” Minalcar answered for them all and the others nodded.

Valandur nodded. “Take care, all of you, and I will see you when I may.”

Intarion came over just then and pulled Valandur away to speak to him privately. “Keep an eye on Findis,” he whispered. “She can be somewhat impulsive and I think the thought that Finwë effectively banished her here for the duration still stings. She may do something rash just to prove to her atar that she’s not to be trifled with.”

“And you’re the second person to recruit me into keeping an eye on the princess,” Valandur said with a mirthless grin. He turned away, not giving Intarion a chance to retort, and mounted the borrowed horse, joining Findis and Ornendil as they headed south.

****

Nordomas: Oakton. [nordo ‘oak’ + -mas ‘-ton, -by’; nordo appears to be a later emendation by Tolkien of the earlier norno].

Carnilótsenan: Red-flower Valley. [carni- ‘red’ + lótsë ‘flower’ + nan ‘valley’]

Nessamelda: ‘Beloved of Nessa’, a type of tree (attested).

Tarwalameon: Garden of Elms. [tarwa ‘garden, enclosure’+ alamë ‘elm’ + -on ‘plural genitive suffix]

Orvamas: Appleton.

Ando Tarassëo: Hawthorn Gate [ando ‘gate’; tarassë ‘hawthorn/whitethorn’ + -o ‘genitive singular suffix’].

Lossenar: Snow-flame.

21: Heading South

At Tarwalameon, they found controlled chaos as villagers scurried about, apparently planning to abandon their homes, for many of them were busy packing carts with their belongings while others were attempting to lead farm animals away. The village itself was larger than Nordomas, Valandur saw, perhaps as many as fifty houses, stone-built and solid, centered around a green and bordered by elms, hence its name.

“Where do they think they’re going?” Findis asked Valandur as they rode toward the village green.

“They appear to be heading further south, perhaps to the next village,” Valandur answered.

“Well, they need to stay here and help fight the fire,” Findis retorted with a frustrated huff. “Do you recognize anyone who might be considered the headman of the village?”

“There,” Valandur pointed to where a knot of people were gathered together by the smithy, apparently arguing. As Findis and Valandur approached, the people stopped what they were doing and stared at them.

“Who oversees this village?” Findis demanded as she brought her horse to a halt before the smithy, her expression imperious.

“And who be wantin’ to know, mistress?” one of the villagers asked.

“I am Findis, the Noldóran’s daughter,” she answered somewhat haughtily. “I am overseeing the firefighting between Nordomas and Ando Tarassëo.”

The villagers started in surprise but otherwise did not acknowledge her in any way with bows or curtsies. The one who had spoken before sniffed in disdain. “Fight this? How? Word’s come that half the Fiefdoms be destroyed and the fire be out of control. There be no fightin’ this.”

“Are you the village headman?” Findis asked.

“Aye,” the ellon replied. “I be Calmamir.”

“Where are you planning to run then, Headman Calmamir?” Findis demanded.

“Ando Tarassëo sits on a lake,” the ellon answered. “We mean to go there where the water will protect us.”

“But only if the fire does not consume the fields surrounding the lake, sweeping around to attack the village on the west side,” Valandur replied in a reasonable tone before Findis could reply. “There is no safety there, my friend. Your best bet is to help us fight it here. The people of Nordomas, joined by those come from Tirion, are even now back burning the fields north of your village. We left the last group only a mile from here. You need to organize your people to do the same. We need teams of four or five spread out between here and Ando Tarrassëo. Only by fighting fire with fire will we defeat this particular enemy.”

The villagers gave them dubious looks and there was some muttering among them. As Valandur had been speaking, others had stopped what they were doing and joined their fellows, surrounding the small group from Tirion. Valandur could see Captain Ornendil and the other guards eyeing the crowd with concern.

“Who be you to tell us what to do?” Calmamir demanded.

“We are here by order of the Noldóran,” Valandur replied, giving the ellon a cold look. “Who I am is of no importance at the moment. What is, is that you are holding us up, as we need to continue to Ando Tarassëo and determine the conditions there. In the meantime, you need to get your people organized to help out. You need to have people go north as well as south. Captain Ornendil, if you would have a couple of your men remain here to see that these good people comply with his Majesty’s orders, the rest of us will continue on.”

“As you command, Loremaster,” the Captain said, giving him a salute before turning to look at his men. “Vorondur, Macatyelepë, you’re in charge here.”

“Captain!” the two guards said almost at the same time, giving Ornendil salutes.

“Your Highness, shall we continue on?” Valandur asked Findis with studied politeness.

“Yes, thank you,” Findis replied shortly, giving the villagers a brief nod before speaking softly to her horse. The villagers parted to let them pass.

“Right then,” Valandur heard Macatyelepë say as they headed south. “Headman Calmamir, is it? Good. Let’s have everyone gather in family groups. Children who have not seen at least ten harvests will remain here, while those who have seen at least that many can carry water and food, while anyone who has seen at least fifteen harvests….”

“They were simply going to abandon their homes,” Findis said as they rode out of earshot of the village. “They were going to Ando Tarassëo where they would be safe.” She gave a very unladylike snort of disbelief. “Nordomas is no less threatened than this place but no one was running away there.”

“No one in Nordomas was aware that the fire had spread so far,” Valandur pointed out with a smile. “These villagers can actually see the fire and they were rightly concerned for their safety, but running to Ando Tarassëo is not the answer. My concern is that when we come to the next village we will find the people there feeling rather complacent, believing that their lake will protect them, and it will, up to a point.”

Findis nodded, giving him a frustrated look. “You know, I am quite able to speak for myself. You did not need to speak back there as you did.”

“Findis, you are an admirable elleth, but these people are very conservative and Calmamir was not about to take orders from you.”

“How do you know?” Findis shot back. “You did not give me a chance to issue any.”

“I know simply by their postures,” Valandur replied.

Findis raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that? They were all standing.”

Valandur smiled. “Yes, but it was how they were standing that matters and that told me that however exalted your titles may be they were not about to listen to you.”

“But they listened to you,” Findis said, giving him a dubious look.

“Yes, they listened to me because I am an ellon.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s very simple,” Valandur said. “Even as you were speaking to Calmamir, he was not looking at you, but at me, another ellon, and when he answered your questions, he did not look at you, but at me. He spoke to me, not to you.”

“And so?”

“And so, he was looking to me for confirmation of all that you were saying, for you are only an elleth, after all, and anything you may say is automatically suspect unless confirmed by an ellon. None of those villagers, not even the ellith, were paying much attention to you, for, in their eyes, you had no authority.”

“I am the daughter of the Noldóran, their overlord!” Findis protested.

“An overlord none of them have ever seen, only his agents who appear at certain times to take possession of their produce which they must tithe to the Crown. They know nothing of kings and care even less for their daughters. You must make allowances for their more conservative outlook on life and act accordingly and I think the further south we go the more conservative we will find these people.”

“And that will make it more difficult to get them to cooperate,” Findis said with a sigh.

“Not if you follow my lead,” Valandur said. “You forget, I made a study of this very thing, the way a society forms and informs the language of the people and all that goes with it, including body language. Just by the way those people were not looking at you told me much about their mindset, which is why I intervened in the discussion as I did, for you would have been wasting time trying to speak with them.”

Findis gave him a sour look. “And do you enjoy this?”

Valandur’s eyes widened at the venom in her voice. “No, Findis, I do not. I much prefer to stay in the background and let others issue orders, but, other than you, I’m the only one with any title or rank which these people will admit to. Captain Ornendil is an admirable ellon and well capable of doing his duty, but he has neither the rank nor the authority to act independently. His authority is vested through you or me and the villagers will recognize that. Do you not agree, Captain?”

The Noldo nodded. “I do, Loremaster. I will gladly help organize the villagers but I cannot order them about. That authority was not granted to me. My primary duty and those of my men is to protect Her Highness.”

“So you see, meldanya, it is either you or me and as I have pointed out, if those of Tarwalalmeon are indicative of the typical peasant, it had better be me issuing orders or we’ll get nowhere with any of them.”

For a long moment Findis did not respond, chewing her lips and contemplating what had been said. Valandur remained silent, content to let her take all the time necessary, mentally reviewing what arguments he would need to put forth if the people of Ando Tarassëo proved recalcitrant.

“Yet those of Nordomas obeyed me,” she finally said.

Valandur nodded. “I suspect it is because some of them are more likely to travel to Tirion for the markets than would be true for villagers to the south. The people of Nordomas, or at least some of them, would be more exposed to the realities of life in Tirion and Finwë’s rule, so they recognized your status as his representative, even if you are an elleth.” He flashed her a smile, unable to resist the last bit. She gave him a sour look, harrumphing, but otherwise did not comment.

Laurelin was coming into full bloom by the time they came to the vicinity of Ando Tarassëo. Valandur saw that the lake was not as large as he thought it would be, which explained why only one village sat by its shores. As it was, he could see several houses circling the lake, though most were clustered to the south where a stream flowed out and ran southward. Here, the sky was black with smoke to the east and the acrid smell of burning forced them to keep their mouths covered. Valandur saw that the leading edge of the fire could not be any more than a mile or so away and heading directly toward them. Villagers were congregated around a square and as he and Findis and their guards passed through an arch created by two hawthorn trees, they all turned to them, giving them wary looks. Valandur was surprised to see that most were actually Teleri rather than being Noldor or Vanyar.

“Who is in charge here?” Valandur demanded before Findis could speak. He refused to look at her.

There was a stir among the villagers and an elleth stepped forward.

“I be,” she announced. “And who be you and why be you here?”

“Your name, mistress?” Valandur asked politely.

“Eärendilmë,” she answered readily enough. “I be the village massánië.”

“And I am Loremaster Valandur from the court of the High King,” stretching the truth somewhat, “and this is Princess Findis, daughter of Finwë Noldóran. We are here to see how you are battling the fire that threatens the Southern Fiefdoms.”

The elleth gave a snort. “We be doin’ nothin’ at the moment. Besides, our lake will protect us.”

“Think you?” Findis interjected with a slight sneer. “The fire may well be stopped by the lake but it can still spread west and come at you from that side where your lake will offer you no protection. We have the people of Nordomas and Tarwalameon back burning to try to halt the main fire from reaching this road. You need to do the same if you wish to protect your village.”

“Back burn?” Eärendilmë demanded. “Deliberately set fire to the fields? What nonsense be this?”

“No nonsense, mistress,” Valandur retorted. “It is your only hope of saving your village. You have nowhere to go. The road ends here. Lord Oromë’s Forests lie to the south and they appear to be in danger as well. Captain Ornendil and his men will help organize you. You need to get into groups of four or five and spread yourselves along the road and around the lake. That fire is nearly upon us and we will be hard-pressed to keep it from getting any closer.”

Before Eärendilmë or anyone else among the villagers could respond, one of the ellith cried out, “Where be Ninquelótë? Has anyone seen my daughter?”

Eärendilmë and others turned to the elleth in consternation. “Be she not by the well with the other elflings, Helinyetillë?” the massánië demanded.

“No,” the elleth answered tearfully. “It be the first place I looked, and the other elflings did not know where she was.”

“Surely someone must have seen her,” someone said.

“Mistress Helinyetillë, what did you ask the elflings?” Valandur asked.

She gave him a puzzled look. “Why, I asked if they had seen my daughter.”

“And, of course, they said no,” Valandur said with a nod, dismounting. “Perhaps I should talk with them.”

“You? And why you?” Eärendilmë demanded. “Why waste time with elflings? We need to begin a search for Ninquelótë.”

“Let us see what the elflings have to say first, shall we?” Valandur said as he moved past the crowd of villagers to where he could see the village well and several youngsters huddled about it looking frightened. Findis and Captain Ornendil followed. Valandur removed the scarf from his mouth and smiled at them as he knelt before them. “Hello. My name is Valandur. I understand that one of your playmates is missing. Can you tell us where she went? Did she say anything to you?”

“She was crying about her dolly,” one of the younger ellith said. “She wanted her dolly.”

Valandur turned at the sound of the gasp from Helyinyetillë. “She’s gone back to the house for her favorite doll. Oh, Valar! She’s gone back home!” She started to turn away, but Findis stayed her.

“Which house?” the princess demanded.

“It be on the other side of the lake,” Helinyetillë answered, “the one with the blue shutters. I have to go, I have to find my little girl.”

“Where is your husband, mistress?” Valandur asked, standing.

She looked at him, her eyes wet with tears. “He was visiting friends to the east when the fires began. He’s not returned. Please, I must go.”

“We’ll go,” Findis said firmly, looking at Valandur. “We have horses. We can get there faster and she may not have gotten home yet if she just left.”

Valandur nodded, then crouched down by the elflings, giving them a warm smile. “Did you see in which direction your playmate went?” But the children all shook their heads.

“She most likely took the bridge,” one of the villagers said. “It will bring her closer to your home, Helin.”

“Then we will go that way and hopefully catch up with her,” Findis said.

“Will Ninqui be all right?” the little one who had told them about the doll asked, giving Valandur a fearful look.

“Yes, child. We are going now to find her and see her to safety. Thank you for your help.” He leaned over and gave her a brief kiss on her forehead in benediction and then stood, looking at Ornendil. “Captain, while we are searching for the child can you organize everyone to start back burning? We have little time.”

“Yes, Loremaster. Go. I will see to everything.”

Valandur nodded and turned to Findis. “Highness,” was all he said and at her nod they went back to the horses and mounted. Eärendilmë gave them instructions. “The bridge be in that direction,” pointing more south than east. “Take the first side street on your right and it will take you directly there.”

“Thank you,” Findis said and then they were off. It was as the elleth had said and in a few minutes they were crossing the bridge spanning the stream, which was wider and deeper than Valandur had thought it would be. The bridge was perhaps a quarter of a mile south of the lake so they turned north immediately and urged their horses to speed.

“Mistress Helinyetillë said the house with the blue shutters,” Valandur said once they set the horses to a gallop. “Let us hope it’s the only one with shutters of that color or we may be wasting time looking for the child in the wrong house.”

“I am sure if there were more than one house with blue shutters, we would’ve been told,” Findis retorted.

“Think you?” Valandur shot back, giving her a sardonic look. “Then you obviously did not see the four houses we passed on the way to the bridge with blue shutters.”

Findis gave him a disbelieving look, then turned her attention east to where the fire was raging. It would not be long before it reached them. She gave him a worried look and by mutual consent they urged their horses to greater speed, each hoping that little Ninquelótë was not that far ahead of them.

****

Meldanya: My beloved/dear/sweet.

Massánië: ‘Bread-giver’, according to Tolkien, used as a title of the highest woman among an Elvish people, as she had the keeping and gift of the coimas (lembas).

22: Into the Fire

“Do you see any sign of her?” Findis asked Valandur as he exited the house, coughing from the smoke in spite of the kerchief covering her mouth.

This was the fifth house they had come to and the second with blue shutters. Valandur wished they had asked how many houses they had to pass before reaching Helinyetillë’s. It might have saved them time. The fire was closer than he liked and both horses were nervous. The only thing that saved them was the fact that the wind was blowing in the right direction, keeping the fire from spreading too quickly. But the air was filled with smoke and it was difficult to see clearly.

“She is nowhere here,” he answered, scanning the area.

“Ninquelótë!” Findis called out and Valandur joined her in calling the child’s name. “Ninquelótë!”

They waited for a moment, hoping to hear the child respond, but there was nothing.

“We need to move,” Valandur said, mounting. They started past the house and something caught his attention. “Wait! What’s that?” He pointed, not north along the dirt path they were riding toward the next house, which was about a dozen rangar further on, but west toward the lake. He urged his horse to move off the path and Findis followed. Straining to see through the smoke, Valandur was sure he had seen movement. It had been fleeting and he almost doubted his eyes but as they drew closer, he thought he saw a child huddled in the tall grass that bordered the lake.

Dismounting, he motioned for Findis to remain where she was and moved quietly, so as not to startle the youngling, who apparently had abandoned her quest for her doll to play by the lake. He could see her playing with something as she crouched by the shore. Drawing closer, he smiled at the child petting a frog and crooning some wordless tune to it. Lying beside her in the grass was a rag doll. Removing the scarf from his mouth he called out in a tone of mild exasperation.

“Well, there you are, hína. Your emmë is worried sick for you.”

Ninquelótë looked up with a gasp and the frog leapt from her hand and plopped into the water. The little elleth looked in dismay at where the frog had disappeared and started crying. “Quácë!”

Valandur reached down and picked her up. “Now, now, little one. Quácë is better off where he is. Come. Your emmë is waiting for you.”

But now Ninquelótë started struggling to get down. “Dolly! Want dolly!”

“Here you go,” Valandur said, reaching down to snag the doll and thrusting it into the child’s hands. “Findis, take her.” He held her up and Findis ably took her into her arms, setting her before her and speaking softly to her. Valandur did not bother to stay and listen to whatever she was saying to calm the elfling but went to his horse and mounted. “We need to get going,” he said and together they headed south. From here, the bridge was a good mile or so away and they urged their steeds to the best speed they could manage in the shifting smoke that blocked their view.

“The wind is shifting!” Valandur cried and even as he spoke the smoke seemed to part enough that they could see the fire. Gouts of flame burst forth and sparks flew toward them and they saw that the fire was less than a half mile from them and moving fast.

“We’ll never make it!” Findis cried.

“Yes we will. Hah! Á norë! Á norë linta!” he cried to the horses and the two steeds increased their speed.

Valandur kept one eye on the raging fire, gauging the distance and the speed at which the fields were burning. He wasn’t sure if they would make it to the bridge in time. It was going to be a race and a close one at that.

“There’s the bridge!” Findis cried and Valandur strained his eyes and saw the dark shape of the bridge looming through the fog of smoke, but it was still a good hundred rangar away and the fire was closer than that, for now they could feel the heat like a furnace fire and Valandur was sure that his tunic was smoking. Making a quick decision, he forced his horse to slow.

“Findis! Get off but leave the child,” he called out even as he dismounted.

Findis brought her horse to a halt but did not dismount. “Are you mad?”

“The horses will run more swiftly without us. Leave the child.” Without bothering to wait for her to dismount, Valandur reached up and simply pulled her off. Ninquelótë screamed, clinging to the headstall.

“What are you doing?” Findis yelled. “Unhand me!”

Valandur ignored her, addressing the little elleth. “Hang on tightly, hína!” he cried and gave the horse a hard slap on the rump. “Á norë!” And both horses ran.

“They’ll never make it!” Findis cried.

“Yes they will. Come on!” With that he grabbed her hand and ran to the stream and the fire, almost as if it feared losing its prey, suddenly leapt up, burning the grass behind them at a terrific rate. Valandur could feel the heat searing them and the grass all around them was smoking with small bits of flame here and there. Findis screamed as somehow the hem of her tunic caught fire.

“Jump!” Valandur shouted, pushing the elleth forward into the water and following her. They fell far enough from the shore that they found themselves in deep enough water to cover themselves as the fire seemed to roar over them. Valandur felt himself moving and realized that he had been caught in a swift current that was carrying him away. He struggled to see where Findis was but he could not see her. He pushed himself to the surface gasping for breath.

“Findis! Findis!”

“Here!”

Struggling with the current he managed to turn so he was facing toward the lake and saw the elleth, her hat gone, clinging to a rock jutting out in the middle of the stream, and wondered that he hadn’t crashed into it. The water was deep and he could get no purchase on the bottom. He tried swimming to her but the current was strong and he made little progress.

“Valandur!” she cried, stretching out her hand to him. He reached out and managed to grasp her hand but she suddenly screamed as she lost her hold on the rock and together they were swept away, passing under the bridge, while the fire raged all along the eastern shore.

****

“Findis! Findis!”

Valandur coughed, trying to clear his throat of water inadvertently swallowed as he struggled against the current. He was pulling himself out of the stream where it had shallowed out. How far the current had taken him, he did not know, but apparently far enough from the fire that he could not see any evidence of it. Instead, he saw only trees through which the stream ran, now angling more to the southeast.

Pushing the hair out of his eyes, he looked around, desperately searching for any sign of the elleth.

“Findis!”

A spasm of coughing took him and it was a few more minutes before he recovered. He stepped away from the shore back toward the center of the stream. It was no longer very deep, coming only to his knees. There were rocks all around and it had been one particular boulder that had brought Valandur to a halt as he slammed into it. He did not think anything was broken but he knew he would be a mass of bruises.

“Findis!” he practically screamed, beginning to panic as he searched desperately for the elleth. “Melda! Where are you? Findis!”

His gaze fell upon something that appeared caught in the tall reeds on the other side where willows overhung the bank and he made his way across, gasping when he saw the still form floating there.

“Findis, no!” he cried as he rushed to her and pulled her out of the water. She looked deathly pale and he did not think she was breathing. Struggling up onto the bank, he laid her on her stomach and began pounding her back, hoping it would force the water out of her lungs.

“No, no. Oh, Valar! Findis, please, melda, please.”

It seemed as if he’d been pounding on her forever, praying silently and not so silently, begging the Valar to hear him. Then, suddenly, her body spasmed and water began flowing out of her mouth.

“Yes!” Valandur shouted. “That’s it, my love. Easy now. You’re all right. It’s all right.” He gathered her into his arms and rocked her, crooning softly as she wept, more in fright, he understood, than for any pain she might be in. When her weeping slowed, he kissed her gently on the forehead. “Can you stand?” he asked and she nodded, but when she attempted to put her left foot down she hissed in sudden pain and began to crumple. Valandur was in time to catch her, easing her back down on the ground.

“Let me see,” he said, gently feeling her left leg and foot without bothering to remove her boot.

“Where are we?” she whispered, her throat raw, and she coughed several times and then gasped in pain as his hands reached her ankle.

“I think we’re in Lord Oromë’s Forest,” he answered. “Look! We’re surrounded by trees. The current must have brought us far, but how far, I cannot say. I cannot tell if the ankle is broken or just badly sprained, but I do not think you can walk easily on it right now.”

“Well we can’t stay here,” Findis countered. “We should cross over and begin walking back. We need to get back to Ando Tarassëo. Do you think the child made it safely over the bridge?”

“Yes, I think so,” Valandur said. “As for you walking anywhere, I do not see that happening immediately. I may be able to fashion some kind of crutch for you but you need to stay off this foot. Look, why don’t I carry you across and we’ll find a spot where we can dry out. I’m not about to do any kind of walking while this wet.” Findis nodded and held out her arms as he bent down and lifted her up, gingerly making his way back into the stream and walking where it was the shallowest, keeping a careful eye on the rocks that littered the streambed.

“How long have we been gone, do you suppose?” Findis asked as they reached the other side and Valandur stepped out of the water where the bank was low and accessible. “With all that smoke, I’m not sure I knew whether we were in the midst of Laurelin’s full blossoming or it was a time of Mingling.”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Valandur replied. “I lost all track trying to keep afloat. Here you go.” He settled her on the grass under a tall beech tree. “I’m going to scout around. I won’t be long.”

“Do not go far, and do not allow yourself to get lost in these trackless woods,” Findis admonished him. “I will be very put out if I have to come rescue you, hopping on one foot.”

Valandur smiled. “Yes, ammë,” he said, bending down to give her a brief kiss on the forehead. Findis’ only response was a smirk. “I’m going to head back upstream and see how far into the Forest we’ve come. We may not be too far from the border with the Southern Fiefdom and my impression was that Ando Tarassëo was only a couple of leagues from the Forest.”

“Yes, that was my impression as well, but we may have come much further than that. Go but hurry back. I do not wish to remain alone for long.”

“There is naught that can harm you here, Findis.”

“You do not know that,” Findis countered crossly, futilely attempting to wring the water out of the hem of her tunic.

“I stand corrected,” Valandur said. “I promise, I will not be long and I will take care.” He hunted about and spied a fallen tree limb and grabbed it, handing it to Findis. “Here. It is little enough, but it should offer you some protection if something comes ambling along and decides you’re an interesting addition to today’s menu.”

Findis actually chuckled at that as she accepted the limb. “Go. I will be well.”

Valandur bent down again and gave her another kiss on the forehead. She presented him with an arch look. “We’re taking liberties, are we not?”

Valandur grinned at her. “And do not deny that you’re enjoying them.” Then before she could respond to that remark he was loping off, heading back north. He hoped that the current had not taken them too far from the Fiefdoms and he could easily return to Ando Tarassëo and obtain help from the villagers. He had no doubt that Captain Ornendil was scouring the stream in search of them, or would be once the fires were dealt with. He wished he knew how long they had been in the water.

He traveled out of sight of Findis, automatically checking the quality of the light in the sky and knew that it was sometime past First Mingling and Telperion was nearly at full bloom. He thought it had been still an hour or two before Second Mingling when they had reached Ando Tarassëo, so at least a day had passed since they had rescued little Ninquelótë.

All about him was the Forest with its mixture of beech and oak and maple and even some willows by the stream. Upstream, he saw no break nor did the trees fail, though along the stream itself it was more open. He decided to go back, not wishing to leave the princess alone for too long, so when he returned to where he had left her, he was surprised to see her missing.

“Findis! Where are you?” he cried in panic.

“Here!” he heard her call and started in the direction of her voice, but she called out again. “No! Stay where you are. I’ll be with you shortly.”

He stopped, puzzled by the embarrassment he detected in her tone and then suddenly realized its source. “Oh… um… yes, of course. I’ll… er… just wait by the stream, shall I?” He turned back and stood on the bank studiously keeping his gaze on the far bank, softly whistling something as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He heard a muttered curse and a thump and turned to find Findis struggling to walk, using the limb as an oversized crutch. “Here, let me help,” he said, rushing over to give her a hand, which she did not reject, giving him a nod. When he had gotten her settled under the beech again, she gave him a soft thank you.

“What did you find out?” she asked.

“The trees go on forever, or certainly it feels that way. I saw no evidence of them thinning. If I knew that we were only a few leagues away from Ando Tarassëo, I would go for help and be back in a few hours, but we could be anywhere in Lord Oromë’s realm and days away from any help.”

“Well, when you’ve rested a bit, we will start following the stream back. Eventually we’ll make it out of the Forests and then if necessary you can run for help.”

“Are you hungry?” Valandur asked suddenly, realizing that his own stomach felt hollow.

“Starving, but I doubt we’ll find anything to eat and we have nothing with which to cook a meal.”

“There are roots and berries, though, and succulents on which we can feast,” Valandur pointed out. “It will not be much but it will sustain us.”

“And do you know anything about harvesting roots and succulents, my lord?” Findis countered with a sardonic look.

“You forget, my lady, I crossed the breadth of Endórë,” Valandur replied a little stiffly. “I haven’t lived so long in the benevolence of the Valar that I’ve completely forgotten how to survive in the wild with little more than my wits.”

Findis had the grace to look chagrined. “Yes, of course. I’d forgotten. Well, sir, and what is on the menu for today?”

Valandur grinned. “I’ll just see what Cook has come up with, shall I?”

Her laughter rang through the woods as he sauntered off in search of berries and anything else he could find for their meal.

****

Rangar: Plural of ranga: According to Tolkien, a linear measurement equal to approximately 38 inches (96.52 cm).

Emmë: An alternative hypocoristic form of amillë: Mother.

Hína: Vocative form used with very young children of hina: Child.

Quácë: Frog.

Á norë! Á norë linta!: ‘Run! Run swift!’; the Quenya form of the Sindarin ‘Noro lim’.

Melda: Beloved/dear/sweet.

Note: According to Tolkien, during the Time of the Trees, the length of a 'day' in Aman was considered to be twelve hours long.

23: The Forests of Oromë

“Are you sure these mushrooms are safe?” Findis asked, looking dubiously at the pile of fungi before her.

Valandur had in fact found, not only mushrooms, but blackberries and, along the stream, some watercress.

“A veritable feast,” he had declared as he brought everything to Findis, laying his bounty on his tunic which he had removed so it would dry faster.

He gave her an amused smile. “Trust me, meldanya, I am not trying to poison you. These are perfectly safe. Here.” He reached down and plucked one of the mushrooms out of the pile and shoved it into his mouth and began chewing. “Hmm… tastes just like chicken.”

Findis laughed. “Oh, you’re impossible,” she exclaimed as she grabbed some blackberries to eat.

“But it does,” Valandur insisted, joining her in laughter as he settled down beside her, choosing some watercress to chew on.

“Well, we certainly won’t starve,” Findis said, “but I think if this is what we’ll be eating for the very near future, meals will be rather dull.”

“Perhaps,” Valandur said with a shrug, ‘but I will not complain. I just wish I had a knife. I lost mine in the stream somehow. You can see where the sheath was torn from my belt.”

“And I wasn’t carrying one,” Findis said, frowning slightly, then grimacing when she attempted to shift her injured foot.

“How much pain are you in?” Valandur asked, worriedly.

“As long as I don’t move it too much, it’s more a dull ache than anything.”

“I would remove your boot to check but I think it best to leave it. Your boot is preventing it from swelling.”

“How long should we stay here?” Findis then asked. “While you were hunting for our dinner, I was thinking that perhaps it would be better if I stayed here and you went for help. You can travel far more quickly without me. You could leave me with enough roots and berries to live on and if I’m closer to the stream I’ll have plenty of water.”

“We have no idea how far we’ve come or how long it would take me to reach Ando Tarassëo unencumbered,” Valandur objected. “You could be here for days or even weeks. You would never survive for I could not possibly gather enough roots and berries and such for you to live on if I am gone more than a day or three.”

“But I cannot walk, or at least I cannot walk very far for any length of time. Just to hop over to those bushes and back to relieve myself left me breathless and feeling dizzy. At the rate we would be traveling we would probably reach Ando Tarassëo in time for the next Feast of Double Mirth.”

Valandur grinned at her hyperbole, knowing that that particular feast was six harvest seasons away. “I doubt it will take that long. Besides, you forget that even while we’re inching our way back, Captain Ornendil will be scouring the stream in search of us. He will not give up until he’s found us, whether alive or drowned. He and his men can move more quickly than we, so it stands to reason that he is more likely to find us than the other way round.”

“Yes, of course. You’re right. So, should we go once we’ve eaten?”

“The first rule of being lost is to stay put and let others find you, but I do not like the idea of just sitting around waiting. Certainly we can walk upstream. We will take it at your pace and go only as far as you are able at any one stretch.”

They quickly finished eating. “Here, wait while I put my tunic back on,” Valandur said and while he was shaking out the tunic and pulling it over him, Findis placed her hands on the tree, gently stroking its bark.

“What if we ask the trees to send a message letting Ornendil know that we are alive?” she suggested.

“That might work if Ornendil thinks to ask them. But you are correct. We should not dismiss the idea out of hand. See what you can do while I go… ah… find a bush of my own.”

She gave him a knowing grin as he walked away and he felt himself reddening for some reason. Returning a few minutes later, he saw she was still communing with the beech, its leaves moving slightly though there was no wind. He kept quiet until she opened her eyes.

“It has agreed to pass the message on,” she said, and even as she spoke, several nearby trees began rustling their leaves in the still air.

“Good enough,” Valandur said, lending her a hand and pulling her up from the ground. “Here. Take this tree limb to help you and put your arm around my shoulder. It’s a good thing we’re nearly the same height. It should make things easier.”

Findis complied and, after they spent a few minutes adjusting stances and grips, they set off with Findis attempting to keep her left foot from touching the ground, though she admitted that if she put her toes down it helped with her balance. Their trek was slow and awkward and Valandur was half tempted to simply pick her up and carry her in his arms, but he knew she would never allow it and if he did it anyway, she would never forgive him. So, they struggled on and managed only a few hundred rangar before Findis needed to stop, both of them sweating with the effort. Valandur brought them a few feet further on to where a lone willow overlooked the stream and settled her under it so she could lean over the bank and drink, bathing her face at the same time.

“This is impossible,” she panted after a moment or two. “We’ll never make it all the way back this way.”

“We’ve barely begun,” Valandur said. “And as long as I can find us things to eat and we have access to water, we should be fine. We could just find a spot to sit and wait for rescue but frankly that thought does not sit well with me. I would prefer meeting our rescuers on the way.”

“Yes, I suppose I do as well,” Findis said, sighing, closing her eyes for a moment.

“Here, come and put your head in my lap and sleep for a time,” Valandur said, shifting his position so he was leaning against the willow that shaded them. “I will stand guard.”

Findis did as he suggested, inching herself over to him and lying down. He stroked her hair, no longer in braids, and began to softly hum a tune, a lullaby he remembered his amillë singing to him and his sisters when they had been elflings growing up under the watchful gaze of the stars over Cuiviénen. In minutes, Findis was fast asleep; Valandur continued stroking her hair.

****

“Val, wake up!” came a hissed voice.

Valandur felt someone shaking him and he blinked, refocusing his eyes. It took a precious second or two to remember where he was and what had happened and then to realize with some chagrin that he had fallen asleep when he had promised to stand guard and that it had been Findis shaking him and she sounded… well, not frightened, but certainly concerned. It took even longer for him to realize that they were no longer alone.

Sitting before them, contemplating them with a disinterested air, was a large feline, its body perhaps a ranga long with a tail half that length, neatly curled about its flanks. The tawny fur was rough looking and dappled so Valandur thought that it would blend easily into the woods. It stared at them with unblinking topaz eyes. Valandur licked suddenly dry lips, wondering what they should do. The creature just sat there staring at them in that inscrutable way in which felines seemed to gaze upon the world. Finally, not having a better option, Valandur inclined his head in greeting.

“Fair day to you,” he said graciously.

The feline blinked, then daintily licked a paw and washed an ear, patently ignoring them. It stopped its ablutions after another minute or so and stared at them unblinkingly again.

“What do you suppose it wants?” Findis whispered. She had sat up and unconsciously huddled against him. He put an arm around her shoulders.

“Well, I doubt it is to eat us,” he said with a smile, though she did not see, her attention riveted upon the feline still sitting before them. “It’s probably just curious, wondering what these strange creatures are who have invaded its territory. As long as we do nothing threatening, we should be fine. Eventually, it should get bored and go about its own business and leave us alone.” At least, I sincerely hope so, he added silently to himself, wondering what he would do if the creature decided to attack them.

After several tense minutes, the creature stood up and stretched, flicking its tail and then walking away, but it did not disappear into the forest. Instead, it stopped after a few feet and sat down again, looking in their direction, growling something. Valandur thought there was some expectation on the part of the animal and it growled again, coming back to them and gently nipping at the hem of Findis’ tunic. She gave a muffled shriek and buried her head in his shoulders.

“Hey! None of that,” Valandur practically shouted and then forced himself not to laugh when both Findis and the feline gave him almost identical looks of disbelief. “No, beloved, not you, our furry friend here,” he said giving her a kiss on the forehead. “Methinks we are being asked to follow it.”

“Are you sure?” she asked dubiously.

“As sure as I am of anything,” he replied with a shrug.

“But it’s heading away from the stream,” she protested. “Surely our only hope of being rescued is to follow the stream. At least we will be assured of water if nothing else. If we follow it who knows where it will lead us?”

“True,” Valandur averred, “but you are forgetting whose Forests we are in.” With that he pushed her gently away from him and stood, reaching down to lend her a hand and giving her the tree limb she was using as a crutch. It suddenly occurred to him that he had never thought to use it to threaten the animal who now sat patiently watching them. When Findis was ready, he addressed the creature.

“Lead on, good sir,” he said, “but do not range far for we cannot move swiftly.”

He was not sure if the animal even understood him, but apparently it did, for when it set off again, it went at a pace that kept it in their sight as they wended their way between the trees away from the stream. Valandur hoped that what they were doing in following the cat did not end up with them regretting their decision, but he reminded himself that they were indeed in Lord Oromë’s demesne and all creatures there were under his suzerainty.

They managed to walk some distance, far enough that the sound of the stream had faded away, before Findis indicated that she needed to stop for a bit.

“Hold, Master Yaulë!” he called out, even as he helped Findis to the ground so she could lean against a tree, wishing they had had some means of carrying water with them. They were both dripping with sweat and Valandur knew that they would need water soon enough.

The creature stopped and settled itself, staring at them and Valandur had the distinct feeling that it saw them as weak, useless things.

“The lady cannot travel fast or far at any one go,” he said, speaking to the cat as if he were speaking to another Elf. “We need water as well. Food we can do without for a time, but we cannot do without water.”

The creature, however, did not deign to answer and Valandur sighed as he settled himself down beside Findis who gave him a wry look. “Perhaps there are other streams or springs.”

“We can only hope,” Valandur said with a sigh. “How are you faring?”

“I will manage. I really have no choice, do I?”

“No, melda, and neither do I.”

“And since when did I become your beloved?” Findis asked, giving him a haughty look.

“Since now,” he answered with a smile, leaning over to give her a kiss, this time on her right cheek. She blushed and put a hand where he had kissed her.

“You are being over bold, sir,” she protested.

“And you do not feel for me as I feel for you?”

“I did not say that,” Findis insisted. “I said you were being over bold. There is the matter of propriety,” she added primly.

Valandur laughed. “Propriety! Here? Well, it’s not as if we’re not being chaperoned, is it?” And he gestured to where the cat still sat some distance from them, yawning and snapping at some insect flitting by, patently ignoring them, or so it would seem.

“As if my atar would believe that a cat was a proper chaperone,” Findis retorted with a sniff.

“But meldanya,” Valandur couldn’t help saying in a teasing voice, giving her a mischievous smile, “it’s the perfect chaperone.”

“Oh?” Findis raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Of course,” Valandur replied, grinning hugely. “After all, how many chaperones do you know who could eat you if you misbehave?”

For a second or two, they stared at one another, then at the cat which blinked at them and yawned, then back at one another and then they burst out laughing, practically falling over one another in their mirth. The cat, meanwhile, yawned a second time, lying down with its head in its paws and fell asleep.

****

Valandur felt something nipping at his hair and then a wet tongue slid over his face. Suddenly, he was wide awake.

“Ugh! What did you do that for?” he exclaimed as he sat up and wiped his face on his tunic sleeve, glaring at the feline now sitting patiently, staring at him. When it saw that Valandur was awake, it padded away, stopping in a few feet and looking back, giving a low growl.

“All right, all right,” Valandur groused as he shook Findis awake. “Give me a few minutes, will you? What is the rush, after all? Findis, time to wake up. Our guide is anxious for us to move on.”

“Hmph? Oh!” Findis focused her eyes and saw the cat and sat up abruptly. Valandur gave her a wry look, standing and holding out his hands to help her up. After a moment of adjusting their stances, they were ready and Valandur turned to the cat.

“Lead on,” he said and, with a flick of its tail, the feline set off with the two Elves right behind.

“I don’t even remember falling asleep,” Findis said as she hobbled along.

“Me neither,” Valandur said with a chagrined look. “I guess we are both more exhausted than we thought.”

“Right now, I’m more thirsty than anything,” Findis complained. “I hope we find water soon or someone finds us. Where do you suppose its leading us?”

“I have no idea except that it appears that we are moving more or less north of west.”

They both fell silent after that, each conserving his or her strength for the walking with Valandur still tempted to just pick the elleth up and carry her, but he was unsure how she would take it. However, the question became moot when they came upon a large tree that had fallen and was now blocking their path. The cat simply leaped over it and Valandur knew that he could easily do the same but Findis was in no condition to do so. Without thinking, he stopped and scooped her into his arms.

“What are you doing?” she demanded angrily, and in her surprise and shock, she dropped the tree limb.

“What does it look like, melda?” he retorted somewhat shortly as he carefully maneuvered himself over the fallen trunk. “This obstacle is too high for you. Now, just sit back and relax.”

He crossed over and looked about for the cat, spying it a few feet away. As soon as his gaze fell on the creature it flicked its tail and set off and Valandur, still carrying Findis, followed.

“You can put me down now,” the elleth said through gritted teeth.

Valandur gave her a grin. “I think I’ll just carry you a bit. We’ll make better time.”

“Hmph,” came Findis’ response, clearly unconvinced, but she did not contradict him or attempt to leave his embrace. Instead, she actually snuggled a little closer, laying her head on his shoulder. Valandur allowed himself to smile as he followed the cat.

Carrying Findis, they made better time and went further, deeper into the woods. It was difficult to gauge how many hours they traveled, for the trees often blocked the sky and Valandur could not easily check to see what the quality of the Light was, but he suspected they had traveled for some hours and he was beginning to reel from lack of water and the weight of Findis in his arms when the cat led them to a spring bubbling up out of the ground. With a cry of relief, he stumbled to the ground and carefully put Findis down. Then they both drank from the cold water, feeling immensely refreshed.

After drinking his fill, Valandur took the opportunity to look about. He had not been paying attention to his surroundings for some time as he concentrated on keeping the cat in his sight and Findis in his arms. Now he gaped in shock at the trees that surrounded them. Along the stream the trees had been mostly oak and maple and stately beeches and willows but as they moved further away from the stream, the trees had changed and oaks and beeches had given way to malinorni and nessamelda-trees and finally to incredibly huge redwoods that dwarfed all the other trees.

“What type of trees are these?” Findis whispered in awe. “They are larger even than the largest malinornë I have ever seen.”

Valandur could only shake his head, for he had no answer. The cat snarled at them and Valandur sighed. “It looks as if our guide wishes us to follow. Take another long drink first, though, for I have no idea how long it will be before we have water again.” He followed words with action and drank from the spring and Findis followed suit. This time, when he made to lift her into his arms she offered no protest.

They set off again and now it appeared that the cat was angling more north and its pace had quickened as if it sensed that they were near their goal or that it simply wanted to be rid of them and be off on its own affairs. Valandur sincerely hoped that they were being led to a farming community where they could get help. He was concerned about Findis’ ankle; it needed to be tended. He was unsure, but where her skin brushed against his, it felt too warm and he was afraid she might become feverish.

Then they seemed to reach a clearing or rather, he realized, that the woods were failing and before them was an open field covered in tall grass and wildflowers of every shape and hue. The light was that of Laurelin beginning to fade toward First Mingling. It took a moment for Valandur to realize that their guide had disappeared and then another moment to realize that he was standing beside one of the redwoods that appeared to have had a section of its trunk carved out. Peering inside, he was surprised to see a large space furnished with plain furniture: a couple of beds with no linen on them and a table and chairs. The ground was packed dirt and there were cupboards built into the walls.

“How odd,” Findis said as she peered inside. “Why would anyone create such a place?”

“I do not know, but I am not about to complain,” Valandur replied as he stepped inside and settled Findis on one of the beds. “Rest here, my love, while I explore this… uh… tree-cave.”

“Do you suppose Lord Oromë made this just for us?” she asked as Valandur stepped away and began investigating the cupboards.

“Doubtful,” he answered, “though I am sure that it was made by Lord Oromë or perhaps his Maiar for purposes of his own. Look! There is coimas here and… yes… jugs of water. Well, we certainly won’t starve or die of thirst. I just wish I knew where we were in relation to the Southern Fiefdoms so I can go for help.” He came over to the bed with some of the waybread and water, handing them to Findis who accepted them gratefully.

“Go for help and leave me here alone?” she asked after taking a bite of the bread and a sip of the water.

“At least you are safe here, Findis. Look, you can even shut the entrance.” He pointed to a door that had been pushed back against the wall so it had not been immediately noticeable when they came inside.

“Well, you don’t have to go just now, do you?” she asked somewhat petulantly.

“No. I would like to rest first and I want to check your ankle. Here are strips of cloth for bandages and I know a little of healcraft. I will go out and see if I can find some comfrey and make a paste from it that should help with any swelling.” With that, he went back outside, eyeing the surrounding area. There! Yes, he saw comfrey and even feverweed. Collecting the plants he headed back to the tree-cave, as he thought of it, to find that Findis had one boot off and was attempting to remove the other.

“Here, let me do that,” he said, placing the plants on the table. He removed the boot as carefully as he could, but even so, she hissed and there were tears of pain in her eyes. Examining the foot, Valandur assured her that it was not broken. “It is badly sprained but the comfrey should help and the feverweed, while not as effective as willow bark, will help keep a fever down. You are over-warm and not from exerting yourself.”

Findis merely nodded, lying back down on the bed, while Valandur puttered about, finding everything he needed to make a paste from the comfrey and a cold tincture from the feverweed, for he had no means to make a fire so neither the paste nor the tincture were particularly efficacious but it was all he had to offer. Once the foot was properly wrapped and the tincture drunk (with many grimaces and even a swear word or two on Findis’ part), he encouraged her to lie back down and try to sleep.

“I will set out at the next Mingling,” he told her.

She just nodded and was already slipping onto the Path of Dreams. He covered her gently with a blanket he found in another cupboard and then he grabbed another blanket for himself and settled into the other bed. Soon he, too, was fast asleep.

****

Yaulë: Cat.

Malinorni: Plural of malinornë: Mallorn.

24: Rescue

Valandur woke suddenly, unsure at first where he was. His gaze fell upon Findis still sleeping and it all came rushing back to him. Rising, he stole softly across the space separating them and gazed down at her, smiling gently. Her eyes were nearly closed and he could imagine just how exhausted she must be. Her hair was a golden aureole with bits of twigs and leaves interlaced in her tresses, her tunic was filthy, caked with mud, and torn. He could see the bit of the hem that had caught fire, the edge charred and the metallic thread embroidery melted. There was a smudge of dirt on her face and her hands, once carefully manicured, were grimy and rough looking, the nails broken off.

She was beautiful and she was his beloved.

He wanted nothing more than to gather her into his embrace, shower her with his kisses and never let her go. Instead, he stepped away and quietly explored their domicile, discovering a privy in the back, cleverly hidden behind what he had first taken to be another cupboard. After availing himself of the facility, he went outside to look about. Their tree-cave, as he continued to think of it for lack of a better word, lay on the northern border of the Forests overlooking a wide meadow. To the north and west were low rolling hills, purplish and indistinct on the horizon but eastward the meadow stretched out and he saw no other features. This could not be anywhere near the Southern Fiefdoms. He recalled that the Forests had marched along the western border of the Fiefdoms, effectively limiting their expansion further west. He had to assume that where they were was well west of Nordomas and the other villages they had visited. How far west remained to be seen.

He tried to call to mind the geography of Aman, but he had to admit to himself that he had paid scant attention to learning the lie of the land that was now his home. He knew, of course, that the realms of Lords Irmo and his brother, Námo, lay somewhere to the southwest of Valmar and that their sister, the Lady Nienna, held sway somewhere along the Western Shore, her house overlooking the Ekkaia that no Elf had ever yet seen, but as far as distances were concerned, he had no idea. He only knew that it took less than a day to reach Valmar from Vanyamar and Tirion was another three or four days further on. Beyond that, he did not know, and that troubled him. How long had he lived here in blissful ignorance of even the most basic knowledge of the land and its geography?

He shook his head at that thought and decided to look for more comfrey. The poultice would need to be refreshed. He wished he had means to build a fire but he had lost his tinder along with his knife and he doubted that Lord Oromë would appreciate him building a fire inside the tree. He grinned at that thought as he stooped to gather some more of the healing herb. He spent several minutes harvesting the comfrey and a few other herbs that he recognized and then headed back to where Findis was just beginning to stir.

“Fair day to you, my lady,” he said as he came inside, dropping his herbal treasures on the table.

“Fair day, my lord,” she answered, brushing the hair out of her eyes as she struggled to sit up.

“I have some more comfrey and a few other herbs that I will pound into a paste. That poultice needs to be refreshed. How does your ankle feel?”

She moved her foot experimentally. “It still throbs but not as painfully as before,” she answered.

“Good. A few days of resting it should help it to heal. Are you hungry or thirsty?”

“No, though what I wouldn’t give for a hot bath and clean clothes right now.”

Valandur laughed. “You and me both. I’ve been doing a bit of exploring. There is a privy in the back. Do you need any help in getting to it?”

“No. I think I can manage,” she said, carefully swinging her legs out of the bed. “Bring that chair over and I will use it as a crutch. I wish I hadn’t dropped the tree limb.”

“I will see if I can find another after I’ve made the poultice,” Valandur said, as he dragged the chair over and gave her a hand standing. Findis clutched the back of the chair, keeping her left foot off the floor and slowly inched her way to the back while Valandur returned to the table and began sorting out the herbs. When she returned, she did not go back to her bed but set the chair by the table and sat, eyeing the bowl in which Valandur was making the poultice, the scent of the crushed herbs brightening the air around them.

“Where do you suppose we are?” she asked.

“Definitely nowhere near the Southern Fiefdoms,” he answered. “I took a look outside earlier and there is no sign of smoke or fire anywhere. The sky to the east is blue and cloudless.”

“It could mean that the fires have burned out and there is no smoke rising,” she offered.

“I would not imagine that such smoke as rose above the fires would dissipate so quickly,” he replied. “I think we’re just far enough away that we cannot see any evidence of it. Aman is very wide and I do not know where that stream eventually ends or in which direction or even how far we traveled along it. I will freely admit that I know little of the geography of Valinor save the little bit that comprises Eldamar. Here, let me see your foot.”

He pulled the other chair out and set it so she could prop her foot. As gently as possible, he removed the wrappings. The swelling was less and the purple-yellow bruising was fading but she still hissed in pain when he manipulated the ankle ever so slightly.

“I think you’ll need to stay off this for a few more days,” he said as he first bathed the foot with water, dried it and then smeared the poultice on before replacing the bandages.

“Thank you,” Findis said. “That feels better already. So, what shall we do? Shall you leave me here and go look for rescue?”

“That would certainly be the wisest thing,” Valandur said. “No one would ever think to look for us here. They would simply keep following the stream, though they might realize we left it if they notice evidence of our heading away from the stream when we were following the cat, but I do not know what woodcraft any of them might have.”

“Well, I’m safe enough here. I think you should leave as soon as possible. Who knows how long it will take you to reach civilization?”

“I hate to leave you alone, though,” Valandur admitted. “You won’t be able to move about until your foot is more healed and while you certainly have enough food and water to see you through, I notice that Lord Oromë failed to provide us with reading material to while away the hours. You’re going to be very, very bored before I return with help.”

Findis laughed. “I’m sure I’ll manage. Perhaps I will spend the time mentally composing a ballad about our adventures or I will just sleep. Please do not worry for me, tyenya.”

Valandur raised an eyebrow at the form of address, more intimate than she had ever used with him before. It was not quite as intimate as melda, but it was certainly a step in the right direction.

He started to comment but a shadow blocking the light stopped him and he looked out the door, noticing how dark it suddenly was. Going to the entrance, he peered out. “Valar! Where did this storm come from?” he exclaimed.

“What is it? What’s happening?” Findis demanded.

Valandur stepped to one side so she could see out. The sky, so blue only a short time before, was now purplish, the Light of the Trees dim, as storm clouds flew swiftly overhead. There was a sudden burst of lightning, followed almost immediately by the ominous clap of thunder and then the rain came down in a torrent, the wind driving some of it inside the tree. Valandur quickly pulled the door closed, plunging them into darkness, for there were no windows.

“Well, this won’t do,” he heard Findis exclaim more in annoyance than anything. “Val, crack the door open a bit. We need to be able to see. Why couldn’t Lord Oromë have supplied us with candles at least?”

Valandur did as he was bid, opening the door enough so that light leaked in with the rain, making it possible for him to see again. However, when he released his hold on the door, the wind simply threw it wide open and Valandur quickly moved away, wiping the rainwater dripping from him. “Perhaps he did. I haven’t explored every cupboard. Even if there are candles, unless there is flint and tinder as well, we’re out of luck.”

“I think I still have mine,” Findis said, pulling at one of the pouches still on her belt, opening it and rummaging about. “Yes, here it is. I’d forgotten all about it.”

“Good. Ah… here! I found some candles.” He pulled out a couple of fat candles from one of the cupboards and plopped them on the table while Findis fiddled with the flint and tinder, lighting the wicks. Once that was done, Valandur went and closed the door again. Thunder rumbled, fading away.

“How long do you think the storm will last?” Findis asked as Valandur joined her at the table, the inside of the tree feeling dark and intimate with only the soft glow of the candles illuminating it.

“Sorry. I have no idea,” Valandur replied. “It will last as long as the Valar will it to last, I suppose.”

“Odd that it came up so suddenly without warning as we sat here discussing you going for help,” Findis commented. “It’s almost as if someone does not wish us to be separated.”

“Why, though? I cannot imagine the Valar not wanting us to be found, can you? Your family and my friends must be frantic.”

Findis shrugged. “You may be right. Perhaps I am just naturally suspicious.”

“As soon as this storm passes, though, I will set out,” Valandur said. “It cannot last forever and if someone wants us to remain here indefinitely, they’ll need to come around and restock the cupboards. The coimas won’t last that long, after all.”

Findis laughed. “Well, while we are waiting out the storm, perhaps we can while the time away with song or, better yet, tell me something of your adventures crossing the Outer Lands.”

Valandur raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “Let me get some coimas and water for us to feast on first.” At her nod, he stood and rummaged about the cupboards. “Well, I suppose I should start with describing the first time Lord Oromë came to us,” he said as he brought some of the waybread and a beaker of water to the table. “I remember I was playing with my friends by the shore of the bay, skipping stones, and….”

****

The storm lasted longer than they anticipated. Meanwhile, Valandur continued to regale Findis with his tales of all that he had seen and experienced while crossing the breadth of Middle-earth. At one point, realizing they hadn’t heard the rumble of thunder for a time, Valandur got up and opened the door to find that there was a steady downpour.

“I think the worst of it is over,” he commented as he returned to the table, leaving the door open, giving them more light and fresh air.

“Wait until it lets up more before leaving, though,” Findis said. “You were just coming to the good part of your tale, I deem, and I want to hear the rest before you go.”

Valandur laughed. “Very well, melda. Where was I? Oh, yes. Lord Ulmo coming and ferrying us on the island to Valinor. There really isn’t much more to tell. It took some time I suppose for the island to reach these shores and I and my companions spent it exploring. It’s a fair land, actually, and I was not too surprised to hear that King Olwë and the Teleri were reluctant to leave it once they arrived. It’s a pity no one lives there now. Well, perhaps someday some adventurous souls will return to it when they decide Eldamar is too tame.”

“Would you go?” Findis asked.

Valandur shrugged. “I do not know. Probably not. I’ve had my fill of adventure and all I want is to return to Vanyamar and resume my teaching and studying.”

Findis appeared pensive but then she glanced out the door and smiled. “Oh look! The rain has ceased. Why don’t you gather some supplies to take with you and be on your way?”

“Trying to get rid of me so soon?” Valandur asked teasingly.

“No, but the sooner you are gone, the sooner you are back with help.”

“Yes, that’s true. Let me see if I can find something to carry the coimas in and I will take one of these beakers of water. Hopefully, I’ll be able to find a water source along the way to fill it if I need to.”

“Take two of them,” Findis suggested as Valandur began puttering about, looking for a sack or pouch in which to store the waybread. “There are plenty of beakers.”

“I’m going to make up some more of the poultice. I want you to apply it to your ankle whenever the paste dries out.”

So saying, he stepped outside with the intention of harvesting more herbs but he came swiftly back.

“Val, what—oh!”

Standing at the doorway was a stranger, one who appeared to be an Elf. He was dressed in a leather vest over a forest green shirt and leather leggings. His dark hair was oddly braided with front braids intertwined with strands of silver and his eyes were a startling emerald green. He carried a bow that was nearly as tall as he was. It appeared to be made from a greyish wood unfamiliar to them and was chased with silver. A quiver of arrows was slung on his back.

“Greetings, my friends,” the stranger said with a smile. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“Oh, is this place yours?” Findis asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” the stranger said. “Lord Oromë created it for my use though I am more likely to camp in the branches of the tree instead.”

“How?” Valandur asked. “The nearest branch is too high up to jump to.”

The stranger smiled. “Well, I have my ways,” was all he said. “Now, I take it you are lost. I am Tilion, by the way.”

Valandur and Findis introduced themselves. Tilion gave them a surprised look. “Finwë’s daughter! Well, that is a bit of news.”

“How far is it to the nearest settlement?” Valandur asked. “I am about to leave and go for help.”

“Hmm… that’s several Minglings’ walk from here,” Tilion said. “I think that you had best let me go for help.”

“You? Why you?” Valandur demanded perhaps more sharply than he intended, casting a suspicious eye on the stranger.

If Tilion was upset by Valandur’s attitude, he did not show it, merely smiling. “You cannot see it from here, for it lies beyond the horizon, but a woods separates us from the Fiefdoms. It is trackless and you can easily get lost in it. Also, you have no idea just where the settlement is.”

“And you do?” Findis asked before Valandur could.

Tilion nodded. “I am well familiar with every branch and root in my lord’s Forests, Lady Findis.” He turned to speak to Valandur. “I will go for help while you tend to the lady, for I can see she is injured. I will be swift and your rescue will be forthcoming.”

With that, he gave them a short bow and made to leave.

“Wait!” Valandur said, thrusting the sack of waybread into Tilion’s hands along with the beakers of water. “You’ll need these.”

Tilion smiled, handing it all back to Valandur. “Nay, I need them not.” And with that he left, running swiftly across the field. Valandur watched him go, wondering just who this providential stranger truly was. When a fold of the earth hid Tilion from him he sighed and turned to Findis.

“I’ll go see about finding more herbs for the poultice,” he said and at her nod he left.

****

Minglings came and went. Findis’ ankle healed enough that she was able to walk on it with care, though she was more than content enough to simply bring a chair outside and sit, letting the birds and squirrels come to her and eat out of her hands. Valandur was unaccountably restless and spent most of his time wandering through the area, either into the forest or across the fields, always being sure that their tree-cave was in sight. His explorations did yield treasures of berries and roots and such to supplement their diet, so he was happy enough to gather them, along with bouquets of wildflowers which he presented to Findis with a flourish and a chaste kiss.

They spoke a little concerning the stranger with Findis wondering about what sort of Elf would be content to wander alone through the Forests as he did without wishing the company of other Elves. Valandur, however, suspected that Tilion was something other than an Elf, but he kept his suspicions to himself, for he had no actual proof. Both wondered how much longer it would be before rescue came.

“Though, frankly, my foot is healed enough that we could certainly just leave,” Findis commented at one point as she sat in her chair while Valandur sat on the ground beside her feeding a couple of squirrels.

“And while we are happily wandering through a trackless forest heading east, our rescuers are but a few trees away heading west and neither party will know the other is so near, so when they come here and find us gone, they will be sore vexed,” he retorted with a grin and Findis laughed, acknowledging the logic of his words.

“Well, I suppose we will just have to put up with one another for a little while longer,” Findis said when she had calmed down.

“And do I bore you so?” Valandur asked with a teasing grin.

“Nay, you do not, though I fear I must bore you.”

“Why do you say that?” Valandur asked, frowning in puzzlement.

She shrugged, looking diffident. “Oh, I guess, because you’ve led such an exciting life and I have done nothing of import and….”

“Melda,” Valandur said softly, rising to his knees and taking her hands in his, bending down to kiss them. “You must not disparage yourself so. You may not have had the experiences that I have had, but you are interesting in your own right.”

“But how can you say that?” Findis protested. “I have done nothing….”

“It is not what you have done or not done that matters,” Valandur insisted. “It’s the fact that you are a unique creation from the mind of Ilúvatar, wholly yourself and no other, that makes you interesting. Indeed, it is something that applies to all. I would hope that you find me as interesting as the things I have done or seen in my life, that you would find me interesting even if I had done nothing of import except to be born.”

“Of course I find you interesting, Val,” she said, then paused for a moment before asking shyly, “What do you find so interesting about me?”

Valandur smiled. “Everything, but do you know what I found most interesting about you from the very first time we met?”

She shook her head.

“It was the way you speak.”

Findis blinked, as if unsure that she had heard correctly, staring down at him as he continued to kneel before her. “The way I speak? Not the color of my hair or the brightness of my eyes or the way my nose turns up or even the fullness of my bosom and the narrowness of my waist, but the way I speak?”

Valandur laughed. “All those things, surely, but you forget that as a lambengolmo, my first instinct is to listen and observe the ways in which people communicate. I found it fascinating the way your accent shifted between Vanyarin and Noldorin depending upon to whom you were speaking. I was enthralled by the turns of phrases you used that seemed uniquely yours and not stock idioms that everyone uses without thought or care. And, of course, the pure musicality of your voice that is a delight to hear.” He leaned over and planted a loving kiss on her cheek. “I fell in love with you for your voice, meldanya, for what elleth does not have lovely hair and bright eyes and a shapely body? But the voice, ah, the voice is so unique to ourselves.”

He started to rise, but she stayed him and he gave her a quizzical look. She did not speak, merely gazed into his eyes and then she leaned over and to his everlasting surprise she sought his mouth, kissing it gently, hesitantly, as if unsure of her welcome. She started to straighten but he reached out and placed his hand to the back of her head, and accepting the invitation, she bent down again and they both kissed, their eyes closed. The sweetness of her lips sent a thrill of joy through Valandur’s very soul and he felt that they could remain this way forever.

“Hey!”

Valandur suddenly felt himself being pushed roughly away from Findis and, opening his eyes, found himself staring up at Prince Fëanáro, who glared down at him. There were several others with him, including Captain Ornendil and Intarion, though he did not see Tilion. They all looked disconcerted.

“How dare you, sirrah!” the prince demanded. “How dare you touch my sister!”

“Fëanáro!” Findis cried out, her features darkening with anger as she jumped up. “How dare you! Valandur has done nothing wrong.”

“He was kissing you,” Fëanáro growled, never taking his eyes off of Valandur who wisely remained on the ground.

“Rather, I was kissing him,” Findis retorted. “And why do you care? You have no love for me.”

Fëanáro glared at her. “Nay, in that you are correct, but you are the daughter of the Noldóran and there are certain proprieties….”

“Oh bother, proprieties!” Findis shot back. “Now, stop acting the fool, Brother. Valandur has been the very soul of propriety and we have done nothing for which we need be ashamed.” She glared at the rescuers and then frowned. “Where’s Tilion?”

“Who? Oh, you mean the Maia who told us where to find you?” Fëanáro asked, giving them a shrug. “He disappeared as soon as we crossed the woods into these fields and told us where to find you.”

“Maia?” Findis asked, looking shocked. She turned to Valandur, who just shrugged as he stood up.

“I was not sure, but I thought perhaps he was a little too convenient for our needs in showing up as and when he did.”

“Well, it matters little now,” Intarion interjected before anyone else could speak. “The important thing is that you’ve been found. We’ve been going frantic looking for you. Why did you not stay by the stream?”

“We intended to,” Valandur answered, “but then we met this cat….”

“Cat?” Intarion asked in disbelief and the others looked equally nonplused.

“A very large cat,” Valandur replied, spreading his arms out to indicate the creature’s size. “It insisted we follow it and it brought us here to this… er… well, I call it a tree-cave for lack of anything better to call it.”

“Well, that’s all very interesting,” Fëanáro sneered, “but let us away. Atar said for us to come directly back as soon as we found you. Sister.” He offered his arm, but Findis just sniffed and purposely took Valandur’s arm, pulling him away, speaking all the while without bothering to look back at the others.

“Come along everyone. And put the chair back inside, will you, Brother? I so want a hot bath and a hot meal and clean clothes. Did you ever put the fires out, Intarion? And the child. Did she make it across the bridge safely? And where’s my hat? Did you ever find it? I lost it when we fell into the stream and….”

Valandur looked back to see Ornendil and Intarion trailing them and gave them a wry smile which they both returned. Further back, bringing up the rear, was Fëanáro glowering at them as Findis continued to chatter on as if they were strolling through Finwë Park instead of somewhere in the wilds of Aman.

****

Tyenya: Dear kinsman, literally ‘my thou’, with tye as an intimate 2nd person pronoun reserved for relatives and close friends.

25: Reunited

When Findis finally allowed Intarion to speak, she and Valandur learned that little Ninquelótë made it safely back across the bridge only a little singed around the edges and the fires were finally out.

“Although they would still be raging if it hadn’t been for the storm,” he told them as they continued walking across the fields toward the distant woods that they would have to traverse to reach the Southern Fiefdoms. “Everything is a soggy mess of ashes. Most of the crops belonging to the Vanyar are destroyed. Your atar was having his agents scour the land and taking an inventory of every field and house that’s been burned, trying to determine the actual extent of the destruction. Luckily, no one died though many were overcome by the smoke and unfortunately farm animals were lost in spite of people’s best efforts.”

“And Nordomas, Tarwalaleon and Ando Tarassëo?” Valandur asked.

“They suffered little hurt,” Intarion replied. “Your idea of back burning saved them.” He dropped his voice and gave a furtive look back to where Fëanáro still brought up the rear. “Apparently one of the farmers who hailed from one of those villages that got burnt out suggested back burning to your brother, but his idea was dismissed out of hand. When Finwë came to Nordomas after Ornendil sent one of his men to him with news of you two missing, we told him that the back burning was your idea, Valandur, and that if it hadn’t been for that all three villages and Lord Nolondur’s vineyards would have been destroyed.”

Valandur grimaced. “And, of course, Prince Fëanáro is even more disposed against me because of it.”

Intarion shrugged. “I would say that it’s more the fact that it was a Vanya who came up with the idea rather than you personally. Finwë wasn’t happy when he learned that his son had dismissed the idea simply because it came from a farmer and not from his own mind.” He looked at Ornendil. “Tell them what you learned, Captain.”

Both Valandur and Findis gave the ellon expectant looks and Ornendil redden slightly under their regard. “I had an opportunity to speak with Captain Herendil, who stayed with the king. He told me that several people apparently mentioned back burning, but when Prince Fëanáro or Prince Ingoldo asked them where they had come up with the idea, no one could say. And it wasn’t that more than one person thought of it, it was that the idea came independently from a farmer, a weaver’s daughter from Tirion, even one of the guardsmen who remained behind to help. And none of them had recourse to speak with one another. They came to either Prince Fëanáro or Lord Ingoldo separately and at different times.”

Valandur looked at Findis and Intarion. “I cannot tell you where I came to the idea of back burning. I remember staring at the fire and the road and knowing that the road was too narrow to act as a barrier to the fire and how could we possibly widen it in time and then the idea of back burning simply came to me."

“Almost as if you were inspired,” Findis said wonderingly.

“Perhaps,” Valandur said. “And the more I think of it, along with Captain Ornendil’s account, I think that the Valar sent their Maiar among us with the idea, inspiring people. When your brother and Intarion’s atar dismissed it from one person, the Maiar sought to inspire other people with the same idea. Only…”

“Only no one in authority listened,” Findis interjected with a frown.

“Except you, melda,” Valandur said with a smile. “You listened and did not dismiss the idea simply because it did not come from you.”

“Why would I do that?” Findis asked in surprise.

“Because unlike some others, Findis, you are open to new ideas,” Intarion answered before Valandur could. “For all that Fëanáro is an intelligent ellon, he is somewhat closed minded. I am sure that, assuming Valandur is correct about the Maiar inspiring people, they tried to inspire your brother, perhaps even my atar, with the idea, but when that failed, they resorted to inspiring those who seemed more open to them.”

“It would have saved time if they had simply appeared and told us,” Ornendil said with a wry grin.

Intarion shrugged. “Perhaps. No doubt the Valar had their reasons for not allowing their Maiar to act directly. At any rate, Finwë was rather scathing toward both Fëanáro and my atar when he realized what they had done, or rather, what they had failed to do.”

“Why did no one go to atar with the idea?” Findis asked. “Surely he would not have dismissed it solely on the source.”

“As to that, I do not know,” Intarion replied. “You recall that Finwë said he would not stay to oversee the firefighting. He came here to see for himself what was happening and what progress had been made against the fire, trusting in your brother and my atar to deal with the matter. I think he was halfway to Tirion when news that you were missing reached him.”

They continued walking in silence. After a bit, Valandur looked at Intarion. “I’m surprised you didn’t come with horses.”

“The Maia who led us to you said that the horses would not make it through the woods, which is why it took us as long as it did to reach you, but fear not! Finwë ordered encampments set up all along the route back. The Maia said he would stay long enough to oversee their placement and guide us back through the woods at the proper time.”

They lapsed into silence then and perhaps another hour or so went by before they came to the first encampment where a single pavilion for Findis’ use was set up. Two of her ladies-in-waiting were there, ready with a bath (courtesy of Tilion) and clean clothes borrowed from the ellith of Nordomas. Findis gave Valandur a guilty look. “They didn’t think to bring fresh clothes for you,” she said.

Valandur smiled. “Don’t worry, my lady. I am sure I will survive until we reach Nordomas. Now go and enjoy your bath. I’ll make do with a quick wash by the fire here.”

Findis went and about an hour later she came out looking fresh. She wore peasant skirts with a blouse heavily smocked and embroidered in bright colors, her hair carefully braided. Valandur smiled at her. “You look quite lovely in that dress, my lady.”

“Thank you,” Findis said shyly.

“Come and eat, Cousin,” Intarion said, gesturing to a camp chair by the fire.

“Where is Fëanáro?” she asked as she sat. Valandur handed her a goblet of wine and a trencher of venison stew.

“Your brother went on,” Intarion said, keeping his expression neutral. “He wished to let the king know you’d been found as quickly as possible.”

“You mean, he wishes to tell Atar about Val and me,” Findis retorted with a scowl.

“And what would he tell him?” Intarion asked, casting a concerned look between her and Valandur. “Other than the fact that we found you… um… kissing, that is.”

“And what of that?” Findis said with a sniff. “We have done nothing wrong. Do you think that Valandur would be so crass as to importune me against my wishes? What ellon would be so bold or stupid?”

“Prince Fëanáro is bound to put things in a darker light, melda,” Valandur said. “He has hated me from the very first.”

“He doesn’t know you well enough to hate you, Valandur,” Intarion said with a grin. “He doesn’t know you at all, which is why he is so hostile to you. And it is not you, personally, it’s every Vanya who crosses his path. He put up with my atar because the situation was too grave not to have another in authority helping him oversee the firefighting, but he barely spoke two words to me the entire time we were making our way to you. Fëanáro resents the Vanyar because of Indis.”

“And you?” Valandur demanded. “What do you think?”

“I think I’m going to have something to eat and then rest for an hour or so before we continue on,” Intarion replied.

“That’s not….”

“I know, Valandur, but I do not wish to discuss it,” Intarion shot back. “I reserve judgment until I know all the facts, but I would caution you both to tread softly and be circumspect. Remember, Valandur, Findis is a princess, and I am sure her atar has plans for her marriage and it does not involve a lowly loremaster.”

“Atar cannot force me to marry another,” Findis retorted, giving them a scowl. “I will marry whom I please. But do not concern yourself with us, Intarion. We have not declared ourselves to one another in that regard. In truth, that kiss you saw was the first time for us both.”

Intarion gave them a disbelieving look but then shook his head and drained his goblet. Before he could leave them, though, Valandur asked him, “And how is the fair elleth?”

Intarion gave him a puzzled look. “What elleth?”

“Why, the fair daughter of Nolondur, of course, you dolt,” Valandur retorted with a snort. “When last I saw you, you were more interested in her than you were in fighting the fire.”

Now Intarion blushed. “She is well,” he said. “She was grateful for our help in saving the vineyards.”

“Oh? Just how grateful?” Valandur couldn’t help asking with a mischievous grin on his face.

Intarion scowled at him. “Grateful enough to award me with some of her atar’s best wines.”

“Ah…” He stole a knowing look at Findis who giggled and then busied herself with finishing her own wine.

“Oh, you two!” Intarion muttered and stalked away.

****

They remained at the camp for a couple more hours and set off again just as Telperion and Laurelin were Mingling with Telperion waxing. Their entourage grew with the addition of those who had been waiting for them, though they left behind the accoutrements of the campsite, for, as Intarion explained, the camps had been set up by Maiar and would be dismantled by them as well.

“Lord Tilion offered the services of his fellow Maiar to that purpose,” Intarion explained. “There is one more camp before we reach the woods.”

“Are the woods truly trackless?” Findis asked.

“Do you think you and I could have found that tree-cave on our own?” Valandur countered.

“The woods here are wide enough and thick enough that we probably would have foundered about for some time before finding these fields if it hadn’t been for a guide,” Intarion told them. “He seemed to find paths that were near invisible to the rest of us.”

And so they traveled, coming to the next encampment many hours later. They did not linger, though, taking just enough time to have something to eat and refresh themselves before continuing on. By now the woods were visible on the horizon and in a couple of hours they had reached them where they found the Maia, Tilion, waiting for them. He gave them a bright smile.

“Ah, there you are,” he said as he leaned on his bow. “Come along then. I am missing the hunt my master has called far to the north and I fain would be there than here.”

No one had anything to say to that, though Valandur rolled his eyes at Intarion, who merely grinned back as they followed the Maia into the woods with Findis striding between them and Ornendil directly behind with everyone else. The woods were indeed trackless and the light under the leaves was dim and greenish, producing disconcerting shadows. Tilion seemed to glow with a silvery hue as they followed him and after what seemed to Valandur to be close to an hour, they came out into brighter light, causing them to blink.

“Findis!”

Valandur looked about and saw Finwë nearly running toward them, his arms outstretched.

“Atto!” Findis cried and ran to him while Intarion and Valandur looked on.

“And now that you are with your people once again I will bid you farewell,” Tilion said and before either Valandur or Intarion could thank him the Maia was gone, leaving behind a clean flowery scent that neither could identify.

Meanwhile, Finwë, after ensuring himself as to his daughter’s well-being, gestured for Valandur and Intarion to join them. Valandur noticed Fëanáro and Ingoldo standing at a distance where others waited with horses, both of them glaring at the small group. Valandur and Intarion gave the king their obeisance.

“I understand we have you to thank for a number of things, Loremaster,” he said.

“As to that, I cannot say, Your Majesty. I am only glad that you are once again reunited with your daughter.”

“Hmm… Modesty is acceptable up to a point, especially from one of your station, Loremaster, but only up to a point.” Finwë countered, giving him a knowing look. Then he turned to Intarion. “Thank you, Nephew.”

Intarion shrugged. “I had naught to do with the rescue, Uncle, except to help escort Findis back.”

“Yes, exactly,” Finwë said, glancing briefly at where his son stood, before turning back to them. “Well, let us not stand about here. I would be on our way back to Tirion.” With that, he led them to where the horses were and in a few minutes all were mounted and making their way across the field. Finwë insisted that both Findis and Valandur ride on either side of him.

“We’ll make our way to Nordomas,” he told them, “but we will not linger. So, tell me, daughter, what adventures you had, and forgive me. I never meant to place you in such danger. I was sure that…”

“That you had neatly gotten rid of me in a safe place away from all the excitement of fighting the fire,” Findis supplied, giving her atar an arch look. Finwë had the grace to look embarrassed.

“I promised your ammë that you would not be in any danger,” he offered as an apology.

“And so, you sent me and Intarion to Nordomas, simply to get us both out of the way,” Findis said, obviously not about to let her atar off the hook, but then she relented, reaching over to pat his knee. “It’s all right, Atto. It’s a good thing you did send us to Nordomas, for if you had not, the fire would have spread even more. As it is, Valandur’s idea of back burning saved three villages that otherwise would have burned to the ground.”

“Not to mention Lord Nolondur’s vineyards,” Intarion chimed in as he rode on Findis’ other side. “The loss of that would have been truly tragic.”

“Indeed,” Finwë said with a short laugh. “Well, as it is, most of the fields belonging to the Vanyarin crown have been destroyed as were several belonging to us.”

“What about the Teleri?” Valandur asked.

“Their fields were untouched by the fire for they lay to the northeast, on the other side of Flower Lake, which stopped the fire from spreading too far in that direction. At any rate, I have my people taking inventory of the damage.”

“And Lord Oromë’s Forests?” Findis asked.

“They appear to be untouched in spite of the fact that the fire spread right to their eaves,” Finwë answered. “Now enough about that. I wish to know what happened to you and this loremaster.”

Findis gave her atar a glare. “The loremaster has a name, Atto, and you had better be nice to him. He saved my life. I was drowned and he brought me back to life.”

Finwë turned to Valandur, shock marring his face. “This is true?”

Valandur nodded. “I found her floating face down in the water. She was not breathing at first until I was able to empty her lungs of water.”

Finwë’s expression became thoughtful and they rode in silence for a while before he spoke again. “Thank you. I will have to think of a suitable reward for you, Loremaster.”

“Atto!” Findis protested, shooting an angry look at her atar.

“I need no reward, Your Majesty,” Valandur interjected quickly. “It is enough that your daughter is safely back where she belongs.”

“Hmph,” Finwë responded, apparently unconvinced, but before either Valandur or Findis could speak, he asked another question. “Why did you not remain by the stream?”

“Because a cat came and insisted that we go with it,” Findis answered with a grin.

“A cat?” Finwë echoed, looking nonplused.

“A very large cat,” she replied, spreading her arms to indicate its size. “Not one that you could safely say no to.”

“But still. A cat?” Finwë protested.

“You forget in whose Forests we were, Your Majesty,” Valandur replied. “That cat did not just happen to saunter by on business of its own, finding us by chance. It was there for a particular purpose: to lead us to shelter. And I have no doubt that the Maia, Tilion, did not just happen by as well. He was sent. I was all set to go look for help after the storm passed when he was simply there. We did not even realize he was a Maia until Prince Fëanáro told us.”

Silence ensued and there was a thoughtful look on Finwë’s face and he remained quiet the rest of the way to Nordomas, which they reached after about an hour. There, Valandur was reunited with Calandil and Minalcar and his other friends, who gathered around him, barraging him with questions.

“Peace, my friends,” he said with a laugh. “I promise to tell you everything, but with your Majesty’s permission, I would like to take some time to bathe and change into cleaner clothes.”

Finwë nodded. “We will stay here for about an hour. You are free to come with us or remain to help with the clean up.”

“What about the trade negotiations?” Valandur asked, casting a glance at Ingoldo, who was studiously ignoring them, speaking with Fëanáro. “Surely we are not abandoning them?”

“At the moment, succoring the Fiefdoms takes priority,” Finwë answered, “but you are correct that other considerations must not be ignored.” He called to Ingoldo. “My brother, by your courtesy, I would have Intarion remain behind to oversee matters here, along with Loremaster Valandur, while the rest of us return to Tirion and continue with the trade negotiations.”

Ingoldo hesitated for a moment, his gaze flitting from Intarion to Valandur, his expression giving nothing away as to what he was thinking. Then he gave Finwë a short bow. “Of course, Brother. Whatever you think best.”

“I would like to remain and help as well, Atto,” Findis said.

Finwë shook his head. “Nay, child. I will not have it. You will return to the city with me. I’m sure your ammë is anxious to see you.”

Findis glowered at him, but Finwë simply turned and spoke to his entourage. “We will set out within the hour. Intarion, you and the loremaster are in charge of clean up.”

Intarion bowed but said nothing. Finwë cast Valandur a look that the ellon found hard to interpret and after a moment’s hesitation, the Vanya bowed in acquiescence. Straightening, he caught Finwë’s satisfied smirk before the king turned away to escort Findis to the inn for refreshments.

26: At the Golden Spinning Wheel

In the end, Finwë decided that Fëanáro should remain behind as well, putting him in charge of the entire cleanup process with Intarion and Valandur acting as his lieutenants.

“Perhaps this time you will listen to what others have to say and not dismiss their words simply because of who they are,” Finwë said to his son, casting a brief glance at Valandur standing off to one side as he and Intarion saw the royal party off.

Fëanáro glowered at nothing in particular but did not dispute his atar. Valandur was not happy with the arrangement, and, from Intarion’s expression, he guessed that his fellow Vanya was also less than pleased, but as there was no help for it, Valandur accepted what could not be changed and only hoped that he would have little congress with the Noldorin prince. He concentrated on Findis instead, helping her to horse, ignoring the disapproving looks of Finwë, Fëanáro and Ingoldo.

“I hate to leave you behind,” she said to him as she settled herself.

“But it’s better this way,” Valandur said with a sly smile.

“What do you mean?” she demanded, her eyes narrowing.

“Well, just think. It will be hot and messy work cleaning up and we’ll most likely be covered with ashes and while we ellyn won’t mind, you’ll be upset because there probably isn’t enough hot water in all of Aman to keep you clean when you’re covered with ashes. This way, you are saved from dying of frustration and we are saved from headaches listening to you complain.”

For the briefest moment, Findis just stared down at him in disbelief, but when he gave her a surreptitious wink, she threw back her head and laughed. “I’ll get you for that, Loremaster,” was all she said once she calmed down.

Valandur acknowledged her with a bow, taking her hand and kissing it. As he stepped back away from the horse, he caught Finwë’s eye and was surprised to see a look of approval on the king’s face. Fëanáro, standing beside his atar, continued to glower. Finwë then mounted and the royal party set off. Findis looked back, giving them a wave. Valandur and Intarion waved back.

Once the king’s party was gone, Fëanáro turned to the two Vanyar and said, “You will follow my orders or you will regret it.”

“Back off, Fëanáro,” Intarion retorted hotly.

“Atar left me in charge and…”

“Fine. You’re in charge. So what would you like us to do first?” Intarion demanded.

For a moment, the prince did not answer and Valandur could see the doubt in his eyes at the easy capitulation on Intarion’s part. Before he could say anything, Valandur spoke up with a question of his own. “How many people are now left homeless and what has been done for them?”

Fëanáro blinked. “Atar sent people among the refugees to take a count but I do not know if the tally has been completed.”

“Why don’t Intarion and I deal with that while you oversee the actual cleanup, Your Highness?” Valandur suggested smoothly. “We’ll need to relocate those who have lost their homes until they can return to their villages and rebuild.”

“That’s an excellent idea, Valandur,” Intarion said. “Fëanáro, what do you think?”

The Noldorin prince hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yes, that will work. I know Atar ordered all who had been evacuated to remain in the vicinity of Orvamas.”

“Then we will head there,” Intarion said.

“Were all the villages to the south destroyed, do you know?” Valandur asked.

Fëanáro shook his head. “Probably not. We ordered evacuations as a precaution for we did not know to what extent or in which direction the fire would go. We hoped to contain it as far south as possible but the wind kept shifting and frustrating our efforts.”

Valandur nodded. “Yes, that’s how Findis and I ended up where we did. The winds shifted at the wrong moment as we were attempting to rescue a child and forced us into the stream.”

“Lady Findis to you, Loremaster,” Fëanáro snarled.

“Enough, Fëanáro,” Intarion commanded. “Once we have the refugees organized, we’ll head south and get an idea of which villages are still standing. The more people who can return to their homes, the better for us all.”

Fëanáro nodded. “Very well. See to it. I will remain here for now and organize these villagers to help with the cleanup. I will come to Orvamas in a day or two to check on your progress.”

“Come on, Val,” Intarion said. “Let’s get going. I wish we had horses.”

Fëanáro smirked but otherwise did not comment. Valandur shrugged. “I walked across the breadth of Endórë. I’m sure I will have no problem walking to the next village.”

Intarion chuckled and calling to those who had remained behind to help he asked for volunteers to accompany them. “We need to succor those who have lost their homes,” he explained and several people stepped forward. Among them were Calandil, Aldarion and Cemendur. Ferenion, Amandil and Simpandil had returned to Tirion earlier with others once the fires were out. Minalcar and Eldacáno had also returned but Nambarauto had remained. He was still in Orvamas, according to Calandil when Valandur had asked.

Once everyone was organized, they set off with Intarion in the lead. Valandur walked with Calandil and his friends, who insisted that Valandur tell them what had happened with Findis.

“For we can see that there is something between you two,” Calandil said with a smirk.

“Setting your sights a bit high, are we?” Aldarion added.

“And do you think me unworthy of her?” Valandur enquired, giving them a frown.

“Nay, we do not, but certainly others do,” Cemendur replied.

“Meaning Fëanáro,” Valandur said.

“Meaning Finwë,” Calandil countered. “It is his approval you need, his and the queen’s, not the prince’s.”

“Well, at the moment, there is naught that I can do about it,” Valandur pointed out. “The king has neatly separated us for now.”

“For now, but not necessarily forever,” Aldarion said.

“I’m sure he will find other ways of keeping us apart once we return to Tirion,” Valandur retorted sourly.

“If you believe that, Loremaster, you don’t know my cousin as well as you should,” Intarion said, where he was walking a few feet away, apparently having heard their conversation. “Uncle Finwë may think he’s in charge, but where Findis is concerned, that is not necessarily the case. She will do as she pleases, mark my words, and no edict from on high will prevent her from coming to you, if that is what she and you desire.”

“Well, at the moment, we should concentrate on our mission,” Valandur retorted. “Time enough to worry about other things later. I am thinking that once we get to Orvamas we should organize the refugees by villages, find out which ones definitely got burned down and which ones may still be standing.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Intarion said.

They lapsed into silence for a moment until Calandil reminded Valandur that he still had not told them about his adventures, so Valandur obliged them with his tale as they walked along the road. Eventually they reached the outskirts of the village, encountering large numbers of people apparently camping out on the fields surrounding Orvamas, many of them sporting the golden tresses that marked them as Vanyar. As they neared, they saw several people milling about and there appeared to be a heated discussion.

“… canna be roosting on me field!” they heard an ellon shouting, a Noldo by his looks.

“We be here by the king’s command,” another ellon retorted, this one a Vanya.

“But not on me field,” the first ellon shot back. “Ye be ruinin’ the crops an’ they be for the king. If’n I don’t deliver, he’ll be takin’ it from me own field an’ I need that field to feed me family.”

“At least you be havin’ a field at all,” someone else shouted. “We be left with nothing. We be homeless.” And then several ellith in the crowd began weeping.

Into this argument Intarion and Valandur strode after first ordering everyone else to remain on the road and not to interfere. The villagers all looked up at their approach and Valandur was faintly amused to see the arguers closing ranks against the two of them as outsiders and clearly ‘Tirion-folk’ as he had heard more than one villager refer to those who came from the city.

“What seems to be the problem here?” Intarion asked softly.

“And who be wantin’ t’know?” one of the Noldor demanded and there was a great deal of muttering among the villagers, their expressions ranging from open distrust to open hostility.

“I am Intarion Ingoldion, nephew to the Noldóran… and the Ingaran,” Intarion replied, still speaking softly.

The villagers now looked on Intarion with no little awe. Valandur looked on in approval, for Intarion had wisely mentioned his relationship with Finwë first before mentioning Ingwë. These villagers, even those who were Vanyar or Teleri, were more likely to respect anyone who came from Finwë; Ingwë was too distant and therefor too unimportant a figure in their imaginations. At the same time, Intarion, in proclaiming his relationship with Ingwë, was letting his Vanyarin listeners know that their own king had not forgotten them.

“Mine uncle hath given me the task of succoring those who have lost their homesteads, determining which villages may yet stand and which must needs be rebuilt,” Intarion continued, speaking formally, and Valandur noticed that Intarion had not specified which uncle, thereby allowing each group to come to their own conclusions. “Wouldst thou give me thy name, Master?” he said to the Noldo who apparently worked the field they were all standing in.

Valandur watched in surprise at the way in which the villagers now responded to the prince. The ellon whom Intarion had addressed actually straightened, announcing proudly, “I be Varnion, haran of Orvamas.”

Intarion gave the ellon a brief bow of his head, then turned to the other ellon who appeared to be the leader of the refugees in this particular camp. “And thou, Master?”

The ellon straightened as well and with equal pride announced. “I be Poldormo, haran of Aipiomas.” Then he hesitated, looking less certain. “At least, I was,” he amended softly.

“And thou wilt be again, I promise thee, Haran Poldormo,” Intarion said firmly. “Dost thou know for certain that thy village lies in ruins?”

“Aye,” the ellon said, “for was it not the first village to be threatened by flames? We had little time to be savin’ what we could. Most of us have naught but the clothes on our backs.”

“I promise thee, all will be restored and thou and thy people will return to thy village if you wish, or ye may relocate elsewhere if that be your desire,” Intarion said, his voice full of compassion. Then he became more business-like. “In the meantime, I must needs know how many people have been displaced and from which villages they hail, as well as determine which villages still stand. To that end, I and Loremaster Valandur shall call together all the village headmen and massániër to council. Is there some place in the village where we may meet?” he asked Varnion.

“Aye. There be the Golden Spinning Wheel. It be the only tavern in the town and the tavernkeeper be me brother, Morion.”

Intarion nodded and turned to speak to those who had followed him. “I need people to move among the refugees and determine who are the harni and massánier and let them know that we will meet with them at the Golden Spinning Wheel at the next First Mingling.”

Valandur then spoke, addressing Poldormo. “Do you know where the other refugees are encamped?”

“Aye. There be three main camps, this one, another to the north and the third further east.”

Valandur nodded, then turned to the others waiting. “Calandil, you, Aldarion and Cemendur stay here and speak with Haran Poldormo, identify from which villages these people came and what their numbers are. The rest of you split up. Half of you head north and the rest continue eastward. Prince Intarion and I will be in the village making arrangements for the meeting. Come to the tavern and report to us as soon as you may.”

With that, he gestured dismissal and the group began splitting up. Calandil, Aldarion and Cemendur stayed where they were, the three giving Valandur strange looks which he ignored. Instead, he turned to Intarion. “Shall we go to the village, then?”

“Yes,” Intarion answered with a nod, then turned to Poldormo. “If thou wouldst be so kind as to help these ellyn identify the different villages represented in this encampment, I would appreciate it.”

Poldormo simply nodded. Intarion then turned to Varnion. “Of thy courtesy, Haran, please go quickly to thy brother and warn him of our arrival. Perhaps he can provide us with a repast when we come.”

“Aye, I had best warn him of thine invasion,” Varnion said with a grin, giving Intarion a slight bow before heading away.

“You’re rather full of yourself aren’t you, Quisero, ordering your ortornor about,” Calandil said as Valandur was about to join Intarion. His tone was somewhat sarcastic.

Valandur felt himself growing angry all of a sudden. “I am on the Noldóran’s business, as well as the Ingaran’s, no less than Prince Intarion. Do not ever presume on our friendship where duty is concerned. And the name is Valandur.”

Without giving anyone else a chance to respond he stalked away and Intarion had to practically run to catch up with him.

“Slow down, Val,” he admonished the loremaster. “Why did that ellon call you Quisero? What a strange name.”

“It was the name given to me by my parents when we still lived in Cuiviénen,” Valandur replied, slowing down a bit, but still feeling angry and hurt.

“Why…?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Valandur interrupted abruptly. “What does matter is that you need to tread carefully around these people. You need to be very respectful of them.”

“But of course. Why would I not be?” Intarion gave him a puzzled look.

“No. You do not understand. Varnion. Poldormo. Do those names mean nothing to you?”

“Well, they sound rather… um… primitive or, perhaps, uncouth would be a better term.”

“Uncouth to your ears and sensibility, yes, but you are correct that they are primitive-sounding and for a very good reason. I have no doubt those two made the Great Journey and I would not be surprised if every headman in the Southern Fiefdoms can claim the same.”

“And you think this is significant?”

“It is a clue as to how these people see things and how you must address them. You may be the nephew of Finwë and Ingwë, but you are Amanian-born. You are not of the First Generation, as I am.”

“So you’re saying that you should take over this mission simply because you’re older than I am?”

Valandur cast the younger ellon a wry look. “No. I have no intention of taking over. I will act as your advisor and I am advising you to be very careful how you order these people about. They are very conservative and traditional and they have a great deal of self-pride. They abandoned the only home they knew and crossed a wilderness fraught with dangers you can never appreciate living here as you do under the benevolence of the Valar. You speaking to them as formally as you did was inspired. Ah, I believe that must be the tavern.”

He pointed to a low building set on one side of the village square. It was made of grey field stone and thatched, as were all of the village buildings. Apple trees, presently in flower, lined the square, providing shade. The two Vanyar entered the tavern, standing in the cool darkness, allowing their eyes to adapt. The tavern was typical of its kind with the bar to their right and the common room spread before them. There was no second story, so this was merely a drinking and eating establishment.

“We’ll need to make arrangements for beds,” Valandur whispered to Intarion, who nodded, and then stepped further into the room, smiling at Varnion, who had entered from the kitchen located behind the bar.

“Ah, Haran Varnion. This should do nicely. I would fain meet with thy brother.”

“He be in the kitchen orderin’ the cooks,”Varnion replied. “He’ll be out presently. Can I be offerin’ you somethin’ to drink, Masters?”

“Wine would be acceptable,” Intarion said and Valandur nodded. Varnion was pouring some red wine into goblets when an ellon came from the kitchen. He was aptly named, Valandur saw, for his hair was indeed black, a rarity among the Eldar, his eyes grey. He gave the two Vanyar a considering look.

“Welcome to my tavern, lords,” he said, giving them a respectful bow. “I am Morion, proprietor of the Golden Spinning Wheel. I understand you have been sent by King Finwë to ascertain the extent of the damage done by the fire?”

“Yes,” Intarion said. “By the next First Mingling, representatives of the refugees will be here so I may coordinate with them in succoring their people and determining which villages still stand and which need to be rebuilt. Food, I deem, will be an issue. I believe King Finwë is arranging for the granaries to be opened and any extra produce from the estate farms will be sent down as well.”

“We need t’be riddin’ ourselves of these refugees soonest, Brother,” Varnion said with a scowl. “The fields are all trampled and naught will grow now. There not be grain enough in the silos for all.”

“I suspect we will all be rationing our supplies for the foreseeable future,” Morion replied with a resigned shrug.

“No one will starve,” Intarion insisted. “The Valar will see to that.”

“The Valar did naught to stem the fire afore it destroyed half the Fiefdoms,” Varnion retorted.

“Peace, Brother,” Morion said calmly, laying a hand on the ellon’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “What the Valar did or did not do is of no import at the moment. What is important is how we respond to this crisis, how we treat one another. Perhaps the Valar are curious to know what we are made of.” He gave another shrug, then said, “I had better get back to the kitchen and see how things are coming along.”

He gave them a brief bow and started to leave but Valandur stayed him. “Perhaps you could show me where the privies are. I assume they are out back?”

Morion nodded. “Come. I will show you.”

Valandur gave Intarion a significant look before following the tavernkeeper into the kitchen where he saw several ellith and ellyn busily preparing food. Morion pointed to a door.

“To your left as you exit,” he said.

Valandur nodded but did not move. “You do not speak as the others do,” he said.

Morion gave him a considering look. “You mean, I dinna be soundin’ like an ignorant rustic.” His tone became almost bitter.

Valandur shook his head. “I mean you don’t use the same speech patterns as the other villagers. The cadence is more clipped and does not have the same musicality and rhythm of the village dialect.”

Morion’s eyes widened a bit. “I lived in Tirion for a long time. I was part-owner of an inn, the Crown and Rose. But when the children were all grown and flown my wife desired to move closer to her own family, who own a farm not far from here and as my own brother and his family also were here I was willing to relocate. Sold my half of the inn to my partner and bought this place.”

“So I thought,” Valandur said. “To the left, you say?”

“What? Oh, yes, just past the elm.”

“Thank you.” Valandur exited and as promised found the privies just beyond the elm. A few minutes later he rejoined Intarion in the common room, retrieving his goblet of wine as he sat down.

“How do you think we should handle the distribution of grain and whatever other produce my uncle sends us?” Intarion asked without preamble.

Valandur took a sip or two before answering. “It would be unwise to simply give it away. It would be better all around if the refugees have to pay for it, even if it’s merely a token amount. Find out what the prevailing price for bread is…”

“Three coppers.”

Intarion and Valandur looked up to see Varnion behind the bar cleaning. “Three coppers for a loaf of bread,” the ellon repeated.

Valandur nodded, then turned to Intarion. “Most of these villagers will probably have a few coppers on them, but probably not enough to buy bread for their families. I suggest that each village pool their resources and buy in bulk, then distribute the bread fairly among all. If there are those who have no coin or too little of it, let them pay with labor. Varnion, here, was complaining that the fields are being destroyed, and that can’t be helped, but not all the fields are being used to house the refugees. I noticed some that appeared to be fallow. Perhaps those fields can be planted for now and we’ll have the displaced villagers do the planting. Hopefully we’ll be able to send most of them home soon.”

“So how much should we charge?” Intarion asked.

“Half. Let three coppers buy two loaves. Do something similar to any other produce that is sent to us.”

“It be a good idea,” Varnion said from behind the bar. “Now I be seein’ ellyn and ellith approachin’.” He nodded at the window beside the front door. “I be guessing they be looking for you.”

“I will record people’s names and where they are from and how many are from each village,” Valandur suggested, “so we have an accurate account.”

Intarion nodded. “Varnion, of thy courtesy, canst thou find writing materials for the loremaster?”

“Aye, I be doin’ that,” Varnion said. “Me brother has some. I be tellin’ him company’s acomin’.”

He sidled out from behind the bar and headed for the kitchen while Intarion and Valandur both rose, ready to greet those who were entering the tavern.

****

Ingaran: High King, Ingwë’s title. This is attested.

Haran: Chief (in the political sense), equivalent to such terms as headman or mayor; the plural is harni.

Aipiomas: Cherry Tree Town.

Massánier: Plural of massánië: Bread-giver (see chapter 21 for an explanation).

27: Succoring the Fiefdoms

As people began trickling into the tavern in groups of two or three, Intarion greeted them respectfully, enquiring as to their health and the health of their fellow villagers, assuring them that his Majesty was even now making arrangements for succoring them. Varnion, meanwhile, had returned, handing Valandur several sheets of foolscap, along with a quill and a bottle of ink and the loremaster set himself up at a nearby table.

“And what be thy name, haran, and the name of thy village?” he asked each one as Intarion steered them to him. In a few cases, it was a massánië who represented the village, the haran having decided he was needed in the camp to help maintain order.

Within the hour all the village representatives were there. In all, there were over twenty villages that had been evacuated, but Valandur sincerely hoped that most of them were untouched by the fire or had suffered minimal damage. Those from Tirion who had accompanied Intarion and Valandur reported in, assuring them that they had found all interested parties. Valandur handed the list to Intarion who then addressed them all.

“I thank you for coming, masters and mistresses. Loremaster Valandur and I have been charged with organizing the refugees, determining which villages still stand and which need to be rebuilt, and seeing that all are provided for. The Noldóran is even now releasing grain and other produce and is having them sent.” He nodded at Valandur who realized that the prince wished for him to explain how the food would be distributed.

“We have enquired as to the going price for bread, potatoes and the like,” he said, “and we will be selling everything at a discount. Three coppers for two loaves of bread, one copper for a dozen potatoes….”

“But that be not right,” someone shouted angrily above a growing murmur of displeasure from the crowd. “Most of me people left without more than the clothes on their back. We be havin’ no coin for the buyin’ of anythin’.”

 “But that is not to say there is no coin to be had, Master,” Valandur replied, raising his voice. “We suggest that when you go back to your people, that you have them pool all the coin in your possession, buy the produce that you can from it and if you still lack, we have thought to hire people to help replant the fields around Orvamas that are presently being occupied by refugees.”

“But why should we be havin’ to pay for anythin’?” another demanded. “You be askin’ us to buy back the sweat of our brows. Why dinna the king just give us what we be needin’? Be he so poor in coin himself that he be beggarin’ us the more?”

“The Noldóran is not in need of your coin, leastwise not in this manner,” Intarion answered before Valandur could speak. “The Crown is not a charity. And you buy back the sweat of your brow, as you say, every time you pay for a commodity, be it a loaf of bread or a new plow. This is no different, except, recognizing your destitution, we are lowering the cost. No one will profit from this, but your people will at least have food and your dignity intact.”

There was a brief silence as everyone contemplated Intarion’s words. After a moment, Valandur spoke again. “We need to ascertain as quickly as possible how many villages still stand. To that end, we need a map showing all the villages.” He turned to Varnion standing by the bar. “Is there a map of the Southern Fiefdoms anywhere?”

Varnion shook his head. “Nay. I dinna think so. There be no need of maps when everyone be knowin’ where the next village lies.”

“Hmm… we’ll need a map then if only to make sure that our records are complete. Once we know where all the villages are located, we’ll send teams out to check on them. I believe there are already people checking to make sure all the fires are out?” This last was directed at Intarion who nodded.

 “So Uncle Finwë said. The storm should have drowned the fire, but he is taking no chances. And we still have not heard back from his agents who are making an account of the extent of the damage caused by the fire.”

“That will take time,” Valandur said. “At any rate, we should have at least one person from each of the villages come with us when we go south so they can testify as to the truth of the conditions we find there.”

Intarion nodded. “That sounds like a good idea, but I don’t think we both should go. One of us should stay here and make sure everything is done in an orderly manner.”

“Well, first things first,” Valandur said turning back to the farmers. “I understand that all of your villages lie south of Carnilotsenan?” There were murmurs of assent. “How far south is that and which of your villages would be considered the closest to Orvamas?”

“That would be mine,” one of the ellyn said, stepping forward. “It be some three leagues from here, a mile beyond the valley. There be two villages between here and there.”

“Good. Now, if this is Orvamas here,” he took a blank piece of foolscap and marked it near the top and wrote Orvamas next to it, “how far are they and do they lie directly south?” The ellon gave him distances and approximate locations of the villages. “Now whose village is next?” Valandur asked once he had recorded the information.

One by one, each of the representatives came forward. In some cases there was a minor dispute as to whose village was closer or further away, but eventually a rough map was created. Taking a quick glance, Valandur saw how the villages were scattered across the breadth of the Fiefdoms. Based on the recorded distances, he estimated that the area encompassed nearly fifty leagues from east to west and the first evacuated village was probably twenty miles from Orvamas. It would take weeks to cover the distances and he doubted that anyone would wait that long to learn if they could return home or not. He looked up at Intarion who had leaned over his right shoulder to examine the map and the younger ellon’s expression told him that the prince had come to a similar conclusion.

“I wish we knew for sure just how far east the fires spread,” Intarion said quietly.

“What of those who fought against it?” Valandur asked. “Surely there are people who can tell us.”

“A number of ellyn from these villages volunteered to help fight the fires, but none of them have returned as yet.”

Valandur and Intarion turned to see Morion standing there. “They must be checking to make sure the fires are all out,” Intarion said and Morion nodded.

“So do we wait for them to return or go looking ourselves?” Valandur asked.

“My guess is that villages lying within twenty or thirty miles of here were untouched by the fires,” Morion said. “It seems to me that the fires remained further in the south based on what few reports managed to come our way.” He leaned over Valandur’s left shoulder to get a closer look at the map and his finger traced a route. “Here. These villages are probably untouched and all lie within a day’s walk of here. I suggest you send someone from each of these villages to check. They’ll know the shortcuts that will get them home the sooner rather than going by the road. If these villages are fine then we can send the residents back by the next Second Mingling at the latest. That should ease tensions right there.”

“We’ll need horses if we’re going to check anything that lies beyond this point,” Intarion said, pointing to a spot on the map.

“The smith has horses that you can use,” Morion said.

Intarion nodded and straightened to address their audience. “This is what we will do. We will have someone from the following villages go to see what condition they are in.” He nodded to Valandur who rattled off the names and then spoke again. “I understand that these villages are relatively close by and it is unlikely that the fire ever reached them and your people can return home forthwith. So please go and the rest remain so we can begin organizing teams.”

There was a flurry of motion as certain people began leaving while others shuffled about. Morion, meanwhile, was ordering his people to distribute food and drink to everyone. Once people were settled again Intarion and Valandur then began organizing them into teams based on the locations of their villages.

“Poldormo, you said your village was the first to be touched by the fire,” Intarion said.

“That be correct,” the farmer said with a nod.

“Aipiomas lies here,” Intarion said, pointing to the map, speaking more to Valandur. “That looks to be central to most of these other villages. Perhaps we can set up a camp there and have everyone report to you.”

“You wish for me to go?” Valandur asked.

“One of us needs to stay here and supervise the distribution of goods,” Intarion replied softly, giving Valandur a look that the other ellon could not quite interpret. “And it might be better if you’re not here when Fëanáro comes.”

Valandur resisted a sigh, merely nodding at the logic of Intarion’s statement. “Very well. I will go. You are correct that Aipiomas would be the most logical place to set up a camp.”

Intarion then turned back to the farmers and they spent another hour determining how many people would accompany Valandur to the south as well as discussing the best way to distribute food and other supplies before the meeting broke up. It was decided they would not set off until they had heard back from the other villages first as Valandur rightly felt that he should be there to help oversee the exodus of the villagers.

In the meantime, the first shipment of grain and other produce began making its way into Orvamas. Valandur silently approved of the fact that Finwë had ordered out an entire contingent of guards as an escort for the wagons, the captain reporting directly to Intarion when he learned that Prince Fëanáro was not present, giving the Vanyarin prince a salute.

“Ten more wagons are on their way,” he told them, “but they will not be here for a few days. His Majesty also sent several barrels of flour to start with while the grain is being milled.”

“Good,” Intarion said. “I’ve already assigned each household in the village to bake a certain number of loaves for distribution. We will set up a distribution station here in the village square and they can come for the flour. There is only the one mill. I’ll have Varnion show you where it is. As for everything else, we are setting up three stations for distribution. Have your men divide everything into thirds. These ellyn will show you where they are to go. Is it possible to send a message back to Tirion letting them know to divide everything into thirds? It would save time that way.”

“I’ll send one of my men back if you have written instructions,” the captain said.

“I will do that immediately,” Intarion said. “Loremaster Valandur will oversee things in the meantime.”

Intarion went back into the tavern while Valandur introduced the captain to the three ellyn who had volunteered to show the guards where the distribution stations were.

****

The first of the scouts, as Valandur called them, began trickling back several hours later, all of them reporting that their villages were still standing. As each villager reported in, Valandur made a notation on the map and then, escorted by some of the guards, sent the person back to the encampment with instructions to gather his fellow villagers and be off. Thus, for a while, as people began leaving, there was general confusion, but the presence of the guards kept the exodus orderly. By the next First Mingling, nearly half the refugees had left, and conditions improved noticeably.

Two villages, those furthest south, were found to be partially destroyed, but the scouts assured them that what remained could be salvaged and those whose homes had been burnt would be succored by their neighbors.

“The sooner we be back and rebuildin’ our homes, the better,” one of the ellyn opined, and Intarion agreed. Thus, those villagers were also allowed to leave with the understanding that some of them might not have homes to go to. Valandur quietly made a suggestion and Intarion agreed to it, ordering the captain of the guards to have a certain number of loaves of bread and bushels of potatoes set aside for these particular villages.

When one of the headmen protested that his people did not have the coin to buy anything even at a discount, Intarion waved his objections away. “When you return home, seek out your coin and pay what you can to the guards accompanying you. The rest you may consider a gift from his Majesty while you rebuild.”

The villagers left with words of gratitude.

“We can’t do that for all of them, though,” Intarion said to Valandur and Morion, who was with them at the time, watching as the villagers passed them on the road before the tavern. “If these two villages are damaged, chances are all the others further south are gone.”

“True,” Valandur admitted, “but in that case, the responsibility for rebuilding and succoring the villagers lies with the Crown, and in most cases, that will be Ingwë, for many of the remaining villagers are Vanyar.”

“That will be a heavy burden for the High King to bear, and I’m glad I am not the one to have to tell him,” Morion said. 

Intarion grinned. “I’m sure Uncle Finwë will help and I wonder if anyone has thought to let Olwë know what has happened. Some of the affected fields might belong to him.”

“Certainly those around Ando Tarassëo,” Valandur said. “That village was mostly Telerin and I am assuming that with the back burning that was done, those fields are gone as well.”

“Hmmm… yes, but the fields to the west and south were untouched, so they are better off than most. Well, now that we’ve gotten things sorted out, the sooner you go, the sooner we can decide how best to succor the rest of these refugees. I’m going to check with Varnion and Morion about the possibility of the villagers here in Orvamas and any others untouched by the fires taking in families, at least ellith and elflings while the ellyn are busy rebuilding. I do not like the idea of these encampments. “

Valandur shrugged. “They’re not much worse than what we put up with on the Great Journey, and many of the older ones will certainly remember that and the elflings will think it a grand adventure and won’t care.”

Intarion rolled his eyes as Valandur smirked. “Nevertheless, I fear the longer these people have to endure these conditions, the greater the possibility of tempers flaring and resentments growing.”

“On that, I agree,” Valandur said. “Well, if you want me to leave soon, I had best check out horses and get supplies together. Let those who will be accompanying me know that I plan to leave at the next Second Mingling.”

Intarion nodded and Valandur headed off to the smithy, where he spent a few minutes looking over the few horses that were there, choosing a bay mare and settling on a price for her. “I will come for her at Second Mingling,” he said then headed back to the tavern where Morion offered him a bed in his own home when Valandur mentioned that he needed somewhere to sleep for a time.

“When I bought the tavern, I decided not to add on rooms,” Morion told him as he led him across the courtyard to his house. “There’s no call for inns as such here in the Fiefdoms. People are more likely to stay with friends or family, but people do appreciate drinking and eating establishments while traveling and the locals like a place to congregate and visit with one another.”

He showed Valandur into a modest home, neatly kept by Morion’s wife who greeted the loremaster politely and showed him to a small bedroom which had been one of their children’s but was now a guest room. In minutes, he was undressed and lying down, sighing in comfort as he slipped effortlessly onto the Path of Dreams.

****

“We should be back in a week or so,” Valandur said to Intarion as he mounted his horse.

“We’ll see you then,” Intarion said, waving as the group set off.

Besides representatives from the villages, some of those from Tirion were also accompanying Valandur, including Calandil and Aldarion. Cemendur had volunteered to stay behind and help with the food distribution. Those from Tirion were also riding, while the villagers would walk. Each villager carried a satchel filled with food, including coimas, along with a blanket and two waterskins. Several packhorses were loaded with other supplies that they would need. The riders also had haversacks filled with the necessities. Valandur couldn’t help noticing the smirks of disdain on most of the faces of the villagers at the sight of ‘those Tirion-folk’ on their horses, overhearing (but ignoring) some whispered comments that had the villagers laughing at the riders’ expense.

“They don’t think much of us, do they?” Calandil said as he rode beside Valandur. Aldarion rode on his other side.

Valandur grinned. “We city folk are soft and in need of much coddling.”

“I have to admit, I’ve never felt so sore in my life,” Aldarion commented. “And tired. I have never felt so tired. I even slept with my eyes closed! Can you believe that?”

His two friends laughed. “You children are so pampered,” Valandur said in a mock tone of disdain.

“Children are we?” Calandil retorted. “You forget, we made the Great Journey with you.”

“Then you must remember how it was,” Valandur rejoined and the other two nodded and the three fell into silence for a time, each lost in his own thoughts. Valandur half listened to what appeared to be a walking song sung by one of the villagers as he admired the scenery of rolling hills full of ripening grain with scattered copses of beeches, elms and maples adding interest to the view. Even as he was idly analyzing the words of the song with one part of his mind, he was reviewing what he needed to do once they reached the vicinity of Aipiomas. Poldormo had sent his grandson to represent the village, a sturdy ellon with the unlikely name of Rainendil. His grandfather had explained that he was named thus because he was usually the peacemaker in the family.

His thoughts were interrupted when Calandil spoke. “I wish to apologize for earlier,” he said quietly.

Valandur gave him a puzzled look, not quite sure what the ellon meant. “You know,” Calandil continued, “when I called you Quisero.”

“Oh, I’d forgotten about that,” Valandur responded with a shrug. “Too much else of more importance demanding my attention.”

“Well, anyway, I want to apologize. It was uncalled for, and I’m sorry,” Calandil said sincerely.

“Apology accepted. Now, let’s talk about something else. I noticed Intarion has not said a word about Lady Lirulin. Why is that, do you suppose?”

Calandil and Aldarion grinned and the latter spoke. “Well, now that you mention it, it is strange because for a while he could speak of nothing else.”

“Yes,” Calandil added. “Even while we were searching for you and the princess, he kept going on about Lirulin this and Lirulin that. Funny how he clammed right up as soon as you and Findis were found.”

“Hmm….” was Valandur’s only response.

“So is there something we should know about you and the princess?” Aldarion asked slyly.

Valandur chuckled. “If I ever find out myself, I’ll let you know.”

They continued riding, stopping a few times to rest the horses and take some sustenance. Sometime after Laurelin reached full bloom and was beginning to fade, they came into the vicinity of the two villages that had suffered damage. The air smelled of smoke though the sky was blue and there were no clouds. By mutual consent, they stopped on the crest of a small hill that allowed them to see across the valley.

“Oh, Valar!” Valandur heard more than one person whisper in shock and nodded to himself as he grimly looked upon blackened fields. A village lay perhaps a half mile to the east of the road, connected to it by a narrow lane. He could see several buildings burnt almost to the ground, though it appeared that most of the village still stood. Some people were clearing the debris while others were apparently checking the fields that had not been touched by the fire. Those lay to the north and further east. South and west, there was nothing but bare ground covered with ash. In the middle distance Valandur could see a small copse, the trees rising black and grim against the horizon, though some were fallen, all of them naked of leaves, and he felt ill at the sight.

He turned around to look at the villagers, their expressions passing from horror into something closer to despair at the realization that further south the devastation could only be worse. He looked upon them with compassion.

“It may not be as bad as it looks,” he said. “Some of your villages lie further east. They may not have been touched.”

A few of the villagers visibly pulled themselves together at that thought, but most still were too much in shock. Valandur cast a concerned look at Calandil and Aldarion, both of whom nodded. “We need to get on,” Aldarion said softly. “Standing here will not solve anything.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Valandur said. “Let us go.” He decided not to detour to the village but stayed on the road. The further south they went the more pervasive the smell of smoke and the light wind caused the ashes to eddy about them, forcing everyone to cover the lower parts of their faces in order to breathe. They continued on in grim silence, the villagers no longer in the mood for singing or jesting.

It was nearly the time of Mingling when Telperion would begin to flower when someone gave a yell, causing them all to stop. Valandur looked about and saw Rainendil come toward him, his face white.

“Here,” was all he said.

“What do you mean, Rainendil?” Valandur asked, looking down on the ellon in puzzlement.

“Aipiomas,” the ellon replied in a harsh whisper, pointing toward the west. “It be here. This be Aipiomas.”

Valandur looked westward and it took him a moment to realize what he was seeing. At first all he noticed was the thick layer of ash that covered everything, then he realized that there was a lane and looking along it he saw the charred skeleton of a single building a few hundred paces away. It was all that remained of Aipiomas.

****

Rainendil: Peace/harmony-friend/lover.

28: From Ashes to Ashes

“Well, at least we have water,” Calandil said to Valandur as he handed him a ladle after dipping it into the bucket that had been brought up from the village well.

Valandur took a sip and nodded. “That’s something, at least.” He stared about him.

The land was desolate. Most of the village had been made from wood, which was more readily available than stone in this part of Eldamar. All of it was gone and there was nothing to indicate that there had once been a thriving village here except for the well, about the only thing constructed from stone. Valandur had to admire Poldormo. Even in the midst of panic with the fire threatening everything, the ellon still had had the presence of mind to order the well covered and the cover was of stone, rather than wood, so the ashes never fouled the water. The wood canopy had burned away and only the stonework remained, though parts of it were cracked from the intense heat. The bucket had also survived, for they found it hanging on a hook inside the well.

“We’ll have to clear some space here beside the well to set up our camp,” he said, taking another sip of the well water, “and have latrines dug.”

“Shifting the ash is going to be hard work,” Calandil pointed out with a scowl.

“Then the sooner we get started, the better,” was Valandur’s only comment as he set the ladle inside the bucket. “Rainendil!”

The ellon turned at the sound of his name and came over from where he had been sifting through debris, apparently looking for anything that might have survived the fire. Valandur threw an arm around the ellon’s shoulders. “I know this is a shock for you, for all of the villagers.”

“In the back of me mind I be knowin’ that naught could be survivin’ the fire,” Rainendil said in a whisper, “but when I saw those other villages and how most of the buildings still stood, I kept hopin’….” He shook his head. “What be we doin’ now? Where will we live? I dinna be wantin’ to live elsewhere. This be me home.”

“I know,” Valandur said softly. “The well is undamaged and the water is not fouled. That means that this place can be habitable again. Starting all over is hard, but your grandfather and many others have done just that, and more than once. They built Aipiomas from nothing and they will do it again and the cherry trees will bloom. Now, we need to send the others off to their own villages and set up camp here. We’ll need latrines and…”

Rainendil nodded, pulling himself together. “I can show you where the village privies were.”

“Good. Calandil, why don’t you go with Rainendil? Take a couple of others with you. Aldarion, let’s organize everyone else to shift this ash away from the well and set up camp.”

Calandil nodded and called to a couple of others to follow him and Rainendil while Aldarion and the other people from Tirion set about clearing the space around the well. Valandur ordered the well cover to be replaced, fearing that the ash being moved about would make its way to the water. In the meantime, he spoke quietly to the other villagers before sending them off. They were all looking a bit stunned and fearful.

“Keep in mind that this is where the fires first started,” he said to them. “It may be that your own villages did not suffer total destruction, but even if they did, remember that buildings can be rebuilt. Check your wells. Report back here as quickly as you may. The sooner the Crown knows the extent of the destruction, the sooner we can begin rebuilding.”

There were nods all around and they looked more determined and hopeful as they parted, some heading east and others west. Valandur looked to see what might need doing and in the end joined Aldarion and the others in removing the ashes around the well as best as they could.

****

Hours later, Valandur was standing at the well futilely trying to clean himself up but gave it up as a lost cause after a few minutes. He turned as he heard someone approach and saw Calandil looking as filthy as he knew himself to be.

“There’s nothing for the horses to eat except for the grain we brought with us and that will not last for long,” Calandil said without preamble. “I don’t think we should keep them here.”

“You’re probably right,” Valandur said with a nod. “Let’s feed and water them and then send them back. I’ll write a note of explanation.” He gazed southward where in the middle distance he could see the edge of the Forest that belonged to Lord Oromë. The lush greenness of the trees was a startling contrast to the ash white starkness of the surrounding landscape and he wished he was there instead of in the midst of the desolation. Shaking his head, he gave Calandil a wry look. “When we get back to Tirion, the first thing I’m going to do is take a very, very long bath.”

Calandil laughed. “You and everyone else. We found the privies.” He pointed toward the west. “They lie on what was the edge of the village. We’re digging them out a bit since they were nicely covered with ash. We’ll set up some sort of screen using blankets for privacy but it’s a very primitive affair.”

“No more primitive than what we put up with on the Great Journey,” Valandur commented with a shrug.

“True, but not everyone with us here was with us there. Many of them are Second or Third Generation with no experience of living primitively. I even overheard one ellon mutter something about not knowing if he could relieve himself with an audience.”

Valandur chuckled. “Have the horses ready for departure. I’ll see about writing the note.”

Calandil nodded and headed off to where the horses were congregated, calling to a few others to help him with them while Valandur went to his bags which, along with everyone else’s, were piled up in a cleared space and fished out a portable writing desk. As there were no camp stools, he simply sat on the ground as he opened the case and began writing. Within the hour, the horses were fed and watered and sent on their way back north. Valandur was not at all surprised at the alacrity with which the animals departed, none of them apparently willing to linger any longer than necessary.

“Look!” someone shouted, pointing east. “Someone’s coming.”

Valandur shaded his eyes for a better view and saw a couple of people coming their way. He turned to Calandil and Aldarion, standing beside him. “Let’s hope that they bring some good news and that their villages did not suffer total destruction like Aipiomas.” The other two ellyn nodded as they stood waiting for the villagers to come and give their report, but when they drew closer and Valandur could see their expressions, he went to meet them. One of the ellyn was white under the layer of ash that coated him and his eyes were full of anguish and Valandur instinctively drew him into his embrace.

“It be gone,” the ellon whispered, his voice full of disbelief at his own words. “It be all gone.”

“I am so sorry,” Valandur said softly. “Which village?”

The ellon named it and then his companion spoke up. “My village be almost gone as well and the well be fouled with ash.”

Valandur nodded. “I am truly sorry for your loss,” he said sincerely.

The ellon shrugged, giving him a resigned look. “We can rebuild,” was all he said.

“Yes, you can,” Valandur said firmly, giving the first ellon a brief but heartfelt hug, smiling encouragingly. “Come and have something to eat. We need to wait for the others to report in.”

The rest of the villagers trickled in over the next several hours and those who had the furthest to go did not return until the next day. As each person returned, he gave the name of his village and its condition. Valandur asked Calandil to keep careful track of all the information. Once the last villager returned, Valandur took a look at the map and Calandil’s careful notations, while everyone gathered around them to hear the news.

“Five villages are completely gone and the three furthest to the east are untouched,” Valandur stated out loud. “The rest are partially destroyed. Most of the wells are fouled with ash, but they can probably be cleaned out.”

“We can send people back to those three villages that are standing,” Calandil said, “and from their reports, it looks as if one or two of the villages partially damaged can also be re-inhabited, but I doubt the others can be.”

“Yes, I agree,” Valandur said. “What concerns me is that we’ve lost crops. I think, based on what we’ve seen, nearly half the Fiefdoms was damaged to some extent. What is left will barely sustain one city, never mind three plus all the villages.”

“Most of the fields that have been burned up belong to the Vanyar,” one of the Noldor from Tirion pointed out.

“And so?” Aldarion demanded angrily. “Does that mean that the rest of us can eat while they starve?”

The ellon gave a huff of frustration. “No, I’m not saying that. I’m only saying that the burden of rebuilding should not fall on the Noldor. The Vanyar will need to help.”

“And they will,” Valandur said coldly. “We did, after all, build our own city without your help.”

“And why should we have,” the ellon retorted with a sneer, “when you deserted us, your friends, to sit at the feet of the Valar?”

Before Valandur could respond, Rainendil spoke up. “Be silent, Noldo. Not all of us be sittin’ before the Valar to be taught by them. We needed not your help in buildin’ our villages the first time, we dinna be needin’ it now.”

There were murmurs of agreement from those villagers who were Vanyar and many of them cast dark looks at the Noldor among them. The one or two Telerin villagers remained studiously silent, their expressions neutral.

“The kings will sort out the extent to which each kingdom will carry the burden of rebuilding,” Valandur stated. “Our only task has been to determine the extent of the destruction. The fields are gone but they can be replanted. I think that that will be our primary goal at the moment. The sooner all these fields are sown, the better. Some of the villages that were untouched by the fires will need to contribute seed and that can be decided on later as well. The villagers who have no homes to go to will most likely be housed in Orvamas or elsewhere until we can rebuild.”

“And this time we be buildin’ in stone,” Rainendil said firmly and several people nodded.

“Where will you get the stone, though?” someone asked.

“We’ll figure that out later as well,” Valandur said before anyone else could offer an opinion, not wanting to get themselves embroiled in a useless discussion. “Right now, let us return to Orvamas so we can start making plans.”

No one disputed that suggestion and in a short time, loaded down with their supplies, they marched back north. Valandur took the lead with Calandil, Aldarion and Rainendil joining him. By the time they reached the main road some of the Tirion-folk started complaining about having to lug everything and wishing they had been able to keep at least the packhorses. Valandur stopped and pointed down at their feet. “Eru gave us two legs for walking and strong backs for carrying. We’ll be on the road for only a few hours, a day at most. Many of us walked hundreds of leagues for well over a yén before ever reaching these shores, crossing rivers and mountains and not a single road did we see. You children are so soft.” He pitched his voice and sneered in such a way as to shame them and the muttering stopped. It did not escape his notice that the villagers stood by looking smug, but decided not to chastise them for it. Instead, he simply resumed walking, ignoring everyone.

They had set out three hours after Telperion had reached his full bloom and reached the vicinity of Orvamas just as Laurelin was at her peak. They were surprised to find their way blocked by a contingent of Noldorin guards demanding their business. Even after Valandur explained their mission the guards were reluctant to allow them to enter the village.

“What has happened here?” Valandur demanded. “Where is Prince Intarion? It was he who sent us to ascertain the conditions to the south. Send word to him that we’ve returned.”

“The Vanyarin prince is not in charge here,” one of the guards said with a sneer. “Prince Fëanáro rules here.”

“Rules?” Valandur repeated, frowning at the implications of the ellon’s words, wondering what had transpired during his absence and what had happened to Intarion. “Very well, then send word to Prince Fëanáro.”

“We have orders not to let anyone enter the village,” the first guard said with a shake of his head.

“Well, I am not just anyone,” Valandur retorted with impatience. “I am Loremaster Valandur and King Finwë appointed me, along with Prince Intarion, to help succor the Fiefdoms.”

“Loremaster Valandur, is it?” the guard said, narrowing his eyes. “If you truly be him, then you may enter, but no others, especially these… villagers.” The last was said with contempt.

“Well, what about us who are from Tirion?” Calandil demanded. “We’re not villagers and this is the only road to the city. I don’t fancy having to camp out here any longer than I need to.”

“You can make your way east or west to the encampments,” Rainendil suggested, “then go round to the road that way.”

“The encampments are also closed by order of Prince Fëanáro,” the head guardsman said. “You’ll not be getting into any of them either.”

There were cries of dismay and angry demands for answers, but the guardsman just shook his head. “Orvamas and the encampments are under guard by the prince’s orders. You cannot enter. Anyone from Tirion will have to go around to reach the road, the villagers are to disperse and where you go is not my concern, but you will not be permitted into the encampments. As for you, Loremaster, Prince Fëanáro specifically left instructions that you and you alone were to be allowed entrance.”

Several people started protesting, but Valandur just nodded and spoke to them. “Do as the ellon says. There’s no point any of you from Tirion remaining here. Go home. As for you villagers, go to one of the other nearby villages and explain what has happened. Hopefully they will take you in until this is all settled. I do not know what Prince Fëanáro is up to but there’s naught any of you can do for now. I have the map and can let His Highness know what we found.”

There was a great deal of reluctance on the part of all of them and many of those from Tirion complained about not being able to retrieve their horses, but eventually, they all agreed to go on while the villagers decided to go back south to the village they had passed an hour earlier.

“As soon as I learn what has happened, I will send word to you,” Valandur told Rainendil, then he gave Calandil and Aldarion hugs.

“Be careful,” Calandil whispered to him. “I don’t like what is happening here.”

“I know,” Valandur said just as softly. “Take care yourself. As soon as you get to Tirion, seek out Lady Findis. Tell her what has happened.”

“But we don’t know what has happened, not really,” Aldarion protested.

“But we can tell her what we do know and leave it to her to decide what to do with the information,” Calandil stated.

“Yes,” Valandur said. “Tell her from me that her brother is causing trouble and you do not know what has happened to Prince Intarion.”

The two ellyn nodded and then they were off. Valandur watched them go with mixed feelings, then turned to the guards. “Well, then, let me through.”

The head guardsman raised an eyebrow at the imperious tone but complied, signaling for the others in the company to step aside. “You’ll find His Highness at the tavern,” the ellon said and Valandur nodded his thanks. He made his way through the village and the absolute quiet unnerved him. The place could’ve been deserted, except that he now saw several guards patrolling the streets, but no villagers. He was stopped and questioned as to his business.

“I am Loremaster Valandur,” he said quietly. “I am on my way to see Prince Fëanáro.”

The guards gave him suspicious looks but then one of them nodded. “We will escort you.”

It was not a suggestion and Valandur did not bother to protest, merely nodding his head in acquiescence. Within a few moments he was entering the tavern, the guards stopping at the door and then resuming their patrol. Valandur stood for a moment waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light, hoping to see Intarion. All he could see were several guards. Of Morion or his brother there was also no sign.

“You!”

He looked to his left to see Fëanáro standing there, his expression full of anger.

“Where’s Intarion?” Valandur demanded.

“He is not your concern, Vanya,” the prince said with a sneer. “Take him and lock him in the storeroom off the kitchen,” he ordered and the guards immediately took Valandur by the arms.

“What is the meaning of this?” Valandur demanded, struggling against their hold.

“I’m arresting you for treason against the Crown, Vanya,” Fëanáro replied. “Get him out of my sight.”

The guards dragged Valandur toward the kitchen and Valandur did not fight them, knowing the futility of trying to escape. In moments one of the guards was pulling out a key and unlocking the door to the storeroom and then Valandur was pushed inside, the door shutting and blocking all light so that he was alone in the dark and still with no clear idea of what had happened or why. As he stumbled around trying to gauge the size of the room and its contents, he wondered what Fëanáro had done with Intarion and if he, too, was being accused of treason.

29: Prisoner

In the darkness there was no way to tell how much time had passed. Valandur wished they had at least left him with his waterskins, but the guards had stripped him of everything save his clothes, piling everything beside the door. Now he was feeling thirsty and hungry and he wondered how long he would wait before he began pounding on the door to demand that they at least give him a chamber pot if they meant to keep him imprisoned for very much longer.

The storeroom itself was not large and mostly consisted of shelves filled with the necessities of any kitchen. He sat on a pile of burlap bags that he found in one corner filled with what he suspected was rice and spent the time contemplating what could have happened for Fëanáro to accuse him of treason and where was Intarion in all this? That was, oddly enough, his main concern. He had little concern for himself, he realized. He had done nothing treasonable, as far as he knew, and suspected the Noldorin prince was simply throwing his weight around, causing trouble simply because Intarion and he were Vanyar. Yet, Fëanáro’s hatred for his atar’s wife’s people was apparently not absolute, for he had struck up an unlikely friendship with Ingoldo over the past weeks.

That troubled Valandur greatly, but he did not know why. He did not like Ingoldo personally. The ellon was brash and argumentative and full of himself, as far as Valandur was concerned. He knew that he was probably being unfair, but he could not help it. He even felt a little sorry for Intarion having to put up with such an atar as Ingoldo. Tinwetariel, oddly enough, seemed more likeable in spite of her air of self-importance. Yet, he could not deny that she had been able to work with Findis well enough to bring the trade negotiations forward where Ingoldo had been stalling for no particular reason that any of them could see.

The thought of Findis brought Valandur’s ruminations about Fëanáro and Ingoldo to a halt and he called up happier memories of their time together, both in Tirion and here in the Fiefdoms, especially the days they had spent alone in the tree-cave. He wished they were both there still.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a key turning in the lock and he had enough presence of mind to close his eyes against what would, for him, be blinding light. Even so, he flinched and held his arm in front of his face when the door opened.

“Come out,” he heard someone command and, squinting so as to allow his eyes to adapt to the light, he rose from where he was sitting and made his way to the door where he found a couple of guards waiting for him. One of them spoke. “His Highness has instructed us to escort you to the privy if you are in need of its use and then we will be leaving for Tirion.”

“Do I get to bathe first?” Valandur asked. “I’m filthy with ash and would appreciate being allowed to change into clean clothes.”

“His Highness said nothing about that,” the guard said gruffly, looking a little embarrassed. “Now, do you wish to use the privy or not? It’s a long walk back to Tirion.”

Valandur raised an eyebrow at the implication of the ellon’s words. “At least give me a few minutes to wash my hands and face as well. What about food or drink? You took my waterskins and from the rumblings of my stomach I have to guess it’s been hours since last I ate.”

“I’ll have some bread and cheese waiting for you,” the guard said, “but you’ll have to eat it quickly for his Highness means to leave before the next hour.”

They escorted him to the privy and then back into the kitchen where a bowl of cold water was waiting for him for washing in. It was unsatisfactory but he politely thanked the guard when the ellon handed him a rough towel. Once finished with that he was handed a half loaf of slightly stale bread and a hunk of cheese, as well as a waterskin, being warned to drink sparingly.

“For it’s all you’ll be getting until we reach the city,” he was told.

He finished the scanty meal quickly while the guards looked on. They allowed him a long drink afterwards and then they were hustling him out of doors into the street fronting the tavern with one of the guards bringing his haversack, which was thrown into a waiting wagon. Valandur found himself surrounded by more guards. Fëanáro was already mounted, glaring impatiently about. Beside him was Intarion and Valandur felt himself grow cold with shock when he realized the ellon’s hands were bound before him and tied to the headstall. Then he saw how disheveled the ellon look, sporting a darkening bruise on his cheek.

“Intarion! What…?”

“Silence!” Fëanáro shouted. “You will not speak unless spoken to. Bind him.”

Before he realized what was happening, one of the guards threw a rope around him, pinning his arms to his sides as he tightened the knot and all the while Intarion refused to look at him. Fëanáro gave the order to march and Valandur found himself being dragged along, only just able to keep his feet. As they made their way through the village Valandur notice that they had an audience, for the villagers were lined up along the street watching them, their expressions sullen and when he happened to catch someone’s gaze, they looked hastily away, almost as if in shame. He saw Morion and Varnion standing together before the tavernkeeper’s house and their expressions were ones of anger and hatred as Fëanáro rode by.

The return to Tirion was done in silence. Valandur found it difficult to keep up the pace set by Fëanáro as he attempted to maintain his balance. Once or twice, one of the guards actually had to keep him from falling. Stops along the route were infrequent and mostly to rest the horses for a few minutes before moving on. Valandur was constantly surrounded by guards and when he quietly requested some water, he had to allow them to hold the waterskin for him, for they would not untie him. It was humiliating and he felt himself growing angry at his treatment. Intarion, he saw, fared little better, but at least his hands were untied so he could drink on his own before being bound again. Fëanáro simply watched with a sneer.

At last, the spires of Tirion came into view, though they were still some miles away and within an hour or so, they reached the gates. The gate guards did not hinder them and Valandur kept his gaze downward, refusing to look at anyone. He heard muffled gasps from people as they continued up the street toward the palace but did not look up to see. Only when they came to the plaza fronting the palace did he bother to look up. Intarion was being helped down from his horse and the bonds were removed from his hands. He still refused to look at Valandur.

Fëanáro remained on his horse, giving instructions. “Take them to the north wing and lock them in their rooms. They are under house arrest for the time being.” Then he turned away to issue other orders to the rest of the men, dismissing them before dismounting and striding into the palace.

“Do you think you could untie me?” Valandur requested of the guards as politely as he could as they headed across the plaza. “Give me some dignity, at least.”

“Wait until the prince is gone,” the ellon said softly, nodding to where Fëanáro was climbing the steps to the front portico, where he was greeted by a few people who were probably members of his household, for Valandur did not recognize them.

Valandur nodded and suffered himself to be led into the palace. He could see that Intarion was several feet in front, walking between two guards. When they entered the palace itself, there was no sign of Fëanáro and the guard slipped the rope off Valandur who began rubbing his arms to get some circulation back as they continued on to the north wing. No one spoke and Valandur refused to acknowledge any of the people whom they met along the way. Once in the north wing, Valandur was amused to find that he had to direct the guards to his room, for none of them knew which was his.

“I share a suite with two others,” Valandur told them after giving them directions. “It’s this one here. Do you mean to lock them in as well?”

“We will have to have them removed,” one ellon said.

“Or put me in an empty suite,” Valandur suggested. “There’s one on the next floor. At least allow me to gather my possessions and if someone could be sent to retrieve my haversack, I would appreciate it.”

“We can do that,” the head guardsman said, opening the door and motioning Valandur in. “Gather your things as quickly as you may,” he ordered.

“If one of you could help me, I would appreciate it,” Valandur said humbly. “I’m just filthy enough that I do not wish to touch any of my clothes.”

The guards actually grinned at that and one of them said he would help him, thus in a short amount of time they were making their way upstairs and Valandur showed them where there was an empty suite, smaller than the one he shared with Sorondur and Aldamir, for there were only two bedrooms off a sitting room with an adjoining bathing room and privy. And like all the suites on this floor, there was a small balcony overlooking one of the gardens.

To Valandur’s relief, they met none of the other Vanyar who had returned to Tirion with Finwë and he was grateful that he did not have to face Ingoldo just yet. Of Intarion he saw no sign. He had to assume, given the time of day, that everyone else was either still at the negotiating table or, if their business were concluded, amusing themselves elsewhere. They did encounter the head housekeeper for the north wing, however, who was asked to accompany them to unlock the suite, which she did. Valandur refused to look at her. His things were dumped in the middle of the sitting room floor and as the guards left, they promised to have his haversack brought to him. As soon as the door closed, there was the sound of a key turning.

For a long moment, Valandur just stood there wondering what would happen next. Then, giving a sigh, he began divesting himself of his clothes and went in search of a much needed bath.

****

After bathing and throwing a robe around him he came out to the sitting room and discovered that someone in the meantime had brought his haversack along with a plate of food and his filthy clothes had been removed. He spent a few minutes checking the contents of the haversack and was relieved to see that nothing was missing, including his portable writing desk and the map of the Fiefdoms. Putting his few possessions away, he then tackled the food. It was simple fare — barley soup, a few rolls and some cheese, as well as an apple, along with a flagon of wine — but Valandur was too hungry to care; his last meal had been most unsatisfying and too long ago.

Finishing his meal, he rose from the table and settled himself in a comfortable chair, sipping his wine, wondering what was happening elsewhere. He still wished he knew why Fëanáro had treated him and Intarion as he had. That he would so treat a nephew of the High King in such a manner angered him. His own treatment had been galling, but he recognized that in Fëanáro’s eyes he was of no account, but Intarion was of noble, if not royal, blood and he should have been treated better. The bruise on Intarion’s face, the state of his clothes… Valandur had to wonder if Fëanáro or his guards had been responsible for that.

And what would be their fate? He had no doubt that Fëanáro was even now spinning a tale to Finwë that would put himself in the best of lights and damn Valandur, if not Intarion, in the eyes of the Noldóran. That would no doubt suit Finwë well enough, especially where Findis was concerned.

 “Valandur! Where are you?”

He started as he recognized Findis’ voice, sounding muffled, not as if she were just on the other side of the door, but further away.

“Findis?” he called out as he stood.

“Here.”

His eyes widened as he realized the voice had come from outside and, making his way to the balcony, he found his beloved standing below the balcony of another suite that was two doors away.

“Findis!”

She turned and ran back to stand below him, giving him a bright smile. “There you are.”

“Findis, what on Arda are you doing here?”

“I tried to get in to see you, but they wouldn’t let me into the north wing,” she answered, pouting and looking very much put out. “Atar is being rather difficult.”

“What has happened?” Valandur pleaded. “I know nothing of what is going on. I do not even know why Fëanáro had me or Intarion arrested.”

The elleth’s eyes widened. “Fëanáro claims you and Intarion conspired against the Crown.”

“Which Crown?”

“Which one do you think?” she demanded with a huff of disgust at his obtuseness. “The only crown my brother cares for is the one Atar wears.”

“Well, in what way have Intarion and I conspired against the Noldóran? Your atar did put us in charge of succoring the Fiefdoms, as you recall. Why would either of us conspire against him? We’re not interested in his crown. Now I can see Intarion conspiring against Ingwë, being a Vanya and all, but…”

“Oh, stop your prattling!” Findis demanded, glaring up at him. “Honestly, ellyn! Here, I’m coming up. I’m getting a crick in my neck talking to you.”

“Findis, what…?!”

He watched in shock as the elleth hitched up her skirts, revealing quite a lot of leg (and lovely legs they were, Valandur thought irreverently), and to his utter amazement, she began climbing up.

“Are you insane!” he nearly shouted. “What if someone sees you?”

“Help me up,” was all she said, stretching out her left arm and, stifling a curse, he reached down and grabbed her hand. After a bit of scrabbling, she was up and over the balustrade, pushing her hair out of her eyes and grinning at him in triumph.

“You realize that if anyone catches you here, I’m the one who will suffer for it?” he said, glancing about nervously but the garden below was empty.

“Then, let us retire to the sitting room where none will see us, and if anyone comes to the door, I will hide,” was her reply and with that, she took his arm and pulled him back inside, giving him an amused look as she took in his state of undress.

He found himself blushing and clutched his robe tightly around him. “Let me put some clothes on,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster. “Help yourself to some wine.”

Her soft laughter followed him into the bedroom.

Once dressed, he returned to the sitting room where Findis was half reclining on the settee, giving him the once over while he poured himself some more wine. “I think I like you better in just the robe.”

“Please, Findis,” Valandur pleaded, blushing as he sat in a nearby chair. She smirked at him behind the rim of her goblet. “Tell me what is happening.”

She sat up, her demeanor more serious. “According to Fëanáro, he arrived in Orvamas in the midst of a riot.”

Valandur raised an eyebrow. “What riot? All was calm when I left.”

“Well, apparently, after you left, someone started a rumor that Intarion was giving out bread and such free, but when people were told they had to pay for the food, they… well, they rioted.”

“And that’s when Fëanáro showed up,” Valandur said, nodding.

“Yes and he and his men had to quell the riot. Apparently he got it in his head that Intarion, and therefore you, were pocketing the money for yourselves. You were, as he put it, ‘profiting from the misfortune of others’. Oh, and he blames you for leading Intarion astray.”

Valandur felt his jaw dropping in disbelief. “Are you serious? That’s absurd!”

Findis shrugged. “I am only telling you what Fëanáro told Atar.”

“And no doubt Finwë believed every word from his precious son’s mouth,” Valandur snarled in disgust.

Findis frowned. “Atar isn’t that stupid, Val. Leastwise, I don’t think he is. At any rate, he’s ordered an enquiry, as he put it. It’s scheduled for tomorrow sometime.”

“This whole thing is ridiculous!” Valandur exclaimed, rising. “Intarion and I had everything well in hand. We asked around for the prices of various food items and then we set a price that was at least half what such things normally cost. No one was profiting from anything. All moneys were to go back to the Crown. And don’t forget, the vast majority of the refugees were Vanyar.”

“Well, I am only telling you what little I know,” Findis said. “I came to warn you because I had the distinct feeling that no one was going to tell you about it until the very last minute so you would have no time to prepare a defense.”

“Defense? What defense? I’ve done nothing wrong,” Valandur protested.

“It doesn’t matter, my love,” Findis said, rising and wrapping her arms around him. “You will have to explain yourself to Atar and he will be sitting in judgment. Be sure that my brother will have all his arguments ready. I saw the glee in his eyes at the thought of humiliating you further. He does not love me, but he hates you even more.”

Valandur shook his head in disbelief. “I do not know why. We spoke but once and he summarily dismissed me, refusing even to acknowledge my being a fellow loremaster. As young as he is, his reputation was known even in Vanyamar and I had looked forward to speaking to him, loremaster to loremaster.”

“I know,” Findis said softly, reaching up to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I must go.”

“Wait! Let me check the balcony first.” So saying, Valandur stepped outside, taking his wine goblet with him, pretending nonchalance as he gazed out onto the inner gardens and walkways that connected the wings of the palace with one another. A couple of pages hurried along one path and he now noticed a gardener pruning a bush and three guards strolling along. They noticed him and he raised his goblet in salute before returning to the sitting room.

“Too many people about now,” he said. “You’re not going to be able to climb down without being seen.”

“Well, I’ll just have to wait. Perhaps someone will come to reclaim these dishes. You could, perhaps, lure them into the bathing room to complain about a stopped up drain or something while I sneak out.”

Valandur couldn’t help smiling at that. “There is bound to be a guard to make sure I don’t do something foolish.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Me? Why me? You’re the one who climbed the balcony.”

“Because you’re the ellon and it’s your duty to think of something.” Findis gave him an arch look.

Before Valandur could offer a retort, there was the sound of voices coming from down the hall, growing more distinct as they drew closer.

“… know, Luhtana. I will only be a minute or two.”

“That’s Ammë!” Findis whispered in shock. “What is she doing here?”

There was the sound of a key turning in the lock and before Valandur could urge Findis to hide, the door opened and Indis was standing there with the head housekeeper looking on, her eyes wide. Indis took in the situation in a single glance, her expression giving nothing away, then she turned to the housekeeper. “Thank you, Luhtana. If you could make sure no one disturbs us, I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“As my lady wishes,” the elleth said, giving the queen a curtsey.

Indis stepped inside and closed the door. For a long moment, no one spoke. Valandur forced himself not to shuffle his feet like some errant elfling caught in a mischief, but even so, he found he could not meet the queen’s eyes.

“Ammë…” Findis started to say, but Indis raised a hand and her daughter fell silent.

“You are either very foolish or very brave, my daughter,” she finally said. “You are fortunate that I and not your atar figured out where you ran off to as soon as Fëanáro convinced Finwë to grant a trial. How did you get in, anyway? Luhtana has the only key and strict instructions not to let anyone in except designated servants.”

“She climbed the balcony,” Valandur said, looking up with a grin.

Indis raised an eyebrow. “I see. Well, come along, dear. We had best get you out of here before your atar learns of it.” She started to open the door.

“My lady, do you know how Intarion fares?” Valandur asked hurriedly.

Indis turned back to speak to him, giving him a kind look. “He fares well enough. I spoke to him before coming here.”

“He was all bruised,” Valandur said. “I do not know how.”

“Nor do I for he would not speak of it to me. Now, as my daughter has no doubt explained to you, my lord husband has called for an enquiry. Make no mistake, though. You will be on trial.”

“And was I to be told beforehand that I might seek counsel and prepare my defense?” Valandur demanded.

Indis actually snorted, giving him a sneer. “Don’t be absurd, child. Of course not.”

“I see.”

“I’m sure you do. Now, we’ve lingered overlong and must leave.”

“Wait! I beg you. Give me but a moment,” Valandur pleaded and when the queen nodded, he ran into his bedroom, returning a moment later with his writing desk, opening it and withdrawing several sheets of foolscap, handing them to Findis. “Take these. These are all my notes about what we found and what we did while in the Fiefdoms after the Noldóran left. I suspect that I will be given no opportunity to retrieve anything to bring with me when they come to get me for this so-called enquiry. This is all the proof I have that neither Intarion nor I did anything treasonous. Keep these safe and bring them with you. I assume you will be allowed to attend.”

“Oh, have no fear of that, Loremaster,” Indis said categorically. “We’ll both be there. Intarion, after all, is my nephew. Ingwë is not going to be pleased when he learns of any of this.”

“Has any word been sent to him concerning the fires?” Valandur asked.

“No, not yet. Finwë was waiting to hear from all his agents as to the full extent of the damage that the fires caused before sending a report to my brother and to Olwë.”

“Well, these papers constitute my report,” Valandur said. “I am only grateful that Fëanáro never thought to check for them. I fear that if he had found these, he would have destroyed them.”

“We will see that they are kept safe until you call for them,” Indis said. “Now, we really must go. Findis, give your young ellon a kiss and let us be off.”

Findis demurely kissed him on the cheek, giving him a shy smile, which he returned, and then mother and daughter were gone, the door locked after them, leaving Valandur alone once again.

30: Valandur before the Noldóran

Valandur discovered a note hidden under a plate when a meal was brought to him on the following day at Second Mingling. It was from Findis stating only that the enquiry had been delayed a few hours ‘for family reasons’ but to be ready at all times for the summons. He had to wonder at that, for he thought Finwë would want to get the trial over with, and if it were only Valandur who was being put on trial there would be no question, but perhaps with Intarion involved things were more complicated. He had the feeling Indis had her hand in this somewhere.

Well, that only gave him more time to prepare himself. He thought about what he should wear to the trial and at first he figured to wear what he had worn to his audience with Ingwë, but then decided against it, not wishing to tip his hand. He needed to appear as if he’d had little warning about the enquiry, for, by rights, he should have been formally apprised of it by one of Finwë’s heralds and offered counsel if he wished. In the end, he chose one of the plainer tunics given to him by Lindarion, a pale sea-green silk tunic with sea pearls sewn along the hem, cuffs and placket. He also pulled out his loremaster robe and draped it over a chair in the sitting room, guessing that when the summons came the guards would not allow him to fetch it. He would insist on using the privy even if he had no need for it if only to remind them that certain courtesies should be followed.

He was standing on the balcony a couple of hours past the time of Laurelin’s full blooming, idly going over his defense, reviewing everything he and Intarion had done and said, when he heard the door being unlocked and went back inside to see several guards standing there. One of them, wearing a sash denoting his rank as captain, gestured to him.

“Come. You’ve been summoned by the Noldóran.”

“Indeed?” Valandur said, evincing nonchalance. “Well, let me use the privy and I’ll be with you…”

“There is no time,” the guard said gruffly. “His Majesty has demanded your presence now.”

“Then His Majesty will just have to wait,” Valandur shot back. “Have you Noldor become so boorish as to forget the niceties of civilization and civility? Perhaps we Vanyar should have remained in Tirion to ensure that you Noldor remembered how to behave.”

The ellon had the grace to look abashed. “Well, just be quick about it,” he muttered.

“I will be as quick as I can,” Valandur replied, keeping his expression neutral. He made his way to the privy and purposely waited several minutes before returning to the sitting room where the guards waited impatiently.

“What took you so long?” the captain demanded. “I was about to come get you.”

“One cannot hurry nature, my good fellow, as well you know,” Valandur responded with a smile. “But come. Let us not keep His Majesty waiting.” The guards all grimaced at that bit of ingenuousness as Valandur scooped up his loremaster robe and donned it. “Why so many of you?” he asked the captain in a conversational manner as they set out. “Does the king think me so dangerous?” But the ellon refused to respond and Valandur decided guard-baiting could only be taken so far and fell silent.

They led him to an unfamiliar part of the palace and in a short time they were standing before a set of doors where other guards stood. They were ushered in and Valandur found himself in a small audience chamber that could probably only accommodate about a hundred people or so. At one end was a two-step dais on which was a richly carved chair of nessamalda wood under a canopy of red velvet. Finwë sat there with Fëanáro standing on his right. There were several others standing before the dais. On Valandur’s left were all the Vanyar from the trade delegation with Ingoldo and Tinwetariel actually standing on the first step of the dais. Neither looked particularly happy to be there. There were also a number of Noldor, among them Herencáno, and Valandur had to assume they were perhaps members of Finwë’s Privy Council or other close advisors. Intarion stood to Valandur’s right and was flanked by two guards. All in all, with the addition of Valandur and his guards, there were probably fewer than thirty people. Of Findis or Indis he could see no sign and he had a momentary sense of panic which he ruthlessly quelled, forcing himself to remain calm and clearheaded.

Both Finwë and Fëanáro scowled as Valandur and his guards approached, the guards saluting. Valandur refused to bow. “Did you lose your way to the prisoner’s suite, Captain?” Finwë asked in a deceptively mild tone.

The guard paled. “No, Sire. The… um… prisoner had to… ah… use the… er… privy first.”

The silence that followed that statement was… interesting. Valandur just smirked when Finwë glanced at him. The king raised an eyebrow. “Well, let us get on with it,” he said, gesturing for the guards and Valandur to move to the side where Intarion stood. Valandur was glad to see that the Vanyarin prince was looking less bruised, but there were circles under his eyes and he had a haunted expression. He still refused to look at Valandur, keeping his eyes downcast.

“Read the charges,” Finwë ordered and Fëanáro took a step forward.

“Prince Intarion Ingoldion and Loremaster Valandur Voronwion of the Vanyar, you stand accused of treason against the Noldóran in that you conspired to profit from the misfortunes of others by forcing the refugees from the fires that devastated the Southern Fiefdom to pay for the food which the Noldóran had freely given them. How do you plead?”

“Guilty,” Intarion said in a voice barely above a whisper.

Valandur stared at him in shock and dismay, but then turned to face the throne. “Not guilty and that goes for Intarion as well.”

“His Highness has pleaded guilty of the charge,” Fëanáro stated with a smug look.

“His Highness is clearly not in his right mind,” Valandur shot back. “I do not know what threats you made against him to make him enter a guilty plea but he is innocent of any crime, as am I. And if this is truly a trial, why was I not informed of it in a timely manner and allowed counsel? What witnesses are there to these accusations? I see none of the people from the Fiefdoms whose coin we are accused of stealing. The only person other than Intarion and I who were in the Fiefdoms at the time is you, Prince Fëanáro, and it is only your word against ours. And I find it highly suspicious that we are holding this trial in a less than public venue. What are you so afraid of, Fëanáro?”

All the while, as he was speaking, many among the Noldorin courtiers began murmuring and casting dark looks at Valandur, though he noticed that Herencáno had a more amused expression. Ingoldo and Tinwetariel both glared at him and the other Vanyar shared uneasy looks between them, as if unsure who to believe now.

“Enough!” Finwë demanded and the murmurs ceased. “This is not a trial in the legal sense of the word, Loremaster. It is merely an enquiry and we are not required to follow the rules of law in that respect. Prince Intarion has not been threatened and his plea stands. We will deal with him later. As you have declared your innocence, you may present whatever evidence you have to refute the charges against you.”

“Then you will need to send for either Her Majesty or Princess Findis,” Valandur said, “for they have the evidence I require.”

“Her Majesty is otherwise engaged,” Finwë said with a shake of his head, “and my daughter is halfway to Valmar by now.”

“Valmar! But why?”

“Why?” Finwë echoed. “I am not required to answer to you, Loremaster, but I assure you I have no ulterior motive for her being sent away. She is to be tutored by the Valar even as my son was. These arrangements were made some time ago, and now was the time for her to go. Now enough. You have entered a plea of ‘not guilty’. I suggest you present what evidence you have so we may pass judgment on you.”

Valandur licked his lips, silently cursing himself for being such a fool as to have given Findis all his evidence. He could have easily hidden it on his own person instead, but he had not been sure if he wouldn’t have been searched first before being allowed to come into Finwë’s presence. Well, there was no help for it. He would have to try a different tack. He turned to Intarion.

“I’m glad to see you are no longer looking so bruised, my prince. How did that happen? I still do not know what chanced while I was traveling through the Fiefdoms ascertaining which villages were still standing. And what is all this nonsense about being guilty of treason?”

Intarion did not answer immediately, glancing first at Finwë, as if seeking permission. Finwë nodded. “You may speak, Nephew. We would hear your words.”

The ellon finally looked at Valandur and there was the shadow of shame in his eyes. “I do not know how it started but, shortly after you left, a rumor ran through the encampments that the bread and potatoes and grain and such that had been sent were a free gift from the Noldóran and that you and I were stealing from the refugees to line our own pockets.”

“Do you know where the rumor started or by whom?” Valandur asked.

Intarion shook his head. “I only know that a riot broke out in the western encampment and while I was there trying to calm everyone down, Prince Fëanáro and his men showed up and immediately began attacking us on his orders without seeking to find out what was going on.”

“Us?” Valandur asked, casting a look at Fëanáro, who stood beside the throne looking imperious.

Intarion nodded, grimacing. “You know most of those at the western encampment are Vanyar. There was a great deal of shouting and shoving going on and all was confusion and I was busy trying to calm everyone and get Poldormo and the other leaders to listen. Next thing I know we’re being attacked by Noldorin guards, not the ones protecting the food wagons, but others whom I did not know. They grabbed me and began hitting me though I had done nothing to provoke them, but their fellows were doing the same to others. I tried to tell them who I was but they ignored me.”

He stopped and glanced briefly at Fëanáro before continuing his narrative. “If Prince Fëanáro hadn’t recognized me I am not sure what would have happened. He made the guards stop beating me and apologized for their… um… enthusiasm, as he put it.”

Valandur turned to Fëanáro with a skeptical look. “Did you give orders for your men to attack unarmed farmers and a prince of Eldamar?”

Fëanáro bristled. “Who’s on trial here?”

“I am merely trying to discover what happened,” Valandur replied. “I was not there. I only know that when I returned, Orvamas was surrounded by your men and no one was being allowed in or out of the village. I only know that when I identified myself, I and I alone was allowed to enter the village, whereupon you immediately arrested me and had me thrown into a storeroom with no explanation. I only know that Prince Intarion, when I saw him, was badly bruised, his clothes torn and his hands were bound, while I had a rope thrown around me, pinning my arms, with one of your guards pulling me along like a prize lamb. You wouldn’t even allow them to remove the rope so I could drink. Someone had to stand there and hold the waterskin for me. And all the while, there was absolutely no explanation as to why. Until now. So I ask you, your Highness, how is it that Prince Intarion was attacked when it should have been clear enough that he was not one of the farmers and why did none of the guards sent with the wagons intervene?”

“When I came upon the encampment, it was evident that there was trouble and I ordered my men to put a stop to it,” Fëanáro explained. “They did. I am sorry Prince Intarion was hurt.”

“Hurt?!” Valandur exclaimed, then shook his head, turning back to Intarion. “Well, that still does not explain why you are pleading guilty. You’re not guilty of anything. Neither of us is.”

“It was your idea to sell the goods to the refugees,” Intarion said softly, not looking at him.

For a moment, Valandur just stood there staring at the ellon and realized how young Intarion was. “I see,” was all he could think to say at that moment.

“Do you deny Prince Intarion’s words?” Finwë asked.

Valandur turned to look at the king and shook his head. “No. It was my idea to sell the goods at a discount, a token payment, nothing more. We asked the locals what the going price was for certain foodstuffs and then charged half of that, sometimes even less.”

“So you claim,” Fëanáro stated, “but I was told you charged full price, though only half the coin was counted by the guards. Where is the half you stole?”

“And by whom were you told?” Valandur shot back. “And just where do you think I hid anything when I was not even there? If anyone had an opportunity to hide coin it would’ve been Prince Intarion and since we never charged full price for anything, I don’t see where he could’ve gotten the money.”

“Yet you cannot deny that you decided to make these people pay for what the king had declared a free gift,” Fëanáro insisted.

“And when did His Majesty make this declaration?” Valandur retorted. “Certainly not in Nordomas when we were all together. In Tirion? Well that might have soothed the populace there but the news never reached us and the captain of the guards bringing the wagons did not make any such declaration either publically or privately nor did he hand us a note from the king saying so.”

“You should have known that I would give those people the food freely,” Finwë said.

Valandur gave the king a surprised look. “How should I or Prince Intarion have known that, Your Majesty? By what means would either of us have known your mind in this save that you spoke your thoughts directly to us? I know Prince Intarion was ready to give the food away free but I counseled otherwise, not because I desired to steal from anyone and profit from the misfortune of these people, most of whom are fellow Vanyar, but because I wished to preserve their dignity and I did not wish to set a precedent that could have dire consequences for us all.”

“Yet, I understand you did give away some of the food for free,” Finwë said.

“What we did was to give the people of two villages some of the food that had arrived before they were about to return to their homes, which were the closest to Orvamas and only partially destroyed. They protested that they did not have enough coin to pay for any of the food even at a discount for there had been no time to collect such before they fled the fire. We told them that when they reached their villages, they were to gather as much coin as they might find and pay what they could and consider the rest as a free gift from the Crown. Unlike the majority of the refugees, the people of these two villages were Noldor.”

“Even at a discount, most of those refugees could not have paid for all of the food they needed,” Finwë said. “I suspect most had no money at all.”

“We told them to pool their resources, buy what they could from what they had,” Valandur said. “Then and only then would we give away the rest free if it was warranted. It was our hope that enough of the villages had survived, either in whole or in part, that we could send the bulk of the refugees home, thus relieving you and the other kings from the burden of succoring them, though we will still need to provide seed so crops which were destroyed can be regrown.”

“Do you have any proof of anything you have said?” Finwë asked. “At this time, it is only your word against my son’s. Prince Intarion has pleaded guilty of the charges, thus he, too, speaks against you.”

“What proof I have is in the hands of others,” Valandur admitted. “I kept a record of all that we did and the decisions that we made, but I no longer have it in my possession.”

“Where is it then?” Fëanáro asked with a sneer.

Valandur resisted a sigh and gave the prince a sardonic smile. “Probably halfway to Valmar by now.”

There was a brief moment of silence and then, as the implication of Valandur’s words became clearer, both Finwë and Fëanáro gave identical scowls.

“Findis,” Fëanáro spat in disgust. “How did she…? When did she…?”

Deciding there was no point in hiding the truth, Valandur shrugged. “She climbed the balcony,” he said with as much nonchalance as possible. He decided not to mention Indis and her role in all this. Let them draw their own, if erroneous, conclusions. He felt, rather than saw, Intarion staring at him in open-mouthed disbelief. There were murmurs among the Noldorin courtiers and a few were seen rolling their eyes. Herencáno had a wide grin on his face. Laurelindalë and Nolondilmë actually giggled behind their hands, earning them fierce scowls from Ingoldo and Tinwetariel.

Finally, Finwë spoke, his look of exasperation one that Valandur had often seen on his own parents’ faces whenever he or his sisters had done something ‘phenomenally outrageous’, as his atar often put it. “It seems my daughter is rather… inventive.”

“You mean, impossible,” Fëanáro stated almost angrily. “Even after you ordered her not to interfere, she still defied you. You did well to send her packing, Atar. Perhaps while in Valmar she will learn proper respect of your person as king, though I doubt it.”

“Well, that is neither here nor there,” Finwë said with a wave of a hand. He looked at Valandur. “So, you gave my daughter your evidence. Well, she is not here. I have no intention of recalling her nor will I waste time having her rooms searched for this hypothetical evidence of yours. So unless….”

He was interrupted by the doors of the chamber being suddenly flung open. There were gasps of surprise at the most unexpected sight and Valandur felt his eyebrows leave his forehead as Olwë of Alqualondë strode purposefully toward them. Finwë rose to greet him.

“Cousin! What dost thou here?”

Instead of answering Finwë, Olwë stopped before Valandur, giving him a sardonic smile. “Can’t stay out of trouble, can you, yonya?”

Valandur could only shrug, not sure just how to respond to that. Olwë seemed to understand, for his smile became more genuine as he patted Valandur on the shoulder.

“Olwë…” Finwë started to say but the Teler interrupted, moving to stand more directly before his fellow ruler.

“I am curious to know why I wasn’t told about the fire.”

“I had every intention of informing you once I had all the pertinent information. Besides, as far as I can tell, none of your estates suffered damage.”

“Well, be that as it may, what are you about, Cousin? Lord Ulmo said Loremaster Valandur was accused of treason against you? What nonsense is that?”

“Lord Ulmo!” Fëanáro exclaimed, stepping forward, and there were murmurs of surprise from most of the onlookers. “How would the Lord of Waters know anything of what is happening here in Tirion, and why would he care?”

Finwë waved Fëanáro away with an impatient gesture. “Don’t speak foolishness, yonya. The Valar, even Lord Ulmo, care very much.”

“And all that is spoken near water comes to the ear of Lord Ulmo,” Olwë said. He gave Finwë a wicked grin. “If you want to keep any secrets from him, you’d best not speak of them where he can hear.”

“Regardless,” Finwë said dismissively, “I fail to see why any of this concerns you, Olwë. Loremaster Valandur’s and Prince Intarion’s offenses…”

“Intarion!” Olwë exclaimed in surprise. “Ingwë’s nephew?” He turned around to look where Intarion stood next to Valandur and then turned back to face Ingoldo. “You must be Ingoldo. I vaguely recall you. And you countenance having your son be accused of treason?”

“He confessed,” Ingoldo said stiffly. “There is little I can do about it.”

For a long moment, Olwë just stared at the Vanya, then shook his head and turned to Finwë. “Well, the whole thing is absurd. I do not know Intarion, but I do know Valandur, and I’m telling you, Finwë, he is no more treasonous than your son here. Valandur is as honorable an Elf as any I have met.”

“Even so, he stands accused of crimes against Our person,” Finwë retorted. “He and Intarion, both. Intarion admits his guilt, while Valandur has pleaded innocent. We are in the process of ascertaining the truth of the matter.”

Olwë turned again to look at the two prisoners, then walked over to them so that he was facing Intarion, who looked at him with a puzzled expression on his face. Valandur was not sure what was happening but Intarion suddenly stiffened, making a small gasping sound before going still, his gaze never leaving Olwë’s face. The king stared at the Vanya for the longest time and no one moved or uttered a sound. Finally, Olwë’s gaze flicked toward Valandur for a second, thus releasing Intarion, who shuddered and began blinking, as if waking from a dream. Olwë turned to Finwë and spoke.

“I find no guile in this one,” he said. “If he admits to these crimes he does so out of fear for himself or another, not because he is guilty.”

“And how would you know?” Fëanáro demanded hotly.

Olwë ignored the ellon, his concentration on Finwë. “Surely you know how to read a person’s fëa, Cousin. Why have you not done so here? Why this charade? What is really going on?”

“That is what I would like to know,” someone said and even Olwë started at the voice.

Valandur was not the only one to find himself kneeling in awe as Ingwë, High King of the Elves, strode past them, looking less than pleased. In spite of the fact that he was wearing a plain hunting tunic dusty with travel and could have passed, at first glance, for an ordinary Vanya, there was no mistaking the aura of authority that surrounded him, an aura of majesty that not even Finwë or Olwë could achieve.

Ingwë was accompanied by Indis, her arm linked with his, and Valandur could not help noticing the faint smile of satisfaction on her face. “And I sincerely hope you have a very good explanation, Finwë,” Ingwë continued as he came abreast of Olwë who took a few steps to his left to give them room. The two kings acknowledged one another with nods.

When Finwë just stood there fairly goggling in shock at his visitor, Ingwë raised an imperious eyebrow. “Well? I’m waiting.”

****

Note: Finwë and Olwë addressing one another as ‘cousin’ does not denote kinship, either by blood or marriage, but is a form of address typically used between rulers as an acknowledgement that they are related by virtue of their both being kings.

31: The Justice of the High King

Valandur had to believe that he was not the only one in that room holding his breath, waiting to hear what Finwë would say to the High King, for he had no doubt that Ingwë was indeed there as High King, as Ingaran, and not solely as Vanyaran. One look at his expression told him that. Valandur watched with growing interest as Finwë glared first at Indis, who returned his glare with calm equanimity, that faint, one could almost call it smug, smile on her lips, then turned to Ingwë, licking his lips.

“Brother, why are you here?” he finally asked, sounding both confused and, to Valandur’s trained ear, frightened at the same time.

“Well, when one of Lord Manwë’s Maiar comes to me and informs me that half the Southern Fiefdoms is up in flames, I got rather curious and decided to see for myself.” He paused, giving his brother-in-law a thin smile. “Of course, I didn’t realize that he also meant the fire.”

Even Valandur had to think about that one and then as the implications of the High King’s words sank in, he forced himself neither to grin nor to gasp as others were doing. Finwë turned an interesting shade of red and even Fëanáro seemed to pale.

“I would have sent word as soon as I knew the full extent of the damage,” Finwë finally said, now sounding affronted, though trying to hide it.

“Hmm…” Ingwë said, giving him a skeptical look. “Yes, well, having taken a look myself, I decided to come here and speak to you about restoration, but when I arrive, I find you holding a trial against two of my subjects, one of them my own nephew.” Ingwë flicked his gaze briefly toward Intarion and Valandur, then over to Ingoldo and Tinwetariel. “And have you naught to say of this, Ingoldo? Intarion is, after all, your son. Surely you do not believe him guilty of crimes against Finwë or anyone else?”

Ingoldo shrugged. “He confessed, Ingwë. There is little I can do save to plead leniency for his youth and being led astray by that one.” He jerked his chin at Valandur.

Ingwë turned to him and Valandur steeled himself, keeping as calm an exterior as he could as he endured the High King’s scrutiny. He gave a small gasp of relief when Ingwë turned to speak with Olwë.

“And I am assuming you’re here for the same reason as I?”

“Yes,” Olwë said. “Lord Ulmo himself told me about the Fiefdoms.”

“Lord Ulmo!” Ingwë exclaimed, then scowled at the Lindaran. “And here I only rate a lowly Maia as a messenger. How did you get so lucky?”

Olwë actually laughed and Valandur thought he detected a glint of amusement in Ingwë’s eyes which belied his words.

“I am sure, Cousin, that no slight against your person was intended,” Olwë said when he calmed down. “I happened to be conversing with the Lord of Waters on matters concerning Alqualondë when he relayed the news to me.”

“Hmph. So you say,” Ingwë replied, but Valandur could tell that the king was only putting on an act, though why escaped him.

Olwë simply grinned. “So I say.”

Ingwë smiled warmly at the Teler, then turned to Finwë, his expression becoming less friendly and there was now a glint of steel in his eyes that warned them all that the time for levity was done. “So, Finwë, you haven’t answered Olwë’s questions. Why the charade of a trial? What is your real purpose behind all this? I cannot believe that you would accuse your own nephew of perfidy against you. Intarion is far too honorable and I would think he’s been here long enough for you to know this.”

“Yet, the charges are serious enough that I cannot ignore them,” Finwë shot back. “Even you, Ingwë, would not, whatever your personal feelings on the matter might be.”

“Yet, I find it strange that you hold this trial….”

“Enquiry,” Fëanáro corrected.

Ingwë raised an eyebrow at the interruption, while Finwë scowled at his son but did not reprimand him. Fëanáro, for his part, had the grace to look embarrassed and cast his eyes down, but the thinning of his lips and the stiffness of his posture told Valandur that the Noldorin prince was feeling furious. And probably resenting the loss of control over this entire affair now that Ingwë is here demanding answers, Valandur surmised.

“…hold this trial in this small audience chamber rather than in your throne room where it should be held. So what are the charges again?”

“Stealing from the treasury, as far as I can tell,” Olwë answered before anyone else could speak. “Or rather, stealing from the farmers, making them pay full price for the foodstuffs Finwë sent down but keeping half the money collected for themselves.”

“Indeed?” Ingwë said. “And do you have proof of this?”

“That was what we were ascertaining when you two showed up,” Finwë growled, retaking his seat. “Loremaster Valandur declares that he and Prince Intarion are innocent. We asked for evidence showing this, but it appears that they do not have it.” He gave them a sour grin. “Apparently the loremaster gave what evidence he had to my daughter but she is no longer here and I’m not about to order a search of her apartments for this hypothetical evidence.”

“Not entirely hypothetical, Your Majesties.”

Valandur was not the only one to look upon Lord Herencáno in shock as he stepped forward to give the kings a short bow.

“Oh?” Finwë gave the courtier a skeptical look.

“Yes. Before her Highness left, she confided in me.”

“When did she do that?” Finwë asked, now looking puzzled. “She was not allowed… I mean, she was too busy packing to receive visitors.”

“Wait!” Fëanáro exclaimed. “Do you not remember that when she went missing you asked me to find her? I finally tracked her down in the queen’s closet… with him.” He glared at Herencáno who shrugged, looking unconcerned.

“I was summoned by Her Majesty,” Herencáno explained, giving Indis a brief bow, “and met the princess there.”

“Here, Finwë, I’ll take over this… enquiry,” Ingwë said, stepping up onto the dais, waving the Noldóran from his throne, much to the shock and dismay of everyone, except possibly Indis and maybe even Olwë, the two of them moving to the right to stand beside Intarion, giving him and Valandur encouraging smiles.

Finwë scowled but did not offer any protest, rising and standing on the left side of the throne. Fëanáro looked more affronted and the look he gave Ingwë was just short of murderous in Valandur’s opinion. He had to admire Ingwë but he feared the cavalier manner in which the High King was treating all this might cause trouble later.

Ingwë, meanwhile, was gesturing to Herencáno, asking for his name, which the noble gave, explaining that he was a member of the Noldóran’s Privy Council and had been acting as Princess Findis’ secretary and chief advisor during the trade negotiations.

“Thank you,” Ingwë said politely. “Now, I believe we were discussing certain evidence. I am assuming that you have knowledge about it.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Herencáno said. “If I may?” At Ingwë’s nod, he gestured to a young ellon carrying a satchel and dressed in what Valandur had to assume was the livery of the noble’s household, for it did not match that worn by palace servants. The ellon approached and gave the satchel to Herencáno, who opened it and began pulling out several sheets of paper before handing the now empty satchel back, nodding to the ellon who then retreated to his former place. “Her Highness knew that she would not be allowed to stay long enough to attend this… um… enquiry and Her Majesty was indeed occupied by other matters, so she entrusted me with Loremaster Valandur’s evidence.” He began rifling through the papers, obviously looking for something, “Ah, here we go. You will see that Master Valandur made a list of the food that was to be distributed, the going price, and the price that was decided on, and notice the notation on the bottom.” He handed the sheet to Ingwë, who read it with both Finwë and Fëanáro leaning over his shoulder to take a look.

“It says here, ‘Copy one of five’.” Ingwë looked up at Valandur who nodded. Ingwë gestured for him to come forward. “Explain,” he ordered.

“Once we decided on how much to charge,” Valandur said, “I had four additional copies made, three of them to be posted at the encampments and the fourth in Orvamas so that everyone could see what the cost would be for each item and there would be no haggling on the part of the refugees and those distributing the food could not set an arbitrary price.”

“Whose idea was it to charge the refugees?” Ingwë asked.

“Mine,” Valandur admitted. “The Noldóran, when he gave Prince Intarion and me the commission to see to the succoring of the refugees did not say that we were to give the food away for free and I felt that to do so would set a dangerous precedent. Charging the refugees a token amount, I deemed, made the distribution seem more like any market and less like a handout, thus preserving their self-respect. I did not expect them to be able to pay for everything, but if they had to pay for something then they would hopefully realize that obtaining such foodstuffs was not necessarily a right that they could demand from the Noldor, particularly as most of the refugees are Vanyar.”

“Yet, what did you intend to do with the money that was collected?” Ingwë asked.

“The money collected was to be turned over to the Noldorin Crown,” Valandur answered. “I assumed that the Noldóran was supplying the food from his own stores, rather than from yours, Sire. It was only fair that he be compensated to some degree.”

Ingwë glanced at Finwë standing beside him, then looked at Intarion. “Indis told me what happened to you, yonya. What excuse were you given for the guards beating you up though you had offered them no protest and others had identified you to them?”

Valandur turned to look at Intarion, who was reddening with embarrassment. He kept his gaze down as he answered Ingwë’s question. “They apologized and said that one Vanya looked pretty much like any other and their orders were to subdue the Vanyar.”

Valandur hissed in shock before he could control himself. Ingwë gave him a considering look.

“You find that significant, Loremaster?” he asked.

“Yes, Sire,” Valandur replied, turning to face the High King. “While the bulk of the refugees are Vanyar, there were several villages comprised mostly of Noldor who also fled before the fire.” He turned to Intarion. “You are sure they said exactly that?”

Intarion nodded, giving him a puzzled look.

“Just what significance do you hold to what the guards told Intarion?” Ingwë demanded.

Turning back to the king, Valandur resisted a sigh. “Do you not see, Sire? According to Prince Intarion, the guards did not say that their orders were to subdue the rioters or even to subdue the refugees, but to subdue the Vanyar.” He stressed that last word, then turned to Intarion. “Yet, surely the Vanyarin refugees were not the only ones who were rioting were they?”

Intarion shook his head. “It was actually the Noldor among the refugees who were the most vocal in their demands, insisting that they did not have to pay for anything, that only the Vanyar and the few Teleri amongst them should have to pay since the food was being supplied by the Noldor and not by the other clans.”

Silence followed the prince’s statement. Valandur watched as Ingwë glanced first at Finwë, who was frowning, looking at nothing in particular, as if in deep thought, and then at Fëanáro, who was looking a bit pale, his lips compressed in a thin line.

“Who gave the orders to subdue the Vanyar?” Ingwë asked softly.

Fëanáro glared at the High King. “Don’t be coy, Ingwë. You know full well it was I who gave the order.”

Before Ingwë could respond to that, Finwë was upon his son, grabbing him by the placket of his tunic and shaking him. “Show some respect, hína. Do not shame me before the High King. I’m beginning to wonder if this entire affair is merely part and parcel of your hatred of the Vanyar. I know you’ve never forgiven me for marrying Indis and I’m truly sorry that you feel you must punish all Vanyar for my actions.”

“Yet, you agreed with me that that Vanyarin loremaster standing there is no fit husband for your daughter,” Fëanáro snarled back. “Why else did you send her packing to Valmar where he cannot touch her?”

Valandur felt the blood rush from his face, absolutely mortified, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow him whole.

“Is this true?” Ingwë asked, looking not at Finwë but at Indis. “Does Findis love Valandur?”

“So she has said,” Indis replied.

“You doubt her?” Ingwë shot back.

“Not really, but Findis can be somewhat contrary just for the sake of being contrary. She enjoys making pronouncements that she knows will upset her atar. But I have no doubt that Valandur loves her.” She gave him a brief smile and Valandur felt himself blushing, looking away.

“Hmm….” Ingwë’s expression was contemplative, then he looked up at Fëanáro. “We’ll talk later about your… enthusiasm.” Fëanáro’s expression became shuttered.

“Well, I, for one, think it’s wonderful,” Olwë said with a smile, breaking into the uneasy silence that had settled upon them all. “Findis could do much worse.”

“I meant to approach you about the possibility of Findis and one of your sons….” Finwë started to say, but Olwë waved his hand in dismissal.

“Nay, I doubt either of my sons would be interested. Valandur is an excellent ellon, very wise and yet humble.”

“And how do you know this?” Ingwë asked.

“He had the occasion to visit Alqualondë,” Olwë replied.

“Oh?” was Ingwë’s response.

Olwë nodded, looking very pleased. “Yes. He was there at the behest of Lord Ulmo, who desired to speak with him. Afterwards, Valandur remained as my guest for a time. My family and I got to know him quite well and found him to be an admirable ellon. Lord Ulmo quite approved of him, or so he told me afterwards.”

Valandur kept his eyes down, still feeling mortified, wishing he were anywhere but there. He felt someone giving his shoulder a squeeze and, looking up, saw Intarion giving him a sympathetic look.

“Well, that’s all very interesting and I want to hear more,” Ingwë said, “but it is quite beside the point. Lord Herencáno, let me have those papers. I wish to look them over. Ah, I see that there is a map here with all the villages duly marked. Good. Very good. Now, I’ve heard enough to rule on this and find no fault in either Prince Intarion or Loremaster Valandur and their handling of the refugees.”

“But Intarion confessed,” Finwë protested. “You cannot ignore that, even if he is your nephew.”

Ingwë gave Finwë an impatient look, then turned to Intarion, motioning him forward to stand next to Valandur. “Very well, Nephew. Why did you confess to something you did not do?”

For a moment, Intarion did not answer, looking nervous and Valandur was reminded how young he was, younger than Fëanáro, younger even than Findis. When he finally spoke it was barely above a whisper. “Prince Fëanáro told me that King Finwë meant for the food to be given freely and that charging the refugees was an act of treason against the Noldóran. He said that if I pleaded guilty, he would ask for leniency and the worst that would happen to me was that I would be sent home.”

“And Valandur?” Ingwë asked. “What was to be his fate?”

Intarion shrugged. “I do not know. I only know that as long as I pleaded guilty, no punishment would fall upon me.”

“Except the punishment of being sent home in disgrace, shamed before all,” Valandur could not help saying, his tone full of contempt. “But no doubt that was the whole point: send the Vanyar home in disgrace and the trade negotiation dismissed.”

Ingwë did not respond to that, but others, including Finwë and Fëanáro bristled, though they all wisely remained silent before the High King, who glanced at Finwë. “So, assuming you knew that Valandur would plead innocent, and assuming that any evidence he might present would be dismissed out of hand even if it did prove that he and Intarion were not guilty, what were your plans for him?”

“He would have been sent to the Fiefdoms to help repair the damage as reparation for attempting to profit from the misfortune of others,” Finwë replied with a diffident shrug. “Considering the extent of the damage that the fire caused, he would have been laboring there for some time.”

“I see,” Ingwë said.

Valandur blinked in surprise, imagining himself moving from one destroyed village to another, forced to rebuild everything alone while guards and villagers looked on, and felt a rush of anger, not at Finwë or even Fëanáro, whom he suspected was behind it all, but at Ingwë. “I should never have accepted your request to join the trade delegation,” he snarled. A sense of hurt and betrayal flooded him and he suddenly hated them all: Ingwë, Finwë, the Valar, everyone. Intarion attempted to reach out a comforting hand but Valandur brushed him away and, giving everyone a scathing look, stalked away, intending to return to his rooms, pack his bags and just leave.

He did not get far, not even to the door, before Olwë came after him and took him by the arm, forcing him to return. Valandur stood there glaring at the foot of the dais, refusing to look up, refusing to acknowledge any of them. He just wanted to be rid of all of them and their scheming ways.

“Valandur, look at me,” Ingwë said softly yet with great authority, and, much against his will, Valandur found himself raising his head to gaze into eyes full of sympathy and understanding. “I’m sorry we have come to this pass. I think other people have allowed their own prejudices to dictate to them.” He glanced at Finwë standing tight-lipped beside him and there was a flash of anger in the High King’s eyes.

“I cannot believe that you would abuse your station so flagrantly, Finwë, merely to punish an innocent ellon whose only crime appears to be that he fell in love with your daughter. And that was bad enough, but then to drag my own nephew into your perfidious scheme by threatening him, forcing him to plead guilty to something that he never did, and where is the proof? There is none, nor do I suspect there ever was.” He paused for a moment, sweeping his gaze upon them all.

“Olwë had the right of it when he searched Intarion’s fëa for the truth, for that is a gift that we kings have been granted in some measure. Finwë, I want you to do the same for Valandur here and now before witnesses.”

Valandur took a couple of steps back in shock, shaking his head. Olwë had to grab his arm to keep him in place.

“It’s not really necessary, Ingwë,” Finwë protested.

“It is very necessary,” Ingwë retorted. “Do not waste Our time, Cousin. Do as thou hast been bidden.”

Finwë went white and Fëanáro clenched his hands in fists. “How dare you…”

“How dare you!” Ingwë fairly shouted, rising to face the prince. “I should have you whipped for your own actions against those farmers. You should count yourself fortunate that I will only demand that you pay recompense to those who were attacked out of your own monies. Now be silent before your betters, hína! Finwë, I gave you an order.”

The silence was absolute as Finwë stepped down from the dais. Valandur closed his eyes. Whatever Ingwë wanted from him he was not going to get it. He felt Olwë shaking him gently. “Open your eyes, yonya,” he said. “It’s all right. There is naught to fear.” But he just shook his head, keeping his eyes closed, even going so far as to cover them with his hands.

“No,” he whispered. “Just leave me alone, all of you.”

“Valandur,” he heard Finwë say. “Just open your eyes.” His hands were pulled away from his face and then he felt Finwë leaning closer to whisper in his ear, “Don’t disappoint Findis.”

Valandur opened his eyes at the unexpected statement and before he realized what was happening he found himself caught in Finwë’s gaze, drawn deeper and deeper into it until there was nothing else. He thought he made a strangled sound of protest but then Finwë looked away and Valandur found himself blinking as if coming out of a deep sleep.

“He is innocent,” Finwë said softly.

Ingwë nodded. “Then, as far as I am concerned, this matter is closed. Prince Intarion and Loremaster Valandur are not guilty of the charges against them. I think an apology is in order, don’t you, Finwë?”

“Yes, Sire,” the Noldóran said, giving Ingwë a bow. Valandur saw Fëanáro clenching his fists, his lips set in a thin line, his eyes full of anger at seeing his atar being humble before Ingwë. Several of the other Noldor also looked pained at what they saw as Finwë’s humiliation. Valandur did not care. All he wanted was to get away from them all. Finwë turned to the loremaster. “I am sorry, yonya. I fear I allowed my concern for my daughter to cloud my judgment.”

Valandur could only nod, unable to articulate any real reply. Ingwë seemed to take his gesture as sufficient. “That’s settled. Now I’ve been sleeping in hayricks and washing in streams for the better part of the week. I would appreciate a hot bath and some clean clothes, if you can spare them, Brother.”

Finwë bowed to Ingwë again. “Indis will see that you have everything you need for your comfort, Brother, and you as well, Olwë. I will order a feast for you both in the meantime.”

“Nothing grand,” Ingwë insisted, stepping down from the dais and offering an arm to Indis, who accepted. “Whatever your cooks had planned for today’s dinner is fine with me. Come along, Olwë, and you can tell me how you and your family are faring.” Olwë joined him and Indis as they made their way out of the room with Finwë, Fëanáro, Ingoldo and Tinwetariel trailing, none of them looking particularly happy. Ingoldo and Tinwetariel completely ignored their son as they passed him.

Once the royals were gone, everyone else stood about looking a bit uncertain as to what they should do next. Valandur was not sure how he should be feeling right then and hoped he could get away without others importuning him. He needed time alone to think and while everyone was milling about, discussing what had happened among themselves, Valandur made to leave but Intarion put out a hand to stay him.

“I’m sorry,” the prince said softly, not quite looking at him. “I should never have agreed to….”

“It’s fine,” Valandur said, though he wasn’t completely convinced of that himself. “I do not blame you, Intarion. If you will excuse me, I wish to be alone for a while.”

Intarion nodded, still looking guilty, but Valandur found he just didn’t have the strength to offer the younger ellon any comfort at that time. Later, perhaps, but not now. He looked about and saw Herencáno conversing with one of his fellow courtiers and went to him. The two ellyn stopped speaking as he approached.

“Thank you, my lord, for your help. I appreciate it very much,” Valandur said.

“The honor was mine, Loremaster,” Herencáno responded with a smile. “I am glad that the matter was resolved in your favor.”

Valandur nodded, then, excusing himself, wended his way through the crowd and made his escape.

****

Vanyaran: King of the Vanyar.

Lindaran: King of the Lindar (Teleri).

Note: In medieval architecture a closet in a castle was a small, windowless room off of the king’s or queen’s bedroom where they would gather with their courtiers or ladies, especially in the winter. It was often the warmest place in the castle.

32: At the Rose and Crown Again

Valandur fled the palace and made his way to the Rose and Crown, settling into a corner table and ordering one tankard of ale after another. It was nearly two hours later before anyone found him. As before, it turned out to be Aldamir and Sorondur.

“I’m not going back,” Valandur stated categorically as the two ellyn stood before him. “So you can just turn right around and tell whoever sent you to take a flying leap off Taniquetil.”

“That would be Ingwë and I don’t think I’m brave enough to tell the High King anything of the sort,” Aldamir said with a thin smile.

“I’m still not going,” Valandur replied, his tone turning surly. “I’m taking rooms here. I’ll have my things sent for. As far as I’m concerned, you can all take flying leaps. I’m through with all of you, Ingwë included. Now leave me be!”

“Is there trouble here?”

The three of them looked to see the innkeeper approaching, his expression polite but there was no mistaking that he would not tolerate any disruption to his establishment.

“No, no trouble. These ellyn were just leaving. I’ll have another.” He lifted the empty tankard.

“You’ve had enough, my friend,” the innkeeper said with a shake of his head. “I think it’s time you went home.”

“Home,” Valandur echoed sadly, now feeling maudlin. “I have no home,” and that thought set him weeping.

There seemed to be some kind of discussion about him between Aldamir, Sorondur and the innkeeper but Valandur was too lost in his own misery to concern himself with it. Someone tried to lift him out of his chair but he resisted, practically snarling as he wrenched himself away, clutching the table.

“No! I told you to go away! I’m not going back now or ever so leave me alone!” he shouted.

“Best you leave, youngsters,” he heard the innkeeper say. “I’ll see to him.”

The two Vanyar hesitated for a moment and then gave the innkeeper nods before exiting, leaving Valandur alone with him, who tapped him on the arm to get his attention. “I have a room upstairs if you’re interested.”

Valandur nodded. “Thank you,” he said and staggered to his feet, swaying a bit. The innkeeper had to take him by the arm and steer him toward the stairs, helping him up the steps and then he was being shown into a small room with a single bed. With a bit of help from the innkeeper, he removed his loremaster’s robe, boots and belt and then he was falling into bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.

****

Valandur woke, still feeling lightheaded, wondering where he was, for the ceiling looked unfamiliar. He started to sit up and then wished he hadn’t for everything started spinning and his stomach protested in a way that told him he was in deep trouble. He became frantic as he struggled to get out of bed, but before he could figure out what to do next, someone was there with the chamber pot and then his stomach emptied out.

It took a few minutes for the heaving to stop and then he fell back with a groan, closing his eyes and hoping he would drift back into oblivion for a time.

“Rinse your mouth and drink some water,” he heard someone say.

He opened his eyes in surprise, recognizing the voice, and saw Ingwë leaning over to help him sit up, a goblet in one hand. Valandur took the goblet and rinsed out his mouth, spitting the water into the chamber pot, which Ingwë then closed and set aside. Valandur just sat and drank the water, staring at the High King over the rim of the goblet. When he had finished drinking, Ingwë took the goblet from him, setting it on the little table next to the bed. Valandur remained sitting, saying nothing, waiting for Ingwë to speak.

“Take a flying leap off Taniquetil, hmm?” Ingwë said as he settled himself in the room’s only chair, giving Valandur a slight smile. “A rather colorful phrase.”

“I’m not going back,” Valandur said tonelessly. “You cannot make me go back.”

Ingwë nodded. “No. I cannot, but I hope you will reconsider.”

“Why? Why do you even care?” Valandur felt himself growing angry.

For a moment, Ingwë did not answer and Valandur found it difficult to maintain eye contact with him, mainly because his eyes refused to focus properly, so he closed them, hoping that would help.

“Your time in Tirion has not been an easy one, has it?” Ingwë finally said.

Valandur cracked open his eyes. “No,” he said simply, sighing. “I was never fully accepted as a member of the delegation, certainly not by Prince Ingoldo, so what I had to say was generally dismissed and… and things happened.”

Ingwë nodded. “I’ve heard all about it from several sources. So, did you really meet with Lord Ulmo?”

Valandur raised an eyebrow at the king’s tone. “Jealous?”

Ingwë barked a laugh. “Not in the least. I’m just curious as to what he might have said to you.”

Valandur started to reach for the goblet on the table and the carafe of water sitting there, but Ingwë got to it first, pouring the water and handing him the goblet, which he accepted gratefully, drinking deeply before giving an answer. “He was primarily interested in my having some acquaintance with the Teleri, or rather the Lindar, as they prefer to call themselves, so that I could give you as complete a picture of the three clans as possible. Lord Ulmo specifically said that you need to be more assertive in your role as Ingaran and not just as Vanyaran and that you need to encourage more interaction between all three clans, not just between the Vanyar and the Noldor.”

“And do you agree with him?”

“Anything that can draw the three clans closer and reduce if not eliminate any cultural misunderstandings between them can only benefit us all.”

Ingwë nodded. “So do you mean to give up your position at the Academy?”

Valandur blinked, trying to understand what the High King was saying. “Give up my position? Why would I do that?”

“You said you were not going back,” Ingwë pointed out.

“I only meant, back to the palace. I have every intention of returning to Vanyamar and taking up my duties at the Academy once again. I will, of course, provide you with a full report on everything that has happened, but once that is done, I wish only to be left alone.”

“And Findis?”

Valandur felt his heart lurch at the sound of her name. “She is in Valmar where her atar desires her to be. I will not see her again.” And simply speaking the words sent a lance of pain through his fëa.

“So you will not fight for her?”

Valandur scowled. “Fight? Fight with what? Do you seriously think her atar will ever welcome me as a suitor? You heard Finwë. He wants Findis as wife to one of Olwë’s sons, thus strengthening the alliance between them. I’m just a loremaster. I can claim no higher status.”

“Olwë does not think either of his sons will be interested and will not pursue the matter.”

“Then he’s a fool!” Valandur snarled. “An alliance between their two Houses is in the best interest of everyone.”

“Everyone but you and Findis.”

Valandur could not dispute that, so he didn’t try. Instead, he closed his eyes again, wishing the last month or so had never happened, that he had stayed in Vanyamar in blissful ignorance. He was too heart-sore and no longer had the strength or the will to fight anyone for anything. He felt, rather than saw, Ingwë stand and opened his eyes to see the High King staring down at him. His expression was surprisingly gentle and sympathetic.

“You’re hurting and you are weary in fëa. I will have your things sent down. Stay here as long as you need. I will not be leaving for Vanyamar immediately, but I do expect you to return with the rest of us.”

Valandur nodded.

“Good. In the meantime, I truly do wish you would join me and Olwë for dinner… when you are able to look at food again.” He cast him a knowing smile and Valandur found himself smiling back.

“Perhaps in a day or two,” he allowed.

“I will hold you to it. Now I had better go, but before I do, I want you to know that I am very proud of you. You have comported yourself with greater nobility than some who think that having a title is all that counts. I am sorry that things turned out as they did. If I had known….”

“You would still have asked me to go,” Valandur interrupted. “I do not say that to disparage you, Sire; I speak a simple truth. As Ingaran, you would have had no choice whatever your personal feelings on the matter simply because you needed the information that only I could gather for you. I do not blame you for that. I blame the fact that I was neither fish nor fowl and no one trusted me. Not a few were convinced that I was your spy.”

“Yes, so I gathered,” Ingwë said. “Well, I will leave you. Do you desire anything? I will speak with the innkeeper on my way out.”

“I think I just want to sleep for a while,” Valandur replied, “but I thank you for your solicitude, lord.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Ingwë said and then saw himself out. As the door opened, Valandur glimpsed a guard standing in the hallway, obviously there to ensure the High King’s privacy. The door closed and he sighed, sinking back under the covers and willing himself to sleep, but it was some time before he actually slipped onto the Path of Dreams.

****

It was hours later when he woke a second time, though he was rather unclear as to what day it was. He sat up, no longer feeling lightheaded and looked about. Someone had come in while he was sleeping and had emptied the contents of the chamber pot, for it now sat empty within easy reach on the chair beside the bed, and when he examined the carafe on the table beside him, he found it to be full. Pouring himself some water, he drank greedily, for he felt dehydrated, no doubt because of all the alcohol he had drunk. When he had had his fill, he stumbled out of bed and saw several bags piled at the foot of it. Rummaging about, he pulled out fresh linen and a tunic, laying them on the bed before exiting the room and making his way down the stairs. By the light streaming through the windows, he could tell that it was several hours before Telperion would come to full flower. The common room was empty but he could hear voices coming from what he assumed was the kitchen and when he passed through the archway he found himself being stared at by several people, only one of whom he recognized.

“Ah, you are awake at last, my friend,” the innkeeper said with a smile.

“Awake, yes, but I’m not sure if that qualifies me as being yet alive,” Valandur quipped and the others laughed. “Could I trouble you for some hot water? I know it’s too late for a bath but….”

“I have anticipated your needs, lord,” the ellon said formally. “The bathing room is just off the kitchen. Everything is all set up. I’ll have the hot water brought presently.”

“Thank you,” Valandur said gratefully. “And… ah… the privy?”

The innkeeper smiled. “At the end of the hall.”

“Thank you again,” Valandur said and made his way out, returning first to his room to gather his things and then back to the ground floor, dropping everything off in the bathing room before using the privy. By the time he returned he found the tub full and he wasted no time in divesting himself of his clothes and slipping gratefully into the water, the absolute pleasure of it eliciting sighs and groans of relief. He allowed himself to soak for a few minutes before cleansing himself and then he was out and drying off and in short order was dressed. He was bundling up his dirty clothes when there was a knock on the door.

“Come,” he called out and the innkeeper opened the door.

“If you will give me those, lord, I will see that they are cleaned. My sister does the laundry for us.”

“Thank you,” Valandur said, handing him the bundle. “And now that I feel more alive, perhaps I can trouble you further for something to eat, something light.”

The ellon grinned. “I can offer you some chicken broth and soft rolls.”

“Thank you again,” Valandur said as the two exited the bathing chamber. “By the way, what day is it?”

The innkeeper laughed. “Well, it was still Elenya when you showed up and it is now Aldúya, so you slept through Eärenya.” Valandur sighed and the ellon gave him a sympathetic look. “Now don’t you be fretting about that,” he said. “Why don’t you go find a seat and I’ll bring you your meal.”

In a few minutes, Valandur was attacking the simple meal with gusto, only just realizing how famished he was. His last meal had been several hours before the trial and he had eaten nothing since. He sipped on some water — the innkeeper had offered him some small beer, but he had declined — and contemplated what he should do next. He wondered how Calandil and the others had made out and resolved to send around a note to his friends to let them know how he fared. Perhaps they would be able to join him later for a meal and he could tell them all that had happened. He was about to call to the innkeeper to ask for paper and pen, when the inn door opened and a Noldo in the livery of the palace entered. Valandur looked up with a frown as the Elf made his way to him.

“Loremaster Valandur?” the ellon asked politely. Valandur just nodded. The ellon reached into a satchel that he was carrying and pulled out a bit of vellum, handing it to him. Valandur took it with some reluctance. It was sealed and Valandur recognized the High King’s imprimatur.

“Is a reply expected?” he asked as a matter of course.

The ellon nodded. “I was told to wait.”

Valandur nodded. “Well, sit and take your ease while I read this. Innkeeper!” When the ellon appeared, Valandur gestured to the courier. “Something for my friend here.”

“I am on duty,” the ellon protested. He pointed to the carafe of water sitting on the table, “but I wouldn’t mind some water.”

“I’ll get you a goblet,” the innkeeper said and Valandur ignored the two ellyn as he slit open the seal and began to read:

I trust that this missive will find you alive if not necessarily feeling well, it began and Valandur couldn’t help snorting in amusement at that bit of drollery as he continued reading. There are matters that need to be dealt with before any of us can return to Vanyamar, so I would ask of your courtesy that you attend Us at the third hour after Second Mingling on Menelya. The courier will wait for your reply.

As politely as it was couched, Valandur recognized a royal summons when he saw one and that he was expected to comply to it whether he liked it or not. Well, he knew that certain matters had to be resolved and hiding at the Rose and Crown would not help. He looked up at the courier sitting across from him sipping on some water, waiting patiently.

“Please tell His Majesty that I will be there as requested,” he said.

The ellon nodded, drained his goblet and stood. “I was also commanded to tell you that His Majesty the High King has already settled accounts with the innkeeper. You may remain here until the Ingaran leaves for Vanyamar.” He gave Valandur a short bow and left before Valandur could muster a reply. He sat for a while, staring at the missive, re-reading the words a few times before setting it aside and returning to his meal. He would ask for writing implements later.

****

Valandur spent the rest of Aldúya quietly. After his meal, he wrote his notes and the innkeeper assured him that he would have someone deliver them posthaste. Once that was done, he decided he needed some exercise, so he went out and made his way down the street to Finwë Park and spent some time strolling through it, contemplating everything that had happened to him of late. Most of the time, though, he found his thoughts drifting as images of Findis invaded his ruminations and he realized how much he missed her. He wondered how she fared and if she missed him or was she so busy with her studies that she gave him little thought.

That possibility pained him, but he realized that perhaps it was for the best. What did he in fact have to offer her? He lived in a suite of rooms at the Academy set aside for unmarried teachers and as one of the newest loremasters his salary was just enough to keep him comfortable but it hardly allowed him any real luxuries. She would be better off marrying Lindarion or Falmaron so she could continue living in the style to which she was accustomed.

Yet, as logical as all that was, he felt his heart aching at the thought of never seeing her again, never holding her or kissing her, never hearing her laugh or listening to her expound on some matter of philosophy or linguistics. He longed to hold her in his arms, but knew that in the end, it would come to naught; Finwë would see to that.

Sighing, he glanced at the sky, automatically gauging the time by the quality of the light, and decided to return to the inn to see if any of his friends had sent a reply yet. When he returned, he was greeted by the innkeeper and when he enquired the ellon handed him several pieces of vellum. “Will you be wanting a private room, then?” he asked and Valandur nodded, thanking him, taking a quick glance at the missives.

“There will be eight of us.”

“I’ll see that everything is ready for your guests,” the ellon said, giving Valandur a short bow before leaving him. It would be a few more hours before his friends would be there, so he decided to indulge himself with a short nap.

****

Valandur descended the stairs to the common room and smiled at the sight of Calandil and Aldarion standing there with Minalcar, speaking to the innkeeper. They all looked up as they noticed him.

“Are you all right, otorno?” Calandil enquired, his expression more worried than anything as he and Valandur hugged each other in greeting. “When I heard you’d been arrested, I tried to speak with Princess Findis but no one would let me in the palace.”

“I am fine, truly,” Valandur said. “I’m just glad to see you two safely back. You must tell me what fared in the Fiefdoms after I left, but wait until we are all gathered.” He turned to the innkeeper. “Our room?”

“Just down the hall,” the ellon said. “It’s the first door on your left. I have already taken these ellyn’s drink orders. What will you have?”

“I think I had better stick with water for another day or three, just to be on the safe side,” Valandur said with a smile, “or perhaps some kind of fruit juice.”

“I have hawthorn juice chilling in the cold cupboard,” the innkeeper offered.

“That will be acceptable,” Valandur said with a nod.

“Ah, there you are.”

Valandur and the others turned to see Simpandil enter with Ferenion, Cemendur and Amandil, all of them with grins on their faces. Valandur greeted them all with hugs and then suggested that they retire to the private parlor set aside for them. The newcomers relayed their drink orders to the innkeeper and Valandur asked what the special of the day was. When they learned that it was a venison pie with frumenty, everyone ordered it before making their way to the parlor.

Once they were all settled, Valandur insisted that Calandil tell him what happened after they parted company.

“Well, we headed east with the intention of going around Orvamas and reaching the road to Tirion from that direction,” Calandil said. “We got as far as the eastern encampment where we found things to be rather confused with everyone milling about. The guards were rather lax and we were able to get inside and speak to some of the refugees. It took us some time to find out what was going on, only to learn that the promised food had not been delivered.”

“What do you mean?” Valandur asked, puzzled. “We divided the wagons and sent a third of them to each encampment. In the time we were away, all of the wagons should have emptied out.”

“And apparently those wagons were,” Aldarion interjected, “but the wagons that came after were not sent to the encampments, at least not immediately, and when they arrived, they were less than full, according to the refugees with whom we spoke. There wasn’t enough food to go around and people were becoming anxious.”

Valandur grimaced. “That makes no sense. What profit would it serve to deny these people any of the food sent? What about what was sent? How was it distributed? Was it freely given or did people continue to pay the discounted price?”

“And that’s another thing,” Calandil said. “The people we talked to said that they were told that they had to pay full price for the food that was available, only no one had that kind of coin. They barely had enough to pay the discounted price but it would’ve been enough to feed everyone in the encampment. When they protested, even showing the guards the schedule of prices that you had posted, the response was a shrug and a take-it-or-leave-it attitude. You can imagine that didn’t sit well with anyone.”

“What did they do then?” Valandur asked.

“They tried to take the wagons by force, but the guards were too well armed with spears and no one could get near them and since they refused to pay what was being demanded, the guards just took the wagons away.”

“Why would anyone deny people sustenance?” Ferenion asked, looking as troubled as the others. Most shook their heads, having no answer.

“At any rate,” Calandil continued, “we did not linger but headed back to Tirion as quickly as possible. As I said, I tried to see Princess Findis, but I wasn’t allowed in the palace, nor would anyone take a message to her. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Valandur assured him. “I’m sure you did all that you could. I wonder if all this happened before or after Prince Fëanáro showed up.”

“As to that, I have no idea,” Calandil admitted with a shrug.

Valandur nodded. “I think that the High King may already be aware of what you have told me.”

“Ingwë!” more than one voice exclaimed. “How does the High King know about it?” Minalcar demanded.

Before Valandur could answer, the parlor door opened and the innkeeper entered with another, both carrying trays.

“Morion!” Valandur exclaimed, rising to greet the ellon. “How did you get here? When did you get here?”

Morion grinned at him as he set down the tray with people’s drinks. “I walked, of course. I arrived only a short time ago.” He gave Valandur a searching look. “Are you all right? When we saw you being dragged away like that….”

“I am well, I promise,” Valandur assured him, clapping him on the shoulder. “But come, sit and tell us what you will. My friends and I were just discussing the situation in the Fiefdoms. I need to have as much information as I can when I see Ingwë tomorrow.”

“Ingwë!” Morion exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes, now come sit with us and I will fill you in on all that has happened and you can do the same.”

“Let me help Neldoron with your orders and then I will oblige you,” Morion said.

Valandur nodded and in a matter of minutes the food was being served. Morion brought in another chair and sat between Simpandil and Amandil, contenting himself with a tankard of bitters, while everyone else ate. There was no talking for several minutes while they all concentrated on their meal but eventually Valandur looked up from his trencher and addressed Morion.

“I was about to tell everyone what happened with me when you arrived.”

“Then let us share our tales,” the ellon said.

“Well, when we reached Tirion….”

The others listened with expressions of shock and disbelief as the tale unfolded and some of their comments were less than polite, but when Valandur got to the part of his tale where he woke up in the inn to find Ingwë holding the chamber pot for him while he threw up, his otornor couldn’t help laughing and even Morion looked amused.

“It’s not funny,” Valandur protested.

“Oh, but it is,” Calandil said, giving him a cheeky grin, “if only because previously you were the one holding the chamber pot for one of us. I never thought I would see the day when it was your turn.”

There was more laughter and Valandur shook his head, finishing his story somewhat lamely. “Well, anyway, I’m due to meet with Ingwë tomorrow at the third hour after Second Mingling.”

“I cannot believe the High King himself was wandering through the Fiefdoms in disguise,” Cemendur said, shaking his head. “Do you think he was there watching everything that happened in Orvamas?”

“I have no idea,” Valandur replied. “He would have had to take care not to be seen by either Finwë, Ingoldo or Intarion, for they would have recognized him whatever he was wearing, but he could certainly have hidden himself among the other Vanyar in Poldormo’s camp. I doubt any of them would know Ingwë by sight.”

“You know, just after Fëanáro pulled out of Orvamas, two Vanyar showed up asking many of the villagers questions,” Morion stated, looking contemplative. “I don’t know how they managed to pass through the cordon that still surrounded the village, but somehow they were there.”

“Do you think it was the High King?” Minalcar asked.

Morion shrugged. “Perhaps. One of them was wearing a green hunting tunic, even had a bow slung over his shoulder. The other was similarly dressed but he seemed more like a guard than a companion to the first ellon.”

“What sorts of questions did they ask?” Valandur wanted to know.

“Mainly about you and Intarion and what you had done and why were you both returning to Tirion as prisoners. My brother Varnion told them about your idea of selling the food at a discount and getting all the villagers to bake bread for the refugees and such. Neither my brother nor I know what set off the riots, but I do know that Prince Intarion was doing everything possible to see to everyone’s welfare. He didn’t just sit in my tavern drinking my ale and ordering everyone about. He traveled to each of the encampments and spoke to those in charge and then came back and spent hours juggling figures, trying to ensure that no one went without. He even spoke of drawing funds from his own account to pay for the food so those with little coin would receive something.”

“None of that came out in the trial,” Valandur said. “Intarion actually pleaded guilty to the charges and never defended himself. I had to do it for him and I had none of this information.” He gave the Noldor a considering look as he came to a decision. “Morion, Calandil, I would like you to accompany me when I go to see Ingwë.”

Both ellyn looked surprised at the suggestion. “Whatever for?” Calandil demanded.

“I want Ingwë and others to hear from your own lips what you’ve told me,” Valandur said.

“But you could just tell them yourself,” Morion said.

Valandur shook his head. “Then it would only be hearsay on my part. The High King needs to hear it from you, though I suspect he knows more than he’s letting on, but I also want the Noldóran to hear from two of his own subjects what happened.” He gave them a pleading look. “Please come with me. I need your testimony. It isn’t enough for Ingwë to declare me or Intarion innocent. I do not care for myself, but Intarion is now seen by others as incompetent and unworthy of trust and he deserves better. He is too conscientious and too honorable to be treated so and I would see him exonerated.”

Neither Calandil nor Morion replied, both looking troubled but finally Morion nodded. “I will go with you. I wish to see for myself if the Vanya asking all those questions really was the High King.” Surprisingly, he blushed and looked suddenly sheepish. “And I need to apologize to him for my… er… comments about what I thought of royalty.”

Valandur found himself grinning with the others as they came to certain conclusions. Then Calandil turned to Valandur. “Well, if Morion is willing, I will come as well.”

“Too bad we can’t all go,” Simpandil said with a sigh. “Hearing about it afterwards isn’t the same.”

“I know,” Valandur said sympathetically, “and I’m not sure how Ingwë will take my bringing these two with me. I may have to do a lot of convincing of the guards to let you in.”

“Well, you are a lambengolmo,” Calandil said. “If you can’t be convincing, no one can.”

Amandil lifted his goblet. “To Valandur, the best lambengolmo in Eldamar. May you never be at a loss for words.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Ferenion said enthusiastically and the other Noldor raised their goblets in agreement and drank the toast while Valandur looked on, feeling embarrassed, yet warmed by the obvious love and respect that they had for him, the lone Vanya among them.

33: A Meeting with Royals

“Be sure to wear your finest tunic,” Valandur admonished Calandil as the ellon and his other otornor were leaving the inn, “and meet me here.”

“I’ll be here, never fear,” Calandil promised and then he and the others departed, leaving Valandur alone with Morion and Neldoron.

“I’ll lend you my festival tunic,” the innkeeper said to Morion. “I doubt you brought yours.”

Morion chuckled. “No. I was in a hurry to pack and be on my way.” He turned to Valandur. “Do you need me for anything? Otherwise, I will give Neldoron a hand until it’s time to leave.”

“No, by all means, don’t let me stop you from having fun,” Valandur replied with a grin and the two ellyn laughed as they sauntered off, leaving Valandur to his own devices. After a moment or two of thought, he decided to take a walk, this time through the city, contemplating the conversation he had had with his friends, trying to organize his thoughts for the upcoming meeting. He paid little attention to where he was going and it was only when he wandered into a particular square that he became more aware of his surroundings, for he suddenly realized that he had unconsciously come to the very square where he and his parents and sisters had lived once upon a time. Yes, there was the name carved into the sides of the two buildings fronting the entrance: Willow Square.

It was a typical residential square with townhouses on four sides around a green. The houses were three floors high. Each house, he knew, had a central hallway with rooms on either side and a kitchen in the back with bedrooms on the top two floors. In the back of each house was a small garden, consisting mostly of herbs for the kitchen with some ornamental flowers. Small plots in the front were also devoted to gardening, the residents filling every available space with bright flowers.

Valandur glanced around, curious to see if the square had changed all that much since he had left Tirion. The green was as he remembered it, graced with a willow, hence the square’s name, but he noted sadly that one or two of the houses appeared deserted, their front gardens neglected and he recalled the names of the Vanyar who had lived in them. He wondered if his house also stood empty and was tempted to simply leave, not wishing to know, but curiosity drove him and he ambled along the stone path that circled the green. Yes, there was his house, the fourth one along as one turned right. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that the front garden was in full bloom and the house had a lived-in look to it. He wondered who had taken over the house and thought briefly of knocking on the front door and introducing himself, but in the end, he turned and headed back to the inn.

Second Mingling came and went and Valandur carefully dressed in another tunic given to him by Lindarion. This one was more elaborate than what he had worn to his trial: a teal green with silver thread embroidery and emeralds. As usual, he donned his loremaster’s robe and carefully plaited his hair in a single braid. Once dressed, he went down to the common room and was pleased to see Calandil already there, dressed in shades of gold and brown. As the two greeted one another, Morion came in from the kitchen, his borrowed tunic a bright scarlet. He blushed as Valandur and Calandil both raised eyebrows in surprise.

“Neldoron always had poor taste in clothes,” he offered as an apology.

“You look fine,” Valandur assured him. “Shall we go?”

They made their way up Hwarin Mallë, ignoring the curious looks of passers-by, or trying to. Calandil and Morion appeared uneasy and Valandur took the time to quietly reassure them. “There is naught to be nervous about.”

“Easy for you to say,” Calandil rejoined. “You’re used to speaking to the High King.”

“And the last time I did, I pretty much insulted him, though I did not know it,” Morion added, looking more embarrassed than nervous.

“I am sure Ingwë took no offense,” Valandur said. “The few times I’ve spoken with him, I got the impression that he values honesty, however painful. I imagine he has enough sycophants always telling him what they think he wants to hear rather than what he needs to hear, so when someone tells him the unvarnished truth as they see it, he probably rejoices.”

They reached the palace gates where Valandur identified himself. One of the guards checked his name against a list. “Your name is here, Loremaster, but these two ellyn’s names are not.”

“I know,” Valandur said smoothly, “but at the time the High King issued his invitation he was unaware of the fact that Masters Calandil and Morion had information which he needs to hear. I assure you that His Majesty will want to speak with them.”

The guard gave him a dubious look and Valandur could see that his request would be denied. He was prepared to have Calandil and Morion wait for him while he spoke with Ingwë, hoping to convince him to allow them entrance, when an ellon, a Vanya, approached. It was Intarion.

“Ah, there you are, Loremaster,” the young prince said with a smile. “We wondered if you had forgotten the time. And who are these? Ah, friends of yours, are they? Yes, yes. Come along. We mustn’t keep His Majesty waiting. No, Captain. I take full responsibility for the good behavior of these fellows. Thank you for your concern.”

The guards saluted, apparently recognizing Intarion, looking less than pleased, but having no authority to gainsay the prince.

“Thank you,” Valandur said quietly.

Intarion just nodded. “All in a day’s work. How are you, Morion? And Calandil, is it?”

The two ellyn muttered greetings, more interested in looking about at the grandeur surrounding them as they came into the central foyer, where one of the ubiquitous pages was waiting for them. Intarion waved the elleth over. “Silmerossiën will see you to Ingwë.”

“Are you not coming?” Valandur asked in surprise.

“Never fear. I will be there. Off you go now.” Intarion made a shooing gesture and the three ellyn followed the elleth up the stairs.

When Valandur happened to glance back, Intarion was no longer there though he was not sure how the ellon could have disappeared so quickly. He stopped on the stair, looking about.

“This way, Master,” the page said and Valandur reluctantly resumed climbing the stairs, joining the others. In a few minutes, they were being ushered into a small receiving room and found it already occupied.

“Intarion! How did you get here so quickly?” Valandur exclaimed in shock.

The Vanyarin prince gave them a puzzled look. “What do you mean, Valandur? I’ve been here for some time waiting for you. Oh! Greetings, Master Morion. I did not know you had been summoned by my uncle as well. And you’re Calandil, right? We’ve never really met, but I did meet your look-alike and….”

“But you came to the gate,” Valandur protested. “You were able to convince the guards to let Morion and Calandil in even though the guards were ready to refuse them entrance.”

Intarion blinked in confusion. “Val, I swear, I’ve been here for perhaps the last half hour. I never met you at the gate. I didn’t even know you had arrived yet.”

“Well, if you didn’t meet us, who did?” Morion asked.

Valandur felt faint and before he knew it, Intarion was urging him to sit and thrusting a goblet of something into his hands, insisting he drink, which he did. It was wine, a Tirion white. He took a few more sips, feeling steadier, and looked up at the concerned faces of the other three ellyn.

“It was a Maia, then,” he said.

“Again?” Intarion exclaimed. “Last time one impersonated Calandil. You’re saying a Maia impersonated me?”

Valandur nodded. “And very convincing he was, too.”

“He would have to be, wouldn’t he?” Calandil said. “I mean, otherwise, those who know the person well would realize that something is wrong.”

“Which is how I knew that it wasn’t really you at the end,” Valandur said. “You were not acting as you would have. You, or rather the Maia impersonating you, was too authoritative and not respectful enough toward Ingoldo. However much you might dislike a person, you’ve never been rude to them.”

“Well, thanks, I think,” Calandil said with a quirk of a smile on his lips and the others chuckled.

Before anyone else could speak, the door opened and Ingwë was entering with Finwë and Olwë behind him. Valandur hastily scrambled to his feet to give the kings his obeisance along with everyone else.

Ingwë’s response at seeing Morion and Calandil, both of whom had fallen to their knees, while Valandur merely bowed, was to raise an eyebrow. “Reinforcements?” he asked, directing his question at Valandur.

“No, Sire,” Valandur said soberly. “My otorno, Calandil Elesserion, and Master Morion of Orvamas have information I felt you needed to hear, so I asked them to join me.”

“And how did you convince my guards to let these two through the gates?” Finwë asked with a frown.

“I didn’t,” Valandur said with a quirk of a smile. “Intarion did.”

“But I told you I was never there!” Intarion protested turning to Ingwë. “Uncle, I swear, I was never at the gates. I came here directly from my rooms.”

“Yet, the gate guards, if you were to ask them, will swear that Prince Intarion came and ushered me and my friends inside,” Valandur said and then raised a hand to stem whatever words of protest Intarion was planning to spout. “But, in truth, it was not Prince Intarion, but a Maia pretending to be him, or so we have concluded.”

“Indeed?” Ingwë said, casting a brief, unreadable look at Olwë and Finwë. Then he turned to where Calandil and Morion were still kneeling. “Oh for the love of the Valar, get off your knees, the both of you,” he commanded in exasperation. Calandil and Morion reluctantly rose, neither of them able to look up. Valandur watched in amusement as Morion turned almost as red as the tunic he was wearing. Ingwë seemed to realize that all three ellyn were wearing elaborate garb, more elaborate even than what the kings themselves were wearing.

He gave them all an amused look. “You needn’t have dressed up on our account. This is an informal meeting, not court. But come, let us be at ease. Intarion, of your courtesy, perhaps you could pour the wine for us. I see Loremaster Valandur already has some.”

“I was feeling suddenly faint when I realized who had actually met us at the gate,” Valandur admitted, feeling embarrassed to admit to such weakness before the kings.

“Hmm… yes, I can see how that would be disconcerting,” Ingwë opined. “Well, no matter. Come, all of you sit and take your ease.” He motioned for them to take seats, claiming one for himself and directing the other two kings to flank him, with Finwë on his left and Olwë on his right. Valandur took note of the shocked look on Olwë’s face and Finwë’s grimace and realized that the Noldóran was still in bad odour with the High King. Ingwë ignored them both, concentrating his attention on Calandil and Morion.

“So you’re Valandur’s otorno, are you?” he said to Calandil. “I was unaware that he had any friends among the Noldor.”

“We grew up together in Cuiviénen, Valandur, me and a few others,” Calandil explained, then paused, giving Valandur a puzzled look. “I just realized that you did not have friends among your own clan. All your friends were Noldor.”

Valandur shrugged, not really caring. It was long ago and he had Vanyarin friends now, though admittedly, none did he consider otornor. He noticed Ingwë giving him a shrewd look and occupied himself with drinking his wine, not really ready to face the implications of what Calandil had said. Ingwë seemed content to leave it alone for he turned to Morion, his expression one of glee.

“Arrogant gits and worthless to boot, are we?” he said with a laugh. “Nolondur was especially amused by ‘have their heads up where the Light of the Trees doesn’t shine’. A rather colorful, not to mention a very explicit, phrase.”

“Nolondur?” Valandur asked, sure that he had heard the name before but not recalling where. He cast a sympathetic look toward Morion who sat there looking as if he were wishing the floor would open up and swallow him. Finwë’s expression was pained, while Olwë’s only reaction was a raised eyebrow and a nod, as if agreeing with the tavernkeeper’s assessment.

“Lord Nolondur,” Ingwë replied. “You met his daughter, I believe, the Lady Lirulin. Nolondur was already on his way to the Fiefdoms to check on his estate and assure himself that all was well there when I decided to join him.”

“I am sorry, Your Majesty,” Morion said, falling to his knees. “I didn’t….”

“You didn’t know who I was,” Ingwë said solemnly, “and if you had, you would have kept silent but you would still have been thinking it, wouldn’t you?”

Morion nodded, looking miserable. “Well, it’s just as well you didn’t know who I was,” Ingwë continued, “else you would never have spoken as you had and I would be ignorant of many things. Now, get up. I assure you I have no intention of punishing you for your honesty. It was actually refreshing. Nolondur and I laughed ourselves silly repeating your insults to one another as we wandered about the Fiefdoms.”

Morion got up, smiling shyly. Ingwë turned to Valandur. “Perhaps you can explain why you felt you needed to bring these two ellyn with you. What information do they have that I do not?”

“Calandil was with me when we checked on the villages to see which ones had been destroyed. He was forced to travel around Orvamas when Prince Fëanáro cordoned it off. He spoke to some of the refugees in the eastern encampment and they had some rather disturbing news.”

“Nolondur and I did not get there,” Ingwë said. “We visited the western encampment on our way to his estate. So what did you find in the eastern encampment, Elesserion?”

Calandil licked his lips. “I traveled with several others who had accompanied Valandur on his fact-finding expedition and I can give you their names if you wish for corroboration, but when we arrived in the encampment there was much unrest and anger among the refugees….”

The three kings sat attentively as Calandil told them of what he had learned from the refugees. When he finished speaking, silence descended, covering them like a thick blanket. Finally, Ingwë nodded to Calandil. “Thank you,” he said quietly before turning his attention to Morion. “And you? What information do you have to impart?”

Morion stole a glance at Valandur, who nodded in encouragement, before addressing the High King. “Loremaster Valandur told us about Prince Intarion pleading guilty to the charges laid upon him by Prince Fëanáro. I do not understand how anyone could accuse him of stealing from anyone. You never saw him sitting in the common room of my tavern for hours on end struggling over the logistics of assuring that everyone was fed and sheltered. You weren’t there when he wondered aloud if he might be able to withdraw monies from his own account to help pay for the food because he knew that even at discount prices, many of the refugees would not be able to afford to buy much. He was composing a letter — I don’t know if it was ever sent — to someone in Tirion who he said was authorized to withdraw funds for him when word came of rioting in the western encampment and he went out to see for himself. When he returned with Prince Fëanáro, looking bruised, his clothes torn and his hands bound, I was never so shocked in my life.”

All the while that Morion was speaking, Intarion, seated on Valandur’s right, became paler and paler and Valandur actually thought the ellon would either faint or sick up. He squeezed Intarion’s arm in sympathy as Morion continued speaking. Intarion just sat there, never acknowledging Valandur’s attempt to comfort him. When Morion finished speaking, the silence that followed was even more palpable than the first silence. Valandur held his breath, wondering what Ingwë’s reaction would be, for the High King’s expression had become shuttered while the tavernkeeper spoke and nothing in his mien gave any indication of his thoughts.

Finally, though, after several long minutes but before the silence became too unbearable, Ingwë stirred from his contemplation and stood, gesturing for everyone else to remain seated as they automatically started to rise as well. However, he took Intarion by the shoulders and made him stand and then wrapped his arms around his nephew and hugged him tightly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said quietly. “Why did you remain silent?”

Intarion, however, did not explain, only muttering ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again as he wept.

Ingwë shushed him as he continued to hold him tightly. “It’s all right, child. Shh… all is well.” But it was several minutes before Intarion calmed enough for Ingwë to release him, giving him a gentle smile, before returning to his own seat.

“Well, this has been very interesting,” the High King said. He looked at Valandur. “I examined the notes you entered into evidence. Very thorough and very damning.”

“Damning?” Valandur echoed.

“Yes, for you would not know that I was given information from other sources that would appear to contradict what is written in your notes,” Ingwë replied, holding up a hand to stem the questions that Valandur wanted to ask. “I assure you, I do not believe you falsified anything as some have suggested.” He stole a glance at Finwë, before continuing. “For one thing, you have no motive to do so. For another, what I was told by others was inconsistent with what I knew of the matter firsthand.”

“You gave no indication of that,” Olwë interjected. “All the while you pretended that you were ignorant of the truth.”

Ingwë flashed him a smile. “It helps to let others pay out the rope to hang themselves by. It saves you from having to do it yourself.”

“Then you knew Fëanáro was lying all along?” Finwë demanded.

“And Ingoldo,” Ingwë replied, glancing at Intarion, giving him a sympathetic look. Intarion kept his gaze on his lap, refusing to look up.

Valandur blinked. “I don’t think I understand. How is Prince Ingoldo involved? He returned to Tirion with the Noldóran to resume the trade negotiations.”

“Hmm… well, that would take a bit of telling and it is actually not germane to the purpose for this meeting,” Ingwë said.

“Which is what exactly, Sire?” Valandur asked. “I assumed you wanted to discuss the situation in the Fiefdoms after looking over my notes.”

Ingwë shook his head. “That situation is well in hand now that I have heard from Master Morion and Master Calandil.  They provided me with the final pieces of the puzzle and I can now act on it, but that is my concern, not yours. We are here to discuss your future.”

“My future?” Valandur exclaimed. “I already told you that I intend to return to Vanyamar and resume my duties at the Academy. That’s all I want.”

“And Findis?” Ingwë asked, giving him a shrewd look.

Valandur felt the blood rush from his head and then he felt nothing but anger. “What is that to you?” he snarled, jumping to his feet. “To any of you?” He pointed to Finwë while looking at Olwë. “He will have her married to one of your sons and you would be a fool to refuse his offer.”

Finwë bristled at his tone, while Olwë’s expression was unreadable. Valandur ignored them both, directing his next words to Ingwë. “My future is not your concern, Ingwë. You will have my report when we return to Vanyamar. After that, I want nothing to do with you… with any of you.”

He stalked over to the door, flinging it open, not caring if Calandil and Morion followed him or not, not caring that Ingwë had not given his permission for him to leave, not caring…

He stumbled down the hallway, tears blinding him, feeling heart-sore and weary of it all. He accepted that he and Findis had no future together. It was absurd to think otherwise. He wasn’t even a noble, just a commoner, a fairly new loremaster teaching first-year students. He hoped someday to be able to teach the more advanced students and do some original research, but that was for the future to decide. And while such a life appealed to him, he knew that Findis could never be comfortable with it. She was born to greater things than being the spouse of a loremaster, however respected he might be among his peers.

He brushed away the tears, trying to remember how the page had brought them to the audience chamber, but realized he was thoroughly lost in the labyrinth of corridors. He continued on, though, knowing that eventually he would find someone who could direct him to the entrance. He came upon stairs, though not those that graced the central foyer, but he needed to go down anyway and so he took them, thinking it odd that he had yet to meet anyone. Where were the guards and servants that always seemed to be about? It was as if the palace were deserted. Reaching the ground floor he hesitated over the direction he should take, finally deciding to go left.

The hallway was narrow and unadorned with tapestries or statues and he suspected that he might have stumbled upon one of the back corridors used by servants to go from one part of the palace to another without being seen by their betters. He hoped he would meet someone but there was no one and eventually the corridor came to an end, meeting up with another corridor. Again he turned left, not really knowing why, but this time, he found himself passing under an archway and now he was in a garden. It was small, barely twenty feet across and enclosed by blank walls. This place was completely secluded. Apparently one could only reach it from the corridor behind him and none could look upon it from above. He wondered if anyone even knew it was here, for it seemed overgrown and untended to his eyes, as he wandered along the narrow path between the beds, automatically cataloguing the different plants.

Well, as interesting as the mystery of the garden was, he still needed to find his way out of the palace. He turned to retrace his steps, stopping in confusion when he could not immediately see the archway. Walking back the way he had come he found the entrance was not where he thought it should be. Perhaps he had gotten turned around while walking the path. He glanced about. The garden was not so large that he could not see it in its entirety.

There was no archway. All the walls were innocent of any opening. Panic began to rise within him and he began beating on the wall, shouting for someone to hear him. He started running along the perimeter of the garden examining the walls, sure that some trick of the light was preventing him from seeing the entrance, but there was none.

He found himself back where he was sure the archway had to be and began beating on the stone, screaming in terror at the thought that he was trapped inside this garden and no one would ever know that he was there.

****

Note: In ancient times, to be seated at the right hand of a king was to be accorded great honor and it carried with it an implication of equality with the king. Thus, in Christian Christology, to speak of Jesus as ‘seated at the right hand of God’ is to acknowledge His equality with the Father. For Ingwë to place Finwë on his left, when under the rules of precedence, the Noldóran would normally sit on Ingwë’s right, was the High King’s subtle way of informing the others that he was not pleased with Finwë’s recent behavior and was ‘putting him in his place’, so to speak, hence, Olwë’s look of shock (he would normally expect to sit on Ingwë’s left), and Finwë’s grimace.

34: Lost and Found

The light shifted slowly as Laurelin began to fade toward First Mingling. Valandur wondered idly if anyone was looking for him as he huddled against the cool stone wall. He looked down at himself and futilely tried to keep from weeping. His knuckles were bloody from pounding on the wall, but the greatest pain was from seeing the torn and filthy state of his loremaster’s robe. He’d been so proud when they had accorded him the right to wear it. It was a vindication of all his struggles, the disbelief and sometimes downright ridicule from family and so-called friends as he sought after this one burning goal: to become a lambengolmo, a loremaster of language.

He plucked at the robe, trying to brush away the dirt clinging to it, mourning the rips in the fabric. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but he thought he might have gone insane at some point. He had little memory of the past several hours, only becoming aware of himself and his surroundings as he lay huddled against the wall, his arms around his knees, rocking against the wall, as if that action would eventually bring it down and open a way for him to escape.

He began weeping again out of despair, huddling further into his robe as exhaustion overtook him and he fell asleep…

“Valandur, wake up, child.”

Valandur blinked, trying to focus his sight, feeling wooly-headed and stiff and, he realized with dawning chagrin, needing to empty his bladder. He looked about, seeking the owner of the voice, but there was no one there. He must have only imagined it, and that thought plunged him into deeper despair as he struggled into a seated position, orienting himself. A negligent glance at the sky told him it was just past First Mingling and Telperion would be in full bloom in a matter of hours. He licked dry lips, wishing there were a fountain in this garden, but there wasn’t and his mouth was parched, his stomach feeling pinched, for it had been hours since his last meal.

He struggled to his feet. He really needed a privy but there was none at hand and the thought that he might have to use part of the garden as one embarrassed him, but he knew he could not hold it for too much longer; it was already becoming painful. With a snarled oath, he stumbled away from the wall and made his way to the opposite side of the garden, facing the wall there as he undid the laces of his breeches, feeling embarrassed but too desperate to care anymore, closing his eyes and sighing with relief as his bladder emptied.

Finished, he laced up and was straightening his tunic as he turned around and yelped in surprise, his heart in his throat, as he saw someone standing there, smiling at him. His first thought was that somehow the archway had reappeared and he looked for it but when he saw nothing but blank walls, he found himself backing away, every instinct within him screaming for him to run, but there was nowhere to go; he was trapped here in the garden with this… person. And while the stranger appeared to be an Elf, there was something subtly wrong with that initial assessment on his part, only he could not decide what that wrongness was or what it meant and that terrified him.

The stranger frowned slightly. “No, child, there is naught to fear,” he said, extending his hand. “It’s all right. You’re safe, I promise.”

“No,” Valandur whispered, still backing away, stumbling into a rose bush, the thorns making more rips in his robe as he tried to disentangle himself and in his fright he started weeping again. He felt more than he saw the stranger approach and his terror grew as he attempted to flee but then strong arms wrapped themselves around him, gently pulling him away from the roses. Blind terror took him then and he screamed, though his voice was already ragged and his throat hurt.

“Shh… shh…” he heard the stranger say, and then even in his terror, Valandur felt a frisson of awe as the stranger began singing a lullaby of all things. His voice was beyond beautiful and the lilting cadence of the song began to sooth him, blanketing him with a sense of well-being and love, much as he imagined he must have felt as an infant and his ammë had sung to him as she held him in her arms. Slowly, the song performed its magic on him and his struggles slowed and he was almost snuggling further into the stranger’s arms, sighing in contentment as the sense of being loved flowed into him, flooding every corner of his fëa.

And then the song came to an end.

Slowly, almost as if awakening from a dream, he lifted his head to see the stranger smiling at him, gently brushing a hand through his hair. “You see, there is naught to fear,” the stranger said, as he released him from his embrace. “Here, have some water.”

From somewhere, Valandur couldn’t properly see where, the stranger brought out a waterskin bulging with the liquid and Valandur practically grabbed it out of the stranger’s hands, uncorking it and tipping it up, not caring if most of it ended up missing his mouth and dousing him. It felt so good and the very pleasure of it elicited gurgles of relief as he gulped as much of the cool liquid as he could, for a moment ignoring the fact that he was not alone. Eventually he had his fill and he lowered the skin to look at the stranger who had simply stood there with an indulgent smile.

“Who are you?” he whispered, a tendril of fear creeping back into his fëa at the uncanniness of the situation.

“My name is Manwë.”

And that was it. No titles, no honorifics, no trumpets blaring. Valandur wasn’t quite sure how to take that simple statement. A part of him was telling him that he should be on his knees, but another part was too weary to bother and his only response was, “Oh.”

Manwë’s smile broadened. “I’m sorry I did not come sooner, but I was… um… caught up with affairs of state, you might say. But I am here now and we should leave. I have three high kings tearing this palace apart looking for you.”

“But how?” Valandur asked. “The archway is not there.”

“Oh, but it is,” Manwë assured him. “But come. Let us get you from here.” The Elder King gestured for Valandur to join him, but now Valandur felt a reluctance to move. Looking down at himself, noticing the rips and the dirt covering his robe, he started sniffling, a sense of despair flowing through him.

“Child, whatever is wrong?” Manwë asked solicitously.

“I can’t go looking like this,” Valandur explained through his tears. “Look! It’s ruined.”

“Tush now. It’s just a bit of cloth, easily mended and cleaned.”

“But it’s who I am!” Valandur protested.

“What? Cloth?”

“No! The robe,” Valandur exclaimed in exasperation. “People see it and they know who and what I am, but now it’s ruined and I’m… I’m nothing again.” He crouched on his heels, wrapping his arms around his legs and hiding his face in his lap. Everything was all wrong. He was all wrong.

“Valandur, look at me,” he heard Manwë say with grave gentleness.

Valandur looked up through his tears at the Elder King who spread his arms out. “Is there anything about me that says, ‘I am the Elder King, the vice-gerent of Eru in Arda’? Hmm? Were you able to tell who I was simply by looking at me?”

Valandur shook his head, seeing the truth of the Vala’s words. Manwë wore a knee-length tunic of deep azure silk with silver knotwork embroidery under a sleeveless overrobe of white brocade with hints of blue, green and rose mixed in. His dark mahogany hair hung loose rather than in a braid and on his head was a fillet of gold, similar to what many ellyn wore whatever their social status. Indeed, Valandur realized, if Manwë had strolled down any street in Tirion, Alqualondë or Vanyamar, he would have elicited no more notice or excitement than the next Elf.

And yet, there was no mistaking the sense of authority that seemed to imbue him. Manwë was the Elder King by virtue of an intrinsic quality that Valandur had recognized in a dim, inchoate manner whenever he had been in Ingwë’s presence, and to a lesser extent, in the presence of the other two kings.

“You see?” Manwë said with a smile. “What I wear does not make me the Elder King any more than that robe makes you a loremaster. Yes, I know. It is an important symbol for you, a vindication of all that you’ve struggled through to achieve it and there’s nothing wrong with that. But, Valandur, if your people had never devised these robes as symbols of your authority as a loremaster, if they had devised no symbol at all, would you be this upset over the state of your clothes? I promise you that we’ll see the robe mended and cleaned, but right now, I think we should get you out of here.” He bent down and took Valandur by the elbows and lifted him up, giving him a one-arm hug before leading him back to where the archway should be but wasn’t.

“Close your eyes,” Manwë commanded and Valandur complied. Then he felt himself being led forward. “No. Keep your eyes closed,” he heard Manwë say. They took a few dozen steps. “Now you may open them.”

Valandur opened his eyes and found himself back in the corridor. He gasped as he looked around and saw the archway and the garden beyond. He looked at Manwë in bewilderment. The Elder King smiled. “The archway has always been there,” he said, “only you could not see it from the other side. From the garden side all you see is a blank wall and since your eyes told you that it was solid, it felt solid when you beat against it. That’s why I had you close your eyes. Since you couldn’t see it, it didn’t exist for you and you were able to pass through.”

“But why? What purpose does that serve?”

“Ah, well, that would be telling, now, wouldn’t it?” Manwë replied. “Suffice to say that the garden proves handy every once in a while. But let us put that aside. Come. Ingwë is ready to declare war.”

“What?!”

Manwë chuckled. “He really is not very happy. Let us relieve him of his unhappiness.”

With that, Manwë placed a hand on Valandur’s back to propel him forward and he had no choice but to comply. Together, they traversed the corridor, passing the junction where Valandur had come the first time and continuing straight on for a bit before turning a corner, finding another, wider corridor and it was obvious that they had come to a more public part of the palace for the walls were covered with large arrases and statues and oversize vases full of flowers were all about. There were even people, servants hurrying about on business of their own and guards standing at strategic places keeping watch. Manwë ignored them all, though Valandur felt self-conscious as people stared at them in wonder.

“Is Ingwë still rampaging through the palace?” Manwë asked and Valandur could not be sure to whom the question had been addressed, but then he saw the Vala nod. “Well, keep him there for me, will you? We’ll be there presently.”

Valandur felt his heart lurch as he realized that the Elder King was bespeaking to someone — another Vala or Maia? — who wasn’t there. Manwë gave him a bright smile, warm and encouraging, and Valandur felt himself relax as they continued through the palace, climbing a set of stairs to the next floor and then coming into a part of the palace that was familiar to Valandur: they were now in the north wing.

The Elder King brought him to the upper sitting room where Valandur had helped Aldamir with transcribing the notes of the negotiations. The room was crowded and the atmosphere was charged with such emotion that Valandur actually flinched as Manwë ushered him in. Valandur saw the three kings, along with Ingoldo, Intarion and Fëanáro, as well as the other members of the Vanyarin delegation. Calandil and Morion were also there… and one other. When that one turned his amaranthine eyes upon him, Valandur felt faint. It didn’t help that everyone else was staring at him in dumbfounded surprise. Manwë kept his hand on Valandur’s back, giving him support.

The Elder King beamed. “Good. We’re all here. Námo, ask your lovely wife to attend us, will you?”

Námo raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing and then they were all blinded by multi-colored lights. When Valandur could see again, he found himself staring into the unfathomable eyes of a Valië. Lady Vairë smiled at him. “Let me see your robe, child,” she said, her voice a pleasing contralto, and Valandur doffed it and handed it to her. “Tsk, tsk. Well, it shouldn’t take long to repair. Cleaning it will take a bit longer. I’ll be back shortly.” She cast a loving look at Námo and Valandur thought he detected a smile on the lips of the Lord of Mandos and then she was gone and the Elves were all blinking away the pain again as the blinding lights faded.

“Good. While Vairë is repairing your robe, why don’t we all sit and relax?” Manwë suggested.

“But, yonya,” Ingwë exclaimed, coming to Valandur and grabbing him by the shoulders. “Where have you been? What happened to you?”

“He was in the Garden of the Lost,” Manwë said before Valandur could answer.

Valandur thought it interesting that both Ingwë and Finwë blanched, while everyone else just looked bemused. Ingwë turned to Manwë, his expression one of anger. “Why do you have that garden?” he demanded. “Why did you insist we build it? It’s an accursed place. And why did you not have me build a similar garden in Vanyamar?”

“Because you are only an hour’s walk from Ilmarin, Ingwë,” Manwë replied equably. “Finwë is much further away.”

“But there is no such garden in Alqualondë, is there?” Ingwë asked, looking at Olwë, who shook his head.

“That’s because Alqualondë is not situated in the right spot,” Manwë said. “If Olwë had listened to Ulmo, his city would’ve been built south of the Calacirya and we would’ve had a similar garden built, but he apparently fell in love with the cove and decided to build his city of swans there.” The Elder King smiled gently at the Lindaran, whose expression was one of chagrin.

“I’m sorry,” Olwë muttered, not looking at anyone in particular. “I just liked the way it looked.”

 “Now, there’s no need for that,” Manwë admonished him. “What’s done is done and no one begrudges you following your heart, Olwë, least of all me.”

“You never really explained why the garden exists in the first place,” Finwë then said.

“Nor will I here,” Manwë replied. “Suffice to say that I have my reasons and leave it at that. Now, let us sit. We have much to discuss.” He steered Valandur to a chair, gesturing for him to sit, while he commandeered another chair. Others also found chairs and settees; only Námo remained standing, looking dark and ominous as he surveyed them all. Manwë flashed him a smile. “As long as you’re standing there, Námo, make yourself useful and pour us some wine.”

Námo’s only response was to flick his right hand and suddenly everyone had a goblet in their hands. More than one Elf jumped in surprise, sloshing some of the liquid about. Manwë made a harrumphing sound and Valandur thought he heard him mutter, “I could’ve done that,” before taking a sip, nodding in approval. Valandur glanced at the Lord of Mandos and was surprised to see something of a smug look on his face.

“Now then,” Manwë said, “I think we’re missing someone, or rather two someones, however, we will not bother with them at the moment. Let us address what has been going on here and elsewhere. Everyone has been wondering why we Valar did not immediately deal with the fire that ravaged half of the Southern Fiefdoms. Well, there is a reason for that. We were curious to see what you would do about it and we only stepped in when the fire threatened to engulf the entire region thanks to the fact that certain people refused to listen.”

Manwë did not look at anyone in particular but Valandur noticed both Fëanáro and Ingoldo blushing, though the Noldo appeared more angry than chagrined at Manwë’s words. Manwë appeared unaware or unconcerned as he continued speaking. “The only person who actually listened was Valandur.”

Valandur blinked, trying to assimilate what the Elder King was saying. “My idea of back burning,” he finally said.

Manwë nodded. “Yes, or rather, it was our idea and we gave it to you. We attempted to give it to others, but only you actually acted on the inspiration and by doing so proved to us something we had thought possible but were not sure about.”

“What?” Ingwë asked, looking more puzzled than anything. He gave Valandur a searching look and the loremaster found he had to look away, concentrating on what Manwë was saying.

“We now know that you Eldar are capable of receiving thoughts from us through ósanwë, similar to, though not exactly the same as, the manner in which we Valar bespeak one another. That is a talent that should be developed more fully amongst you. At the same time, the entire affair with the fire and its aftermath proved something else entirely.”

“And what was that?” Finwë asked.

Now Manwë’s expression became graver. “That even living in the light of our benevolence, you Eldar are capable of perfidy amongst yourselves.” Again, he did not look at anyone in particular, taking a sip of his wine.

“You mean the incident over the distribution of the food to the refugees,” Ingwë said.

“I mean a great many things,” Manwë retorted. “That incident is but one example. The way Intarion was treated is another, and then there is Valandur.”

“What about me?” Valandur asked meekly.

Manwë graced him with a look of such love and acceptance that he could barely stand it and had to look away for a moment and catch his breath. Manwë looked around the room, and his tone when he spoke was almost frigid. “It was bad enough that he was treated with contempt and disbelief when he returned here from Alqualondë to the point where I had to have one of my Maiar intervene, but this trial was a farce and you all know it.”

“But that Maia was there impersonating Calandil from the beginning,” Valandur protested.

Manwë gave him a smile. “Yes.”

And that simple affirmation left Valandur without anything more to say. The implications of what that one word meant left him feeling faint all over again and he hastily took a couple of deep sips of the wine to steady him.

“I exonerated him,” Ingwë protested at that point. “Between Olwë and me we proved Valandur was not guilty of anything.”

“And that’s my point,” Manwë said. “Do you think that we would have bothered informing either of you of what was happening, inspiring you to come here in time to prevent a miscarriage of justice?”

The expressions of confusion on the faces of the others mirrored the confusion Valandur felt, trying to decipher what the Elder King was actually saying.

“Lord Ulmo told me about the fire,” Olwë said, “but you’re saying that wasn’t the reason you wanted me to be here? Then the fire was just an excuse on your part?”

“No, Olwë, it wasn’t,” Manwë assured him. “However, we figured that Finwë would have sent messengers to you both to alert you to what was happening, only he didn’t, for whatever reason.”

“I would’ve sent messengers eventually,” Finwë insisted. “I wanted to wait until I had a full report so that they had all the information that I had and not rumors and innuendos.”

“And that is commendable on your part, Finwë,” Manwë stated, “but we… um… saw what was going to happen afterwards, or rather, Námo did.”

Valandur was not the only one to glance up at the Lord of Mandos standing silently, listening to the conversation. The Vala had a faintly amused look on his face and his slate grey eyes sparkled with humor, which surprised Valandur.

“You Children do not fully comprehend Námo’s role among us,” Manwë said. “He is more than the Lord of Mandos, and even there you do not understand what that truly means. Perhaps you should explain.” He addressed this to his fellow Vala.

For a moment Námo did not speak, and when he did, his dark, melodious voice sent shards of ice through Valandur’s fëa and fire through his veins and he had to stop himself from gasping.

“I see further into the history of this world than most, save perhaps Manwë,” the Vala said. “I told the Elder King that you, Ingwë, and you, Olwë, needed to be in Tirion soon to prevent a wrong against innocents.”

“Before it happened,” Ingwë said, looking doubtful. Valandur knew the feeling.

“You have to understand something,” Manwë explained. “We Valar, because we existed before Time, are not entirely bound to it, and so we can see somewhat into the future and we saw what would occur with Valandur or rather that there was a strong possibility it would occur.”

“But only a strong possibility, not a certainty,” Finwë stated.

“The future is constantly in flux,” Námo said. “Free will rules all and because we had nothing to do with your coming into being, we have little control over you and your actions. Yet, in every… um… scenario, you might say, I saw Valandur and Intarion being tried before your court, Finwë, on charges stemming from hatred toward the Vanyar rather than from any actual evidence of wrongdoing on their part.” Námo glanced at Fëanáro who blanched and started to give an angry retort, perhaps of denial, perhaps of something else, but Finwë stopped him with a look and the prince subsided, silently seething.

“And I admit that I allowed my own prejudices to rule me in this,” Finwë said.

“And recognizing your prejudice and admitting to it is also commendable on your part, Finwë,” Manwë said, “but you are still reluctant to admit that your daughter loves Valandur and he loves her. There is no reason to deny the match that we can see.”

“Except that Findis is nobly born and Valandur, while an estimable ellon in many ways, is not. He’s a loremaster.”

Fëanáro snorted in derision at that and sneered but otherwise kept silent. Valandur noticed Ingwë and Olwë both frowning. The other Elves seemed equally divided in their opinions based on their reactions. Calandil actually bristled at the implied insult and even Intarion looked pained, but they wisely remained silent.

“Yes, he is,” Manwë responded, “and a very good one in spite of other people’s opinions. In fact, I have every intention of naming him a Manwendur, though not immediately; he still has some growing up to do before I admit him into my service.”

Valandur blinked, staring at the Elder King in stupefaction, unable to believe his ears. He, a Manwendur? It had never crossed his mind to think he could ascend to such a lofty position. He had thought just becoming a loremaster achievement enough. He noticed that only Ingwë, Olwë, Intarion, Calandil and Morion actually appeared pleased by the news, the two kings having almost identical proud looks on their faces, much like his parents had whenever he or his sisters did something praiseworthy. The reactions of the others ranged from varying degrees of disbelief (Fëanáro, Finwë, Ingoldo and Tinwetariel) to grudging respect (the younger Vanyar).

“How does his entering your service make him any more acceptable to me as a husband to Findis, though?” Finwë demanded. “He will still be baseborn.” Fëanáro nodded in agreement, casting a look of disgust mingled with triumph at Valandur, who studiously ignored the prince.

Ingwë’s and Olwë’s expressions mutated to ones of exasperation and disgust at the obstinacy of their fellow ruler. Námo raised an eyebrow, while Manwë frowned as he responded to Finwë’s words. “Baseborn, you say? And who decided that? Certainly not Ilúvatar, or any of the Valar. You are all of equal status in our eyes. The very least of you is no less precious to us than you are Finwë and we accord the same respect to the child born yesterday that we give to the eldest of you.” He nodded at Ingwë. “While we recognize your need for rulers, we do not necessarily see you as any better or worse than the next Elda. Your argument is rather specious to my mind.”

“Even if what you say is true, Findis is much too young to be marrying anyone,” Finwë countered and Valandur had to admire his courage (or stupidity) in contradicting the Elder King.

“Yet, not too young that you wanted her to marry one of my sons,” Olwë retorted.

Finwë turned to him with a scowl. “In due time. Why do you think I did not approach you before this? She’s too young to be thinking of marrying anyone. She has her studies to complete. I figured in another yén or three you and I would sit down and discuss it.”

“Findis may be over young to be considering marriage at this point, but that does not mean that she doesn’t know her own heart and if her heart is set on Valandur, all the negotiating in the world won’t do you a bit of good, Finwë,” Ingwë said, giving Valandur a smile.

“But in the end, he will still be just a loremaster,” Finwë insisted, “and she can do better than that.”

Valandur sighed and stood up. “I’m sure she could, Your Majesty. I love your daughter and I believe she loves me, but you are correct about one thing. Whatever Lord Manwë may say to the contrary, I am just a loremaster and a junior one at that. It will be many long years before I even acquire senior status among the masters. All I can give Findis is my love, but that is apparently not enough. So be it. I’m tired of all this… pettiness. Ingoldo thinks I was sent to spy on him for his brother, while Fëanáro thinks that only he is worthy of the title loremaster and you are so concerned about the honor of your House that you would see someone like Intarion be brought up on false charges just to get to me.” He turned to Ingwë whose expression was unreadable. “You will have my report when we return to Vanyamar, but from this moment on, I wash my hands of all of you.”

He turned to Manwë and gave him a bow, then, ignoring the rest of them, he made his way to the door and flung it open, only to be stopped by Lady Vairë who apparently had been in the process of knocking. He stepped back in surprise.

“Oh, here you are, dear, good as new,” she said with a smile, as she came inside and handed him his robe. There was no sign of any rips and it had obviously been cleaned.

“Ah, thank you,” he muttered, clutching the robe.

Vairë just nodded, her attention on Námo, and in spite of his own misery, Valandur couldn’t help noticing the looks of love the two exchanged and found himself feeling breathless at the sight.

“Are you done with my husband, Manwë?” Vairë asked, never taking her eyes off Námo who held up a hand toward her and she in turn raised hers, their palms barely touching.

“Yes, my dear,” Manwë answered with an indulgent smile. “You are both free to go.”

“We’ll be on Nasarphelun climbing Dáhanigwishtelgun if you need us,” Námo said, never taking his eyes off Vairë.

“Climbing?” Manwë asked with a raised eyebrow.

Námo gave him a glance, a rather knowing smile on his face. “We’re not in any hurry.” Vairë actually giggled.

“Ah,” was Manwë’s only comment and then there was a flash of multi-colored lights and when Valandur could see again, the Lord of Mandos and the Weaver of Arda were gone. Valandur stood there feeling bemused and the other Elves appeared to be feeling the same. Manwë chuckled and shook his head. “Newlyweds.”

“Excuse me?” Ingwë asked, fairly goggling at the Elder King.

“Hmm? Oh, Námo and Vairë, they’re still rather young, you see, only having been espoused rather recently,” Manwë explained.

“How recent?” Ingwë asked.

“Oh, a little more than seven yéni, I think. Yes, that sounds about right.” He stood and everyone else followed. “Well, I have nothing more to say to any of you. I have done what I could. The rest is up to you.” He turned to Valandur, giving him a warm smile. “We will talk later, you and I.” And then he was gone, leaving the Elves to themselves.

****

Manwendur: Servant of Manwë, a title given to individuals and families who take service with Manwë and are taught by him. Cf. the attested Aulendur, a title given to those in service with Aulë.

Nasarphelun: (Valarin) Mars (see Wars of the Valar).

Dáhanigwishtelgun: Apparently the Valarin name for Taniquetil, but in this instance, a reference to Olympus Mons on Mars.

Note: Seven yéni is equal to 1,008 solar years. The Elves awoke in Cuiviénen in YT 1050. Námo and Vairë were married in YT 1080 (based on my timeline established in Wars of the Valar), thus they have been married for almost 1,054 solar years.

35: Valandur and the High King

Ingwë remained in Tirion for about another week, along with Olwë. During that time, Valandur avoided everyone as much as possible. He spent some time setting down an account of everything that had happened to him as fully as he could, but when he was not doing that, he was wandering through the city or sitting in the Rose and Crown with his otornor or visiting Minalcar and his family. Morion had returned to Orvamas with assurances from Ingwë that all would be well and that he, as High King, would see that none suffered from deprivation while their homes and lives were being rebuilt.

The atmosphere in the palace was rather tense and the few times Valandur saw Ingwë during that week, the High King had a distracted look about him, and there was an underlying sense of anger, but at whom it was directed, Valandur could not say. Indeed, all three kings seemed pensive and once or twice Valandur caught one or the other shouting and vocally deploring the obstinacy of his fellow rulers.

It was an unhappy time for them all. Intarion appeared thoroughly miserable and despondent. Aldamir, Sorondur, Laurelindalë and Nolondilmë went about looking stunned. When Valandur happened upon the two ellith sitting in one of the royal gardens a day or two after their audience with the Elder King, Nolondilmë gave him such a look of loathing and disgust that he backed up in shock and then turned and fled. He kept out of the royal gardens after that, contenting himself with wandering through Finwë Park, but most of the time he just sat in the common room of the Rose and Crown nursing an ale and wishing he were back in Vanyamar.

Three days after the fateful interview with Lord Manwë, one of the royal pages entered the Rose and Crown where Valandur was enjoying the daymeal, handing him a missive with the High King’s seal on it. The page did not bother to wait for an answer, merely bowing to him and leaving. For a long moment, Valandur just stared at the bit of parchment in his hand, then shook himself and slit the seal open with his knife, unfolding it and reading its contents. It was very short and to the point: Return to the palace no later than the second hour after the next First Mingling with your possessions. You may take the suite where you were held prisoner if you do not wish to return to your own room.

It was signed ‘Ingwë Ingaran’ and it was definitely a command. Valandur crumpled the paper and threw it into the unlit fireplace, muttering an oath, pushing his trencher away, no longer hungry. Why did Ingwë want him back at the palace? He was tempted to ignore the summons. In fact, he was half-convincing himself that he should just pack his bags, retrieve his horse and leave for Vanyamar right then and there and to the Void with them all. He fantasized about reaching Valmar and finding Findis and convincing her to run away with him to the tree-cave.

Oh yes, that would be fun, but so impractical. Perhaps he could convince Olwë to give them sanctuary instead.

He shook his head in disgust at the absurdity of it all. Findis would never go with him, not like that. And Finwë was correct about one thing: she was very young, barely out of elflinghood, not even two yéni old. Most people did not marry before they had seen at least three yéni. He did not mind waiting, if that’s what it took, so long as he knew that a day would come when they could marry. Unfortunately, he did not have the right social standing in Finwë’s eyes even if he did eventually become a Manwendur. He thought about that, unsure what his feelings were on the subject. It had been enough for him to simply achieve his goal of becoming a loremaster; he had never thought any further than that. The fact that the Elder King himself was aware of him and his talents and wished for him to enter his service someday actually frightened him with the implication of perhaps just how closely the Eldar were being watched by the Valar and Maiar.

He couldn’t help stealing a glance around the common room, wondering if some invisible Maia was hanging about keeping tabs on him. No. He could not possibly live that way. He did not think the Valar would violate his or anyone else’s privacy in that manner. Yet, he could not deny the fact that perhaps the Eldar, so newly arrived in Aman, were a constant source of amazement and amusement for the Powers. New toys to play with, as it were.

That thought actually brought a chuckle to his lips and the image of the Elder King and the other Valar sitting on the floor of a nursery ‘playing’ with the Elves like elflings restored his sense of humor and perspective and he pulled his trencher toward him. No sense letting this fine meal go to waste after all. Afterwards, he would go upstairs and pack and return to the palace as he saw no point in waiting until the last minute to comply with Ingwë’s command. He would take the suite where he had been held so he would not have to deal with Aldamir and Sorondur. That was perhaps cowardly of him, but right now, he really did not care. He just wanted to go home and forget the last month or so had ever happened.

Thus, a couple of hours later he was being shown into the suite by the housekeeper who assured him that she could arrange to have his meals brought to him so he would not have to bother with dining with everyone else. He hoped that Ingwë would not demand his presence at meals, that he would be content with the fact that Valandur had complied with his orders and leave him alone.

He was on the balcony some time later, enjoying the mingling of the lights, when a knock came on the door and he went back inside and opened it to find Ingwë standing there.

“Sire!” he exclaimed in shock.

“May I come in?” Ingwë asked and that simple request surprised Valandur even more and all he could do was nod and step aside to let the king enter. The ubiquitous guard took a position in front of the door even as Valandur closed it and stared at Ingwë standing in the middle of the sitting room looking about.

“Finwë insisted on putting me in the royal suite,” he said, not looking at Valandur. “Bed’s big enough to sleep four and I could float one of Olwë’s swan ships in the bath. Your suite is much cozier.” Now he looked over at Valandur, giving him what could only be described as a cheeky grin. “I may just move in.”

Valandur snorted, half in amusement, half in disbelief, as he made his way to a sideboard and proceeded to pour some wine into a couple of goblets, handing one to Ingwë. “You’re free to sleep on the sofa, if you wish.”

Ingwë burst out laughing. “But as High King, I should have the bed.”

“But I got here first, so it’s either the sofa or the floor. Take your pick,” Valandur retorted and a part of him was appalled that he could be so flippant with the High King, while another part found himself enjoying the repartee.

Ingwë’s response was a smile as he took a sip of wine, but then his expression sobered. “I’m sorry about everything,” he said quietly.

“Water under the bridge, as I believe the Teleri would say,” Valandur said with a sigh of regret. “I know this is not how you thought things would go, but….”

Ingwë waved a hand, dismissing his protestations. “I do not blame you for any of this, Valandur. I blame myself. I blame Finwë. I even blame the Valar. You were a pawn in a game of kings without even realizing it. I did not expect the rift between our two clans to be as wide as it is. The fact that the Noldor would treat the Vanyarin refugees as they have….”

“Proves only that given similar circumstances with roles reversed we Vanyar might not do any better,” Valandur interrupted. “The entire affair with the food distribution was fomented by people from Tirion, not by the villagers. They do not see themselves as Noldor or Vanyar or Teleri but as Eldar. They all speak the same, or nearly the same, dialect, a more archaic version of Quenya, closer to how we spoke in the early days of our existence. Only those like Morion who spent many years living in Tirion speak in the more current mode.”

“I did notice that they tended to use ná where we have dropped it from everyday speech,” Ingwë averred.

“Yes, very much like the Teleri,” Valandur acknowledged.

“Olwë doesn’t speak that way, though,” Ingwë said.

“The Lindaran and his family are… more sophisticated than the average Teler,” Valandur replied. “I noticed, though, that while I was there they spoke to me using current forms, but when they addressed their subjects, especially those not of the nobility, they often enough resorted to a more archaic one. All I’m saying is that the villagers of the Fiefdoms are more conservative than we of Tirion or Vanyamar. They are very proud of their independence and self-sufficiency. I could see that the idea of accepting hand-outs even from the kings did not sit well with them, which is why I recommended that they should pay for their food. It wasn’t so that the royal coffers could be filled with more coin, but so that the villagers’ pride and self-respect would be preserved.”

“Master Morion said something similar when I spoke with him,” Ingwë said, “and I agreed with him and you. I’ve been spending much of the past week seeing that order was restored once again in the Fiefdoms. Work crews are already there helping to rebuild the villages and getting crops sown. I have been assured that on one level the fire was a good thing for the ashes will enrich the soil and the yield should be greater. Some of the loremasters from Tirion’s Academy, when I questioned them, seemed to think that periodic controlled burning of the fields might be of benefit to us in the long run. I’ve ordered more studies to be made before I make a final decision on it. In the meantime, we need to discuss certain matters between us.”

“What certain matters?”

“Did I not say when we first met that I was contemplating having you join my household?”

“But that was just the… um… cover story, I suppose you could call it, to explain my presence here,” Valandur protested.

“But I also said it was not a lie and I meant what I said,” Ingwë rejoined. “I keep an eye on all the loremasters in Vanyamar, from the oldest to the newly-minted, for I can never know who might have the expertise I need at any given time. Your thesis is not the first I’ve read and it will not be the last, for I will eventually read those of the first year students you presently teach as I will read those that are presently being written by the juniors. It is part of my duties as king.”

“But you can’t possibly understand all that you read, can you?” Valandur gave him a skeptical look. “Trust me, when Master Nambarauto, who graduated in my class and is a good friend and colleague, goes on about the beauties of crystalline structures in rubies, my eyes glaze over after five minutes, and he lost me three minutes earlier.”

Ingwë threw back his head and laughed. “Well, I admit that some of it is rather dry reading, excellent for putting me to sleep in a hurry, but I have acquired enough knowledge over the last nine yéni since my Awakening that I can keep up with the best of them. Do not forget, Valandur, that our loremasters are not any older than the oldest of us, and their knowledge of things is no greater. You are loremasters by virtue of the fact that you have chosen to devote your lives to delving more deeply into certain matters than the rest of us, but each of us of the First Generation could lay claim to the title simply because we all of us acquired the knowledge that we have experientially. Granted, since coming to Aman, we have been tutored by the Valar or their Maiar, but much of our knowledge is based on our own experiences as we crossed Endórë, applying that knowledge here in building our civilization.”

Valandur nodded, seeing the truth of Ingwë’s words. “Still, why would you want me to be a part of your household? There are others who are more qualified than I, surely.”

“Perhaps,” Ingwë averred with a shrug, “but the point is, I am offering you the position.”

“And what exactly would I be doing? I doubt you would want me on any other diplomatic missions, not after the mess I made of this one.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I thought you did rather well,” Ingwë drawled as he stood. Valandur started to rise but the king waved him back down as he went to the sideboard to pour himself more wine. He turned around to face Valandur, leaning against the furniture. “It’s not your fault that my brother’s obstinacy and suspicion made your task harder, and the fire was beyond anyone’s ability to predict. You and Intarion did very well there. And then there’s your visit to Alqualondë to speak with Lord Ulmo. You still haven’t told me what he said to you.”

Valandur stood and went to a secretary shoved into a corner of the room, pulling out a drawer and retrieving a bundle of foolscap bound together with red ribbon. He handed it to Ingwë. “It’s all there, every little observation, every action taken on my part, all of it, including a verbatim transcript of my conversation with the Lord of Waters.”

Ingwë accepted the package with a nod, placing it on the sideboard as Valandur turned away, picking up his goblet and retreating to the balcony. Ingwë followed. For a long moment silence settled between them. Valandur looked out onto the gardens and an errant memory caused him to chuckle.

“And what do you find so amusing?” Ingwë asked.

“She was standing right over there shouting my name,” Valandur replied, pointing to a particular spot. “She apparently had been going from one balcony to another looking for me and then she actually climbed up the trellis.” He shook his head at the memory. “Your sister had to come and rescue her. Indis knew just where to find her, though apparently neither Finwë nor Fëanáro had any idea where she had disappeared to.”

“And my beloved Elindis would use that example to prove the superiority of ellith over ellyn,” Ingwë quipped, giving him a knowing grin. Valandur grinned back, but the moment of levity was brief and they both became more pensive. After a moment, Ingwë spoke again. “Olwë and I have tried to convince Finwë that you and Findis belong together, but he will not see it.”

“And why would he?” Valandur asked. “Even you have not seen it, nor has Olwë. Neither of you have spoken to Findis nor have you seen us together. You only know what you’ve been told, and while you apparently have greater faith in the truth of what I and others have said about it, it proves nothing. Finwë saw enough to know that Findis loved me and I her but I do not have the social standing that he thinks appropriate for anyone who wishes to court his daughter and no amount of words from you or anyone else will change his mind on that. Leave it, Sire. Finwë is right about one thing: Findis is still too young for marriage and I would be robbing the cradle, so to speak.”

“And so you’re just going to give up?” Ingwë demanded.

“My life has been one disappointment after another,” Valandur answered, staring out into the garden but not really seeing it. “I struggled to learn what others easily grasped. It took years longer for me to achieve my mastership than anyone else. I was older than some of the masters who taught me and though they accorded me master status, most of my colleagues had little praise for my efforts and I know a few were ready to dismiss me. I thought this mission would help me earn the respect of my fellows, most of whom barely tolerate me.”

He paused for a moment, turning slightly to face the king whose expression was shuttered so Valandur could not tell what he was thinking. “I was looking forward to speaking with Prince Fëanáro,” he continued. “One lambengolmo to another, but he spurned me out of hand. It was the Academy all over again where, from the very first day, I had to prove myself over and over again that I was worthy to sit in the classrooms, that I was worthy of the title of loremaster, that I was simply worthy. You heard Finwë, he was ready to condemn me to years of servitude just to punish me for loving his daughter. So frankly, adding me to your household isn’t going to change any of that and it certainly won’t give me Findis.”

“I am sorry,” Ingwë said.

“No doubt,” Valandur retorted, moving back inside the sitting room, not really caring at this point if he offended the king or not, just weary of it all and wanting to be left alone. Ingwë followed him and put his goblet on the sideboard, picking up Valandur’s report.

“I will read this,” he said. “I still have some business to complete with Finwë and Olwë and then we will leave for Vanyamar in two days on Elenya.” Valandur nodded and Ingwë made his way to the door, opening it, stopping to look back at him, while the guard stepped away, readying himself to follow the king. “In the meantime, do me a favor and try to cheer Intarion up for me. Poor child’s been despondent ever since that farce of a trial and I can’t get him out of his mood and neither Ingoldo nor Tinwetariel are helping.”

“He’s probably pining for the fair Lady Lirulin,” Valandur said with a slight smile. “Probably thinks that his suit is as hopeless as mine.”

“Lirulin! Nolondur’s daughter? I didn’t think she was old enough to be left off her ammë’s leading strings yet.”

“Oh, she’s quite young, younger than Findis, actually, but it was as if a bond was created from the moment they met, both their eyes lighting up. It was rather quite amusing to watch.”

Ingwë snorted. “No doubt. Well, see what you can do to assure him that if he is serious in pursuing his suit with the lady, I will not stand in the way.”

“Perhaps you will not, but others may.”

“We will see,” Ingwë said and then he inclined his head in farewell before exiting, the guard closing the door, leaving Valandur once again alone.

****

Note: _ná_ is the personless present tense form of the verb ‘to be’, which generally is not used in the Elvish languages except in cases of emphasis.

36: Return to Vanyamar

A farewell feast was held for both Olwë and Ingwë. Valandur refused to attend in spite of Intarion seeking him out and begging him to do so.

“It’s been perfectly miserable here and I just want someone who is as miserable as I there,” the prince said.

Valandur laughed and gave Intarion a fond smile. “I am planning to have a last meal with my friends. It will be some time before I see them again. I am sure you will survive the ordeal of another tedious feast. Besides, I doubt I would be welcome anyway and it’s better this way. Now, go. Surely Aldamir, Sorondur and the ellith are still your friends. Go to your uncle and ask that you be allowed to sit with them rather than at the high table. I am sure he will permit it and as High King he can overrule any objections made by your parents or others.”

“I wish I could join you instead,” Intarion groused. “I never minded being a member of the royal family until now. Now I wish I were just an ordinary person like yourself, free to go where you please and do what you want.”

“I am sorry, truly,” Valandur replied, giving the younger ellon a hug. “Best go now or you’ll be late.”

Intarion sighed but otherwise did not comment, leaving Valandur’s suite in a dejected mood. Valandur watched him walk away, shaking his head as he headed in the opposite direction. His friends had agreed to meet him at the Rose and Crown and he was looking forward to seeing them all again. Passing through the palace gates and onto Hwarin Mallë he reflected on all that he had experienced while in Tirion. He would miss his otornor and Minalcar and his family and hoped he could convince them to visit him in Vanyamar, perhaps the next time the Valar declared a festival. He would like to show off his city to his Noldorin friends, especially the Academy.

When he arrived at the inn, he was shown into a private parlor where he found most of the others already there and greeted them.

“Minalcar should be here soon enough,” Calandil told him as they hugged one another in greeting. “Why don’t we enjoy some wine while we wait for him?”

The others were amenable to the idea and soon they were all sitting around the table enjoying a Tirion red. “We’re sorry to see you leave so soon,” Calandil said, acting as spokesman for the others. “It’s been interesting.”

“For you perhaps,” Valandur retorted. “And even if nothing untoward had happened the entire time I was here, this day would still come, for the negotiations would have ended and I would have returned to Vanyamar and my duties at the Academy.”

“So you will not be joining the High King’s household?” Simpandil asked.

“Perhaps not in an official capacity,” Valandur replied. “Ingwë hasn’t formally asked me, he’s merely discussed the possibility, but truly, why would I want to? You’ve seen what can happen when one of us gets embroiled in the machinations of kings and princes. I am not of the nobility and have no training in the niceties of court life. If Ingwë wishes to consult me on a matter, I will be more than happy to accommodate him, but otherwise, I want nothing to do with any of it. The Academy is enough.”

“Is it true, what Calandil said about Lord Manwë making you a Manwendur?” Aldarion asked.

Valandur nodded. “Apparently, though he said I had some growing up to do first.” He flashed them a self-deprecatory grin and they all laughed.

At that moment, the door opened and Minalcar stepped inside carrying a cloth-wrapped package. Eldacáno and Nambarauto were with him and soon the newcomers were sitting with the others enjoying the wine. One of the inn’s serving ellith came in to take their food orders and then left.

“So what’s in the package?” Valandur asked, nodding toward the oddly wrapped bundle sitting on the table before Minalcar. For an answer, Minalcar shoved the object toward Valandur.

“They all chipped in,” he said, nodding to Valandur’s otornor. “I’ve spent the better part of two days working on it to finish it in time.”

“What is it?” Valandur asked, frowning slightly. “I don’t need….”

“But you do,” Minalcar interjected. “Open it.”

Valandur put down his goblet and began untying the object, removing the cloth to reveal what he recognized as a mobile, though it was inactive at the moment. There were two intersecting circles of clear crystal in which the left one held a likeness of Telperion with leaves of silver and the other held Laurelin with leaves of gold. The Trees were attached to a base shaped like the Mound of the Trees and made primarily of virin so that they could see the mobile’s inner workings.

“Does it work?” Ferenion asked.

“Of course it works,” Minalcar snorted in disgust while Eldacáno and Nambarauto grinned. “Here, move it over a bit so that the light shines directly on it and press this lever,” he ordered Valandur, who complied, and then they all sat back, oohing and aahing as the mobile sprang into life. Both Trees seemed to glow, giving off light, and Valandur realized that the entire thing was powered by crystals embedded in the base. Telperion’s circle moved so it was on top and little white flowers began to open up out of the base. As Telperion came around, Laurelin also moved until the two were side-by-side again, but now Laurelin was on the left. Then she rose and the white flowers disappeared to be replaced by yellow flowers. All the while, as the mobile whirled about, there was the tinkling sound of music, a familiar melody which made Valandur smile when he heard it. It was a simple song of praise to the Two Trees taught to elflings. Unconsciously, he hummed along, then as Telperion began rising again he started singing the opening verses and the others joined in:

“Telperion with his ancient crown, in silver glory does abound,
Sing praises to the mingling Trees; their blessed light a joy to see.
Laurelin with her flowers fair, in golden glory light prepares,
Sing praises to the mingling Trees, their blessed light a joy to see.”

Valandur let the Trees rise and fall a second time, but when they came round to their original positions once again, he reached over and turned it off, glancing over at Minalcar. “You did this in two days?” he asked in awe.

Minalcar shrugged. “It’s a rushed job, I know, but….”

“If this is a rushed job, I want to see what you do when you’re not in a hurry,” Valandur said. “This is exquisite. Thank you, all of you.”

“We felt you deserved something special to remember us by,” Cemendur said.

“I can hardly forget any of you,” Valandur protested. “You’re my otornor.”

“Yes, we know,” Calandil said, “but you’ve been through a lot since you’ve been here and we just wanted you to have a memento to remind you of the good times you had with us, instead of the bad.”

“And I appreciate the gesture, truly. I’m not sure how I will get it home though. I do not think it would survive the trip perched on a packhorse.”

“Not to worry,” Minalcar said. “Eldacáno is planning to go to Valmar in a few weeks to consult with Lord Aulë and has agreed to make a detour to Vanyamar. He will bring it with him.”

“Thank you again,” Valandur said. About then, their meal was served, so Valandur set the mobile on a side table while he and his friends continued to visit with one another.

****

The ceremony of departure was almost perfunctory, barely polite on the part of them all. Valandur stood beside his horse, observing the farewelling between the three kings, clinically analyzing everyone’s gestures and the way they spoke and stood. Finwë was stiff in his delivery, while Indis stood like a statue, barely acknowledging anyone, even her own brother. Olwë appeared impatient with the entire affair and Valandur suspected that the Lindaran was wishing he were already boarding the swan ship that awaited him. Ingwë seemed the most relaxed but there was a tightness around his eyes that belied that initial observation and Valandur was willing to bet that the High King was as anxious to leave as Olwë, if not more so. Prince Fëanáro, standing dutifully beside Finwë, was obviously bored and apparently did not care who knew it, for Finwë kept casting dark looks at his son as he was speaking to Ingwë and Olwë.

It was a relief finally to be able to climb onto his horse and join in the exodus, though he kept to the back. Once they were beyond the palace gates, Ingwë and Olwë halted in the street. The High King leaned over and spoke quietly to Olwë. Valandur was too far away to hear what was being said, but the two kings smiled at one another and then Olwë was heading east with his guards while the Vanyar followed Ingwë west. In a short time they were away from the city and Valandur actually sighed with relief when he passed through the gates.

The journey to Valmar was done at a leisurely pace. Valandur kept mainly to himself, quietly helping with setting up the camps when they stopped. He spoke when spoken to but otherwise did not volunteer anything. Ingwë ignored him, for which he was grateful. Intarion and the other younger Elves tried to engage him in conversation and include him in their fellowship, but while he was unfailingly polite, he was reticent enough that eventually they gave up. He could see that they were hurt by his refusal to join them but he found he did not care, at least, not much. Yet, truly, what did he have in common with any of them? They were personable enough and he had enjoyed their company in earlier times, but too much had happened to him of late and he felt emotionally burned out. He just wanted to be left alone.

It was three First Minglings after leaving Tirion when they spied the eastern gate of Valmar, its mithril and pearls shining softly in the light of Telperion. As they made their way toward the northern gate of meteoric iron and diamonds, Ingwë suddenly ordered Ingoldo to lead the cavalcade on through Eldamas and await him in the fields just beyond the town. Ingoldo gave his brother a surprised look but nodded in acquiescence to the command.

“We will wait near the copse of oaks that is about a mile outside the town,” Ingoldo informed his brother.

Valandur watched as the High King turned back, taking one of the guards Finwë had lent them, since Ingwë had not come to Tirion with any escort other than Lord Nolondur, who had remained in the Southern Fiefdoms to oversee his vineyards and help with the restoration. There was whispered speculation among the others as to where Ingwë was going and most assumed that he was hoping to consult with the Elder King on some matter. Valandur had his own suspicions, but when Aldamir asked him what he thought he merely shrugged and said, “Perhaps we’ll find out… or not.” And everyone chuckled, recognizing the truth of his words.

They reached the copse and Valandur climbed down from his horse to stretch his legs along with everyone else, taking his waterskin and pouring out some water in a wooden bowl to give his horse before taking a swig himself. Someone wondered if they should set up camp, for no one knew how long the High King would be, but Ingoldo gave no such order so they stood or sat and waited.

Telperion was waning when one of the guards alerted them that Ingwë was returning and everyone scrambled to get to their horses and be ready to ride. Valandur watched as Ingwë came near and while the High King appeared calm, there was something in his expression, or lack thereof, that told Valandur a different story. As the High King passed him, they made eye contact for just a brief second and Valandur felt his blood freeze at what he saw in Ingwë’s eyes. He was not sure what it meant, but he knew one thing: Ingwë was beyond furious and Valandur had no doubt that he himself was at the heart of the High King’s fury.

“Let us go,” the High King ordered softly as he came abreast with Ingoldo and Tinwetariel and they set off once again, the others exchanging troubled looks. There was no lighthearted banter or singing as there had been earlier on the journey; the last leg home was done in virtual silence.

Valandur continued to ride in the back of the cavalcade, wondering just where Ingwë had gone and to whom he had spoken. The Elder King? Lord Aulë? Findis? Speculation was useless, for he did not know. He only knew that Ingwë was angry, angry as he had not seen him before. He only hoped that no one would suffer for it.

They reached Vanyamar around Second Mingling and Valandur felt a lightening of spirit as he espied the white towers of his city. Tirion was still a lovely city, but here was where his heart lay and he was glad to be home once again. He did not think he would want to leave it again anytime soon. Valandur was tempted to just leave everyone, head for his parents’ home and then go on to the Academy, but protocol would not allow it and so he suffered having to follow everyone else back to the palace.

Once there, Ingwë dismissed everyone with his thanks, ordering one of his own guards to escort Finwë’s guards to where they could rest before returning to Tirion. Ingoldo and Tinwetariel made their way into the palace. Intarion looked as if he wanted to stay behind, perhaps speak with Valandur, but Ingoldo grabbed him by the arm and practically dragged him inside. Valandur watched as Ingwë spoke with Aldamir, Sorondur, Laurelindalë and Nolondilmë, thanking them for their service and arranging for them to meet with him at a particular time to discuss what had been accomplished during the trade negotiations. Then they were allowed to leave and find their families.

Ingwë then turned to him and Valandur straightened.

“I gave your report a cursory glance,” Ingwë said, “but I will give it a more thorough reading soon and when I have I will send for you and we will talk about your findings.”

“As you wish, Sire,” Valandur said stiffly.

Ingwë nodded. “Go,” he said, not unkindly. “We will speak later. I plan to have a welcoming feast for those who were part of the delegation. I know you have little patience with such, but…”

“I will be there,” Valandur said and then couldn’t help adding, “Just don’t expect me to enjoy myself.”

“Perish the thought,” Ingwë retorted as he turned away to enter the palace, calling out orders to servants and greeting the queen and his children as they came to meet him. Valandur stood there for a long moment, watching the High King with his family and then with a sigh he made his way from the plaza and headed home. His parents greeted him with delight and his sisters pestered him with questions about the city. He spoke in generalities of what he had done and seen, leaving much of it out, such as his trip to Alqualondë. He mentioned the fire, for rumors about it had reached Vanyamar, but he gave no real details of his adventures, just assuring them that he had helped with combatting it. Everyone became excited when he told them about seeing Minalcar again and meeting his family. His ammë thought they should invite him and his family to visit sometime and they all welcomed the idea.

Of Findis or his trial he did not speak. Nor did he mention Ingwë’s proposal that he join the High King’s household, for he had no real desire to do so, or Lord Manwë’s plan to make him a Manwendur. He had no idea when that might happen so it was better not to speak of it and let it be a surprise.

“And were you able to fulfill the High King’s commission?” his atar asked at one point as they gathered around the dining table for a meal.

“Yes, to a certain extent,” Valandur answered. “He has my report and when he has had time to read it thoroughly he will send for me to discuss it.”

Eventually, Valandur decided he needed to return to the Academy. “I need to let the headmaster know I’m back and check with those who took my classes to see how far they got in the syllabus,” he told his parents when they suggested he stay for a while longer, complaining that his visit was far too short. His ammë and sisters wanted to hear more about Tirion, but his atar simply nodded.

“Best be on your way then,” was all he said and Valandur took his farewell and wended his way eastward toward the Academy. He stopped first at his own rooms to drop off his baggage and then went in search of the headmaster, returning the greetings given him from fellow loremasters and students as he wandered through the halls. When he found Headmaster Laurelassë in his study, he was welcomed warmly and assured that his students had behaved themselves while he was away.

“Hallacar and Itarillë have proven themselves quite capable of teaching your classes,” the headmaster said as he handed Valandur a glass of wine, “You may have a fight on your hands getting them back.”

Valandur laughed. “I doubt that,” he retorted. “Hallacar is more into research than teaching and Itarillë’s field of expertise is Crystallography, not Language.”

Headmaster Laurelassë smiled and asked Valandur about Tirion and what he had done there. Valandur’s recital was even briefer than the one he had given his family, concentrating primarily on the sociological and linguistic ramifications of what he had observed during the negotiations and elsewhere in his travels. Laurelassë asked some discerning questions and Valandur spent about an hour describing his findings, similar to the report he had written for Ingwë.

“I would like to see a written account of your observations and conclusions as well,” the headmaster said when Valandur finished speaking. “I think it will prove quite valuable to others who are also interested in the sociological aspects of language. You may consider yourself one of the speakers at our next convocation, which is scheduled for about five weeks from now.”

Valandur raised an eyebrow in surprise. Convocations were periodic meetings of all the loremasters and students at the Academy wherein selected masters gave presentations on their latest research. To Valandur’s knowledge, no junior loremaster had ever been asked to present a paper. That the headmaster was willing to have him speak before the entire Academy was an honor he had not expected to receive for many yéni. He was tempted to protest his unworthiness, but in the end he merely nodded. “I will do my best.”

“As you always have,” Laurelassë said and the interview came to an end.

Valandur took his leave of the headmaster and went in search of Hallacar and Itarillë, both of whom expressed relief at seeing him. “Now I can get back to my crystals,” Itarillë said and Valandur promised to treat them both to a meal at a local tavern popular with the Academy students and loremasters as payment for helping him out and then took his leave of them, stating he still needed to unpack from his trip and prepare for his classes. Hallacar and Itarillë briefly told him how far in the syllabus they had gotten and he thanked them once again for their assistance.

When, the next day, he walked into his first class, he was greeted with applause with the students actually standing. Valandur grinned. “Missed me, did you?” he quipped, secretly touched by their greeting, and the class laughed. “Well, you may wish I were still in Tirion before this lecture is over,” he added and the students obliged him with groans, though he suspected they were only for show. “Now, I understand you’ve gotten as far as Rúmil’s Theory of Syntactic Categories. Why don’t we take a moment to review? Who can explain the difference between the prescriptive and descriptive approaches in determining if a sentence is grammatical and well-formed? Marilla?”

One of the ellith stood. “The prescriptive approach states that there is a standard way of speaking and any deviation from it is ungrammatical whereas the descriptive approach says that so long as the sentences are something people say, whether they are considered standard usage or not, then the sentences are grammatical, if not necessarily correct.”

“And who determines correctness?” Valandur asked.

“Hmm… we do?” Marilla replied somewhat hesitantly.

“Are you certain about that?” Valandur countered with a smile.

The elleth nodded. “As lambengolmor, it is our duty to promote purity of form so as to ensure that everyone speaks the same way, thus avoiding ambiguity.”

“Yet, if you were to travel to Tirion or Alqualondë or into the Southern Fiefdoms you may find that the people there do not speak the same way as we. Are they speaking ungrammatically or are they simply speaking a dialect of Quenya that sounds ungrammatical to our ears though we understand what they are saying? And if they are speaking a non-standard variety of our language, are they speaking it grammatically within the syntax of that dialect?”

There was a pause and then one of the ellyn spoke. “Could you give us some examples, Master?”

Valandur smiled. “I be pleased to be givin’ you ensamples of what I be saying.”

Several eyebrows went up and Valandur smiled even more.

****

As the week went by Valandur settled into the familiar routine of teaching and studying, and while he welcomed it, there were moments when he found himself wishing for a little less dullness in his life and recognized that he missed the excitement of being away from home and interacting with people from other clans. At odd moments he even contemplated moving to Eldamas where, as with the Southern Fiefdoms, people from all three clans lived and worked together. He thought perhaps he could do some more field research on language structure. Having met the villagers of the Fiefdoms, he was curious to know if the Elves of Eldamas spoke a standard form of Quenya or if it was more dialectal and in what manner.

Perhaps he could convince the headmaster that he needed to study the speech patterns of the residents of Eldamas to have a thorough understanding of how and in what direction the various enclaves of Elves were drifting linguistically from one another. There was no time for any real research before the next convocation, but perhaps, when giving his presentation, he could convince his fellow loremasters of the necessity of such further research. It was worth a shot.

And far in the back of his mind was the thought that living in Eldamas brought him closer to Findis.

He was in the Academy library hunting down a reference that he needed for his next lesson when one of the students acting as a messenger found him and gave him a missive. He recognized the seal immediately. It was from Ingwë and the High King wished to see him at a particular hour. Valandur was not surprised that Ingwë knew enough of his routine that he scheduled the meeting for a time when Valandur was normally free of his duties at the Academy.

Thus, the next day he presented himself at the palace and was escorted to the same study where he had had his first interview. He did not bother to wear his finest tunic this time, though he wore his loremaster robe. Ingwë greeted him warmly.

“Your report was very interesting,” he said without preamble as he gestured for Valandur to take a seat, handing him a goblet of wine.

“Headmaster Laurelassë wishes me to speak of my findings at our next convocation,” Valandur offered.

“I will have Laurelassë let me know when that is. I may come and listen to what you have to say.”

“It might be very tedious for you though,” Valandur couldn’t help saying. “All those masters droning on about obscure topics of interest. You’re likely to fall asleep before I get a chance to speak.”

“I’ll risk it,” Ingwë countered with a smile. Then he sobered somewhat. “I am sorry things did not work out for you and Findis. When we came through Valmar, I went to Lord Aulë in the hope of speaking with her, but first, neither she nor Lord Aulë was immediately available, and then I was forced to wait.” He gave Valandur a sour grin. “I am not used to waiting. It’s other people who have to wait for me. Well, anyway, by the time Lord Aulë deigned to speak with me, I was told in no uncertain terms that Findis was sequestered and Lord Aulë would not permit me to speak with her.”

“Sequestered?” Valandur did not like the sound of that.

Ingwë nodded, grimacing slightly in disapproval. “Apparently on Finwë’s orders. She was not to have any visitors other than her immediate family.” He gave Valandur a sour look. “As her uncle and High King, I did not rate so high.”

Valandur stared at Ingwë in disbelief but before he could muster some sort of reply, the High King went on. “I would still like you to enter my service. I think I need someone from the outside, as it were, who will not necessarily tell me what I want to hear but what I need to hear.”

“Yet, what exactly would be my duties?” Valandur asked. “If I come here, I would have to give up my teaching and my research. I’ve been thinking of asking the headmaster’s permission to travel to Eldamas and study the Elves there. Having been to the Southern Fiefdoms, I’m curious to know how the people of Eldamas interact linguistically with one another and with visitors, given that people from all three clans live and work there.”

“A worthy goal and I see no problem with it,” Ingwë said. “Indeed, I think I need to have such research done anyway in order to have as complete a picture as possible about how the various enclaves of our people have drifted apart, both linguistically and culturally. As for your duties, I am not asking you to give up your teaching or your research. You are free to continue living at the Academy if you wish, but I may ask you to do other things along the way.”

“Such as?”

“Such as attending court and I think I need someone who can help organize my intelligence better. At the moment, I have a couple of people whose job it is to listen to street gossip and report back to me of what they hear, but it’s rather haphazard and I don’t always have the time to sift through their findings and determine what is actually being said and thought by my subjects. That would be your job and perhaps you could expand the intelligence network so that we have people elsewhere reporting to you.”

“You mean Tirion,” Valandur offered.

“And Alqualondë and the Southern Fiefdoms, even Eldamas, wherever we Elves have congregated. As High King, I need to know what is happening throughout Eldamar. I need someone to help me stay on top of events. I cannot function as High King without better intelligence. That’s where you come in, if you’re willing.”

“And if I am not?” Valandur asked.

Ingwë shrugged. “Then I will look for another, but it will be a poor second choice as far as I’m concerned.”

Valandur mulled over Ingwë’s words for a long moment. “I can remain at the Academy and continue teaching.”

Ingwë nodded. “I will only ask you to attend me at certain times. I have already spoken to Laurelassë about this and he is willing to rearrange your teaching schedule to accommodate me. I promise, I will not take you away from that which you love. I think eventually, though, a time will come when you will need to resign from the Academy and come work for me permanently, but that time is not here and I am willing to share you.”

Valandur couldn’t help snorting at that and Ingwë grinned. “Let me speak with the headmaster first before I give you my final decision,” Valandur offered.

 “I know I’m asking a lot from you, but I really do need you, Valandur, more than the Academy does. You are not the only lambengolmo who can teach your classes, but you have a unique perspective on language and its impact on our society that I think would be better served if you come work for me.”

“I am flattered, Sire,” Valandur said sincerely. “Let me see what Headmaster Laurelassë has to say and I will give you my answer in a few days.”

“Fair enough,” Ingwë said and after a few more minutes in which Ingwë asked after Valandur’s family, the High King dismissed him and he returned to the Academy with much on his mind.

****

Virin: A glassy substance of great lucency; the ‘elven-glass’ in Bilbo’s song about Eärendil.

Note: My thanks to Ellie for the idea of the mobile and the song, though I have modified her original version somewhat.

37: New Duties

Valandur spoke with Headmaster Laurelassë who encouraged him to take up Ingwë’s offer, assuring him that he had his approval.

“It’s a rare opportunity that you should not refuse,” the headmaster told him. “That you are being offered this position when you are only a junior loremaster indicates that the High King recognizes your talent and wishes to exploit it to the fullest. Teaching and doing research are all very well, but if we have no practical ways to apply what we know, then our knowledge is useless. Go with my blessing, but I still wish for you to be one of our speakers at the convocation.”

“His Majesty intimated that he might attend,” Valandur said with a smile. “I warned him that he might fall asleep listening to us drone on.”

“He and everyone else,” Laurelassë retorted with a twinkle in his eyes. “I’m sure you did when you were a student.”

Valandur shook his head. “On the contrary, Headmaster. I listened avidly to every presentation, however dull the speaker. I don’t think you appreciate how honored I felt in being able to attend the Academy, to learn the things I craved to learn, to be able to speak with those whose knowledge of things was greater than mine. I fought too hard for this and I took nothing for granted.”

“Would that others felt the same as you,” Laurelassë commented. “Well, you had better inform His Majesty of your decision. Find out what he needs from you at the moment and we will work something out.”

Valandur rose and gave the headmaster a respectful bow, then left the study with the intention of sending Ingwë a note with his acceptance. A couple of days later, he was invited once again to return to the palace where Ingwë introduced him to his children, the twins, Ingwion and Ingalaurë, who were about forty Valian years old, and his daughter, Indil, who was quite young, having seen only three Valian years.

“Among your other duties, I would like you to begin tutoring my daughter in Language and its usage,” Ingwë told him when they had retired to the High King’s study to discuss matters privately. “Over the years I’ve had many loremasters come and teach my children a variety of subjects. Even the twins are still being tutored, though they are concentrating on particular subjects of interest to them. Ingwion, for instance, is becoming a master flutist and a composer of music and Ingalaurë is studying with some of our bards, for he appears to have a gift for poetry.”

“I would be happy to tutor her Highness,” Valandur said.

Ingwë grinned. “Don’t be surprised if the twins or Elindis or even I sit in on the occasional lesson.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Indil can sometimes be difficult and her attention span is very short. We find she is more likely to pay attention to the lesson if either my wife or I or the twins are present. She is very intelligent, but she finds sitting still for too long tiring.”

“Hmm… I noticed that with some of my fellows when I was a student and I see it in some of my own students. I have a theory that we all do not learn in the same way and that some people do better learning things in one manner while others do better learning things in another. I haven’t quite figured it out, but it is a sideline to my other research.”

“Well, if you can figure out my daughter, we would be grateful,” Ingwë said. “She has proven a trial to all her tutors to date.”

“Let me see her alone for the first lesson so I can gauge the level of her distraction and then perhaps we can discuss it later and I will offer some ideas.”

“That would be acceptable,” Ingwë said. “Would you be able to give her her first lesson on Menelya?”

“Yes, of course. If you could tell me what she already has been taught by others, I can go from there.”

“I will have Elindis speak to you about that before you leave here,” Ingwë said. “For now, let us decide what your other duties are and what I hope to accomplish with your help.”

Valandur nodded and for the next hour he and Ingwë discussed his duties. Toward the end, Ingwë asked Elindis to join them and the queen competently brought Valandur up to date on where Indil was in her studies. After that, Ingwë insisted that Valandur remain for the daymeal so he could meet other members of the royal household. Valandur reluctantly acquiesced, knowing he had to do this even though he was not looking forward to it, considering that those who had been his companions in Tirion would be there.

When everyone was gathered, Ingwë made a brief speech of welcome, introducing Valandur. Ingoldo and Tinwetariel did not seem pleased by him, which did not surprise him. Intarion gave him a brief smile of welcome. Aldamir, Sorondur, Laurelindalë and Nolondilmë seemed surprised by his presence. He noticed Sorondur frowning slightly, but everyone else seemed to accept him well enough.

Ingwë had Valandur sit at the high table with his family for this first meal, but luckily, on the far end next to Princess Indil with Prince Ingalaurë on her other side and a Lady Almáriel on Valandur’s right. He concentrated on the young elleth, asking her questions about her favorite stories and dolls and such, calling to mind how his own sisters had been at Indil’s age. The child happily responded to his questions and the meal was not as tedious as he had feared. At one point he happened to look up and caught Ingwë’s eye. The High King gave him a nod of approval before turning his attention to something Ingoldo was saying and Valandur felt warmed by the simple gesture.

****

On Menelya, Valandur reported again to the palace and was escorted to a small receiving room open on one side with three arches leading out into a garden. The page assured him that this was the schoolroom, and indeed, there was a child-size desk and chair and a slate board with chalk all set up in the middle of the room with another, larger desk which Valandur assumed was for him. He ignored it. The rest of the room was bare of any other furniture save for a few chairs tucked away against one wall. The walls themselves were painted with colorful scenes of daily life among the Eldar. Valandur suspected that some of Indil’s distraction might be due to the paintings. They were rich in details and whoever had designed and painted them was clearly a genius. He was standing before one section of wall, admiring a scene of ellith and ellyn dancing in a ring, when the door opened and Valandur, turning, bowed as Ingwë entered with Indil in tow.

“Here she is, Loremaster,” Ingwë said with a smile. “Good luck with her.” He bent down and gave his daughter a loving kiss on her forehead. “Be a diligent student, dearest.”

“Yes, Atto,” Indil said softly.

Ingwë gave Valandur a nod of his head and left, closing the door behind him. Valandur looked at the child standing there, her hair braided in a style common among children with blue and green ribbons intertwined. She appeared biddable enough, but there was a wariness in her eyes and Valandur suspected that Ingwë had given his daughter a talking to before bringing her here. He smiled and gestured for her to approach and pointed at the painting.

“Describe to me what you see in as much detail as you can, Your Highness,” he said.

She gave him a puzzled look. “Are we not to do lessons?”

“This is the lesson, or part of it,” he said. “Now, tell me what you see.”

She glanced at the painting and gave a small shrug. “Ellith and ellyn.”

“And what are they doing?”

“Dancing.”

“Do you know what type of dance? Can you tell just from the painting? Would you need to know the music to which they are dancing? What do you think?”

Indil’s eyes widened as if she had never had anyone ask for her thoughts before. She took a longer look at the painting and her expression became more thoughtful. “It’s a harvest dance. See you the hayricks in the distance? They are celebrating the end of the harvest and….”

Valandur listened carefully to her recitation as she began to notice more details. She even entertained him with a harvest song, her sweet child’s voice lifted up in joyful praise. When she had told him as much about the painting as she could he nodded.

“Very good. Now, let us see what we can do with all that you have told me. Come sit, and I see we have plenty of foolscap and here is your quill. What I would like you to do is write me a story about that painting.”

“What kind of story?” Indil asked, scrunching her face in confusion.

“Any story you like,” Valandur answered, deliberately being vague, “so long as it relates to this particular painting and no other that is on the walls.”

The child still looked confused. “I thought we were having lessons.”

“And what lessons did you think you would be having?”

“Oh, boring stuff about grammar and diction and, you know, lessons!”

Valandur smiled at her emphasis on the word. “Well, we’ll get to that eventually, but for now, I want you to write me a story about that painting. I will give you until Laurelin is at her full blossoming.”

Indil automatically glanced toward the arches to gauge the strength of the light streaming into the room, calculating how much time he was giving her before she took up her quill and dipped it into the inkwell, then carefully beginning to write. Valandur ignored her, walking over to look out at the garden and breathe in the heady scent of roses and honeysuckle. He remained there until Laurelin’s light was at its fullest before returning to where Indil was still writing.

“Finish up, Your Highness, and then you may read me your story.”

“Out loud?” she asked in surprise.

“Most stories are told out loud,” he replied. “It is why we have storytellers and not storyreaders.”

She nodded and went back to writing a few more sentences before announcing that she was done. Valandur brought the chair from behind his desk, setting it before her and sitting. “So, let us hear your story.” He gestured for her to stand and she did, suddenly looking shy.

“It’s not a very good story,” she admitted. “I’m not good at telling stories. Ingwi and Ingil are good at telling stories. They’re good at everything.” And the way she said that alerted Valandur to the possibility that the twins were being upheld as examples of excellence for her to strive for, and that she probably felt incompetent.

“They are also many years older than you,” Valandur pointed out. “I doubt they were very good storytellers at your age either. It is a skill like any other and has to be developed over time. I do not expect you to have the same level of skill as your brothers or anyone else who is very much older than you. I do expect you to do your very best to hone your abilities to their fullest. You may not have a gift for storytelling such as the bards do. Neither do I, but we can all of us tell stories. Now let us hear yours.”

Indil nodded and picked up the foolscap and began reading out loud. “Why the Valar Dance. When the Eldar first came to the shores of Valinor there was no grain for them to harvest, no fruit for them to pick, all was wilderness. So the Valar came together and said to one another, Let us bring forth grain and fruit for the Firstborn and….”

Valandur listened with a smile as Indil spun her tale. All the ellith in the painting became Valier and all the ellyn, Valar, never mind that there were only three of each depicted in the painting. Indil decided that the Valier would be Yavanna, Vána and Varda, while the Valar were their respective spouses. It was a delightful tale and when she came to the end of it, Valandur clapped in approval.

“A very good story, Your Highness,” he said and Indil blushed. “Now, let us look at your story more closely and see how we may improve it, for I fear I heard some rather, shall we say, not-quite-correct sentences.”

Indil sighed, looking a little defeated, and Valandur chuckled. “Trust me. It’s not quite as bad as that. It was a wonderful story and you have a great imagination. Now, can you find me a sentence with a compound subject?”….

****

“She’s quite intelligent, Your Majesties, but I think she fears she is a disappointment to you,” Valandur said to Ingwë and Elindis some time later. They were gathered in Ingwë’s study discussing Indil over some wine, cheese and fruit.

“Why would she think that?” Elindis demanded, looking troubled.

“She constantly told me how much better her brothers were at doing anything I asked her to do, whether it was telling me a story or parsing sentences. I pointed out the fact that her brothers are ever so much older than she and have had lots of practice to get things right, but I don’t think I have convinced her completely that she is quite good at what she is able to do for her age. I think part of her inability to pay attention is the belief that no matter what she does, nothing she does would compare to what her brothers can do.”

“And we have not helped matters by constantly harping on how good the twins are at doing things, have we?” Ingwë said ruefully.

Valandur shrugged. “She knows you love her, but she fears that she has to earn that love because she is not as good at doing things as her brothers, who apparently can do no wrong in your eyes.”

“Well, that’s just silly,” Ingwë retorted with a huff. “Those two were terrors growing up. I even had to ask Lord Manwë for the loan of one of his Maiar to help keep track of them.”

“Well, perhaps if you told her that, she would see things differently,” Valandur said with a grin. He pulled out Indil’s story which he had tucked into his belt after dismissing the child for the day and handed it to Ingwë. “Here. She wrote this story based on one of the paintings in the schoolroom. I think you will find it quite delightful.”

Ingwë took the pages and began reading with Elindis looking over his shoulder. Valandur sipped on the wine and nibbled on some cheese and grapes while they read. When they came to the end they both looked at him in surprise.

“She wrote this?” Elindis asked.

“Yes, and as I said, based on one of the paintings. I did not tell her what to write. I told her to write any story she wished just so long as it related to that particular painting and no other. I think she did quite well myself, and there were only a few grammatical errors. This is the corrected copy. I had her rewrite the story to help reinforce what she learned about proper sentence formation.”

“And that was the lesson?” Ingwë asked.

“Oh, I had had a lesson plan already in place, primarily aimed at gauging her level of linguistic competence, but when I saw the paintings, I changed the lesson. It still told me what I needed to know, but it was less a trial for her and more fun for me.”

Both royals chuckled and then they were thanking Valandur, assuring him that they were pleased with what he had accomplished with their daughter. “We will ask her to read her story to us when we gather together later after the daymeal and we will endeavor to assure her that she does not have to earn our love, that she has it always.”

“And perhaps if we told her some of the things the twins did at her age that had us running to the Valar for help, she will even believe us,” Elindis suggested and Ingwë nodded.

“Thank you,” he said. “I have arranged for you to meet with some of my people who presently listen to street gossip and such for me. Organize them as you will. One of the pages will show you to the study I have set aside for your use. Once you are done with that, you are free for the day. You may return at the same time on Isilya.”

Ingwë picked up a small bell and rang it. Almost immediately, the door opened to reveal a young ellon who was almost at his majority dressed in page’s livery. “Please escort Loremaster Valandur to his study, Artelemnar,” the High King ordered and Valandur took his leave of the royal couple, following Artelemnar down another hallway to a particular door.

“Here is your study, Loremaster. If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to let me know. I’ve been assigned to attend to you for the time being. The nearest privies from here are around the corner and if you require refreshments, there is a buttery that serves this part of the palace. You only need ring the bell and I will come.”

“It has to be rather boring for you to just stand or sit around doing nothing though,” Valandur couldn’t help saying, feeling somewhat uneasy about having anyone attending to him hand and foot.

Artelemnar shrugged. “All part of being a page, my lord.”

“Well, I am told that I will be meeting with several people shortly. Do you know how many?”

“I believe six or eight, my lord.”

“Well, then, go you to the buttery and arrange for food and drink to be brought here. I am not sure how long this meeting will last but we might as well be comfortable while we’re at it.” He gave Artelemnar a smile and a wink and the ellon smiled back.

“I will see to everything, my lord.” He gave Valandur a bow and made his way back down the hall while Valandur went inside.

The study was not overly large but it was well appointed. He feared, though, that having six or eight additional people in the room would make for tight quarters. There were only three chairs besides the one behind the desk and no real room for others, so most would have to stand. He was still examining the shelves of books that lined one wall when there was a knock on the door.

“Enter!” he called and when the door opened he saw two ellyn and an ellith standing there. “Ah, come in, come in. As you are the first to arrive, you may lay claim to the chairs. I believe I can expect more of you?”

“Yes, sir,” one of the ellyn answered. “There are seven of us altogether.”

“Good. I’ve had refreshments sent for so we can take our ease. Now, while we are waiting for your fellows why don’t you introduce yourselves.”

The three gave him their names and Valandur learned that they were all minstrels, members of the Bards’ Guild who wandered through the city and the surrounding farms trading songs and news. Some of them also traveled to Eldamas from what the elleth told him. As they were speaking the other four minstrels — two ellith and two ellyn — arrived and made introductions. Artelemnar returned with a loaded tray which Valandur had him set on the sideboard, inviting everyone to help themselves. Artelemnar started to leave but Valandur bade him to stay.

“Find a corner and listen carefully,” he told the youngster. “I will quiz you afterwards.”

Artelemnar gave him a surprised look but did as he was bid, looking decidedly uncomfortable. The minstrels ignored him as they concentrated on providing Valandur with the information he sought from them.

“Our duties are primarily to gather gossip and report back to His Majesty,” one of the ellyn explained. He had introduced himself as Amammíré, and he was the senior minstrel in their group. “We also compose songs which we sing throughout the city and the surrounding farms.”

“Any songs in particular?” Valandur asked.

“Oh, you’ve heard them, I’m sure,” Amammíré said with a grin and he began singing a little ditty that Valandur recognized. Almost automatically he reached for a quill and some paper and began writing down the words.

“Sing it again, slowly,” he ordered when the minstrel came to the end of the song.

“Whyever for?” the ellon demanded. “It’s one of dozens of such ditties that we sing all the time when His Majesty wishes for a certain sentiment to be disseminated among the citizens.”

“Still, I would appreciate it if you would repeat the verses,” Valandur said and after a moment’s hesitation the minstrel complied. When he had finished transcribing the song, Valandur took a few minutes to make some notations and changes in the words, while everyone else just sat or stood silently watching him. He noticed, but ignored, the exchange of scowls between the minstrels. Artelemnar, standing by the door, looked on with unfeigned interest. “Here,” Valandur said, handing the paper to Amammírë. “Notice the changes.”

The minstrel glanced over the verses, his eyes widening. Several of his fellows leaned over his shoulders to read while those who could not see were demanding to know what the changes were. Amammíré finally passed the sheet to one of his fellows as he addressed Valandur, giving him a sardonic smile. “And are you attempting to improve on that particular song, Loremaster?”

“No,” Valandur replied, steepling his fingers as he placed his elbows on the desk. “That’s the version of the song I heard being sung in Tirion.”

“What?!” more than one voice exclaimed.

“Tirion?” Amammírë demanded. “But that’s impossible!”

“And why is that?” Valandur asked.

“Because that song is very recent. We started singing it, what? Three weeks ago?” Several people nodded in agreement.

“And we only sang it a few times,” one of the ellith, whose name was Calalauriel, added.

“Well a week before I left Tirion I was hearing that particular version using the very same tune while sitting in the Rose and Crown having a meal. It was rather amusing and I thought the phrasing quite clever.”

“But how… and why?” Amammírë asked, looking confused. “These ditties serve a specific purpose: to encourage a particular sentiment which His Majesty wishes the populace to adopt. This version you say is being sung in Tirion serves no purpose but to entertain its listeners and apparently at our expense. ‘Golden-haired dreamers’ indeed.” He snorted in contempt. “Do these Noldor think we all just sit around with vacuous smiles on our faces?”

Valandur grinned. “Just about, but that’s not the point. The point is, that ditty was picked up by someone and brought to Tirion. Yes, the wording was changed, but not the tune, which I assume is original?”

All the minstrels nodded. “We purposely use simple melodies that even elflings can easily pick up on,” Calalauriel explained. “We’ve even recycled melodies that prove the most popular and the most memorable.” She began humming a tune which Valandur recognized as a popular drinking song and nodded.

“Well, I’m going to send a few of you to Eldamas and Tirion,” he said. “Go to the inns and taverns. Listen to what is being sung and make a notation of any changes in songs that you know originated here in Vanyamar.”

“And why should we do this?” Amammírë asked with a frown.

“Because His Majesty has asked me to organize you lot to gather intelligence, not gossip. He wishes to have better and more timely information about what is happening throughout Eldamar, not just here in Vanyamar. If that little ditty Amammírë sang has reached Tirion already, what other ditties are there out there and how have they been changed and were the changes made to accommodate the sensibilities of the intended audience or were they made for a specific purpose, the way this particular ditty was altered to poke fun at us Vanyar? We also need people in the Southern Fiefdoms, but we’ll worry about them later. Right now they’re too busy trying to rebuild after the fire that devastated half the region. Amammírë, how many minstrels belong to the Bards’ Guild, do you know?”

“Not including us, there are about a dozen or so more whom I know personally. We’re a specialized branch of the guild. None of us have the talent needed to become full-fledged bards, but we love to sing and play music and we have just enough talent between us to be able to compose small ditties, not epics.” For the first time, the ellon actually appeared embarrassed and a few of the others also looked equally shamed.

Valandur gave them a sympathetic smile. “Do not disparage that talent, my friends. Rejoice that His Majesty saw a need and found you to help him obtain it. We’re just going to take your little talents and expand them. Bards are all fine and good and serve a purpose in preserving our history in epic songs and remembering our laws, but minstrels provide us with entertainment to help lighten our cares and that is no small gift. Now, I want you to give me the names of every minstrel you know and what his or her particular talents may be. I will have to consult with the head guildmaster about recruiting them, but I doubt that will be a problem. So… let us begin.” He reached for more paper and sharpened his quill.

While he was doing that, the minstrels consulted with one another and then Amammírë, with some encouragement from the others, began naming all the other minstrels. Once he had his list, Valandur dismissed them, saying he would be speaking to each of them individually over the next few weeks to get to know them better.

“For now, continue as you have been, but you will report to me rather than to His Majesty,” he told them as they were leaving. “If you need me but cannot find me, seek out Artelemnar. He has been assigned to me as my personal page. He will relay your message.”

The minstrels all gave the young page discerning looks and Valandur had no doubt they were memorizing his face. When the minstrels were all gone, Valandur gestured for Artelemnar to take a seat. “Now then, tell me your impressions of those minstrels,” he said when the ellon was settled. “What did you think of them?”

Artelemnar raised an eyebrow but complied readily enough. “They do not see themselves as important. They do not see themselves as bards, only as songsters.”

“And you and I have our work cut out in convincing them otherwise,” Valandur said, leaning back in his chair. “Yes, we have much work ahead of us.”

“Us, my lord?”

“Oh, yes, indeed, my young page. I could not possibly do this without you.” Valandur gave the ellon a bright smile which Artelemnar returned, straightening in pride. “Now, here is what we need to do next….”

****

Note: Ingwion and Ingalaurë are 383 solar years old or 39.9 Valian years, while at 3 Valian years, Indil is about 29 solar years old, making her (in human terms) about 12.

38: Loremaster, Spymaster

“Was there any specific reason why you recruited these particular minstrels and not the others, Sire?” Valandur asked Ingwë.

Once he had finished with Artelemnar, sending the youngster on his merry way to relay a message to the head of the Bards’ Guild, he had requested a brief audience with the High King. It meant waiting almost an hour before Ingwë was free to see him, but he did not remain idle during that time, working out a brief lesson plan for Indil and then organizing his notes on the minstrels.

Now, he was sitting across from Ingwë in the High King’s study. Ingwë shrugged. “At the time that I came up with the idea, I asked Guildmaster Lirilissë who among her people was available. I told her that I needed people who could be inconspicuous, discreet and good at gathering information while also being able to disseminate information in the form of songs. She sent me Amammírë and the others.”

“She sent you the failures,” Valandur stated.

Ingwë frowned in puzzlement. “They have not failed me,” he said.

“I did not say that, Sire. I said that Guildmaster Lirilissë sent you the failures, the ones who have enough musical talent to qualify for the guild’s apprenticeship and yet not enough to qualify for bardship.”

Ingwë still looked confused. “Yet, they are members in good standing in the Bards’ Guild, are they not?”

Valandur nodded. “Oh yes. They’ve completed their apprenticeship, they did their journeymen duties, but they simply do not have that extra bit of talent that allows them to succeed in becoming master bards, like Elemmírë or my atar. The guild created a secondary level called Minstrelsy and those who desire to remain in the guild but cannot hope to become full-fledged bards become minstrels. And so, Guildmaster Lirilissë sent you those whom the other bards consider failures, and they know it.”

Ingwë’s expression became pensive and silence fell between them for a time. Valandur schooled himself to stillness, waiting for Ingwë’s response. Finally, the High King looked up and his expression was set. “They have never failed me. They have served me well and I expect them to continue serving me to the best of their abilities.”

“And have no fear otherwise, Sire,” Valandur said. “I have in mind to recruit other minstrels. Amammírë gave me a list of those whom he knows personally. I’ve sent Artelemnar to the guild to speak with the guildmaster and arrange for these other minstrels to meet with me. She may not comply with the request, in which case, perhaps you could make it an order.”

Ingwë raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a smile. “It might have been easier if you’d simply come to me first.”

“Easier and perhaps even wiser,” Valandur averred, “but I am curious to see what Lirilissë’s reaction to my request will be. It will go far in determining what type of relationship I am bound to have with her and the guild if we are recruiting minstrels to become spies, though I do not care for that word myself, for it implies that they are sneaking about, looking for information, much like the scouts we had who went before us into the wilderness to find out what was there so we could plan our journey accordingly.”

“Then use another term,” Ingwë suggested.

“Their primary role is to gather information by listening and to disseminate other information through song. They are not actively scouting for information or spying on their fellows. I will have to think about it. In the meantime, I am planning to send our minstrels to Eldamas and Tirion and eventually to the Fiefdoms to gather information.”

“What about Alqualondë?” Ingwë asked.

“I would like your permission to contact King Olwë personally and see if we cannot work together in gathering information for our respective kingdoms.”

“Would that not defeat the purpose of gathering information about the other kingdoms? And why not a similar arrangement with Finwë?”

Valandur hesitated before answering and Ingwë raised an eyebrow. “I do not trust King Finwë,” he finally said in a whisper, not looking at the High King.

“But you do trust Olwë,” Ingwë stated and Valandur nodded, still not looking up. After a moment, Ingwë spoke again. “I will contact Olwë myself. Was there anything else?”

Valandur nodded, looking up. “We’ve come across an interesting phenomenon.” He quickly explained about the ditty, briefly singing the two versions. “That ditty reached Tirion rather quickly,” he stated once he had finished singing, “and the new version was being sung at the taverns within a short period of time. That in itself is both amazing and troubling.”

Ingwë nodded, apparently understanding what Valandur was saying. “We are perhaps underestimating the power of song.”

“Not just any songs, though,” Valandur stated. “Popular tunes, so simple that elflings can quickly pick them up. They are easily remembered and difficult to forget.”

The High King grinned. “I know. I fear I’ll be humming that particular tune you just sang for the rest of the day and into the next.”

“My point exactly, Sire. Bards are excellent at creating long lays and epic songs, with beautiful melodies and wording, able to project their songs into visions for the rest of us, but only another bard can properly sing them. These ditties can be sung by any and all. The ability to create such memorable tunes and verses is a talent in and of itself. I very much doubt that someone like my atar could create such songs. Indeed, he disparages them. I once pointed out to him that he wasn’t above singing lullabies to me and my sisters when we were small, and he agreed with me, but then pointed out that a time comes when singing lullabies becomes inappropriate when the child has grown to adulthood.”

“Ah, yes, that sounds like your atar,” Ingwë said with a smile.

“But you understand what I am saying though, do you not, Sire?”

“Indeed I do and I quite agree. These minstrels, I gather, have accepted themselves as failures in the eyes of their fellows in the guild who are bards.”

“Yes, and I think it’s time we changed that, don’t you?” Valandur challenged. “It is fine to have a standard of excellence toward which those who aspire to mastership in a guild can strive, but there has to be an acknowledgment that some may not have the wherewithal to reach that standard, yet, what talents they have should be celebrated as Eru-given and given for a purpose. Amammírë and Calalauriel and the other minstrels need to be shown that they are not failures, that they have a special talent that few others have and they should rejoice in it as should their fellows in the guild. Not all who become minstrels need join in our network of information gatherers, but we should offer them this opportunity.”

“Yet, it must not be advertised to the general public, else their value is lessened,” Ingwë pointed out.

Valandur nodded. “Which is why I propose that this remain a secret between you, me and the Guildmaster. Only when someone is denied bardship and is offered the choice of joining the minstrels’ guild would we offer them the opportunity to join us. I don’t think even the other masters of the guild, especially those who are teachers, should be told of this. Let them continue to recommend their students to minstrelsy if they feel they cannot succeed as bards and then have Lirilissë send them to me. We can invoke guild secrecy.”

Ingwë nodded. “That sounds feasible. Let me know what Lirilissë’s response to your missive is and we will go from there.”

“And if you could have Artelemnar assigned to me permanently, I would appreciate it.”

“Artelemnar is soon to be granted squire status,” Ingwë said. “He will be asked to join the household of one of our nobles if I decide not to have him enter my own service. If I assign him to you permanently he would not be granted squire status.”

“Were you planning on having him join your household?”

“No. In fact, I know at least two lords on my privy council who wish to make him their squire. They have both petitioned me and I have not yet spoken with Artelemnar to see what he wants.”

“Then, decide to bring him into your household and then assign him to me permanently. I need someone who has an intimate knowledge of the workings of the palace. He is intelligent and discerning and I believe we will work well together.”

“I will think about it and speak with Artelemnar as well before I make a final decision,” Ingwë informed him and Valandur thanked him, asking leave to depart, which Ingwë granted. Valandur made his way out of the palace, only having to ask twice for directions to the front gates, and returned to the Academy in time to give a lecture on sound shift theory.

****

Artelemnar sought Valandur out at the Academy as he had been instructed to do. Valandur met him at the gate after being informed of his arrival.

“Walk with me,” he said and they made their way into one of the gardens surrounding the Academy. Valandur did not speak as they wended their way past beds of roses and through a leafy tunnel until they came to a cul-de-sac hidden by yews. There was a bench and nothing else; this was a place for private conversations or contemplation. Valandur sat and motioned for Artelemnar to join him. “What do you have for me?” he asked.

“I asked to see Guildmaster Lirilissë as you instructed,” the youngster said, flashing him a smile. “I think because of my livery, I only had to wait an hour instead of two before she deigned to see me.”

Valandur raised an eyebrow. “Continue.”

“Yes, well, I gave her the message and she was not very pleased by it. I do not know if it was the message itself or the fact that you sent it rather than the High King.” Artelemnar shrugged.

Valandur gave him a thin smile. “I suspect a little of both. Will she comply with my request?”

The page shook his head. “I do not know, for she simply told me that she would think on the request and send an answer later. Then she dismissed me.”

“It will be interesting to see if she does indeed send me an answer or if she goes directly to Ingwë with her complaint.”

“If she goes to the High King, she will get no satisfaction from him,” Artelemnar stated categorically, looking rather pleased. Valandur recognized the look. It had been on his sisters faces often enough when they knew he was in trouble with their parents.

“Oh?”

Artelemnar nodded. “The High King is not patient with those who question his decisions once he has made them. If he has agreed with you about the minstrels—”

“He has,” Valandur interjected. “He was most upset to think that people like Amammírë and Calalauriel are thought of as failures just because they do not qualify for bardship. He has never regretted his decision to recruit the minstrels to his service.”

Artelemnar nodded. “Exactly. His Majesty takes seriously his obligations toward any whom he brings into his household, however lowly their status. If Guildmaster Lirilissë objects to you wanting to recruit other minstrels, she will get no joy from the High King. I have seen him in a fury when one of the great lords has questioned a decision of his after he has made it. When Ingwë says no or yes, he means it and will not brook any argument once he has made his decision. Keep that in mind for the future, Loremaster.”

“Thank you. I will. I sincerely hope Lirilissë honors my request. She may look down on those who become minstrels, but she should rejoice that the High King takes an interest in them even in this manner. Now, there is another matter about which I would like your opinion.”

“And what is that?” Artelemnar asked.

“My study is too small for a large gathering. You saw how crowded it was. Do you know where I might meet with the minstrels as a group without arousing suspicions?”

“You wish to be discreet,” Artelemnar stated. Valandur nodded but said nothing, watching as the ellon pursed his lips and furrowed his brow in thought. After a moment, he looked up. “What if you met them outside the palace? What if you met them here? Would minstrels gathering here raise any eyebrows?”

“No and it is a good idea, but impractical for the simple reason that my fellow loremasters do not know of my, shall we say, expanded duties. Only Headmaster Laurelassë is aware that I am officially in the High King’s service.”

“Hmm… then the only place I can think of is a place where minstrels gather and you just happen to be there. Perhaps you should ask Amammírë.”

“I suppose I should. I was hoping you might know of someplace in the palace where we could all meet if necessary.”

“Sorry, Loremaster. I fear I have let you down.”

“You have not. I do not expect you to have all the answers, child. I do expect you to help me to the best of your abilities. Now, I know you have other duties which cannot be neglected and I have a meeting to attend to soon myself. So off you go and I will see you on Isilya.”

Artelemnar stood, giving him a proper bow. “Until Isilya, master.” Then he was away, leaving Valandur to his own thoughts. After a moment or two, he rose and headed back to his rooms to gather his notes for the upcoming meeting.

****

Valandur found Guildmaster Lirilissë’s answer waiting for him when he arrived at the palace on Isilya. Approaching his study, he found an ellon standing nervously before the door. He wore the blue tabard with a harp embroidered on the left side that indicated that he was a member of the Bards’ Guild, but while the hem of the tabard was trimmed with the three white stripes of a master, there were no stars above the harp to indicate the level of mastership. His own atar had a similar tabard with two stars.

“Loremaster Valandur?” the ellon enquired.

“Yes and you are?”

“Sairon Lenwion, Master Minstrel.” He gave Valandur a short bow.

Valandur recognized the name. “Ah, you’re one of Amammírë’s friends, are you not?” He opened the study door and gestured for the minstrel to precede him inside.

Sairon’s face lit up. “Amammírë and I are otornor. We were apprentices together with Master Hallatíro. We dreamt of becoming bards and composing great epics.” He gave Valandur a self-deprecatory shrug and a rueful smile. “Youthful folly, I suppose. Neither of us passed all the tests for bardship. We consoled one another with the fact that at least we were not being dismissed from the guild but it was a heavy blow to our dreams and our self-esteem. Some of our fellow journeymen were less than kind to us afterwards.”

“I am sorry,” Valandur said sympathetically. “Please sit. I do not have much time as I am due to teach soon. Are you here for a specific purpose?”

“Yes. Guildmaster Lirilissë summoned me and told me to report to you at my earliest convenience. She did not say why, though, but she assured me that you would understand.”

“Yes, I rather think I do,” Valandur replied, thinning his lips in disgust. When Sairon gave him a quizzical look, he shook his head and adopted a more conciliatory look. “Do not concern yourself, Master Sairon. I assure you that all is well. So, you are a master minstrel, as I suppose Amammírë is, though when I saw him he was not wearing a guild tabard. Yet, you do not display at least one star to indicate your rank.”

“That is because, while the guild recognizes that we have completed our apprenticeship and have done our journeyman duties, we are not master bards, even of the lowest rank. The guild could not in good conscience deny our mastership, but they refused to acknowledge us otherwise. Hence, minstrels are permitted to wear the guild tabard with the three stripes of a master, but not the stars. Those are reserved for the bards.”

“Are all who become minstrels masters then?” Valandur asked.

“Essentially,” Sairon replied with a nod. “The rank of minstrel is not awarded until the person has shown him- or herself unfit to become a bard but still has shown sufficient talent in composition, singing and the making and playing of at least one instrument to be granted some type of master status, just not that of a bard.”

“How do you and the other minstrels support yourself? I do not think you are all employed by the High King.”

“No. Not all of us are that fortunate. I am employed as a music teacher for Lord Lassezel’s children.”

“Ah, I see. Well, Master Sairon, there is the possibility that His Majesty might have a use for you, if you are interested.”

Sairon frowned slightly. “Lord Lassezel holds my contract.”

“For how long?”

“Until his youngest has reached her majority, which will not be for some time as she is only about two. Then he has promised to commend me to some of his fellow lords who have young children to teach.” He gave Valandur a half smile. “I find I enjoy teaching younglings. When Lord Lassezel first hired me, I felt like such a failure. Over time, though, I have accepted that I will never be a bard, but I can instill a love of music in children who would much rather be out of doors playing.”

Valandur chuckled. “What His Majesty and I have in mind would not interfere with your duties to Lord Lassezel. Indeed, you are in a perfect position to help us by remaining as a music teacher to children.”

“How do you mean?”

“As a member of Lord Lassezel’s household, I assume you are not considered, strictly speaking, staff.”

“No. Oh, I suppose in another household that would be the case, but Lord Lassezel and his wife and children treat me more like a member of the family, for which I am grateful. Still, besides teaching the children, I am expected to provide appropriate music whenever he and his lady entertain. I compose and present concerts, pantomimes and the like with which to entertain their guests.”

“And so you are in the unique position of being able to… um… listen in on any conversations in which these people might engage.”

For a moment, Sairon did not answer, his eyes narrowing as he gave Valandur a measuring look. “I will not betray my lord’s trust,” he finally said in a low voice.

“Nor do I expect you to, and more important, neither does the High King, but His Majesty has been employing some of your fellow minstrels to gather information about how the people feel about certain matters so he has a clear idea of what the public sentiment is. Up to now the process of gathering and disseminating information has been a bit haphazard and Ingwë does not have the time to devote to it so he has asked me to take over. We are hoping to expand our operation to include other minstrels who are not publically associated with the High King but can still offer their service, even in secret.”

“By spying on others.”

“No, by listening very carefully to what is being said, and even more important, what is not being said around them and reporting back to me and then in some instances disseminating information or rather a particular point of view on a certain matter in song. I am sure you are aware of these ditties that Amammírë and others sing in the taverns and squares of the city.”

“Oh yes,” Sairon said, his expression lightening. “I’ve even helped him with one or two.”

“Well, whether you realized it or not, you were helping the High King, for most of those ditties were specifically composed to present the populace with a particular point of view orchestrated by the High King through the minstrels.”

“And you wish for me to do the same.”

“Perhaps, but primarily I wish for you to keep your ears open and listen, not just to what is being said or not said, but how it is being said or not said and then periodically report to me. It will be my task to sift through all the information and determine what sentiment needs to be addressed and how best to address it.”

“And this is why Guildmaster Lirilissë sent me to you.”

“Yes.”

“Has she sent you others?”

“No, nor do I know if she plans to. I suspect that you are her answer to my request.”

Sairon raised an eyebrow. “I wondered why she summoned me. I could not imagine what reason there was for me to report to you for she gave me no information other than your name.”

“And I apologize for that. I wish to bring any of the minstrels who are interested into this little organization. You are not obligated to join and are free to decline without fear of reprisal. I only ask that you keep this to yourself and I am prepared to request an oath of silence from you if necessary, spoken before the High King himself.”

“You have given me much to think on. Do you need my answer now?”

“No. Please take what time you need but I will need an answer, either yea or nay, soon.”

“You will have it before next Valanya, I promise.”

“Thank you. If you wish, speak with Amammírë. Now, I really must go. I have a young princess waiting for her lesson.” He stood and Sairon followed, the ellon grinning.

“As have I. I bid you fair day, Loremaster.”

“And you, Master Sairon.”

They exited the study together and Valandur was glad to see Artelemnar waiting outside and asked him to escort Sairon out while he went on to the schoolroom. He would have to wait until after lessons to speak to Ingwë about Guildmaster Lirilissë’s ‘answer’.

****

Note: At 2 Valian years, Lord Lassezel’s youngest child is about 19 solar years old, the equivalent of an 8-year-old in human terms.

39: Conversation with a Master

As luck would have it, Ingwë was waiting for Valandur in the schoolroom, having brought Indil. Valandur bowed to them both.

“Forgive me, Sire, for not being here sooner. I was delayed by… um… other business.” He gave the High King a knowing look and Ingwë apparently understood for he simply nodded.

Before he could reply, Indil, practically dancing on her toes, asked in excitement, “Are we going to write another story, Master Valandur? Can I—”

“May I,” corrected Valandur and Ingwë almost at the same time. They exchanged amused looks.

“May I choose another painting?” Indil finished saying.

“Yes you may, but this time we will write a poem about the painting.”

“A poem?” Indil’s expression became crestfallen.

“Yes, but don’t worry, we will write the poem together. Now, go choose a painting and study it very carefully.”

“Yes, master,” the elleth said, dipping a proper curtsey. Ingwë bent down to give her a kiss.

“Be a diligent student, my daughter.”

“Yes, Atto.”

“Walk with me, Loremaster,” Ingwë said as he headed for the door and Valandur followed. Ingwë stopped just outside in the hallway and looked back at his daughter examining the panels and smiled. “She has never been so excited to attend lessons before. She practically dragged me all the way here. Thank you.”

Valandur gave a bow of his head in recognition of the praise. “I received Guildmaster Lirilissë’s answer today,” he said quietly.

“And what was her reply?” Ingwë asked just as softly.

“One minstrel. A Sairon Lenwion who is employed by Lord Lassezel as a music teacher for his children.”

“Ah yes. I believe I know whom you mean. I would have recruited him but he had already accepted Lassezel’s offer for employment. Is he still not employed?”

“Yes, and that is a perfect cover, for he has the opportunity to overhear conversations made by your nobles in a, shall we say, more relaxed environment than would be found here in the palace. And while I understand that Lord Lassezel treats Sairon almost as a member of his family, he is still, technically speaking, staff, and no one pays attention to staff, do they?”

Ingwë frowned slightly as he mulled over Valandur’s words. “I had not thought of that. I decided not to… um… lure away any minstrels who had found legitimate employment elsewhere. I just didn’t feel comfortable doing so. It would have felt like a betrayal of my regard for my nobles.”

“And I quite understand, Sire, and even, on one level approve, but if you want to make this work, we need people like Sairon who are in such unique positions. He will not always be there. His contract is only until the youngest child has reached her majority and then he must look elsewhere for employment, but Sairon said that Lord Lassezel has assured him that he would commend Sairon to others once his contract is up. And Sairon has admitted that he enjoys teaching music to children and there will always be children to teach, will there not?”

Ingwë nodded. “Yes, and what you say makes sense when seen in that light. I am disturbed, however, by Lirilissë’s answer. Why Sairon? Why only the one? And there was no other message, nothing to indicate that she would send you minstrels one or two at a time to avoid suspicion?”

“No, at least, Sairon did not know. Perhaps I should ask Atar about her and about the minstrels. I confess that I paid little attention to how the guild was structured. I was unaware until now that the minstrels were considered failures. I just assumed that they had chosen minstrelsy as their specialty. I did not realize that it was considered by the guild as something less. Do you know that while the minstrels are allowed to wear the tabard of a master of the guild, they cannot wear the stars of rank?”

“No, I did not know. Amammírë and the others in my employ have always appeared in street clothes rather than in their tabards. It is a shame, but that is an internal matter of the guild and I have no power over that.”

“No, of course not, nor am I suggesting otherwise. I am merely pointing out yet another instance where the self-esteem of these people is being eroded. Let me speak to Atar. He’s a snob when it comes to such matters, but he’s not without intelligence.”

Ingwë quirked an eyebrow and gave him an amused smile. “I’ll remember to tell him so when next I see him.”

Valandur grinned. “Nothing he hasn’t heard before. I remind him of it every once in a while. His only reaction is to compose some rather atrocious verse as proof that he’s not without talent in that area. Ammë just rolls her eyes and my sisters all giggle. It’s become something of a standing joke in our family.”

“Speak to Voronwë then. In the meantime, I will think on how I wish to reply to Lirilissë’s message. I may just ignore it and see what happens.”

“My family is yet unaware that I have accepted joining your household,” Valandur said, “nor am I sure I wish for them to know just yet.”

“That is your decision to make, but how will you explain your interest in the minstrels?”

“Hmm… I am assuming that I am not the only person you have asked to give your daughter lessons.”

“No. She has other tutors, including dance and music. In fact, that is Amammírë’s cover, as you say. He comes once a week to give Indil dance and singing lessons and while he is here he passes on any information he feels I should have.”

“Ah, he did not tell me that, but then I did not ask. Very well then. I will tell Atar that I met the Master Minstrel whom you have hired to tutor her Highness and wondered about the tabard. I will pretend that Amammírë was wearing it when he came to give his lessons. That will be a good way to begin my enquiry.”

“Do what you think best. What about Sairon?”

“He promised to give me his answer by Valanya. If he decides that he cannot in good conscience join us, he will agree to take an oath of silence with you as witness, but I think he might be interested. He admitted that he’s even helped Amammírë — they’re otornor by the way — in composing some of the ditties without realizing their ultimate purpose. So he has already been helping you; he just didn’t know it.”

“Let me know what Voronwë says. I will leave you now to get on with your lesson.” With that, Ingwë left and Valandur went back into the schoolroom. Indil was standing before a panel that depicted a group of Elves apparently entertaining themselves with song and the playing of musical instruments. The young princess looked up at his approach.

“This is the painting you have chosen?” he asked.

“Yes, master,” she replied.

“Then tell me the story behind it. Once you’ve done that, then we will see about composing a poem together.”

“Well, that ellon there,” and she pointed to one particular person in the painting who was playing a lute, “is in love with this elleth.” She pointed to one of the ellith who was sitting almost opposite to the ellon. “He is trying to convince her to marry him and has composed a song for her.”

“And these others?” Valandur asked. “What are their roles?”

“Oh, they are friends of these two, but the ellyn are trying to convince the elleth not to marry this ellon but to marry one of them and the ellith are trying to convince her to indeed choose this ellon over the others.”

Valandur raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the child’s imagination. It was certainly not what he had expected. “A very interesting scenario. Why don’t we sit and see what kind of poem we can craft about this? We’ll have to give them names. What do you think the ellon wooing the elleth should be called?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” the child exclaimed in a rather dismissive tone. “The ellon is my atto and the elleth is my ammë.”

Valandur’s estimation of Indil’s imagination went up even further.

****

Later, on his way back to the Academy, Valandur stopped at his parents’ home where he knew his atar would be. Voronwë Silwinion was in his study and greeted his son warmly.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, after giving Valandur a hug. “You were here only yesterday. Should you not be teaching at this hour?”

“I just finished,” Valandur said, taking a seat in one of the chairs before his atar’s desk, “and I decided to stop by here on my way back to the Academy.”

Voronwë gave him a puzzled look as he sat in his chair. “Were you not teaching at the Academy?”

“No. His Majesty has asked me to give Princess Indil some lessons on composition and language usage while her real tutor is in Eldamas visiting with family for a few weeks. It’s a temporary position and I still have my teaching duties at the Academy. In fact, I really cannot stay long as I have a class in a couple of hours.”

Voronwë nodded and appeared to be mulling over his son’s words. Valandur watched his atar carefully. He had been half-jesting with Ingwë about the Master Bard. Snob he might be in some respects but he had a sharp mind behind those pale blue eyes, a mind that could destroy with devastating ease an ellon’s unconscious assumptions. Bard Voronwë was one of those rare individuals who could, just by asking certain pointed questions, have you reveal your inner-most thoughts without realizing it. He was never cruel, but with inexorable gentleness he would force you to see things in an entirely different light, whether you wished to or not. The ellon loved a good argument and nearly always won, using logic to knock down an opponent’s uninformed beliefs and assumptions, which, more often than not, were emotion based.

“So you are not a member of Ingwë’s household?” Voronwë finally asked.

“Not officially,” Valandur admitted, and that was really no more than the truth. “His Majesty has not formally asked me to join his household, though he has consulted with me on one or two matters. And in truth, my duties at the Academy come first. I will not abandon my students.”

“That is well, but I sense you have come here for a particular purpose.”

“Yes, as I mentioned, I am tutoring the princess and chanced to meet one of your fellow guildsmen today, a Master Amammírë, who teaches Princess Indil dance and music.”

“I am unfamiliar with the name,” Voronwë said.

“He was wearing the guild tabard with the three stripes of a master,” Valandur said, pointing to where his atar’s tabard hung behind the door on a hanger. “There was one difference though. Master Amammírë’s tabard had no stars of rank, not even one.”

“Ah, then he was a minstrel,” Voronwë replied with a nod. “That would explain it.”

“Explain what?”

“Why a member of the Bards’ Guild would be teaching dance and music to children. Only those who are minstrels bother with such employment.”

“You make it sound as if they are less than worthy to wear the guild tabard.”

His atar shrugged. “They serve a purpose, and a necessary one, within the guild.”

“But they are not considered bards,” Valandur said, making it a statement. “I confess, I never really paid any heed to them before. Oh, certainly, I’ve been as entertained by minstrels singing in the taverns as the next person, but until today, I never saw one wearing a guild tabard. I noticed the difference right away but did not wish to embarrass the ellon with any inopportune questions, which is why I’ve come to you for answers.”

“And why do you care?” Voronwë asked, his eyes narrowing. “The internal structure of the guild, any guild, is not your concern.”

“No, of course not, but I wished to clarify in my mind how that structure worked. I have no doubt that while I am tutoring the princess, I will see the minstrel on some occasions and I do not want to do or say anything that might cause him embarrassment. So you are saying that some members of the guild choose to become minstrels instead of bards?”

“No. The position of minstrel is awarded to those who, while they are certainly competent to compose and sing music and play at least one instrument well and can even craft that instrument, they do not have the wherewithal to pass the very rigorous exams that lead to bardship. If they desire to remain in the guild, they must become minstrels with the understanding that they will not be permitted to rise in rank, which is what those stars represent.” He pointed to his tabard which showed two stars beneath the harp and below the stars was an embroidered ‘V’.

“Yet why, if they are still members of the guild in good standing?”

“The stars carry the implication that that person is eligible to rise through the ranks of masters with the potential of being accorded administrative titles, such as Master of Song, Master of Dance, Master of the Lute or whatever their specialty might be, and ultimately, Guildmaster. Thus, I am not just Master Voronwë of the Bard’s Guild. Those two stars coupled with the ‘V’ below them tell people that I am also a Master of the Viol.”

“So you are saying that minstrels can never become masters of a particular specialty.”

“Or take on any administrative roles within the guild,” Voronwë added with a nod. “I can tell by your expression that you disapprove, that you think we are treating these people with contempt. I assure you we are not, but there are certain standards to which we must all comply, and these minstrels simply aren’t able to achieve those standards. Yet, we acknowledge that they have received special training and have done their duties as apprentices and journeymen. And, as I said, they serve a purpose of providing light entertainment for the populace with their love ballads and comic verse or in teaching young children, some of whom may well join the guild and become master bards themselves.”

Valandur nodded. “Tell me about your guildmaster — Lirilissë, isn’t it? What’s she like?”

Voronwë raised an eyebrow. “And why would you want to know about her?”

“Oh, I overheard Ingwë complaining about the intransigence of certain guildmasters and realized that as High King he would have to deal with them on a regular basis. I was just curious, is all.”

“Hmm…. well, Lirilissë is capable enough.”

“What’s her specialty?”

“The flute. Never cared for the instrument myself.” Voronwë gave his son a wicked grin. “I was a trial to her when she was my tutor.”

“I did not know you could play the flute.”

“I can’t or at least not very well. As I said, I don’t care for the instrument but apprentices are tutored in the playing and making of all instruments, though when they become journeymen they specialize in only one or two. As part of one’s master’s exam, one has to build his or her own instrument to very exact standards. Not as easy as you may think.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” Valandur averred. “So, Lirilissë is a Master of the Flute and a capable administrator of the guild. What’s she like on a personal level, though?”

“Such an odd question, yonya.” Voronwë narrowed his eyes. “Why are you really asking me about her?”

“I have my reasons, Atar. I hope you know me well enough to know that I do not ask questions idly and to no purpose and that I am trustworthy of any confidences you might impart. What is said in this room remains here. Did you not teach me and my sisters that a long time ago?”

“Yes.” Voronwë rose from his chair and went to stand by the embrasure overlooking the back garden. For a time he remained silent and when he finally spoke, he kept his gaze on the garden, never looking at Valandur. “Lirilissë, as I said, is capable enough, but there’s a… an inner hardness of her fëa that worries me at times. It was she who devised the rank of Minstrel and set the parameters for those involved in Minstrelsy. Prior to that, those who did not pass all particulars of the master’s exams were dismissed, forced to seek other employment. Most of them, I believe, did become music and dance teachers. Later, when Minstrelsy was created as a legitimate area of guild interest, they were invited to rejoin the guild under certain stipulations as I’ve described to you. Most came back to the guild. The ones who did not I believe had been accepted as apprentices in other guilds or sought employment in Valmar serving the Valar.”

“And it was Lirilissë who set those stipulations.”

Now Voronwë turned to face him. “Yes. She gave us no opportunity to discuss the matter; she simply announced that the rank of Minstrelsy was to be created and under these particular conditions. It was an executive decision on her part and as guildmaster it was within her right to make it, but some of us felt there should have been some discussion on the merits and a modification of the parameters by which minstrels are governed.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your candor. Now, I am afraid I must leave or I will be late for my own lecture and that will never do.” He smiled knowingly as he stood and his atar returned it with one of his own knowing smiles. Giving his atar a hug, which was returned, he said, “I should tell you that the headmaster has asked me to give a presentation at our next convocation.”

“Indeed? Well that is an honor, I’m sure.”

“More than you know, for, to the best of my knowledge, no junior loremaster has been asked to give a presentation.”

“Well, congratulations. I believe the public is allowed to attend these convocations.”

“Yes, though it’s mostly for the benefit of the Academy. However, if you and ammë care to be bored for a time….”

His atar gave him another hug. “We wouldn’t miss it for all of Arda. Just let us know when it will be held and, if I know your ammë, she will insist on a celebratory meal in your honor.”

“No doubt and I will not say no to her desire to so prepare such a meal. I will send word in plenty of time once I know the actual date, but it will be in a few weeks.”

“We will see you on next Valanya, will we not?”

Valandur assured him that they would and then he left, mulling over all that his atar had said… and not said. Now, more than ever, he knew that he needed to recruit as many of the minstrels as he could, to offer them a way to regain their self-esteem. They might not be bards but they could serve a higher purpose beyond teaching children or entertaining tavern goers. People like Lirilissë and even his atar might dismiss their importance, see them as failures, but Ingwë had seen deeper and had recognized their ultimate potential in serving the kingdom, even if he had not exploited that potential to its fullest. Valandur was in complete agreement with the High King’s estimation of these people’s worth and was determined to prove it to the minstrels themselves, and he had to admit, to his atar.

He knew little of the guildmaster beyond what his atar had told him, but he did know Ingwë a little better and in a contest of wills he suspected Lirilissë would be the loser. It would be interesting to see how this all played out. That thought brought an anticipatory smile to his lips as he came to the gates of the Academy, giving the gatekeeper a warm greeting as he passed through.

40: A Secret Revealed

Valandur was not due to teach Indil again until Aldúya, so he spent Eärenya at the Academy either teaching or working on organizing his notes for the upcoming convocation. He also mulled over the problem of the minstrels and wondered what Ingwë’s response to Lirilissë had been. He was tempted to go to the palace and seek an audience with the High King but in the end did not. At the moment, his movements roused no suspicions on the part of his fellow loremasters. They all knew that he had been asked to tutor the princess and he would have no other reason to go to the palace on a day when his presence was not required. For now, it was better that he maintained the role of tutor. If Ingwë needed to speak with him, he would send a message.

However, when he arrived at the palace he was met by Artelemnar who informed him that his tutoring session with Indil had been canceled. Instead, the young page led him through the palace, taking a rather circuitous route until Valandur was thoroughly lost, but then they reached a short corridor that turned out to be a covered walk which opened up on one side into a small grassy courtyard.

Artelemnar stopped and gestured for Valandur to enter the courtyard. “His Majesty will be here shortly,” he said and, giving the loremaster a bow, headed away.

Valandur simply stood there, gazing into the courtyard but not entering it. He remembered a certain enclosed garden in Tirion and did not desire to be trapped in another such. While he stood there waiting for Ingwë’s arrival, he examined the courtyard.

It was barely twenty paces across on all sides. There was only the one entrance to it and from his position he could not see any windows looking down upon it. Like the Garden of the Lost in Tirion, this place was completely secluded. A single bench was built along the wall opposite the colonnade. Above it, at what would be eye level to the average Elf, he could see a stone-carved diamond-shaped shield with the royal device on it. The center of the courtyard was taken up by a tower of what appeared to be woven vines rising out of his line of sight. He had no idea what purpose the tower served and wasn’t about to go near it to find out.

Hearing footsteps, he turned to see Ingwë approaching with a couple of his guards. “Ah, there you are, Loremaster,” the High King said with a bright smile. “But why are you standing out here in the corridor?”

Valandur gave Ingwë a bow. “I decided to wait for His Majesty,” he replied, keeping his expression neutral and his voice bland.

Ingwë gave him a searching look and held his gaze for an interminable moment. Valandur found he could not look away even if he wanted to. Before it became too uncomfortable, Ingwë broke eye contact, speaking to the guards. “Leave us. See that we are not disturbed.”

The guards saluted and went back down the hall, stationing themselves at the juncture. Ingwë, meanwhile, took Valandur by the elbow and steered him into the courtyard. “There is nothing to fear here,” he assured him. “This is not a trap, simply a place of meditation. I call it the cloister because of its seclusion.”

Valandur looked up at the tower of vines. It rose almost twelve feet. “What is it for?” he asked in wonder.

“I will show you,” Ingwë said and he slipped between the vines and Valandur followed him. Inside, he found himself surrounded by a dim green light. There was a rope hanging down and looking up he could see a bell.

“What is this for?” he asked again. “I do not think anyone would hear the bell being rung from here.”

“You would be surprised,” Ingwë said. “I was assured that if this bell were rung, it would be heard throughout the city. As for its purpose, I am afraid I cannot say. This is something about which only I know, I and fourteen other people whose names I will not utter here.”

Valandur felt a frisson of something close to fear or perhaps awe at the implication of Ingwë’s words.

“But come, I brought you here for another purpose,” Ingwë said brightly. “Let us take our ease.” And he slipped back out of the tower and sat on the bench with Valandur following. “The beauty of this courtyard is that it is impossible for us to be overheard,” Ingwë continued. “Also, everyone knows that no one is allowed here without my permission.”

“Yet there is no indication that this place is indeed off-limits to all,” Valandur pointed out. “If I had accidently wandered through the corridors to this place I would never know.”

“Perhaps, but you see, anyone who seeks employment in the palace is brought here and explicitly told that they cannot enter it.”

“Well that’s certainly setting up an irresistible temptation,” Valandur retorted with a quirk of a smile. “It’s like telling an elfling not to do something. They cannot help but to do what you have forbidden. It is like an itch that cannot be scratched.”

Ingwë grinned. “It is also a test of trust. Those who find the temptation too great are dismissed from service. Oh, they are not punished otherwise. If they have done their jobs well, they are given sterling references, but everyone knows that their curiosity got the better of them and their employment opportunities may be limited to positions where curiosity is not a problem. I cannot afford curiosity here. The people who serve me need to be uncurious about a great many things that may occur or be said within these walls.”

“And is that why I am here, to test me?”

“In part,” Ingwë averred, “but the greater part is as I said: we cannot be overheard. There is a property of this cloister that prevents sound from travelling. Even if someone were standing at the entrance of the colonnade and could see us speaking, they would hear no word. All sound travels up.” He pointed and Valandur’s gaze automatically followed so he could see the sky above.

He lowered his gaze, giving Ingwë a considering look. “That sounds as if the Valar had a hand in the construction of this place.”

“A very astute observation, but much of the power here actually came from the masons who built it to my specifications. Lord Aulë and his Maiar just gave them a little help. Now, let us speak to the purpose for which I brought you. Actually, there are two purposes, but we’ll get to that later. First off, I have asked Lirilissë to attend me this day. I wish for you to be present.”

“You waited two days to respond to her reply to my request. Was that wise?”

“Wiser than you know, hinya,” Ingwë retorted with a feral grin. “This is not the first battle of wills between me and the guildmaster. Lirilissë was rather reluctant to loan me any of her minstrels when I first conceived the idea of using them to gather information for me.”

“Was there a particular reason why she was so reluctant, other than feeling a moral repugnance for what you would ask of the minstrels?”

“I suspected that she had some proprietary feeling toward them, but I was never entirely sure and I do not know why she would, considering how the minstrels are looked upon as failures by the bards.”

“Atar said that Lirilissë created the rank of Minstrel on her own, as an executive decision, and set the parameters of how they would be treated within the guild. None of the other masters were given an opportunity to discuss the matter or offer any modifications to those parameters.”

“Hmm… well, that’s all very interesting and I will keep that in mind when dealing with the guildmaster, but to answer your original question: Lirilissë and I have had many differences in opinion over the years. I do not care for the way she runs the guild, but that is an internal matter and I will not intervene unless it proves necessary. The masters and journeymen who elected her to the post are free to choose another if they so desire. At the moment, they seem content to let Lirilissë rule the roost, but her being guildmaster is one reason why I have not allowed either of my sons to enter the guild, though both are certainly qualified. Indeed, they could well be masters in their own right. Lirilissë has petitioned me several times to allow my sons to enter the guild. I suspect she feels that having two princes as members of the guild would enhance her own standing among the Council of Guilds, and I will not use my children in that manner.”

“I see,” Valandur said after a moment in which he contemplated Ingwë’s words.

“Probably not as clearly as you may think, though,” Ingwë said, giving him a sympathetic smile. “Politics is an intricate dance of wills and wit and I have, of necessity, become a Master of the Dance, you might say. Now, Lirilissë is due soon but before we meet with her, there is one thing I wish to show you.”

He stood and Valandur rose as well, expecting Ingwë to leave the cloister, but he did not. Instead, he turned to face the wall. The High King gave Valandur a piercing look. “I show you this because I believe you need to see it.” He reached up to the carving and pressed upon the star in the center, pushing it in. A few seconds later there was a grinding noise of stone upon stone and to Valandur’s complete amazement the wall along the right side of the bench swung open, revealing a tunnel. Ingwë grinned.

“This leads to an alley that actually separates the palace grounds from Lord Lassezel’s townhouse. I thought you would appreciate the irony of that. Anyway, do you see that lantern hanging just inside? It will light your way. At the other end is a hook for the lantern, it is so designed that when the lantern is hung it actually opens the latch to the outside. You will only have a short amount of time to exit after you remove the lantern from the hook.”

“But if I were to bring a second lantern—”

“No. The outer door must not be left opened. Do you understand, hinya?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Good. Keep this knowledge to yourself. I pray that you will never need to use it but one never knows what the future holds for any of us.” He started away.

“Should you not close the door, Sire?” Valandur asked.

“From inside the tunnel you can simply push it closed, but from this side, you cannot. However, the star will return to its original position shortly, causing the door to shut automatically.”

“Would not a spell of opening and closing have worked better?” Valandur suggested as he caught up with Ingwë.

The High King flashed him an amused look. “And be more elegant as well. The problem with such spells is that if the spell is not passed on or if those who know the spell are incapacitated in some manner, then the knowledge of the spell is lost. This way, all that is necessary is to show someone how to open and close the door.”

“Who else knows about it, if I may ask?”

“You may, but that is my secret for now.”

“As you wish, Sire,” Valandur said. “I am honored that you have trusted me with the secret and I promise not to abuse that trust.” He gave the king a knowing grin. “And I promise not to enter the cloister without your permission.”

“There is only one reason why you would ever have to, Loremaster,” Ingwë said gravely as he passed the two guards who silently joined them. “And that is because either I have ordered you to or because I am not there to order you to and the situation is dire.”

Valandur stopped in shock. “But how could such a situation arise here in Vanyamar within sight of the mansions of the Elder King?”

“How indeed?” retorted Ingwë with a raised eyebrow and they continued on their way in silence with Valandur mulling over the king’s words.

****

Valandur had assumed that Ingwë would hold his audience with Guildmaster Lirilissë in his study, remembering his own interviews with the High King, so he was surprised when Ingwë ushered him into a small audience chamber that was perhaps only twice as large as his study. There were already a couple of people in the room besides the guards stationed at the door. Valandur recognized Ingwë’s chamberlain and there was a young page, younger than Artelemnar, holding a pillow on which was a coronet of red gold studded with emeralds. The chamber itself was empty of furniture save for a richly carved chair under a blue silk canopy that sat on a single-step dais before a wall that was essentially a stained-glass window depicting Lady Varda creating the stars.

Ingwë ignored Valandur as he spoke quietly with his chamberlain, removing the simple gold fillet that graced his head and replacing it with the coronet which the page brought to him. The chamberlain nodded to whatever Ingwë said to him and strode to the door while the page retired to a corner. Ingwë settled himself on the chair, gesturing to Valandur.

“Come stand on my right, Loremaster.”

Valandur obeyed, feeling a bit out of his depth. Ingwë’s expression was sympathetic. “Remain silent and listen to what is being said and not said between me and Lirilissë.”

Valandur simply nodded. Ingwë straightened and his entire mien changed dramatically. Valandur had never questioned the fact that Ingwë was High King of Eldamar. Even wearing an old hunting tunic with no trappings of royalty about him, Ingwë had exuded power and kingship. But on one level, that power had been veiled so as not to overwhelm and Valandur, for one, was grateful. Now, however, that power, that sense of majesty that Valandur often associated with the Valar, and to a lesser extent the Maiar, was evident in Ingwë. There was no doubt that here was the High King and yet on some inchoate level, Valandur sensed that even now Ingwë was revealing only a fraction of his majesty, and that thought nearly overwhelmed him.

“Guildmaster Lirilissë of the Bards’ Guild,” the chamberlain announced and Valandur forced himself to concentrate on the approaching figure. Lirilissë was surprisingly short, shorter than Valandur was expecting. She probably did not even come to his shoulders and he was not considered exceptionally tall for an ellon. Her hair was a shade that was nearly white and intricately braided with blue ribbons, while her eyes were a startling green. She wore a simple gown of rain-washed blue under her guild tabard, which, along with the guild badge, sported three stars and a flute embroidered underneath.

What struck Valandur the most, though, was her air of superiority. Her curtsey to Ingwë was just shy of being rude. Valandur stole a glance at the High King, but Ingwë’s expression could have been carved in stone and if he felt any insult, he gave no indication.

“Guildmaster Lirilissë, We appreciate your promptness in coming,” Ingwë said with a gracious nod of his head.

“Your Majesty,” Lirillissë said, returning the nod with one of her own. Her voice was high and sweet, but Valandur thought that this was one whose voice would turn shrill in anger or frustration.

Ingwë gestured negligently in Valandur’s direction. “This is Loremaster Valandur Voronwion. We understand that his atar is a member of your guild.”

Lirilissë gave Valandur a searching look, taking in his loremaster’s robe. She returned her gaze upon Ingwë, effectively dismissing Valandur from her thoughts. He was of no account to her, he knew. He thought he should feel insulted, but instead amusement bubbled up from somewhere and he was hard-pressed to contain it and not laugh out loud at her attempts to put him in his place. Two could play this game, or even three.

“Bard Voronwë is known to me,” Lirilissë said stiffly.

Ingwë smiled and Valandur saw it was not a pleasant one and suppressed a shiver. “Yes, well, Loremaster Valandur is organizing Our minstrels for Us and…”

“Your minstrels, Majesty?” Lirilissë dared to interrupt, giving them a huff of disbelief. “Odd. I always thought they were mine and I was just loaning them to you.” Her smile was nearly as unpleasant as Ingwë’s and there was a slyness to her manner that Ingwë did not have.

“Actually, it’s the other way around, my dear Lirilissë,” Ingwë retorted mildly, settling back into the chair in a negligent manner, as if he were finding the audience a bit tedious. Valandur nearly goggled and he could almost feel the tug-of-war of wills between the two. “Do not forget, your guild, indeed every guild within Vanyamar, exists solely by Our pleasure. Under the royal charter We have the power to disband any guild if We deem it necessary. So you see, effectively, all guild members belong to me… even you, Lirilissë.”

The silence that ensued could have been cut with a knife and Valandur dared not even blink, fearing to break the spell which Ingwë was weaving. Lirilissë stood as still as a statue, her expression set. Only her eyes, full of green fire, gave any hint of the emotions she was feeling just then. Valandur stole a sideways glance at Ingwë, who still lounged in the chair, waiting for the elleth’s response.

“Yet the charter also says that you have no power to interfere in the internal matters of the guilds,” Lirilissë finally said, and Valandur heard the doubt in her voice.

“No, that is true,” Ingwë averred and then his entire posture stiffened and his expression hardened. “But nowhere in the charter does it say that We cannot use the guilds as We see fit. Your guild exists on sufferance alone, Lirilissë, and you had best remember that when dealing with Us. We asked Loremaster Valandur to organize the minstrels more effectively and to recruit others if he deemed it necessary. You have his letter of introduction which We authorized and you sent Us one minstrel, just one.”

Lirilissë gave them an imperious look. “One is all I will spare, Sire. The minstrels are not yours to… to play with.”

“You dare!” Ingwë nearly shouted, standing up abruptly to face Lirilissë. Almost at once the guards at the door started moving but Ingwë waved them back, never taking his eyes off the guildmaster who stood as erect as he. Neither was going to give an inch, Valandur knew, and he suspected that Ingwë was fast becoming angry and Lirilissë would use that anger against him.

“Whom are you protecting, Guildmaster?” Valandur asked and both Ingwë and Lirilissë startled at the unexpectedness of the question. Ingwë turned to give Valandur a frown, but Valandur ignored him, his eyes fixed on Lirilissë. The guildmaster’s lips thinned and she gave him a steely look.

“You speak out of turn, Loremaster,” she said, “and I protect no one.”

“A lie, of course,” Valandur retorted without raising his voice. “You were against His Majesty employing the minstrels from the very first. Why? Do you object to their mission? That can’t be, though, because even bards like my atar are charged by the Guild to gather information. The bards are the keepers of our histories; they have to be aware of what is happening around them. The minstrels are the same, but they are usually in a position to gather intelligence of a different nature, no less important to the health and safety of the kingdom and of Eldamar as a whole. So why this reluctance? And it isn’t even really that, is it? It’s a determination to thwart His Majesty at all cost. So, I ask you, Guildmaster, whom are you protecting? Why did you really create the rank of Minstrel within the Guild and then treat them with such contempt as you do?”

All this time, Ingwë stood, his eyes narrowed as he listened to Valandur, and the initial anger was replaced with curiosity. He retook his throne, giving Lirilissë a searching look, while the elleth stood there looking pale, her eyes bright with anger, her hands clenched by her sides.

“Is he correct?” Ingwë asked softly. “Are you protecting someone, someone you do not wish to be brought to Our attention?”

For a moment Valandur wondered if the elleth would answer, but finally she nodded, closing her eyes and looking suddenly weary. “Yes. My sister. My twin sister, Lirimíriel. We were prentices together, did everything together, really, but she was unable to complete the exams to become a bard and was asked to leave the guild. It was the first time we were ever really separated. Miri was devastated. Becoming a bard was more her dream than mine. I joined the guild for her sake, not because I had any real desire to become a bard, yet, I was the one with all the talent. Miri could sing and play well enough, better than most, but it wasn’t enough, she wasn’t good enough.” Her tone turned bitter and her eyes flashed with anger.

“What happened to her?” Ingwë asked. “What did your sister do?”

“She left the guild. She had no choice in that. I was willing to leave with her but she convinced me to remain. I vowed then that if it were ever in my power to do so I would find a way that she could join the guild, she and others who failed. In the meantime, she found employment as a teacher to children of farmers.” Lirilissë snorted in contempt. “She claims to be happy enough living outside the city and teaching, but I know deep down inside she still weeps for the loss of her dream.”

“And when you became guildmaster, you conceived of the idea of forming a new rank within the guild, the rank of Minstrel,” Ingwë said.

“Yes,” Lirilissë replied, straightening. “Over the years, I saw others forced to leave the guild, their dreams dashed. When I became guildmaster, I created the rank of Minstrel. Miri was the first I asked to return.” She shook her head. “Would you believe she refused, said she was no longer interested in joining the guild.”

“Ah… then you are not protecting her, you’re punishing her,” Ingwë said.

“Originally, the rank of Minstrel was to be a step toward bardship. Senior journeymen, who were nearly ready to take the exams that would lead to bardship, would take the preliminary exams and be awarded the rank of Minstrel. They would essentially be junior bards. They would remain minstrels for a term of years while they studied for the more advanced exams. If they failed those, they would be granted the right to retake the exams if they wished, something that was not allowed before, but in the meantime they could honorably retain the rank of Minstrel or, if they wished, they could leave the guild.”

“But that is not what happened,” Valandur interjected. “You made the rank of Minstrel into a badge of shame. Those who failed to become bards were allowed to remain in the guild on sufferance, accepting the rank of Minstrel, knowing that they could have no further future within the guild, knowing that everyone looked down upon them as the failures that they were. Your sister refusing to return to the guild was a slap in the face and so you decided to punish her by punishing others, innocents who were forced to accept their second-class status as the only means of remaining in the guild.”

“She might have had a chance of passing the exams, of becoming a bard,” Lirilissë exclaimed. “I was giving her a second chance, something she had not been given before, and she turned it down, said it was no longer important to her. I created that rank for her and she just walked away from the one chance she had of perhaps becoming a master bard. When she dismissed my offer, I decided that the rank of Minstrel would be offered to those who failed the exams but still wished to be part of the guild. It was a terminal position. There would be no advancement, no hope of advancement and they knew it, everyone knew it.”

“And your sister never joined,” Ingwë said.

“Actually, she did,” Lirilissë countered, giving them a satisfied smirk, “later, when I decreed that anyone wishing to teach music and dance to children, not as a journeyman but professionally, had to have at least the rank of Minstrel. She had no choice but to join.” She paused and there was a sadness about her, a sense of defeat. “We have not spoken to one another since.”

Ingwë looked at Valandur who shook his head, then turned his attention to the elleth standing before them. “I am sorry,” Ingwë said gently and for a brief moment he ceased to be the High King and was simply an ellon sympathizing with another in pain. That moment did not last and when next he spoke, he was more formal. “We are displeased by your revelation, Guildmaster, and We feel that you have abused your position. The minstrels whom We have recruited are worthy of respect in their own right and should not be punished for something that is not their fault. We will have one of Our stewards take a closer look at the Bards’ Guild and make recommendations.”

“Will you insist that I resign as Guildmaster, then?” Lirilissë asked stiffly.

“No. We will not go that far. That is something the other bards can decide for themselves. We think that your original idea for the rank of Minstrel is sound and we may insist that it be implemented and anyone who is now a minstrel will have the opportunity to retake the exams if they so desire. However, this is something that need not be done immediately. As We said, one of Our stewards will be in touch. In the meantime, We would appreciate it if you would send us the names of all who have the rank of Minstrel and where they can be found, including your sister.”

Lirilissë looked about to object but something in Ingwë’s expression stopped her and she simply nodded. “I will have the list sent to you by Second Mingling.”

“The list is to go to Loremaster Valandur,” Ingwë ordered. “He is in charge of organizing the minstrels. You may send it to him at the Academy.”

Lirilissë gave Valandur a look of pure loathing to which Valandur simply smiled, as if he had not noticed, refusing to react to her otherwise. “Just out of curiosity, Guildmaster, why did you send Sairon and only him to me?”

“Yes, that puzzles Us as well,” Ingwë said.

Lirilissë shrugged, evincing indifference. “He happened to be the first minstrel I saw that day. He had come to the guildhall to discuss something with one of the masters and by custom he came to my study to pay his respects. I had just received your missive and decided he would be my answer.”

Valandur pursed his lips in disapproval but did not speak, recognizing that it was not his place to do so at this time. He saw that Ingwë also looked upon the elleth with disapproval, but he only said, “Have the list to Loremaster Valandur by Second Mingling, Lirilissë. Do not disappoint Us. You have Our leave to depart.”

It was a curt dismissal with none of the genteel proprieties associated with farewelling attached. Lirilissë gave Ingwë a stiff curtsey and, without another word, turned and exited the chamber, the guards opening and closing the door behind her. For a long moment silence ensued. Valandur did not dare speak or move before Ingwë did either and the High King sat immobile on his throne, deep in thought. Finally, he looked up, giving Valandur a sour grin.

“Thank you,” he said.

Valandur blinked. “For what, Sire?”

“For saving me from letting my anger get the better of me. That was a very astute observation on your part. I fear I was allowing Lirilissë’s disrespect to get to me. You saw more clearly than I what she was about.”

Valandur shrugged. “She effectively dismissed me from her calculations. That gave me the opportunity to observe her without in turn being observed or perhaps measured might be a better word. At any rate, we now understand a little better her motivations and the whys and wherefores of the minstrels. I would be very interested in meeting this twin of hers.”

“And you shall,” Ingwë said, rising and gesturing for the page to approach, removing the coronet and replacing it with the fillet. He graciously dismissed the page and the chamberlain and headed for the door with Valandur beside him. “She is the first of the minstrels I want you to meet. Find out from her if what Lirilissë told us is the truth.”

“You doubt her?” Valandur asked as they made their way through the palace.

“I do not trust her to have told us the entire truth, just enough of it that she cannot be accused of lying to me. I want to know Lirimíriel’s side of the story.”

“It will be as you say, Sire,” Valandur said formally.

Ingwë flashed him a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “Indil was most disappointed that I had to cancel her lesson with you. I promised her that she could have her lesson with you tomorrow if that does not interfere with your own plans.”

“I have a meeting with two of my students set for the second hour after First Mingling, but I will be free by the fourth hour.”

“Hmm… that will be acceptable and afterwards you can plan to stay for a meal. It will just be the family.”

“I am honored, Sire, and I will be there.” Then he gave Ingwë a sly look. “By the way, how did you like your daughter’s poem?”

Ingwë stopped and blushed, much to Valandur’s amusement. “She has a very vivid imagination. Elindis actually laughed and said she wished it had been that easy convincing me to marry her.”

“Indeed?” was Valandur’s only reply and then for some reason they both found themselves laughing. Ingwë began quoting certain passages from the poem that set them laughing even more and it was some time before they got themselves under control enough to continue on their way, Ingwë to see to other kingdom business and Valandur back to the Academy.

41: Interviews and Explanations

Valandur was just dismissing his semiotics class later that day when he received a visitor.

“Sairon! Welcome.”

Sairon gave him a bow. “Thank you, Loremaster. I promised you an answer to your invitation and I also bring you this from Guildmaster Lirilissë.” He handed Valandur some foolscaps, folded over and sealed with wax.

Valandur took it with a nod, slitting open the seal and perusing the two pages, looking for one name, finding it at the bottom of the last page. “Thank you,” he said, folding the pages. “So what have you decided?”

“I spoke with Amammírë and some others whom Ingwë recruited. They assured me that the High King has never asked them to actually spy on people or to ferret out their secrets and violate their privacy, but simply to keep both eyes and ears open to what was happening around them and to use their musical talents to write ditties that express a particular point of view or sentiment that the High King wishes to present to the populace without it being known that it comes from him.”

“And is this something you think you can do?” Valandur asked. “I assure you that if all you feel you are capable of doing is passing along information and want nothing to do with writing ditties or singing them in public, that is perfectly fine. We don’t need every minstrel in Vanyamar roaming the streets singing the same songs at the top of their lungs.”

Sairon chuckled and Valandur grinned.

“No. That would be rather obvious even to the slowest person,” Sairon said. “Amammírë told me that even that is not something that is done all the time, but only when Ingwë so orders it.”

“His Majesty is wise enough to know when to speak and when not to, or when to have others do the same on his behalf,” Valandur said. “So, are you in?”

Sairon nodded. “Yes, I’m in. I wasn’t sure at first, but Amammírë convinced me that what you are asking of us does not in any way impugn our honor. We minstrels have little enough of that within our own guild, never mind elsewhere.” His tone was more rueful than bitter.

“And that may change,” Valandur said. “I should tell you that Ingwë wanted to recruit you from the first, but as you had already taken contract with Lord Lassezel, he felt it unfair to try to lure you away.”

“But I am still employed by Lord Lassezel,” Sairon pointed out, “so what’s changed?”

“Me,” Valandur replied with a grin. “I pointed out to His Majesty that people like you, who are employed by the nobles and merchant-princes, are in a unique position to gather information in settings where these people congregate and you are expected to attend due to your particular position.”

“Then you do intend for me to spy on my master and his friends,” Sairon countered with a look of disgust.

“No, Sairon. I want you to simply keep your eyes and ears open. Go about your duties, but if you hear or see anything that you think needs to be brought to Ingwë’s attention then you tell me. You need not name names and indeed I do not care who says what to whom, only that it is being said. Do you understand?”

The minstrel nodded slowly. “I think I do.”

“Good. Then, if you are still willing to join our little cadre of information gatherers, I would welcome you and gladly.”

“And would I be able to disassociate myself from your organization if I feel I can no longer do what you want me to?”

“I will not bind anyone against their wills. If after a time you feel you cannot in good conscience continue, then you are free to go your own way. I will probably only insist on invoking guild secrecy to protect, not only others, but you.”

“That is only to be expected and I have no problems with that. So, for now, count me in.”

Valandur smiled warmly. “Then welcome and thrice welcome.”

Now Sairon looked a bit shy and uncertain. “So, what do I do?”

“For now, continue as you have been. Nothing has changed in your duties to your lord. Now, Guildmaster Lirilissë has given me a list of all those presently holding the rank of Minstrel. Let us look it over together and you can give me your thoughts on them. It does not appear to be a very long list, so I’m assuming you must know most of these people.”

“We are a rather exclusive club,” Sairon said with a mirthless grin. “We periodically foregather to commiserate and console one another for being failures.”

Valandur frowned. “Let me make one thing clear to you, Sairon, and you can pass this on to whomever. You minstrels are not failures. Yes, you failed to pass the exams leading to bardship, but that is not the same thing as being a failure. Those exams are extremely difficult and it’s amazing that as many people pass as do. I know, for my atar is a bard and I have heard all about it. The fact that you did not pass those exams is unfortunate, but not the end of the world. Each of you was able to move on, to accept your loss and to find honorable work utilizing what musical skills you have for the benefit of others. There is no shame in that. If others look down on you, that is their problem, not yours. Are we clear on that?”

“Yes, Loremaster,” Sairon said quietly.

“Good, and it’s Valandur. Now, let us take a look at this list. Come, we’ll retire to my rooms where we will have more privacy.” With that, they left the classroom and Valandur led Sairon to his rooms where he offered the ellon some tea before they sat down to peruse the list together. Sairon actually knew most of the people on the list and was able to give Valandur valuable insights into their personalities. Valandur took careful notes of all that the minstrel said. When they reached the end of the list, he pointed to the last name.

“What do you know of Mistress Lirimíriel?”

Sairon shrugged. “Nothing, actually. I do not recall anyone by that name at any of our gatherings, and I am pretty sure I’ve met all those who are minstrels even if I do not know them well. Amammírë might know or perhaps one of the others.”

“Hmm… well, according to this notation against her name she does not reside in the city, so it’s possible she is unaware that you minstrels do gather together on occasion. Well, no matter. I will seek her out. Now, it is nearly time for the daymeal. Would you join me?”

“I would be honored.”

“I will show you where you may freshen up if you wish.” Valandur took the list and put it in a drawer of his desk before they left his rooms.

****

On Menelya, after conducting the lesson with a very exuberant Indil, Valandur left the city, taking the west gate out and into the farmland that provided fresh produce for the city. The land was not as rich as that in the Southern Fiefdoms, but it was arable enough and supplied the Vanyar with immediate needs, primarily grain for flour and those fruits and vegetables that thrived in cooler climes. There was no village, merely a scattering of farmhouses and barns. There was, however, a central hall where the farmers and their families met for social purposes and where the children were schooled. It was there that Valandur was headed.

He walked along the road, past the traveler’s well where the west road met up with the road that swung northeastward to continue on to Ilmarin and southward to Valmar. Beyond the well, the road was unpaved, becoming a country lane pleasantly lined with beeches and old-growth oaks as it wound through the farms. About three miles from the city he came upon a more open area where he saw a large hall alongside two grain silos and a mill powered by a narrow stream that originated in the far north and made its way westward to empty out into the Ekkaia.

As Valandur approached the hall, he could hear the sound of children singing and smiled as he recognized the song. It was the Lay of First Meeting that described the discovery of the Quendi by the Vala Oromë on the dark shores of Helcar where the Elves first awoke. He stopped to listen to the sweet voices, not quite blending as was typical with children, but lovely to hear in their innocence and delight in singing. As the children came to the part where the Three Ambassadors were chosen, their voices ceased. Valandur entered the hall through one of the willow arches, stopping just inside.

The hall was circular and perhaps two hundred paces in diameter. It was created entirely out of willow trees shaped into a dome structure, the willows bundled together to form the arches and roof. Inside, the light was dim and green. Valandur saw a group of elflings, perhaps about twenty altogether, sitting on mats in a circle, listening to an elleth standing in the center as she commented on their singing.

Lirimíriel — for there was no doubt in Valandur’s mind that this was Lirilissë’s twin, so similar in features was she to the guildmaster — spoke quietly, praising the children for their efforts and encouraging them to learn the next section of the lay. Then she dismissed them and the children rose, giving their teacher a bow before bending down to roll up their reed mats and make their way in twos and threes through the various arches. Two children passed Valandur, giving him curious looks which he returned with a warm smile, but as he did not speak the children properly did not address him first, only giving him bows before exiting. Valandur approached Lirimíriel, who was speaking with one child who had lingered behind. The ellon nodded at whatever Lirimíriel told him and ran off to catch up with his companions.

“Mistress Lirimíriel?” Valandur enquired.

The elleth turned, giving him a quizzical look. “Yes?”

“I am Loremaster Valandur Voronwion. I understand that your sister is the guildmaster for the Bards’ Guild.”

Lirimíriel’s expression turned cold. “Did she send you?”

“No. The High King did.”

That stopped her for a moment and her expression became less hostile. “And why would the High King send you to me? I do not even know the High King.”

“And he does not know you except as a rumor,” Valandur replied with a faint smile. “Is there somewhere where we may go that is less public? I do not fancy having to stand here in the middle of this hall to speak with you on a private matter.”

For a moment, the elleth just stood there, giving Valandur a searching look. He did not flinch or lower his gaze but kept a calm and friendly expression on his face, hoping to allay any concerns. Finally, she nodded. “My house is not far from here. Would you care for some tea?”

He smiled and gave her a gracious bow. “I would be honored.” He followed her out of the hall and she led him past the mill and along a side path that followed the stream north past copses of beeches and willows until they arrived in a small clearing where a cottage sat in the midst of a garden in full bloom. The cottage was small, only two rooms with the front room serving as a kitchen and sitting room and a bedroom in the back. Lirimíriel gestured for Valandur to take a seat at the table that was in the center of the room while she put the kettle on and began preparing the tea.

“So what does the High King want with me?” she asked as she puttered about, putting some ginger biscuits on a plate and bringing it to the table, along with cups and saucers.

“His Majesty learned recently about how the rank of Minstrels was formed and why,” Valandur answered, taking one of the biscuits and nibbling on it. “He was most disturbed and asked me to look into the matter further. He would like to hear your side of the story.”

Lirimíriel did not reply immediately, her expression set as she dealt with the tea, a pleasing blend of different mints that brightened the air and soothed the soul. She finally sat down opposite Valandur, pouring the tea as she spoke.

“I was devastated when I learned I had failed the exams and for a long while I hated my sister for passing them when I knew she had only joined the guild for my sake. It took me a long time to get over my feelings of unworthiness and even despair. I felt like such a failure and wondered why I had been given this gift for a love of music but was unable to utilize it to the fullest. I thought of even joining a different guild or moving to Eldamas and taking service with the Valar, but then the farmers asked the guild to send someone to teach their children music. They did not want journeymen who come and go. They wished for someone who was willing to stay.” She snorted in derision. “No bard would bother with such a menial task so I applied and was accepted. I really did not wish to remain in Vanyamar any longer.”

She paused to take a sip of tea, her expression becoming more gentle and she smiled. Valandur realized that he had never seen the guildmaster smile. Lirimíriel’s smile was warm and genuine and it lit up her face. “They were so grateful and the children so eager,” she said, continuing her narrative. “The farmers actually built this cottage for me and their wives and daughters helped me to plant the garden.”

“And you were content,” Valandur said, making it more a statement than a question.

“To a degree. I still regretted my failure, but the farmers and their children were so appreciative of me and I found that I actually enjoyed teaching. After a while, the regret lessened and I hardly think on it anymore. I’ve made a life for myself here with these people. The folks in the city might look down on them as unsophisticated, but they have an honest warmth about them that is open and nonjudgmental. It did not matter to them that I did not achieve bardship. That I was a gifted musician and capable of teaching their children and instill in them a love for music was all that mattered to them.”

“Your sister said she created the rank of Minstrel for you,” Valandur stated. “She also said you rejected her offer to rejoin the guild.”

“I know Liri created the rank for me, to give me a second chance at becoming a bard, but she failed to understand that I had moved beyond that. Becoming a bard wasn’t the be-all and end-all of my existence. I was genuinely happy being where I was and doing what I was doing. I no longer had any desire to become a bard. It was not that important to me. Unfortunately, Liri thought I was rejecting her when I refused to return to the guild. She changed the entire parameters of the rank and then made it so that anyone who wanted to teach professionally had to at least hold the rank of Minstrel. She forced me to join. I have never forgiven her for that. We have not spoken to one another since and I made it clear at the outset that I resented her high-handedness.”

“That is pretty much as Lirilissë said when the High King pressed for answers about the guild and the minstrels.”

Lirimíriel gave him a puzzled look. “Why would he care? It’s an internal matter of the guild over which he has no claim. I do not approve, and while I hold the rank of Minstrel, I have nothing else to do with the guild. I do not attend guild councils nor do I report to the guildmaster for assignments. I made that all perfectly clear to Liri when she forced me to join. I am a music teacher for the children of these farmers and that is all I wish to be.”

“And that is perfectly fine with Ingwë and with me, but let me explain what the High King is hoping to do with the minstrels. First off, he does plan to have the rank revised so that it is no longer a terminal position, but an intermediary position between journeyman and master, just as your sister originally perceived it.” He then went on to explain about the minstrels and what role Ingwë saw for them and what Valandur’s role in all this was. When he finished, Lirimíriel did not immediately respond, her expression thoughtful.

“And you are seeking to recruit me, as well?” she finally asked.

“That is certainly a possibility and I would welcome your addition to our little organization. You are in a unique situation here and Ingwë is as concerned about how the farmers view matters as he is about those in the city. But that is your decision and you are not required to make it this very moment. Think about it and then you can contact me at the Academy and let me know one way or the other. However, my primary purpose in coming here was to hear your side of the story about what has passed between you and your sister. Ingwë wished to corroborate that what Lirilissë told us was the truth in its entirety.”

“Well, you have certainly given me much to think about. I cannot give you an answer now, but I promise I will give you one soon.”

“Thank you.” Valandur rose, looking down at the elleth and giving her a sympathetic look. “I am sorry that things have gone ill between you and your sister. I hope someday you will be reconciled with one another. The gift of family is too precious to throw away.”

“What will happen to Liri?” she asked as she saw him to the door.

“Nothing, as far as I know. If the other masters feel she needs to step down as guildmaster and another be put in her place that is their business. Ingwë is only concerned that the minstrels should not be punished out of pique because you and your sister have had a falling out.”

“And for that I am sorry. Perhaps I was wrong to have dismissed Liri’s offer, but it smacked too much of patronization and I could not abide that.”

“I understand. I bid you a fair day.” With that, he gave her a bow and headed back toward the city, mulling over what he had learned.

****

He was still mulling over his conversation with Lirimíriel when he joined his parents and siblings for the daymeal on Valanya. Almost before he was inside the door, his atar gave him a strange look.

“Something is going on in the Bards’ Guild and I get the impression that you are involved.”

“Oh? And in what way?” Valandur countered, refusing to admit to anything at this point.

“Now, yonya, I’m your atar and I know when one of my children is being evasive. Tell me what is going on.”

“Why don’t you tell me first what you know or think you know and then I will explain if I can,” Valandur suggested.

“You can discuss this at the table, you two,” his ammë said, coming from the kitchen. Marilla gave them both a look of loving exasperation. “Come greet your sisters, Val, and then let us eat before all the food goes cold.”

Valandur gave his ammë a hug and a kiss and then greeted his sisters — Yávien, Ailinel, and Arwen — giving them their proper due. Voronwë sat impatiently, waiting for the amenities which his wife insisted on to be over before he dominated the conversation. “As I said, something is up. Lirilissë returned from her interview with the High King in a fury but she’s refused all audiences and has had her assistant handle daily affairs while she remains sequestered.”

“And why do you think I know anything about it or have anything to do with whatever has your guildmaster in a tizzy?”

“Oh, come now, Val,” Voronwë retorted. “I wasn’t born yesterday. You are doing more than just tutoring the princess. You’re a loremaster, not a teacher of children.”

“I’m both, Atar, but you are correct that the High King wishes for me to be involved with other matters concerning the kingdom, but I’m not at liberty to speak about it. Suffice to say that I was present when he had his audience with your guildmaster and we learned some disturbing things concerning the minstrels.”

“What about them?” Voronwë asked with a dismissive wave of a hand. “They are just failures and—”

“No! They are not failures!” Valandur nearly shouted angrily. His family looked on him in surprised shock. “Yes, yes, I know they failed to pass the master’s exams but so what? They are still talented musicians who have studied well and hard all that you and the other masters were willing to teach them. They’re competent musicians who provide a useful service in entertaining the populace or teaching children and there’s nothing shameful in that. What you may not know, Atar, is that Lirilissë originally conceived the rank of Minstrel as an intermediary rank between journeyman and master. All journeymen would need to pass the preliminary exams to be accorded the rank of minstrel before they could attempt the more advanced exams for bardship. It was meant to give those who did not pass the exams initially the opportunity to try again if they wished or they would remain minstrels but would be allowed to advance administratively if they desired.”

“So what happened?” Voronwë asked.

“A long story, but the end result was as you have it with the minstrels seen as second-class citizens and treated as such by the rest of the guild. That has to stop. There’s no need for these people to have their failures thrown in their faces every time they turn around. They are good people and Ingwë recognizes their worth even if no one else does.”

There was a tense silence between father and son which was broken by Marilla. “I never liked Lirilissë. There was always a coldness about her that did not sit well with me. I avoided her as much as possible.”

“Which is why your ammë comes up with one excuse or another for not accompanying me to guild functions,” Voronwë said with a small smile. Valandur and his sisters sniggered, knowing full well how much Marilla hated guild functions, even those of her own guild.

“Boring affairs, all of them,” she sniffed dismissively. Then she gave Valandur a look he knew too well and tried not to squirm under her regard. “And when were you going to tell us that you’d been asked to speak at the Academy’s next convocation?”

“I did,” Valandur protested. “I told Atar.”

“But you did not tell me,” Marilla pointed out.

“Sorry, ammë,” Valandur said contritely.

Marilla nodded, satisfied that she’d gotten her point across. “Well, congratulations are in order and for more than one of our children. Arwen has been accepted into the Illuminators’ Guild. We just received the news yesterday.”

Valandur grinned at his youngest sibling, who blushed prettily. “That is wonderful news, Sister! Congratulations!”

“So we have much to celebrate, then,” Voronwë said, lifting his wine goblet. “To Val for being chosen to present a paper to the Academy and to Arwen for becoming an apprentice Illuminator.”

“Hear, hear,” the rest of the family said as they lifted their own goblets while Valandur and Arwen smiled shyly at one another across the table.

****

Note: The description of the willow hall is based on real world structures. Google ‘Auerworld Palace’ and ‘Sanfte Strukturen’ to see examples. My thanks to Sunny for sending me the links. 

42: Convocation

The weeks went by.

Valandur made arrangements to meet with all the minstrels, either singly or in groups of two or three, with Artelemnar acting as his secretary, sitting in on all the meetings and discussing the various minstrels afterwards. The two played a sort of game, trying to guess who would accept the offer and who would not. Those who were already employed by Ingwë were eager to continue serving and their meetings were brief, more for Valandur to put a face to a name than anything. Meetings with the other minstrels generally took longer, for Valandur was careful to explain the entire situation to them. He usually had either Amammírë or Sairon with him at such meetings. He found that it helped to allay any misgivings on the part of their fellow minstrels.

Eventually they saw all the minstrels. Artelemnar, in his youthful innocence, was sure that they would all accept Valandur’s proposal, but Valandur knew better and was not at all surprised when a few evinced reluctance to join them. The loremaster thanked them for giving him their time and dismissed them. Yet, whether they accepted the offer or declined, they all seemed grateful to learn that their status in the guild would be improving. Once, the question of whether any minstrel would be able to continue being a part of Ingwë’s spy network if by chance they retook the exams and passed them arose.

“I do not see why not,” Valandur answered with a shrug. “That might prove useful in the future.” He gave the three minstrels sitting across from him a sly look. “I might even try to recruit my own atar in that case.” That brought chuckles from the others.

When the meeting broke up, Valandur dismissed Artelemnar, insisting he would not need him for the rest of the day. Once alone, he turned his attention to the paper for the convocation which was coming up soon, but his thoughts wandered and the longer he thought about recruiting his atar, the more intriguing the idea became: to actually be his own atar’s employer. It was a foolish thought, though, and on one level, rather unworthy of him. Voronwë was pompous and full of himself at times, but he was an excellent bard and a wonderful husband and parent. He deserved better consideration from his own son. He forcibly dismissed the idea and returned to his paper, consulting his notes on dialectal divergence, but as he worked, thoughts of Findis began to intrude and he sat there, staring out into the garden, wondering what she was up to and if she missed him. It was some time before he was able to get back to working on the paper.

****

When he had met with every minstrel and had received an answer one way or another from each of them except one, he went to see Ingwë and fill him in on the details. They were sitting in Ingwë’s study.

“Of the minstrels on the list Lirilissë gave me, three have declined our invitation, saying that they felt uncomfortable with the idea, but they are willing to take oath to you to remain silent about it. Two are willing to join but only as information gatherers. They do not wish to be involved any further than that. I have not heard back from Mistress Lirimíriel, but I have a feeling she will probably decline, given all that has happened between her and her sister.”

Ingwë nodded. “The rank of Minstrel is in the process of being revised. We are having senior journeymen take the first round of exams shortly, once they’ve had a chance to study for them. Should we recruit them as well?”

“Not by my counsel,” Valandur said. “We have fifteen proven minstrels, people who make their living as such, either as teachers or entertainers, well established in our society. For the journeymen, the rank of Minstrel is merely a stepping stone toward becoming full-fledged bards. I may decide to recruit any who do not pass the later exams and remain as minstrels, but I think for now we can just concentrate on the ones we have.”

“That seems logical,” Ingwë said in approval. Then he gave Valandur a measuring look. “How is the paper for the convocation coming along? I hope that all these extra duties have not hindered you in that regard.”

“The paper was written long ago,” Valandur replied, pointing at his temple. “I’ve only had to write it out and check my notes. My duties at the Academy are rather light as I am only teaching three classes at the moment.”

“Do you often teach more than that?” Ingwë enquired.

“No, but I have not been assigned any scheduled tutorials. Headmaster Laurelassë has not yet entrusted me with any. I will meet with students informally if they are having a problem with the class and ask for additional help, but that’s all.”

Ingwë frowned. “Is that the usual practice? I have to confess, I know little about the inner workings of the Academy.”

“It is unusual for a junior loremaster not to have at least one tutorial assigned to him, but it’s not unheard of,” Valandur replied, giving a shrug. “I think the headmaster wanted to see how I did with the larger lectures first. I barely made loremaster. In fact, I believe I was dead last in my particular class, which is why I have been astounded by all that has happened, from you appointing me to the trade delegation to the headmaster telling me that I was to present a paper to the convocation to Lord Manwë intimating that someday he might advance me to the rank of Manwendur.”

“It only proves that we recognize your worth, even if others do not,” Ingwë said. “And personally, I think you’ve done very well and have even exceeded my expectations. I am very pleased to know that I chose the right Elf for the job.”

Valandur felt himself blushing with the praise and thanked the High King softly.

“We’ll see you at the convocation, then,” Ingwë said in dismissal and Valandur gave him a proper bow and left.

****

Valandur was sitting in his rooms a few days later, working out his next lesson with Indil, when a visitor was announced.

“Guildmaster Lirilissë, welcome.” He gave the elleth a proper bow.

“I thought we should talk, Loremaster,” Lirilissë said stiffly.

“Please sit,” he said, pushing a pile of books off a chair and offering her a seat. “Would you care for some tea or wine?”

“Thank you, no,” the elleth said. “I do not believe I will be here long enough to enjoy either.”

Valandur resumed his own seat and gave her his attention. For a moment, neither spoke. Lirilissë studied his sitting room with an air of disapproval, which Valandur ignored. His ammë always despaired at the sight of what she referred to as ‘mess’ and he preferred to think of as ‘resources immediately at hand’. He sat patiently, waiting for Lirilissë to speak first. Finally, she turned her attention to him, her demeanor somewhat haughty.

“I do not approve of what you and the High King are doing.”

“And have you told His Majesty that?” Valandur asked with studied politeness.

Lirilissë’s expression turned sour. “His Majesty is far too busy to be bothered with me, it seems.”

Valandur kept his expression bland, but inside he was grinning. He could just imagine what Ingwë’s orders concerning Guildmaster Lirilissë were. “And so, unable to importune Ingwë, you’ve decided to pay me a visit instead.”

“Why did you have to interfere?” she demanded angrily.

Valandur raised an eyebrow. “Interfere in what, Guildmaster? It was Ingwë who unknowingly interfered with your plans. All he did was to ask me to take responsibility for the minstrels whom he had recruited.”

“I do not mean that,” Lirilissë insisted with a wave of a hand. “I meant Lirimíriel. I know you went to see her.”

“And so? I was ordered by Ingwë to speak with all the minstrels. I know you and your sister are estranged and I’m sorry for that, but that is hardly my fault. I have had to deal with the situation as I found it. Your sister, however reluctant, is a minstrel. I was ordered by the High King to interview all the minstrels. But, really, why do you care? Your sister’s future as a member of your guild is really not your affair.”

“What do you mean by that?” Lirilissë demanded with a sniff of disdain. “She is a member of the guild and I am her guildmaster.”

Valandur’s demeanor became brusque as he began to lose patience with the elleth. He leaned forward, pointing an accusatory finger at her for emphasis. “You forced her to rejoin the guild, rather than let her go her own way. You turned a rank of honor into one of dishonor simply out of pique, punishing the innocent along with the guilty, or at least, guilty in your eyes of defying you. Well, Ingwë and I are putting a stop to that. Your sister will probably not agree to join us. She appears content enough to remain a simple teacher of music to the children of farmers and I, for one, wish her well. Now, if that is all, Guildmaster, I have my own duties to attend to. Good day.”

“Well! I never!” the elleth exclaimed in self-important outrage.

“Obviously,” Valandur couldn’t help retorting, instantly regretting it, but refusing to apologize.

Lirilissë stood abruptly and without another word crossed the room and flung open the door, only to gasp in shock and step back as she came face-to-face with her twin, who was in the process of knocking on the door. The sisters stared at one another in uneasy silence. Valandur rose and joined them at the door.

“Mistress Lirimíriel, what a pleasant surprise. Please come in. No, no,” he said, taking her by the elbow and drawing her into the room when it looked as if she might turn and flee. “Please. It is well. Your sister was just leaving.”

Lirilissë, however, did not take the hint and instead remained where she was while Valandur offered Lirimíriel the seat her sister had vacated.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked solicitously as he took his own seat, watching the two sisters, so alike in features, so different in temperament. Lirilissë stood before the now closed door, staring at her twin while Lirimíriel sat staring back. Valandur decided not to intervene but to see where this unexpected meeting might lead. He leaned back, idly playing with the quill as he watched the interplay of emotions between the two ellith.

“How have you been, Miri?” Lirilissë finally asked in a tight voice.

“As if you care, Sister,” Lirimíriel responded.

“You are my sister, my twin. Of course I care,” the guildmaster protested.

“But not enough to let me go my own way,” the teacher retorted. “Well, to answer your question, I am doing well enough, thank you.” Then her tone turned sly. “I hear you’ve had a spot of trouble lately. Something about abusing your position as regards the minstrels?”

Lirilissë visibly paled and Valandur could sense that an explosion was about to happen. He debated with himself as to whether he should deflect the explosion or let it happen. He had the feeling that this confrontation was long overdue; he just wished it wasn’t happening in his sitting room.

“It was a mistake,” Lirilissë finally said.

“A mistake?” her sister countered, now standing to face her twin, her posture tense. “And what part of all this was a mistake? You creating the rank of Minstrel or you forcing me to rejoin the guild if I wanted to continue teaching? Or perhaps it was turning the rank of Minstrel into a badge of dishonor? It was bad enough you wished to punish me for defying you, but then you gave the rest of the guild license to disparage those unfortunates who failed to make master bard, turning them into second-class citizens, despised as songsters or teachers of elflings. Well, you overstepped your bounds, Sister, and I for one am glad.”

“I did all this for you, to give you another chance at becoming a bard, you ungrateful—”

“Did you? Well, perhaps you did and I appreciate it, but you failed to understand that I had no desire to return to the fold. I am sorry if I disappointed you in that respect, but I cannot help that. I found a new life that had nothing to do with the pompous asses who think that just because they are bards they are somehow better than the rest of us. I had to leave all that to realize it and I am even grateful for the fact that I failed to join their august band. I dread to think that I might well have become just as pompous.”

At that point, Valandur decided to enter into the conversation. “Mistress, was there a specific purpose for you coming to see me?”

She turned and gave him a chagrined look. “Sorry. I decided to give you my answer in person rather than send a note.”

“And what is your answer?” Valandur asked.

“Well, I was going to tell you that I was not interested in accepting your offer, but now…” She stole a look at her sister before returning her attention to Valandur. “But now, I have changed my mind. I am willing to pass on any information of which I feel His Majesty should be aware, but I am not willing to go any further than that, at least not at present.”

“Fair enough, and you are not the only one who has so stipulated, so do not feel as if you are somehow letting me or His Majesty down. Now, I have a few minutes. Perhaps we could discuss this in greater detail.”

Lirimíriel nodded, but instead of sitting, she turned to face her sister. “I am sorry, Liri, for everything. I hope someday you will forgive me.”

For a moment, the two simply stared at one another across a great divide and then, without a word of farewell, Lirilissë opened the door and left. Lirimíriel sighed and turned back to Valandur, taking her seat, her expression sad. Then she visibly pulled herself together and gave her attention to Valandur.

“So, Loremaster, just what do you wish me to do?”

****

The day before the convocation was Valanya and, as was his custom, Valandur dined with his family. As he was leaving to return to the Academy, his parents and sisters presented him with a gift, a new set of clothes especially made for the convocation.

“It’s just a meeting of the Academy body, nothing that special,” Valandur protested, feeling a bit embarrassed by the whole thing.

“To you it’s just a meeting, but to us it’s a very special day,” Voronwë explained and Marilla nodded while his sisters grinned. “We’ve never lost faith in you, yonya. We’ve watched you struggle to reach your goals and have wept with every setback and rejoiced at every triumph, however small. Your ammë and I have always felt you were destined for greatness, and tomorrow is proof of that.”

Valandur blushed at the unexpected praise and stammered his thanks, promising to wear the new garb, then took his leave of them.

The convocation would begin at the height of Laurelin’s blooming. After breaking his fast, Valandur carefully dressed in his new garb, a pale yellow-gold silk tunic embroidered with a green leaf-scroll pattern interspersed with blue and green tourmaline, his loremaster robe newly cleaned and pressed, his hair neatly braided with the gold and blue ribbons of the Academy. He re-read his paper, making last minute corrections, and poured himself a small glass of wine, feeling in need of some fortification when a sense of panic suddenly began to overwhelm him.

This was something he had dreamt about when he had sat in the audience listening to his masters speak of arcane matters well beyond his ability to fully understand, imagining himself standing before the Academy body. He did not think it would ever happen or if it did it would be many long yéni in the future. That it was happening now left him feeling stunned as the hour drew nearer. He fervently hoped he would not make a fool of himself, especially with his family there to see.

There was a knock on the door and he opened it to find Headmaster Laurelassë, smiling at him.

“Headmaster! What a surprise,” Valandur exclaimed as he ushered the ellon inside.

“This is a big day for you, isn’t it?” Laurelassë said in greeting.

“More than you can imagine,” Valandur replied with honest fervency.

“Oh, trust me, I have a very good imagination. I know you must be feeling very nervous. I just wanted to tell you that I would not have asked you to present this paper if I didn’t think you could do it justice. Think of it as just another lecture.”

“Except my parents and my sisters will be there and possibly the High King himself,” Valandur rejoined with a sardonic grin.

“I remember when I gave my first paper at a convocation,” Laurelassë said, smiling back. “I was so nervous I thought I would be sick right in front of everyone. One of my colleagues gave me a suggestion that helped.”

“And what suggestion was that?”

“Either to pick one person in the audience and give the talk to him or her or keep your eyes on the back wall and tell it what you wished to say and ignore the fact that the hall is full of people, people whom you know and who know you. Trust me, Val. We’re all on your side.”

“How do the other masters feel about it, though?”

“You mean, having a junior loremaster present a paper when it’s never been done before, or having you specifically give the paper?” Laurelassë rejoined, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

Valandur blinked, suddenly not sure which he meant when presented with the question. Laurelassë saved him the bother of an answer. “The truth is,” he said more soberly, “some of the older masters were a bit upset at the thought that someone so new to his rank would be offered the opportunity to speak at the convocation when usually one can wait yéni before one is offered the chance, but all of them agreed that you were quite capable of pulling it off. As I said, we’re on your side and if the other junior loremasters feel any resentment, well, perhaps they’ll feel less so if it is intimated that perhaps they, too, might be offered the chance to speak at a future convocation.”

Valandur raised an eyebrow and gave the headmaster a slow smile. “Has anyone told you what a terribly devious person you are, Headmaster?”

“Not recently, and not in those exact words,” Laurelassë retorted. “Now, I must go and see that everything is ready. You will be all right?”

“Yes, thank you. I appreciate you coming to speak to me. I promise, I will not let you down.”

“You never have before, yonya, I doubt you’ll start now. I will see you again shortly. Best be off now. We’ll be starting within the hour.” With that, Laurelassë left and Valandur gathered his notes and made his way to the masters’ common room where all those who would be presenting papers were congregated. There were four others and Valandur would present his paper last, which meant by the time he did speak, most of the audience would probably be asleep and the guests gone. Well, it would be what it would be.

The other masters greeted him politely, congratulating him on his being asked to speak and enquiring about his duties at the palace, for they all knew that he was tutoring the princess and acting as a consultant to the High King. Valandur answered politely if a bit vaguely about his duties, saying only that he had learned much in the short time he had been in Ingwë’s employ.

And then it was time to begin and they filed into the large audience hall. Valandur took his seat on the stage along with the others. Headmaster Laurelassë was already there welcoming the students and other masters and any guests. Valandur kept his eyes on Laurelassë’s back, refusing to see where his family was sitting or if the High King was there. Laurelassë was introducing each of the speakers, and Valandur rose and bowed when his turn came. Then the first presenter, Master Calamíriel, stood and began speaking about the latest findings in crystallography and the suspected properties of rubies and other gems. She was followed by one of the masters who specialized in mathematics and physics, speaking about a new theorem concerning energy and something he called thermodynamics.

Each speaker was limited to half an hour and the time was strictly enforced. “Otherwise, they are likely to continue speaking into the middle of the next week if we don’t set a time limit,” Laurelassë had told Valandur with a wicked gleam in his eyes as the two had been discussing the convocation at one point. Valandur had chuckled, knowing full well how most loremasters loved to talk.

One by one the masters stood and presented their papers. Valandur tried to pay attention to what was being said even if he understood only parts of it, but he was feeling too nervous and excited and he wondered if anyone would actually like his talk. He imagined his parents dutifully sitting somewhere in the audience — from where he was sitting, he really could not see where they were, though he had looked — pretending interest while his sisters fidgeted and sighed in boredom. He had no idea if Ingwë was even there. Well he would find out eventually. In the meantime, Master Amaniel was finishing up and everyone applauded politely as she sat and Laurelassë stood to introduce Valandur.

“And now we come to our final presenter,” he said. “Master Valandur is one of our newer loremasters, and it is unusual to ask a junior loremaster to speak in any of these convocations, but Master Valandur recently had the opportunity to do some, shall we say, field research in the area of language drift and I felt it was important enough that we all hear what he has to say about it. Master Valandur?”

Laurelassë turned to Valandur and he stood and went to the podium, placing his notes on it. He glanced out at the audience, noticing his fellow junior loremasters, some of whom were his friends, like Hallacar and Itarillë. She gave him a brilliant smile when their eyes met. He saw his students, all of them looking rather bored and uninterested and he suddenly decided that at their next meeting he would quiz them on what the other masters had spoken about. Then he saw his parents and sisters, perhaps two-thirds back. His atar was sitting gravely, dressed formally in his bard’s tabard, while his ammë gave him a brief wave of her hand and smiled. His sisters seemed to straighten in their seats and look interested. He could not see Ingwë and felt a brief stab of disappointment, but then put it aside. The High King had more important things to do than sit around for nearly three hours being bored.

There was a restive feeling in the air as the audience fidgeted impatiently without making it obvious, knowing that relief from tedium was near and soon they would be enjoying light refreshments and the Academy’s best wines. Valandur cleared his throat.

“I be thanking Headmaster Laurelassë for this opportunity to be speaking with ye all and I be pleased to be telling ye all that I be learning about dialectal divergences amongst our clans.”

Just about everyone sat up straight and suddenly he had their complete attention. Valandur smiled.

****

Notes on color and gemstones:

1. Yellow symbolizes wisdom and is full of creative and intellectual energy. A clean light yellow promotes clarity of the mind. Yellow-gold is the color of Sunday for obvious reasons.

2. Blue tourmaline is a rare form of tourmaline that promotes calm and relief from stress, while green tourmaline stimulates creativity and brings a joy for life.

43: Many Meetings

“…So, in conclusion, we must remember that language is a living, breathing thing. It grows and develops and changes over time, just as we do. Those of us who remember Cuiviénen can see that the language we spoke in our youth is not the language we speak today and it would be foolish to try to return to that earlier time. Arguments on retaining linguistic purity are ill-conceived and ultimately pointless: people will speak as they please and the loremasters be damned. Evolution is inevitable and while those of us who study language might deplore the changes, we cannot stop them nor should we try. Rather, we should rejoice in our differences while ensuring that we remain comprehensible to one another. The Noldor are becoming divided, philosophically and linguistically, because of the changes some of them have made in the way they speak. There is a danger in that for us all, for if we are not careful, we can end up using language as a weapon against our kith and kin… and the Valar help us all if that day ever comes. Thank you.”

The applause was deafening and several members of the audience actually rose in ovation, including Valandur’s family. Looking out upon the hall, he could see the pride in his parents’ expressions, with Atar actually smiling and Ammë crying. His sisters also looked very happy for him. Headmaster Laurelassë approached the podium, clapping.

“Well done, yonya. Well done, indeed,” he said softly while Valandur stood there, feeling a bit stunned by the response to his talk. Laurelassë raised a hand and the applause reluctantly ceased. “Thank you, Master Valandur, for an illuminating talk, and thanks to our other masters for sharing their research with us. I am sure that we have all much to think upon in the days and weeks to come. Now, the reception will be held in the main refectory. Students, you are dismissed and are not required to attend if you do not wish to. Thank you all.”

With that, the convocation ended and the audience began to leave, many of the students eager to be out, not at all interested in attending some boring reception. As he was leaving the stage with the other masters, Valandur recalled with humor his own student days and how he and his friends would hurry back to their rooms to change out of their formal robes and into something more comfortable and then hie themselves to the nearest tavern to spend hours discussing their masters and other arcane subjects. Now, as a master himself, he was forced to attend the reception, but he did not really mind.

Master Calamíriel gave him a smile as they walked toward the refectory. “I think you were a success, young Valandur.”

“Apparently,” he said shyly. “I expected to be speaking to a near-empty hall, or at least one where most of the audience were on the Path of Dreams and only pretending to be listening.”

Calamíriel laughed lightly. “The hazard of having to go last, I’m afraid. Usually, we simply draw lots, and that was true with us four, but Laurelassë purposely had you speak last.”

“Because I am only a junior loremaster,” Valandur said with a nod of understanding.

“Partly,” Calamíriel admitted, “but also because, as you must know, people remember best what they heard last. Laurelassë is no fool, I assure you, nor are the rest of us blind. What you had to say was vitally important to us all. We needed to hear your message. Now, if I’m not mistaken, I believe there are some people who wish to greet you.”

Valandur looked about, realizing that they had entered the refectory and he saw his parents and sisters waiting impatiently to greet him. He gave Calamíriel a bow, thanking her softly, before joining his family. Marilla gave him a hug and his sisters all gave him kisses. Voronwë just nodded, his look of approval all that Valandur needed.

“A most interesting day,” Voronwë said. “I can see why the speakers are given a time limit. I imagine if there wasn’t one we would still be listening to the first speaker ramble on.”

Valandur chuckled. “For which we can be thankful. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m parched. Should we find the line for the drinks and—”

There was a stir among the crowd and then people were stepping back and bowing and curtseying as Ingwë and Elindis, along with their children and, surprisingly, Intarion, entered the room and made their way directly to where Valandur and his family were standing. What shocked Valandur more than seeing the Vanyarin royal family was the sight of Olwë of Alqualondë walking beside Ingwë, smiling hugely. Valandur felt, rather than saw, his parents and sisters give their obeisance to the royals while he could only stand there.

“An excellent talk, Master Valandur,” Ingwë announced. “We were quite pleased with your presentation. Bard Voronwë, Mistress Marilla, you should be very proud of your son.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Voronwë said. “We are. We have always been proud of our son, of all our children. They are a source of blessing and joy for us.”

“As well they should be. What did you think, Cousin?” Ingwë asked Olwë.

The Teler gave Valandur a searching look. “I think I should have kept you in Alqualondë and had you enter my service instead.”

Ingwë laughed. “Now that would’ve been the trick, having a pet Vanya at your beck and call.”

Olwë grinned, turning to Valandur. “Well done, yonya. I can see why Lord Ulmo had you brought to Alqualondë.”

“Lord Ulmo?” Marilla asked, giving her son a puzzled look. “Alqualondë? When did you go to Alqualondë? You never spoke of it.”

Valandur blushed. “It was nothing, Ammë.”

“Nothing! The Lord of Waters summons you to Alqualondë and grants you an audience and you say it was nothing?” Marilla huffed in disbelief. “I suppose next you will tell us that you have tea with the Elder King himself on a daily basis and it is all in a day’s work.”

The royals all laughed. “Even I cannot claim that, Mistress,” Ingwë said, giving them a wink. He turned to Valandur, his expression now unreadable. “I think your son has left out a great many details of his adventures while he was away.”

“And now I must wonder what else he hasn’t told us, Your Majesty,” Voronwë said, casting a glare at Valandur who felt as if he was being ganged up on.

“Yes, what have you not told them, my love?”

Everyone startled at the strange voice and they turned almost as one to see an elleth standing at the door with another. She had thrown back the hood of her cloak but her companion remained hooded and did not move. Valandur could only goggle at the sight of Findis standing there, giving him a cheeky grin. Everyone else watched with interest as they sensed a drama about to unfold.

Ingwë was the first to recover. “Findis, my child, what are you doing here?” He held out his hands.

Findis came to them with her companion following and gave Ingwë a kiss in greeting. “I came to hear Val speak, of course, Uncle. Why else would I be here? Hello, Aunt Elindis. You’re looking well.”

“But how did you get here?” Ingwë insisted, looking befuddled. “Lord Aulë told me you were sequestered and by your atar’s orders no less.”

Findis waved a hand in dismissal and sniffed in disdain. “My atar can issue as many orders as he wishes, but they have nothing to do with me. I ran away.”

Now Valandur stepped in before anyone else could speak. “You ran away? How do you run away from Valmar, Findis, without any of the Valar knowing, never mind all the unclad Maiar? Do you think that you could so easily leave Valmar without them knowing full well what you are about? Are you that naïve?” His voice dripped with scorn.

She glared at him in anger. “What would you know about it?”

“I think I know enough to know that there is no way you left Valmar without every Vala and Maia in Aman being aware of your little escapade.”

“Escapade, is it? Well, I’ll have you know that I escaped from Lord Aulë’s with the help of one of his own Maiar, Aiwendil,” she announced triumphantly.

At this point, Intarion intervened, casting an amused look Valandur’s way. “She really thinks she’s gotten away with this, doesn’t she?”

Valandur snorted in amusement. “Really, Findis, Intarion is correct. None of us are fools. If Aiwendil helped you to escape it was by Lord Aulë’s orders. You have many talents, my dear, but suborning a Maia is not one of them.”

“Why you—” She started to raise her hand to slap him but he moved first, pinning her arms so that they were locked together in an embrace, staring into each other’s eyes. Ignoring the shocked silence of the spectators, Valandur smiled faintly. “Miss me?” he asked softly.

“What do you think, you stupid Vanya,” Findis retorted and then she wrenched a hand from his grasp, grabbed the back of his neck, forcing his head down, and then she was kissing him with great fervency and he returned the favor. Valandur heard the gasps of shock from the spectators, the moan of disbelief from his ammë and Indil’s squeal of adolescent delight, but it was Ingwë clearing his throat that forced the two apart. Valandur reluctantly let Findis go, stepping back and giving Ingwë a bow.

“Forgive me, Sire. I—”

Ingwë dismissed his apology with a wave of a hand. “I think you’ll be calling me Uncle before long, Valandur, so do not distress yourself.” He gave Findis a significant look. “We’ll discuss this later, my dear.”

Findis merely smirked, not at all repentant.

“But who is your companion, dear?” Elindis asked, breaking into the awkward silence that had fallen between the parties.

“I’ll let him introduce himself,” Findis replied and her companion pushed back his hood. Valandur saw a Noldo, his clear grey eyes full of wisdom and mirth, as if he looked upon the world and found it absurd.

“Master Rúmil!” Ingwë exclaimed. “This is indeed an honor.”

The Noldo reverenced the royals. “The honor is mine, Ingwë Ingaran.”

“I knew Master Rúmil would enjoy hearing Val’s talk, so I invited him to join me,” Findis said.

“You just happened to stop at Master Rúmil’s house while effecting your so-called escape,” Valandur retorted with disbelief.

“Something like that,” Findis shot back with a sniff.

Rúmil chuckled. “Actually, I was visiting with Lord Aulë and Lady Yavanna when they told me about the convocation and you, Master Valandur. I expressed some interest in attending and they arranged for me to come here, along with Lady Findis.”

“Oh? So they let you go, did they?” Ingwë said to Findis, who blushed, refusing to look at anyone.

“Lord Aulë practically begged me to take your niece away for a time,” Rúmil said with a light laugh.

“Actually, my exact words were: take the blessed child off my hands before I do something stupid that we will all regret.”

“Oh Valar!” Valandur’s ammë whispered in shock as the Master Smith of Arda materialized before them. Voronwë had to grab her before she fell into a faint.

“Just one Vala, Ammë,” Valandur couldn’t help saying, evincing nonchalance as he gave Aulë a bow of his head. “Don’t make it out to be more than it is.” He felt more than saw several eyebrows rising.

Aulë grinned widely, turning to Findis. “Now I know why you want to marry this ellon, my dear. Good on you.”

“At any rate,” Rúmil interjected, “I want to congratulate you on a job well done, Master Valandur. You and I should talk before I return to Valmar. I am staying at the Bowman’s Rest. Perhaps you would join me for a meal.”

Valandur gave Rúmil a bow. “Thank you. I look forward to it. I am free tomorrow, if that suits you.”

“Good. Good. Now, I will leave you all. No, no. I am perfectly capable of seeing myself out, thank you. Your Majesties.” He gave the royals his obeisance, nodded to Aulë, kissed Findis on the cheek and made his way out, leaving everyone else standing about staring at one another.

Aulë was the first to stir. “Well, I’m off. Findis, I will see you next week.”

“Yes, my lord,” Findis said humbly, giving the Vala a curtsey.

“Good work, my son,” the Vala said to Valandur. “Ingwë, Olwë, I’ll see you both on Valanya.”

It was not a question but a command and both kings acknowledged it with bows. Then the Vala was gone. For a long moment there was absolute silence and then everyone started speaking at once, demanding answers, while Valandur and Findis stood silently, lost in each other’s gaze.

“Will someone kindly tell us what is going on?” he heard his atar demand.

“Enough!” Ingwë called out sharply and silence reigned once again. “Headmaster, I do apologize for all of this. Please accept our congratulations for a most successful convocation. We look forward to attending the next one.”

“Your Majesty is too kind,” Laurelassë replied. “On behalf of the Academy, I thank you for your patronage.”

“Come along, everyone. I think we’ve imposed upon the good graces of the loremasters long enough. Valandur, you and your family will attend Us.”

Valandur resisted a sigh, giving Ingwë a bow. “Of course, Sire.”

Ingwë proffered his arm to his queen and with Olwë on his other side, they exited the refectory with the royal children following. Findis linked arms with Valandur and Intarion and joined the exodus with Valandur’s family bringing up the rear, joined by two of Ingwë’s guards who had waited in the hall outside.

Indil, walking between her brothers, kept stealing glances behind her, grinning at Valandur and Findis. “Is there to be a wedding, Ingwi?” she asked the elder twin, sounding quite excited by the prospect.

“Hush, little flower,” Ingwion admonished his sister gently, taking one of her hands while Ingalaurë took the other. “Thou’rt in public. Comport thyself accordingly.”

Indil subsided with a dejected sigh and Ingwion looked back at Valandur, giving him a smile and a slight shrug. Valandur smiled back in sympathetic understanding of dealing with younger sisters. No one else spoke out loud, though there was fierce whispering going on between his parents. Valandur refused to listen. Intarion leaned slightly forward to speak to Findis and Valandur.

“This is quite the surprise, Cousin, you showing up as you have. I have the feeling that Lord Aulë was behind your so-called escape all along.”

Findis merely sniffed in disdain. Intarion and Valandur exchanged amused looks but remained silent after that as the party made its way through the city and to the palace where Ingwë began issuing orders for a light repast to be made. He dismissed the guards with thanks and asked Elindis to escort the ellith to where they might refresh themselves, while he had Ingwion do the same for Valandur and Voronwë.

“And then bring them to the dining room,” he added as he took Olwë by the arm and the two kings went their own way.

“Please follow me, my dears,” Elindis said smoothly. “Yes, you too, Indil. Take Findis’ hand.”

“Come on,” Ingwion said to Valandur with a jerk of his head. “We’ll take you to our suite. Coming, Inti?”

“Right behind you, Cousin,” Intarion said and Valandur gestured for his atar to join them.

Neither Valandur nor Voronwë spoke the entire time as they took turns using the twins’ privy and washing up. Valandur could see that Their Highnesses were dying to speak, but they had been too well trained in propriety to importune Valandur with questions that they knew would be addressed by Ingwë, and for that, he was grateful. What his atar thought of it all, he could not say. Voronwë’s expression was unreadable to him. As they made their way to the dining room, they were met by the ellith. Valandur could see that his ammë and sisters were feeling rather overwhelmed as they looked about them in amazement at the opulence and grandeur of the palace. He gave them a sympathetic smile, no longer overawed by his surroundings.

Entering the dining room, he saw servants busily setting up a buffet while Ingwë and Olwë were standing off to one side with goblets in their hands. They turned as one and greeted everyone with smiles.

“Good, we’re all here,” Ingwë said. “Please help yourselves to refreshments. Val, lead the way.”

Valandur bowed and headed for the buffet. Elindis encouraged Voronwë and Marilla to follow and soon everyone was lining up with Ingwë, Elindis and Olwë at the end. Once they all had a plate and were taking seats at Ingwë’s direction, with Valandur and his family sitting directly across from the royals, the servants were dismissed with thanks by Elindis and the doors were closed, leaving them to themselves.

“Eat first, discuss matters after,” Ingwë ordered and he followed words with action.

Valandur looked down the table to where Findis was seated between Indil and Ingalaurë. She gave him a brief smile and then began eating. Valandur turned his attention to his own plate.

“Please do eat, my dears,” Elindis said softly to Valandur’s family, for they just sat there, not quite sure what was happening or why. “I promise, my lord husband rarely barks and never bites.”

Ingwë’s response to that was an undignified snort as he took a sip of wine, casting a merry look at Valandur. “As your son can attest,” he said.

Valandur said nothing, merely smiling back, and perhaps that, more than anything, assured his parents, for Marilla softly chivvied her daughters and soon they were all eating. As it was merely a light repast and not a full meal, they did not linger over their plates long. Finally, Ingwë looked up from his own plate, pushing it away a bit and refreshing his goblet of wine. Elindis rang a bell sitting on the table before her and the door opened.

“You may clear the table, Elenwendë, and have tea brought,” she ordered.

“Very good, my lady,” the servant said with a quick curtsey and then the other servants entered and began clearing the table. Tea was brought almost immediately, along with plates of sweet almond biscuits and then they were alone once again.

Ingwë gave Valandur a significant look. “I, of course, know the entire story, but perhaps you should tell it from the beginning so all may hear.”

Valandur nodded, then turned to look at his atar. “There were some things I did not tell you, not because I was ashamed or anything, but because I thought it wasn’t necessary for you to know.”

“You have never kept any secrets from us before,” Voronwë said, looking disturbed.

“I would have told you eventually,” Valandur assured him, “but some of it was… very personal,” he stole a glance at Findis, “and nothing would come of it anyway, so what did it matter?”

“What I don’t understand is, why were you in Alqualondë?” Marilla asked. “What reason would you have of going there in the first place, dear? You don’t know anyone there.”

“Well, I do now, Ammë,” Valandur said with a smile, nodding at Olwë, who nodded back. “And believe me I had no intention of going there, though I was curious to see the city. Well, let me start from the beginning, then. I told you about renewing my acquaintance with Minalcar and his family.” His parents and sisters nodded. “Well, what I did not tell you was that one Valanya, they invited me to join them for the day. We traveled down the Calacirya and found a lovely cove just to the north where we had a picnic. While we were there a swan ship came sailing around the headland and….”

It took some time to tell it all: his meeting with Lord Ulmo (though he refused to say what had passed between them), the storm and his eventual return to Tirion and the events that followed, leading to the fire and all that occurred from that, including the trial. For the most part, no one interrupted, though once or twice Voronwë asked some clarifying questions and both Ingwë and Olwë added their own comments about events as they directly concerned them. Valandur ended his narrative with his leaving Tirion and Ingwë then spoke.

“When we stopped at Valmar, I tried to speak with Findis, as I wished to hear her side of the story, but Lord Aulë refused me audience.”

Findis, who never looked up or spoke the entire time Valandur was speaking, now gave a snort of derision. “When I found out, I told him off. Vala he may be, but he does not own me. I may have been forced to go to Valmar, but no one could force me to stay and be the biddable daughter. I made Lord Aulë’s life miserable, I assure you. He was very glad to see me go.”

“And yet, he expects you back within the week,” Valandur could not help commenting. “How does that work again?”

Findis gave him a huff of annoyance. “I only promised to return so he would let me go.”

“But you will return, Daughter,” Ingwë said solemnly, speaking more as High King than as a doting uncle, “and you will be obedient to Lord Aulë and his people and learn from them what they will teach you.”

“Yes, Sire,” Findis said humbly, but Valandur could see the anger behind the meekness and he decided to defuse it.

“Well, it’s just as well,” he said with studied nonchalance. “Dealing with one adolescent elleth is hard enough without dealing with two.”

“Why you!” Findis shouted, practically knocking her chair over as she suddenly stood. “How dare you!”

Valandur also stood, though more slowly, now showing his own anger. “Yes, adolescent,” he reiterated. “Honestly Findis, I expect something like that out of Indil or, the Valar help me, my own sisters.”

“Hey!” all four ellith exclaimed in affronted fury.

Valandur ignored them as he concentrated on Findis. “You may be the daughter of the Noldóran, but you act like a child being denied her sweet.”

“I thought you loved me, that you would be happy to see me,” Findis shouted.

“Of course I love you. Don’t ever think otherwise, and of course I’m happy to see you, but not like this. Not with you insisting the rules don’t apply to you simply because you are Findis Finwiel. Your atar was right about one thing.”

“And what was that, pray tell?” Findis sniffed.

“You are too young to marry,” Valandur retorted. Findis actually paled and Ingalaurë had to grab her arm to steady her. Valandur sighed, giving them all a rueful look. His atar appeared appalled by what was happening but, oddly enough, his ammë nodded at him approvingly. What Ingwë thought of it all was anyone’s guess, for the High King’s expression was completely unreadable. He turned back to Findis, and seeing the hurt and confusion in her eyes, he went around the table and took her by the shoulders so she was looking at him. “Most people these days don’t marry until they’re at least three yéni old. You haven’t even seen two. There is so much you need to learn in the meantime.”

“I thought if I came here and forced the issue, Atar would have to accept that I want no other as my husband but you and propriety be damned. What has that to do with anything? It’s an artificial means of putting people in their places but who decides who is worthy of honor or respect? What gives us the right to dictate who is good enough and who is not? The Valar don’t. They treat us all the same. I’ve seen it. Lord Aulë and Lady Yavanna treat me no differently or better than they treat Orondur, a young ellon in Lord Aulë’s service whose parents own a tavern in Eldamas.”

“Forcing Finwë’s hand will only bring estrangement between the two clans, Findis,” Ingwë interjected. “I quite agree with you to a certain extent. Somehow, we Eldar have stratified our society and have decided that because someone has a title that he or she is more worthy of respect and honor than someone who does not. It’s unfortunate but it is what it is. However, if you and Valandur truly love one another, I see no reason why you should not marry. As High King, I can overrule Finwë on this, but I prefer not to. He must come to acceptance on his own.”

“Then he will never come to acceptance,” Findis said with a despairing sigh, “not so long as he sees Val as just a common loremaster with pretensions to better himself through me.”

“Yes, well, as the atar of three daughters myself, dear,” Voronwë said with a grin, “I can assure you that were the ellyn handpicked by Lord Manwë himself, they would still not be good enough for them. It is the way of things where daughters are concerned, I’m afraid.”

“Very true, I have no doubt,” Olwë said, “but really, Ingwë, I think between the two of us, we can convince Finwë of the error of his ways. Why don’t you simply give Valandur a title, make him a lord of the land, a member of your privy council? Finwë can’t object to that. It’s your right and privilege to advance whomever you please.”

“Perhaps,” Ingwë replied with a nod, “but Finwë may see it as a ploy to force his hand and he would be correct.”

“Yet, as young as she is, Findis is of age to make up her own mind,” Elindis put in. “I think we should simply allow them to marry and let the die fall where they may.”

Ingwë furrowed his eyebrows in deep thought, then looked at Findis. “You realize that your atar may banish you from Tirion, from your family. Is that what you want?”

“No, of course not, but if that is what he wants, then so be it. I do have other family, do I not, or would you banish us as well?”

“No, I would not. For one thing, I value Valandur too much to let him go his own way, and for another, the only other place you could go would be Alqualondë and I don’t want Olwë to get his hands on you, Loremaster.”

“Well, there’s always the Southern Fiefdom,” Valandur shot back with a shrug. “Ando Tarassëo seemed like a nice place, wouldn’t you agree, dearest?” He gave Findis a sly grin to which she merely sniffed and refused to respond.

“Well, this is all well and good, but what exactly is to be done, Your Majesty?” Voronwë asked.

“For now, nothing,” Ingwë answered. “Findis will return to Valmar as she promised and continue her studies. Your son will continue serving the Academy and me. We will let things remain as they are for the present, while Olwë and I work to convince our brother ruler that he would be foolish to stand in the way of true love.”

“And don’t forget your sister, dear,” Elindis reminded him. “She can help. I am sure she approves of the match. Indeed she told me as much in her last letter.”

Ingwë nodded. “Indeed. With Indis on our side, Finwë doesn’t stand a chance.” Olwë chuckled in agreement.

“But how long must we wait?” Findis demanded. “And what if Atto arranges a betrothal with one of his own lords in the meantime?”

“Hmm…. I hadn’t thought of that,” Ingwë said with a frown.

“Well, the answer to that is quite simple, my children.”

Everyone startled to their feet in shock as Lord Manwë appeared in their midst and they hastily began giving him their obeisance.

“No, don’t bother with all that,” the Elder King commanded. “Really, there are times when I have to wonder about you Children. The answer is plain and simple: have them be betrothed.”

“Against Finwë’s wishes, my lord?” Ingwë asked. “He’ll just have the betrothal annulled.”

“Well, he can’t annul it if I am the chief witness,” Manwë shot back with some exasperation, “I and all the other Valar.”

With those words the room was flooded with multicolored lights, temporarily blinding the Elves and when they could see again, blinking away the tears of pain, they found all fourteen of the Valar there. Looking at them, Valandur had the distinct impression that they were feeling rather smug about it all, even Lord Námo, who held two large pieces of vellum in his hands.

“Oh, and we need Eönwë as well,” Manwë said and the smell of lavender and lovage filled the air as the Herald of the Elder King made an appearance, a blue leather-bound book in his hands. Manwë gestured for Námo to hand over the pieces of vellum, and for Valandur and Findis to come nearer. Ingwë hastily cleared a spot on the table so Manwë could lay the vellum down. Valandur could see that they were a betrothal contract and a copy, both beautifully illuminated.

“Now, I believe that all the particulars are properly recorded,” Manwë said. “As the eldest male member of Findis’ family, Ingwë, you, of course, have final approval of the stipulations.”

Ingwë bent over to read the contract, quickly scanning it. “It appears to be in order and the brideprice is certainly within your means, Valandur, especially once I make you a lord of the land, and Findis’ dowry is quite adequate, as well I know. Finwë cannot deny her what is her legal due.”

“True, though I wouldn’t put it past him to try,” Námo said with a grin. “I may have to pay him a visit if he proves… difficult.”

Every Elf in the room paled at the implications of those words from the Lord of Mandos. Valandur suddenly realized that none of them truly understood Lord Námo’s role among the Valar or what the purpose was behind the Halls of Mandos. This Vala was a mystery to them, more so than any of the other Ainur.

“Well, be that as it may,” Manwë rejoined, “I think we can go ahead with this. I suggest though that the actual wedding be delayed. Findis must finish her studies and Valandur still has some growing up to do as well. Shall we say, in twelve years? Yes, that should be sufficient time for Finwë to get used to the idea.”

The Valar all chuckled and even some of the Elves grinned.

“Twelve years!” Findis objected.

“By then you will be two yéni old, dear,” Elindis said soothingly, “and your studies will be over and Valandur firmly established. It really is not that long, all things considered. Why, I think I spent a good ten years convincing Ingwë to marry me.” She gave her husband a coy look.

“I thought that it was I who had to do the convincing,” Ingwë said, kissing her, “at least, according to our daughter.”

They both looked down the table at Indil, who blushed, while her brothers and Intarion laughed. The Valar all had indulgent smiles.

“Well, then it’s settled,” Manwë said and passed a hand over the contracts and the length of the betrothal appeared in the writings of both. He then passed one copy to Voronwë. “And do you agree with the stipulations, Child?”

Voronwë read over the contract quickly and nodded. “Yes, my lord, I do, but if I might ask, why are you doing this?”

“Let us say that we have a vested interest in the future,” the Elder King said, and the quick glance Manwë gave Námo, who merely nodded, did not escape Valandur’s notice. “So all parties agree,” Manwë continued. “We need only sign the contracts and the deed is done.” He gestured and a quill and a bottle of ink appeared. Manwë dipped the quill into the ink and handed it to Ingwë, who signed both copies as Findis’ representative and then handed the quill to Voronwë, who signed on behalf of Valandur. Then, one by one, starting with Manwë, the Valar came and added their own signatures as witnesses. Once that was done and the ink was drying, Varda produced two silver promise rings and before them all, Valandur and Findis exchanged them, speaking their vows which Eönwë dutifully recorded. Manwë smiled at the couple.

“Now, I think we will leave you to celebrate. Be of good cheer, my children. Twelve years is not very long, after all, and you both have much to accomplish in the meantime.” Then he kissed them both and gave them a blessing before turning to Ingwë. “I suggest you make the announcement soon. Aulë will keep one copy of the contract for Findis’ sake.” With that, the Valar and Eönwë faded away, along with one of the contracts, leaving the Elves to themselves once again.

For a moment, no one moved or spoke, and then Ingwë reached for his goblet. “Let us toast the happy couple,” he said and everyone else raised their own goblets while Valandur and Findis stood shyly gazing into each other’s eyes.

****

Ainur: Plural of Ainu: ‘Holy One, angelic spirit’, adopted and adapted from Valarin ayanuz as the name used by the Elves to indicate one of the ‘order’ of the Valar and Maiar, made before Eä.

Notes:

1. Twelve Valian years is equal to 115 solar years.

2. Some might consider the Valar’s actions here somewhat arbitrary in light of their inaction during the crisis with the fire in the Southern Fiefdoms, and there is some justification to this. However, one should keep in mind that we are at a very early stage in the history of the Elves in Valinor (Melkor is still imprisoned in Mandos) and both they and the Valar are still feeling their way. The Elves are relatively new to ‘civilization’ as we would define it today, and the Valar are like children with a new toy, trying to figure out how it works. Thus, we have the situation with the fire where the Valar did not intervene immediately, wanting to know how the Elves would react to the crisis.

Here, the Valar are intervening because of Finwë’s obstinacy, ignoring the opinions and the counsel of his fellow kings, as well as Manwë. This is an attempt on the part of the Valar to show Finwë who is ‘boss’, exerting their authority. The Valar may even be subconsciously responding to the pride and growing haughtiness of the Noldor, seeing in an inchoate way the unrest that is beginning to plague them, even before Melkor’s release, and they do not realize that their actions might contribute to it.

A careful rereading of In Darkness Bound and the Elf, Interrupted series will show just how the Valar have had to learn from their own mistakes in interacting with the Eldar, whom they admit are a source of unending interest, for they had no hand in their creation and they remain a mystery.

My thanks to Alassiel for raising the question and to Ellie for her insight on the Valar and their motives.

44: Epilogue: The Road Once More

Year of the Trees 1202:

Valandur rode between Intarion and Artelemnar in the midst of the royal cavalcade heading for Valmar. He glanced back to where his atar rode beside Sairon, one of the three minstrels who accompanied them, the two of them speaking animatedly. Further behind were the carriages carrying, among others, his ammë and sisters, as well as Queen Elindis and the Princess Indil. He turned his attention forward to where Ingwë rode with his sons and Ingoldo, the High King’s banner before them all in the hands of Lord Lassezel, acting as standard-bearer.

He recalled a similar cavalcade twelve years earlier, going in the opposite direction, when he thought himself disgraced and out of favor and his love lost. And now, he was returning by the same route to claim his love. He thought back upon those years and smiled. They had been busy ones for Valandur. Ingwë had delayed raising him to his present status as a lord of the realm for several years, stating that he had not yet earned it, and rightfully so. Finwë had not been impressed when he did. Indeed, from the very first, he was against the marriage, stating that Ingwë could adopt Valandur for all he cared but he would always remain a commoner in the Noldóran’s eyes and therefore unworthy of marrying his daughter.

When Finwë learned about the betrothal, he apparently went into a rage, or so the story went. Rumors abounded and even Valandur with his network of minstrel spies could not ascertain the entire truth. All anyone knew was that the Noldóran made his way to Valmar, presumably to reclaim his daughter and return her to Tirion, but when he finally left Valmar, he left alone and Findis remained with Lord Aulë. Valandur often wondered if Lord Námo had done as he had threatened and had subjected Finwë to a little chat. Whether he had or not, the end result was the same: Finwë capitulated.

In the meantime, Valandur continued teaching at the Academy and working with Ingwë. At one point, he was able to spend almost an entire year living in Eldamas, much to his and Findis’ delight. During that time, he studied the way the Elves who served the Valar directly interacted, both socially and linguistically, with their masters and the Maiar. He also studied the interaction between these Elves and those who lived and worked in Eldamas but did not serve the Valar and had little contact with them or the Maiar. It had proved to be a most interesting study, and, surprisingly enough, Lord Oromë had assisted him in his research.

“I could teach you the language of birds and beasts,” he told Valandur when he offered his help, “but I do not think that is where your interest lies.”

“Tell me about Valarin, instead, my lord,” he suggested. “Teach me your language.”

Oromë had smiled in a way that told Valandur the Vala found the idea of any Elda being able to learn Valarin ridiculous, and after the first lesson, he was almost in agreement. By the time Oromë finished with him, he confessed his throat felt as if he’d been gargling with sand. The Vala had laughed and handed him a goblet of miruvórë, the cool liquid easing his throat almost instantly. Still, he persevered, and while he never became fluent (and Oromë insisted that no Elda ever could), he did learn enough to be considered an expert in the language, especially with regards to how the Elves, the Vanyar in particular, had adopted and adapted certain Valarin words into their own language and how that reflected the way the Elves saw their world.

The paper he presented to the Academy on the subject had been well received, at least among the Vanyar. The lambengolmor of Tirion were silent on the matter. Indeed, they were silent about a great many things that did not pertain directly to the Noldor. Apparently Prince Fëanáro had convinced some of his fellow loremasters that anything that came out of the Academy in Vanyamar was specious and not to be trusted. That had not set well with Ingwë, but not everyone in Tirion had agreed with the prince’s assessment, which most recognized as stemming from his hatred of his atar’s wife and children, and so there was some interaction and sharing of research between the two Academies, though not as much as there could or should have been, in Valandur’s opinion.

He mentally shrugged. With any amount of luck, he and Findis would have little to do with Fëanáro from here on out. Valandur was grateful for the fact that the prince would not even be at the wedding, remaining behind in Tirion as Finwë’s regent. It had been decided to hold the wedding on neutral ground when no one could agree to have it in either Vanyamar or Tirion and Valmar was deemed an acceptable alternative.

Valandur felt a rising sense of anticipation of seeing Findis once again. The years had been good to her as well, for she had matured along the way, and while many would still consider her over-young to be marrying, Valandur had watched her grow into the responsible elleth that she was. He had no fears for her on that account.

He himself, he acknowledged, had also grown and matured, becoming more confident in himself and his abilities. And when he finally resigned his position at the Academy to work exclusively for Ingwë, he did so without trepidation. As it was, he was still on good terms with his fellow loremasters and Headmaster Laurelassë still had him come and speak at the convocations when his other duties permitted.

No, the last twelve years of waiting had been worth it. Who would have believed that this day would come? Twelve years ago, returning to Vanyamar from Tirion, he had thought his love lost, his future dim and ultimately pointless, but now, now the future held bright promise and he looked forward to meeting it, he and Findis together.

“What are you smiling about, my lord? As if we didn’t know,” Artelemnar, now Valandur’s squire, asked with a chuckle, which Intarion echoed.

Valandur gave them both a merry look. “The future. I’m smiling about the future.”

And as Eldamas came into view, and they could see the Trees in the distance, with Laurelin in full bloom, shining in golden glory, Valandur’s atar suddenly raised his voice in joyous song, singing a love ballad Sairon had composed that was popular in Vanyamar and beyond. Soon they were all joining in as they rode toward Valmar where Findis and the future awaited.

~Metta~