16: Progress

Olwë’s visit proved beneficial on a number of levels.

He and Finrod were seen walking the gardens several times, deep in conversation. They spent many hours speaking about Endórë. Olwë was interested in hearing everything Finrod was willing to tell him about his brother, Elwë, and about Teleporno.

"You would like him Anatar," Finrod said one day as they walked the paths of the Queen’s rose garden. "When I first met Celeborn he held himself with such quiet dignity, his power so understated, that many of us dismissed him out of hand."

"Including you?" Olwë asked shrewdly.

Finrod blushed and nodded. "Including me. I admit that that was not my finest hour. It was only when Galad... I mean Artanis began to speak of him with words of love that I began to rethink my first impressions. My sister would never have fallen in love with anyone whom she did not think her equal in everything."

"No," Olwë mused, "Artanis had definite ideas about that."

Finrod grinned and Olwë found himself grinning as well. "So what, besides my inyë’s protestations of love, convinced you that my great-nephew was worthy of your respect?"

Finrod stopped and Olwë was forced to halt as well. The younger elf stared out across the garden without really seeing it, remembering. Olwë waited patiently, willing to stand there all day if necessary. Finally, Finrod came to himself and looked at his grandfather.

"He came to me and asked for my permission to court my sister."

Olwë raised an eyebrow at that. That one simple gesture on the part of a Sindarin prince and his inyo had offered him his love and respect before all. He stared at Finrod, seeing his grandson in a new light. It had taken great courage on both their parts, Teleporno’s and Findaráto’s, to bridge the chasm of culture and history, but they had, and he suspected, the world would never be the same for any of them again because a Noldorin king had welcomed a Sindarin prince as his brother.

"I am glad, then, for my granddaughter’s sake, that at least one of her brothers approved of her union."

"So am I," came Finrod’s heart-felt reply.

****

Later, Olwë broached a different subject with his grandson, not entirely sure how to go about it, but knowing it had to be addressed ere he left for Alqualondë. He had spoken first to Arafinwë to get a better idea of what Findaráto remembered of his previous life.

"All the memories are there, Atar," Arafinwë had said. "It’s the emotional content that is missing. It was stripped from him when he underwent judgment, I understand."

"Why?"

Arafinwë had shrugged, not really sure of the answer himself. "I suspect it has something to do with being returned to a state of innocence. My son tells me that until he was re-embodied he had no memory of his life before dying. He existed in an eternal Now without past or future."

Olwë had looked thoughtful. "Then you think I should not speak to him?"

"Nay, Atar. I think you need to speak to him, not for his sake, but for yours."

Olwë had given his son-in-law an appraising look. "When did you become so wise, yonya?"

Arafinwë had chuckled. "The day I married your daughter, I think."

They both had laughed at that.

Now, Olwë walked once more in the rose garden with Finrod. It was early evening and the scent of the roses lingered in the cooling air. "There is something that I must say, inyonya," the King of Alqualondë finally said after they had been walking in companionable silence for a while.

"What is it Anatar?"

"What happened in Alqualondë..."

Finrod froze, his face turning white under starlight and Olwë grabbed his arm to steady him.

"You remember." It was not a question.

Finrod nodded. "Yes, I remember." He looked into his grandfather’s eyes. "The Valar know I wish I didn’t."

Olwë nodded and pulled Finrod into his embrace. "As do I, inyonya. As do I. I want to tell you that I never blamed you or your atar for what happened there. The fault lies squarely with Fëanáro, no one else. I didn’t want you to feel guilt over what occurred."

Finrod shook his head. "I don’t feel any guilt, Anatar. I don’t really feel anything, except sadness for all the waste, for all the tears and grief. When I was first re-embodied Lord Námo told me that all judgments have been rendered and all debts paid. I have to believe that, all of us Reborn do. It’s the only way any of us can go on, in spite of our memories."

Olwë closed his eyes, tears beginning to form, as he thought what his beloved grandson had endured both before and after death. "Thank you," he whispered and Finrod pulled back to look at Olwë in surprise.

"For what?"

Olwë kissed Finrod’s brow and stroked his hair. "I’m not thanking you, child. I’m thanking Lord Námo for giving me back my grandson." Then he pulled Finrod back into his embrace and held him as if he would never let him go. Finrod, for his part, felt indescribably happy and safe in his anatar’s arms.

"Thank you", Olwë whispered again, sending the thought winging into the night.

*You are most welcome, child.* Olwë looked up but saw no one and decided he’d just imagined that voice speaking to him.

****

Sador also benefited from Olwë’s visit. At first the young Sinda felt uncomfortable and shy around the self-assured Telerin lord, but Olwë’s easy manner and deprecating humor soon put the ellon at ease and he found that he enjoyed being in the king’s presence. Olwë, for his part, was extremely interested in hearing about his brother Elwë’s kingdom and the Maia Queen who had captured his heart.

"We searched long and long for him, you know," he said to Sador as they sat under an arbor and talked. "But eventually I had to make the decision to leave with my people. Lord Ulmo was growing impatient. I did not wish to leave without knowing of my brother’s fate, but I had no choice."

Sador could not think of what to say to that so he remained silent. Olwë looked at the young ellon under lowered lashes. He and Arafinwë had had many discussions over goblets of wine about Sador and what should be done for him.

"With your leave, Atar," Arafinwë had said, "I would like to continue holding his wardship, even though I know that technically speaking he should be sent to Tol Eressëa or even Alqualondë to live with whatever kin might be found there."

Olwë had shaken his head. "I think if the Valar had wished that, they would have sent someone to greet him when he was released. I do not think it coincidence that he walked through the Gates with Glorfindel. Those two were meant to be together."

Arafinwë had nodded. "I agree."

In the end, it was decided that Sador would remain in Tirion under Arafinwë’s care. "I have in mind certain plans for our young Sinda," Arafinwë told Olwë, though what those plans were, he did not immediately say.

Now, looking at the ellon sitting in the shade of the arbor with him he knew that they had made the right decision. Sinda or no, Sador belonged here in Tirion. "Thank you for sharing your memories of... Doriath, Sador," Olwë finally said, speaking haltingly in Sindarin, stumbling a bit over the unfamiliar words. He had decided that it was time he paid more attention to his Sindarin subjects and resolved to learn something of their language. It had been his brother’s language after all. Glorfindel and Finrod had been pleased to give him his first lessons. "I hope someday you will come and visit me in Alqualondë, " he ended, switching to Quenya, for he had exhausted his store of Sindarin with that one simple sentence.

Sador bowed. "Le hannon, my lord. I would like that," answering in Sindarin, pleased that this ancient lord of the Teleri would deign to learn the language spoken by the elves of Ennorath.

"There is another matter I wish to discuss with you before I leave," Olwë then said and Sador gave him a polite nod. "If you wish, I will make enquiries among my people for any news of your family. It is possible that some who returned to Tol Eressëa will have remembered them."

Sador’s eyes lit up with delight. "It would please me very much, lord."

"I cannot promise to have news, but I will do what I can."

Sador simply nodded but the look of hope on the ellon’s face was enough for Olwë to make a promise to himself: whatever it took, whoever he must importune, be it Manwë himself, he would discover the truth and if it were in his power he would see this young ellon reunited with his family.

****

Arafinwë, meanwhile, had made arrangements for Tirion’s best potter to come to the palace and interview Sador. He knew that the Sinda wished to pursue his atar’s craft and Arafinwë was amenable to the idea.

Thus, on an otherwise ordinary day, an extraordinary event occurred in Tirion that had half the city talking (the other half were too shocked otherwise): Netilmírë Cemenariel, who had refused to go to Taniquetil at the summons of the Valar, stating she had more important things to do than curry favor from people who had no real need of her wares, deigned to leave her workshop to answer the King’s summons.

Many who saw her walk up the malinornë-lined colonnade towards the palace recalled when a Maia had been summarily sent packing by this most cantankerous elf. They often wondered why the Wrath of Mandos hadn’t fallen on her at her refusal to attend the Valar, little suspecting that the said Lord of Mandos had laughed himself silly when the Maia had returned with Netilmírë’s answer, then had turned to Manwë with a wicked smile.

"I win that one, brother."

Manwë had had the grace to concede defeat. "She refuses the Valar; let us see if she refuses a king."

Now, walking up to the palace gate and announcing herself, Netilmírë wondered at her decision. She had been half-inclined to dismiss the King’s messenger as she had dismissed the Maia, but something stayed her and curiosity overcame her initial antipathy. She did not take apprentices anymore. The last one... she shook her head at the memory. Ezelmiril had been so gifted and the waste of it all. Still, the king’s message had intrigued her enough that she took greater care to wash the clay from under her fingernails and donned her best gown, one she had not worn in... well, in ages, to be honest. She even braided her chestnut brown hair in the style of the day, something she hadn’t bothered with for too long.

She was escorted, not to an audience chamber, but to a workshop where she found the King and a young ellon staring at a brand-new potter’s wheel as if not quite sure what to do with it. A tub of blue clay favored by the potters of Tirion stood nearby.

"It doesn’t bite, you know," she could not help saying, smiling as both elves started at her voice. She gave a low curtsey. "My lord king summoned me."

Arafinwë collected himself, refusing to be baited. "Thank you Mistress Netilmírë, I appreciate you taking the time to indulge me," he said with a short bow, dismissing the escort silently.

"I am my lord’s to command," she said without a trace of irony.

Arafinwë had to smile at that. "Mine, but not the Valar?"

The Master of the Potter’s Guild had the grace to blush, but otherwise did not respond.

"This is Sador, recently returned from Mandos, and my ward," Arafinwë said, making the introductions.

So, this is one of the Reborn, she thought, as the ellon stumbled through a greeting. He didn’t look too promising. His fingers twisted nervously in the hem of his tunic and his Quenya was barely adequate. She wasn’t sure how she could communicate with him effectively enough to teach him anything. Deciding not to beat around the bush — not her style anyway — she pointed to the wheel, virgin of any clay.

"Show me what you can do."

Sador glanced at the King, who nodded encouragingly, then went to the tub of clay and began the process of preparing it for shaping, finally placing it on the wheel. Netilmírë made no comments and her expression could have been carved in stone, but her eyes never left Sador’s and noted every movement, every hesitation. Arafinwë stood to one side fascinated as he watched his young ward sit before the wheel.

Sador turned to Netilmírë. "What should I make?"

The Master of the Potter’s Guild shook her head. "What the clay tells you to make, of course."

The Sinda stared at the Master Potter for a moment before nodding. It was something he remembered his adar saying to him once, early in his apprenticeship, before they were forced to flee Doriath. He stared at the lump of clay for a moment longer before starting the wheel, dipping his hands in water. As soon as he touched the clay and felt it being shaped all thought of anything else fled and he became one with his burgeoning creation. How long he sat there, shaping the clay into a thing of beauty, he did not know, but suddenly he knew, without knowing how he knew, that it was finished and he stopped, staring at the vase that stood before him.

It was not tall, perhaps two hands high, but there was a delicacy to it that even Arafinwë recognized. The lip of the vase was flared and indented to give it the look of petals opening. Sador took a deep breath and looked up into the eyes of the one person who would determine his future.

Netilmírë had watched the ellon at the wheel, noting all his errors of execution, hoping to be able to say he was not worthy of being her or anyone else’s apprentice, but in the end, when the wheel stopped and she saw what lay there, she knew she could not. She raised her eyes to the King who stood impassively by, waiting to hear her judgment.

"The usual terms?" she asked without preamble.

Arafinwë shook his head. "He will come to you two days a week and every fourth week you may have him for the entire time, but he will spend the nights here."

Both Netilmírë and Sador had raised their eyebrows at that.

"I cannot pay him his full wages then," Netilmírë said. "The Guild rules are quite specific about that."

"Sador will never lack for money, Mistress," the King rejoined. "Put aside what his wages would be for the time he spends with you as is normal and when he has finished his apprenticeship you may give him what he is owed."

The Master Potter nodded. "May I ask why..."

Arafinwë glanced at Sador then smiled. "I have decided that my ward will receive training in diplomacy so he may eventually act as my son’s aide. It is my wish that Sador become a member of my court, that is, if you are amenable to the idea, yonya."

Sador could only sit there and nod, too stunned to do more. Arafinwë looked at Netilmírë. "Are we agreed, Mistress?"

But Netilmírë was not finished. "If you have already decided that Sador will be a member of your court, what need does he have of me?"

"The need of every artist, Netilmírë," came the quiet reply from the King. "His soul aches to create beauty and you are best equipped to help him there. With all the ages of Arda before us, can we not engage in more than one occupation? Someday I hope to leave the governance of the Noldor to my son and retire to Lórien where I plan to sit at Lord Irmo’s feet and learn what he would teach me, but that day is far off. Meanwhile, my son needs people he can rely on and so Sador will learn the art of diplomacy and politics, but I will not deny him his gift for creating beauty either."

Netilmírë stared at the King for several long moments, processing what she had heard, then nodded. "He may come to me on the second and fifth days of the week. I will have the necessary papers filed with the Guild."

When the news that Netilmírë Cemenariel had actually agreed to take on an apprentice, and a Reborn Sinda at that, silence fell upon Tirion for the shock of it, but high on Taniquetil, Námo and Manwë smiled at one another, pleased that things were coming together at last.

****

Glorfindel, meanwhile, remained in the background, keeping a watch on his two friends, glad that wounds were beginning to heal for both of them and for the King’s family. He had rejoiced at Sador’s news about the apprenticeship as well as Arafinwë’s wish for him to eventually become Finrod’s diplomatic aide. Finrod, in full agreement with his atar, had declared that they must celebrate, which they did by getting uproariously drunk, though no one seemed to mind.

Of course, not everyone was pleased that the Sinda would be training as a diplomatic aide to the prince and one or two of the younger courtiers were stupid enough to wonder out loud in Glorfindel’s and Finrod’s hearing why Sador didn’t just stick to being a potter and leave diplomacy for those born to it.

"What does ‘being born to it’, as you put it, have to do with anything?" Finrod had asked, beginning to get angry.

"That anyone of noble blood would stoop to get their hands dirty by engaging in a trade is just ridiculous," one of them opined with obvious contempt.

Finrod was ready to lambast the offender but Glorfindel held him back and asked his friend in a nonchalant manner, "Did they teach you any skills in Lórien?"

At first Finrod was unsure what Glorfindel was asking and then light dawned and he nodded. "Well, the harp, of course, but while I was there I learned how to weave baskets."

"Baskets?" Glorfindel asked, intrigued in spite of himself.

"Oh yes," Finrod nodded enthusiastically. "Did you know there’s a certain method of weaving to assure that the basket does not fall apart? If you don’t do it just right you have a real mess on your hands."

Glorfindel gave a sideways glance at the ellyn listening open-mouthed to their prince extolling the virtues of weaving baskets and hid a grin. "Anything else?"

"Hmm. Lord Aulë’s people taught me how to make horseshoes and tackle. I wanted to make a sword but Lord Aulë said horseshoes were more practical and they wouldn’t let me ride a horse until I had learned how to shoe one. What about you?"

"Well, I learned ribbon embroidery from Vairë’s handmaidens and bee-keeping from Yavanna’s people. Let me see... oh, and I can make jewelry, too, though I really don’t have the soul for it. Still, Lord Aulë was pleased with my efforts. He said learning to manipulate such small instruments would help my coordination immensely."

They turned to Sador with an unspoken question and the ellon shrugged. "All I wanted to do was be a potter."

Glorfindel and Finrod smiled at that. "That’s all right, meldonya," Finrod said. "You just be the best potter you can be. I’ll leave the bee-keeping to Glorfindel."

After that, no one said anything disparaging about Sador in Finrod’s presence again, and not a few ellyn began to reconsider their prince, the image of the firstborn son of their King happily weaving baskets too incongruous not to make an impression on them.

****

Teleporno: Telerin Quenya form of Celeborn.

Malinornë: Quenya form mallorn.