20: Aftermath

Over the next several days Glorfindel found himself feeling somewhat detached from his surroundings after his...encounter with Lord Námo. He was quieter than usual, moodier and disinclined to participate fully in court life. Finrod noticed but kept his own counsel. Glorfindel had a haunted look to him, a look which any of the Reborn would have recognized: Lord Námo had had words with the ellon and they had not been pleasant ones. While his own encounter with Lord Námo had not been as pleasant as he would have wished, Finrod knew from speaking with other Reborn elves that the experience was generally more harrowing than fatal, and the effects tended to fade with time. Finrod did not pry, knowing better.

Arafinwë, however, did not.

"What has gotten into you Glorfindel?" the King asked with some exasperation during one particular meeting with his advisors. Both Findaráto and Glorfindel were there, along with several other younger courtiers. Arafinwë liked to include the younger members of his court in some of the decision-making processes, treating the experience as a learning tool, asking the ellyn and ellith questions along the way. He had requested Glorfindel’s opinion on a small matter of diplomacy and the ellon had demurred.

Glorfindel flinched slightly at the King’s tone. "Nothing, my lord. I don’t think I am the right person to answer your question in this matter."

"Which I find odd," Arafinwë retorted, "considering you were quite vocal in your opinions on this very subject only a week ago."

"And that was then, my lord," Glorfindel replied without thinking. As soon as he spoke he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

Arafinwë stared at Glorfindel, his expression grim. Finrod held his breath, as did everyone else. He knew better than to intervene. Glorfindel would not appreciate it and his atar would not allow it. The other courtiers were wise enough to remain still, not wishing to draw attention to themselves. Finrod noticed, though, that not a few of them had expressions bordering on glee at Glorfindel’s discomfort, and grimaced.

Glorfindel was apologizing to Arafinwë. "With your leave, lord, I wish to be excused. I fear I’m not..."

Now Arafinwë’s anger and disappointment was turning to concern. Elves rarely suffered any complaints, but Glorfindel looked decidedly pale.

"Are you well, Glorfindel? Should I send for a healer?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "Nay, lord, that is not necessary. What ails me... no healer can cure. I beg you, though..."

Arafinwë looked at the ellon in confusion. What could possibly be ailing him that even the finest healers of the land could not alleviate? He turned to his son. "Findaráto, would you..."

"NO!"

Everyone stared at Glorfindel, who was now acting agitated and Arafinwë became alarmed.

"Glorfindel?"

The sense of panic in the ellon’s voice was evident to all. "Please, no, my lord. I just need..."

"Glorfindel, stop that at once!" Finrod demanded, deciding it was time to step in. Glorfindel went stock still, his eyes going wide and he finally broke down and began to weep quietly where he stood.

The older courtiers looked rather nonplused as they stood there watching Glorfindel weep, though one or two raised an eyebrow at their prince. The younger courtiers weren’t sure how to react and one or two were heard to stifle embarrassed giggles. Arafinwë simply stared at his son in shock, for he had never heard him speak with such authority before.

Finrod ignored them all and concentrated on Glorfindel. He wrapped an arm around his friend to console him. "I know you are in shock, hánonya," he said gently, "but I assure you the condition is neither fatal nor permanent."

"Shock?" Arafinwë asked in a perplexed tone.

Finrod nodded, never taking his eyes off Glorfindel. "Lord Námo’s little...talks tend to have that effect."

More than one elf there flinched at his words. Finrod continued ignoring everyone but Glorfindel.

"How bad was it, hanno?" he asked quietly, stroking Glorfindel’s hair.

Glorfindel flushed and would not look at his friend. He swallowed hard and replied in a strained voice, "I threw up."

Arafinwë felt his jaw drop and simply stared at the ellon. Finrod nodded. "I hear that’s a typical reaction."

Now Glorfindel looked up, surprised. "You’ve never...?"

Finrod shook his head. "Not in the way you mean. The one talk we had was actually quite pleasant for the most part. I only hope I am never so stupid as to warrant another visit by him, though. I suspect the next time Lord Námo won’t be quite so...good-natured."

There were many eyebrows raised at that, and not a few shivered at the image the prince’s words evoked.

"Sleep is the best cure for how you feel, Glorfindel," Finrod continued.

"I-I’m sorry.. I didn’t..."

"Hush now," the prince crooned as he gave Glorfindel a hug. "It is well. Go now. I will check on you later. Calandil will see you to your room." Finrod motioned to one of his atar’s guards and Calandil left his post to stand before him.

"Please escort Lord Glorfindel to his room, Calandil, and... make sure he’s not disturbed." Finrod gave the guard a knowing look and Calandil bowed.

"It will be as you say, my prince."

Glorfindel glanced at Arafinwë who nodded his permission and after a moment’s hesitation the ellon bowed and turned to leave. Finrod stopped him for a brief moment to whisper in his ear words that none there heard, then he kissed Glorfindel on the brow before nodding to Calandil. Glorfindel allowed the guard to take his arm and lead him out.

For several moments after the door closed behind them no one moved, then Arafinwë cleared his throat.

"Findaráto, why would Lord Námo...?

Finrod turned to his atar and Arafinwë stopped and found himself taking a step back. Several others there found themselves doing the same. Finrod’s expression was cold and his eyes glittered dangerously with a light that few had ever seen. Arafinwë was suddenly reminded of his audience with the Elder King and Lord Námo shortly after turning back from Fëanáro’s madness. Both Valar had had that same light in their eyes, Námo especially. Even after all this time, Arafinwë could still remember how sick he’d felt afterwards.

When Finrod spoke, it was barely above a whisper. "If you love me, Atar, you will never ever ask that question again. What is said between Lord Námo and another, and more importantly, why it was said, is between them. Even I will never ask Glorfindel for the details of his encounter, though he may tell me of his own accord."

Arafinwë nodded, surprised that he did not feel more anger at being chastised before his courtiers by his own son. "Forgive me, yonya, I spoke without thinking."

Finrod nodded, the light of Mandos (as Arafinwë was beginning to think of it) dying from his eyes and the ellon smiled, though it was not warm. "I am sorry also, Atar. I should have recognized Glorfindel’s symptoms earlier. I might have been able to prevent what happened here."

Arafinwë nodded, but did not reply. Instead he rounded on his court, his expression growing stern. His eyes swept the room and one or two of the elves blanched.

"What happened here goes no further than this room and..." he paused, his eyes lighting on several of the younger members of the court, all of whom paled further, though none had the willpower to look away. "And if I ever catch any of you taking delight in another’s misery again, you will wish it were indeed Lord Námo who speaks to you about it, because I will not be so merciful. Are we clear on this?"

There were faint murmurs of assent and many bows before Arafinwë gave a weary sigh and dismissed the court and the guards. Soon, he and Findaráto were alone. The king looked at his firstborn and smiled faintly.

"Not exactly how I’d planned this session."

Finrod chuckled.

"I’m proud of you, my son," Arafinwë said simply. "You handled yourself well." He held out his arms and Finrod went to him willingly, enjoying the feel of his atar’s embrace around him and the love that flowed from him.

"Why don’t we go see how our favorite Balrog-slayer is doing, shall we?" Arafinwë finally asked as he released his son from his embrace and Finrod nodded.

"Tye-melin, atarinya," he whispered.

"Inyë tye-melë, yonya."

****

When Arafinwë and Finrod approached Glorfindel’s rooms they found Calandil standing guard outside.

"Young Sador was here when we arrived, sire," the guard said. "He took charge of Lord Glorfindel and saw him settled."

"Sador is here?" Arafinwë asked in surprise, turning to Findaráto. "Is he not with Netilmírë today?"

His son simply shrugged. "I had assumed so."

Arafinwë thanked the guard and dismissed him. Father and son entered the suite to find Glorfindel fast asleep, his eyes closed, which did not surprise either of them. Sador was sitting on the bed next to him, stroking his hair and humming softly. It was a familiar scene. The ellon looked up and put a finger to his lips.

"I just got him to sleep, my lord," he whispered.

Arafinwë smiled regretfully. "I fear I must ruin all your hard work, yonya. I must speak with Glorfindel now."

Sador sighed and rolled his eyes. Arafinwë and Findaráto exchanged amused glances as Sador leaned over the sleeping Glorfindel and kissed him on the brow. "Glorfindel, wake up, hánonya. Atar Arafinwë wishes to speak with you."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow and glanced at Findaráto, who smiled and leaned over so only his atar could hear him. "Well you did say he was your ward, my lord. You’re the closest thing to an atar he has now."

The king gave his son an appraising look then nodded, turning his attention to the now waking Glorfindel.

The ellon sighed and reluctantly opened his eyes, struggling to sit up. Finrod came to his other side and helped him while Sador slid gracefully out of the bed so Arafinwë could sit on the edge. As Sador moved away, Arafinwë placed a hand on his arm to stop him.

"Should you not be with Netilmírë today?"

Sador nodded. "And I was earlier, but then I began to feel restless and agitated for some reason and I had the strongest sense that I was needed here. Mistress Netilmírë gave me leave to return when I told her what I was feeling. I was here waiting, though I scarcely knew for what, when Calandil arrived with Glorfindel looking as if the wrath of Mandos had fallen on him with a vengeance."

Findaráto glanced up sharply. "Not even remotely funny, hanno."

"But true nonetheless," Glorfindel whispered, a wry smile on his face. He glanced at Sador who was looking suitably chastened by Finrod’s words. "Thank you for being here, hánonya. I am grateful for whichever Vala inspired you to return when you did."

"How are you feeling, Glorfindel?" Arafinwë asked. Now that he knew what to look for he could see that Glorfindel was indeed suffering from shock. The ellon was leaning against Findaráto’s shoulder, looking pale, though his eyes were clearer than they had been earlier.

"Tired, my lord," Glorfindel said, punctuating his reply with a yawn.

"Then I won’t stay long. My son has told me in no uncertain terms that I should never ask you what passed between you and Lord Námo."

Glorfindel’s eyes shut tight as he curled into a ball and whimpered. Finrod held him close and Arafinwë reached out with a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Hush now, hinya. Do not fear. I will not speak of it again. No one will. I just want you to know that you are to take as much time as you need to recover from the... ordeal. I do not begin to understand the relationship you children have with the Lord of Mandos, but I almost envy you."

Three pairs of eyebrows shot up in identical expressions of disbelief and Arafinwë gave a light laugh. "I said ‘almost’."

Findaráto and Sador both snorted, trying to stifle their laughter and even Glorfindel smiled. The King nodded, satisfied with what he saw.

"I will leave you now. Sador may stay, but I fear I must take Findaráto with me for a time. I will send him to you in a few hours. In the meantime, I think you should try to sleep. Do not feel the necessity of being social. If you wish, I will have your meals sent here until such time as you feel able to join us."

"Thank you, my lord," Glorfindel replied.

Arafinwë stood up. Findaráto joined him even as Sador slid back onto the bed. Father and son started to leave, then Arafinwë stopped and turned around. "And if you ever feel the need for some solitude, I find that the herb garden by the kitchens is rarely visited. The scent of the asëa aranion that grows there is particularly soothing to the fëa."

Glorfindel nodded his acknowledgment. "I thank you again, my lord, both for your understanding and your suggestion."

Arafinwë stared at the ellon for another moment. "Yonya," he said softly and with great feeling, "don’t you think it’s about time you followed your two brothers’ example and just call me ‘Atar’?"

Before Glorfindel could respond, Arafinwë turned around and strode out the door. Finrod followed in his wake, grinning hugely.

****

Hánonya: My brother.

Hanno: Brother. A colloquial form of háno.

Tye-melin, atarinya: I love thee, my father.

Inyë tye-melë, yonya: I too, love thee, my son.