26: The Cost of Kingship

The elves of Tol Eressëa had come to Tirion for one reason and one reason only, though it was not the reason they had given.

Laurendil met with Arafinwë and Finrod two days later. They sat in the smaller council chamber with Glorfindel, Sador and Lord Rialcar on one side and Laurendil’s wife, Manwen, and two others from the embassy on the other, a Sinda named Arodeth and a Noldo named Elemmacar who preferred to be called Gilvagor.

"The truth of the matter is, we’re bored," Laurendil said when all were seated.

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Bored?"

Laurendil looked somewhat sheepish but held his ground. "You have to understand, my lord. Many of us have spent the last millennium at war and our Sindarin kin were at it for even longer. I frankly find it difficult to remember what it is like to live in the peace of Aman. Even now I find myself reaching for my sword at the slightest unidentifiable sound." He paused, his expression grim. "I must confess that when I first returned to Tol Eressëa I slept with one of my long knives by my side."

Arafinwë looked surprised, as did Lord Rialcar, who grimaced at the thought of what his beloved son had seen and done to drive him to such things. Finrod and Glorfindel, on the other hand, only nodded.

"I learned early on never to sleep without my sword by my side," Finrod commented.

Glorfindel smiled, though there was no warmth to it. "When I was first re-embodied and began to remember my former life I felt... uneasy without a weapon at my side while I slept."

Arafinwë and Rialcar exchanged startled glances. "But why...?" the King began.

Finrod laughed. "Old habits die hard, Atar, even after death."

Glorfindel nodded. "Olórin finally let me have a very blunt kitchen knife that wouldn’t have sliced butter to put under my pillow. Even though I knew that knife couldn’t hurt anyone I still felt immensely more at ease knowing it was there."

"And now?" Lord Rialcar asked, though he was looking at his son rather than at Glorfindel.

"Now, I don’t need it." Glorfindel said with a shrug and Rialcar was relieved to see Laurendil nod as well.

"The point is, my lord," Laurendil continued, "most of us don’t know what to do with ourselves anymore. I’ve known nothing but warfare for so long, I can’t think past the next battle, the next patrol, or even the next meal taken on the run."

There was silence for a while as Arafinwë pondered the Noldo’s words, then the King nodded. "You need a purpose, something to justify your existence."

There were nods all around from the Tol Eressëan elves.

"I used to be a healer," Manwen said. "I learned my craft from Lord Elrond Peredhel himself." Several pairs of eyebrows rose at the elleth’s words and Glorfindel felt a thrill run through him, though he could not understand why. "There was always a need for healers in Middle-earth," Manwen continued. "There isn’t any need here."

"Not true, lady," Finrod interjected. "Even here in Aman harm can come to us. And there are the Reborn and those who come from Endórë sick to their fëa with weariness who must be treated. You might consider going to Lórien and asking permission to join the Lóriennildi. Such skills as you have will always be welcomed by my Lord Irmo and the Lady Estë."

"That may be true, aranya," Laurendil said, using Finrod’s former title without thinking, "but what of the rest of us? All we know is how to be warriors."

Glorfindel cast a quick smile at Sador who smiled back. "That’s not all you know, Laurendil," the Balrog-slayer said and the former captain of the Dorthonion rangers looked baffled. "You know how to be loyal," nodding towards Finrod, "and you know how to love," nodding to Manwen, who blushed, "you know how to lead and inspire others. There are many things you know, you just have to remember."

"Have you thought of taking up a trade or a craft?" Sador asked somewhat hesitantly. He was not sure he really belonged there but Finrod had insisted, as, surprisingly, had Laurendil. His hair was cleaned of blood and carefully braided. Finrod had spent half the night before patiently teaching him the intricacies of braiding his hair in the correct pattern. Now he sat there feeling a little out of his depth.

Laurendil looked at the young Sinda thoughtfully. The tale of what had happened to Sador was nothing new, for he knew too many with similar tales. He found the young ellon engaging and quite intelligent, once you got past his shyness, and did not dismiss his words lightly.

"Some have done so, for in truth, not all of us were warriors, even among the Noldor."

"What did you do before you left Aman?" Finrod asked. He suddenly realized that in all the time he had known Laurendil, he had never asked about his life before Endórë.

"Very little, as I recall," Lord Rialcar said with an amused snort and a wink at his son and Laurendil laughed.

"That about sums it up."

All joined in the laughter at that. When it calmed down, Arafinwë looked at Laurendil, his eyes piercing.

"What you say needs reflection. I am King of the Noldor, but only of those of Aman and over the Sindar I have no sway. Those Noldor who left Aman or were born elsewhere are not under my jurisdiction, though many have indicated that they accept my overlordship since your own kings have not been returned to you."

"One has, my lord," Gilvagor responded with a pointed look at Finrod, deciding to take advantage of the opening the King had unwittingly given them.

Arafinwë caught his breath and glanced at Findaráto who had suddenly turned white. Glorfindel reached out a hand to comfort him and Sador left his seat on the other side of the Balrog-slayer to stand behind his gwador and begin kneading his neck, willing calmness. In truth, Arafinwë had not thought of it in that light, that his firstborn was a king in his own right. Yet, he had seen the evidence of that only two days previously. The thought that Findaráto might actually want to rule again...

"Findaráto?" the King said hesitantly.

Finrod shook his head and abruptly stood up and moved to one of the embrasures looking out onto a garden. For long moments no one moved and Laurendil cast a withering look at Gilvagor, who remained unrepentant.

Finrod finally turned around, his expression set, his eyes glowing with a deep resolve. None there could ever fully appreciate the internal struggle he had had with himself just then, though a few there could guess. When he spoke, it was to Gilvagor, though his eyes remained on his atar.

"Understand Gilvagor, I turned the rulership of Nargothrond over to my nephew, Orodreth, before I left with Beren. I held the crown of Nargothrond for over three centuries. I could have kept it and many of my subjects begged me not to go." Here he glanced briefly at Laurendil, who had gone pale himself and had begun to weep silently. Manwen wrapped a comforting arm around her husband.

"I deemed my oath to Barahir of greater worth than Nargothrond’s crown," Finrod continued. "Even if I had not died, but had returned to Nargothrond in triumph, I would not have taken it back."

"Yet, you are still the only king of Beleriand to return from the Halls of Mandos, aranya," Laurendil whispered, his throat tight with emotion. "Surely that must mean something."

Finrod moved then and went to stand before his former ranger who stumbled to his feet. Arafinwë watched the interplay between his son and the Noldo, amazed at the depths of love and loyalty between the two ellyn that not even death could diminish.

Finrod took Laurendil by the shoulders and leaned forward so that their foreheads touched. It was an act of deep intimacy between lord and vassal and some had to look away. Then the former King of Nargothrond gave a great sigh, and kissed Laurendil’s brow before stepping back, a rueful smile on his face. "I do not know if it means anything at all, otornya. I can only tell you that I have no desire to rule again, at least not for the present," he amended, seeing the stricken look on Laurendil’s face. "I think I was allowed to return because my atar needs me by his side. Someday the Crown of the Noldor will come to me, but at the moment I am content to sit at my atar’s feet and learn from him the true meaning of kingship."

Arafinwë felt his own eyes tearing at his son’s words and vowed to himself to do his best in teaching Findaráto what he knew of being a king, though, looking at the ellon now, he doubted he had anything worth teaching him.

Laurendil fell to his knees, catching Finrod’s hands in his, tears flowing. "Wh-when that day comes, aran meletyalda, I b-beg you to allow me the honor of being the fi-first of your subjects to swear fealty to you."

Finrod stood still, looking down at the ellon, then shook his head. "No, Laurendil. I will not allow it."

"Aranya, please..." Laurendil cried.

"Hush," Finrod ordered, placing a finger on the ellon’s lips. "I will not allow it," he repeated. "I already have your fealty, but more importantly, I already have your love, as you have mine. No other oaths are needed between us."

Then he reached down and lifted the Noldo to his feet and embraced him, rocking him gently, silently offering Laurendil his permission to let go. It was several minutes before the ellon’s weeping slowed, but finally he pulled back from Finrod’s embrace, attempting vainly to wipe the tears from his face.

"Ávartyara nillo, aranya," he said sheepishly.

"Ú-moe an ngohenad, Glorendil," Finrod replied softly.

Arafinwë sat there, deep in thought, and wondered again what he could possibly teach his son of kingship that he didn’t already know.

"This is the real reason for your coming to Tirion, isn’t it?" Sador asked, suddenly enlightened. "It was never about being bored."

The members of the embassy looked chagrined. Glorfindel gave Sador an appraising glance. "I think you have the right of it, hanno."

"Is this true?" Arafinwë asked. Things were becoming clearer now.

Laurendil bowed to the King. "Please believe me, my lord, we did not mean to deceive you. What I told you is the truth. I fear many of our people feel restless in the eternal peace of Aman and there is none to guide them away from their discontent."

"There is no one among us whom we can agree to lead us," Manwen added. "We had hoped..." She looked regretfully at Finrod who shook his head and gave a deprecating laugh.

"Have you dealt with any of the Reborn since their release from Lórien, my lady?"

For a moment the elleth gave Finrod a blank stare and then comprehension dawned and she smiled. She turned to Laurendil. "Gilanneth, remember?"

Before Laurendil could respond both Finrod and Glorfindel began laughing. "Don’t tell me," Glorfindel said, "she can climb up but she can’t climb down."

"How do you know this, lord?" Manwen asked incredulously.

But it was Finrod who answered, giving a snort of amusement. "I well remember the time Gilanneth managed to climb one of the columns that graces the Halls of Mandos, one shaped in the likeness of a tree. How she did it none of us knew, though we were all busy trying to figure it out so we could do the same. The poor elleth got all the way to the top and froze, unable to come down."

Glorfindel took up the tale, his eyes bright with amusement. "Lord Námo finally had to send four of his Maiar up after her and bring her down. When she finally collapsed into Lord Námo’s arms she was so distraught it took him some time to calm her down long enough to give her a scolding." His face became stern and his voice deepened in a fair imitation of the Lord of Mandos. "‘If you ever do anything like that again, elleth nîn, I will have to be very angry with you.’"

Finrod laughed. "Poor thing, she got hysterical all over again, but I suspect Lord Námo’s words were more for our benefit than for hers; she had learned her lesson."

Glorfindel nodded and chuckled. "I remember studiously not thinking how much fun it would be to climb that column."

"You, too?" Finrod laughed. "Lord Námo knows his elflings too well."

Sador snorted in agreement and nodded. "Remind me to tell you what happened once when I decided swimming in one of the fountains would be a good idea. Lord Námo took one look at me and threw his hands up muttering something about needing a vacation, whatever that means."

Glorfindel and Finrod laughed while the others gazed at the three ellyn in wonder at this glimpse of their experiences within the Halls of Mandos. "You’ll have to tell us the tale during lunch, hanno," Finrod said, "I’m sure we’d all like to hear it."

"Well, Gilanneth must be improving," Laurendil finally said with a smile and chuckled at the others’ enquiring expressions. "The last time she ended up in a tree it only took two Nandor to get her down."

That set them all laughing.

"So you see, my lady," Finrod said when the laughter had died down a bit. "it would not be possible for me to accept the lordship of the elves of Tol Eressëa at this time. I fear I am not emotionally ready for such an important responsibility."

"Yet the fact remains that without clear leadership we are adrift and cannot find our way," Manwen replied, obviously frustrated.

"That is true, my dear," Arafinwë answered. "And you have given us much to think over. Let us adjourn for the time being and reflect on what we have heard here. We will meet again tomorrow." He stood and the rest followed, bowing as the King strode from the room. The others began filing out but Laurendil held back and when Finrod nodded, the two of them remained behind.

Once the door was closed, Finrod asked, "What is it, otornya?"

Laurendil stared at the floor, suddenly uncertain. Now that it had come to it, he wondered that he dared ask what he longed to ask his king. Taking a deep breath, he looked up. "I have watched many, mortal and immortal alike, as their fëar slipped their hröar and it always left me to wonder..."

"Wonder what, Laurendil?"

"Wh-what was it like...t-to die?"

Finrod stood there stunned and Laurendil immediately regretted his words and started to apologize, but Finrod raised a hand to forestall him.

"I am not angry, meldonya. I confess I am somewhat taken aback, but not at your presumption, if that is what it is. It’s just... it’s just that no one has ever asked me that question before, not even my atar."

"I’m sorry, aranya," Laurendil said contritely. "I did not mean to stir up painful memories."

"Painful? No, Laurendil. Whatever pain there is lies on your side of my death. I have no real memory of it." He put an arm around the ellon’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He smiled conspiratorially. "Come now. Let us see what mischief my gwedyr and your wife are getting up to between them."

Laurendil laughed and allowed Finrod to lead him out of the council chamber.

****

Otornya: (Quenya) My (sworn) brother, contracted from otornonya.

Ávartyara nillo, aranya: (Quenya) "Forgive me, my king". The person to be forgiven is in the ablative while the matter to be forgiven would be in the dative.

Ú-moe an ngohenad, Glorendil: (Sindarin) "There is nothing to forgive, Glorendil". The phrase literally translates as "It is not necessary for forgiving". Glorendil is the Sindarin form of Laurendil's name.

Elleth nîn: (Sindarin) My girl, literally, "My elf-maid". 

Meldonya: (Quenya) My friend, if referring to a male friend. If referring to a female friend, it would be meldenya.

Note on Finrod’s relationship with Orodreth: In the published Silmarillion, Orodreth is Finrod’s brother. This, Christopher Tolkien later admitted, was an editorial mistake on his part. Tolkien had decided that Orodreth was the son of Finrod’s younger brother, Angrod, and that he had two children, Finduilas and Gil-galad. This is the scheme I have chosen to use in this story. See Christopher Tolkien's discussion of this in The War of the Jewels.