30: Departures

"I don’t understand why I can’t go to Lórien with you," Glorfindel said to Finrod in a querulous tone as he watched the prince pack.

"Lord Irmo didn’t invite you," Finrod said reasonably, hiding a smile.

Glorfindel bounced on the bed with a dramatic sigh. "I can’t go to Tol Eressëa, I can’t go to Lórien. I’m no more than a prisoner here."

Finrod laughed. "Hardly a prisoner. Why you’ve barely explored Tirion since you arrived."

Glorfindel shrugged. "What’s to explore? It’s the same as it always has been. Nothing changes around here."

"Well, that’s just silly," Finrod said in some exasperation. He was suddenly reminded of his younger brothers and sister from before.

"It’s just that everyone is off on a mission but me."

"Oh, so that’s it," Finrod said, feigning indignation. "You aren’t really interested in joining me, you just want to feel important."

Glorfindel paled and then blushed furiously, looking away, biting his lips. "I-I’m sorry. I’ll be good."

Finrod looked upon his brother and friend in surprise, suddenly feeling as if those words weren’t meant for him, but for another... or possibly, he amended to himself, Another. He sat down on the bed next to Glorfindel who had not looked up and placed an arm around his shoulders.

"Shh. It’s all right. I’m not really angry. I wish you could come with me, too, but then Atar and Amillë will be all alone again. I think they’ve gotten used to having us around."

Glorfindel leaned into Finrod’s embrace and nodded. "I’ll miss you."

"I’ll miss you, too, but it’s not forever, pityaván. I’ll be back before you know it."

Glorfindel sighed dramatically, but otherwise did not offer any more protests. Still, it was a dejected elf who stood on the front portico of the palace watching Finrod ride off with Laurendil, Manwen and a royal escort, though he tried to pretend otherwise. Arafinwë wasn’t fooled, nor Eärwen.

"Come along, dear," the queen said soothingly. "Standing here will not bring Findaráto back any sooner. Why don’t you help me and Amarië this morning? We need to inventory the palace kitchens. Winter is coming, you know. Do you remember winter?"

Glorfindel allowed himself to be led away, though the last thing he wanted to do was to spend the day taking inventory, but could see no polite way out of it. Arafinwë watched his wife manage their unofficial ward, recognizing her intention to keep Glorfindel too busy to brood. He knew he would have to come up with something to occupy the ellon as well; the inventory would not take long, for most of it had already been done.

Thus, two days later, Arafinwë called Glorfindel to his study.

"There’s a delegation from Ingwë coming tomorrow," he said without preamble as Glorfindel sat down. "It’s a trade delegation, for the most part, but some of the younger elves in the party will be staying beyond the planned meetings for the winter. It’s an exchange between the two courts, you see. I will be sending some of the younger members of my court back with the delegation when it returns to Vanyamar, Ingwë's city at the foot of Taniquetil, in case you've forgotten. I would like you to go."

Glorfindel stood up in surprise. He remembered Olórin’s words to him, so long ago it seemed: If you go to Taniquetil, do not go alone. Was this it? Was this his chance to get some answers? Answers to questions he had pushed aside in the exigency of learning to live again, but had never truly forgotten? A sudden joy leaped up within him at the thought, followed almost immediately by fear and another emotion he did not recognize and for which he had no words.

"Glorfindel?" Arafinwë asked with some concern as he saw the stricken look on the ellon’s face. "What is it, yonya? What troubles you?"

The ellon could only stare at the king, shaking his head. "I...I don’t... what if Finrod comes back and I’m not...and... and you and Amillë Eärwen be all alone again... and..."

Ah, so that was it. Arafinwë stood up and embraced the ellon, holding him tightly. "I’m pleased that you would think of others and be concerned for their happiness, but I assure you that we will not be alone. Your amillë and I will miss you, will miss all of you, but it is only for a brief time. Neither Sador nor Finrod will return before the New Year. You will be back by then yourself."

Glorfindel stepped back from Arafinwë’s embrace. "How do you know Finrod won’t be back until then? He’s just escorting Laurendil and Manwen to Lórien, isn’t he?"

Arafinwë sighed. "Do you think Lord Irmo would bother ordering Finrod to act as escort if he had no other purpose for having him come to Lórien? I could have easily arranged for Laurendil and Manwen to travel to Lórien without my son. No, Lord Irmo has a need for your brother. I suspect Finrod will be staying in Lórien for a time."

Glorfindel looked at the king doubtfully. Arafinwë did not seem unduly upset, yet in his own mind being sent to Lórien could only mean one thing...

"Is...is Finrod going to be... punished?"

Now it was Arafinwë who stepped back in surprise. "Punished? Whyever would you think that, yonya?"

Glorfindel looked down at his feet, suddenly feeling unsure. So much was still new to him and his memories of his previous life didn’t seem to help him much. "Th-there was an ellon... when I was in Lórien... he...Olórin took him away because he was...and I thought Finrod was too and..."

Arafinwë stood there trying to figure out what Glorfindel was stammering on about, but was at a loss. He did understand one thing, though. Reaching out he took Glorfindel into his arms again and held him, rubbing his back to give him some comfort. "Hush now. Finrod’s not being punished. I promise you. Being sent to Lórien is not a punishment. Laurendil and Manwen have been sent to Lórien. Do you think they’re being punished?"

"Laurendil might think so," came the surprising answer and Arafinwë couldn’t help but chuckle.

"Yes, well, I assure you it’s not the case. Not for Laurendil and certainly not for Finrod. If Lord Irmo has sent for Finrod it’s because there is a need for him to be there. Just as you knew there was a need for Sador to go to Tol Eressëa. Just as I feel you need to go to Vanyamar."

For a long moment Glorfindel remained in Arafinwë’s embrace enjoying the sense of security that he felt there. He vaguely remembered being held in another’s arms long ago when he was an elfling in truth, but he could not recall whose arms they were and now it didn’t seem to matter anymore. Finally, he drew back, gathering his courage.

"I will go to Vanyamar, if that is your wish, Atar," he said quietly, not quite able to meet Arafinwë’s eyes.

Arafinwë smiled and kissed the ellon on the brow. "That’s my good little elfling."

For some reason Glorfindel didn’t mind being called an elfling just then.

****

The delegation arrived in due course. The Vanyar were in bright contrast to the darker Noldor with their golden tresses that ranged in shades from winter white to deep summer gold. They were tall and proud. Glorfindel thought them haughty and condescending, even to Arafinwë. When the King introduced Glorfindel to the head of the delegation, one Lady Tinwetariel, who appeared to be a kinswoman of Arafinwë, she looked at the ellon in surprise.

"What is your parentage, child, that you have the golden locks of my people?"

Glorfindel looked at the lady in unfeigned disgust. "First of all, my lady, I am not a child. I am Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin. I’ve fought against the legions of the Esselóra and have slain valaraucar in my day." He paused just long enough for that to sink in. "And my parentage is no one’s business but my own."

Tinwetariel raised a delicate eyebrow at that and glanced at Arafinwë, who maintained an impassive mien. The King nodded. "Lord Glorfindel died in Ondolindë, Aunt, saving the life of my great-niece Itarildë and her son Eärendil."

That brought murmurs of surprise from the Vanyar, though Glorfindel did not understand why. Tinwetariel, however, looked at the ellon with something bordering on disdain. "Ah, one of the Reborn. Insolence is unbecoming to one who has passed through Mandos. Did you learn nothing while in the Halls of Waiting, child?"

"I learned that the Valar and Ilúvatar have forgiven me," Glorfindel said quietly, still seething, but keeping himself in check.

There seemed to be nothing that could be said to that, so Tinwetariel let it go. Eärwen, standing next to her husband, decided it was time to step in.

"Perhaps you would care to refresh yourself after your journey, Tinwetariel. Your rooms are ready for you."

"Thank you, my dear," Tinwetariel said. She looked at Glorfindel one more time and gave a sniff as she followed Eärwen into the palace. "Ridiculous looking braids. He looks so barbaric, Eärwen. How do you tolerate it?"

Whatever Eärwen replied was lost in the bustle of the delegation moving into the palace. Glorfindel stayed where he was, still as stone, shocked at the utter rudeness of the lady. Soon only he and Arafinwë remained. The king looked at Glorfindel and squeezed his shoulder in sympathy.

"She’s really not so bad once you get to know her."

Glorfindel declined to answer, giving Arafinwë a skeptical look before turning to go into the palace. Arafinwë sighed, beginning to wonder if sending the ellon to Vanyamar in Tinwetariel’s company was such a good idea.

****

The trade talks lasted a week. Glorfindel attended each session as required, but sat with the younger courtiers rather than with Arafinwë, much to the king’s sorrow. He studiously avoided Tinwetariel and most of the other Vanyar except when duty demanded otherwise. Even then he was barely civil. Tinwetariel, for her part, tended to ignore him. Whatever his claims to fame, she did not think much of the Noldo. When she learned the meanings of the front braids, she was appalled and could not believe that Eärwen would suffer such barbarity in her presence.

"Really, my dear, I thought better of you," she said. "The child is obviously refusing to accept his status in this society. He may well have been a lord in the Outer World, but he is no such thing here."

"Oh?" Eärwen said quietly. She never liked Tinwetariel but had long schooled herself to be polite in the older woman’s presence. "And what is he then?"

"Why, one who lives on sufferance of the Valar’s good will, of course. The Reborn really need to know their place in Aman."

"Even the Vanyar who have returned from Mandos?" Eärwen asked blandly.

Tinwetariel gave her a withering look, tinged with great anger. "None of the Vanyar have been released from Mandos, Eärwen. None."

Belatedly, Eärwen recalled that Tinwetariel’s own son had died during the War of Wrath, but did not offer an apology, knowing it would not be accepted anyway.

The other members of the delegation took their cue from Tinwetariel and felt free to treat Glorfindel with disdain, if they bothered to treat with him at all. Whenever they did, they insisted on using his Quenya name, which just made things worse. By the end of the fourth day Glorfindel had had it. During a break in the talks he cornered Arafinwë in the king’s study, eyes afire with rage.

"I will not go with that... that woman, Atar," he practically screamed. "You cannot make me. I’ll run away to Lórien first, or Mandos!"

Arafinwë sighed, feeling torn. He was half in agreement with the ellon, but knew that some things needed to be done, however distasteful. He could not let his own feelings interfere with what he knew was demanded of him and Glorfindel both. His expression became stern as the ellon fumed before him.

"Enough!" he exclaimed, though he did not raise his voice. Glorfindel’s eyes widened. "No one is running away to anywhere, least of all you. The decision has already been made. When the Vanyar leave you will be with them. I speak now not as your atar but as your king. Do not disobey me in this, yonya. You will not like the consequences."

For a long moment there was silence between them, then Glorfindel bowed and left without saying another word. He did not speak to Arafinwë for the rest of the week unless it was absolutely necessary and when he left with the Vanyar he refused to say good-bye to Arafinwë or allow Eärwen to hug him, which grieved them both. Glorfindel rode with the other Noldor who would also be spending the winter in the High King’s court, tears coursing down his cheeks.

****

Pityaván: (Quenya) Little goose.

Vanyamar: City of the Vanyar at the foot of Taniquetil. Tolkien never mentions this city but it seems reasonable to suppose that the Vanyar would settle close to Taniquetil, for they were the closest to the Valar of all the Eldar and Ingwë is said to sit at Manwë’s feet. The name means "Vanya home"; cf. Valimar/Valmar, the city of the Valar. 

Esselóra: (Quenya) The Nameless, a title of Melkor.

Valaraucar: (Quenya) Plural (sic) of valarauco: balrog.

Ondolindë: (Quenya): Gondolin.