37: An Ancient Lullaby

Ingwion was there to greet Glorfindel the next morning when the Noldo opened his door.

"Your Highness," Glorfindel greeted the prince with a bow, his expression somewhat wary.

Ingwion smiled. "Atar is punishing me for goading you, Laurefindil."

Glorfindel found himself smiling as well. "And how is the High King punishing you, Highness?"

"By making you my responsibility."

Now Glorfindel scowled. "Contrary to the popular opinion of everyone from Manwë on down, I do not need a minder."

Ingwion shook his head. "Atar always assigns one of the family to mentor anyone Arafinwë or Olwë send us for fostering. My sister, Indil, for instance, has charge of Ercassë and Findis will oversee Elemmírë’s education. You are stuck with me."

Glorfindel was somewhat mollified and nodded. "Sorry."

"And the first lesson is this... if you call me ‘highness’ again I will pound you so far into the ground you’ll need to reach up to lace your boots. My name is Ingwion."

Glorfindel smiled somewhat wickedly. "And if you are ever so stupid as to call me ‘Laurefindil’ again I will return the favor. My name is Glorfindel."

Ingwion laughed and clapped the Noldo on the shoulder. "I think we will get along just fine. Come. Atar always has a breakfast meeting with his family and councillors on the first day of the week and the fosterlings also attend as part of their training."

Glorfindel gave Ingwion a quizzical look. "Is that what you call us...fosterlings?"

Ingwion nodded as they headed down the hall. "The others who came with you from Tirion are within five years of their majority so legally they are underage and must needs have a guardian. As High King, Atar is automatically their guardian and the rest of the family treat them like younger siblings. Believe it or not, for most, this is the first time they’ve ever been away from their families for any length of time."

"Homesickness?" Glorfindel raised an amused eyebrow.

"Sometimes," Ingwion acknowledged. "That’s why Atar likes his children or younger members of the family to take them in hand."

"Well, I don’t think that will be a problem with me, so don’t worry."

"I won’t," Ingwion assured him with a smile.

By now they had reached the private dining hall reserved for the royal family and their closest friends. Glorfindel looked about with interest. Save for the fact that the room itself was somewhat larger than the royal dining hall in Tirion, it looked very much the same, with sideboards loaded with food. There was no ceremony here; people took as much or as little as they pleased. Servers were discrete and unobtrusive, making sure that nothing was lacking, but otherwise they left Ingwë and his family to fend for themselves.

As soon as they entered, all conversations stopped. Glorfindel ignored it, for he had eyes only for Alassiel, who was sitting at one of the lower tables with a woman who looked enough like her that Glorfindel suspected this might be the elleth’s amillë. Glorfindel frowned and shook his head in disbelief. Could no one see? Did no one care?

Alassiel looked up when she noticed the silence, as she had been intent on cajoling her amillë to eat something. She looked towards the entrance and saw Glorfindel. Without thought, she stood up and ran up to him, smiling. Glorfindel, for his part, opened his arms wide and closed them about the elleth, swinging her in his embrace.

"Good morrow, Cousin," Glorfindel said with a smile. "You are looking fair this fine day."

"As are you, Cousin," Alassiel replied, planting a decorous kiss on his cheek before standing back. "Will you join me?" There was a hint of desperation in the elleth’s eyes that did not go unnoticed by either Glorfindel or Ingwion, but only Glorfindel understood its source.

"I would be honored," Glorfindel said with a bow. He stole a glance at Ingwion and smiled slyly, bending down in a conspiratorial manner. "That is, if you don’t mind sharing me with my Keeper."

Alassiel giggled, and Ingwion rolled his eyes, giving Glorfindel a punch on the arm, though all there could see it was in jest, for the prince was smiling.

"I think I can manage that, my lords," Alassiel said with a short curtsey before returning to her seat while Ingwion and Glorfindel went to a sideboard and began piling food on their plates.

There was a rustle of voices, most of them expressing disbelief that Alassiel would even acknowledge the Noldo’s presence much less give him a kinsman’s kiss. There were looks of disgust on some faces, and dismay on others.

Ingwë, meanwhile, sat in contemplative silence, reviewing the scene in his mind, ignoring all around him. Obviously, something had happened in the night between these two children and he suspected that Lord Námo might have had something to do with it. He watched as his son and the Noldo joined Alassiel and her amillë, who sat there somewhat listlessly. He saw Alassiel introduce Glorfindel to Lirulin and there was a glow about Glorfindel that had not been there before, or perhaps he had not taken the time to notice. He also noticed something else and silently berated himself for his blindness. He stood up and walked over to the lower table. All eyes were suddenly on the High King.

Alassiel, Ingwion and Glorfindel looked up to see Ingwë approach. Not sure of the protocol, Glorfindel rose and gave the High King a bow, though no one else at the table followed him. Ingwë waved a hand in dismissal.

"We do not stand on ceremony here, child. We are all family. Surely it is thus in Arafinwë’s household?"

"Yes, lord," Glorfindel acknowledged, "but I was not sure..."

Ingwë smiled. "Your courtesy does you credit, child. I am pleased." Then he turned his attention to Lirulin and his smile fled, to be replaced by a frown of reproach. "I am not pleased, however, with the fact that none of us, myself included, has noticed the distress of one who is family." He knelt beside Lirulin. "Child, why do you fade?" he asked softly and there was a collective gasp from the onlookers.

Ingwion started and stared at his atar. "Is this true, Atar? How could I not see it?"

"Yet, you saw it, didn’t you Glorfindel?" Ingwë asked, looking at the ellon with a contemplative air. "As soon as you saw Lirulin, you knew."

"Yes, lord. The signs are easy enough to recognize. I saw it too many times in Endórë. I cannot understand why no one has noticed. She is nearly faded. I do not think any can call her back to herself. It may be too late."

Alassiel gave a sob and Ingwion put an arm around her shoulders to comfort her. Then Lirulin herself surprised everyone by looking up at Glorfindel. "Tell me of Intarion," and her voice was as a whisper of smoke on a cloudless day, insubstantial and faint. "Tell me what I may find when I go to seek him in Mandos."

"I cannot, lady," Glorfindel said with regret. "Further, I would not, for such knowledge is not for the Living."

"Yet, you have been to Mandos. You know. Why will you not speak?" Lirulin suddenly stood up, anger bringing some color to her face, making her seem more solid than she had been.

"And what would you have me say, Lirulin?" Glorfindel also stood, his eyes dark with a flame that spoke of other worlds not known to the elves of Vanyamar. "Intarion is dead. He resides in Mandos. Someday he will be Reborn. That is all you need to know. That is all any need to know."

"How dare you?" Lirulin screamed and she turned and fled, but Glorfindel’s next words stopped her.

"Lirulin! If Intarion knew what you were doing he would be most displeased."

She turned slowly, shock and despair warring in her expression. "Does he even remember me?"

Glorfindel shook his head, his eyes sad. "No, lady, the dead do not remember their former lives. It is Námo’s gift to them that they not be burdened with regrets. If you fade, if you go to Mandos, you will have no memory of Intarion or Alassiel. Even if you meet, neither of you will recognize the other until you are again Reborn."

Lirulin went white at that and started to sway. Glorfindel was the first to reach her before she collapsed to the floor, weeping. He held her, stroking her hair. "Lord Námo will be displeased as well, you know," he said in a conversational tone as Lirulin continued weeping. "Oh yes. He’s none too fond of people who give up. He much prefers people who defy him, spit in his face, and tell him where he can take himself." He smiled, as if at some particular memory, then returned his attention to the woman sobbing in his arms. "Lirulin, Intarion is happy. He knows neither pain nor sorrow. The Shadow touches him not. He plays and sings and dances in the Light and knows only Joy. Can you not hold to that and live? If not for yourself, then for your daughter? Must Alassiel be orphaned twice?"

He began rocking her and then softly began to sing an ancient lullaby, one that none there had heard before except Ingwë, who went white as Glorfindel began to sing. Lirulin’s sobbing slowed and soon she was asleep. Glorfindel continued to sing, ignoring all.

Finally, he came to the end and motioned for several elves to come and bear Lirulin to the healers. "See that she is kept warm. Let them sing every glad song and lullaby they know. It will help keep her grounded." The elves looked at the Noldo in wonder but did not question him. Soon they were bearing Lirulin away. Alassiel made to follow but Ingwë stayed her.

"Let the healers see to her first, daughter," he said to her quietly and she nodded in reluctant agreement.

Glorfindel remained seated on the floor. No one else moved, except Ingwë, who knelt before Glorfindel, his face full of wonder.

"That song...." Ingwë said in a whisper.

Glorfindel answered without looking up, his attention focused elsewhere. "It’s one of my earliest memories of Mandos, being rocked to sleep in Lord Námo’s arms as he sang that song."

"Do you know whence comes the song?"

Glorfindel looked up then and shook his head. "It-it’s just a song," he said with uncertainty as he finally noticed the shock in Ingwë’s expression.

Ingwë reached out and ran a hand through Glorfindel’s hair. "Child, that song is the first thing I heard when I woke at Cuiviénen and saw the stars for the first time." He paused, tears beginning to wash down his face. "I often wondered who was singing it, for I never saw the singer.... Now I think I know."

"And you would be wrong, child."

Ingwë gave a gasp as he swung around to find the last person he had expected to see standing there. He scrambled to his feet, Glorfindel right behind him, and bowed deeply, as did every elf in the room.

Manwë stepped forward and placed his hands on the High King’s shoulders and smiled gently at him.

"My brother is rather fond of that particular lullaby, but he was not the one who was singing it to you as you woke for the first time in Arda."

"Then who...?"

Manwë embraced Ingwë, holding him tight. "Can you not guess, child? It was your Atar singing to you. It was Ilúvatar himself, welcoming his Children into the world as any parent will."

Then Ingwë wept, but no one paid any attention, for they were all too busy weeping themselves at the revelation. Softly, Manwë began to sing the lullaby, but he was not alone. Every elf there heard the voices of all the Valar join with the Elder King in singing. Every elf there ceased to weep, falling into a deep healing sleep.

When Ingwë came to himself sometime later he found he was lying on the floor next to Glorfindel, who had yet to stir. All around, elves were fast asleep, many with smiles on their faces.

Of Manwë there was no sign.