45: Slipping the Leash

Glorfindel woke to see Ingwion staring down at him, the worried look on his face turning to one of relief.

"He’s awake, my lords," the prince said without taking his eyes off Glorfindel, and two people came into Glorfindel’s view. Ingwion stood up so Lord Námo could sit beside Glorfindel then moved to stand on the other side of the couch. Lord Manwë stood behind his brother Vala. Both had expressions that were unreadable to the elf and he wondered if he was in serious trouble.

"Well, my best beloved, how are you feeling?" Námo asked, placing a hand on the elf’s forehead. "You had us worried there for a bit."

"I’m sorry, my lord," Glorfindel said faintly. "I don’t mean to be such a nuisance."

Námo smiled. "You’re not a nuisance, child. Annoying sometimes, but definitely not a nuisance." Glorfindel couldn’t help but grin at that and Námo nodded. "Rest for a while. There’s no hurry."

"What happened?"

"You fainted," Manwë said, and smiled when Glorfindel grimaced. "Don’t worry. It’s the most common reaction amongst the Eldar who walk my brother’s spiral maze, so you’re in good company."

Glorfindel looked at Ingwion. "Did you faint, too?"

Ingwion blushed and shook his head. "I threw up."

Námo chuckled at Glorfindel’s expression. "The second most common reaction to walking the spiral."

"So, why do you have it?" Glorfindel asked, feeling somewhat confused.

Námo’s expression became unreadable again but there was a glint of humor in his eyes. "It cuts down on repeat visitors."

Glorfindel gave the Vala a jaundiced look. "You must be a lot of fun at parties."

Both Valar laughed at that. "You have no idea," Manwë said with a wink at Námo who laughed even harder. "Now, if you’re feeling better, perhaps we can get on with the reason for your visit," Manwë continued and Glorfindel nodded.

Ingwion gave him a helping hand up and Glorfindel took a quick look around. The room was similar in size to the Spiral room, but that is where all similarities ended. For one thing there was no spiral maze on the floor. For another, in each wall was a door, presumably leading to other parts of the mansion. The only furniture was the low couch Glorfindel had been lying on. Crystal globes suspended from the ceiling provided illumination. Námo led them to one of the doors and soon they were traversing a short corridor, entering another room at the end of it.

Inside they found several people waiting. Varda was there, as were Ulmo and a third Vala whom Ingwion identified as Aulë. Half a dozen Maiar were also there, all wearing the emblem of the Lord of Mandos on their black surcoats. All of them stared at the ellyn as they entered and Glorfindel felt himself go weak again, suddenly having second thoughts.

*Too late for that, I’m afraid, dear,* Varda’s thoughts sounded sympathetic in his mind.

Námo gestured to one of his servants, who approached. "This is Tindomerel," the Vala said to the two elves. "She will see to your needs while you are with us. Go with her and we will join you presently."

Tindomerel gestured and the two elves followed her to the other side of the room towards a sideboard where food and drink could be found. "You might find this to your liking," she said as she poured some fruit juice for them. It smelled and tasted of strawberries, much to Glorfindel’s delight and he eagerly drank it, remembering a day which he and Ecthelion had spent getting drunk on strawberry wine. Ingwion was slower to accept the drink but after a cautious sip he too drank with relish. Neither elf felt the need for food at that moment and so declined Tindomerel’s offer to fill some plates for them. Instead, Glorfindel took the time to look around.

This room was larger than the other room, perhaps forty paces across. There was only the one door through which they had come. High clerestory windows provided them with illumination. The walls were plastered and painted with geometric shapes in soothing shades of mauve and grey. The floor was tiled with rainbow obsidian flagstones. A large star pattern in the center of the floor was made from isilsardi, shimmering blue-white in the light of day.

Námo and the other Valar were standing on the opposite side of the room from Glorfindel and they appeared to be communing silently, for he could see no movement of mouths or even of bodies. It was as if they were statues. He took another swallow of the juice, the last of it, in fact, and suddenly felt somewhat disjointed. He was having trouble focusing and nearly dropped his glass, save that Tindomerel rescued it from his hand at the last minute. He began to feel panicky and suddenly he was running towards the door. He nearly reached it when someone grabbed him from behind and he began shrieking. Manveru, who had remained unclad all this time at Manwë’s orders, manifested himself and lifted the elf into his arms and brought him back to the center of the room where he laid him on a raised bed. Other Maiar stood around the bed holding the ellon down. Glorfindel never stopped shrieking.

Then Námo was there, and Varda.

"Glorfindel! Look at me," Varda commanded and though he stopped yelling and stared up at the Valië, he never stopped struggling. Varda placed a cool hand on his brow, never taking her eyes off him. He found himself falling into her gaze and he started whimpering, though he was unaware that he was doing so.

Varda reached up and plucked one of the living stars from her wreath and held it above her, then let go so that it was suspended in the air. "Look at the star, Glorfindel," she bid him and he had no choice but to obey. It was a beautiful star Glorfindel realized, pulsating gently and its rhythm soothed him so he began to calm down and soon he was lying still, his gaze never leaving the star.

"That’s right," Varda said softly. "Keep your eye on the star. Do you remember me telling you I gave Ingwion a star to hold when he was very young? This is the same star."

Glorfindel nodded but otherwise he did not acknowledge the Valië’s words, so engrossed by the pulsing rhythm of the star sending calming waves through him.

Varda looked up at Námo. "He’s ready. We should do this quickly."

Námo nodded, silently ordering the Maiar to release Glorfindel, then turned to where Ingwion was standing white-faced and terrified in Tindomerel’s arms.

"Come here, Ingwion," Námo said and Tindomerel released the ellon who stumbled towards the Vala with a sob. Námo took him into his embrace and began rubbing Ingwion’s back to soothe him.

"I know you’re afraid, child," Námo said gently, "but you have no reason to be. Glorfindel is unharmed, as are you."

"Wh-what did you do to him?"

Námo sighed. "Nothing."

The elf pulled himself out of Námo’s embrace, a look of disbelief on his face. "Nothing? NOTHING? Then why was he shrieking as if all the valaraucar of Melkor were after him? He was fine until... until..."

Námo nodded. "Until he drank the juice."

"Wh-what was in the juice and why wasn’t I..." Ingwion gave him a look of horror and he tried to back out of the Vala’s arms but Námo was implacable and suddenly Ulmo was standing behind him as well, blocking all escape.

"Wh-what... what..." but he couldn’t get the words out and he was beginning to panic but then Námo was holding his head between his hands and gazing into his eyes and Ingwion fell into them, lost in the depths of love that seemed to surround him and he became quiescent.

"That’s it, Ingwion," he heard Námo say. "Take a deep breath and let it out slowly... again." Ingwion found himself following the Vala’s instructions and soon he was coming back to himself, finding that Ulmo had taken him into his embrace, his long beard and hair tickling the back of Ingwion’s neck.

Námo was speaking again. "There was nothing in the juice, Ingwion, I promise you. Glorfindel is experiencing a psychic break. His fëa is trying to leave his hröa and we don’t know why. It manifests itself physically with his becoming panicky and attempting to run away. I need you to help me keep him grounded. That is why you are here."

Ingwion looked at the Vala in confusion. "How?" he asked but Námo only shook his head.

"There’s no time to explain properly. Will you trust me? I promise, nothing will happen to you or Glorfindel. We seek to save him, but we need your help to do it."

For a moment, Ingwion just stared at Námo and then he gave just the briefest of nods and suddenly he found himself lying on a hard surface looking up. He moved his head and saw that he was lying on a raised bed next to Glorfindel. Varda was leaning over him with a smile as she reached up to pluck another star from her wreath.

"Look at the star, Ingwion and breathe normally. No, do not fear. This will just help you to remain calm and focused but you will be completely aware of everything that happens. That’s better. Now reach out with your right hand."

Ingwion complied and then felt someone place Glorfindel’s hand in his. He automatically grasped it and the physical contact seemed to sharpened his focus so that he was now aware of movement around him, though he never took his eyes off the star. In fact, he found that he had no desire to.

Then Námo was standing next to him, rubbing his forehead. The Vala’s touch was soothing and Ingwion leaned into it gratefully. "Your task is very simple, my young prince, yet vitally important. Reach out with your fëa and see if you can feel Glorfindel’s fëa. That’s it. Do you sense the bond between you?" Ingwion nodded, his eyes wide with wonder. He knew of the marriage bond, such as his parents enjoyed, but he had never experienced anything like it before. Námo smiled encouragingly.

"That is the bond of friendship and brotherhood that you both feel for one another," the Vala explained. "You must keep hold of that bond. If you feel Glorfindel slipping away from you, you must use that bond to pull him back. Do you understand?"

Ingwion nodded. "That’s good. If at any time you think you cannot hold the bond you are to let us know," Námo said, and Ingwion nodded again as Námo squeezed his arm in encouragement.

Námo straightened and stepped back, then he began addressing the Maiar, though Ingwion had no idea what the Lord of Mandos was talking about and several words did not make sense. Listening to the Valar and Maiar speaking to one another he realized they must be speaking in a mixture of Quenya and Valarin, more for his benefit than for theirs, and suspected that those words he did not understand came from the language of the Valar themselves, a language in which he knew only a few basic words.

"Let’s do this people," Námo said, reminding Ingwion of his atar when Ingwë spoke as High King. "Tindomerel, keep an eye on them. Let Varda know if either becomes agitated. Maranwë, I want a complete mapping of their genomes. We need to know if this is a genetic aberration or not. Manveru, you and your fellow guards keep watch. Glorfindel is likely to try to slip his leash again."

Then, to Ingwion’s surprise, Námo gestured and it seemed as if a globe of golden light enveloped him and Glorfindel while the Valar and Maiar stood outside. Two ladder-like structures appeared floating in the air. One was over Glorfindel while the other was suspended above him. The structures twisted along a central core like a spiral staircase and the ‘rungs’ were half one color and half another in no particular pattern that Ingwion could understand — blue and green, yellow and red. Its purpose was incomprehensible to him and anyway, the gently pulsating star was more interesting to look at.

Of course, the blue-green strip of light that was floating in front of Námo was equally interesting, and equally incomprehensible to the elf so he ignored that too, though he noticed that it was twisted at one end before being joined to the other end and wondered at its significance.

While he continued staring at the pulsating star he half listened to what the Valar were saying to one another as they gathered around Námo and the glowing strip of light.

"The initial break occurred at these coordinates," Námo was saying, writing numbers with his finger in midair and Ingwion found himself feeling not at all surprised by that. "Then he fled along this temporal corridor."

"Nearly at right angles to the corridor down which Ingwë and the others fled," Aulë said, looking thoughtful.

"Significant, do you think?"Manwë asked.

"Perhaps, or it may mean nothing at all," Aulë replied.

Ulmo spoke up next. "The timing is interesting, don’t you think?"

"How do you mean, brother?" Námo asked respectfully. Ingwion, of course, could not know that, among the Valar, Ulmo was considered one of their chief engineers and a scientist of great depth of knowledge and wisdom.

"Just this," and Ulmo reached out and wrote his own set of numbers. Whatever their significance, they were lost on Ingwion, but every Vala there, and not a few of the Maiar, gasped.

"Why didn’t I see that?" Námo asked, sounding perplexed and for some reason Ingwion felt a frisson of fear or shock at the Vala’s tone that must have registered somehow because Tindomerel spoke up, her voice calm and remote.

"Ingwion’s heart rate just went up, my lady," she said, addressing Varda.

Námo and Varda were suddenly beside him, passing through the golden light as if it weren’t there. Varda placed a hand on his forehead and he began to feel calm again.

"That’s it, child," she said. "Breathe normally and relax. You’re doing fine."

Námo smiled down at him and squeezed his arm. "You’re doing well, Ingwion. You have shown much courage in this and your atar would be very proud of you."

The words gave Ingwion much pleasure to hear, though in truth, he felt more confused than brave. He nodded, nonetheless, for some reason disinclined to speak. Varda continued stroking his forehead but Námo turned back to Ulmo.

"Glorfindel’s been re-embodied for three years now. That particular date has come and gone twice since then. Why now?"

Ulmo shrugged. "I do not know, but it is interesting nonetheless, don’t you think?"

At that moment Glorfindel gave a moan and started to convulse. Námo shouted. "Hold him down! Ingwion, whatever you do, don’t let go of Glorfindel’s hand."

"He’s slipping his leash, my lord," Maranwë called out.

"Ingwion, call him back!" Námo ordered and Ingwion did what he had been instructed to do, though he wasn’t sure he was doing it correctly. Aulë spoke up then.

"No! Let him go. We need to see where he is headed. We can retrieve him later."

"Too dangerous," Námo protested, "and his fëa may suffer from the shock."

"He needn’t go far," Manwë intervened, sounding as calm as a summer’s day.

Námo hesitated for a moment and then nodded, turning to Ingwion. "Let him go, child, but don’t sever the bond just yet." Ingwion reluctantly complied, breathing deeply as he loosened his tie with Glorfindel. He felt the ellon slipping away and bit back a sob, fearing the worst. Varda was there, soothing him, encouraging him to keep his eyes on the star above him and soon he was feeling more relaxed. Indeed, he was nearly asleep.

"I wonder where he is trying to get to," Manwë mused as he stared at the glowing blue-green strip. Ingwion noticed vaguely that a golden dot seemed to be moving along it.

"Not Gondolin," Ulmo said, pointing at the glowing strip. "Look, the spatial coordinates are all wrong."

"And the temporal coordinates as well," Manwë said. "He doesn’t seem to be leaving Aman at all and the timeframe is not even the recent past. It’s within point-oh-six of the present moment."

"So where is he trying to get to?" Varda asked. "Last time he said he was trying to get home, but even he has admitted that Gondolin is no longer home for him. So what does ‘home’ mean to him now?"

"Tirion?" Manveru asked.

Something sparked Ingwion’s memory and he struggled to speak. He couldn’t understand why it was proving to be so difficult. Námo was there, kneeling beside him.

"You don’t need to speak, Ingwion. We will hear your thoughts."

Ingwion nodded and tried to make his thoughts clear. *Not Tirion.*

"Where then?" Manwë asked. "Certainly not Vanyamar."

Ingwion shook his head, frustrated, and he felt Námo place a soothing hand on his arm. "Stay calm, Ingwion. Your inability to speak is merely temporary, a consequence of your expending energy to maintain your bond with Glorfindel. Just relax and formulate your thoughts slowly. We will understand."

Ingwion took a deep breath and tried again. *Not a place... Findaráto... and... and....*

"And Sador," Námo finished for him and the elf nodded, grateful that someone understood. Námo stood and looked down at the elf and smiled in approval. "Well done, best beloved. I do believe you are correct."

"Yes," Manwë added. "Good work, yonya." He smiled warmly at the ellon and Ingwion felt indescribably pleased at the Elder King’s praise.

"In that case, we had best retrieve him immediately," Ulmo said, looking grave. "This close to the present..."

At that precise moment everyone, even Ingwion, heard a mental shout from Irmo. *NÁMO! Will you kindly come pick up your fugitive elf. Findaráto is having a fit."

Ingwion couldn’t tell if the Lord of Lórien was angry or amused, though none of the Valar in the room seemed particularly upset. Námo merely rolled his eyes.

*Coming, hánonya.* He gave Manwë a wry grin.

The Elder King returned his smile. "Go. I will see to things at this end."

Námo gave Manwë a brief bow, then gestured to half the Maiar and they were gone. Manwë turned to Ingwion and smiled. "You’ve done very well, child, but I can see that you are exhausted. You can let go of Glorfindel’s hand now."

Ingwion, however, shook his head. "Glorfindel...." he spoke barely above a whisper and was appalled at how weak he sounded.

Varda plucked the two stars out of the air and replaced them in her wreath. "Glorfindel is safe, Ingwion. You’ve done your part. Now it’s time to rest." She smiled down at him as she gently disengaged his hand from Glorfindel’s. "Go to sleep, my dear. You’ve earned your rest."

With that, Ingwion felt a great weariness steal over his limbs and his eyelids grew heavy. In a matter of minutes he was fast asleep. He never felt Manwë gently cover him with a blanket or give him a kiss on the forehead.

****

Isilsardi: Plural of isilsar: Moonstone. A symbol of truth in self-reflection and showing what ‘is’ [isil ‘moon’ + sar ‘stone’].

Hánonya: My brother.