58: Friends in High Places

Laurendil, it turned out, was neither morose nor wallowing in self-pity. Instead, he was grim and white-faced when Finrod entered his pavilion to find the ranger there pacing back and forth.

"Mithlas," he said before Finrod could ask him what was wrong. "They won’t let me see him."

"They?"

"The Lóriennildi masters," Laurendil replied bitterly. "As an apprentice, I’m apparently incapable of holding the ellon’s hand while he suffers terrors about which they know nothing. At least they let Eärnur stay."

"But he barely understands Sindarin," Finrod said in exasperation. "Are they being deliberately insensitive or is their own arrogance getting in the way?"

"Well, nothing we can do about it," Laurendil said with a diffident shrug that did not fool Finrod.

"Honestly, gwador nîn, when did that ever stop us?" Finrod said, feigning surprise.

Laurendil grinned wickedly. "I’ll guard your back, aran nîn."

Finrod laughed. "You’ll do more than that, bôr nîn. Come. We need some reinforcements."

Without giving Laurendil a chance to ask what he had in mind, Finrod strode out of the pavilion, the light of battle in his eyes. Laurendil followed him, automatically walking three paces behind and to Finrod’s left, the traditional position of a guard, though neither elf was armed. Those who saw them stepped aside with alacrity and alarm. None of these Amaneldi were used to seeing elves in the midst of a battle-meld, for Laurendil had reflexively opened himself to Finrod, allowing his lord to coordinate their movements.

Finrod made his way to a particular grove where he found a certain Maia. Irmo had told him about this place and the one who dwelt there.

"If ever you need assistance, seek her out. She will aid you."

Finrod now entered the grove and bowed deeply. "Le suilon, hiril nîn."

Melian turned from the roses she was deadheading and smiled. "Findaráto! I was told you were here." She held out her hands and Finrod went to her with a smile. The two kissed and Finrod turned and gestured for Laurendil to approach.

"This is my gwador, Glorendil," he said and Laurendil went to his knees before the former Queen of Doriath.

"My lady," he said, awe in his voice as he looked upon the Maia who had captured the heart of Elu Thingol.

"Now, now, child. None of that," Melian gently chided him. "Stand up and let me see you." She nodded as he complied and her smile deepened. "I’m glad to see you have finally made peace with your destiny, my dear."

Laurendil found himself blushing. Apparently, his soul was an open book to all and sundry. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

"Not to all and sundry, child," Melian said with gentle amusement. "Just to those of us granted the privilege of seeing. Lord Irmo can be somewhat persistent when it comes to finding his apprentices."

"Lord Irmo has been very patient with me," Laurendil murmured apologetically.

Melian nodded and turned to Finrod who had watched the exchange with interest. "What brings you to me, Nephew? Your eyes are bright with the light of battle, yet I see no orcs here."

"Orcs there are none, Aunt," Finrod said with a grim smile, "yet enemies abound."

Melian looked at this Reborn elf for whom she had always had a special fondness, and her expression turned grave. "Tell me."

****

Eärnur was attempting to calm Mithlas with the little Sindarin he knew, which, admittedly wasn’t much. ‘Im nestor a melon cerdyf phihin. Man o ci?’ (the only Sindarin he could remember) was proving to be unhelpful, nor did Mithlas seem to care if Eärnur liked apples, juicy or otherwise. Thus, he looked up with some relief when he saw Finrod come striding into the pavilion with Laurendil in tow... and one other.

He would have scrambled to his feet in respect except that Mithlas chose that moment to start struggling again while another journeyman healer attempted to put restraints on him. Two master healers — one dark-haired, the other auburn — looked on with undisguised disgust. Their expressions changed rather rapidly to undisguised awe as Melian bore down on them like the wrath of Mandos.

She took one look at poor Mithlas and, kneeling beside the writhing elf, touched him lightly on his head and sent him into healing sleep. "Losto, hên nîn. No na hîdh." Mithlas subsided into Eärnur’s arms with a sigh. Eärnur felt himself blushing under the mild scrutiny of the Maia queen, though there was no condemnation in her eyes as she gazed at him. Her expression darkened, however, when she stood and faced the Lóriennildi masters. Finrod stood beside her. Laurendil silently helped Eärnur with Mithlas, removing the restraints and composing his limbs to more comfortable positions. The other journeyman stood uncertainly, not sure how much trouble he might be in himself. Melian glanced at him and gave him a quick smile. "Rananur, you may leave. This does not concern you."

The Noldorin journeyman was only too happy to comply with the Maia’s orders and with a short bow left the pavilion as quickly as possible.

"Perhaps I should leave, too..." Eärnur began. In truth, he wouldn’t mind leaving. He had the feeling that Mithlas’ pavilion was about to become an unhealthy place to be.

It was Finrod, rather than Melian, who stopped him. "No, Eärnur. Stay here. This concerns you."

Eärnur looked decidedly unhappy at that, but when Melian nodded in his direction he gave her a respectful bow and stepped away, not wanting to be caught in the line of fire between the Maia and his masters. Melian raked them over with her gaze, her posture imperious, yet not arrogant.

"Would either of you care to explain yourself?" she asked mildly.

The two masters, both Noldor, glanced at each other nervously and then back at Melian, who stood there waiting patiently for one of them to answer her.

"May I ask, my lady, what concern you have here?" the dark-haired master asked. "And why are these two apprentices with you?"

"I am not here as an apprentice," Finrod said before Melian could speak. "I am here in my capacity as a prince of Eldamar, and as the High King’s great-nephew."

"And mine," Melian said quietly.

Eärnur felt his eyes widen at that and wondered what other surprises were in store.

"Well, that explains you," the other master said with a sneer at Finrod, "but what about the other?"

Laurendil had by then returned to stand behind Finrod.

Finrod smiled, and it wasn’t pleasant. "Laurendil is not here as an apprentice either."

"What then?" the first master asked. "He’s no prince."

"No," Finrod agreed. "He’s my vassal and he guards my back."

There didn’t seem to be much they could say about that, not really understanding what it meant. Melian decided to step in again.

"You still haven’t answered my question."

The dark-haired master sighed. "We’ve been having trouble with this particular Sinda..."

"His name is Mithlas and he’s from Lindon," Finrod said coldly. "He fought in the Dagor Bragollach and survived the fall of Doriath. He has seen horrors you cannot imagine. He has come here for healing, but all he has gotten from us is abuse."

Now the two masters looked affronted. "We have never abused any of our patients!" the auburn-haired master yelled.

"Charges."

The master looked at Laurendil in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"Charges," Laurendil repeated, sounding just as cold as Finrod had. "They are not ‘patients’, they are your charges. They have been entrusted to you, much as elflings are entrusted to caregivers."

"So Mithlas has been giving you trouble, has he?" Melian asked, steering the conversation back to its original point. "What kind of trouble?"

Now the two masters looked worried again. It wasn’t that the Sinda had caused trouble so much as he’d been troublesome, refusing to cooperate, never speaking Quenya, suddenly screaming for no reason....

"How do you know?" Finrod asked, interrupting their diatribe.

"Er... well... that is...."

Finrod nodded then turned to Melian. "Can you wake him, Aunt? I would like to question him myself."

Melian nodded and went over to the cot, leaned over and gently brushed her hand across the ellon’s forehead. "Echuio, Mithlas! Tolo ’ni galad." It took several minutes for the elf to bestir himself, but finally he opened his eyes, looking somewhat fearful.

Finrod sat in a chair next to the cot and placed a hand on the ellon’s arm. "Mae govannen, mellon nîn. Gerich rîn en-nin?"

Mithlas nodded. "Y-you’re the dead king."

Laurendil rolled his eyes and slapped his forehead. "Of course! I knew there was something different about you, aran nîn. I just couldn’t put my finger on it."

"And you only just noticed?" Finrod quipped, giving Mithlas a smile and a wink. Now Mithlas looked at them in confusion as Laurendil and Melian laughed. It was her laughter that brought the Maia to the Sinda’s attention and he nearly fainted at the sight of her.

"Easy now, Mithlas," Finrod said quietly. "There is nothing to fear here. You recognize your queen."

It was not a question, but Mithlas nodded mutely anyway, tears running down his cheeks as he continued to stare into Melian’s eyes. Melian smiled sadly and leaned over and gave the ellon a gentle kiss on the forehead, brushing an errant lock away from his face.

"I am glad that you survived the fall of our fair nation, Mithlas of Lindon," Melian said softly, "but it grieves me to see you in such straits."

"Would you like to talk about it?" Finrod asked. Mithlas hesitated, staring around the pavilion, paling at the sight of the masters, but smiling tremulously at Eärnur, who smiled back. "Why did you think I would be interested in apples?"

Finrod had to translate that for Eärnur, who had only caught one or two words of the entire exchange. He blushed. "It was the only thing I could remember how to say."

Finrod and Laurendil laughed outright. Melian smiled sympathetically and Mithlas grinned, but his face darkened as he noticed the bruises on his wrists and gasped. Finrod took the elf’s chin in his hand, forcing him to look at the Noldorin prince. "Do not concern yourself with these. You will not be restrained again. Of that you have my word."

"And mine," Melian replied softly, looking mildly at the two masters who flinched under her ancient regard.

"You know, Mithlas," Finrod said in a conversational tone. "Glorendil here is feeling a bit lonely. His wife, a lovely Sinda healer named Manwen, is taking lessons with Lady Nienna for a time and so Glorendil is quite alone. I think he might like some company until Manwen returns. She’s from Doriath too and Glorendil knew Dior and Nimloth when they lived at Tol Galen."

Mithlas’ eyes widened as he glanced at Laurendil. "Truly, my lord? You knew Elúchil?"

Laurendil nodded. "And Beren and Lúthien as well, after they returned from Mandos."

"M-my beloved is in Mandos," Mithlas said shyly, looking down. "I-I wanted to follow her...but her last words... she made me promise..."

And then he was weeping and Melian sat on the edge of the cot and took the ellon in her arms, crooning softly and rocking him until he grew calmer.

"What is her name?" Melian asked gently.

"Glassiel," he whispered.

"A lovely name," the Maia said. "I think she would be very sad to see you here, child."

"So do I," Finrod said in a rather no-nonsense tone. "That’s why I think you would be better off staying with Glorendil. You can both drown yourselves in sorrows together. It’s much more fun than doing it alone, or so I’ve been told."

Mithlas raised an eyebrow at that. "I... I don’t think I’m allowed..."

"Nonsense, child. I think it’s a marvelous idea."

Everyone turned to see Lord Irmo striding into the pavilion and gave the Vala their obeisance, with Eärnur and Finrod helping Mithlas to his feet. He ignored everyone but Melian who gave her lord a small smile. "Ah, I see our intrepid prince roped you into his cause as well."

"There was no roping involved, my lord," Melian said lightly. "It was the least I could do for one of my former subjects."

"Then it’s settled," Irmo said with a nod. He turned to Finrod and smiled. "Dangerous, very dangerous, indeed."

Finrod smiled back. Irmo then turned to the two masters and sighed, giving them a crook of his finger. "You two, come with me."

Without another word the Vala turned and left the pavilion with the two masters stumbling behind him, looking as if they might faint at any moment. Finrod noticed Eärnur looking concerned and put a hand on the ellon’s arm.

"Do not fear for them, Eärnur. Irmo will not treat them unkindly."

Melian went to Eärnur and gave him a brief kiss on the forehead. "You are very good at what you do, child. Your parents will be very proud of you when you become a master healer. Continue as you have and you will do well."

"Thank you, Lady," the Teler murmured.

Melian turned to Finrod. "It is good to see you again, Nephew. I trust you find your new life to your liking?"

"Yes, Aunt, I do," Finrod said with a smile. "Thank you for your help."

"Come and see me when you are not busy and we will talk." Then Melian gave them all a brilliant smile and was gone, leaving the four elves alone.

Finrod looked at Mithlas and smiled. "Why don’t we help you pack?"

****

Bôr nîn: (Sindarin) My vassal. The Quenya equivalent would be vorondonya.

Le suilon, hiril nîn: (Sindarin) "I greet thee, my lady".

Im nestor a melon cerdyf phihin. Man o ci?: (Sindarin) "I am a healer and I love juicy apples. What about you?".

Losto, hên nîn. No na hîdh: (Sindarin) "Sleep, my child. Be at peace."

Echuio, Mithlas! Tolo ’ni galad: (Sindarin) "Awake, Mithlas! Come towards the light."

Mae govannen, mellon nîn. Gerich rîn en-nin?: (Sindarin) "Greetings, my friend. Do you remember me?". Literally, "Do you have remembrance of me?".

Notes: Finrod is Elu Thingol’s great-nephew through his mother, Eärwen, the daughter of Elu’s brother, Olwë.

Tol Galen is the name of the island where Beren and Lúthien lived after their return from Mandos.