59: Storm Clouds Gathering

A couple of weeks went by without any further incidents. Mithlas and Laurendil became fast friends and after his initial shyness around Finrod wore off, the Sinda could be seen speaking animatedly with the prince of Eldamar whenever they were together. Finrod, for his part, took Mithlas under his wing and encouraged him to speak about his life in Endórë and about his beloved Glassiel.

"I will not tell you what she is experiencing in Mandos," Finrod told him when Mithlas brought the subject up during one of their conversations. "Such knowledge is not for the Living. You only need to know that she is happy and suffers not and one day you will be reunited." Finrod looked at the ellon sympathetically. "Your beloved was wise to forbid you to follow her."

"Wh-why do you say that, a-aranya?" Mithlas asked forlornly, stumbling over the Quenya which he had begun to learn under Laurendil’s tutelage. He had picked up the habit of using the title Laurendil used for the former King of Nargothrond, much to Finrod’s amusement.

Finrod smiled, "Because otherwise you and I could not have become friends, and I value our friendship very much."

Mithlas looked stunned at that and could only stammer a shy ‘Hantanyel’.

Finrod and Laurendil continued to act as apprentices, following various journeymen on their rounds and attending lectures, although no one, least of all the masters, was fooled by this. Whatever their true status, neither Finrod nor Laurendil were truly a part of the Lóriennildi or even the Estenduri. Everyone treated Finrod with grave respect, respect usually reserved for one of the Kings. Many of the Lóriennildi who remembered him from his previous stay were amazed at the depth of power they felt from him now and some of the elves, journeymen and apprentices, caught themselves addressing him as ‘master’ on more than one occasion.

"Not yet," he would say with a laugh as the one who had so addressed him blushed with embarrassment.

Eärnur found himself more and more in their company, and his command of Sindarin grew apace. Lord Irmo had told him that his usual duties were suspended while he concentrated on learning Sindarin and helping both Laurendil and Mithlas. After his ‘rescue’, Mithlas no longer suffered from the terrors that had plagued him earlier, and his fëa began to heal. Laurendil’s own healing seemed to be complete, for he now donned his apprentice’s tabard without a qualm and took his duties seriously, even joyfully.

"I find that I enjoy helping to heal the fëar of people like Mithlas," he confided to Finrod one day. "Perhaps Lord Irmo will accept me as a Journeyman when the time comes."

Finrod smiled at his friend. "That would be wonderful. Manwen’s skills seem to gravitate towards healing of the hröa, so I think she will eventually become an Estenduriën. With you as a Lóriennildo, you will make a formidable pair."

"And you, aranya? What of you?"

"Oh, do not concern yourself there, my friend," Finrod said lightly. "Lord Irmo and I have an understanding, but I think that when your training is complete you and Manwen and I will be working together."

Laurendil wanted to ask for more details but Finrod refused to be forthcoming. "Nothing is certain at this stage. Learn what you will from both Lord Irmo and Lady Estë, vorondonya, and we will see."

With that Laurendil had to be content.

Finrod, for his part, found that in many respects nothing had really changed for him. Yet, everything had changed. Always, he had been the receiver of any oaths offered and to find himself to be the giver of an oath was a new experience for him and he reveled in it. After his initial reaction to the oath in the Valar’s grove he often found himself stopping at odd moments in the day, staring at nothing in particular and rubbing the gift-ring in an absentminded fashion. Laurendil noticed the ring right away.

"Aranya, where did you get the ring?" he asked shortly after they had seen Mithlas settled in Laurendil’s pavilion.

"A gift from Lord Irmo and Lord Námo."

"But... is that not the same ring that you gave to Barahir? The same ring young Beren...?"

"Yes and no," Finrod replied, suddenly reluctant to explain further. Laurendil must have noticed the change in his lord’s demeanor for he did not pursue his questions, for which Finrod was grateful.

Being both a receiver of and a giver of an oath brought its own problems for the erstwhile king and he found himself seeking advice from Melian who welcomed him to her grove when he appeared one day, looking somewhat lost and uncertain.

"You have always been the one entrusted with the oath of another," Melian said as they sat sipping wine, giving the elf a shrewd yet sympathetic look. "You are used to the responsibility that entails. Now you find you have given your oath to another and you are not able to reconcile the feelings you have with what you know is true about yourself. Is that not so, Nephew?"

Finrod nodded. "Yes, Aunt. I know myself as a king and the keeper of oaths. Each one of my people whose life I hold in my keeping, I know with great intimacy and I love them as my sons and daughters. Now... I have these other feelings... other thoughts... and I don’t know whence they come or how to deal with them."

"Tell me what you feel, child," the Maia queen said encouragingly.

For a moment Finrod could only stare into his goblet of wine, then he looked up at Melian, his expression one of confusion and joy mixed. "I feel...loved, but more than that. It... my life is no longer mine. Someone else holds it for me and now... and now... lady, what do I do now?"

Melian took the goblet from Finrod’s suddenly nerveless fingers and placed it on the table before gathering the ellon into her arms and holding him as he wept. She did not attempt to do anything but hold him until he was calmer, then she spoke softly into his ear.

"You do as you always have done, child. You continue to be Findaráto. You are discovering that one can be both the lover and the beloved. For long ages you have known only how to be the lover, the keeper of others’ lives. Now, you are learning what it means to be the beloved, to have another hold your life in their keeping. Do you think my lord Námo calling you his ‘best beloved’ a mere turn of phrase? Nay, there has always been a deeper truth to that, and you are only just finding that out, are you not?"

Finrod nodded but did not speak. He had never thought of his role as king in such terms before, but now that he thought about it, it made sense. He knew how his people had looked at him with adoration bordering on awe at times. He had never felt uncomfortable with that, for he loved them truly as a father loves his children. Now, he realized, he probably had that same look on his own face whenever he was in the presence of either Lord Irmo or Lord Námo. They need only smile at him and he felt such unmitigated joy and a sense of belonging that it often brought tears to his eyes. He suspected that his own people had felt the same way whenever he gave them his attention.

So it went, and life settled into a comfortable routine for them all. Manwen sent frequent letters to Laurendil, and he sent his own back, but other than to say she was happy and coming to terms with herself, he did not offer to share what she wrote and Finrod did not press.

"She might be coming home soon," Laurendil said one day after receiving a letter from Manwen, his eyes bright with anticipation, "perhaps as early as next week," and Finrod smiled, glad that his gwador would soon be reunited with his beloved.

Then, something happened.

Finrod woke up one morning to find himself staring into the anxious eyes of Lady Estë and Lord Irmo. He himself felt weak and disoriented with no idea why.

"M-my lady," he rasped, for his throat was raw and he thought he might have been screaming. "What happened?"

"What do you remember, child?" Irmo asked.

Finrod shook his head, which was a mistake because the world started spinning. When it eventually righted itself he became violently ill. It was some time before he felt sufficiently ‘present’ to the world to answer the Vala’s question.

"I...went to sleep," he said, taking a sip of water from a glass that Lady Estë held for him, too weak to do more than sit up slightly. "I think I dreamt... something bad... Glorfindel!" His gwador! Something was wrong with his gwador!

Estë held him down. "Hush now, Findaráto. Glorfindel is fine. Nothing has happened to him. He went to Vanyamar, to learn statecraft from Ingwë. I think he’s visiting Valmar with Prince Ingwion. A sort of holiday as it were."

"But why..."

"Perhaps something occurred earlier in the day that triggered a memory of dark times in your life and you transferred your anxiety to your closest friend and brother," Irmo suggested. "Not all dreams have import, child. You simply had a very frightening nightmare, nothing more."

"Why don’t you go back to sleep, child?" Estë said. "I think you’ll feel better once you’ve slept the terror away. No one will disturb you. Sleep as long as you need. Would you like someone to sit with you until you fall asleep?"

Finrod blushed at that, feeling foolish and very much an elfling, but the thought of being alone, even in broad daylight, suddenly did not appeal to him. "M-melian..." he said hesitantly, going suddenly shy.

Then the Maia queen was there, concern in her eyes, but also sympathy and Finrod smiled gratefully at her. "I understand you had a difficult night, Nephew. Would you like me to sit with you and sing you songs until you fall asleep again?"

Finrod nodded, settling back into his bed, feeling immeasurably better and... safe. Safe from what, he did not know and did not wish to know. It was enough that he was safe. He looked up at the two Valar.

"Glorfindel..."

"Is perfectly safe," Irmo said firmly. "Everything is as it should be. There is no need to worry on his account."

Finrod nodded and soon he and Melian were alone. Melian sat in a chair next to the bed and, picking up Finrod’s harp, tuned it to 'Undómë Lairessë', and softly began to sing. It was not long before Finrod slipped into the Path of Dreams.

He never knew that twenty Maiar ringed his pavilion to guard him and to keep others away.

****

Finrod awoke still feeling anxious. He could not remember the nightmare, but whatever terror he had experienced seemed to linger. He was moody and withdrawn all that next day and by evening his friends were becoming concerned.

"I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong," Finrod confided to Laurendil at one point, "but everyone from Lord Irmo on down insists that everything is as it should be."

Laurendil started at the choice of words. "Is that what they say exactly, everything is as it should be?"

Finrod nodded. "You think it means something other than what they want me to think?"

"I do not know, aranya," Laurendil said musingly, "but I do know this: the Valar are very careful with their words. That phrasing is not accidental."

Finrod nodded, well aware of the truth of what Laurendil said.

The next day was no better. If anything, it was worse. Storm clouds gathered on the western horizon and there was much tension in the air. Finrod could not concentrate on anything and eventually had to excuse himself and retire to his pavilion. Lord Irmo sighed, knowing what was to come and being unable to help his newest apprentice. Finrod would learn soon enough what was happening.

That night Finrod had another dream that brought him screaming awake. Melian was suddenly there and Estë. It was some hours before they could calm him. Irmo was busy dealing with Laurendil and Mithlas who had heard the screams and rushed to Finrod’s pavilion only to be stayed by several Maiar. It was not a restful night for many.

The next morning, Irmo ordered Finrod to remain in his pavilion for the day and the ellon had no objections. Laurendil and Mithlas joined him to keep him company and Eärnur came sometime later with a tray of food for them all.

It was midafternoon when a messenger arrived in Lórien asking for Prince Findaráto. He was led to Finrod’s pavilion where the four friends were sitting quietly. Finrod and Laurendil were playing draughts while Eärnur and Mithlas were giving each other language lessons with Eärnur speaking Sindarin and Mithlas speaking Quenya.

"Lord Findaráto, a message has arrived for you," said the Lóriennildo charged with escorting the messenger.

"From Tirion?" Finrod asked excitedly, wondering if his atar, or even better, Amarië, had written him.

"Nay, lord. He comes from Valmar."

Finrod paled at that and the other three ellon looked concerned as the messenger, a Vanya, entered the pavilion. He gave them a respectful bow and handed Finrod a message tube.

"I have been told to wait for an answer, my lord," the messenger said.

"Thank you," Finrod responded with a nod. "Russafindil, would you see to our guest, please?"

The Lóriennildo bowed and gestured for the messenger to follow him out, leaving Finrod alone with his friends. For a moment he merely stared at the tube and then with a decisive gesture opened it and pulled out the roll of vellum beribboned and sealed with the seal of Ingwion, his cousin. He broke the seal and began reading.

"Glorfindel is missing," he said flatly, never looking up from the message. Laurendil gasped.

"How? When?" Laurendil demanded.

Finrod shook his head and handed the message to Laurendil. His blood ran cold at the words he began reading aloud. "Laurefindil vanw’ ar i-roimë yesta ná. Á tulë Valmarenna. Ómentuvanyet sé Cöa Oromëo. Ingwion."

Finrod stood up suddenly, his expression cold and unyielding. "I need to speak with Lord Irmo. Laurendil, start packing." Before anyone else could react he strode out of the pavilion.

Two hours later, Finrod and Laurendil joined the messenger on the road to Valmar. "When we get to Valmar, Laurendil," Finrod said as they rode their horses at a ground-eating pace, "find a fresh horse and continue on to Tirion. I have a message for my atar that you will give him. Then, I want you to go to Tol Eressëa."

Laurendil looked at his lord in surprise. "Tol Eressëa, why?"

"I want you to bring Sador to Valmar. Ingwion mentioned the Hunt. That can only mean one thing: Sador is in danger as well." The expression on Finrod’s face was grim.

"And you, aranya?" Laurendil asked. "Are you not also in danger?"

Finrod’s smile was not pleasant. "With you beside me, gwador? Whoever took Glorfindel will soon learn that it is they who are in danger."

And Findaráto, Prince of Eldamar, once King of Nargothrond, rode into the gathering gloom with the light of battle in his eyes... and he was glad.

****

Hantanyel: I thank thee (formal).

Undómë Lairessë: Summer Twilight.

Laurenfindil vanw’ ar i-roimë yesta ná. Á tulë Valmarenna. Ómentuvanyet sé Cöa Oromëo. Ingwion: "Glorfindel is lost and the Hunt begins. Come to Valmar. I will meet you at the House of Oromë. Ingwion".