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Elf, Interrupted: Book One: Glorfindel Redux  by Fiondil

71: Formenos

Sador woke to full daylight and realized that he was alone in the sleeping loft. He went through his ablutions in record time and was soon joining the others in breaking his fast, feeling somewhat embarrassed at sleeping so late.

Finrod smiled at him. "Do not fret so, brother. You are quite young and the Hunt is very exhausting to those of us who are not Maiar or Valar. You have done quite well. I remember the first time Lord Oromë invited me to the Hunt. I slept for days afterwards and I was several centuries older than you are now."

Sador was mollified by Finrod’s words and soon forgot his embarrassment. "Where are we going now, do you know?" he asked the other elves but none of them had an answer.

When they had finished eating and had put the lodge in order, Ingwion locked the doors with the key he had found on his uncle and they made their way back along the track to where the horses were picketed. There they found Lord Oromë standing beside Nahar, now glowing white in the sun. Of the Maiar there was no sign.

Oromë smiled at them and gestured to Sador to approach him, taking the younger ellon by the shoulders and gazing into his eyes. Sador felt himself falling into an Abyss that was not cold and empty but warm and fecund with potentiality. He felt his mind opening to the Vala’s touch. He did not flinch nor did he feel fear, though he wondered briefly if he should, for the Vala’s gaze was on one level quite frightening. Yet, there was a sense of serenity to it that Sador welcomed and so he allowed himself to fall, trusting that the Vala would catch him in the end. He did not know how long it lasted and he seemed to come to himself only when he felt Oromë kiss him on the brow. He blinked, feeling slightly disoriented and saw the Vala nod in satisfaction, though he said nothing and Sador found he was disinclined to speak himself.

Without a word, Oromë released his hold on Sador and turned to mount his steed. Finrod had to take Sador’s arm and lead him to his horse and help him mount before going to his own steed. Then the elves were following the still silent Vala back to the Mall’ Etelerroron. Sador was surprised when Oromë led them, not south towards Vanyamar, but north.

"Why do you lead us to Formenos, lord?" Arafinwë asked and the sound of his voice, though softly spoken, rang harshly in the silence that had enveloped them until then.

"Is that where I lead you, Pityahuan?" Oromë countered mildly.

"There is nothing else that lies in this direction, lord," Arafinwë said, not to be put off.

Oromë stopped and the others followed suit. He gazed at the King of the Noldor with something like amusement, though his eyes were dark and the elves, except Arafinwë, found it difficult to look at the Vala directly. "My brothers taught you well, young Arafinwë. You were ever an apt pupil."

"I do not desire to visit the site of my atar’s death," Arafinwë said coldly. "I will not sully myself by going to a place touched by Melkor’s evil."

"Then you are already lost, child," Oromë said, his voice going cold. "For the very ground you ride upon has been touched by my Fallen Brother’s hand and evil is all around."

Arafinwë went white at the Vala’s words and swayed slightly. Finrod reached out to take his atar’s arm and steady him. For a long moment no one spoke or moved, then with a stifled sob Arafinwë dismounted and began walking away from them. Finrod started to follow but Oromë stayed him with a look.

"Let him be, child," the Vala said. "This is a battle only he can fight."

So they waited in silence, watching as Arafinwë walked towards a stand of trees and, entering the woods, was soon lost to sight, but not to hearing, for after a few minutes they heard him scream in rage. Ingwion went white at the sound. Finrod and Laurendil both sat looking grim, their eyes dark with their own memories of battles fought within themselves. Sador closed his eyes and leaned against his horse’s neck, his fingers wrapped tightly in the beast’s mane. Oromë never moved and his expression was unreadable.

Then there was absolute silence, which seemed even worse than the screaming. It was nearly an hour later before they saw Arafinwë come out of the woods. The others had dismounted in the meantime, standing by their horses and waiting. Arafinwë’s hair was in disarray, twigs and leaves caught in his locks. His expression was bleak and he did not speak nor would he look any in the eye, merely mounting his horse. Oromë gazed upon him placidly then nodded.

"Let us ride," he said quietly and without another word mounted his horse and set Nahar to a gallop. The others followed. Finrod cast a worried glance at his atar but Arafinwë kept his eyes on Oromë and would not acknowledge anyone else’s presence.

For several hours they rode thus, stopping only once to allow the horses to drink from a stream and to see to their own needs. Arafinwë refused to speak and the other elves left him alone, much as it grieved them to do so. Sador seemed the most affected by Arafinwë’s silence and Oromë took a moment to quietly reassure the young ellon, rubbing his back and stroking his hair until the elf was calmer.

"Arafinwë is fighting a battle with himself, child," the Vala told him. "One that all must fight at some point in their lives, even you."

"I don’t understand," Sador said, his voice full of confusion. "What battle?"

"Whether or not to let go of the Past... all of it. Not just this part or that, but everything and everyone. Your atar has yet to let go of that part that concerns his own atar."

"B-but if I... if I let go of it, will I not lose it?" Sador tried to understand the Vala’s words but failed. "How can I lose my family all over again?"

"You will not, child," Oromë assured him. "Letting go is not the same as abandoning or forgetting. Letting go is allowing the Past to be the Past and not some adjunct of the Present. Letting go allows one to live in the Present in hope for the Future, not in regret for what was or what might have been. Arafinwë needs to let go of his atar’s memory. Only when he has done so will he be able to do what is necessary as Noldóran."

Sador gave the Vala a quizzical look and then his expression cleared somewhat. "You mean... the judgment against the people who... kidnapped me."

Oromë nodded and gave the ellon a hug, pleased that this Child was learning his lessons so well. The Valar had high hopes for this one and Námo’s decision to release him from Mandos earlier than would have been proper was ably justified by Sador’s actions to date.

They resumed their ride and sunset found them approaching the vale where Formenos stood. By mutual consent they slowed to a halt and spent a few moments gazing at the fortress that Fëanor and his sons had built in their exile from Tirion. It was a grim looking place and Sador had in his mind the sense that it was more a prison than a home.

"Yes, this will do," Arafinwë whispered and the other elves started at his words, so used had they become to his silence.

Without another word, Arafinwë spurred his horse forward and soon they were all at the front doors of the fortress. They hung open, one door half off its hinges. Inside, centuries of dust and debris covered the floors and there was the musty smell of decay. They walked warily through the rooms until they came upon an inner room where no windows were. Finrod and Laurendil hastily made torches from rags and they saw an iron vault, its door open. Inside were three golden frames on pieces of moldering velvet. All of them stood there in awe, realizing what had once lain there.

"He should have given them up," Arafinwë said, staring at the frames, his expression as bleak as they had ever seen it. "They weren’t worth the price we all paid for them, the price some of us are still paying."

"Perhaps not," Oromë said. "That is neither here nor there, now. The question before you Pityahuan is this: what price are you still willing to pay for clinging as fiercely to these as your half-brother did?" He pointed to the empty frames where once three Silmarils had sat, their light hidden away by more than just an iron door.

Arafinwë did not answer immediately, but finally he turned away from the vault and looked at Oromë directly, then fell to his knees. "Forgive me, lord. I have been a fool and worse than a fool."

"Nonsense, my child," Oromë said kindly. "You have been a faithful son who did not wish to give up his memories of one who could not be the atar he should have been to you. Your loyalty does you credit. Your willingness to put the Past aside does you even more. I am proud of you Arafinwë and am pleased that you are finally ready to let go. Now tell me your thoughts."

Oromë raised Arafinwë to his feet and gave him a smile which the Noldóran returned somewhat shakily.

"I think Formenos will be inhabited again."

Oromë nodded. "I think so, too."

****

They spent the next three days cleaning the place up as best they could, removing as much of the dust and debris as they were able. Maiar came and helped them fix the front doors and to remove the vault. Arafinwë gave orders to have it and its contents melted down.

"Let Lord Aulë do with it as he wishes. Perhaps a better use will be found for this metal than the one my brother put it to."

Finally, Arafinwë was satisfied that they had done what they could. "I will have others sent up to finish cleaning and getting the place ready for those who will live here for a time."

"How will you ensure that they will not just leave?" Sador asked, but it was Oromë who answered, looking grave.

"We will ensure it, my son. My brother Námo will speak the doom before all."

The elves looked at the Vala with surprise, even Arafinwë. "Must it really come to that, lord?" he asked sorrowfully, well remembering the last time the Lord of Mandos had spoken a similar doom upon his half-brother.

"The Sérë Valaron has been seriously disrupted, Arafinwë," Oromë said somewhat coldly, the fire of anger in his eyes causing them all to flinch. "We will not permit those who are guilty to go unpunished, even if you are willing to let them go."

"But isn’t that our decision to make, lord?" Ingwion asked. "Lord Ulmo told me that the Valar will not interfere with the internal problems of the Eldar."

Oromë nodded. "Nor will we, but are we not also of Aman, more so than even the Eldar? Our Peace has been broken as has not happened since before the Darkening when Fëanáro threatened Ñolofinwë. Those sent here will learn the meaning of justice at our hands, justice as well as mercy."

No one dared dispute the Vala’s words. Soon they were ready to leave, though Oromë declined to accompany them.

"I feel the need to hunt, my children, far to the north where fell beasts still roam. I will leave you now. You have all done well, and I am pleased with you, as is my brother, Manwë. Return now to Vanyamar. Glorfindel waits for you there with much impatience." He smiled then and gave each of them a kiss on the forehead, lingering somewhat when he came to Sador, as if he was loath to let him go. Then he mounted Nahar and the Maiar who were there joined him on their own horses. As Oromë rode away they heard him raise his voice in song and for a moment they were caught up in the thrill of the chase that the music evoked within them, then the Vala and his Maiar attendants melted into the fabric of the landscape and the elves found themselves alone.

Arafinwë was the first to stir. "Let us go. Your brother is waiting for us."





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