76: An Interlude Among Kings

Finrod followed his atar and Ingwë into an antechamber set aside for the kings’ use during the trial to find, not his great-uncle glaring at him as he entered the room, but the High King of all the Elves and tried not to flinch.

"This is supposed to be a trial," Ingwë said without preamble, his voice dangerously cold, "not an exhibition of Heceldarin oath-taking rituals. That oath is far too dangerous..."

"Do you think I don’t know that?" Finrod practically shouted, his face suffused with barely suppressed fury. He turned suddenly and slammed a fist into the wall. "Damn Aldundil and his son for putting me in such a position."

The two kings stared at Finrod, nonplused, then Ingwë spoke, his voice going soft. "Why did you force the oath on Aldundil then?"

Finrod turned around, his expression still angry. "FORCE? I didn’t force Aldundil to do anything. I have never forced anyone to take that oath, Uncle, never! But when Aldundil spoke the words... and in Sindarin no less!... I had no choice."

"You could have refused his oath," Arafinwë reminded him. "You told us yourself that you did not always accept someone’s oath."

Finrod nodded. "Except for the small matter that he was offering his life in exchange for his son’s. In that, I had no choice."

"I do not understand," Ingwë said. "You still could have chosen..."

"No, Uncle!" Finrod interrupted, still furious. "As soon as Aldundil spoke he gave me no choice. It was either accept his oath or take that sword he held and remove Vorondil’s stupid head from his shoulders right then and there. And make no mistake, Uncle, if I had decided to refuse Aldundil’s oath, I would have done just that, and damn the consequences. Accepting Aldundil’s oath was the only way to save them both."

The utter sincerity of Finrod’s words shook both kings to the very core of their fëar and they looked upon him as if he were a stranger. Ingwë saw before him not his great-nephew, but a fellow king. He had a sudden vision of Findaráto sitting on a throne, dispensing justice with grave sagacity and stern majesty and he mourned for that delightful and innocent ellon who had played happily at his feet as an elfling.

"Do you think Aldundil knew what he was doing?" Arafinwë asked.

Finrod gave his atar a mirthless grin. "Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing, Atar. Laurendil told me that Aldundil was initiated into the Sindarin warriors’ society during the War of Wrath. By rights, he should be wearing warrior braids, but I understand that when the Amaneldi warriors returned home they undid their braids out of shame. It seems that the Amaneldi who had remained behind did not want to hear about the War of Wrath from the returnees. Not that I blame them. Well, that is going to change. Aldundil will wear the braids he earned and he will tell Vorondil what really happened in Beleriand. Perhaps then the ellon will begin to understand what being a warrior truly means."

Finrod sighed then, his anger dissipating. He flopped down into a chair, closing his eyes. "I just wish I knew what I’m supposed to do with him otherwise."

There was a shimmer in the air and suddenly all three elves were kneeling before the Elder King who looked upon them with mild amusement. "Now, my Children, none of that. We are all kings here and I come not as your lord but as a fellow ruler. Rise now and let us continue this most interesting conversation in comfort."

Manwë took a seat and the elves followed suit. For a long moment, no one spoke. Ingwë waited respectfully for Manwë to speak first. Arafinwë sat with an amused expression on his face. Finrod refused to look at anyone. Manwë gave the younger ellon a sympathetic smile but his tone when he did speak was less warm.

"You took Aldundil’s oath in anger, my son," he said without preamble. "That was unwisely done and there may be grave consequences for you both later. Aldundil deserved better from you. For all that his son is a foolish ellon, Aldundil has ever been an honorable and courageous elf."

Finrod nodded. "I know and I regret it, but it was as if I was being pushed into a corner by circumstances and...." He shook his head, not sure what he wanted to say.

"A situation that arises now and then when one is a ruler," Manwë said gently. "The trick is not to let it happen in the first place."

Finrod looked up at that. "And how does one do that?"

Now Manwë’s smile was genuine and he gave a small deprecating laugh. "When I have figured that out, my son, you will be the first to know."

Ingwë and Arafinwë both snorted in surprise at the Elder King’s words and then they were all laughing. Their mood lightened and Ingwë spoke to Finrod.

"I apologize for my anger, Findaráto. I fear I will never fully understand what you experienced in Beleriand and how the conditions there under the Shadow changed you. Even now, though you are Reborn, I sense a terrifying hardness to you that I never thought to see in any elf. It grieves me that you must lose so much of your innocence."

Finrod shrugged somewhat diffidently. "As to that, Uncle, I cannot say. As more and more of my memories of my previous life return I find myself thinking in ways that are still strange to me, yet at the same time are frighteningly familiar."

"Then I do not blame you for being angry," Ingwë replied. "You have conducted yourself with amazing self-possession and while I cannot approve of what you have done, I am nonetheless proud of you for handling such an awkward situation with as much grace as you have."

Ingwë then stood up and held out his arms and Finrod went to him, accepting the High King’s embrace. "Thank you, Uncle. Your words comfort me and give me hope."

Arafinwë stood up then and gave his son a kiss on the forehead. "I, too, am proud of you, my son," he said simply and with all sincerity and Finrod basked in the love that both kings offered him.

Then Manwë stood and suddenly it was as if he embraced them all at once and there was such a sense of love and acceptance in that embrace that Finrod staggered slightly and remained standing only because he was still in Ingwë’s arms. He felt the Elder King speak in his mind.

*You will take Aldundil and his family to Lórien and you will teach him not to be ashamed of what he did and who he is. When the time is right, send him back to Tirion.*

*How will I know...*

*You will know, child. You will know,* came the promise from the Elder King and then the elves were alone once again.

For several minutes no one spoke. Finrod was still in Ingwë’s embrace and did not wish to leave it, comforting as he found it, but eventually he gave a sigh and stepped out of his great-uncle’s arms and gave him and his atar a rueful smile.

"I think we should get back to the trial."

Ingwë and Arafinwë nodded and without another word the three kings left the room together.

****

Heceldi: Forsaken Elves, a name of the elves of Beleriand who never came to Aman, used primarily by loremasters. Might be considered as something of an insult. Heceldarin is the plural adjective.