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Elf, Interrupted: Book One: Glorfindel Redux  by Fiondil

81: Judgment on a Minor Note

Vorondil’s good intentions to be obedient to Finrod lasted two weeks.

During that time he struggled with Sindarin, which he found confusing and incomprehensible for the most part. At the same time he was slowly learning his duties. He would not be ministering to the Reborn directly, but seeing to their physical needs — bringing them their meals, cleaning their pavilions, folding their clothes. It was menial and beneath him, but he had no choice in the matter. For the most part he did not see Finrod during the day as he went about his tasks, though his... master made a point of sharing the evening meal with him and quizzing him on his progress (or lack of it) in learning Sindarin and asking about his day in general.

Sometimes either Laurendil or Manwen would take him with them on their rounds and he always had to listen to the lectures (Finrod quizzed him about these as well and he learned quickly not to forget what had been taught) even though he knew he would never be allowed to minister to the Reborn or anyone else as a real apprentice. That wouldn’t have been so bad, he decided, being a real apprentice, but he wasn’t. He was a thrall, though no one used that word, not even Finrod.

He saw his parents only once in that first two weeks and then they were gone. Back to Tirion, Finrod told him after the fact, for his master would not allow him to say good-bye to them.

"I thought it best that they not stay," Finrod explained to him. "Your ammë was very upset at the thought of you doing menial work. I’m afraid both your atar and I had to be rather abrupt with her, so I decided not to allow her to say good-bye to you. Your atar agreed."

In truth, Vorondil did not mind that, for Ammë had always been a bit ... high-strung, but he greatly missed his atar and would have liked to have given him a proper good-bye.

The hardest part was, of course, remembering to call Finrod ‘Master’, though the few times when he forgot Finrod never chastised him and didn’t seem to mind one way or the other. It was everyone else who minded and more than once he was drawn aside by one of the Lóriennildi and taken to task for his forgetfulness. The message, if not the words, was always the same: "You’re a thrall, act like one".

Only that morning one of the Lóriennildi had scolded him and he was so despondent over it that even Finrod noticed and asked what was wrong when the two of them happened to be in their pavilion together shortly after the noonmeal.

"Nothing, Master," Vorondil said quietly as he stood over his bed and folded clothes. From the beginning Vorondil’s one task in caring for his master was folding Finrod’s clothes.

"I can do the rest myself," Finrod had said with a deprecating grin. "but I can’t fold clothes to save my life. That will be your job. I hope you can do it better than I or else we’re both going to look bloody ridiculous with wrinkled tunics."

In the end Vorondil had to have Lady Manwen show him how to do it properly.

Finrod glanced at his thrall and saw the set look on the ellon’s face. "Vorondil," he said quietly, "stop what you’re doing and look at me."

Vorondil put down the tunic he had just picked up to fold and looked up, biting his lip. Finrod studied him for a long moment, then very softly said, "Don’t ever lie to me, child. You will not enjoy the consequences."

That broke Vorondil’s resolve. His expression darkened to one of despair. He grabbed the tunic he’d been about to fold, bunched it up and threw it at Finrod, screaming, "I don’t care! I hate you! I hate all of you!"

Then he turned and ran out of the pavilion, and continued running, heedless of Finrod calling him to come back, heedless of anyone or anything but his own misery. He ran and ran, through one grove and another, past surprised Lóriennildi and disinterested Reborn. He ran until he found himself at the entrance to Lórien and the road leading back to Valmar and Tirion stretched before him. He was running down the road, sobbing, half blind with tears, when someone tackled him and he went down screaming, thrashing about in a futile attempt to escape.

"Vorondil! Stop!" Finrod ordered as he attempted to hold the ellon, but Vorondil was too far gone in despair to hear him, so he was forced to knock the child out with a well-placed fist.

****

Pain was the first thing Vorondil felt when he came to; fear was the second. Someone placed a cool cloth on his forehead and held a second one against his jaw which was where the pain seemed to be centered.

"You can open your eyes whenever you’re ready, Vorondil." Finrod’s voice was a mixture of exasperation and amusement. Vorondil bit back a sob and tried to turn away but Finrod grabbed his arm and held him back. "No, child. You’re not getting away with that. Open your eyes and look at me."

There was a note of command which Vorondil could not ignore and he reluctantly opened his eyes to see Finrod sitting next to him. They were back in their pavilion. Laurendil was also there, standing behind Finrod, his expression unreadable. A single lantern hanging from the center pole lit the pavilion and Vorondil could tell that it was now full night, though just how late it was he did not know. Finrod looked down at him and sighed.

"I think I should have just killed you the way Laurendil wanted me to," he said softly, his eyes dark with some emotion the younger ellon could put no name to and that frightened him as nothing else could have. He started screaming.

It took both Finrod and Laurendil to hold him down until his thrashings quieted and his screams became mere whimpers of sick despair that tore at the hearts of the two older elves. Finrod then gathered the elfling into his arms and rocked him.

"I’m sorry, child," he whispered, "I shouldn’t have said that, nor do I really mean it. Shh. It is well, Little One. Be still now."

It took some time but eventually Vorondil calmed to the point where he was nearly falling asleep, except his body decided at that moment to make its needs known and to his embarrassment his stomach rumbled loud enough for the other two elves to hear.

Laurendil chuckled and said, "I’ll get us some food, aranya. Vorondil’s not the only one who’s missed a meal."

Laurendil left and now master and thrall were alone. For a long moment neither moved nor spoke. Finrod continued holding Vorondil, who, besides feeling hungry, had a horrendous headache. It was hard to concentrate on the soft words which Finrod began speaking.

"I’m not going to punish you, Vorondil, but I will exact an oath from you that you will not run away from me again. Make no mistake, child. This will be as binding an oath as the one your atar gave me and if you break it I will punish you. I did not reign for over three hundred years of the Sun in Nargothrond without being ruthless when necessary, so do not make the mistake of thinking I do not mean what I say. I do."

Vorondil lay there, wishing Finrod had indeed killed him and said so in a strangled whisper made hoarse by tears. Finrod took a deep breath, shaken by the utter despair he heard in Vorondil’s voice.

"Oh, child, what did they do to you?" he whispered as he rocked the ellon tightly, hoping to offer him some comfort.

"W-who?"

"The ones who drove you to this hopelessness. Who has dared to rob you of estel?"

For some minutes Vorondil said nothing, then quietly, brokenly, he began to speak of the last two weeks, the difficulty he was having learning Sindarin, the menial nature of his duties without any of the glory of being a real apprentice, and finally everyone constantly reminding him of his thralldom.

"And... and I miss my atar," he ended with another sob.

Finrod sighed. "I know you do, child, but I promise you, you’ll see him at the New Year. Now, how exactly is everyone reminding you that you’re my thrall?"

So Vorondil explained and Finrod was very careful to keep the anger out of his voice, though it was difficult. "They had no right to say these things to you, Vorondil, and I wish you had told me earlier."

"I know I’m supposed to call you ‘Master’," Vorondil said with a heavy sigh, "but sometimes I forget. I don’t mean to, honest."

Finrod hugged him. "I know you don’t, Little One, but truly, I don’t care if you call me ‘Master’ or not. Call me whatever you wish."

Laurendil happened to walk in as Finrod was speaking, bearing a loaded tray, and grinned mischievously. "So, aranya, if Vorondil goes around calling you an orc-brained ninny, you’re fine with that?"

Finrod laughed. "As long as he does so respectfully, yes." Laurendil sniggered as he put the tray down on a table.

Vorondil looked upon them with a mixture of confusion and horror. "B-but I would never..."

"Well, I did," Laurendil said with a fond smile at the child, "and it was nowhere near respectful."

Vorondil gazed at the older ellon with wonder. "D-did you get punished?" he asked faintly.

Laurendil nodded and Finrod laughed again. "Indeed," the former King of Nargothrond said.

"W-what..."

"I promoted him to captain," Finrod explained as he and Laurendil shared a warm smile.

"That’s a punishment?" Vorondil asked in disbelief.

Laurendil nodded, his expression more sober. "I thought so at the time."

Finrod looked down at the ellon still lying in his embrace. "I told you I knew how to be ruthless when necessary."

Vorondil shivered at that. Then Finrod pushed him out of his arms. "Let’s eat," he said.

****

Later, Finrod insisted Vorondil get some sleep, assuring the younger ellon that no punishment would be forthcoming now that he understood what had brought about the earlier revolt. It took some doing, and Finrod ended up playing the harp and singing Námo’s lullaby, which Vorondil now listened to with a smile as he drifted towards the Path of Dreams, but he finally succumbed and then Finrod and Laurendil left the pavilion.

"Where do we go, aranya?" Laurendil asked quietly as he followed Finrod down the sward that lay between the various groves housing the pavilions. Finrod was walking at a determined clip and his expression was set. The last time Laurendil remembered Finrod with that look, the citizens of Nargothrond were summarily reminded who exactly ruled Nargothrond. Finrod had returned after a year’s absence with Bëor in tow and the reception was less than welcoming for them both in certain quarters. Bëor was ready to depart, not wishing to cause trouble for his lord, but Finrod began systematically reminding them all that he was indeed Fëanor’s nephew and not to be trifled with. It was at that moment that a certain lowly Ranger scout named Glorendil had fallen in love with his king and had given him his oath. In all the centuries since, Laurendil had never regretted that decision and thanked the Valar for the opportunity to serve the only king he would ever acknowledge in whatever capacity said king deemed appropriate.

Finrod did not answer, and Laurendil was content to merely follow his king’s lead. Eventually, Laurendil found himself in a part of Lórien he had not even known existed, though Finrod apparently knew just where he was going. They came to a particular grove and upon entering it Laurendil felt as if he’d stepped back into a time before Time. He had to listen carefully to ascertain that his heart was still beating and taking a breath was proving difficult. Then Finrod was touching his brow with a single finger and a light seemed to flow from it, silver and gold mingled. As the light flowed into him Laurendil felt himself coming back into focus and took a deep welcome breath.

"Stay here, Amborondanya," Finrod ordered quietly. "This grove does not welcome the Eruhíni gladly."

Laurendil nodded, automatically assuming the stance of a guard. Finrod smiled approvingly and then moved into the center of the grove, seemingly unaffected by whatever had assaulted Laurendil. Only starlight provided illumination, but it seemed as if Finrod was bathed in a silvery light that had nothing to do with the stars. For a moment Finrod merely stood there and Laurendil wondered what they were doing in this particular grove. The answer was not long in coming.

A shimmer of light grew near where Finrod stood and then Lord Irmo was there, along with Lord Námo. That nearly unnerved Laurendil and he had a sudden urge to flee, some primal need screaming in the back of his mind that he ruthlessly suppressed, though it was a near thing and he felt faint. The two Valar stood silently before Finrod with implacable expressions. Námo was dressed in a flowing robe of silver figured silk, while on his head he wore a circlet of silver with a single large isilsar. Irmo was dressed similarly in a robe of gold figured silk. A gold circlet with a single large anarsar graced his head.

"You should not have come here, Arafinwion," Irmo said and there was no warmth in his voice. "And you should not have come with Laurendil."

"Laurendil is my vassal and he will keep silent in all that he sees and hears," Finrod’s voice was just as cold and unforgiving as Irmo’s.

"Tell us your thoughts," Námo said in a deep voice that seemed to echo something from an earlier time. Laurendil was suddenly reminded of the trek North and the Doom of Mandos uttered by the one who stood only a few feet away. The former Ranger wanted to be very, very sick just then, but he steeled himself against his body’s demands.

"Your people are systematically robbing a child of estel and I demand that it stop right here and now."

"Demand?" Irmo asked in a tone that was absolutely deadly in its quietness.

"I hold you responsible for the actions of your people, Lord Irmo. I will brook no denial in this, not even from the Valar. This will stop now or I will stop it for you."

"You’re very sure of yourself, Findaráto," Námo said with some surprise. "Whence comes such courage, child? What have you remembered?"

Laurendil felt his jaw drop at those words. What were they talking about? For the first time he saw Finrod hesitate.

"I do not know if it is a memory," he said slowly. "I only know that I’ve done this before, but I’m not sure where."

"Tol-in-Gauroth," Námo answered and Laurendil shivered and saw Finrod sway slightly. He was tempted to leave his post and go to his king’s aid but knew better than to interfere with what was going on, so he stood still and watched.

"Songs of Power," Finrod muttered.

Irmo gave his older brother in the Thought of Eru an appraising glance. "You think that’s what is happening, hánonya?"

Námo nodded, looking less grim. "There is no doubt in my mind."

"If we could get back to the subject at hand," Finrod said with a tone of voice Laurendil had only heard whenever his king had held court, allowing his subjects to approach him with their problems and concerns. Both Valar gave him unreadable looks. Finrod merely stared back with disinterest.

"Your thrall ran away today," Irmo said at last.

"Your people did their work well," Finrod retorted. "My congratulations."

A silence fell between the three in the center of the grove that seemed to Laurendil to extend beyond the Circles of Arda unto the very porticos of the Timeless Halls and all of Arda went still for the wonder of it. Then Námo turned his amaranthine gaze upon Laurendil. "Let him come, Laurendil."

Laurendil started and was suddenly aware that someone stood behind him. Turning, he saw it was Vorondil, his eyes blank and unseeing and Laurendil thought the child must be sleepwalking. He stepped aside and without acknowledging the Ranger’s presence, the younger ellon walked into the center of the grove.

Finrod frowned. "You did not have to summon him, my lords. I hold him blameless in this."

"But we do not," Irmo responded, then reached out and gently touched the space between Vorondil’s eyes with his forefinger and the ellon started blinking, coming awake. He took in his surroundings with a bemused expression and then his gaze lighted upon the two Valar and he moaned, shock running through him like a fire. Finrod took him in his embrace and whispered something Laurendil could not hear. He saw the child nod and then Finrod released him.

"And of what do you deem him guilty?" Finrod asked.

"He ran away," Irmo said simply, as if that explained everything.

"And if I have forgiven him that, can you dare do less?"

"Vorondil may have escaped justice at the hands of the High King, Findaráto," Námo said coldly, "but he has not escaped us. He violated the Sérë Valaron and we will not be gainsaid in exacting justice."

"Being my thrall for the next thirty years isn’t punishment enough, my lords?" Finrod asked with a slight smile that held no warmth. "Whatever happened to mercy and forgiveness or are those just words bandied about for the comfort of those of us who must live on sufferance of your good will?"

The two Valar exchanged glances that Laurendil could not read. Vorondil, Laurendil noticed, had gone perfectly still, his face dead white. Finrod, on the other hand, was now surrounded by a golden glow and his eyes shone with fiery wrath. Námo returned his attention to Vorondil, who was standing somewhat behind Finrod, as if behind a shield against the Valar’s wrath. Laurendil could see the child trembling.

"By rights, Vorondil," Námo said softly, though Laurendil had no trouble hearing him, "you should be in Mandos now under my care."

Vorondil raised a hand to his mouth in horror and started weeping though he never took his eyes off the Lord of Mandos. Námo continued staring at him for a moment and then suddenly he released his hold on the ellon and sat down upon a throne that was simply... there. Laurendil noticed that the silvery robes had become something that wasn’t quite black under the starlight but Námo’s whole mien darkened. Irmo remained standing, however, and then the grove became suddenly too small as fourteen more Beings appeared, two of them Maiar, both of whom flanked Laurendil. The other twelve Valar ranged around the four people in the center in a half circle, giving Laurendil a perfect view of the proceedings. He had no doubt he was seeing a Valarin court in progress. Námo spoke again.

"This should be the Máhanaxar, but we will dispense with that formality for now. Come here Vorondil." He gestured to Vorondil, who stumbled closer to the throne and then was kneeling before the Vala. Námo reached out and touched Vorondil’s forehead with a forefinger and a silvery light flared for an instant and then Vorondil was on the ground, his eyes wide open and he was screaming.

Laurendil found the two Maiar gripping him, keeping him where he was, though his first reaction was to go to Vorondil and try to help him. However, he knew there was no help he could offer the poor child. Whatever the Valar were doing to him it was beyond anyone’s ability to help. Finrod stood there unmoving, or perhaps unable to move, gazing at Vorondil writhing on the ground as horrors only he could see assaulted him. The expression on his king’s face was one he had never hoped to see again, not since the Dagor Bragollach. Somehow, Laurendil knew, Finrod was going to make the Valar pay for this night.

Námo must have recognized the look as well for he gazed serenely at Finrod. "Save your anger, Arafinwion," the Vala said above Vorondil’s screams. "This is no different than what you went through and serves the same purpose."

Laurendil saw Finrod shudder at that and then mercifully Vorondil’s screams came to a halt. At that moment, Estë came forward and knelt before the ellon and gathered him into her arms. She rocked him and crooned a wordless lullaby that even effected Laurendil, for he began to relax and the Maiar released their hold on him. Even Finrod seemed less tense than before. Estë looked up at Námo.

"His hröa cannot endure much more, brother," she said in her musical voice which always reminded Laurendil of nightingales. "Yet his fëa is strong and he recovers quickly."

"The resilience of youth," Manwë said, stepping forward. The Elder King gave Finrod a glance. "A few days’ rest should see him to rights, my son. Do not fear for the child. This was necessary for all of us, including him." He turned his attention to Námo. "Are you satisfied, Morimando?"

Námo nodded. "Yes, Calamando, I am. Judgment has been rendered and all debts paid. Let the child be returned to his bed."

With that, a third Maia appeared, one whom Laurendil and Finrod both recognized. Olórin bowed to the Elder King and Námo before giving a soft greeting to Finrod. "Do not be dismayed, child. You knew it was only a matter of time. Taking Aldundil’s oath merely postponed the inevitable. Be comforted that my lord Námo has shown as much mercy as he has."

"Mercy?" Finrod turned his gaze upon the Lord of Mandos who was still seated.

"Findaráto, this had nothing to do with punishment, you know that," Námo said with a sigh. "Vorondil should have found himself in Mandos by now where I would have been able to cleanse him of all the hatred that was eating up his soul. Aldundil’s move circumvented our plans for him. And you didn’t make it any easier when you accepted Aldundil’s oath."

"You wanted Vorondil to die?" Finrod asked disbelievingly.

It was Manwë who answered, laying a hand on Finrod’s shoulder. "No, child, not wanted. We knew he was supposed to die then."

"At my hands." It was not a question. Finrod stared at Manwë for a moment. "I was supposed to be his executioner."

"You were supposed to be Vorondil’s savior," Manwë corrected. "A role that you have adopted anyway, but not in the way we thought." Here the Elder King gave Finrod a sad smile. "Did we not tell you that we cannot safely predict which way you Children will go? We foresaw that Vorondil would come to Mandos, but it seems we misinterpreted that vision. Mandos has had to come to Vorondil instead."

"What now?"

Lord Námo nodded towards the ellon still in Estë’s arms. "Olórin will take Vorondil back to your pavilion and remain with him until he wakens. The child will be weak in both hröa and fëa after his ordeal and somewhat disoriented. Olórin will help him there. He should recover quickly enough, though I suspect he will sleep off and on for the next few days. Afterwards... well, this is as much a new experience for us as it is for him. We’ll have to see."

"So he’s been returned to innocence as well?" Finrod asked, kneeling beside Vorondil and caressing the ellon’s hair.

Manwë shook his head. "Not to the extent you and the other Reborn have been, but yes, some of his innocence has been restored, enough to allow his soul to develop properly. It really was twisted, you see, more than you realize."

Finrod continued to stroke the ellon’s hair for a few moments before he rose and gave Námo a steady gaze. "Then I forgive you," he said simply, almost without emotion.

"Hantanyel," Námo replied and Laurendil was surprised at the depth of gratitude the Lord of Mandos conveyed with that one word. He had never considered the possibility that the Valar would ever want or need forgiveness for anything, much less from any of the Eldar.

Manwë gestured to Olórin who bowed again before reaching down and taking the now sleeping ellon into his arms. Then the Maia strode towards the entrance where Laurendil was standing and, giving the elf a smile and a nod in greeting, left the grove.

Irmo glanced at Finrod, smiling. "I apologize, as well, for my people, and will be taking steps to ensure the harassment stops. I allowed it to go on for as long as it did for I wished to determine who among my people were in most need of... correction. I am curious though to know what you were planning to do if I had refused your demand."

Finrod gave the Vala a mirthless smile. "Trust me when I say, my lord, that you do not ever want to find out."

There was silence then that stretched somewhat uncomfortably before Námo broke it. The Vala stood, his throne no longer there, and held out his hands to Finrod, who, after the briefest of hesitations, took them.

"When you are ready, best beloved, we will talk." Then he was gone and so were all the rest except for the Elder King, who gazed serenely at the two elves. Manwë gestured towards Laurendil.

"Come here, child."

Laurendil complied and then Manwë was taking them both by the hand. "You are both so very precious to us in ways you will never understand, though I’m not sure I like this air of defiance in you Findaráto. You’re beginning to remind me too much of your atar."

Finrod started at that and then gave the Elder King a genuine smile. "I’ll take that as a compliment, my lord."

Manwë smiled back. "As I meant you to, child." Then he looked directly at Laurendil. "You did very well here tonight, Laurendil."

"I did nothing, my lord," the former Ranger said. "Your Maiar made sure of that."

"Oh, they weren’t here to stop you, child," Manwë rejoined. "They were here to protect you."

"Pr-protect me?" Laurendil asked with some confusion.

Manwë nodded. "This grove... it’s very dangerous to those uninvited by us. Had you followed your instinct to go to Vorondil’s aid you would have been dead before you had even reached the center."

Laurendil gave Finrod a look of horror and saw that his king was nodding. "I’ve been here before," Finrod explained. "This grove can no longer harm me."

Then it was as if the Elder King held them both in his embrace even though he never moved and Laurendil felt something warm and loving steal over him, caressing him and healing his fëa and he sighed as tension he didn’t realize existed within him melted away, leaving a sense of blissful relief. He noticed that Finrod seemed equally relaxed. Manwë smiled at them both, gave them both a kiss on their brows and released them.

"Go now, children, and rest. Have no fear for Vorondil. He will recover and have very little memory of this night, yet, I think you will see that the despair that threatened him earlier is gone. Treat him gently and all will be well with you... and with him."

Then, somehow, Laurendil found himself standing before his own pavilion and Manwen was there to greet him. Her smile suggested that sleep was the last thing on her mind and Laurendil suddenly realized that the same was true for him. He smiled back and together they entered their pavilion.

Finrod found himself standing before his own pavilion as well. Olórin was there, gently leading him inside. In moments he was fast asleep in the cot beside Vorondil’s. Olórin sat in a chair between them, smiling gently at nothing in particular.

****

Estel: Hope, trust, a temper of mind, steadily fixed in purpose, and difficult to dissuade and unlikely to fall into despair or abandon its purpose regardless of the circumstances.

Amborondanya: My most faithful one; a title Finrod has given to Laurendil [an- (intensive or superlative prefix) + voronda "faithful one" [BORÓN] + -nya (first person singular possessive pronomial suffix). Tolkien indicates that the original quality of the consonant would be preserved when an- is prefixed to words in v- derived from original b, assimilated to am- before the bilabials b, m, and p.].

Isilsar: Moonstone. A symbol of truth in self-reflection and showing what ‘is’. Enhances intuition and inspiration as well as promoting spiritual growth [isil "moon + sar "stone"].

Anarsar: Sunstone; a sparkling orange-gold stone. A symbol of self-discipline, humility and a desire for service to the greater good. A protective and healing stone [anar "sun" + slar "stone"].

Morimando: Dark-Mando; a title of Námo, used when sitting in Judgment.

Calamando: Light-Mando; a title of Manwë, used when sitting in Judgment.

Hantanyel: Thank you.

Note: Tol-in-Gauroth or "Isle of Werewolves" is where Finrod, Beren and their Companions were caught by Sauron. Finrod waged a duel with Sauron using Songs of Power, but was defeated. Later, Finrod and all the other elves were killed by Sauron’s chief werewolf, though Finrod managed to kill the werewolf before he died. Only Beren survived to complete the quest for the Silmaril. Tol-in-Gauroth was originally known as Minas Tirith and was Finrod’s watchtower on the Sirion before Sauron took it.





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