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Elf, Interrupted: Book One: Glorfindel Redux  by Fiondil

86: Losing a Bet, Gaining an Apprentice

Lord Námo was not there when Ingwion made his way down for breakfast, for which he was grateful, not wanting to face the Vala after such a disturbing dream. Lord Aulë and King Olwë were also gone, taking Niélë with them. As usual, Ingwion spent the morning on the beach, but by noon another storm had arrived and he was forced indoors. Tiutalion warned him that with the coming of winter the storms would become more frequent and stay longer, and this particular one lasted several days.

During that time Ingwion thought over Lord Námo’s words. He was still unsure what the Vala had meant about being his apprentice. What exactly did one do as an apprentice to the Lord of Mandos? There was no real answer to that, so he eventually put it aside. Still, the idea would not let him go and he spent much of his time sitting on a bench in the cloister, idly watching the rain soaking the garden, and thinking.

His eyes often strayed to the spot where he had found Lord Námo supposedly weeding, remembering their conversation. Nothing done with love is ever menial. These words echoed through his mind and fëa throughout the day, and invaded his dreams at night.

By the third day he was tired of doing nothing and he sought out Lady Nienna who greeted him with a warm smile when he found her at her loom. "What can I do for you, child?" Nienna asked as she looked up from her weaving.

Now that it came down to it, Ingwion was suddenly unsure. He swallowed nervously and bowed to the Valië. "Is... is there aught that I can do, Lady?"

"What were you thinking, Ingwion?"

Now the ellon looked down, suddenly shy, "Wh-whatever you wish, Lady. Perhaps I could... weed the garden." It was the only thing he could think of at that moment.

"The garden, is it?" Lady Nienna’s voice was full of amusement. "And do you know anything about gardening?"

Ingwion looked up, the glint of mischief in his eyes. "At least I can tell the difference between nieninqui and weeds... unlike some people I know."

Nienna laughed outright at that and Ingwion had the strangest sensation of someone swatting the back of his head, although no one was behind him.

"Oromë was right, you are very insolent."

Ingwion blushed and tried to stammer an apology, but Nienna waved her hand in dismissal. "Child, you little realize how refreshing your attitude is compared to your fellow elves. Too many of your people practice deference towards us instead of honest respect, so we rejoice when we see it."

Ingwion stared at the Valië uncertainly. "I... I don’t understand, Lady."

Nienna gave the ellon a brief, almost sad, smile. "Too many of the Eldar yield to us in all things. They capitulate at every point, and abdicate their right to form their own opinions. They take what we consider to be mere suggestions on our part as law. When someone like yourself comes along, someone who stands up to us, even insults us, we rejoice, for you are showing us proper respect. You are taking ownership for your own opinions and ideas, questioning us as to our motives and intentions when we say a thing. In doing that, child, you allow us the freedom to act in authority over you."

"That doesn’t make sense, Lady," Ingwion said in confusion. "How can insulting you give you the right to have authority over me?"

"Not a right, Ingwion," Nienna said carefully. "A freedom. There’s a difference. When someone defers to us always, we cannot exercise true authority over them, we cannot create a mutual exchange of power that allows us to govern Arda in compliance to Eru’s will. All we can do is issue orders. That is not the purpose for which we were created."

Ingwion still looked unconvinced. "Think of it this way, child," Nienna finally said. "Your atar is the High King of all the Elves, but neither Arafinwë nor Olwë, both of whom are kings in their own right, have ever allowed Ingwë to lord it over them. I know for a fact that they have both respectfully told your atar off on more than one occasion, and rightly so."

Ingwion suddenly realized what the Valië was saying. High King of All the Elves his atar might be, but the other kings were not averse to calling his atar on the carpet over a matter if the situation warranted. He remembered one argument where Arafinwë had called Ingwë a ‘blithering idiot’. Ingwion had been shocked when his atar had laughed and agreed with him.

Nienna continued. "When any of you treat us, not as your masters, but as your peers, when you look us in the eye and tell us off, we rejoice, for it means we can properly fulfill our roles as Guardians. Trust me when I tell you that we do not enjoy issuing orders for you to follow blindly. We would much rather treat you —and be treated by you — if not as equals, at least as fellow creatures under the lordship of Eru."

The elf still wasn’t sure he fully grasped what the Valië was saying but nodded anyway, deciding to think about it later. Nienna nodded, guessing where the ellon’s thoughts were. "Well, regardless, you’re looking for something to do," she said briskly, returning them to the original topic. "The garden’s a bit wet, so we will ignore that for now." Nienna thought for a moment. "Perhaps you would like to sweep the cloister walk. There’s a besom in the storage cupboard. Tiutalion can show you where it is and show you where to put the rubbish."

"Sweep the cloister walk," Ingwion repeated somewhat doubtfully. "All of it."

Nienna arched an eyebrow. "That’s the general idea."

Ingwion nodded, paling a little at the implied reprimand in the Valië’s tone and bowed, leaving to find Tiutalion, who happened to be standing just outside the room with a besom in hand. The Maia said not a word but pointed to a place where Ingwion could put any rubbish, mostly dead leaves, and left him to it. For a moment Ingwion stared at the broom, then sighed and began to sweep the walk.

It took him some time to cover the entire walk and he was somewhat awkward with the broom at first, but after awhile he managed to find a rhythm in his movements that seemed to act as counterpoint to the drip-drip of the rain. He found it immensely soothing and he lost all sense of time, so he was surprised when Tiutalion called to him.

"You’ve done very well, Ingwion," the Maia said, coming up the walk. "Why don’t you stop? It’s almost time for lunch."

"Lunch?" Ingwion asked in surprise, for truly it hadn’t felt that long since he started sweeping.

After lunch, Tiutalion came to him and asked him if he was up to doing something else. Ingwion shrugged, not really caring since he had no other plans. The Maia led him to a room on the upper floor. It was a library. Ingwion stood in the door mesmerized, for he had no idea the room even existed. It was obvious that the room was little used, for dust lay heavy on the few pieces of furniture and covered the shelves. Also, a cursory glance showed that many of the books were jammed onto the shelves in a somewhat haphazard manner. Tiutalion gave the ellon a smile.

"Lady Nienna has been meaning to restore this room. Perhaps you would like to help."

Ingwion nodded and Tiutalion pointed to a bucket and some rags. "Don’t try to do it all at once. Take your time. There’s no rush. If you need anything else let me know." With that the Maia left and Ingwion picked up a rag and began to attack the dust with more enthusiasm than sense and was soon sneezing himself silly. After that, he concentrated on one small area at a time, starting from the door and working his way into the room. As with the sweeping he soon lost himself to the rhythm of the task and was surprised when Tiutalion came in and ordered him to stop and get cleaned up for dinner.

Sitting at table with Lady Nienna, Ingwion described his day with much enthusiasm, though he kept yawning throughout his narrative. Nienna hid a smile.

"You’ve done very well on your first day," she said. "If you wish you may continue working in the library and I might find you some other tasks as well, but do not spend all your time there, child. The storm will pass over tonight and tomorrow should dawn fair. Take some time to relax. It’s too cold for swimming but the beach is still accessible."

"Yes, Lady," Ingwion said and then excused himself, for he could not stop yawning and decided to make it an early night. Nienna let him go with a satisfied smile.

"How long do you think his enthusiasm will last, sister mine?"

Nienna looked up at her brother sitting in the chair Ingwion had just vacated. She shrugged and handed him a cup of tea. "We’ll have to see, but I don’t think it will last past a week, myself."

"Would you like to place a wager on that?" Námo asked slyly.

Nienna laughed. "Only if you intend on losing again. Tiutalion misses giving you orders."

Námo smirked but didn’t say anything as he sipped his tea.

****

Besides working in the library, Ingwion found that other tasks were assigned to him arbitrarily (or so it seemed). The next morning after breakfast he was all set to tackle the library again when Aiwendilmë approached him and told him that Lady Nienna wished for him to help in the kitchen. He little liked it but realized he had no choice in the matter so he went and found himself spending half the morning elbow deep in dough and the other half elbow deep in suds. By the time lunch came around he was exhausted and had no desire to work in the library. Nienna took one look at him and told him in no uncertain terms to spend the rest of the afternoon on the beach.

That suited him just fine at first but it really was getting too cold to stay there long, so after about an hour he returned to the house and went to his room and read quietly until dinner.

The next few days he did spend in the library and it was beginning to take shape, but periodically he was called away from his task to do something else, something that was even more menial than removing the dust from books and getting on his hands and knees to wash the grime from the flagged floor. He tried not to mind, but he enjoyed his time working in the library and began to resent the time taken away for other seemingly pointless tasks.

Then, one morning he woke to find all his clothes missing and hanging in the wardrobe was a light grey ankle-length tunic and a dark grey surcoat with Nienna’s emblem of the fountain embroidered on it. He stared at the outfit in consternation for the longest time, fearful of what it meant. Eventually, though, he put it on since the only other alternative was to walk around in his nightshirt. He was standing in front of the mirror gazing at his image and suddenly he was crying for no particular reason that he could fathom.

The weeping did not last long and he wiped his eyes and left the room, unsure how he was supposed to feel now. He was almost grateful that Lady Nienna did not make any comments about his change in garb.

"The library is coming along well," Nienna said to him as he helped himself to some breakfast from the sideboard. "I think, however, I would like you to spend today in the kitchen. Marilliën will let you know what needs doing."

"Yes, Lady," he said quietly as he sat down to eat, though in truth he had no appetite. He was beginning to regret ever having made the offer to help out in the first place and any joy he had initially felt about doing a task had long evaporated. Nienna gave him a shrewd look, which he did not see, but did not comment, merely wishing the ellon a good morning as she left the dining room.

When he reached the kitchen, Marilliën handed him a scrub brush and a pail of soapy water. "Floor needs a good scrubbing as well as the tables."

Ingwion nodded and got to work. It was backbreaking and tedious and the pail of water seemed to get heavier every time he emptied it out and replaced it with clean water. He was hot and sweaty before he was half done and took a moment to catch his breath. It was while he was kneeling there that he inadvertently caught a distorted image of himself in the reflection of a gleaming pot. His hair was disheveled and his clothes were soaked. He did not recognize himself as haryon in the grey tunic and surcoat. He wondered briefly what his atar would say if he could see him kneeling on the kitchen floor with a scrub brush in his hand, surrounded by a puddle of suds.

Suddenly, it was as if he were seeing himself as he truly was and hated himself for it. His attempts to imitate Lord Námo’s acts of selfless love were nothing but a pretense on his part, he realized. He stared down at his chapped hands and broken fingernails, hands that until recently had been smooth and well manicured, and tears of shame flowed down his face. He wasn’t a prince anymore but neither was he a credible servant. The surcoat he wore was a lie and there was no sincerity in him.

"Now you’re being too hard on yourself, child."

Ingwion looked up to see Lord Námo standing there, a look of concern on the Vala’s face. The elf noticed that the Lord of Mandos was still wearing Nienna’s surcoat and wondered if he was even now acting as one of Nienna’s servants. That thought just made his own situation seem worse. The ellon shook his head in dismay.

"I don’t w-want to be your ap-apprentice," he stammered through his tears. "I don’t... I don’t." He started rocking himself and covered his face with his hands.

Námo sighed and, ignoring the fact that the floor was wet, knelt before the weeping ellon and gathered him into his embrace. He called softly for Marilliën, who appeared, looking concerned.

"I think we should have some privacy, Marilliën," Námo said quietly. "Tiutalion should stay, though."

The Maia bowed. "It will be as you say, Lord." Then she faded away and soon Vala and Elda were alone, Ingwion still weeping, though his tears had begun to slow. Tiutalion appeared and brushed a gentle hand over the ellon’s head in an attempt to comfort him and gave Námo a wry look.

"I’m surprised it took him this long to break down," he said quietly. "I have a feeling My Lady forced the issue a bit." He nodded at the tunic and surcoat Ingwion was wearing.

Námo gave the Maia a brief smile. "My sister generally knows what she’s doing," he conceded, then turned his attention to the elf and sighed again. "Ingwion, it’s much too late for tears. Come. There’s nothing to fear here. Let’s get up off this floor. Tiutalion will make us some tea and we will talk."

Tiutalion helped Ingwion up and gave him a brief hug. Námo gracefully rose from his crouch, his tunic now dry. He led the ellon to a trestle table and made him sit while Tiutalion bustled about putting together the tea. Námo then took a bowl of warm water and placed it in front of the elf.

"Wash your face, my prince," he commanded quietly. Ingwion cringed slightly at the title but otherwise said nothing as he complied with the Vala’s orders, taking the towel Lord Námo proffered to dry himself with. The ellon was dimly aware that he no longer felt wet but it didn’t quite register that his tunic was now dry as well.

Tiutalion was soon back at the table with the tea. Námo sat down across from Ingwion and made him drink a cup, then poured him another before speaking. Ingwion never looked up, but sat there in dejected silence. Tiutalion stayed in the background.

"You’ve been trying too hard at something you’re not very good at... yet," Námo said without preamble.

"Wh-what am I not good at?" Ingwion whispered.

"Humility."

Ingwion looked up. Námo gave him a wry smile. "Arrogance comes easily to the Eldar; humility is something that has to be practiced."

"I’m not arrogant!" Ingwion insisted.

Tiutalion gave an involuntary snort. Námo raised an eyebrow. "You’re not?" he said disbelievingly. "You were fairly arrogant to Glorfindel when he first arrived in Vanyamar, and if your little stunt in throwing the knife at Lord Manwë’s feet wasn’t arrogant, what was it?"

Ingwion had the grace to blush. Námo nodded. "When you take oath to me..."

Ingwion stood up so suddenly in alarm he knocked his bench over. "I’ll never take oath to you! Never!"

Then he pulled the surcoat over his head and let it drop to the ground and stalked away, suddenly tired of the Valar and their manipulations and schemes and overbearing manner. He was through with it and them. Obedience... respect... humility. Words, that’s all they were and he was tired of having his inadequacies thrown in his face by beings who could apparently do no wrong and never made a mistake... and they had the gall to tell him which way was up!

He never made it to the door.

"Ingwion, come back here." Lord Námo didn’t raise his voice, but then he didn’t have to. The cold menace in his tone was enough to freeze the ellon’s blood and stop him dead in his tracks. He did not turn around, though, but struggled against the Vala’s bidding. "Now." That last command could not be safely ignored and with a stifled sob and a low-muttered curse, he complied and returned to stand in front of the Vala, defiance written all over him. Námo’s face darkened and the temperature in the room dropped even more so that Ingwion stood there shivering slightly. For a long moment silence reigned between Vala and Elda as a battle of wills ensued, but eventually Ingwion was forced to capitulate and found himself kneeling before the Lord of Mandos weeping again.

"I d-don’t want to b-be your apprentice, I don’t, I don’t," he insisted through his tears. He felt Lord Námo’s hand on his head, stroking his hair gently and, in spite of himself, he felt calmer almost immediately.

"Would it help to know that I don’t want you to be my apprentice either," Námo said quietly.

That brought Ingwion up short and he looked up at the Vala in surprise. "Y-you don’t?"

Námo gave the ellon a wintery smile. "No, I don’t, but I will take you as my apprentice nonetheless, though Eru knows we both will probably regret it before too long." This last was said with a long-suffering sigh and Ingwion wondered at that.

"Th-then why..."

Now Námo’s smile became more genuine, though somewhat rueful. "I lost a bet with Lord Manwë."

Ingwion was on his feet, staring at Námo in shock. "You... you lost a bet... over me?"

The Lord of Mandos looked at the ellon standing there gulping like a beached fish and amusement returned to his eyes once more. "Yes, Ingwion, over you. Would you care to hear about it?" At the ellon’s nod, Námo gestured at the surcoat still lying on the floor. "Then put that back on and sit down." Ingwion complied, though with obvious reluctance and distaste as he pulled the surcoat back over his head. Námo poured more tea and for a moment neither spoke. Finally, Námo broke the silence.

"It was the day you came storming through Valmar like my brother Tulkas in a temper. Lord Manwë was sure that you would accuse us of complicity in Glorfindel’s disappearance. I had more faith in you and said that you would not be so... stupid." Ingwion went first white with mortification and then red with embarrassment. Námo smiled knowingly. "Lord Manwë placed a wager and I accepted." He gave Ingwion a deprecating shrug. "I lost."

"On purpose?" Ingwion ventured somewhat fearfully.

Now Námo actually chuckled. "No, child. This is one of the rare times when I truly lost the bet."

Ingwion looked down at his teacup, not sure how to respond to that. The idea that the Valar placed bets on how he and others acted was unnerving and he began to resent being the object of one of their games.

"Not a game, child," Námo said. "We never know for sure which way you Children will go. Placing bets on the outcome of a given situation is just our way of enjoying the process of learning about you. You are an endless source of fascination for us, Ingwion, and believe it or not, we actually enjoy being proved wrong by you on occasion. It keeps us from exhibiting too much false pride in our own dealings with you."

"So... what was the wager?"

"If I lost, I was to take you as my apprentice and train you."

"Train me to do what exactly?" Ingwion asked with some exasperation, wishing the Vala would get to the point.

"To act as our personal emissary to the elves of Tol Eressëa."

"Your what to who?" Ingwion stared at Námo in shock, not quite believing what he was hearing. "Why would you need me as an emissary? Isn’t that what the Maiar are for?"

"You are aware of the situation on Tol Eressëa." It was not a question but Ingwion nodded, for he had been privy to Arafinwë’s discussions with his atar about the state of affairs on the island. "The Tol Eressëans are lacking in true leadership while certain people remain in my keeping. Your atar, Arafinwë and Olwë are making plans to address that situation. We have decided to make our own plans as well."

Ingwion’s gaze became distant as he recalled certain conversations in his atar’s council chambers. He returned to the present to look at the Vala in confusion. "You want me to... govern Tol Eressëa for you?"

Námo shook his head. "No... we have someone else in mind for that role. Yours will be different... and probably more thankless." Here, he gave the ellon a warmer smile and there was genuine humor in his eyes. "Interested?"

For some several minutes Ingwion just sat there trying to assimilate everything he’d been told. It was a lot to take in, but it was intriguing nonetheless. He glanced up at Námo and gave the Vala a shrewd look. "What was the wager had I not been so... stupid?"

The Lord of Mandos leaned over and held Ingwion’s face between his hands. "It doesn’t matter, child," he said with all gentleness, "since it didn’t happen." Then he kissed him on the brow and released him, giving Ingwion a wry look. "Now, I understand you should be scrubbing the kitchen floor."

Ingwion nodded with a grimace.

"Care for some help?"

The Vanyarin prince gave the Vala a slow smile and nodded.

****

When Nienna wandered into the kitchen some time later she smiled to see her brother kneeling beside the Child as the two of them scrubbed the floor together. Tiutalion sat on one of the tables with a cup of tea in his hands, overlooking their work and pointing out all the spots that they had missed, while Námo and Ingwion traded insults with him.

****

Linguistic notes:

1. The words deference and respect seem to mean the same thing, but deference has the sense of "yielding to another, bowing (literally) to another’s will in all things", while respect literally means "to look back at", i.e. to look someone in the eye. Nienna makes this distinction clear in her talk with Ingwion.

2. The English word authority ultimately is derived from the Latin auctor: "creator, author". Thus, when true authority is administered it creates a bond of mutuality between the parties that allows one to administer power in freedom from servility on the part of the other.

3. While humility is derived from the Latin humilis "lowly", literally "on the ground" from humus "earth", the connotation Lord Námo gives to the word means "lacking in false pride".





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