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Elf, Interrupted: Book One: Glorfindel Redux  by Fiondil

112: Dinner and Diversion

Ingwë was both impressed and annoyed by the guards at the entrance to the tent city who stopped his party politely with a challenge. By their dress and mannerisms he thought they were Tol Eressëan Noldor. Their speech was somewhat slurred, sounding more sibilant. He wasn’t sure he liked that. No doubt their Quenya had been influenced by the speech of the Sindar during their long sojourn in Endórë.

Still, he found them to be clear-eyed and competent in their dealings with his own guards and the Vanyarin escort responded in kind. As Ingwë looked over the encampment, listening to the mixture of Quenya and Sindarin being spoken, he saw that only a few of the more brightly dressed Amaneldi held themselves aloof from the more sober Tol Eressëans. He was surprised to see Vanyarin warriors there, for he simply assumed that they would remain in Vanyamar, leaving the tent city to the visitors from Tirion, Alqualondë and the Lonely Isle, but on reflection realized that that thought was both naive and unworthy of him.

He recalled the conversation he had had with Lord Manwë when he had first sought permission to allow the Tol Eressëan elves to compete in the tournament, knowing that the Valar’s ban still held...

****

“More of a precaution rather than an absolute ban,” the Elder King said as Ingwë made known his concern. “You and they little realize how much they were affected by Melkor’s taint.”

Ingwë gave Manwë a perplexed look. “How so, lord? Our sundered kin are not evil.”

“Nor do we say so,” Lord Námo replied for his brother Vala. All of the Valar, in fact, were there, for it was Valanya and, as was customary, Ingwë had come to Taniquetil to pay his respects to the Elder King and all the Valar. “The key to understanding our meaning, Ingwë, is in the word ‘sundered’. The Sindar were separated from us for long ages and fought against our Fallen Brother’s minions after Angamando was reinhabited. The Noldor who went into Exile joined them in that fight. You have seen the results of that even in the Reborn with their memories of those dark times. None came away from that unscathed. Even the Amaneldi have been affected to some degree, as we have seen by the unrest that has swept through this land of late.”

Manwë nodded. “In time, those who are now living on Tol Eressëa will be imbued with our Peace. Already, those who arrived in the early years of this age have been... purged, let us say, of much of the darkness their lives entailed. They are learning to live in a land of peace without the constant need for vigilance against evil. It will take time, though, and as each succeeding wave of Returnees reaches these shores, those who came before will desire to remove themselves to the mainland. That is part of the unrest we have been experiencing lately. Some of the Tol Eressëans are already looking to move on, to explore new lands and establish new kingdoms of their own.”

Ingwë looked at the Valar in surprise. “New kingdoms! Is that possible, nay, is that even wise?”

“Wise or not, Ingwë, it is as it is,” Námo said. “Yet, fear not. It will take time for these things to be worked out. That is where the Reborn come into play....”

****

Ingwë shook his head as he cleared his thoughts of that conversation. He had come away from that meeting with much to think on and even now he was unsure of his feelings towards the words of the Valar. Still, as Lord Námo had pointed out, it would take time to work out all the details and if there was one thing they all had plenty of, it was time.

He smiled to himself as they approached the entrance to Findaráto’s compound and waited while his guards had words with the guards standing before his nephew’s tent. The presence of the guards within the encampment surprised him, but then he realized that they were there to give Findaráto some privacy. As the only Beleriandic king to have been released from Mandos, Findaráto was, in the eyes of many of the Tol Eressëans, their High King even before Ingwë himself.

He wasn’t sure he liked that idea either...

“Fair greetings, my lord king.”

Ingwë felt Elindis give him a slight nudge and he looked up to see the object of his musings standing before him, smiling at him.

“And to you also, my lady,” Finrod bowed to Elindis and kissed the hand that was offered him. “Please, enter and be welcome.” He stepped aside and Ingwë and Elindis entered along with the two guards that propriety and good sense demanded should accompany them. The guards joined their fellows by the entrance as Finrod led his guests into the pavilion.

Ingwë saw that the dining table was covered with a white linen tablecloth edged with lace. The plates were of cut-glass as were the goblets. The silverware gleamed in the light of the candelabrum that graced the center of the table. Standing around the table were Sador, Laurendil, Manwen, Glorfindel and Ingwion who had come down earlier in order to visit with his otornor before dinner. Alassiel and Vorondil, both neatly dressed in tabards, stood to one side waiting to serve the first remove. All of them gave the High King and his spouse their obeisance, which the royals acknowledged with nods and smiles.

Soon they were all seated with Ingwë at one end and Finrod at the other. The High King was flanked by Elindis on his right and Ingwion on his left. Glorfindel sat next to Elindis and Manwen next to Ingwion. Laurendil sat on Finrod’s right while Sador sat on his left. Alassiel and Vorondil quietly began setting out the bread, honey butter, hard and soft cheese and bowls of cassia and chicken soup that would be the first remove of the meal. A mulled cider was served with this particular course. Ingwë eyed Alassiel and gave her a wry look.

“By rights, my dear, you should be eating with us instead of serving,” he said as Alassiel placed a basket of bread on the table. She was still sporting the sling so she could not do any of the actual serving, which was left for Vorondil to do.

Alassiel shook her head. “I only brought this upon myself, Uncle.” She stole a glance at Finrod sitting at the other end of the table. The ellon smiled at her and she smiled back. “And beside, someone needs to keep an eye on Vorondil. He tends to get a little excited.”

The ellon in question was heard to sigh rather loudly and several people around the table snickered. Ingwë found himself smiling in spite of himself. He turned his attention to Glorfindel who he saw was formally dressed. Around his neck was the pendant he had been wearing the night Ingwë had turned him over to Martandur, but his hair was still unbraided. He noticed that Findaráto, Laurendil and Sador had their hair carefully braided with their outlandish beads and gems glittering in the light of the candelabrum.

“Why have you not rebraided your hair, Glorfindel?” he asked quietly and saw the ellon flinch slightly at his question.

It was Finrod who answered, though. “Glorfindel has his reasons, Uncle. We will respect them.”

The underlying sense of authority in Finrod’s tone made Ingwë raise an eyebrow. He noticed that both his wife and son had looks of amusement on their faces and scowled to himself. “I see,” was all he said in response before taking a sip of his soup. It was quite good, actually, and he thought he tasted cinnamon in the mixture.

Glorfindel, meanwhile, kept his eyes on his lap and was the only one not eating. Then he looked up at Ingwë. “What will happen tonight, lord?” he asked in a whisper.

Ingwë stopped eating, as did everyone else. They were obviously waiting to hear the High King’s answer. Ingwë gave Glorfindel a sympathetic look. “We will make it as simple and as painless as possible. You will be called before me and you will formally ask for my forgiveness and I will formally accept it. We have already done this in private, my son,” he said when he saw Glorfindel turn pale, “this is just a mere formality for the sake of propriety. Many will need to be visibly shown that you and I are reconciled... if that is what you truly wish.”

Ingwë sat there, eyeing the ellon, waiting for a response, as did everyone else. Glorfindel did not look up from his plate and did not speak for several minutes. When he did speak, it was barely above a whisper. “It is what I wish.”

“Then there is nothing more to be said,” Ingwë replied. “Let us simply enjoy this meal together and worry about the ceremony when it comes, shall we?”

Glorfindel cast a quick glance at the High King, then nodded.

“Good,” Ingwë said with a relieved smile. “Now I can truly enjoy this most delicious soup and we can talk of inconsequential matters for the rest of the evening.”

Glorfindel smiled slightly back. “How inconsequential?”

“Who’s going to win the tournament, for instance?”

Glorfindel and Finrod stole glances at each other before answering in unison, “I am, of course.”

Everyone laughed and the two ellyn joined them.

****

The second remove consisted of a cheese, onion and currant tart, twice baked fish in a red wine sauce and peas in almond milk. A lovely white wine with honey and spices accompanied this particular course. Conversation was light and centered around the tournament and what they hoped to accomplish with it. The third remove came in due course, consisting of a venison pie with raisins, apples, prunes, dates and figs. A side dish of cracked wheat in almond milk and broth for dipping accompanied the pie and the course was completed with gingerbread and a raspberry wine that had a hint of oak in it. It went well with the venison. All throughout the meal the conversation remained good-natured as they drifted from talking about the tournament to talking about the weather and the hope for a seasonable spring.

At one point Ingwë managed to convince the three Reborn ellyn to talk about their experiences after their deaths. They all refused to speak of what had occurred within the Halls of Mandos, preferring instead to talk about the troubles they had had adjusting to a body again and trying to integrate their memories with their present experiences. For the Once-born, it was an eye-opening revelation of what these three had gone through before ever leaving Lórien.

They were enjoying the fourth and final remove of pears in a honey and wine syrup topped with raisins and bogberries, along with oatcakes and shortbread and a heady mead when Mithlas entered the pavilion and went straight to Finrod without even acknowledging anyone else’s presence. He bent down and whispered something in Finrod’s ear. Everyone saw Finrod’s eyes widen.

“You’re sure of this?” he asked quietly.

Mithlas nodded and the onlookers were surprised to see the Sinda smiling. “The Nandor in the trees saw them attempting to pass unnoticed as they made their way across the field. Gilvagor has ordered the guards not to interfere, but sent me to warn you.”

Finrod suddenly looked feral. “Alassiel, get me my sword,” he demanded as he stood up and grinned wickedly at Ingwë. “Care to join me in a little hunting, Uncle? It seems that some elflings from the city are thinking of sneaking into the encampment. Would you like to come watch as we... er... stop them?”

Ingwë raised an eyebrow and smiled back with a nod. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

“Let me get my sword,” Glorfindel said with a wicked smile of his own as he stood up and ran to the sleeping section. Sador laughed and joined him. Laurendil and Manwen gave each other looks and Manwen shook her head.

“You’d best go, love, and make sure the children don’t hurt anyone,” Manwen said. Laurendil grinned.

“Which children would that be?” he asked, casting an amused look at Finrod as the ellon was buckling his sword.

Finrod laughed, knowing what Laurendil really meant, and pointed a finger at him. “Just for that, you can lead the sortie. Alassiel, lend Laurendil your sword.”

“Yes, my lord,” the elleth said and left the pavilion.

Laurendil looked at Finrod with an unreadable expression. “I foreswore the bearing of arms, aranya,” he said.

“But not your oaths to me, Amborondanya,” Finrod retorted, something in his expression turning dangerous. Even Ingwë and Ingwion found themselves flinching.

Laurendil was still vacillating when Alassiel returned and thrust her sword into his hands, giving him a wry grin. “It’s no use arguing with him, Laurendil,” she said. “You know you won’t win, so you might as well humor him... like I do.”

Glorfindel and Sador were returning when they heard Alassiel’s remark. Glorfindel snickered and winked at Sador who grinned back while Finrod just stood there feigning indignation but all the time laughing.

Laurendil looked about and sighed. “Ve merilyes, aranya,” he said and Finrod merely nodded.

Elindis indicated that she would remain behind to keep Manwen company and Finrod asked Alassiel to stay behind as well. “Your injury will only make things dangerous for you,” he said and Alassiel agreed, stating she preferred to visit with her Great Aunt anyway.

In the meantime, Vorondil was trying to convince Finrod to let him come. “Please, Master, don’t leave me behind with the ellith,” he whispered pleadingly.

Finrod gave him a fond smile and nodded. “But you must practice silence and you are not to leave Sador’s side.” He cast a look at his gwador, who nodded, accepting the responsibility.

Vorondil nearly jumped up and down in delight, for he had been convinced even as he asked that Finrod would refuse him. “Thank you, Master.”

Finrod turned to the Sinda waiting patiently for them. “Lead the way, Mithlas,” he ordered and Mithlas gave Finrod a quick bow and they followed him out of the compound with Laurendil by his side. Finrod was right behind with Ingwë, while Sador, Ingwion and Vorondil brought up the rear.

They made their way through the encampment, silently picking up an escort, much to Ingwë’s surprise and Finrod’s amusement. A soft word was passed around and Ingwë heard quiet snickers among the Tol Eressëan elves with their warrior braids. At one point Mithlas stopped and whispered something to Finrod, who nodded, then gave quiet instructions in Sindarin to the other warriors. Ingwë was impressed by how silently these warriors melted away and he had a sick feeling that whatever ambush strategy Findaráto had devised, this was not the first time any of them had ever done anything like this. Even Laurendil looked deadly now that he had accepted Findaráto’s orders. He cast a glance at Ingwion and was dismayed to see the same glow of excitement emenating from his own son’s eyes, though the ellon was unarmed.

Finrod motioned to Ingwë, who stepped closer so the Noldo could whisper in his ear. “The elflings have been spotted heading for the northeast corner of the encampment. I’ve sent my people to outflank them so they can’t escape back to the city.”

“Your people?” Ingwë asked, stepping back.

Finrod’s smile was brilliant even in the dark. “For the moment. Shall we go?”

Ingwë stared at his nephew, feeling as if he’d been transported to Endórë and Melkor’s minions were about to attack. He suddenly realized that to Findaráto and the other elves of the encampment, this was not a game, but had once been their reality. He blinked and the sense of disconnect faded and he nodded. “Yes, let us go.”

They continued on with Finrod cautioning those who were unarmed to stay back. “Do not interfere,” he admonished them. “I mean to teach these children a lesson they won’t soon forget, though I don’t intend to do them any serious harm.”

“You may not,” Ingwë retorted, “but I just might.”

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that but otherwise did not comment.

They were now near the northeast quadrant of the encampment and Ingwë realized that it was quieter and darker here than elsewhere. He noticed that the perimeter guards were few and seemed curiously to have all fallen asleep. He almost snorted out loud when he realized what his nephew had planned for the unsuspecting elflings.

The rustle of grass beyond the dark perimeter and stifled giggles alerted them all to the elflings’ presence. Even Vorondil raised an eyebrow and shook his head, feeling superior to the younger elflings, for he at least knew how to move silently, or so he imagined. The older elves around him suppressed smiles at his expression. Then the smiles disappeared as Finrod drew his sword. Laurendil and Glorfindel did the same and Mithlas silently drew his bow. Sador put a hand on Vorondil’s shoulder and placed a finger in warning on the ellon’s lips. Ingwion, Ingwë noticed with approval, stood on Vorondil’s other side.

The encampment, Ingwë knew, was surrounded by a fence similar to the one around Findaráto’s pavilion. It consisted of thick ropes between poles that were evenly spaced with panels of heavy silk draped over the rope and  tied together. It was not meant to be anything but a courtesy screen, though Finrod’s patrols lent it a more serious air. From the sounds coming from the other side of the fence, including one or two muttered curses, the elflings were having difficulty finding the ties, but at last one part of the curtain shifted and dark forms slipped through.

Ingwion counted five elflings: three ellyn and two ellith trailing behind. They looked to be no older than thirty, which surprised him, as he thought they would be older. He was going to have to have a chat with their parents when all was said and done.

The adults had arranged themselves so their presence wouldn’t be obvious to the children. Finrod, Glorfindel, Laurendil and Mithlas were absolutely still. If Ingwë hadn’t known they were there he would never have detected them. Laurendil let all but the last elfling pass him before he reached out and lightly touched the elleth on the shoulder. The poor child shrieked and attempted to flee. The other children tried to run in different directions as well only to be confronted by nearly thirty well-armed warriors who suddenly appeared out of the darkness, their swords drawn. They ran shrieking back towards Finrod’s group. The other elleth ran right into Ingwë’s arms, while Sador, Glorfindel and Ingwion each snatched up one of the ellyn.

“Let’s have some light,” Finrod called out and immediately torches were lit. Finrod then went to each shrieking elfling, starting with the one in Laurendil’s arms, and placing a gentle hand on their foreheads, spoke a soft word of command that sent them all into a deep sleep.

When silence reigned once more around them, Finrod gave Vorondil whispered instructions that sent the ellon running back to the pavilion. Finrod looked over the now sleeping elflings, his expression unreadable. “Bring them,” he commanded quietly as he set off towards his pavilion.

“What do you mean to do with them, Nephew?” Ingwë asked as he cradled the elleth in his arms.

“Make an example,” Finrod replied.

They made a rather strange procession through the encampment with Finrod in the lead. By the time they reached his pavilion it seemed as if half the population of the tent city was following them, curious to know what the once King of Nargothrond intended to do with five elflings.

****

Ve merilyes, aranya: “As you wish it, my king.”

Finrod’s Dinner Menu: The menu for Finrod’s dinner with the High King is based on authentic medieval recipes, which can be accessed at the following websites:

http://www.medievalcookery.com/recipes.shtm and http://www.godecookery.com/latest/latest.htm

First Remove: Bread with honey butter; Cheese, Cassia (Cinnamon) Soup, Mulled Cider.

Second Remove: Ember Day Tart (cheese, onion and currant tart), Green Pesen Royal (peas in almond milk), Salomene (twice baked fish with red wine sauce), Claree (white wine with honey and spices).

Third Remove: Venison Custarde (venison pie with prunes, dates, raisins and apples), Frumenty (cracked wheat in almond milk and broth; traditionally served with venison), Gingerbrede, Raspberry wine.

Fourth Remove: Peeres in Confyt (pears cooked in honey and wine syrup, topped with raisins and bogberries; the addition of the fruit topping is original to me and is based on variations of this popular dessert), Oatcakes, Shortbread, Mead.





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