129: A Talk With Tulkas

"Finrod, you’re awake!" Glorfindel cried as he launched himself at his otorno, ignoring the tableau behind him as Olórin gathered Calalindalë into his arms and settled her on a nearby cot at Manwë’s direction. "Are you well, brother?" he asked worriedly.

Finrod smiled thinly. "I will be once you get your knee out of my eye."

"Oh, sorry," the other ellon said apologetically, releasing Finrod from his fierce embrace while the two Valar and two Maiar chuckled in amusement.

"How much did you hear, my son?" Manwë asked Finrod.

"Enough, my lord," Finrod said, standing up and walking over to where Aldundil and his family slept. He cast a cool glance at his vassal’s lady, lying beside her lord, frowning as his eyes fell on Vorondil. "Enough to be able to render judgment on my thrall."

"What will you do with him?" Glorfindel asked, standing next to his brother.

Finrod shook his head. "I haven’t decided yet."

"Well, I’d like to know where he came by that knife," Glorfindel stated.

"He was cutting herbs in preparation for making tinctures."

Finrod and Glorfindel turned to see Laurendil entering the tent. Laurendil gave everyone a brief bow then walked over to Finrod. "You are well, aranya?" he asked.

Finrod nodded. "Yes, just tired."

Laurendil smiled. "I shouldn’t wonder considering what you did."

"Most of that wasn’t me," Finrod protested. "I think I had help." He turned his gaze on the Elder King, who merely smiled.

"Only a little," Manwë said. "Just enough so you would not suffer unduly from the energy drain, but you did the rest. You healed Aldundil, though Eru alone knows how you did it. You should not have been able to do what you did. No elf should."

Finrod quirked a rueful smile. "I apologize for any inconvenience my abilities may have caused the Valar, my lord."

Námo snorted at that and all three elves turned in surprise at the sound only to find that the Vala’s expression was carefully bland. Manwë and the two Maiar all hid smiles at the bemused expressions on the ellyn’s faces.

"Returning to Vorondil," Laurendil said, steering the conversation back to a safer topic, "I don’t think the ellon even realized he still had the knife in his hand when he ran out onto the field thinking you’d killed his atar."

Finrod stared down at the sleeping ellon, his expression unreadable to them all. Then he sighed and turned his attention to Aldundil. He bent down and pulled the blanket covering him back far enough to see where he had sliced the elf open. There was just a faint pink scar that was already fading to show where his sword had done its damage. He grimaced and replaced the blanket.

Laurendil, meanwhile, was checking Calalindalë’s pulse. "Do we revive her or let her recover on her own?" he asked as he glanced up at Olórin who merely shrugged.

"Let her be for now," Finrod said as he stepped away from the cot. "I’m not interested in hearing what excuses she may wish to foist on us." He glanced at Glorfindel. "Where are Alassiel and Sador?"

"They took the elflings to Vanyamar to visit with their parents," Glorfindel replied. "Atar thought it would be best if they were with their own parents for a little while. They were all rather upset. It’s the first time any of them had ever seen someone bleeding like that and almost dying."

Finrod nodded. "That is well," he said, then without another word, he started towards the tent entrance.

"Where are you going?" Glorfindel demanded.

"To find Ingwë and let him know I’m removing myself from the list."

"What!?" Glorfindel nearly screamed. "Findaráto, stop! What do you mean you’re removing yourself from the list?"

Finrod turned and gave them all a sour look. "I would think the meaning was very clear, brother. I refuse to compete any further." He started to exit the tent but was prevented from doing so when Glorfindel, giving an inarticulate shout, tackled him, forcing him to the ground.

"No!" the Balrog-slayer cried. "I won’t let you."

"You won’t let me?" Finrod yelled back, wrestling with Glorfindel until he was on his back, anger blazing from his eyes as he tried unsuccessfully to push Glorfindel off him. "What makes you think you can stop me?"

"You have to fight, Finrod," Glorfindel said almost pleadingly. "You know full well that you and I are destined to compete against each other. Everyone’s counting on it. I refuse to let you disappoint them."

"I’ve made up my mind, brother," Finrod said, his voice losing all anger. "Now get off me."

"No," Glorfindel retorted. "Not unless you promise you’ll continue fighting,"

"I’m doing no such thing. Now get off me!"

Now Glorfindel’s expression became dark with anger. "No! Not until you promise. If you don’t fight I’ll... I’ll...."

"You’ll what?" Finrod demanded, sounding just as angry.

For a moment Glorfindel hesitated and then a wicked gleam lit his eyes and he bent down and whispered something none of the others could hear. However, they all saw Finrod’s face drain of all color.

"You wouldn’t dare!" he practically screamed, trying anew to dislodge the ellon from his chest.

"Try me!" Glorfindel challenged, forcibly pushing Finrod back down. "Promise. Please brother, you have to promise."

Finrod gave up trying to move Glorfindel off him and closed his eyes, shaking his head and then tears began to form, which surprised and shocked the others.

"I can’t," Finrod whispered. "Not any more. No more promises. No more oaths. I can’t. Please... don’t make me....I can’t." He started crying softly and Glorfindel gathered him into his embrace, casting a worried glance back at the Valar. He had never seen Finrod this way before, looking bereft and defeated.

Námo came over and knelt beside them, brushing a hand over Finrod’s head. "What happened, child?" he asked solicitously. "What memory haunts you?"

Glorfindel gave the Vala a surprised look. "I thought he had regained all his memories. You said..."

"I guess I was wrong," Námo said mildly, giving Glorfindel a wry smile that did nothing to comfort the ellon.

"Wrong? How can you be wrong? You’re... you’re a Vala!"

Manwë came over and placed a comforting hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder. The ellon twisted his head to look up at the Elder King, who smiled benevolently down at him. "We’ve been wrong any number of times, child," he told the elf. "Now, why don’t we see to comforting your brother. Olórin, give Glorfindel a hand, will you?"

Olórin nodded and Glorfindel sidled off Finrod’s chest. Finrod, all this time, had continued sobbing quietly, lost in misery. He had not felt this way in such a long time, not since he’d first been released from Lórien and was feeling his way back into a life he’d willingly left behind centuries before. He allowed Glorfindel and Olórin to help him up and soon he was seated on the edge of his cot with Glorfindel sitting beside him. Olórin handed Finrod a goblet of water and encouraged him to drink, which he did. The water, cool and refreshing, calmed him. When he finished he gave the goblet back to Olórin and then lay back on the cot, closing his eyes.

Glorfindel gave the Valar a worried look, confusion written all over him, as he tried to figure out what was happening to Finrod. Námo gave Manwë a look and the Elder King nodded, turning to everyone else.

"Let us leave them alone for a time," he said. Eönwë and Olórin bowed and disappeared. Laurendil hesitated for a moment, his healer’s instincts demanding he stay and see to his patients, but Manwë gently took him by the arm and led him out of the tent. Glorfindel heard the Elder King issue an order to someone standing outside but paid little heed to it, being more concerned with Finrod.

Námo, meanwhile, went over to stand next to Calalindalë who appeared to be coming out of her faint. He laid a gentle hand on her head and with a sigh she sank back into sleep. Neither Vorondil nor Aldundil stirred. Then he returned to Glorfindel and Finrod.

"Would you like to tell us about it, best beloved?" he asked.

Finrod shook his head, refusing to open his eyes, wanting nothing more than to sink into the oblivion of sleep... or death.

"No, child," Námo said, divining the ellon’s thoughts, "that route is no longer open to you. You are alive and must deal with what Life offers you, the ill as well as the good."

"Please, Finda," Glorfindel pleaded, using the pet name for his brother that he rarely uttered, knowing how much Finrod hated it. "Tell us what is wrong." He began stroking Finrod’s hair, hoping to give his brother some comfort.

For some time Finrod refused to answer, allowing the comfort that Glorfindel was offering to soothe him. Finally, without opening his eyes, he whispered, "I dreamt of my death."

Glorfindel gave a gasp of protest. "But you know how you died. Why would such a dream upset you so?"

Finrod opened his eyes, their expression bleak. "Because I didn’t just dream of my death, brother, I dreamt of the moment I gave my ring to Barahir along with my oath. I realize now that it was at that point that I doomed myself to dying in the very stronghold I’d built on Tol Sirion as a defense against Morgoth." He gave a humorless chuckle. "Rather ironic, isn’t it? Dying in your own stronghold now held by the enemy. Who would have guessed that I was building my own tomb with every stone laid?"

"Stop that!" Glorfindel demanded, getting angry at Finrod’s tone. "Stop that at once! You couldn’t have known so it does no good thinking like that."

"Glorfindel is correct, child," Námo said. He was sitting in his chair and his expression was somewhat troubled. "There is no point in dwelling on what has already happened. Time to move on."

Finrod sat up, his eyes blazing. "Move on! How can I move on? How can any of us move on when every time we turn around we have our past staring back at us, accusing us, condemning us? Not just our memories, either, and they’re bad enough, but the elves who never left Aman, who despise us for having left, for having died and for having returned. I’m sick of it! All of it!"

Before anyone could stop him, Finrod leaped off the bed and strode out of the tent. Glorfindel gave an inarticulate yell and went to run after him but was stopped at the entrance by strong arms embracing him. When he looked up, he found it was not Lord Námo who held him as he expected, but Lord Tulkas, his golden hair ruddy in the early spring sunlight. Unlike the last time Glorfindel had found himself in Tulkas’ embrace, the Vala held him gently, almost as a mother would hold her babe.

"Not this time, elfling," Tulkas said with a smile. "I will tend to Findaráto."

Glorfindel gulped and something dark and dangerous welled up inside of him. "W-will Finrod get to run with... with the wolves?" he whispered, half hoping and half dreading the answer.

Tulkas bent down and planted a kiss on the ellon’s cheek before answering. "No, my elfling, he will not... and neither will you."

Glorfindel moaned and collapsed deeper into Tulkas’ embrace, closing his eyes against emotions he could barely put names to. Now Tulkas ruffled his hair and gave a chuckle. "You elflings are such a delight. Now go back inside and stay with Aldundil and Vorondil. They will both need you when they waken."

The Balrog-slayer opened his eyes, his expression quizzical. "Why would Vorondil need me? He tried to kill his master. The only thing he’s going to need from me is a blindfold before I take his traitorous head from his shoulders."

Tulkas gave the ellon a brief shake, his expression darkening. "That was unworthy of you, son of Gondolin. Vorondil is in more pain than you can ever imagine. His fëa has been so twisted by hate, hate learned from one who should have nurtured love instead. What he needs from you is forgiveness and understanding. He cannot help the fact that had all gone as planned, he would never have been born."

"What!?"

Now Námo came forward. "Calalindalë and Aldundil’s brother were always meant to marry," the Lord of Mandos said gravely, a look of deep sadness on his face. "Vorondil’s last thoughts as he lay dying on the battlefield before the gates of what had once been the kingdom of Nargothrond were of Calalindalë and he sorrowed that he would not be able to keep his promise to her. Yet, at the same time, he had hope that once released from Mandos he would be reunited with her again. That one hope sustained him through his dying and he came to me at peace with his fate." Námo paused and gave Glorfindel a wry smile. "A rather rare phenomenon among you elves. You may recall your own reaction to finding yourself in Mandos."

Glorfindel looked down, blushing, while the two Valar chuckled at his embarrassment.

"At any rate," Námo continued, "Calalindalë circumvented our hopes by convincing Aldundil to marry her."

"And that was a bad thing?"

Námo shook his head. "Neither good nor bad, merely a different choice, one we did not expect."

"We have been keeping a close eye on them, especially young Vorondil," Tulkas added. "He is an... anomaly and therefore of interest to us."

"What will happen to him, then?" Glorfindel asked, seeing things in a new light.

"That is up to Findaráto," Námo said. "Lord Manwë has so decreed it, though we will interfere if we believe it necessary."

Glorfindel thought about that for a moment, then looked up at both Valar with a calculating air. "You were hoping Finrod would kill Vorondil, weren’t you? In fact, you were betting on it."

Námo and Tulkas exchanged indecipherable expressions, then Tulkas ruffled Glorfindel’s hair again. "Enough. I will see to Findaráto and make sure he is at the list this afternoon," the Vala said. "You, elfling, will stay here with my brother and keep watch over this benighted family. What has been spoken here is not to be repeated to anyone unless we give you our permission. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my lord," he replied respectfully.

Tulkas nodded, released Glorfindel and disappeared. Námo gestured to the ellon. "Come then, best beloved, let us make ourselves comfortable. It will be awhile before my brother returns with Finrod."

Glorfindel sighed, wishing he were able to go after Finrod himself, but complied with the Vala’s command, taking the stool on which Calalindalë had been sitting. Námo resumed his own seat, his expression thoughtful as he looked upon the four elves, three of them still sleeping and marveled once again at how mysterious these Eruhíni truly were — the golden-haired Balrog-slayer sitting uncomfortably on the stool not the least.

****

The elves setting up the archery targets and the archers quietly talking among themselves while waiting for the second round to begin all looked up in surprise when Finrod stormed out of the healers’ tent, obviously in high dudgeon. They were even more surprised when Lord Tulkas suddenly appeared right behind the ellon and with one easy motion grabbed him by the scruff of his tunic, picking him up one-handed, all the while laughing. Finrod gave a startled squawk and started fighting the Vala’s hold. Tulkas stomped across the field, fading from view as he traversed one reality into another with a single thought, the Noldorin prince firmly in his grasp.

For a very long space of time there was complete silence among the witnessing elves. They all stood there, stunned to immobility, their jaws well below their knees. Then, as if by mutual consent, everyone resumed their previous activities, studiously not thinking about what they had just seen, all hoping that they never did anything to draw the Valar’s attention to themselves.

****

Finrod wasn’t sure where they were. At the moment, he wasn’t sure about anything except feeling angry, embarrassed and... well, he wasn’t sure what else he was feeling, just that he was feeling it. He was still in Tulkas’ embrace. The two of them were sitting on the lip of a sea-cliff overlooking Ulmo’s realm. From the position of the Sun, they were facing east, back towards Endórë. Below, the waves crashed upon a rock strewn beach. The purple and deep green cast of the waters and the tall whitecaps made Finrod think there might be a storm brewing somewhere.

Which fits my mood quite well, he thought with sour satisfaction as he shifted his position slightly to make himself more comfortable. He was sitting with his arms around his knees while Tulkas knelt behind him, his brawny arms wrapped protectively around the elf.

"Feeling better, elfling?" Tulkas asked.

"I really wish the Valar would stop calling us that," Finrod protested half-heartedly, knowing the argument was already lost but needing to express himself. "I haven’t been an elfling for a very long time, even if you count the time I was acting like one in Mandos."

Tulkas chuckled. "Findaráto, you are all elflings to us, even Ingwë, who is one of the oldest of you. You will always be elflings, no matter how old you are. We will always be that much older."

Finrod sighed.

"Of course, you should have seen us when the very first elf was born here in Aman," Tulkas said with a laugh. "It would have been difficult to tell who were the elflings then."

Finrod turned his head to look at the Vala. "What do you mean?"

Tulkas smiled fondly at the ellon, ruffling his hair. "Well, you have to understand that we had never seen any little ones before. There weren’t any elflings then, for they had all grown up during the Great Migration. So when one of the elleth showed up obviously pregnant, we were all amazed and... awestruck." He paused and gave a hearty laugh, as if in response to a joke only he knew.

"What?" Finrod asked, unable to stop grinning in the face of the Vala’s mirth.

"When the little thing was born, we were all crowding around to take a peek," Tulkas explained. "Poor ammë... it was some time before she got to hold her newborn."

Finrod found himself snickering for no reason as he returned his gaze to the ocean and leaned back into Tulkas’ embrace, willing to listen to the Vala’s story, one he had never heard before.

Tulkas continued with another amused chuckle. "Manwë and Aulë almost came to blows over who would be the first to hold the little elleth — yes, the first elfling in Aman was an elleth," he added when Finrod gave him a surprised look. "Yavanna and Varda, in the meantime, were plotting how to... er... encourage the other ellith to want to have elflings of their own."

Tulkas gave another laugh at the memory his words obviously evoked for him and Finrod found himself chuckling as well over the mental image of the Valar fighting over a newborn elleth. "Who won the fight?" he asked mischievously and Tulkas roared with mirth.

"Would it surprise you if I said Námo?" he finally answered when he had calmed down.

Finrod looked at the Vala in shock. Tulkas nodded. "The others were so busy arguing they never noticed Námo simply taking the elleth out of the midwife’s hands and cradling her, showing her the Two Trees with Vairë by his side humming a lullaby." He ruffled Finrod’s hair again, giving him a wink. "That’s our Námo... very sneaky."

Now Finrod laughed out loud at that. When he had calmed down somewhat he couldn’t resist asking one more question, though he was careful to be looking back out to sea when he did. "So, did you ever get to hold her?"

Tulkas gave him a gentle squeeze then, to the ellon’s surprise, kissed him on the top of his head. "What do you think?" the Vala whispered.

Finrod did not answer.

"Well, we’re not here to talk about me," Tulkas said more decisively. "We’re here to talk about you."

The elf shrugged. "There’s nothing to talk about."

"Is there not?" the Vala replied in mock surprise. "Well, let us see... you enter the list in a confused state, fighting carelessly and thereby causing your opponent to almost die. You refuse our offer of help and tell us to leave you be because, of course, you know everything and can handle the situation better than those who Sang Arda into existence. Then you pull what Vairë likes to call a wrath-of-Mandos, but I just call it a temper tantrum, on your brother and now you are refusing to fight at all, thereby disappointing many people... including me."

Finrod found himself cringing with each indictment, beginning in truth to feel like the elfling the Vala insisted on calling him. "I’m sorry," he whispered dejectedly.

He felt Tulkas nod, then whisper into his ear. "But not sorry enough, are you?"

Finrod nodded, unable to lie, even to himself. "I’m tired of it all... the oaths...the responsibilities, the... intrigues of those few Amanians who cannot accept us... all of it. I just want it to stop."

"You want to go back to Mandos," Tulkas said.

"I want to go back to Endórë," Finrod countered. "I want to go back to the Dagor Bragollach and change what happened there."

"But that is not possible, even for us," Tulkas replied quietly. "You cannot know how much we would like to have been able to do the same, especially with regards to the Darkening. We were such fools..."

Finrod looked at the Vala in shock. Tulkas nodded grimly.

"Yes, fools," he reiterated without any self-reproach. "A condition that is not the exclusive purview of elflings and mortals. Stupidity, like the air we breathe, is available to everyone, and we Valar have used up our fair share of it over the long ages since we came into Eä."

Finrod thought about that for a bit, gazing out into the endlessly swelling ocean. Now the sky was dark with scudding clouds as the storm approached landfall. Soon it would rain or even hail; neither elf nor Vala moved to take cover.

"I can’t do this anymore," Finrod finally said, not looking at the Vala, sounding defeated. "If I hadn’t given Barahir my oath along with my ring..."

"You would still have died," Tulkas stated baldly, "but the manner of your death and the circumstances surrounding it would have been different... and possibly more ignoble."

Finrod gasped in shock at the revelation and started to protest but Tulkas forestalled him. "No, Child," he chided softly, "listen to me very carefully. You cannot deny who you are, however much you would like to at this moment."

"Who am I?" Finrod asked, sounding somewhat defiant.

Tulkas smiled fondly at the ellon though Finrod did not see. "Well, let us see... Eldest son of Arafinwë and grandson of Finwë. Nephew to Fëanáro... hmmm... well, that’s not good. What else? Oh yes, rebel, warrior and king... oathkeeper but not an oathbreaker... Friend of Dwarves and Men... one of the Reborn... Apprentice to the Fëanturi, who is able to do something we didn’t think any of you could do." The Vala ended his litany with a booming laugh. "And overall, a verily impossible ellon whose only rival is that even more impossible Balrog-slayer who even now is giving Námo a hard time."

Finrod found himself smiling faintly at the sound of Tulkas’ laughter. It was almost impossible to feel anything but merry around this particular Vala.

"Which reminds me," Tulkas then said in a suspiciously off-handed manner. "Just how did you Sing Aldundil’s healing? That is a talent we did not think to see among you."

Finrod shrugged. "I don’t really know," he replied, speaking slowly, as if feeling his way towards an answer. "I just... did it."

Tulkas nodded. "Well, perhaps some day we will understand it better, but in the meantime...."

"How can I fight after this?" Finrod asked.

"How can you not?" Tulkas retorted. "Is this not similar to what Haldir experienced? Did you not insist he fight? Why should you be exempt?"

Finrod sighed, not really having an answer.

"And we don’t want to disappoint Glorfindel, do we?" Tulkas asked, amusement lacing his voice. "I don’t think I can handle both you elflings pulling temper tantrums at the same time. One of you in a snit is enough."

The dryness of the Vala’s tone took Finrod by surprise and before he knew it he was laughing, his heart lighter than it had been all day.

Tulkas nodded, pleased with himself. "That’s better. Now, I promised I would see you show up at the list this afternoon, however, that is some hours away and it’s beginning to rain here, so why don’t we go somewhere drier?"

With that the Vala stood up and pulled Finrod to his feet as well. Before the ellon could utter a word of protest otherwise he felt reality shift slightly and then the next thing he saw was that he was standing in the courtyard of Tulkas’ mansion in Valmar and Nessa was there, smiling. Before her was a table laden with food.

"Ah, just in time for luncheon, I see," Tulkas said and went to kiss his spouse in greeting. The embrace was more intimate than Finrod was expecting and he found himself blushing and looking away, so he did not notice the amused looks on the couple’s faces when they stopped kissing.

"Well, let’s not stand on ceremony, my love," Nessa said slyly. "Findaráto needs nourishment if he’s to fight this afternoon."

"True, my love," Tulkas replied. "This particular elfling’s had a full day already, and it’s not even over with yet."

With a gesture, Nessa invited Finrod to sit and soon the three were happily eating. As he half-listened to the two Valar talk of seemingly inconsequential doings among the Valar and Maiar, Finrod played the conversation he had had with Tulkas over and over again in his mind. By the time he finished eating, he had come to a decision. Standing up, he gave the Valar a proper bow then turned to Tulkas, who watched him with interest.

"Before I go back into the list," the elven prince said somewhat shyly, "will you... give me some pointers?"

"I thought you would never ask, elfling," Tulkas laughed joyously, standing as well.

As Tulkas led Finrod away, Nessa called out. "Don’t hurt him too much dear. Remember, he still has to fight this afternoon."

"Don’t worry, my love," Tulkas answered back without breaking stride, "I don’t plan on breaking anything vital. Glorfindel would never forgive me." He gave Finrod a sly wink.

Finrod laughed at that, knowing his otorno all too well.

****

My thanks to Rhyselle for giving me permission to let Tulkas tell Finrod about the first elf born in Aman. His description of the event is based on her WIP "First Born", which hopefully will someday be posted for all to read. No pressure, Rhyselle. *grin*