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Elf, Interrupted: Book One: Glorfindel Redux  by Fiondil

132: Confessions and Confrontations

Finrod sized up the situation immediately and started towards Námo but the Vala shook his head and he stayed where he was. Glorfindel also remained seated on the cot. Both elves watched with interest to see how Námo dealt with the still weeping ellon.

"Hush now, best beloved," Námo said softly. "All will be well."

Vorondil shook his head, refusing to look up. "Th-they’re going to... to kill me, aren’t they?"

Námo did not answer immediately, looking up at Finrod, who gave a short shake of his head but did not speak.

"No one’s going to harm you, child," Námo answered.

"B-but I’m bad, aren’t I?" Vorondil whispered forlornly. "I was born bad, wasn’t I?"

The utter hopelessness of that question tore at the hearts of the two elves listening and Glorfindel gasped, looking stricken.

"No, Vorondil," Námo countered. "No one is born bad, including you."

"Master is going to hate me now and... and then he’ll... he’ll..." Vorondil started weeping again.

"He’ll do what?" Námo asked.

"I don’t know," the ellon wailed, "b-but he’ll do it and no one will love me anymore."

Námo smiled gently at that, though Vorondil did not see. "That’s not true, child. No matter what happens, I will always love you."

"As will I."

Vorondil sat up with a stunned look and barely registered the fact that Finrod was there, his entire attention on the now awake Aldundil. "Atto!" he cried and then his face crumpled and he started sobbing again, an expression of deep shame spreading across his face.

Aldundil got up and went to his son, giving Námo his obeisance and a questioning look. When Námo nodded, he took Vorondil into his own arms and cradled him, still looking at the Vala.

"Vorondil thought Findaráto killed you and in his grief attacked him with a knife. He has no actual memory of doing so, however."

Aldundil looked stricken as he turned to Finrod. "Is this true, aranya?" he asked disbelievingly.

Finrod nodded but did not elaborate. Aldundil looked down at his still weeping child and sighed.

"I’m sorry I’ve failed you, Atto," Vorondil said between his tears. "I know I’m bad. I don’t mean to be. You probably wish I’d never been born right about now and...."

Aldundil went white and he put Vorondil down and gave him a shake. "Don’t ever say that!" he cried, sounding both shocked and angry. "You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Don’t ever say that again."

The vehemence of his tone stunned them all and Vorondil stopped crying as Aldundil gave him a fierce hug, refusing to let him go. "You’ve never failed me," he continued in a quieter tone. "You’ve never been anything but my beloved son. It’s I who have failed — you and my brother. I... I deluded myself in thinking that by marrying your amillë, that I was doing the right thing. I know now that it was not, but I swear to you, Vorondil, that I never regretted your begetting. Never."

"Br-brother? Ammë?" Vorondil whispered, sounding confused.

Finrod gave his vassal a questioning look himself. Glorfindel, seeing it, rose and went to him, giving Finrod a whispered account of what he’d learned about Aldundil and his brother. The look on Finrod’s face as he listened to the tale turned from questioning to shock and then to compassion and when Glorfindel finished he nodded his understanding.

Aldundil, meantime, was leading Vorondil to his cot and the two sat down. "I think it’s time I told you the truth," he said to his son. He then proceeded to tell about the War of Wrath, though the others noticed how he left out telling about the oaths he and his brother had given Calalindalë. When he reached the part about Vorondil dying he stopped and gave a sigh, shaking his head.

"I knew I was the cause of my brother’s death as he tried to reach me after I’d been felled by the enemy, yet I knew that some day he would return to me and to his betrothed."

Námo spoke for the first time, shaking his head. "There is no blame laid upon you, Aldundil. Vorondil died, simply that. You were not to blame nor does he blame you."

"He doesn’t?" Aldundil asked doubtfully.

Námo shook his head. "He has no memory of his death or the reason for it. He has no memory of you or Calalindalë at this point, though those memories will return when he’s ready to accept them."

The shock on both Aldundil’s and Vorondil’s faces was almost comical to the other two ellyn. Finrod spoke then. "It’s true, Aldundil. The dead have no memory of the living while in Mandos. It is Lord Námo’s gift to them while their fëar are healing."

"You... you named me after your brother?" Vorondil asked, not interested in the conversation the adults were having, only latching onto the one thing that made any sense to him.

Aldundil looked at his son and smiled wistfully. "Your amillë was against it, but I was adamant. I suppose it was my feeble attempt to apologize to my brother for having... for having robbed him of... of his future. I do not know if he will ever forgive me for that when he returns."

Vorondil’s expression became confused and he turned to Námo. "My... uncle is a... Reborn?"

Námo nodded. "Some day soon he will be re-embodied and be released from my care."

"But ammë said..."

"What did your ammë say, child?" Námo asked quietly when the ellon paused to look at the still sleeping Calalindalë, his expression clouded with conflicting emotions.

Never taking his eye off her, Vorondil answered. "She said that the Reborn aren’t to be trusted because they’re nothing but oathbreakers and... and deserve our contempt."

Aldundil went white at that and stared at his wife with an expression of disbelief and loathing marring his fair face.

"Well that explains some things," Finrod said in the ensuing silence. Glorfindel nodded, his expression thoughtful and sad at the same time.

"Yes, it explains many things," Námo said pointedly.

At the sound of Finrod’s voice, Vorondil gasped and cringed into Aldundil’s embrace, as if only just realizing that his Master was there. Finrod, for his part, ignored the ellon for the time being, focusing his attention on Námo.

"And you allowed this... this travesty to continue for so long?"

Námo raised an eyebrow. "Allow? We did not ‘allow’ anything, Arafinwion," he spoke coldly and the elves listening shivered slightly at the tone. "We will not interfere in the free will decisions of others. Aldundil and Calalindalë made their choices whether we wished otherwise or not. Calalindalë and Aldundil’s brother were meant to marry. Their children would have played an important role in the history of Arda. It mattered not if the two did not marry immediately. Calalindalë should have waited for Vorondil to return to Life. Instead, she decided to exact revenge on her betrothed for having died by... convincing Aldundil to marry her instead. The result was... him."

Námo nodded towards Vorondil who listened white faced and trembling. Aldundil held his son closer, his expression darkening as he addressed the Lord of Mandos. "So you would punish my son whose only crime was allowing himself to be begotten instead of me who deserves to be punished for my... sins."

Now Námo gave the elf a surprised look. "We have never punished Vorondil for being born. He is innocent of any ‘crime’, as you put it... well, except for this most recent event, but otherwise we do not hold him to blame for any of this. We wish him well and trust that some day he will be an asset to elvenkind."

"That isn’t the impression you’ve given me, my lord," Finrod countered, stepping forward. "I was supposed to be Vorondil’s executioner, as I recall."

Vorondil gave a soft moan of disbelief, his world shattering into more pieces and he started to hyperventilate. Finrod went to him and held the ellon’s head between his hands. Vorondil closed his eyes, finding it hard to breathe.

"Look at me Vorondil," Finrod commanded softly, but the ellon shook his head. "Vorondil, open your eyes," and the force of Finrod’s words was such that he had no choice but to obey.

For a long moment Finrod stared into the ellon’s eyes, gently rubbing the sides of his face with his fingers, allowing Vorondil time to calm down. "Understand this, Vorondil," Finrod said, his tone soft but brooking no denial. "I would never willingly act as anyone’s executioner. That is why I took your atar’s oath, to save you. I do not regret doing so. Whatever Lord Námo or any of the other Valar say to the contrary, you are as worthy of life as the rest of us and you have as important a role to play as your uncle’s children would have. More so, for you live and they do not. Never doubt your own self-worth in this."

Vorondil did not look convinced as Finrod released his hold on him but Aldundil hugged him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "You’re the only good thing that has ever happened to me, Vorondil," he said. "You’ve made it all worth while no matter what follows."

Vorondil started weeping again, though quietly. Aldundil kissed his son again and then stood up and gently encouraged Vorondil to lie down. "I think thou shouldst sleep, my son," he said. "Let not what thou hast learnt trouble thee over much. I promise thee, all will be well. Tye-melin, yonya. Tye-meluvan illúmë." He sat on the edge of the bed and gently stroked his son’s hair.

"Inyë tye-melë, Atto," Vorondil whispered as he allowed himself to succumb to sleep, his eyes closing, for his fëa was exhausted and heartsick by all that had happened. Aldundil continued to stroke Vorondil’s hair, smiling sadly at his child.

"What will you do to him, aranya?" he asked resignedly, not bothering to look at Finrod.

"The public nature of what Vorondil did necessitates a public trial," Finrod said. "Ingwë has already indicated to me that he will not countenance an execution, and I concur. However, your son will need to be punished in some manner."

Aldundil nodded, still not looking up. "When will the trial be held?" he asked.

"Tomorrow," Finrod replied.

Aldundil looked up in surprise. "Tomorrow! But what of the tournament?"

"Tomorrow’s events will be postponed until the following day," Finrod answered. "The trial will commence at noon."

Aldundil turned his gaze back on his son. "Whatever his punishment, aranya," he said, "I will suffer it in his stead. If anyone deserves punishment it is I. My own forswearing is the reason my son is... defective. My sins have marred his fëa and it seems the Valar themselves believe he should never have been born."

Before Finrod could respond, Námo was out of his seat and standing over Aldundil, who looked up with a bewildered expression on his face. The Lord of Mandos locked gazes with the ellon and the sense of compassion and pity he saw in the Vala’s eyes was nearly overwhelming. "Aldundil, forgive me for my harsh words earlier. I never meant to imply that we wished Vorondil any ill. He is as beloved of us as you. But please understand this... what you and Calalindalë did has changed the course of history. Only Eru now knows where all this will lead, for I have neither the wisdom nor the foresight to say either way. Your brother’s last thought before dying was of Calalindalë and the hope of a future with her. Now he will return to Life to find that he has been robbed of that future. You and he will have to deal with that as best you may. He may forgive you, he may not. As for Vorondil... it is the reason we gave him to Findaráto. Under his tutelage we hope that Vorondil will indeed become a contributing member of your society."

"What were my brother’s children meant to do?" Aldundil asked in sick curiosity. "What... what did we change?"

Námo shook his head. "It matters not, since they can never be born now and whatever was to happen...." he paused and his expression became dark for a moment while the elves held their breaths. Then the Vala’s mien lightened and he sighed, looking down at the sleeping ellon, his expression softening to one of love before casting his gaze back to Aldundil. "What matters is Vorondil. Whatever Eru has ultimately planned, I know that he loves your son no less than he loves you in spite of your... sins."

"And Aldundil," Finrod chimed in. Aldundil turned to look at his liege lord. "You may or may not deserve punishment, but I am not your judge in that matter, nor will I allow you to take your son’s place a second time. He will only learn to take responsibility for his actions when he is no longer shielded by you. I think that’s another reason the Valar gave him into my keeping... to remove him from your influence, yours and Calalindalë’s, so that he could mature in a correct manner. Whatever punishment is meted out to him will fall upon him alone."

Aldundil nodded reluctantly. "Yes, aranya."

Finrod gave a sigh. "I need to check on the other elflings. I will see you tomorrow, Aldundil." He turned to Námo, "Master," he said with a bow, then he turned to leave. "Coming, brother?"

Glorfindel cast a glance at Námo still standing by Aldundil. The Vala gave him a slight nod. "What about them?" he whispered to Finrod, nodding towards Aldundil and his family.

"There will be no need for guards," Námo told Finrod, knowing what Glorfindel had said. "I will watch over Vorondil and I doubt Aldundil will want to leave his son’s side."

Finrod nodded. "Tomorrow then," he acknowledged with a short nod of his head, then he and Glorfindel left.

If Aldundil heard the exchange, he gave no sign, all his attention on his sleeping son and his memories.

****

Finrod and Glorfindel walked into the compound to find it cast into gloom, the campfire its only illumination. Entering the main pavilion they found all five elflings sitting around the dining table with Sador and Alassiel. No one was speaking, just sitting in the dark.

"Sador," Finrod asked. "What’s going on?"

Sador gave his brothers a wry grin that could be seen even in the flickering light of the campfire outside. "We’re in mourning."

"Oh?" Glorfindel responded with nonchalance. "Who died?"

At that point Veryandur stood up and ran to Finrod howling. "Don’t kill him, don’t kill him!"

Finrod picked the child up easily before Veryandur could start beating on him and held him tightly. "Hush now, Veryandur," he commanded. "No one is killing anybody. Why would you think that?"

Veryandur, however, did not answer, too busy getting Finrod’s tunic all wet with his tears. Finrod gave Sador and Alassiel a questioning look but they simply shrugged. Finrod turned to Glorfindel. "Let’s have some more light on the subject."

Glorfindel grinned and went to light a taper from the campfire and then lit the candelabrum sitting in the center of the table as well as the two other candelabra on the sideboard. Meanwhile Finrod sat at the head of the table as was his wont and looked at the other children, their faces white in the soft glow of the candles. The three older children were ranged on his right with Alassiel at the other end while Eruanna sat with Sador on Finrod’s left. Only when Glorfindel took his usual seat opposite Finrod did the prince speak.

"Now, tell me why you think anyone is going to kill Vorondil," he said.

For a moment none of the elflings answered. The four adults waited patiently, the only sound being Veryandur’s weeping stilling to the occasional sniffling and hiccup. Finally Sorondil spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I heard one of the guards say that... that the penalty for attacking a lord of the realm was... was death. He said... he said that... that Lord Aldundil’s misbegotten son deserved to die to... to atone for the shame of his parents’ marriage."

"Wh-what does ‘misbegotten’ mean?" Eruanna asked, looking at Finrod pleadingly, trying to understand. Finrod realized then that Sador and Alassiel had not tried to explain. Sador, of course, would be unaware of Aldundil’s history; Alassiel’s expression, however, told him all he needed to know.

"The guard spoke unthinkingly, Sorondil," Finrod said, deciding to address the ellon first. He spoke in a quiet but authoritative tone, one that the elflings were beginning to recognize and trust. "Vorondil is not misbegotten and he has no need to atone for anything... except for what he nearly tried to do this morning."

Then he turned to Eruanna, his tone softening even more. "Child, the word ‘misbegotten’ is not a word for elflings and I do not wish for any of you to use it on anyone. No one is misbegotten. No one is brought into this world except as Eru wills it, whatever the circumstances of that begetting. For that reason alone, we are all truly Children of Ilúvatar, whatever our earthly parentage, Vorondil included."

His words seemed to mollify the children somewhat and there was a noticeable relaxing of muscles and the atmosphere lightened. Finrod shifted Veryandur on his lap so the ellon was sitting up.

"What is to happen to Vorondil?" Sador asked, unable to keep the worry out of his voice and Finrod realized that Sador was as fond of the younger ellon as he was.

"There will be a trial tomorrow at noon," he answered and all five elflings gasped. Deciding to change the subject, Finrod asked a question of his own, addressing Veryandur. "So did you enjoy your time with your parents, Little One?"

Veryandur gave a tremulous smile and nodded. "Emmë made my favorite dish."

"Oh? And what is that?"

"Porridge!" the ellon crowed with a wide grin while all the other children groaned and Lindorillë actually looked a bit ill.

Finrod threw back his head and laughed, as did the other adults. "Well, what do you know?" he said, "It’s my favorite dish, too."

Veryandur gave him a look of surprise. "Truly?"

Finrod smiled. "Yes, with raisins and cinnamon and apple slices." Then he turned to the others. "And how were your visits?"

Eruanna smiled and held up her doll which she had had in her lap. "Look, ammë made Yávië a new gown."

Finrod smiled as he saw that the gown had his personal device embroidered on the front. "Your ammë does excellent work," he commented approvingly. "Yávië will be the envy of every doll in all of Eldamar."

Eruanna looked pleased as she cradled her doll and started humming a lullaby to herself. The other three elflings, when Finrod cast his gaze upon them, looked somewhat upset and did not volunteer any information. Finrod gave his squire and brother a questioning look. Alassiel shook her head, looking more disgusted than anything; Sador’s expression was as neutral as he had ever seen it, making him look older than he was.

"Well?" he finally asked, addressing no one in particular.

Sador spoke. "There was a bit of... trouble with Sorondil and Lindorillë’s atar."

"Oh?" Finrod asked, his expression darkening somewhat.

Sador nodded. "I’m afraid the visit was an unhappy one for all. When I deemed it best we leave their atar stated categorically that he would not permit us to take his children."

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that. Sador shrugged. "His exact words were ‘No child of mine is going to remain in the company of a murderer, oath or no oath."

Finrod’s only reaction was a thinning of his lips. He noticed Sorondil and Lindorillë looking very white and fearful. "How did you manage to convince him to allow the children to leave with you?"

"We didn’t," Alassiel answered and now Finrod’s expression turned to one of surprise.

Sador nodded and his expression became grimly humorous. "At the mention of oaths Lord Eönwë appeared with... er... two other Maiar, all armed and looking anything but amused."

Now Sorondil spoke, his expression one of awe at the memory. "They had swords of light," he said excitedly. "And... and Lord Eönwë had his Book and... and...." He stumbled to a halt, unable to articulate his feelings at the sight of the three Maiar suddenly appearing in his house. Lindorillë also looked awed, as did the other three elflings. Finrod realized with approval that Sador and Alassiel had kept the children together rather than allowing them to visit their parents separately, so all five of them had witnessed the confrontation.

"What happened then?" he asked.

Again Sador shrugged noncommitally. "Lord Eönwë just opened the Book and began reading the oaths that Sorondil and Lindorillë had given you," he said. "Then he looked at their parents and...."

"The oaths stand," Eönwë said coldly. "Lord Findaráto has guardianship of your children for one year."

"He is unfit to be the guardian of a rock," countered Sorondil and Lindorillë’s atar heatedly. "Today’s events prove it."

"They prove nothing, Mastamo Cemendur," Eönwë said, still sounding cold and unforgiving. "The oaths stand," he reiterated, then he gave the ellon a piercing look. "As do yours and Mistress Yavalda’s," naming Sorondil and Lindorillë’s amillë.

Both parents swayed in shock but offered no protest or denial of the Maia’s words. Eönwë continued to stare at the two elves for a few moments longer before turning to the elfllings huddled around Alassiel and Sador, watching with wide-eyed wonder. His expression softened and he even smiled.

"Go with Manveru and Erunáro, Little Ones. They will escort you back to your lord’s encampment."

All five elflings cowered closer to Alassiel and Sador, not wishing to leave the presence of those they trusted. Sador and Alassiel gave them hugs. "Do as Lord Eönwë says, children," Sador said gently. "Have no fear. These are servants of Lord Manwë, himself. See you their insignia of the eagle? I bet you were named in honor of those who serve the Elder King, Sorondil."

Manveru then gave them a brilliant smile. "Come, children. Let us go back to the encampment and my brother and I will see what mischief we can devise for you all to get into before Lord Findaráto arrives. He’s overdue for a shaking up."

The children gave the Maia disbelieving looks and Sador sighed. "Must you?" he said with an aggrieved look. "It’s bad enough when Vorondil comes up with tricks for them to play on my brother without you lot getting in on the act."

The three Maiar laughed. "But you can play too, if you like," Erunáro said with a wink.

Sador thought about it for a moment, stealing a glance at Alassiel, who was snickering. "Well, in that case..." he drawled, "don’t start anything without me."

Alassiel gave a sigh of her own. "Speaking of Vorondil... any word of what will happen to him?"

Eönwë’s mien became more solemn. "Nothing has been decided, though I have no doubt a trial is in the offing." Then he turned his attention to the elflings again. "Go now, children."

Reluctantly the children left with the two Maiar warriors as escorts. When the adults were alone, Eönwë looked upon Cemendur and Yavalda with grave authority. "The children are no longer in your custody. Do not attempt to interfere in this. Prince Findaráto is their lawful guardian for one year of the Sun. The High King has ratified that decision... and so has the Elder King."

Cemendur’s and Yavalda’s faces turned even whiter than before. Yavalda started to tremble and her husband had to hold her in his arms. Satisfied that he had gotten his point across Eönwë turned to Alassiel and Sador and smiled. "Best run along now, children. You don’t want to miss out on the fun when those two jokers come up with whatever hare-brained scheme they devise."

Sador and Alassiel just stared at the Maia in disbelief. Eönwë laughed. "Oh, you have no idea how those two keep Ilmarin enlivened with their jests. Go now."

Alassiel and Sador bowed and then they were alone with the Baker and his wife....

Finrod gave Sador an amused smile as his brother finished his narrative. "So what jest were you all planning? None of you were looking particularly happy when we walked in."

Alassiel gave a rueful grin. "Sador and I came back here to find the children in a state. Seems rumors are flying hither and yon that you mean to execute Vorondil. The children apparently heard at least one such rumor and... and the manner in which you planned to do the deed and they were naturally upset. Not even Manveru and Erunáro could comfort them. They left as soon as we arrived. We’ve been trying to assure them that Vorondil is not going to be executed but they don’t believe us."

Finrod gave them all a considering look. "What Vorondil did was wrong, but he was very upset and distraught and that will be taken into account, plus the fact that he is still an elfling himself, though he’s loath to admit that. Rest assured, children, that neither I nor the High King will seek his death. He will be punished, but not in that way. Do you believe me?"

One by one the children nodded.

"Where is he, anyway?" Sador asked.

"He’s still at the healers’ tent along with his parents," Finrod said. "Lord Námo is watching over them all this night and I imagine Laurendil and Manwen will remain as well in case there is need. Lady Calalindalë became... er... overwrought and needed to be sedated."

Sador and Alassiel gave Finrod considering looks. "I think there is more to this than you say, Cousin," Alassiel commented.

"Perhaps," Finrod conceded, "but this is neither the time nor the place. I will fill you both in later."

Sador and Alassiel both nodded, then Veryandur, still in Finrod’s lap, piped up. "Can we still play the trick Manveru and Erunáro taught us? It’s a good trick."

"But I’m forewarned," Finrod said, smiling at the ellon fondly. "Should we not find another victim?"

The elflings gave Finrod odd looks, not quite believing his words. Then their expressions turned thoughtful, while the adults looked on with interest. Sorondil suddenly smiled wickedly. "Laurendil," he said with undisguised glee. The other elflings all smiled and nodded in agreement, obviously pleased with the idea.

Finrod laughed. "Laurendil it is. As it happens, he’s overdue for one. I still owe him for the last jest he played on me. So, why don’t you tell me how this trick works while we have something to eat? I don’t know about the rest of you but I’m famished enough to eat even Glorfindel’s cooking."

"Hey!" the ellon protested. "I can boil water with the best of them."

Finrod gave his brother a challenging look. "Well, then, what are you waiting for?"

Glorfindel laughed. "But only if you do the dishes afterwards."

Before Finrod could say either aye or nay to that, Alassiel intervened. "Why don’t we all give Glorfindel a hand and then we can all do the dishes afterwards while we plot our trick on Laurendil?"

The others gave her approving looks and soon the atmosphere of the Prince of the Noldor’s compound was thick with the smell of stew, plots and laughter.

****

Tye-melin, yonya. Tye-meluvan illúmë: "I love thee, my son. I will always love thee."

Inyë tye-melë, Atto: I, too, love thee, Papa."

Mastamo: Baker; Cemendur’s trade [from masta- "bake" + -mo "agental suffix used in titles"; cf. ciryamo "mariner", literally, "ship person"].





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