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Elf, Interrupted: Book One: Glorfindel Redux  by Fiondil

136: The Tournament Resumes

A light rain began to fall in the pre-dawn darkness, forcing Finrod and Ingwion to scurry inside, swearing at being so rudely awakened. A hot bath followed by breakfast helped put them to rights, though, and a couple of hours later they were at the list checking the ground with Glorfindel, and Mithlas, along with Eönwë and the two Marshals of the List who would be overseeing the fighting. By then the rain had stopped and the sun was beginning to dry the ground, but it was obvious that the fighters would be hampered by a muddy field when they fought later in the morning.

"Well, I’ve fought under worse conditions against orcs and such," Finrod stated to Eönwë and the Marshals, "so this mud won’t be a problem for me and I suspect it won’t be for Mithlas or Glorfindel." The two ellyn in question shook their heads. "But I don’t think Ingwion has had such an experience and it would be an unfair advantage for me to fight him under these conditions."

Ingwion stared at the drying mud and frowned. "We do not fight for another two hours," he said. "Surely the ground will have dried up by then, or at least more so than it is now."

"We could always postpone the fighting until later," one of the Marshals suggested. "We can hold the final archery contest first. It will not matter to the archers if the ground is muddy."

Mithlas, as the only archer in the group, shook his head. "I do not think I want to have to fight this afternoon so soon after fighting this morning, if that be my fate. I prefer to have a longer break between bouts. The archery will not take long. Indeed, from what I understand, it will take longer to set up the targets than it will take to actually do the shooting and determine who wins," he concluded wryly.

Glorfindel then gave Eönwë a cheeky grin. "I don’t suppose you could... er... dry up the field for us, could you?"

"But that would be cheating," Eönwë replied with a laugh, "and my sister Maia might take a dim view of my intruding upon her domain." He glanced up at the sky where Anar was sailing above the peaks of the Pelóri and they saw him smile and wink. Then he returned his gaze upon the elves, his demeanor more sober. "Very well, we will hold to the original schedule, but we will postpone the fighting for one hour to give the field more time to dry."

So it was decided. Ingwion bade them good-bye to return to the city, while the other three fighters returned to the encampment. Finrod stated his intention to stop at Aldundil’s tent to see how Vorondil was doing before going back to his own pavilion. Glorfindel decided to accompany him while Mithlas continued on.

"Have Alassiel double check my hauberk," Finrod ordered Mithlas, "I think there might be a link or two that is out of place. If so, give her a hand with the repair, will you? I haven’t gotten around to teaching her how to mend chain, yet."

Mithlas nodded. "I will, aranya."

Finrod and Glorfindel went on their way and soon they were approaching Aldundil’s tent where they could see Vorondil standing outside running a comb through his locks. They were still streaked with yellow and fell only just below his shoulders in length, but Finrod decided they didn’t look too bad. Vorondil apparently was not of the same mind for he was scowling as he combed his hair.

"It’s not as bad as it looks, yonya," Aldundil said as he came out of the tent and saw his son frowning at one of his dye-stained locks as he held it in his hand. "I think it’s rather interesting looking myself. Very distinctive."

"But you’re not the one everyone snickers at when they see you," Vorondil muttered darkly.

Aldundil gave his son a chagrined look. "And I didn’t help matters when I cut your hair."

"More like, hacked off, if you ask me," Finrod said with a smile as he reached the tent.

Both Aldundil and Vorondil looked up in surprise, not having expected to see Finrod that morning.

"Master!" Vorondil exclaimed, backing up so he was closer to his atar, his expression wary. "Why are you here? Aren’t you and Lord Glorfindel fighting this morning?"

"Yes, we are," Finrod replied with a smile, "but Eönwë has postponed the bout for an hour to give Arien time to dry the field up a bit more. I was on my way back to my pavilion but decided to stop and see how you two were faring."

Aldundil gave Finrod a short bow in greeting. "We are managing, aranya," he said softly. "I had thought to take Vorondil into the city while everyone is at the tournament and spend some time in the royal gardens."

Finrod nodded. "That sounds like an excellent idea."

"Go to the lower garden where there’s the fountain of Uinen and Ossë cavorting with dolphins," Glorfindel suggested. "It’s perhaps my favorite part of the gardens."

Father and son gave Glorfindel measured looks, then Aldundil nodded. "Thank you for your suggestion, my lord," he said formally. Vorondil merely nodded.

"Well, we’ll leave you then," Finrod said. "Vorondil, remember that you and the other elflings are having lunch together. Lady Amarië has agreed to host you. She has reserved a private parlor at the Bowman’s Rest, so you won’t have too far to go from the gardens."

"Thank you, Master," Vorondil said quietly, though his expression was still wary.

Finrod gave him a gentle smile and took him by the shoulders. "Do not be so despondent, hinya," he said softly. "You’re going to be fine, you and your atar both. I have every faith that it will be so."

"And ammë?" Vorondil asked hesitantly.

Finrod shook his head. "I do not know, Vorondil. I’m sure that Lady Vairë will do all she can for your amillë, but the rest will be up to her. I think you should concentrate on your own healing for now."

"But how can I... I mean, there’s no cure for what I am," Vorondil retorted somewhat disparagingly.

"And what are you?" Finrod demanded.

"A mistake," came the bitter reply.

The three older elves sighed almost as one. Finrod hugged Vorondil. "No, Vorondil, you’re not a mistake. Eru would never have permitted your conception if you were. What your parents did was a mistake, but that’s not the same thing. You are alive and if so it’s for a good reason. Trust that Eru loves you no less than he loves Glorfindel here, and you know how hard it is to love him, especially when he’s whining." He smiled and gave Vorondil a wink.

Glorfindel meanwhile gave them a put-upon expression."But I never whine, so I’m always lovable," he said with a sniff, then stuck his tongue out at Finrod for good measure. Both Finrod and Aldundil chuckled; Vorondil found it hard not to snigger a bit himself.

"You see?" Finrod said encouragingly. "It’s not as bad as you think it is. Now we must be going if we are to be on time for the tourney. I will stop by this evening and you can tell me how the luncheon went."

Both Aldundil and Vorondil gave Finrod a bow and then he and Glorfindel went on their way.

****

By the time the tournament officially resumed, most of the ground had dried but there were still patches of mud, so the fighters would have to watch their footing.

"Just makes it more interesting," Glorfindel said with a shrug as he and the other three ellyn were donning their armor.

Finrod gave Ingwion a glance. "Are you fine with this, Cousin?"

Ingwion nodded just as he was pulling his hauberk over his head. It was a couple of seconds though before he could speak. "I’m fine, Findaráto. I may not have had the sort of fighting experiences you and Glorfindel and Mithlas have had, but I had my share of fighting under less than ideal conditions during the Darkening."

Both Mithlas and Glorfindel gave the Vanyarin prince puzzled looks. "When was there any fighting here in Aman during that time?" Glorfindel asked. "Unless you’re speaking of the Kinslaying at Alqualondë, but you were not there."

Ingwion shook his head, his demeanor sober. "No. I wasn’t at Alqualondë," he replied shortly and the tone of his voice alerted Glorfindel that any other enquiries would be unwelcome.

Glorfindel gave Finrod a significant look, but Finrod simply shook his head and the matter was dropped. One of the heralds entered the arming tent just then to see if they were ready. Finrod assured him that they would be ready in another five minutes. The herald bowed and left.

As Finrod adjusted his sword belt he gave them a wry grin. "Well, my brothers, it seems this day will see which of us the Valar truly hate."

"How do you mean, Finrod?" Mithlas asked in puzzlement.

"He means," Ingwion said with a light laugh, "that if you beat Glorfindel in this round, you’ll never hear the end of it from him. And if you don’t, that means either Findaráto or I will have to fight him on the morrow. And whichever of us beats him, we’ll never hear the end of it."

"Assuming any of you can beat me," Glorfindel smirked.

Mithlas gave Glorfindel a frown. "So, should I lose on purpose so as not to be burdened by your whining for the rest of the Ages of Arda?" he asked, apparently in all seriousness.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow, then gave him a mock scowl. "You do, Mithlas, and you will truly never hear the end of it... and I never whine! Tell him, Finrod, I never whine, do I?" He then gave them a pout and stamped his foot for good measure.

The others laughed. "Well..." Finrod drawled, "not to say never, but..."

He sidestepped Glorfindel’s lunge and had the pleasure of seeing his brother fall halfway through the pavilion’s entrance. As Glorfindel started to pick himself up, muttering imprecations under his breath, Eönwë walked into the tent, neatly stepping over Glorfindel as if he weren’t there. He gave them all a wicked smile.

"The fighting is supposed to happen outside this tent, my children," he said, giving them his best parental disapproval look which set them all blushing. The Maia nodded, obviously pleased with himself. "Now, if you’re finished playing with Glorfindel," he gave a sideways glance at the ellon still trying to get on his feet, "do you think we can get on with it?"

"Yes, my lord," Finrod replied meekly, reaching down to give Glorfindel a hand up.

The Herald of Manwë nodded, a small smile on his lips as he helped straighten Glorfindel’s surcoat, then handed him his sword belt. "Fight well... all of you," he said, sweeping his ancient gaze upon them before exiting.

The four ellyn gave each other meaningful looks, then Glorfindel held out his right hand, palm down. "Otornor," he said simply.

"Otornor," the others echoed as they laid their hands on top of his before following Eönwë out.

****

The mood of the spectators this morning was more sober than it had been all week. Yesterday’s trial had placed a pall on the festive air and their excitement was tempered by what they had witnessed, as much by the revelations concerning Lady Calalindalë, Lord Aldundil and their son, as by the revelation of seeing the three Reborn holding court. There had been much rethinking on the part of many during the night, remembering how regal even the Sindarin Ward of the Noldóran had acted. Until then, most of the Vanyar and not a few of the Noldor had made the erroneous assumption that the Sindar were little better than rustic kin, country-cousins without any finesse, let alone having a culture comparable to their own. That even one who was known to have been naught but a potter before his death could comport himself with such dignity as they had witnessed during the trial was something they had never imagined.

Yet, when the four fighters stepped out onto the field, such sobering thoughts fled when their children, who knew naught and cared less about such matters as weighed on their parents’ minds, began squealing and shouting with delight and excitement. The elflings’ mood became infectious and soon their parents’ moods lightened.

Eönwë’s introductory speech was very short, since by then everyone knew who the principle fighters were and what the outcome of this match would entail. Before the fighting could begin, however, Ingwë stood up and Elindis joined him. The High King then motioned for the four warriors to stand before him. He also requested that Aldarion and Gilvagor, who would be fighting that afternoon to determine who would take fifth place in the tournament, come forward as well. As they gathered before the royal gallery, Ingwë gazed on them with regal serenity, perhaps his eyes lingering slightly longer upon his son than upon the other ellyn, but not so much so that those who did not know him well noticed.

"Whatever today’s outcome," Ingwë finally said, "know that you have our deepest respect. You have all shown yourselves to be honorable warriors, a credit to us all. We who are the rulers of Aman salute you."

At that the other two kings and their wives stood and joined the High King and his Queen at the railing and as one they bowed deeply to the six ellyn below them. Then they stepped back to resume their seats amidst whispers of approval or scowls of disapproval among the spectators. Before anyone could move, though, Lord Manwë and Lady Varda then stood. The Valar, with their Maiar attendants, had returned to the tournament, taking their usual places. Manwë also looked upon the six ellyn with regal benevolence.

"What King Ingwë hath spoken, we Valar affirm," the Elder King solemnly proclaimed. "Ye who stand before us represent the best of what it means to be Children of Ilúvatar, whether ye be of Vanyarin, Noldorin, or Sindarin blood, whether ye be Once-born or Reborn, whether ye be of the Faithful or the Forgiven, ye have nothing but our deepest respect. We, too, salute you."

With that every Vala and Maia stood and bowed even more deeply than had the kings and queens. Now the silence was absolute and it was obvious looking at the expressions on the six warriors that they were in shock and unsure how to respond. Eönwë saved them the trouble of trying to come up with a suitable reply when he gave them a brilliant smile.

"Shall we play?" he asked laughingly and that broke the tension amongst them and the four who were fighting nodded enthusiastically while Gilvagor and Aldarion gave them all hearty hugs and best wishes for a good match.

Soon the matches began in earnest and the crowd was presented with the realization that these four were perhaps the deadliest warriors they would ever see. Their movements were economical and precise and the speed with which they fought was beyond anything most had seen.

Ingwë gave a sigh and glanced at Arafinwë and Olwë. "Do you think we’ll ever see Glorfindel fight for real?" he asked with mock displeasure.

Arafinwë grinned. "I sincerely hope not, Uncle. If that’s Glorfindel when he’s only playing," he said, pointing at the ellon in question, "I don’t think Aman would survive him fighting for real."

At that precise moment, Glorfindel swept his sword below Mithlas’ knees as if to cut him off, forcing the ellon to jump, stumbling slightly in the semi-dried mud, thereby losing his balance and falling flat on his back. Glorfindel placed his sword against the ellon’s neck, thereby ending the match. A roar of approval from the spectators resounded across the fields. Glorfindel then reached down and offered his hand to Mithlas. The two of them embraced and Mithlas must have said something funny because they all saw Glorfindel throw back his head and laugh, giving the ellon a hug and a kiss before the two of them made their way off the field after giving bows to the royals and the Valar.

Arafinwë gave Ingwë a wink. "See what I mean?" They all laughed, including Manwë, Varda and their Maiar attendants.

Fionwë turned to Olórin with a grin. "Did you ever think you would see that one acting like anything other than an elfling?"

"Well, I had my doubts on occasion," Olórin opined with a grin of his own. "But then I would just remember what Lord Námo told me when I first asked to be Glorfindel’s chief attendant once he was re-embodied."

"What was that?" Fionwë asked. The Eldar in the gallery were listening to the conversation between the two Maiar with unabashed interest.

"I reminded him that if even I could stop acting like a newly created ayanuz hopping from one star to the next in search of a good place to hide, there was hope even for someone like Glorfindel."

They all looked up to see Námo standing there giving them a wry grin. Manwë snorted and muttered something about still waiting for that day to happen. Varda and the Maiar all started laughing and Námo stuck his tongue out at Manwë, then joined in the laughter while the Eldar just stared at the Powers in bemusement, not understanding the joke.

"Well, at any rate, Ingwë," Námo continued, once the laughter had died down, addressing the High King, "I only came by to tell you that I will not be present for the archery or afternoon fighting. I have some... business to attend to but I will be back tomorrow to enjoy the show between Glorfindel and Finrod."

Ingwë gave the Lord of Mandos a skeptical look. "Do you really think it will come down to Findaráto and Glorfindel, my lord?"

As if in answer, there was a groan of disappointment from the crowd and they all turned to see Ingwion slip on some mud and fall to his knees, dropping his sword. Finrod stepped back, giving Eonwë a glance even as he held his hand up to forestall the Marshal who was approaching them. Then, he reached down and picked up Ingwion’s sword, handing it to him hilt first. Ingwion just stared at the sword as if he’d never seen one before.

"Take it, Cousin," Finrod said softly, though in the ensuing silence, all could hear him. "I’m not finished fighting."

Ingwion looked up at his cousin in surprise and then seeing the sincerity in Finrod’s eyes, slowly took the sword and stood. Finrod nodded in approval.  "When you are ready, Cousin," he said.

Ingwion glanced at Eönwë for confirmation, and the Maia nodded, the light of approval in his eyes assuring him. He then turned to Finrod, saluted him with his sword and the two began again. Those in the royal gallery exchanged looks of approval at Finrod’s move and settled in to watch the match with obvious pleasure. Ingwë found that it no longer mattered to him if his son won his match against Findaráto or not. He simply sat there and enjoyed watching the two cousins fight with consummate skill and rejoiced in the fact that Ingwion at least had Findaráto returned to him from the dead. He knew how much his son had missed his young cousin when Findaráto had left Aman.

The bout did not last all that much longer, but while it lasted it was a sight to behold and all were pleased with how it ended, for Ingwion finally conceded defeat when Finrod managed to strike his sword arm with the flat of his sword, causing the arm to go numb, though he only just managed not to drop his sword a second time. The two cousins then embraced and Finrod gave Ingwion the three kisses of the warrior, much to the delight of the Tol Eressëans who shouted their approval, though the Amaneldi were at a loss as to what the gesture meant. Arafinwë, in fact, had to explain its significance to the other elves in the gallery and they all looked upon the two ellyn with grave respect.

Námo, who was still there, turned to the royals with a smile even as Finrod and Ingwion walked off the field arm-in-arm. "May I offer my congratulations, Ingwë and Elindis, Arafinwë and Eärwen, for raising such wonderful ellyn. They are both proving themselves to be apt pupils beyond our expectations."

"You have our thanks, lord," Ingwë said with a bow of his head, answering for them all. "Elindis and I have had no reason to be anything but proud of our son."

"As are we," Arafinwë added sincerely. "Findaráto has come far since his return and we rejoice that we have him back again where he belongs."

Námo nodded. "I will leave you then," he said, then turned to Manwë, speaking more formally. "If I may borrow Olórin, my lord."

Manwë nodded and the Lord of Mandos and Olórin were gone. Then Varda spoke. "Now we have the final archery round to look forward to."

"Yes. That should be interesting to see as well," Manwë remarked rather blandly.

The Eldar noticed a knowing smile pass between the Elder King and the Elentári that they could not interpret. Ingwë looked at Arafinwë and Olwë with a bemused expression and the other two shrugged, as much at a loss as he.

Then the moment was forgotten as pages began circulating with refreshments and they all began dissecting the morning’s matches while various people in tournament livery scurried about readying the field for the archery competition.





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