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Elf, Interrupted: Book Two: Glorfindel's Quest  by Fiondil

1: Questions That Need Answers

"Where are they? Where are my sons?" Arafinwë nearly screamed.

Manwë stared compassionately at Arafinwë standing before the throne of the Elder King. "We know where they are, Pityahúnya," Manwë said soothingly, "and I assure you that they are safe, but the problem is we don’t know how to retrieve them."

"But where are they, lord?" Arafinwë pleaded, tears in his eyes. "Please, where are they? I can’t lose my sons, not again, please not again." He fell to his knees weeping inconsolably and none of the Valar in the room moved.

It was now the next morning after the disaster in the lists. There had been near panic when Findaráto and Glorfindel had disappeared and Manwë had ordered his Maiar to handle the crowds, for neither Ingwë nor Arafinwë had been in a position to issue any orders at that time. Both Elindis and Eärwen had suffered from shock as well and Estë and Irmo had taken them to Lórien along with Amaríë, Alassiel and the elflings. Manwen had gone with them, but Laurendil had flat out refused to leave and threatened to disavow his oath to Irmo if necessary. Irmo had wisely not pressed the matter, saying only that Laurendil should be sure to keep an eye on the kings and do what he could to alleviate their pain.

Nienna had taken Vorondil and Aldundil with her to her own home. The ellon had been so distraught that he fought Tiutalion, screaming invectives and thrashing about. Aldundil had gone white with fear for his beloved son when Námo had come to them, but the Lord of Mandos had merely placed his hand on the weeping ellon’s forehead and whispered something that Aldundil suspected was Valarin and the child went immediately to sleep.

"He will not awaken until Nienna calls him," Námo told Aldundil, giving him a reassuring smile. "Go with Tiutalion and be with your son, Aldundil. There is nothing you can do here. This is beyond the capability of any of the Eldar to handle."

So Aldundil had left with the Maia still carrying a now quiescent Vorondil. Ingwion, Sador and Beleg seemed to recover from the shock of what had happened more quickly than their elders. Beleg had quite surprisingly gone to Námo before them all, giving the Lord of Mandos a trusting look. "Are they dead, lord?" he had asked quietly.

Námo looked upon the recently Reborn elf and smiled. "Nay, best beloved," he answered, "they are not within my Halls, but where they are I am not permitted to say, only that they are unharmed and will return to you soon."

Beleg had gazed into Námo’s eyes for a long moment, then nodded before giving the Vala a respectful bow. "When that day comes I will rejoice that my gwedyr are once again with us. Until then, though, I ask your indulgence if I am... not happy with the situation at the moment."

Námo had placed a gentle hand on the ellon’s head. "I would be surprised if you were happy with the situation whatever my words, child," he replied. "And you need not my permission to feel bereft. Go and take what comfort Sador and Ingwion are willing to offer you and you them."

Now, while Olwë remained in Vanyamar to oversee the governance of the city, Ingwë, Arafinwë, Ingwion, Laurendil and the two Reborn Sindar were in one of the larger antechambers off the main throne room in Ilmarin, demanding answers and getting none, or at least none that satisfied them. Ingwë went to his knees beside Arafinwë and wrapped his arms around his nephew, rocking him gently, all the while staring accusingly at Manwë.

"What do you mean, you don’t know how to retrieve them?" he demanded. "Retrieve them from where?"

Manwë shook his head. "That, I will not tell you, Ingwë," the Elder King said and his tone was cold and brooked no argument. "As for the rest..." here he looked less forbidding, "we are doing all we can to bring them back. It’s just going to take some time."

"But where are they?" Arafinwë whispered forlornly, refusing to look up. "Where are my sons?"

****

"So where do you think we are?" Glorfindel asked for about the twelfth time, though Finrod had stopped counting after the third.

"You asked me that question five minutes ago, gwador," Finrod said with infinite patience, recognizing the younger ellon’s need for reassurance. "My answer hasn’t changed since then."

"Oh... I just thought maybe...."

Finrod sighed and gathered the other ellon into his embrace. "I wish I had the answer, Glorfindel," he whispered. "I am as much in the dark as you."

"Literally," Glorfindel said with a wry smile, "for see, the sun sets and soon the stars will be out."

"At least it appears to be Anor," Finrod opined with a chuckle at his brother’s attempt at levity. "Let us hope the stars are the same as well."

"And Ithil," Glorfindel added and Finrod nodded.

They had moved across the meadow towards the mountains, gazing about with interest and trepidation, both wishing they were armed. Glorfindel had actually stooped down at one point and grabbed a rock. Finrod had not said anything, just giving the other ellon a brief wintry smile. It did not take them long to reach the foothills and they glanced about them in wonder.

"This is where Vanyamar should be," Finrod said, his brow furrowed in confusion. "See you, that is where the road should come out of the bracken to the south." He pointed towards where the road to Valmar should have been.

"Well, there’s no city and there’s no road," Glorfindel sighed in disgust. "So just where are we?"

Finrod shrugged. "Have you noticed, too, that we are alone?"

"Well of course we’re alone..." Glorfindel retorted.

"No, brother," Finrod raised a hand. "That is not what I meant. Close your eyes and tell me what you hear."

Glorfindel stared at Finrod in the deepening dusk for a long moment before complying. He stilled his own breathing to better hear whatever it was Finrod wanted him to hear. He stood still for several minutes and then he furrowed his brow and opened his eyes. "What am I supposed to be hearing?"

"That’s just it, isn’t it?" Finrod replied, looking both satisfied and concerned at the same time. "You should be hearing all sorts of things: birds twittering, insects chirring, the wind soughing, but there’s nothing, no sound anywhere except that which we have made."

Now that Finrod mentioned it, Glorfindel suddenly realized why he had been feeling so uneasy, beyond what he already was experiencing and shuddered. "So... where are we again?"

This time, Finrod refused to give him any answer.

****

"We know where they are, of course," Aulë was saying, "but the question of retrieval...."

The Valar were now alone; not even their usual Maiar attendants were present. Manwë had convinced the elves to retire. None had slept since the ‘incident’ and the pain and confusion and fear they were all feeling were taking their toll. They had protested, of course, especially the younger ones. The Valar had simply overridden their objections by the expedient of uttering certain words in Valarin and sending them into a deep and dreamless sleep. Oromë, in fact, had taken Sador and Beleg in hand while Námo had taken Ingwion. Ingwë, Arafinwë and Laurendil had wisely allowed themselves to be ushered out of the throne room by Olórin, Maranwë and Eönwë and were even now fast asleep in chambers set aside for them in Ilmarin.

"This... fiasco has answered one question we’ve always had though," Ulmo said reflectively.

"What question is that?" Námo asked.

"Whether the mirroanwi could actually make the interdimensional transition between here and the tenth dimension without suffering cellular disruption," the Lord of Waters answered in a rather clinical manner.

"They had help, or didn’t you notice?" Manwë asked with a sardonic smile.

They all went still at that. Finally Yavanna spoke. "I didn’t think Atar would take such direct action." The awe in her voice was very clear and several of the Valar nodded.

"Atar has a way of... surprising us," Námo stated with a wry smile.

"So, will it take Atar to bring them back?" Nessa asked doubtfully.

Manwë shook his head. "No, that will be up to us," he answered decisively and they all knew better than to question him about it.

"So what do we do?" Estë asked.

"What we can," Manwë replied.

****

"So what are we going to do?" Glorfindel asked Finrod as they sat in the branches of an oak, gazing into the night. They had divested themselves of their armor long since and were now comfortably ensconced in the tree as the stars bloomed above them. "If there is no game, how will we eat?"

"Even if there were any, how would you hunt them?" Finrod retorted.

Glorfindel scowled. "So are we doomed to starve to death? Dying once was bad enough, but if I have to go through the process again, I’m going to be very put out."

"To say the least," Finrod replied with a laugh, "and what about Lord Námo?" he added. "He won’t be too pleased to see us either."

Glorfindel grinned. "To say the least." That set them both laughing.

"Did someone mention my name?"

****

Pityahúnya: My Little Hound, an epessë or nickname given to Arafinwë by Manwë.

Mirroanwi: Incarnates, literally, ‘those (spirits) put into flesh’. The singular is mirroanwë.





        

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