2: Answers Unforthcoming

With a yelp of surprise the two ellyn fell out of the tree at Námo’s feet into the midst of their armor, the sound of metal clanging loud above their protests. Finrod let loose with a barrage of Dwarvish curses that made even Námo’s hair curl in surprise. Glorfindel merely glared up at the Vala.

"Why did you do that you... you... argh! I think I broke something and it’s all your damn fault!"

Námo’s lips twitched but he did not move to aid either one of them, merely standing there, a darker shadow in the moonless night. He was, in fact, cloaked in forbidding black, the owl-shaped cloak pin that Glorfindel had made at Vairë’s behest his only ornament. Beneath the cloak he wore a beltless ankle-length tunic of black velvet, relieved only by a simple band of embroidered silver interlacing at the hem, cuffs and placket that was interspersed with black pearls. Under this was a shirt of grey watered silk with tight sleeves. The cuffs were closed by onyx inlaid mithril buttons. Beneath the deep cowl of his hood his head was bare of any ornament save the gems of his elf-braids sparkling in the dim light of the stars.

Finrod slowly extricated himself from the pile of armor he had landed on and went to see how badly injured Glorfindel might be, a worried look marring his fair features. "Be still, honeg," he said soothingly, "and let me have a look. Where are you injured?"

Glorfindel scowled, refusing to look at either Námo or Finrod. "Just in my pride, hanar," he muttered, but when he attempted to rise, he gave a yelp and his face went white.

Finrod grabbed the ellon by the shoulders. "Easy, Glorfindel," he told him, "lie back and let me see."

"Damn Vala just stands there and watches, too," Glorfindel muttered through gritted teeth.

"Glorfindel!" Finrod admonished him, disapproval clear in his voice. "Show some respect."

"Easy for you to say," Glorfindel retorted. "You’re not the one injured in this... this Eru-forsaken place."

"Not Eru-forsaken, child," Námo said, "else you would not be here at all."

"Wherever here is," Finrod whispered to Glorfindel, sure that Námo would hear him anyway. Glorfindel merely hissed his agreement as Finrod completed his examination of Glorfindel’s left foot. "It’s not broken, hanar, only sprained." He started to remove his tunic to better get to his shirt underneath so as to cut it up for bandages, but Námo stayed him with a single gesture and knelt beside them. Glorfindel visibly cringed when the Vala reached out to touch the injured ankle and Námo stopped, an indecipherable look on his face.

"I will not harm you, Glorfindel," he said quietly.

"No, you’ve already done that," Glorfindel conceded ungraciously and Finrod actually punched him in the arm, eliciting another yelp and a snarl.

"What’s come over you, Glorfindel?" he asked, shock and anger evident in his tone, for it was now become too dark underneath the oak for either elf to see features clearly.

Then, to the horror of both ellyn, the erstwhile Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin started softly weeping, throwing his right arm across his face, hiding his tears. Finrod glanced at Námo, who never moved, then gathered his brother into his arms and started rocking him.

"Hush, best beloved," he whispered, "it’s well, truly. Do not weep so, brother. It’s only a sprain after all."

"I w-want to g-go home," Glorfindel practically wailed, sounding like an elfling of twenty, much to Finrod’s exasperated amusement. "Please, Finda, let’s g-go home."

"We will, we will," he said soothingly, continuing to rock the other ellon. "I’m sure that’s why Lord Námo is here, to take us home."

That seemed to calm Glorfindel somewhat but he did not look at the Vala nor offer an apology for his words. Námo, meanwhile, slowly reached out and wrapped his hand around the sprained ankle. Glorfindel gave a shudder at the Vala’s touch but otherwise offered no additional protest. Then he gasped as a warmth spread from Námo’s hand, extending to the rest of the elf’s body, soothing him and bringing him to a state of calm even as the pain from the injury melted away into nothingness. Glorfindel moaned with relief and snuggled closer to Finrod while the once King of Nargothrond looked on in bemusement. When Námo released his grip on Glorfindel’s ankle, Finrod gave the Vala a wry grin.

"You must teach me that trick, lord," he whispered, not wishing to disturb Glorfindel, for the ellon had actually fallen asleep.

Námo gave him an amused look. "Perhaps some day I will, child," he said. "Now, why don’t we wake our elfling up, for there is much that needs to be discussed."

Finrod sighed but nodded, bending over the sleeping ellon and kissing him gently on the cheek. "Wake up, Glorfindel," he said, "Lord Námo wishes to speak to us."

Glorfindel sighed and reluctantly opened his eyes, surprised that they had even been closed, and moved tentatively out of Finrod’s embrace, experimenting with his ankle. When he felt no pain he gave the Vala still kneeling beside him a sheepish look. "Sorry," he whispered, then hid his face in the crook of Finrod’s arm.

Finrod gave a light laugh. "Pityaván," he said affectionately and helped Glorfindel to stand. Námo smiled faintly as he also stood.

"I forgive you," Námo said softly, a glint of humor in his eyes that neither elf saw, "but this is the last time." He allowed his voice to drop into more sepulchral tones and had the pleasure of seeing both ellyn cringe and look at him with not a little concern. Námo nodded. "Well, now that we’ve cleared that up..."

"Lord," Finrod whispered, "wh-where are we? How did we get here?"

"And more importantly, are you here to take us home?" Glorfindel asked, though his tone was more hopeful than belligerent.

Námo sighed, knowing that neither ellon was going to take his news well. Instead of answering, he gestured and three deeply carved wooden chairs appeared, two of them draped with warm cloaks. "Come, let us sit and be comfortable while I attempt to answer all your questions."

The elves glanced at each other. Finrod shrugged and reached over to take up one of the cloaks, wrapping it around Glorfindel before pushing him into one of the chairs. Then he wrapped the other cloak around himself, settled into the other chair and waited. Námo sat last, saying nothing for some time. Glorfindel tried not to fidget, but couldn’t help it, his reaction to everything more like an elfling than the warrior he was. He recognized his actions for what they were but couldn’t seem to stop himself and that worried him.

Námo seemed to divine his thoughts for when he spoke he addressed Glorfindel alone. "Be not too concerned for yourself, Glorfindel," he said consolingly. "Your reactions are about what I expected given the circumstances."

"But Finrod isn’t...."

"Finrod is older than you, both chronologically and biologically," Námo said in a lecturing tone. "He has been released from my care for over a century now and has reached the same level of maturity he had at the time of his death. You, on the other hand, have only been released for about four years. You still have a way to go before your reactions to events and circumstances are those of the warrior you were in Gondolin."

Glorfindel sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Finrod, feeling sorry for his brother, reached over and rubbed a hand on his thigh in an attempt to offer him some comfort. "It is well, honeg," he said softly. "No one thinks the less of you. We all understand..."

"Well, I don’t!" Glorfindel snarled. "I don’t understand any of this!" He leaped up and strode away, his cloak billowing about him.

Finrod sighed and gave Námo a rueful glance. "I’m sorry, lord," he said.

Námo shook his head. "There is nothing to apologize for, child," the Vala replied. "Glorfindel is reacting much as I thought he would. Indeed, I would have been surprised if he had reacted any other way." He gave the ellon a reassuring smile and Finrod chuckled lightly as he started to rise.

"I guess I better retrieve him so we can go home...."

Námo held out a staying hand and Finrod resumed his seat, a questioning look on his face.

"I cannot bring you home," Námo said baldly.

"Why?" Finrod whispered, fear constricting his throat.

"Because I have not the power to do so," Námo explained. "None of the Valar do."

Finrod stared at the Lord of Mandos in disbelief. "Wh-what do you mean? If you have not the power, then how do we get home?"

Námo did not answer, merely staring at the elf from beneath the cowl of his hood. Finrod went white and swayed slightly in his chair.

"D-do you mean we can never return?"

Námo continued to stare at Finrod, his expression unreadable; even his eyes gave nothing away. Finrod shuddered and a soft moan escaped his lips as he shook his head in denial. "Oh, Valar!" he whispered as he continued to stare at Námo in horror and then he did something he never thought he would ever do: he fainted.

****

Honeg: (Sindarin) Little brother.

Hanar: (Sindari) Brother. 

Pityaván: (Quenya) Little goose.