3: Truths Unfolding

Finrod felt someone shaking him and realized it was Glorfindel, who was also screaming, but not at him, for which he was thankful. He had a bad enough headache as it was.

"What did you do to him?" he heard Glorfindel demand of Námo, even as the ellon continued shaking him. "Why is this happening to us? Why are you doing these things to us?" The ellon was so incensed he wasn’t letting Námo answer any of his questions. Instead, Glorfindel turned back to his gwador, still shaking him. "Finda, Finda, wake up, please wake up," he pled, nearly in tears with fright, though he could not have said why he was feeling frightened. Everything was too strange and surreal for him at this moment. He could feel himself unraveling and did not know how to stop it.

"I-if you w-would st-st-stop shaking m-me, br-rother, I will," Finrod finally got out.

"Oh, sorry," Glorfindel said contritely, stopping so suddenly that he let the other go and Finrod flopped back, banging the back of his head on a tree root.

"Pui-en-orch!" he yelled, rubbing his head. "What did you do that for?"

"I’m sorryimsorryimsorry..." Now Glorfindel was crying and Finrod sighed, reaching up and gathering the younger ellon into his arms and hugging him.

"It’s all right, honeg," he whispered, rocking Glorfindel, "I’m not really angry." He looked up at Námo who still sat in his chair, a dark statue, his expression unreadable. "Would you care to explain your last statement, my lord?"

Glorfindel looked up at that. "Wh-what statement?" he asked in confusion. "Wh-what did he say? Why did you faint, anyway?"

Finrod sighed. "Help me up," he said even as he struggled to a sitting position. Glorfindel moved out of his embrace and gracefully pulled Finrod to his feet. They retook their seats, Glorfindel glancing suspiciously between Finrod and Námo, while Finrod merely gave the Lord of Mandos a measuring look. "Well?"

Námo raised an eyebrow at the peremptory tone but answered readily enough. "I never said you could never go back, Findaráto. I said that neither I nor any of the other Valar can bring you back. That is not the same thing."

"So how do we return?" Finrod asked, hoping he didn’t sound as frightened as he felt at the thought of never seeing his family and friends again.

Námo sighed. "We’re working on that."

"Well, that’s encouraging," Glorfindel rejoined in a voice that implied just the opposite.

Námo ignored the remark. "In the meantime, I’ve brought some things for you so you are not too uncomfortable during your stay." With that he gestured and sitting before them was a pile of blankets, a couple of bedrolls, a tent and what appeared to be some changes of clothing. There were also two camp cots, several water bags and two hampers of food.

The two elves stared at the pile and then stared at Námo, then stared at each other before staring back at Námo. It was Finrod who finally got up the nerve to broach the question on both their minds. "So you can bring those" — pointing at the pile of goods — "here, but you can’t take us back?"

Námo nodded. "Inanimate objects we can bring with us... but neither of you is inanimate and if we attempt it you could easily die... and I would not be pleased by that." That last was said with such blandness that neither elf was sure how to respond.

"Why are we here?" Glorfindel suddenly asked.

Námo gave him an appraising look. "First intelligent question I’ve heard from either of you," he said and both elves grimaced. Námo continued. "You’re here because Eru brought you here, for your own safety as well as ours."

The ellyn went white. "Er-eru?" Finrod asked faintly.

Námo nodded, but did not elaborate. It was Glorfindel who made the connection. "That flame..."

Now Námo smiled the first genuine smile they had seen from him since his arrival. "Yes, the Flame Imperishable. We were able to contain the energies you were both invoking with your Songs of Power but without Ilúvatar’s direct intervention you both would have been destroyed, not only in hröa but quite possibly doing irreparable damage to your fëar as well."

That thought frightened them and Glorfindel moaned, reeling in his chair. Finrod went to grab him but suddenly the ellon gave a shriek, his body arching as if in pain and then he collapsed. "GLORFI!!" Finrod screamed as he took his brother in his arms.

Námo muttered something that sounded like a curse to Finrod’s ears and stood up. "Oromë!" he shouted. "After him!"

Finrod looked at Námo in confusion. "What’s the matter? What’s wrong with Glorfindel?"

The Lord of Mandos knelt before the two ellyn, stroking Glorfindel’s hair as he lay unconscious in Finrod’s arms, only just then noticing that the peridot and citrine ring was not on Glorfindel’s hand. He realized then that the ellon had most likely removed it before arming. "He’s slipped his leash again," Námo replied with a sigh.

Finrod stared down at his brother, feeling shock seeping through his veins. "That’s not good," was all he could think to say.

Námo sighed again. "No, it’s not."

****

Glorfindel ran, not sure where he was running to or from what or even why; he simply ran, heedless of his path. There was the sense of someone or something following him and that spurred him on. Then, of all things, he heard a hunting horn sound, its notes high and wild and... feral. It called to him and he had a brief memory of silver-furred wolves before fear took over and he ran all the faster. He could not be caught, dared not be, for in capture lay his death, of that he was sure.

The horn sounded again, nearer, louder, and more insistent. He had the feeling that he’d been spotted by his pursuer and shifted course, though he was unaware of that. Then he stopped in awe, for before him was a wall of flame, higher even than the Pelóri. It blocked his path and to his horror it was moving, seeking to surround him. He sobbed in terror at the thought of being captured and hunkered down in the tall grass, rocking himself and waiting. Waiting for what, he did not know, only that he had no choice. He was caught and now he would be punished and he was afraid. He sensed rather than saw someone approach and cringed, futilely trying to hide in the grass.

"Oh, child," Oromë said gently as he knelt beside the weeping ellon, "hush now. There is naught to fear here." He scooped the fëa into his arms and held him, rocking gently and crooning softly until the tears had ceased and Glorfindel was quiescent. "See you," the Vala continued, "all is well. Come now, let us take you back to your home where you properly belong."

Oromë stood and with a bow to the Flame returned with a single thought to where Námo was attempting to comfort Finrod. "It will be well, child," Námo was saying, while Finrod continued to hold Glorfindel’s body, his expression one of mingled grief and fear, "Oromë will bring him back."

"But why is he..."

Námo lifted Glorfindel’s left hand. "He’s not wearing his ring."

"He took it off at the last minute," Finrod replied. "I think he was wearing it earlier in the tournament but decided it was too uncomfortable to wear under his gauntlets."

Námo nodded, turning at the approach of Oromë, whom Finrod could not see. He raised an eyebrow at the Lord of Forests, who gave him a grin, sending his thoughts. *Atar stopped him,* he said and sent also an image of the Flame Imperishable and the ellon crouched in fear before it.

Námo sighed. *I’ll let you put him back in while I keep Finrod occupied.*

Oromë nodded and, leaning over the tableau of Finrod seated in his chair with Glorfindel draped across his arms and Námo kneeling before them, he gave Glorfindel’s sleeping fëa a kiss, then gently laid it atop the ellon’s hröa.

"Time to go home, child," he said, a fond smile on his face, though only Námo was aware of his words. With a gentle push from the Vala, Glorfindel’s fëa slipped back into his hröa. There was a slight arching of his body before it settled back down. The ellon sighed but never woke. Finrod merely held him tighter while Námo stood.

"He’s back where he belongs," he told Finrod, giving him an encouraging smile. "He will not waken for some time. Why don’t we put him to bed, shall we?" With that the Vala went over to the pile of blankets and bedrolls and in minutes had the tent up, the cots in place and Finrod was laying Glorfindel onto one of them. They swiftly undressed him and covered him with blankets. Then, without a word, Námo ushered Finrod to the other cot and before the ellon could offer any protest he too was undressed and slipping between covers. Only when Finrod was fast asleep did Oromë incarnate.

"That was close," he said to Námo, who nodded, his brows furrowed in thought.

"Finrod told me that Glorfindel removed his ring prior to their match," the Lord of Mandos said.

Oromë grimaced at that. "I’ll go back and get it."

Námo nodded. "And bring that pendant that Ingwë gifted to him," he ordered. "Something tells me he will need that as well."

Oromë smiled grimly. "This really is not good, is it?"

"To say the least," Námo replied with a sigh as he thought his chair into the tent and took a seat between the two cots. Oromë gave him a wry look, then took himself off, leaving his brother Vala to look after the only two living incarnates in all of the tenth dimension.

****

Pui-en-orch: (Sindarin) Orcspit.