10: Ingwion Epë Valar

Sador, Laurendil and Ingwion found Beleg at the archery salle behind Ingwë’s palace, systematically placing arrow after arrow into the exact center of the target. When they arrived, they could see that the Sinda had destroyed nearly three dozen arrows; the entire ground before the target was littered with splinters of wood and fletching.

"Well, if nothing else, my friend," Laurendil said with a laugh when they approached the archer, "you’ll keep the royal fletchers busy for a time."

The other two ellyn snickered while Beleg merely shrugged and proceeded to place six more arrows into the target, emptying yet another quiver. He leaned towards the remaining quiver of arrows but Laurendil forestalled him, putting a hand on the ellon’s chest. "Destroying arrows isn’t going to bring Finrod and Glorfindel back," he said somewhat brusquely.

"Perhaps not," Beleg replied quietly, "but as long as I’m here destroying arrows I’m not elsewhere being... rash."

The other three ellyn gave Beleg understanding looks. Laurendil placed his hands on Beleg’s shoulders and gave them a sympathetic squeeze. "I know you’re feeling frustrated," he said. "We all are."

"It’s been over a week without word," the former Marchwarden of Doriath protested, "and the Valar seem no closer to solving this conundrum than before."

"They do seem to be at a loss," Ingwion opined, rubbing a hand over his eyes. The last several days had been emotionally harrowing for them all with the Valar being less than forthcoming as to what was being done to bring Findaráto and Glorfindel back from... well, from wherever they were. Arafinwë was nearly catatonic with grief and Ingwë refused to leave his nephew’s side. Olwë seemed to be holding up better than the other two kings and had taken over the reins of government while Ingwë dealt with Arafinwë. It had been decidedly odd to see the silver-haired Teler sitting in his atar’s chair in the Council Chamber or on the High King’s throne dispensing justice.

"So they say," Sador offered. "To tell you the truth, I think the only Vala I trust at this point is Lord Námo."

Beleg nodded but Ingwion and Laurendil looked shocked. "But why...." Ingwion began.

"Lord Námo has always been there for us," Sador answered with a shrug.

"Lord Námo I know," Beleg added, "the others... well, perhaps Lord Oromë and his lady."

Sador’s expression went distant and he gave a slight shiver. "Lord Námo does not seem to be available," he said, "but perhaps if we approach Lord Oromë...."

"And say what exactly?" Ingwion asked skeptically. "Is he any more likely to give us the answers we need?"

"Perhaps not," Beleg retorted, "but... I heard about the Hunt Lord Oromë called on account of Glorfindel," he paused as if gathering his thoughts. "What if he were to call another Hunt but with a different purpose?"

Laurendil shook his head. "I don’t see why he would. Lord Oromë’s Hunts are against evil creatures and while my lords Findaráto and Glorfindel may be annoying at times, I don’t think that qualifies them as being evil." He gave them all a sardonic look and the others grinned.

"Well, it was just an idea," Beleg said with a shrug, reaching down to take an arrow from the quiver at Laurendil’s feet. "So far, the Valar do not seem eager to let us help in rescuing our gwedyr. Perhaps if we were to pool our resources and talents...." He stopped as he started to straighten, his gaze fixed beyond Laurendil’s right shoulder. The others turned to see what had attracted Beleg’s attention and saw someone standing in the shadows of the viewing gallery. They could not see clearly who it might be but they saw the person gesture for them to approach. Giving each other measuring looks and shrugs, the four ellyn made their way towards the gallery, stopping when they were close enough to see who was waiting for them.

"Lord Oromë," Laurendil said in surprise and the four elves gave the Vala their obeisance.

The Lord of Woods and the Hunt smiled benignly upon them. "So you would call a Hunt, would you, my children?" the Vala asked.

Ingwion shook his head. "Nay, lord, not specifically, but we... we feel...."

"Useless," Sador supplied when Ingwion hesitated, "and we don’t think the Valar are doing enough to bring our gwedyr back."

Oromë raised an eyebrow at that and the other three elves shuffled about somewhat nervously, not willing to look at the Vala directly, for though they were all thinking similar thoughts, they had not the courage — or the stupidity, Ingwion thought to himself, remembering his cousin Alassiel in a similar situation — to voice such sentiments aloud. For a long uncomfortable moment no one spoke. Then, Oromë sighed.

"So be it," he said with a tone of finality that sounded as if he were pronouncing a doom. The four ellyn found themselves gazing upon the Vala with no conscious memory of lifting their eyes. He stared at each of them, his hazel eyes glowing with a Power they could barely comprehend, his mien grave. None of them could break eye contact with him, however much they wished, especially Sador, who was now silently berating himself for speaking up. "Tomorrow, at dawn, my children, a new Hunt I will declare," Oromë stated simply. "Be ye ready to join me. Tell no one."

"Wh-where do we meet you, lord?" Sador whispered.

Oromë’s expression lightened as he gazed fondly on this particular Child. "Where the first Hunt began," he answered. "I suggest you do not all leave by the same gate or you will arouse suspicions. Ingwion, I want you to come with me, the rest of you go your separate ways and leave the city as you may. If you are on the road by midnight you will reach the Máhanaxar before Anar graces us with her presence once again."

With that, the Vala dismissed them. Laurendil, Beleg and Sador made their obeisance, spoke briefly with Ingwion to arrange for when and where they would all meet outside the city and then left. Ingwion stood waiting for Lord Oromë to speak, wondering what the Lord of Forests wished with him. Oromë, meanwhile, made his way to the salle floor and clapped a hand on the ellon’s shoulder. "Come, my prince, there is much we must do ere evening."

****

They made their way through the city towards the north gate, or rather, Ingwion did. No one else saw the Vala striding next to their haryon and none ventured to stop the prince, for his expression was one of deep concentration. None realized, other than the various Maiar ranging through the city on errands of their own, that Ingwion was listening carefully to Oromë’s words as they passed through the gate and made their way up the road to Ilmarin.

"I may declare a Hunt at any time and for purposes of my own," Oromë told him, "but this is something a little different and so we must speak with Manwë." He gave the ellon a wry look. "Or rather, I’ll do the talking. You just stay quiet."

Ingwion blushed slightly, knowing to what the Vala referred and nodded. When they reached the gates of Ilmarin, Ingwion was surprised to see Eönwë waiting for them, looking grim. Oromë said nothing, merely raising an eyebrow at the Maia’s expression. Ingwion had the feeling that unspoken thoughts passed between Vala and Maia, for Eönwë nodded once before giving them (or rather Oromë) a bow, then turning to act as their escort. Oromë saw the concerned look on Ingwion’s face and gave him an encouraging smile.

"Be not troubled, child," he said. "More goes on in Aman, and indeed in Arda itself, than you are aware and we have many concerns. Believe it or not, the situation with Findaráto and Glorfindel is not necessarily our most pressing preoccupation."

Ingwion stared at the Vala in disbelief, wondering what could possibly be more pressing than rescuing his cousin and their otorno.

"But, child," Oromë chided gently as they climbed the stairs of the front portico leading into the main hall of the mansion, "Findaráto and Glorfindel don’t need rescuing. They are quite safe."

"Then, what are we doing, lord?" Ingwion asked in confusion.

"You’ll see," the Vala said as they approached gold and mithril doors that opened silently of themselves.

Eönwë walked through, stopping just beyond the threshold and bowed. "Lord Oromë with Prince Ingwion," he announced, then he stepped to the right to let them pass.

Ingwion took two steps into the room and stopped cold, feeling faint. This wasn’t one of the smaller antechambers where he was accustomed to meet with any of the Valar, but the main throne room. He had only been here once before, a long time ago, before Isil ever rose, and the memory of that particular audience still gave him nightmares. Oromë never stopped, but continued into the room. Ingwion actually started to back up but found himself bumping into Eönwë who stood before the now closed doors.

"There’s no going back, Ingwion," the Maia whispered into his ear. "Fear not! None here wish you ill."

Ingwion could only stand there staring into the room, too confused and conflicted to truly hear what the Herald of Manwë was saying. He saw Oromë standing before Manwë’s throne, giving the Elder King a respectful bow while all the other Valar, including his own Master, looked on. He saw Manwë glance up at him and thought he saw a faint smile on the chief Vala’s face. Manwë raised his left hand and gestured negligently towards the ellon.

"You have to come closer, Ingwion," Manwë said, "I have no intention of shouting to you from here."

Ingwion just stood there rooted to the spot, memories of an earlier, darker (literally), time haunting him, sucking him into the past until he was not sure what was real and what was simply memory. He might have whimpered, he was never afterwards sure. He suddenly realized that someone was standing directly before him, blocking his view of the room and its inhabitants. Blinking away memories too deeply etched into his fëa ever to be absolved, he found himself gazing into the amaranthine eyes of his Master and swallowed nervously.

"M-master?" he said in a faint whisper that did not sound like his voice at all.

Námo said nothing, merely holding out his hand. Ingwion found himself unable to breathe properly and wanted to refuse the Vala’s hand, yet he knew he needed to do this, for his otornor’s sake if not his own. He felt the oddly comforting bulk of Eönwë behind him, somehow offering him support and taking a deep, though ragged, breath he reached out and put his hand in Námo’s. The Vala still said nothing, merely nodding in approval, his eyes brightening. Then, the Lord of Mandos was leading Ingwion towards Manwë’s throne where Oromë stood waiting for them. With a bow, Námo silently presented Ingwion to the Elder King, then returned to his own throne. Ingwion could only stand there, not daring to move, even to bow, for fear of falling over. He was too wrapped up in his own misery to see the flash of amusement pass between Manwë and Oromë.

"I think we’ll dispense with formalities for now," Manwë said, giving Ingwion a smile, "and simply assume you have given us your respect."

Ingwion could only nod and wait, wondering why he was there and wishing he were with his otornor preparing for their midnight ride.

"All in good time, child," Oromë said, placing his hand on the ellon’s head in benediction. "But first we need to get permission."

"Permission?" Ingwion echoed. "But why do you need me here for that, lord?"

"Because you are the highest ranking member of your little... otornassë," Manwë answered, looking more grave. "On you lies the onus of consequences."

Ingwion gave the Elder King a confused look, his eyes full of questions, though he had not the strength of will to voice any of them. It did not seem to matter, for Manwë was answering them anyway.

"You know how dangerous a Hunt can be for any of the Eldar," Manwë stated and Ingwion nodded. "Even though this particular Hunt is not the same, still there may be grave consequences for you all, consequences that even we Valar cannot foresee with any certainty. We need you to be aware of this, because whatever the outcome, good or ill, we think you will be more affected than the others, given your... history."

"H-history, lord?" was all Ingwion could say.

Manwë’s expression became gentle. "Child, you remember the last time you stood before us in this very room and why." It was not a question but Ingwion nodded anyway, swallowing nervously. He forcibly pushed away the memories the Elder King’s words evoked and reeled slightly. Oromë put a hand on his elbow and steadied him.

Manwë sighed. "Then you sought to save one whom you loved more than your own life...."

"And failed," Ingwion interjected in a whisper that was barely audible, his expression blank with remembered pain.

"Not necessarily, Ingwion," Námo said. The Vala was simply there, standing behind the ellon, his hands on the elf’s shoulders. Námo turned him around. "Sometimes, death is the only means by which a person can be saved. In time, I think, you will understand, though we had hoped you would come to terms with what happened...."

Ingwion stepped back, his expression turning angry. "Never!" he exclaimed. "I will never accept what happened...."

"Then you endanger yourself and your otornor," Oromë stated categorically. "I told you before that I hesitated allowing you on this most recent Hunt and part of that reason is your attitude right now." He paused, looking unaccountably sad as he put a hand on Ingwion’s shoulder. "Child, what happened before would have happened whatever you had decided. It simply was meant to be. You need to come to terms with that because the same thing could happen again for similar reasons and you need to prepare yourself for that possibility."

"Why me and not the others?" Ingwion finally asked the one question that truly burned within him. "Is it because I’m the only one not wearing warrior braids, so...."

Námo suddenly took Ingwion into his embrace and held him tightly, rocking him gently. Ingwion tried to push himself out of the Vala’s arms but when he found he couldn’t he simply stopped and let the Lord of Mandos hold him. He did not weep or otherwise break down, merely stood there in Námo’s embrace, waiting for someone to say something or make the next move. He simply felt too heartsick and weak to do either.

"You are taking this more literally than we expected, my good apprentice," Námo chided him gently. "No one here disputes either your courage or your abilities as a warrior. We do, however, question your motives."

"My motives... but no one else’s," Ingwion said dejectedly.

"Oh, Laurendil and Beleg’s motives are not all that pure," Manwë said with a slight chuckle. "Laurendil seeks justification for his Life Oath to Findaráto, believing he should have followed his king to his death. He has not yet realized that one can fulfill an oath as much by not doing as by doing."

"And Beleg," Námo then said, "seeks two who are lost, two who were his playmates in Mandos, in an attempt to reclaim his past. He little realizes that the past he is truly attempting to reclaim is the one that led to his death, when he went in search of another who was lost."

"What about Sador?" Ingwion asked, not at all sure what the Vala meant.

Oromë laughed. "Sador, sweet Sador, just wants his brothers back, nothing more."

"And I?" Ingwion asked with a sigh. "What do I want, if not to see my cousin and Glorfindel restored to us?"

Now Námo pushed him back from his embrace to better look at him. "What you want is to restore someone else, someone who will not be returned to you until you are ready to let him go."

Ingwion started to protest but Manwë forestalled him. "Where were you when you entered this room?"

Ingwion stared at the Elder King in confusion. "I... I was here...."

"Perhaps I should have asked, ‘when were you?’" Manwë said. "We saw how you reacted upon entering this throne room, child." He gave the prince a sympathetic look. "For a moment, you could not tell where your memories left off and the present began, could you?" Ingwion shook his head. Manwë nodded. "So we thought and therein lies our problem. You need to come to terms with what happened so history does not repeat itself, or if it does, you are willing to accept it for what it is."

"And what is that, my lord?" Ingwion asked with a little heat.

Manwë gave him a searching look. "What it is, Ingwion, is life, the way things are. You cannot go into this thinking that somehow you will be able to erase the past, if not literally, then figuratively, by succeeding here where once you supposedly failed."

"I did fail, I..."

"No, son," Manwë interrupted, his expression one of regret. "If anything, it was we who failed, failed you and your family, but what is done, is done."

"That is what you have refused to accept all these yéni," Oromë said then. "I have watched you, young prince, and I have seen someone who could have done more to bring healing to Aman but I fear your own wounds of the fëa ran too deeply for that."

"It is one reason you are now my apprentice, Ingwion," Námo stated quietly. "It is hoped that in time you will learn how to close those wounds from one who once suffered similar wounds of the spirit."

Ingwion could only stare at the Vala in shock, unable to fully comprehend what was being said. Námo shook his head, a slight smile on his visage. "It matters not, child. In time you will learn what you need to learn. This situation with Findaráto and Glorfindel however has sped up the timetable. It’s time to grow up, Ingwion. It’s time to put away your childish fantasies of retribution and face what is, not what you wish it to be. Only by doing that can you lead your friends effectively and do what must needs doing."

"How do I start?" Ingwion asked, wondering why the Valar had waited nearly eight yéni for this conversation.

"Well, you can start by asking me permission to go on this Hunt of yours," Námo said with a slight smile.

Ingwion gave the Vala a surprised look. "Your permission, lord? But I thought we were here to obtain Lord Manwë’s permission." He looked between Manwë and Oromë, trying to understand.

"Oh, you don’t need my permission to do anything, Ingwion," Manwë stated with a chuckle. "You are not my apprentice, after all."

Then Ingwion understood and started blushing. Of course he would need his Master’s permission to leave. He started stammering an apology but Námo held up his hand to stop the flow of words. "I grant you my permission, Ingwion, on one condition."

"What is that, Master?"

For an answer, Námo gestured towards the doors and Ingwion looked to see that Eönwë was not alone. Standing next to him was another Maia wearing a black surcoat with Námo’s Sun-in-Eclipse embroidered on it. "This is Maranwë, Tiutalion’s brother in the Thought of Ilúvatar," Námo said by way of introduction. "Go with him and be obedient to his commands. He will see that you are well on your way to meeting your otornor when the time comes and will have everything ready for you."

Ingwion wanted to ask just what Maranwë was going to have him do, but knew better than that. Instead, he sighed and gave first Námo, then Oromë and lastly Manwë, his obeisance before heading for the door. Maranwë smiled at him as he approached but said nothing. The doors opened silently and then closed behind Maia and Elda, leaving the Valar alone, save for their Maiar attendants. Námo turned to Oromë with a sigh.

"I wish you hadn’t indulged these Children with this foolishness of theirs," he told his brother Vala. "They have no power separately or together to effect any sort of rescue of Findaráto and Glorfindel."

"You know that and I know that," Oromë said equably, "but they do not and this way they are kept occupied and out of trouble."

Námo raised an eyebrow. "Out of trouble? Are you mad, brother? Those four can give Findaráto and Glorfindel a run for their money for finding ways of getting into trouble."

"But only if it’s the right kind of trouble," Manwë interjected.

"What do you mean for them to do, Oromë?" Námo asked.

"Ingwion is the key, as well you know, or all this," he gestured to the Valar on their thrones, "would have been unnecessary."

"None of them have forgiven us or themselves for what happened," Námo said with a sigh. "I am beginning to wonder if we left it too late."

"Nay, I do not believe that," Manwë said firmly. "Rather, these recent events have made it possible for us to deal with these issues in such a way as not to arouse suspicions among certain interested parties."

"Meaning Ingwë, Elindis, Ingwion, and Indil," Námo listed, nodding his head.

"Indeed," Manwë said in agreement. "So we will see how all this plays out," the Elder King said, effectively ending the discussion as he looked upon Námo with amusement. "Now, my brother, would you care to explain just why you released Vorondil Herendilion when you did and what you hope to accomplish by so doing?"

Námo returned the Elder King’s amused expression with one of his own as the other Valar responded with quiet chuckles, as interested in hearing Námo’s explanation as was Manwë.

****

Ingwion Epë Valar: (Quenya): ‘Ingwion Before the Valar’.

Otornassë: (Quenya) Fellowship, literally, "brotherhood".

Yéni: (Quenya) Plural of yén: a period of time equal to 144 solar years. Eight yéni ago was the Time of the Darkening of Valinor.