68: Trouble With Reborn

“After him!” Finrod shouted, even as Laurendil was helping him from the ground.

“Are you all right, aranya?” Laurendil asked.

“Yes, yes!” Finrod said impatiently, looking around, trying to gauge what was happening with the crowd milling about in confusion. “I’m fine. It’s Edrahil that should be your concern. Where’s Sador?”

“Ran after Edrahil,” Glorfindel said, picking himself off the ground, “just as you ordered.”

“And you’re standing here, why?” Finrod asked and then shook his head. “Which way did they go?”

Glorfindel pointed to the left, never taking his eyes off Finrod.

“Come, then,” Finrod said, ignoring the stares and expressions of consternation from the crowd around them. They loped off in the direction Glorfindel had pointed, trying to push their way through the press of people without being rude about it, but Finrod wasn’t in the mood to be polite at this point. His main concern was Edrahil and what the ellon might do in his panicked state. “Why did he run off, do you suppose?” he asked more to himself than to the others. Edrahil had thought that Finrod was being attacked and had pushed him to the street to cover him, yet had not remained with him. That was puzzling to him but neither he nor the others had any answer.

“Any sign?” Laurendil asked as he pushed his way (with many apologies) around a small group of unamused matrons with their elflings.

“There,” Glorfindel said, pointing. Finrod and Laurendil looked and saw Sador standing on the lip of a fountain that was raised above the street level by several steps, scanning the crowd. His gaze alighted on them and he waved, urging them forward even as he began to descend from the fountain.

“Sorry,” he said as the other three met him, “I lost him right about here. I was hoping I would spot....”

There was a sudden sound of yelling coming from the north where lay the market square they had walked through earlier that day. Laurendil had avoided it on their way back into town, remembering how nervous Edrahil had been there. He had taken them along less crowded streets, angling towards the wharf district.

“Never mind,” Sador said with a wry grin and together the four ran in the direction of the commotion.

The market square, when they reached it, was now full of shoppers and the press of people was tight, but the commotion appeared to be coming from their right as they entered the square and this area seemed less crowded so they headed in that direction. However, as they came closer to where the yelling was, people were beginning to move quickly in the opposite direction in obvious fear of being in the center of the commotion, forcing them to move against the tide, thereby slowing them down. They could clearly hear Edrahil threatening someone.

Finrod and the others finally found themselves before a butcher’s stall and Finrod realized instantly that the sight of the knives used for cutting the meat must have caused Edrahil, in his panicked state, to equate these with weapons of the enemy, for he was brandishing his sword at the poor ellon standing behind the stall attempting to protect himself with just a cleaver. There were two ellyn wearing warrior braids who were attempting to subdue him, trying to get through Edrahil’s guard to bring him down, but they sported no weapons other than knives and could not get under his reach as he brandished his sword at them as well.

“Where is he?” Edrahil was screaming. “Where is the king? What have you done with him?”

“Stand back!” Finrod commanded as he and the other three approached. “Let me handle him.” The authority of his voice caused everyone to do just that and the two warrior ellyn gazed upon him with surprise and, in at least one of them, a growing recognition of who he was.

“He’s g-gone insane!” the ellon with the cleaver said, his voice quavering with fear and Finrod realized he was quite young, perhaps a son or even a grandson of the stall owner.

“No, not quite,” Finrod said with a grimace as he sidled his way around another stall and moved to stand in front of the butcher, with the stall itself between him and Edrahil, raising his hands in a placating manner. “Edrahil! Edrahil! Avthrasto ellon hen! Ho úgoth. No sedho.”

Edrahil, his expression one of crazed fury, did not seem to hear him at first. “Where is he? What have you done with the king?” was all he said, and Finrod could feel the fear and despair that fueled the rage the ellon was experiencing.

“I’m right here, Edrahil,” Finrod said forcefully. “Dost thou not see thy king before thee, sadron nîn? Put the sword down, Edrahil. Rememberest thou thine oaths to me.”

Slowly, Edrahil’s eyes seemed to clear and he stopped brandishing his sword about, his expression of fury mutating to one of confusion. “A-aran nîn?”

“Yes, mellon nîn,” Finrod said soothingly. “All is well, now. Put the sword away. We’re all friends here.”

Edrahil did not sheath his sword, however, but dropped it, staring at Finrod with an expression bordering on shame and despair at what he apparently had done. One of the warrior ellyn quickly reached down and picked it up.

“That’s better,” Glorfindel said with a sigh of relief as he accepted the sword from the ellon and everyone else began to relax. Finrod moved around the stall to take Edrahil’s arm and lead him away.

The ellon who had given Edrahil’s sword to Glorfindel gave them a look of disgust. “Which one of you orc-brained idiots let him loose?” he demanded with a scowl.

Edrahil suddenly screamed, “Yrch!” and then the next thing Finrod knew Edrahil was leaping on him, pulling out a knife to slit his throat.

****

“Finrod!” Beleg suddenly yelled, turning white. Lindarion, who was standing next to him, grabbed him before he collapsed. The others stared at him in consternation. They had been walking through the store while Artohir and Balamir were showing off their wares, Olwë and Lindarion asking intelligent and informed questions about maritime matters that impressed even Gellamion. At first, everyone had been in awe of Olwë — and Beleg especially — and had been properly stiff and formal, but the two soon put the Tol Eressëans at ease and even Gellamion had backed down from his original belligerence enough to apologize.

“What’s wrong?” Lindarion demanded as he led the still shaking Beleg to a bench that was placed there for the benefit of customers desiring to sit and take their ease. Everyone else hovered around them while Balamir went to fetch some water.

“Finrod,” Beleg whispered, taking deep breaths. “He’s in trouble.”

“Isn’t he always?” Mithlas couldn’t help saying, but any amusement in his eyes died when Beleg turned on him, his expression cold.

“He’s been hurt,” he said, standing, trying to push through them to get to the door. “I must go to him.”

“How do you even know this, hinya?” Olwë asked, grabbing his nephew and holding him, forcing him to look at his uncle.

“I... I just do,” Beleg said, his stance and his expression one of resolve. “I must go to him,” he repeated.

“Then we go together,” Olwë said. He turned to the Tol Eressëans. “I fear that we must cut our visit short, my friends, but I will return when I can, for I am much interested in your sailcloth.”

Artohir gave them a puzzled look. “How will you even know where to look for... for King Finrod?” he asked.

Olwë shook his head. “Both my grandson and Beleg are Reborn,” he answered, “and they seem to have a special connection, though just how or why, I cannot say, for I don’t understand it myself. I can only trust that what Beleg says is true.”

“Then go, lord,” Artohir said with a bow, “and we look forward to seeing you and your people again.”

They made their way out of the store and Olwë kept a firm hand on Beleg. “Lead us to Findaráto,” he said to him with quiet authority, “but know that whatever has happened is beyond your powers to change, so you are not to run off and leave us stranded. Is that clear?”

Beleg nodded, his face strained with worry. “That way,” he whispered, pointing north.

“Then let us go,” Olwë said, and he released his hold on Beleg, who kept at a steady pace, allowing for the crowds, while Olwë, Lindarion, Mithlas, and Elennen followed closely behind.

****

Ingwion was just about to take a sip of some very fine wine when he dropped his goblet. “Findaráto!” he yelled, standing, his eyes dark with shock.

The others at the table started and turned to look in the direction of the inn’s entrance, expecting to see Finrod and his group, but there was no one there. Other patrons were giving them startled looks. Arafinwë turned back to Ingwion just in time to grab him as he was about to rush off.

“Whoa, Cousin,” he said, standing to get a better grip on the ellon. “Where are you going?”

Ingwion looked at him in anguish. “It’s Findaráto. He’s been hurt.”

“How do you know this?” Gilvagor asked in consternation.

“I just do,” Ingwion said with a shake of his head. “He’s not far,” he added. “Come. There’s no time.” He tried to push himself away from Arafinwë who refused to let him go.

“Easy now,” the Noldóran said. “We will go, Cousin, but together. Gilvagor, settle the bill but let them know that we will return. If my son has been hurt we will need a place where he can recover.”

Gilvagor nodded and called to Margil, who came running from the kitchens, his expression one of surprise. “Something has happened and we must go, but we will return,” Gilvagor said, fishing out some coins from a purse, even as Arafinwë was steering Ingwion towards the door, followed by the others. “Here, this should cover....”

“Save your coins, lord,” the ellon said, “my adar has already decided that your meal is on us.”

“We’ll discuss that when we return,” Arafinwë said, having overheard Margil’s words as he and Ingwion reached the door. “In the meantime, I would ask that one of your private eating rooms be kept free for our use. I have a feeling we’ll need it.”

“It will be done, lord,” Margil said with a bow.

Then they were all outside. “Which way?” Arafinwë asked and Ingwion pointed north. “Stay with us, Cousin,” he added firmly. “I do not want to lose you in the crowd. Whatever has happened to my son you cannot change by getting to him before us.”

Ingwion nodded and Arafinwë let him go. “This way,” Ingwion said, and the others followed.

****

“Oh for the love of the Valar!” Glorfindel exclaimed even as he dropped Edrahil’s sword and launched himself at the ellon. Finrod had managed to grab Edrahil’s knife arm with both hands, preventing him from slicing open his throat, but the ellon’s other hand was now wrapped around said throat. Glorfindel landed on top of Edrahil and was attempting to pull him off Finrod.

“Blood trance!” someone yelled and one of the warrior ellyn immediately drew out a knife and tried to get near enough to slice Finrod but there was too much thrashing among the three fighting. Finally, with a grunt of effort, Glorfindel was able to wrench Edrahil’s knife out of his hand and it skittered across the pavement, people dodging to avoid its sharp blade.

“Hold him!” Glorfindel yelled as he fought to loosen Edrahil’s fingers from around Finrod’s throat. Finrod, himself, was weakening from lack of air and his skin had a definite blue tinge to it.

Sador, Laurendil and the ellon who had grabbed Edrahil’s sword earlier then came forward with Sador grabbing Edrahil’s legs and the other ellon grabbing the arm Finrod still had a grip on, allowing Finrod to loosen his hold. Laurendil held Finrod down while the ellon waiting with the knife then rushed in, grabbed Finrod’s right arm, slicing through tunic and shirt to the skin beneath. Soon, there was a thin trickle of blood flowing and Glorfindel managed to push Edrahil’s nose into it, holding the ellon’s head down until his thrashing slowed and his grip on Finrod’s throat lessened. That was all they needed and Glorfindel immediately pulled the ellon off Finrod wrapping his own legs around Edrahil’s legs to keep him in place. Finrod was gasping for breath and Laurendil was helping him to sit up to drink from a flask that Sador handed him.

“Breathe, aranya,” Laurendil said. “That’s it. It’s over with. Here, have some water, it’ll help soothe your throat.”

Finrod gasped and it took several tries for him to finally swallow. “How is he?” he rasped as he leaned back against Laurendil.

“Quiet,” Sador said, kneeling beside him, stroking his hair. “Glorfindel is looking after him.”

Finrod nodded, then glanced up at the people around them, staring at them all in shock and wonder. “Have ye naught else to do, my children, but stand about and gawp?” he asked in a tone that he had used on occasion among his own subjects. Though the words were barely whispered for the soreness of his throat, all heard and many looked suitably embarrassed and began to drift away, pretending they hadn’t just witnessed a spectacle. The ellon who had been manning the butcher’s stall stammered thanks to Finrod for saving his life. The Noldorin prince merely nodded in an imperious manner, silently letting the ellon know that he too should go about his own business. He did, though with some reluctance.

Meanwhile, Finrod, after drinking more water, struggled to rise with Laurendil and Sador beside him, helping him up. “You should rest, Finrod,” Sador said worriedly.

“I’m all right, Sador,” he said, giving the ellon a weak grin. “I just won’t be able to yell at you and Glorfindel very effectively for a few days.”

“For which we can all be thankful,” Glorfindel quipped, even as he loosened his hold on Edrahil, though he did not move from his position, keeping Edrahil still in his embrace. Edrahil had gone quite still, his eyes wide open, but unseeing.

Finrod knelt beside Glorfindel to examine his liegeman, worry etched on his fair face. “Laurendil,” he called and the apprentice healer was kneeling on Glorfindel’s other side, looking deeply into Edrahil’s eyes.

“He doesn’t seem to be there,” Laurendil said. “I can’t really sense him.”

“You mean he’s slipped his leash?” Glorfindel asked with a frown.

“I think so,” Laurendil said, not entirely convinced by his own words. “I do not know. I’ve only heard about what happened with you. I’ve never actually seen anyone flee their hröa in this manner.”

Finrod took Edrahil’s face in his hands and stared deeply into the ellon’s unseeing eyes. “Edrahil, come back, sadron nîn,” he said softly but with as much force of will as he could muster, still feeling weak from his ordeal. “Come back. I cannot lose you a second time.”

Edrahil continued staring sightlessly and did not respond.

****

Arafinwë was not too surprised to see Olwë coming towards them, nor did the King of Alqualondë seem surprised at seeing him.

“Ingwion....”

“Beleg...”

Arafinwë gave his father-in-law a wry grin and Olwë just shrugged. The two groups merged with Ingwion and Beleg leading. “Beleg said Findaráto has been hurt,” Olwë said to Arafinwë as they walked directly behind the two ellyn.

“Ingwion said the same,” Arafinwë replied. “I can understand Beleg feeling something, for he and my son are both Reborn, but Ingwion....”

“They were all part of the ‘Hunt’ to bring back Findaráto and Glorfindel,” Olwë pointed out. “We never did learn all the details of what happened to any of them, but I think a deep bond has been forged between them.”

Arafinwë nodded. “And Laurendil, Sador and Glorfindel are already there.”

“This way,” Beleg suddenly said as they found themselves entering a large market square. He was pointing to the right and they made their way purposefully through the crowd, ignoring the curious stares which greeted their passing.

“Look!” Beleg exclaimed, “There they are.” They all rushed forward to find Finrod, Laurendil and Sador kneeling beside Glorfindel and Edrahil, expressions of worry on their faces. Two other ellyn sporting warrior braids stood nearby, keeping the curiosity-seekers away.

Finrod looked up at their approach, his eyes widening with unspoken questions which Arafinwë supplied without prompting. “Beleg and Ingwion both felt you being hurt,” he said and then frowned at the sight of the deep purpling bruises on his son’s throat and the blood still trickling down his right arm.

“We had a little trouble,” Finrod rasped, “and now we can’t seem to rouse Edrahil.”

Arafinwë and Olwë knelt to examine the still comatose ellon. Arafinwë glanced up at the two ellyn standing guard. “And what is your role in all this?” he asked them.

The others glanced up at the two ellyn and Finrod finally took the time to actually notice them. Both were Noldor and he recognized the pattern of their braids. “You fought under Amras and Amrod, didn’t you?” he asked them. They both nodded, now looking somewhat nervous.

“I am Dúnamdir,” one of them said, “though once a long time ago I went by the name Núnestel. This is my gwador, Eredhel.”

Everyone looked in surprise at the other ellon. “A rather odd name,” Glorfindel said.

“I have my reasons, lord, for naming myself so,” the ellon said softly and the ones who had once been of Beleriand nodded knowingly.

“Thank you for your assistance,” Finrod said, rising and giving them both a bow, which seemed to surprise them.

“We were glad to help,” Dúnamdir said, “though I regret that I may have inadvertently set your friend off with my careless words.”

“Careless indeed,” Glorfindel remarked with a grim smile, “considering that the orc-brained idiot who let Edrahil loose, as you put it, happens to be the Lord of Lórien.”

The two ellyn blanched at that and Dúnamdir attempted to stammer an apology but Finrod just waved it off. “You couldn’t have known,” he said. “But come. We cannot stand here all day and Edrahil needs care. He seems to have slipped his leash, as Lord Námo likes to put it.”

“Can you call him back?” Arafinwë asked, his expression one of concern.

“I don’t know, Atar,” Finrod said, wincing slightly at the soreness of his throat. “We may have to call upon the Valar to help.”

“I’m surprised they’re not here already,” Sador muttered.

“We’re not far from the Blue Dolphin,” Ingwion said then, “and you did ask Margil to reserve one of the private eating rooms,” he added to Arafinwë who nodded.

“Let’s get you all there and then we’ll see what we can do for Edrahil,” the Noldóran said. Then, he turned to the two warrior ellyn. “Perhaps you would care to join us,” he said and though his words were mildly spoken, there was a hint of command to them that the ellyn dared not ignore. They gave him slight bows of acknowledgment and with Glorfindel on one side of Edrahil, holding him up, and Finrod on the other, they all made their way back towards the Blue Dolphin, studiously ignoring the stares of those whom they passed.

****

Avthrasto ellon hen! Ho úgoth. No sedho: (Sindarin) ‘Do not harass this ellon! He is not an enemy. Be still’.

Sadron nîn: (Sindarin) My faithful one.