77: The First Day in Avallónë (Part II)

Olwë did indeed head for the harbor, as Ingwion had predicted, dragging his son and nephew along.

“Truly, Atar,” Lindarion said as they made their way back down the road from the villa, “there is more to life than ships. Can we not go somewhere else besides the docks?”

Olwë turned to give Lindarion a wry look, never slowing down. “Are you sure you’re my son?” he quipped.

Elennen, striding in the rear of their group, acting as guard, snickered. “I’ve often wondered myself,” he said, giving Lindarion a wink.

Lindarion just rolled his eyes. Beleg, however, grinned. “I’m with Lindarion,” he said. “I’m bored with looking at ships and sails and fishing nets. Let’s do something else. You can always visit the docks later, Uncle.”

Now Olwë stopped and looked at the two younger ellyn with an expression of dismay that they could tell was feigned. “Honestly, I cannot believe I’m hearing this and from my own son and nephew. Oh, very well. Where do you want to go instead?”

But now that the question had been put to them, neither Lindarion nor Beleg had a ready answer. “Hah!” Elennen said with a smile. “I think these youngsters are just complaining for the sake of complaining, Olwë.”

“You may be right,” Olwë said, now looking amused at the chagrined expressions on the younger ellyn’s faces, “but, perhaps they are correct. There is more to Avallónë than the harbor. So, why don’t we just pick a random direction and see where it leads us?”

“Oh, an adventure,” Beleg said, sounding excited and very young, for all that he had spent millennia hunting through the forests surrounding Menegroth under starlight.

“Yes, hinya, an adventure,” Olwë replied with a smile. “So, you may choose the direction.”

“Just don’t choose east,” Lindarion said and Beleg stuck his tongue out at him which caused Olwë and Elennen to chuckle.

Without taking his eyes off of his cousin, Beleg stuck his right arm out and pointed arbitrarily. “That way,” he said, then turned to see just where he was pointing. It turned out that he had pointed towards the southwest and it so happened that just a few feet from where they were standing a narrow lane came onto the main road from that direction.

“Good enough,” Olwë said with a nod. “You may lead the way, Beleg.”

They traveled along the lane which wended its way through what was primarily a residential area with houses set in the midst of gardens. The lane was lined with stately elms, providing them with shade, for the day was warm and the sky was cloudless. They did not meet anyone along the way.

“Not much of an adventure,” Lindarion muttered at one point. “There’s nothing happening.”

“Perhaps we should have headed for the main square,” Elennen suggested. “People are still at work or shopping.”

“This is the direction Beleg chose,” Olwë said, “so we will continue along this way until another road presents itself and then we will decide what to do next.”

So they continued along the elm-lined lane, admiring the gardens as they passed them, but no other road intersected theirs. Instead, the lane swung towards the west and rose as they went further into the hills surrounding the city. The stately elms gave way to dark firs, oaks and beeches and they left the houses and their gardens behind.

“This is no fun,” Beleg groused. “Why don’t we go back and go to the harbor instead? At least it’ll be more lively.”

“Giving up already?” Olwë asked.

Beleg sighed. “No,” he said and they continued climbing into the hills.

“It’s odd we haven’t encountered anyone along the way, though,” Elennen remarked. “You would think we would see someone working in their garden or something.”

Olwë shrugged, not having an answer. “I admit I would much rather be speaking to the sea captains and sailors, but really it’s quite a pleasant walk and we’ve had enough excitement lately. I think we should just enjoy the peace and quiet.”

“What if this road leads nowhere?” Lindarion asked. “At some point we need to return to Avallónë.”

“Let’s just continue for a little while longer,” Olwë said. “If we don’t encounter anyone or if there is no other road soon, then we’ll turn back. I wouldn’t mind finding a tavern and having something cool to drink right about now anyway.”

The others agreed and they continued on their way. By now they were heading deeper into the hills. The road curved more to the north at one point so that they could not see what lay ahead. Lindarion started to suggest that they turn back when Beleg, who was still in the lead, stopped suddenly, gasping in surprise. The others hastened to his side to see what had startled him.

The lane ended abruptly, opening up into a clearing where they found a large pool fed by a spring. The clearing was perhaps fifty or sixty paces wide on either side. The edge of the clearing was lined with trees except to the east where it overlooked Avallónë. The pool was about twenty paces across at its widest point and looked to be deep enough to sit in. The water was crystal clear and still. It also looked quite inviting on such a hot day, particularly as it was nicely shaded by a large oak tree that stood to the west of the pool.

Beleg gave them a surreptitious look. “You don’t suppose anyone would mind....?”

“I’m just surprised that there is no one here taking advantage of the water,” Olwë said. “You would think elflings at least would be happily playing here.”

Elennen walked to the eastern rim of the clearing and gazed down into the city. “Nice view,” he said and the others joined him to admire the scenery. They were high enough that the entire harbor was laid out before them and they could even see ships plying the waters beyond the harbor bar. Further out at the horizon they could make out the cliffs that marked Númenor.

“Well, I don’t know about anyone else,” Lindarion said, “but I’m for a dip. This isn’t much in the way of an adventure, but I certainly don’t mind.”

The others agreed and soon they were all divested of their clothes and sitting in the pool, the cold water refreshing on their skin. The pool was large enough that they did not feel crowded. Lindarion offered to teach Beleg how to float on his back. “A useful skill,” he said, “for, if ever you find yourself in deep water, you can alternate between treading water and floating to save your energy.”

Beleg was a bit reluctant, but when Olwë offered to help, he agreed. With the encouragement of the three Teleri, Beleg became more confident and soon he was floating serenely, gazing up into the azure sky while the others sat in water up to their chests.

“Ah, this is wonderful,” Lindarion said with a smile. “I hate the idea of having to get out.”

“But we will have to eventually and let the sun dry us before we don our clothes again,” Olwë said. “I would like to be back at the villa at a reasonable hour so as not to cause anyone worry.”

“Spoil sport,” Elennen said with a grin and splashed some water at Olwë who laughed and splashed back. Then Lindarion got into the act and soon all three were splashing each other and laughing.

“Hey! Don’t drown me!” Beleg protested as he stood up gasping when a wave rolled over his head.

“Sorry, hinya,” Olwë said apologetically. “Are you all right?”

Beleg continued coughing and then suddenly splashed his uncle right in the face, causing Olwë to sputter. “Now I am,” Beleg said, laughing, and soon they were all splashing one another like elflings, their laughter ringing through the hills, hills that were not as empty as they imagined, hills that had ears that listened to their shouting and eyes that watched their play.

****

Arafinwë and Sador walked together while Celepharn and Calandil brought up the rear. They had decided to check out the public archives, thinking there might be some information concerning the fate of Sador’s family. Gilvagor had told them that every person who came from Endórë was asked to record as much information as they had about the fate of various family members and friends.

“It’s quite possible that there will be information concerning your family,” Gilvagor said to Sador before they set out and so the four ellyn made their way down the road, following the directions that Gilvagor had given them for the archives. They were not situated in the main part of the city, surprisingly enough, but in a small building to the south of the main harbor.

“Archivists generally meet any ship from Endórë and invite people to come to the archives before they continue to other communities and give them what information they have,” Gilvagor had told them when he explained where to find the building.

So, they wended their way along the harbor road until they came to a building set back from it. A small sign in both Sindarin and Quenya stated that this was the Avallónë Archives. They entered to find themselves in a small foyer where comfortable chairs and low tables were placed, apparently for people visiting the archives. There was a desk opposite the door behind which an elleth sat. She looked up from the manuscript she was reading and smiled. “Welcome. May I help you?”

Arafinwë nodded. “I hope you can,” he answered in carefully enunciated Sindarin. “This is my ward, Sador Bronwegion, who is looking for news about his family.”

The elleth gave them a confused look. “Ward? I’m not sure I understand.,” she said.

“I died at the Havens of Sirion,” Sador said simply, “I do not know what happened to my parents or my little sister.”

The elleth’s eyes widened. Then she slipped a piece of silk into her book and closed it. “Let me find Barancheneb. He’s the chief loremaster in charge of genealogies.”

The elleth rose and after bidding them to take seats she went through a doorway to her right and disappeared. Arafinwë and Sador sat while Calandil and Celepharn remained standing.

“Do you really think they will have any information about my family?” Sador asked Arafinwë.

The Noldóran gave him a sympathetic look. “I certainly hope so, but even if they do not, do not despair. You are not the only one who has lost kin.”

“I know,” Sador said with a sigh. “It would relieve my heart just to know that they are dead for then I will know that someday we will be reunited. It’s the not knowing that’s the worst.”

“Perhaps you should just have faith that whatever has happened to them, you and they will be reunited, even if it is not until all the Ages of Arda have passed. That, at least, is a certainty. Not even Mortals have that much.”

Sador started to reply but the elleth returned just then with an ellon, who had the silvery-grey hair of the Sindar but golden-brown eyes, marking his mixed heritage and the reason for his name. He smiled and gave them a bow. “Rivileth tells me you are looking for information about your family,” he said, speaking flawless Quenya, looking between Arafinwë and Sador, and glancing briefly at Calandil and Celepharn. His expression was one of puzzlement and it was clear he was trying to figure out just who they were.

Arafinwë nodded and introduced himself. “My name is Ingoldo and this is Sador. His anamillë was a Noldo of Aman who went into exile. She married a Sinda and their son is Sador’s atar. We are trying to find out if they still live, for Sador died at the Havens of Sirion when it was attacked. He has only recently been reborn and as he had no family here, I was asked to be his guardian.”

Barancheneb gave them a studied look. “Let’s go to my office and you can give me as much detail about your family as you can,” he said. “If you would follow me?”

Arafinwë nodded at Calandil and Celepharn and they remained where they were while he and Sador followed the loremaster. The ellon brought them into a crowded room piled high with scrolls and books and parchment. There was a desk and a couple of chairs in which Arafinwë and Sador sat while Barancheneb cleared a space before him as he sat behind his desk. He took a scrap of parchment and sharpened a quill.

“Now, tell me the names of your parents and grandparents and any other information you have on them,” he said to Sador.

“My ada’s name is Bronweg,” Sador began. “He is the son of Mallor of Doriath and Calemmíriel of Nargothrond. She is of mixed Noldorin and Vanyarin heritage. Mallor was a member of Prince Celeborn’s retinue, while Calemmíriel was a lady-in-waiting to Lady Galadriel.”

“Hmmm....” Barancheneb said, writing furiously. “Go on.”

“My nana is Rían, daughter of Dirhael and Gilfaen, both of Doriath. I was born there as well and I have a younger sister, Ninniach, who was thirty when I died.”

“And you do not know if any of them live?” the loremaster asked.

Sador shook his head. “I know that Mallor and Calemmíriel did not survive the sacking of Doriath. Dirhael and Gilfaen survived. They were on the island of Balar when the Fëanorionnath came upon us. I do not know if they live still, though. I have not been able to find anyone who remembers them or my parents.”

Barancheneb nodded. “There was a great deal of confusion there at the end,” he said. “Many were lost who had survived the war itself.”

“I well remember how it was,” Arafinwë said, “for I was there.”

Barancheneb gave him a thin smile. “Yes, I remember you, your Majesty.” Arafinwë gave him a searching look. “I was attached to one of Lord Maedhros’ units,” the loremaster explained with a smile.

“Ah...” was Arafinwë’s only reply.

“Can you help me?” Sador asked anxiously. “Even if it is just to tell me that they reside now in Mandos as once I did, I would be most grateful.”

“I must search my records, of course,” Barancheneb said. “I have been collecting information on as many of our people as I can, for many come here seeking kin whose fate they do not know. I do not know how long it will take....”

“Take whatever time is needed,” Arafinwë assured him. “You have all the information you need, do you not? I know you will be diligent in your search. If we are still here on the island, you may send word to us, or if we have returned to Tirion, come yourself.”

The loremaster nodded and turned to Sador. “Is this all your family? Have you no aunts or uncles or cousins?”

Sador shook his head. “I do not really know,” he said. “I remember the names of my grandparents but if they had other children, I do not recall.”

Barancheneb arched an eyebrow and Arafinwë hastened to explain. “The memories of the Reborn do not come all at once. Sador remembers much of his life before he was struck down, but not all of it. It will take time for some memories to surface and some never do.”

“Ah... Well that explains it,” Barancheneb said. Then he stood and gave them a short bow. “I will do my best to find what information there is about your family, youngling. In the meantime, I will tell you what I tell everyone who comes to me for answers: keep estel in your heart and know that someday you and your loved ones will be reunited in truth.”

“Barancheneb is correct, yonya,” Arafinwë said when he noticed the glum look on Sador’s face. “It may be that there are no answers to be found and only Eru and the Valar know what is the truth. If they withhold the information from us, it is for a reason. I learned that lesson a long time ago, and you must learn it as well.”

“Lord Námo has said much the same thing,” Sador replied. “It’s still hard though.”

“Yes, it is,” Barancheneb said sympathetically.

“Thank you for your time, Master Barancheneb,” Arafinwë said, standing. “As I said before, if you learn anything....”

“I will find you, never fear, my lord,” the loremaster said and saw them back to the foyer where they found Calandil and Celepharn chatting with Rivileth. The two ellyn straightened when they saw Arafinwë approach.

“Come along,” the Noldóran said with a smile. “We have concluded our business here and I would like to find a nice little tavern and sit for a while.”

“If you turn left as you leave,” Barancheneb said, “continue down the road until you come to your first right. Take that and you will come to the Eagle’s Rest Inn. They serve an excellent wine.”

“Thank you. We’ll do that,” Arafinwë said and soon the four ellyn were walking down the road towards the inn. Arafinwë put an arm around Sador’s shoulders as they walked. “We’ll find them, yonya,” he said softly. “One way or the other, we’ll find them.”

Sador only nodded.

****

“This must be it,” Finrod said as he and the others stood before a small white-stone cottage on a street that looked no different from the others they had passed. Along the way they had admired the architecture of the city, commenting on how it differed or not from Tavrobel and the cities of the Amaneldi. Iorlas, though quiet, showed much interest in what he was seeing.

“It sort of reminds me of Lindon,” he had said and went on to describe the city of Gil-galad, Finrod’s great-nephew, as they made their way down one street after another, following the directions Nestadôr had given Finrod.

“Do you think he’s home?” Amarië asked.

“Only one way to find out, isn’t there?” Finrod answered, giving her a smile. Then he passed through the latticed archway where wisteria climbed, followed by the others. “Hello the house,” he called out.

“I know that voice,” came the reply as someone walked around from the back of the cottage. They saw an ellon, a Sinda by his features, wearing a nondescript tunic that might once have been green but now was an uncertain grey. He was carrying a trowel which he threw down to open his arms in greeting. “Valar! Is it truly you, Finrod?” he exclaimed.

Finrod laughed as he hugged the ellon. “It is truly I, Brethorn. Guren linna an glass gen cened.”

“As does mine,” Brethorn said. “But come. Introduce me to your companions.”

“The two ellyn are Iorlas and Edrahil,” Finrod said. “Iorlas just came from Ennorath this very day and Edrahil was one of my companions from Nargothrond. He died with me in Sauron’s dungeon and has only recently been released from Lórien.”

The two ellyn gave Brethorn bows. “Be welcome, Iorlas, to Tol Eressëa, and thou, Edrahil, to Life,” Brethorn said formally as he returned their bows with one of his own.

Then Finrod turned to the ellith, switching to Quenya. “And this is my cousin, the Lady Alassiel Intarioniel, and my betrothed, the Lady Amarië Castamíriel.”

Brethorn smiled and bowed low to the two ellith. “Elen síla lumenn’ omentielvo,” he said, giving the traditional greeting. “Well met, all of you. But come. Why are we standing about here? Let us go into the garden against which I have been battling all day.”

Finrod laughed. “So you’ve traded your sword for a trowel, I see.”

Brethorn gave him a sour look. “Not much use for swords here anyway,” he said as he bent to pick up the trowel he had dropped.

“So what have you been doing then since you left Lórien?” Finrod asked as he and the others followed Brethorn around to the back where they found a lovely garden in full bloom. There was a flagged courtyard where Brethorn gestured for them to sit around a table.

“Let me get you something to drink and then we can share our stories,” Brethorn suggested and then went into the cottage. He soon returned with a tray on which was a flagon of wine and several goblets as well as a plate of cheese and fruit. Setting it down on the table he began pouring the wine.

“So, what brings you to Avallónë?” he asked as he handed a goblet to Amarië.

“We’ll discuss that later,” Finrod said, “but first I want to hear all about you and what you’ve been doing.” He turned to the others. “Brethorn was in the service of my cousin, Findecáno, and died protecting him at the Battle of Sudden Flame.”

Brethorn finished pouring the wine and sat, giving them a shrug. “A long time ago,” he said. “As for what I have been doing... well, that’s a tale and a half, as they say. I left not long after you did. Both Saelmir and I left together but none of our families were there to greet us. You remember Lord Irmo saying that he delayed releasing us because our families had not yet sailed?”

Finrod nodded, giving them a wicked grin. “I remember he said he would wait until they had settled in first before springing you on them.”

Brethorn laughed. “Oh yes, indeed. Saelmir and I were met by some friends whom we remembered from our first life, rather than our families, which puzzled and confused us, but Lord Irmo, before sending us through the gate, assured us that all would be well, so we went willingly enough with them. We parted at Tavrobel, for apparently Saelmir’s folk were living there.”

“I met Saelmir while we were in Tavrobel,” Finrod said. “He is doing quite well.”

“I know,” Brethorn said. “We have kept in contact over the years, which is more than I can say for some people I know.” He gave Finrod a knowing look.

Finrod blushed slightly while the others all grinned. “Please continue your story,” was all he said.

Brethorn gave him an amused smile and winked at the others. “Yes, well, we went on to Kortirion, which is where my aunt and uncle and their children lived.”

“Your parents did not sail?” Alassiel asked, her expression sad at the thought.

“Not then,” Brethorn replied. “Later, they came. In the meantime, my friends brought me to Kortirion.” He paused and shook his head. “I am a Sinda, and until the Noldor came to Beleriand, I often wandered with companions under the stars, never abiding in any one place for long. I only took service with Fingon because my atar did and I did not wish to be parted from my family. I never saw Menegroth, so I cannot compare its splendors with anything built by the Noldor. Fingolfin’s fortress at Eithel Sirion was the first city I had ever seen, yet it was nothing compared to Tirion, which awed me. Kortirion had a similar effect, though it is a lesser city.”

“It must have been quite a shock for you,” Finrod said.

“A bit,” Brethorn admitted, “but everything was a shock to me back then. I had nothing from my previous life to really compare to what I saw about me, especially as we traveled through Aman. But, I digress. We came to Kortirion and my three friends, who seemed as eager to deliver me to my kinfolk as I was eager to turn around and head back to Lórien, brought me to my uncle’s house without delay.” He gave them a self-deprecating grin and they all laughed. “Two of them hid me behind their backs while the third went to the front door and knocked. One of my cousins opened the door....”

****

“Le suilon,” Brethorn heard Bregolas say to someone whom he could not see, for Calencheneb and Mabring were shielding him from view. “Is this the house of Baragund and Arodeth?”

“Yes, it is,” he heard an elleth reply. “Is there something we can do for you?”

“Oh yes,” Bregolas said brightly. “You can take this sorry excuse for an elf off our hands.” He must have made some sort of gesture, Brethorn surmised, for suddenly Calencheneb and Mabring stepped to the side, leaving him to face someone he vaguely remembered, though he could put no name to the face. Brethorn could see, though, that the elleth obviously recognized him, for her eyes widened and her face went white and then she screamed....

****

Brethorn was laughing as he described the shocked look on his cousin’s face and the others all grinned. “It was really quite funny. Barawen just stood there screaming. My aunt and uncle and all my other cousins came running, with Uncle Baragund wielding a sword, of all things. He later told me that when Barawen started screaming his first thought was that somehow orcs had made it to Tol Eressëa.”

Now everyone started laughing. “So, Lord Irmo kept his word about springing you unannounced upon your family,” Finrod said. “He must have enjoyed the show.”

Brethorn nodded. “No doubt.” Edrahil snickered. Iorlas and the two ellith, however, looked a bit scandalized at the cavalier attitude of the three Reborn towards one of the Valar.

“I wonder if Saelmir had a similar experience,” Finrod mused. “He never said.”

Brethorn shook his head. “That’s because he’s too embarrassed to speak of it.”

“Why? What happened?” Finrod asked in surprise.

“His friends first took him to some tavern and got him so drunk he passed out. Then, they brought him to his family’s house when all was dark and left him sleeping on the doorstep,” Brethorn said, giving them a wicked grin. “I understand that when someone opened the door the next morning, you could hear the screams all the way to Kortirion.”

“Oh my,” Amarië said, shaking her head in amusement. “That was very wicked of them.”

“And poor Saelmir came awake with a start, totally disoriented and with a major hangover,” Brethorn continued. “He told me later that his first reaction was to hit whoever was screaming at him. Unfortunately that turned out to be his sister-in-law.”

“Oh no!” Finrod exclaimed even as he and the others laughed.

“It was a long time before she forgave him and his friends,” Brethorn added with a smirk. “Luckily, his brother found it all too funny and eventually everything got sorted out.”

“So why are you living in Avallónë?” Finrod then asked.

“I came here to greet my parents when they finally sailed and simply fell in love with the place,” Brethorn answered, giving them a shrug. “So once I saw my family settled in Kortirion I returned here. I found work with a woodcarver. You remember I was being trained in the art when we were in Lórien?” Finrod nodded and Brethorn continued. “Anyway, Linrod took me on as an apprentice and now we are partners together.”

“I am glad it has worked out for you, mellon nîn,” Finrod said sincerely.

“As am I,” Brethorn responded. “So, now, it’s your turn. What are you doing here on Tol Eressëa?”

Finrod took a sip of his wine before answering. “Well, it’s like this....”

****

Guren linna an glass gen cened: (Sindarin) ‘My heart sings for joy to see you’.

Le suilon: (Sindarin) ‘I greet thee (courteous form)’.

Note: Arafinwë’s mother-name is Ingoldo. See ‘The Shibboleth of Fëanor’, particularly the section entitled, ‘Note on Mother-names’, Peoples of Middle-earth, HoME XII.