89: Table Talk

As soon as their meal concluded, Finrod sought out Morwen and introduced her to everyone.

“So you’re the elleth who made Findaráto’s favorite tunic,” Arafinwë said as he greeted her. “It was his best tunic, you know. Wore it to a wedding once even though it really was not appropriate.”

“So he told me,” Morwen said with a shy smile.

“Perhaps I may borrow Morwen from you, Meril,” Finrod said, “so she can do my wedding garb.”

“Oh! You’re getting married,” Morwen exclaimed with delight. “How wonderful.”

“I would be happy to lend her to you, my lord,” Meril said with an indulgent smile. “When is the wedding? Not too soon, I hope, or Morwen won’t be able to do justice to your garb.”

Finrod laughed, giving Amarië, who giggled, a wink. “Approximately twelve years from now,” he answered.

Both Meril and Morwen looked a bit nonplused. “Oh,” Meril said faintly. “Then I guess we still have time.”

That set everyone laughing.

Haldir and Pelendur returned with Gwilwileth not long after. Amarië and Alassiel welcomed the elleth warmly and soon the three of them were sitting in an arbor along with Meril, all of them working on some pieces of embroidery. The others went off to amuse themselves as they pleased, some resting, while others wandered around the estate, speaking to the people working there. The informal, relaxed atmosphere of Cormë Alalvëa did much to raise the spirits of all.

****

It was decided not to go into Kortirion the next day but rather to wait until after they had met with the city council. Thus, the day was spent in leisurely activities. Meril organized a picnic and they all rode out, heading for a stretch of woods where they settled in a glade, playing games and generally relaxing. No one was in the mood for serious talk, for there would be plenty of that later that evening, they had no doubt. They returned to the estate in plenty of time to ready themselves for what Sador called ‘an evening of interminable table talk about absolutely nothing’. The others just grinned.

“I hope this dinner doesn’t end in disaster,” Glorfindel said to Finrod as they made their way to their rooms. Baths had been ordered and they were looking forward to a warm soak before dressing.

“From your lips to the Valar’s ears, gwador,” Finrod said half jokingly. Glorfindel merely smirked.

By the time they were bathed and dressed, the eight elves from Kortirion had arrived. Meril, as hostess, greeted them, some more warmly than others, but all were greeted politely, as she made the introductions. To save time and not to overwhelm anyone, it was decided that only the two kings, their heirs, Ingwion, Amarië and Alassiel would be formally introduced. The others were free to introduce themselves as the opportunity presented itself during the evening. On the advice of Meril, every warrior wore braids, even Sador with his single braid. However, their dress was less formal than what they had worn to Morcocáno’s luncheon, keeping in mind Meril’s admonishment that she abhorred formal dinners.

Apparently the council members did not get the message about informal dress, for they all came glittering with jewels and fine silks and brocades, whereas even Olwë and Arafinwë were wearing plain linen tunics, though they were richly dyed in shades of purple and embroidered with their personal devices on the front. Only Olwë’s circlet of silver with a single large pearl in the center and Arafinwë’s circlet of gold with a single large sapphire marked them out as the kings that they were. Otherwise they were no more richly dressed than Sador or Beleg.

Glorfindel, standing to the side in a nonchalant pose, watched with interest and amusement as the eight from Kortirion were introduced to the kings and the others. Meril was making the introductions in Quenya and she had assured them that all the council members, as well as their spouses, were fluent in the language, a necessary requirement for anyone who wished to hold such a post. He was particularly interested in Lady Galadhwen, a Sinda, who was the most richly dressed of them all and greeted Meril with studied politeness that bordered on the insulting. She also insisted on speaking Sindarin as the introductions were being made.

“Hmph,” Galadhwen said with an unladylike snort, eyeing the Amaneldi, “I would have thought that a king would dress more appropriately. Surely, my dear Meril, you let them know that they were dining with the city council and not with merchants.”

Glorfindel watched with interest and amusement the reactions of the others. Those who understood Sindarin were fighting to remain impassive, knowing that it was not their place to intervene, though he saw Beleg grab Sador’s arm to keep the younger ellon from doing anything rash. Olwë, Lindarion, Amarië, Alassiel and Pelendur looked puzzled, not understanding what was being said, while both Arafinwë and Ingwion, having more knowledge of Sindarin, were looking somewhat startled at the elleth’s rudeness. Finrod’s eyes brightened with what could only be called unholy glee and Glorfindel knew his gwador was about to go into battle. He moved quietly to stand behind him.

Before Meril could reprimand Galadhwen for her rudeness, Finrod spoke up, speaking Sindarin. “Dining with merchants would be an improvement over dining with overdressed peacocks with pretensions of grandeur, Lady Galadhwen. I also find their conversation to be much more interesting in the long run. Certainly more honest.”

There was an uneasy stir among the councillors. Galadhwen gave a sniff of disdain, but before she could respond, Glorfindel couldn’t help entering the fray, giving Finrod a rap on his head. “Be nice, Finrod,” he admonished in Sindarin. “Remember we are the guests.”

Finrod turned his head to smile at his gwador. “Glorfindel, were you always this familiar with Turgon?”

“Didn’t have to be,” Glorfindel retorted with a grin. “Idril kept him in line for the rest of us. Now, be a good little king and apologize to the lady.”

Finrod raised an eyebrow and there was a gleam of mischief in his eyes as he turned to Galadhwen and with all the innocence of an elfling of twelve he said, “I’m sorry you’re an overdressed peacock with pretensions of grandeur.”

“Now, you see, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Glorfindel asked smugly and Finrod turned and stuck his tongue out at him.

Galadhwen, all this while, had remained chillingly silent, though whether from shock or from anger, it was difficult to say. The others from Kortirion were standing there with their mouths hanging open at the interplay between the two ‘heroes’, whom they initially had not recognized, for Meril had not gotten around to introducing Finrod and none of them had lived in Gondolin.

Meril started laughing. “Oh my, now look what you’ve done, Galadhwen,” she said, speaking Quenya, “you’ve come to the attention of the King of Nargothrond and one of the great lords of Gondolin. Not a smart move, dear. They’ll be watching you very closely from now on.” As mildly as she spoke there was venom in every word. It was obvious to the onlookers that Meril and Galadhwen were not friends, though it was unclear if they were actually enemies.

“If the introductions are over and done with, Lady Meril,” Olwë said with a sardonic look on his face, “perhaps we can all put away our swords and go to dinner.” He might not have understood a word that had been spoken but he was good at guessing and he could read other people’s body-language well enough to know that the exchange had been less than cordial.

“But of course, my lord,” Meril said sweetly and then she clapped her hands as if to get everyone’s attention. “Swords away, my lords and ladies. Let us try to be polite for the rest of the evening, shall we?”

Finrod and Glorfindel both gave her bows and Galadhwen, when Meril gave her a pointed look, nodded, her expression sour. The other councillors still appeared ill at ease, unsure perhaps of what was expected of them. Arafinwë turned to the two who were accompanied by their spouses, giving them a warm smile as they all went to take their seats.

“Are there any children in your house?” he asked them.

They gave him startled looks but then one of the elleth nodded shyly. “There are two children in our house,” she answered, “both ellyn. The older just celebrated his two hundredth begetting day and the younger is only twenty-six.”

Arafinwë nodded. “And you?” he asked the other couple.

“Three children have been added unto us,” the ellon said with a proud smile. “The oldest was born soon after we came to Tol Eressea after the war, the youngest was born only three years ago.”

“Findaráto will be a hundred and two soon,” Arafinwë said.

The two couples gave him bemused looks. “A hund... but....” the ellon said, casting a furtive glance at Finrod who was sitting several seats away, introducing Amarië and Alassiel to one of the other councillors.

Arafinwë smiled at their confusion. “We decided to celebrate his begetting day based on when he was re-embodied rather than when he was originally begotten,” he explained. “It turns out that Lord Námo times an elf’s release from Mandos to coincide with the anniversary of his or her death day.”

“How strange,” the ellon said. “I am acquainted with several Reborn, but I confess I have never really gotten to know them well. It must have been very... disconcerting for you when he was returned to you.”

“Yes, it was,” Arafinwë said, “but we all adjusted to it soon enough. By the time Glorfindel and Sador were released into our care, my wife and I considered ourselves old hands in the care and feeding of the Reborn.” His droll tone and the wink he gave them set them laughing and they spent some time comparing notes on the ups and downs of raising elflings.

Meanwhile, Meril was conversing with Olwë and Ingwion. Galadhwen was seated across from them along with another councillor whose name was Borhael. “So what have you learned from your visit here, my lords?” Meril asked them.

“Things are far more complicated than we first imagined,” Olwë answered. “I regret that my own reluctance to deal with the people of Tol Eressëa, even those who could claim kinship with me, has led us to this pass.”

Ingwion nodded. “I remember when Lord Manwë summoned Atar to Taniquetil to tell him what had been decided concerning the Exiles and the Sindar,” he said as he took a slice of venison pie from the server and scooped some frumenty onto his trencher. “He was not too happy about it.” He gave them a wry grin.

“Why not?” Borhael asked in surprise.

“Atar saw the Noldor as deserting us for a chimeral and quite frankly specious goal. He felt personally betrayed as High King and I think had the Noldor not left, certain events which followed here in Aman would not have occurred.” He looked suddenly sad and only Olwë understood the reason for it. Then he shook his head, as if to clear it of dark memories. “At any rate, when Lord Manwë announced that the Valar were allowing the Exiles and any others who desired to return to Valinor even if no further than Tol Eressëa, I think Atar’s feelings about it were ambivalent. When the Valar called us to arms, Atar did not forbid any of the Vanyar to join in the Host of the West, but neither did he encourage them. He simply told Arafinwë to take care of his people for him, for neither he nor I went, though I had wanted to.”

“And why did you not go?” Galadhwen asked with a sneer. “Were you an elfling needing your atto’s permission?”

Ingwion stared at the Sinda elleth in disbelief. “Lady, I am older than Arafinwë,” he retorted. “As much as I desired to lead the Vanyar to Beleriand, I was forbidden to go, both by my Atar and by Lord Manwë and I have accepted their reasons for their forbiddance. I am, after all, haryon to the High King. My place was here. If anything had happened to Arafinwë, it would have been my duty to act as regent for the Noldorin crown, along with Queen Eärwen, until such time as Arafinwë was released from Mandos.”

“Were you born here in Aman, Prince Ingwion?” Borhael asked with obvious interest.

Ingwion gave him a smile. “Yes. I was born in the Year of the Trees Eleven-fifty,” he answered.

“I am not sure how long ago that would be,” Borhael admitted.

“The Trees were destroyed in the year Fourteen-ninety-five,” Ingwion explained, “and Isil rose in the year Fifteen-hundred. In those days, before the rising of Anar, each year in Valinor was slightly longer than nine and a half coranari.”

“Ah, thank you,” the councillor said. “That puts things in better perspective.”

“And what have you learned during your visit here, Highness?” Meril asked, steering the conversation back to the original topic.

“Hmm.... I suppose I have learned that, while the people of Tol Eressëa have endured much, they have overcome much and I think you are the stronger for it. You should be proud of your accomplishments.”

“With no help from any of the Amaneldi,” Galadhwen put in. “I do not see why you think we need your help now.”

“Can you deny that the situation here on Tol Eressëa is in a volatile state?” Olwë asked.

Galadhwen glared at him, but Borhael nodded. “It has been building up this past century,” he said. “I think it began when rumors began to circulate that one of the kings of Beleriand had been released from Mandos.” He stole a glance down the table to where Finrod and Glorfindel were sitting. “At first, we did not know who it might be but when certain Reborn came to the island and spoke of Finrod Felagund, there was quite a stir and excitement. Some wondered if he would come and rule and others wondered why he should when we had been doing well enough without any king. Or so we thought.” This last was said somewhat ruefully.

Galadhwen sneered. “Borhael is one of those who think you Amaneldi are the answers to all our problems.”

“No, Galadhwen,” the ellon protested, “I do not, but I do appreciate that they are willing to offer us aid in solving what has become an unsolvable problem.”

“Not unsolvable,” Olwë interjected, “merely, shall we say, thorny. Part of the problem as I see it is that there are several competing interests among the various elves — Sindar, Noldor, Nandor, even the Reborn whose experiences of dying add a whole new level of complexity to the situation. We of Aman are somewhat more fortunate in that the three clans are essentially separate and each looks to their own king for guidance and leadership, though we all look to Ingwë as High King when there is need. You do not have that here and as my inyo has often pointed out whenever he is asked if he will take the crown, for him to do so would probably cause more problems than it will solve, for when the other kings are re-embodied, and eventually they will be, who then has precedence in terms of lordship over your people?”

“Then what solution do you see?” Galadhwen demanded.

“None,” Olwë responded. “We will not dictate to you what you should do. We might offer options that you do not see, but the ultimate decision has to be yours. All we will do is offer a time and a place where all may meet in friendship to discuss the situation and hopefully come away with a solution that most, if not all, can live with.”

“When and where?” Borhael asked.

“We thought the winter solstice would be a good time,” Olwë replied, “but the location has yet to be decided. Ingwion will ask his atar if he would be amenable to hosting the council. Ingwë is our High King and yours as well, even if you refuse to acknowledge it. He has a vested interest as High King to ensure that all the elves in Valinor live in peace.”

“Peace,” Galadhwen muttered. “Many who heeded the Valar’s call came expecting to find peace, but all they have found is conflict.”

“Yet peace is there for any who has the courage to take it,” Ingwion retorted. “The Sérë Valaron is real, but it is for us to accept and work to maintain it... or not. Tol Eressëa is as much a part of Valinor as Eldamar proper and the people of the island need to acknowledge that and accept it or all that you have accomplished will be for naught.”

“He is correct, Galadhwen,” Meril said then, “they both are and you know it. You and I have had our differences in the past, but we both have one thing on which we can agree: the welfare of our people must come first before all else. Our children deserve to know peace, peace which neither you nor I ever had with Morgoth breathing down our necks. I deem that only if we have a stable government will that peace become a reality.”

“Hmmph,” Galadhwen said, seemingly unconvinced by any of their arguments. “Well, we will have to discuss this further in council. In the meantime, what were your plans while you were in Kortirion?” She directed her question to Olwë.

“I believe Lord Gilvagor arranged our schedule,” the Telerin king replied, “but I think we are all interested in at least touring the city, perhaps in small groups, and speaking to the people. It is what we did in Tavrobel and Avallónë. Beyond that, I do not think we had had set plans. I know Arafinwë wishes to return to Tirion soon and I confess I prefer not to linger overlong, for I find myself missing my beloved Lirillë with every passing day.”

Borhael smiled indulgently, but Galadhwen’s expression became suddenly unreadable and Olwë belatedly remembered that her own husband was dead. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said with all sincerity, “I did not mean to cause you any grief.”

“Do not concern yourself,” she said stonily. “It is an old grief and I am well.”

But it was clear that she was not and there was an uneasy silence among them for a time. Even Meril was at a loss to come up with a safe topic of conversation and they were all relieved when the final course was over with. The other diners had apparently noticed the change in mood and their own conversations were muted. The councillors did not remain long once the meal itself was over. Galadhwen was cold and distant to them all and in the end she cut the evening short. The other councillors felt obliged to leave with her, though it was obvious that a few, like Borhael and the two couples whom Arafinwë had befriended, would have preferred to stay longer.

There was talk of meeting again the next day and arranging for tours for any who desired one, but other than that, nothing else was planned. Meril sighed in frustration as she watched Galadhwen and the other councillors ride off in the carriages that had brought them to the estate.

“Not exactly how I had planned the evening,” she muttered.

“My fault, I think,” Olwë said ruefully. “I should not have mentioned Lirillë and how much I miss her.”

Meril waved a hand in dismissal as they made their way back into the inner courtyard. “Nay, my lord. Galadhwen was just looking for an excuse not to linger any longer than necessary. I regret that the others were not brave enough collectively to defy her and remain.” She shrugged. “Well, I suppose the matter is moot. Come, my lords and ladies. Let us enjoy the rest of the evening for ourselves.”

Everyone agreed, for in truth the evening was still young. Meril invited her people to join them for singing and storytelling. Finrod went to fetch his harp and others returned to the courtyard with their own instruments. As the night deepened, the estate was filled with song and laughter, the sounds of which floated on the air so that even in Kortirion it could be heard. Galadhwen, sitting alone in the dark of her townhouse, heard the music and wept.

****

Coranari: (Quenya) Plural of coranar: Sun-round; a solar year. 

Notes:

1. The Eldarin verbs (harya- in Quenya; gar- in Sindarin) that we translate as ‘to have, to possess’ in English would not be used of one’s offspring. Tolkien notes that “no Elf would speak of possessing children; he would say ‘three children have been added unto me’, or ‘are with me,’ or ‘are in my house.’” [See ‘Laws and Customs Among the Eldar (Note 3)’, Morgoth’s Ring].

2. Ingwion’s age: According to Tolkien’s Timeline of the Silmarillion, the Vanyar and Noldor arrived in Valinor sometime in the Year of the Trees 1133. Thus, Ingwion was born 17 Valian years later. Remembering that a Valian year is 9.58 solar years long, he is, therefore, somewhere around 4,450 solar years old. Arafinwë was born in 1230. Arafinwë’s birth year is canon, Ingwion’s is not but it is based on the fact that when Finwë petitioned the Valar for the right to remarry, he says, ‘Alone among the Eldar I have no wife, and must hope for no sons save one, and for no daughter. Whereas Ingwë and Olwë beget many children in the bliss of Aman.’.[See ‘Later Versions of the Story of Finwë and Míriel in the Quenta Silmarillion’, Morgoth’s Ring].