114: Repercussions of an Oath

"How dare you accuse Findaráto," Laurendil shouted as he, Eärnur, and even Aldundil leapt up to confront the fuming Herendil. Vandacalimë was weeping. The other elves sat in stunned silence. What the Lord and Lady of Lórien thought was anyone’s guess, for their expressions were unreadable.

"Please, Atar," Aldundil pleaded. "Don’t make things worse."

"Worse?" Herendil snarled. "How can I possibly make things worse? And why are you defending him? What did that damned oath do to you, Aldundil? Why did you even take it? If Vorondil hadn’t been here in Lórien, none of this would have happened. He would be safe in Tirion where he belongs."

"No, Herendil," Finrod countered, his voice flatly cold. "Vorondil would not be safe; he would be dead."

Herendil glared at Finrod, who stood and faced him. "What do you mean by that?" the Noldorin lord demanded. "You mean because of the trial? That’s absurd! Ingwë would never have executed...."

Finrod shook his head. "No, but I would have."

The silence that followed that bald statement was complete. Even Vandacalimë ceased crying, staring at her husband’s friend in horror. The other elves were also profoundly shocked at Finrod’s words, though not Laurendil; he was still fuming at Herendil. Aldundil’s expression was one of shame. Only the two Valar appeared calm and unconcerned by the revelation.

"You’re not serious," Herendil said faintly, looking slightly ill.

"Very," Finrod retorted coldly.

"But why? Why would you have murdered a child?"

"Murdered?" Finrod repeated, raising an eyebrow. "No one is speaking here of murder, Herendil. I said executed. There is a difference."

Now Herendil simply looked confused. "But...."

"Try to understand, Herendil," Finrod said, not unkindly. "When Aldundil offered the Life Oath, he did not offer it for himself but for the sake of another. He wanted me to kill him in expiation for Vorondil’s crime."

"For wearing warrior braids!?" Herendil exclaimed in disbelief. "You would have killed my son over these?" He reached over and flicked one of Aldundil’s front braids in contempt. "What kind of barbarians were you in Beleriand?"

"The kind that crossed the Helcaraxë and then kept Melkor besieged for three hundred and eighty years of the sun," Finrod replied quietly, almost without emotion. "The kind that had to rebuild their civilization from scratch. The kind that died in ways you can never imagine, all to ensure that you here in Aman would remain safe and unaware. These braids are a symbol of all that and more."

"Yet, Aldundil did not...."

"I experienced enough of what Prince Findaráto has described, Atar, that I earned these braids no less than he or Lord Laurendil," Aldundil interjected. "I admit that when I first saw the Sindar and the... Etyangoldi wearing them I thought them ridiculous and said as much. We Amaneldi were so arrogant and sure of ourselves, looking down on our poor benighted kin who needed us to save them." He gave them a rueful chuckle, shaking his head in disgust. "We were not so arrogant after our first battle. Many of us didn’t even survive it and I was thoroughly sick after killing my first orc. One of those barbarians, as you call them, Atar, stood over me and protected me from harm until I could get myself under control and rejoin the battle."

Herendil’s expression had become blank as Aldundil told his tale. "You never spoke of this before," he finally said.

"I couldn’t," Aldundil said. "How can you possibly understand the horrors we encountered every day for over forty years of the sun? And beyond that, I felt guilty for surviving when my brother, whom I swore to protect, did not."

"I remember when you returned, wearing those front braids," Herendil mused. "I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. You no longer were the son I knew. You were moody and withdrawn for the longest time. And then, one day you stopped wearing the braids and I silently rejoiced, for I thought it was a sign that you were your old self again."

"Only I wasn’t," Aldundil replied. "Like many other warriors, I undid the braids out of shame. No one wanted to listen to our stories. No one wanted to acknowledge our pain and the cost to our fëar." He lifted one of his warrior braids. "These braids came at too high a price, and no one could be bothered to honor them, so we undid them, hoping, I suppose, that in doing so we would be able to forget and return to our previous lives. Only it didn’t quite work out that way."

Herendil breathed a deep sigh. "It still doesn’t explain this oath of yours. Why did you do it? Did you truly wish Findaráto to kill you?"

"No, Atar, I had no wish to die, but it was the only way to regain our family’s honor," Aldundil answered. "Vorondil unknowingly committed blasphemy in the eyes of those from Beleriand. He did not earn those braids he gave himself. To him, they were an affectation. He wanted to be a warrior without understanding what that really meant. He only knew the sanitized tales I told him, tales of glory and honor and shining victory. He had no idea what the cost of such braids really was."

"Herendil," Finrod interjected, giving his friend a sympathetic look, "Ingwë would not have ordered Vorondil’s execution nor would I have demanded it. He’s a child, and no one would countenance such a thing, but when Aldundil gave me his oath, he forced my hand, though I do not think he realized it at the time."

"Forced your hand how?"

"The Life Oath demands certain obligations on the parties involved," Laurendil answered before Finrod could respond. "For the giver of the oath, it means that you are willing to accept that your lord may do with you as he will, even to ordering your death if it is deemed necessary for the good of all. For the one accepting the oath, it means not abusing the power he has over those who give him their oaths. Naturally, this involves a very delicate balance of trust between oathgiver and oathkeeper."

"But what does all that have to do with Vorondil?" Herendil asked, clearly confused.

"Aldundil did not offer his oath to me for his own sake," Finrod explained. "He did it for his son’s. He thought I would kill him right then and there in expiation for Vorondil’s crime." He cast a sardonic look at his vassal. "I think the last thing he expected was that I would actually accept his oath. In that, though, I had no real choice. If I did not take his oath, I either had to kill him or Vorondil to satisfy the conditions under which he offered himself and I was not prepared to do either. So, instead, I accepted his oath and saved them both."

"But...."

"Herendil."

Everyone startled, looking up at the sound of Lord Námo’s voice. Involved as they were in the drama before them, none of the elves had noticed the arrival of the Lord of Mandos. He stood beside his brother, his expression sympathetic.

"Vorondil was meant to die that day," the Vala said calmly.

There were gasps of dismay from most of the elves. Vandacalimë started weeping again and Telperiën rose and went to her, wrapping her arm around the elleth’s shoulders and offering her comfort.

"No!" Aldundil protested, turning white. Both Herendil and Finrod reached out and grabbed his elbows to keep him from collapsing.

"There were several ways that trial could have gone," Námo continued implacably. "In every case, the end result was Vorondil dying. He should have come to me that day, to undergo Judgment and be cleansed of the taint on his fëa. Only, Aldundil intervened and I never saw it coming. None of us did." He cast an amused smile at his brother and Estë, which they returned with smiles of their own. "You Children are an enigma to us," he continued after a brief pause, "for we had no part in your creation, and we are never sure which way you will go. Aldundil offering himself to Findaráto in exchange for Vorondil’s life was the last thing any of us expected."

"You’re saying you want my grandson to die?" Herendil demanded. "Is that why you allowed this... this ellon to attack him, hoping he would do your dirty work for you?" He pointed to Gurthalion, who went white and cowered against Marthchall.

"Herendil! How could you say such a thing?" Vandacalimë exclaimed in shock.

"How else to explain why our grandson was where he was at the time," he retorted hotly. "Why else was he walking by that particular grove when this Sinda had his... his episode if not to die?"

"As my beloved told you, Herendil, he was performing his duties as an apprentice," Irmo answered calmly. "He was delivering fresh linen to the various pavilions and just happened to be coming to the grove when Gurthalion ran out and attacked him, thinking he was an orc. It was an unfortunate accident, nothing more."

"Highly coincidental, if you ask me," Herendil retorted with a disbelieving sneer, "and rather convenient. You want him dead and...."

"Not so!" Námo exclaimed, his expression darkening. "Death is an unnatural state for the Firstborn, but the Marring of Arda means that death is a concomitant consequence which may befall them. As it is, Vorondil does not need to die now. He has been Judged...."

"And what was that all about?" Herendil asked, with less heat and more puzzlement. "Aldundil gave me some garbled account but I’m not sure even he understands what you did to Vorondil."

"Not surprising, since Aldundil was not present when we Valar called for Judgment," Námo said with a sympathetic smile for Aldundil who was looking embarrassed. "Vorondil violated our Peace, Herendil," the Vala continued. "And yes, so did Tulcaner and the others involved in Glorfindel’s kidnapping, but he was the instigator."

"But I thought Ingoldo...."

"Oh, he and Tinwetariel are equally guilty," Námo replied, "but Herendil, Ingoldo merely provided your grandson with the means to carry out his own desires. He hated Glorfindel with a passion that bordered on the obsessive and simply because he was a Reborn."

"Well, so am I," Finrod interjected. "Why did he not go after me or even Sador, for that matter?"

"First, because neither of you were there at the time," Námo replied with a hint of amusement in his eyes. "But more importantly, as a prince of Eldamar, you were off-limits. I am sure that Vorondil had very ambivalent feelings towards you, Findaráto, for you were his anatar’s friend as well as being a Reborn and he could not quite reconcile the two. Calalindalë twisted his fëa, pouring her own hatred into him, but he was not completely lost. He loved Herendil and he did not want to disappoint him so he was willing to be civil to you for his anatar’s sake."

Finrod shook his head ruefully. "I remember when Vorondil was born. I rarely saw him as he was growing up and really paid little attention to him. And now I’m responsible for him for the next thirty years."

"At any rate, Herendil, to answer your question," Námo said, steering the conversation back to the original subject, "after the trial, we Valar debated long and hard about what should be done for Vorondil."

"You mean, what should be done to him, don’t you?" Herendil asked, though his tone was not as belligerent as before.

Námo shook his head. "No, Herendil. We gave Vorondil into Findaráto’s custody and care, knowing that he would receive the love and attention he had not received from his amillë. Yet, we were concerned that his fëa was too twisted by hate to be ever completely free of Calalindalë’s influence. Had he come to me I would have purged him of that and when he was finally released from my care, you would have had back the person he should have been. Well, that was not going to happen, but we decided to Judge him anyway. You have seen the result of that."

"I admit that he seems genuinely happy and carefree as any elfling should be," Herendil said, "more so than before, but I cannot shake the feeling that Fate is determined to see him dead. First he attacks Findaráto and that alone is cause for the death sentence and now this incident with Gurthalion."

"Say, rather, that Vorondil is an instrument of Fate, not its victim," Irmo said gently. "The incident at the tournament allowed what has been hidden to be revealed. If Vorondil had not attacked Findaráto, no trial would have been held and Calalindalë’s duplicity would not have been exposed. As for what happened here, you have to admit that it has forced you to confront your own feelings about the upheavals in your son’s family, and that has necessarily affected how you and Vandacalimë must now relate to Aldundil as well as to Calalindalë’s family. As you and Selmacas are part of Arafinwë’s government you deal with him on a regular basis, do you not? That cannot be easy for either of you."

"It is downright impossible," Herendil retorted with a sour grin. "It is why I seldom go to Tirion anymore unless Arafinwë truly needs me there."

"We regret that Vorondil was as sorely injured as he was," Estë then said, "but he lives and he will recover and you must all take comfort in that. And Gurthalion, you, too, must not castigate yourself too much. Your inner demons are terrible, we know, but we are confident that you will eventually exorcize them."

"Sometimes I wish I had died in those mines," Gurthalion said softly, not looking at anyone.

No one seemed to know what to say to that. Finally, though, Herendil moved toward the ellon, his expression gentle as Gurthalion cringed slightly at his approach. Herendil laid a hand on his shoulder and gave him a smile. "Death is an easy out for us," he said and paused long enough for Ingil to translate before continuing. "You have chosen the harder way, and in the end, that may be the saving of others who will look to you as an example of how one can overcome adversity and be the stronger for it. Do not give up, hinya, and do not lose hope."

"And Gurthalion," Aldundil interjected, speaking Sindarin, "I forgive you for what happened. I know it was not your fault."

"Le hannon," the ellon muttered, looking less distraught.

Herendil turned to Finrod, his expression rueful. "And I ask for your forgiveness, meldonya. My anger and my fear for Vorondil...."

"There is naught to forgive, Herendil," Finrod said, giving his friend a warm hug. "I understand, more than you know."

The three Valar nodded in satisfaction. "I think we may adjourn," Irmo then said. "The incident was unfortunate but we do not find any negligence on the part of Journeyman Eärnur. I would, however, recommend that any further treatment of Gurthalion be conducted under the direct supervision of a Master Healer and I will also assign one of my Maiar to be there during any therapy sessions, just in case."

"I would like to see Vorondil, if I may, lord," Finrod requested.

"That can be arranged," Irmo said. "I understand that you will be having lunch with the elflings. I will have Ingil come afterwards to escort you to Vorondil. In the meantime, everyone else should return to their duties. Herendil, Vandacalimë, it will be our honor if you would grace us with your presence for lunch."

Herendil and Vandacalimë gave the Vala their obeisance. "Thank you, lord," Herendil said. "The honor is ours."

"What about us?" Marthchall asked, nodding at Gurthalion.

Irmo smiled. "No sessions for the rest of the week. Do whatever you please, go wherever you want. If you wish to leave Lórien for a time that too can be arranged. There is a camping area not far from here that is popular with many or you may wish to spend time by the sea. Just let Ingil or any other Maia know."

Both ellyn nodded, looking relieved.

Finrod turned to Aldundil. "Do you wish to join me for lunch or would you rather stay with your son?"

"Vorondil is being well watched over," Irmo told Aldundil when the ellon hesitated. "Go, and spend some time with Findaráto and the elflings. Their exuberance will be as a balm unto your fëa and you can relieve them of their worry for their friend."

Aldundil gave Irmo a bow in acquiescence and shortly thereafter, everyone departed, going their separate ways. Only Námo remained where he was, his expression thoughtful. Then, after a time, he strolled out of the grove and made his way to where Vorondil was and quietly dismissed the Maiar watching over the ellon, taking a seat beside the bed. He leaned over to adjust the blanket covering Vorondil, gently brushing a hand through the child’s hair before leaning back in his seat.

For a while the only sound in the grove was that of Vorondil’s shallow breathing. Then there was a rustle of wind and without turning Námo felt the presence of another hesitantly entering the grove. He kept his eyes steadily on the sleeping ellon and waited for the other to approach. Only when the elf, an ellon, was standing beside him, gazing in wonder at Vorondil, did Námo acknowledge him.

"Child, what are you doing here? Where are your minders?"

The elf gave him a grimace. "I... I decided to go exploring," he said defiantly, seemingly unafraid of the Lord of Mandos. "I don’t need minders."

Námo was about to respond to that but the ellon cut him off. "What happened to him?" He pointed at Vorondil.

"He was hurt, but he is getting better," Námo answered.

"I was hurt," the ellon said simply.

"And now you are better," Námo replied, giving him a smile.

"He looks vaguely familiar," the ellon said, frowning, as if trying to recall an elusive memory, "but he’s much too young for me to have known him before, isn’t he?"

"Of whom does he remind you?" Námo asked, curious.

"My brother," the ellon replied without hesitation. Then he turned to Námo, his expression more doubtful and confused. "Do I have a brother?"

Námo smiled gently. "Go and play, Vorondil," he said to the ellon. "Whether you have a brother or not is not important at the moment. Just concentrate on yourself for now." His eyes became unfocused for a second or two before clearing. "And if I’m not mistaken, I believe your minders are hunting for you even now."

Vorondil Herendilion grimaced, muttering a swear word in Sindarin. Námo forced himself not to laugh. Instead, he pointed with his left hand. "If you head in that direction once you leave this grove, go about a quarter of a mile until you come to a maze. You can play hide-and-find with your minders in there. I’m sure they’ll enjoy the game as much as you."

Vorondil grinned and impulsively leaned over and gave the Vala a hug. "Thank you," he said and bounded out of the pavilion, all thought of the elfling who reminded him of a brother he could barely remember forgotten in the excitement of eluding the Lóriennildi who were tracking him.

Námo sat in contemplation, his thoughts interrupted briefly by three Lóriennildi in pursuit of their charge, who respectfully asked if the Lord of Mandos had seen the ellon. Námo directed them to the maze, warning them to let Vorondil play his game.

"He’ll be more willing to return with you if you let him," he said and the Lóriennildi agreed, thanking him before departing. Námo resumed his contemplation, wondering at the coincidence of that particular Reborn finding his way randomly to this particular grove.

*If you believe in coincidences,* came the whisper of a thought from beyond the Circles of Arda and Námo, Lord of Mandos, could not quite suppress a shiver at its implication.

****

Etyangoldi: (Quenya) Plural of Etyangol: Exiled Noldo. The word has become pejorative in certain contexts.