116: Family Reunion

Vorondil Herendilion could not concentrate on the task at hand. Not an unusual trait among those Reborn recently arrived from Mandos, but the Lóriennildi overseeing the painting projects of their charges would have been surprised at the thoughts plaguing this particular Reborn as he indifferently applied paint to the canvas, not even bothering to paint anything that could reasonably be considered a fair approximation of the still life before him.

For some reason, he could not banish the image of the poor ellon lying like death in the grove where he had found Lord Námo. Something about the child, for he knew that this was indeed a child, haunted him and he could not get him out of his mind. It bothered him that the ellon seemed familiar to him, yet how could that be? Clearly he was an elfling, though one who was very near to his majority. That meant that the ellon had been born while he, Vorondil, was still in Mandos, totally oblivious to the outside world.

It made no sense and yet he could not stop thinking about him.

"That’s a very interesting interpretation of the subject, Vorondil."

Vorondil blinked a couple of times, realizing with chagrin that his mind had wandered when he should have been working on the still life. He glanced at the canvas and cringed. No. That definitely did not look like a vase of sunflowers to him.

"Sorry, Míriel," he muttered to the Lóriennildë who had spoken. "I guess my mind was on other things."

"Apparently," the elleth said with a smile. She motioned him to put his brush and palette down and follow her out of the painting pavilion. He joined her as she began to walk the perimeter of the grove. "You’re not the first person who hates the painting class...."

Vorondil looked at her in surprise. "But I don’t!" he protested. "It’s just that..." he stopped, his expression distant, his eyes seeing something no one else could. Míriel stood waiting patiently for him to continue. Finally he looked at her, his expression troubled. "Is it possible to remember someone who wasn’t alive when you were, I mean, someone who was born after you’d already died?"

Míriel did not answer immediately, her expression pensive, as if she were taking his obviously absurd question seriously. "I don’t think that’s possible, Vorondil," she said at last. "Have you met someone like that?"

Vorondil nodded. "The other day when I... when I was playing hide-and-find. I came upon a grove and there was Lord Námo watching over this poor ellon, an elfling really, who looked as if he’d been hurt real bad. I thought he looked familiar, but that’s not possible, is it?"

"Of whom did he remind you?" Míriel asked.

Vorondil tilted his head to his left as if contemplating something. "Odd. Lord Námo asked me the same question. I told him he reminded me of my brother, but I don’t have a brother... do I?"

Míriel shook her head. "As to that, I have no idea."

Vorondil gave her a surprised look and she laughed.

"We rarely are given any personal information about the Reborn unless absolutely necessary," she explained. "Lord Irmo feels such might interfere with how we relate to our charges. I have no idea if you have a brother, Vorondil. Perhaps you do and perhaps even though you have not yet consciously remembered having one, seeing this ellon struck a chord with you."

Vorondil sighed. "I can’t seem to get the image of him lying there all pale and barely breathing out of my mind. I feel so sorry for the poor elfling. Why would he be so hurt? And why would Lord Námo be watching over him?"

"I have no idea, Vorondil," Míriel said sympathetically. "Lord Námo is a Vala and he comes and goes as he pleases."

"Not like me, huh?" Vorondil couldn’t help retorting, smiling wryly.

Míriel laughed again. "But I think it speaks well of you that you feel pity for a complete stranger," she said after she calmed down. "Compassion is a rare gift, not to be despised. Perhaps you have the makings of a Lóriennildo."

Vorondil shrugged, not willing to commit himself to such a fate quite yet. Míriel smiled and patted him on the arm. "It’s all right, Vorondil. It was just a suggestion. In the meantime, try to concentrate more on yourself. That’s what’s important right now."

"Lord Námo said something similar," Vorondil acknowledged.

"And Lord Námo is always right, isn’t he?" Míriel said and Vorondil nodded. "Good. Then why don’t we go back and you can work a bit more on your painting."

"It doesn’t look much like a vase of sunflowers, though," Vorondil said ruefully.

"That’s all right," Míriel replied. "The purpose of these painting classes is to allow you to express yourself in a nonverbal manner whatever emotions you might be feeling as well as help you with hand-eye coordination. Paint what you see, however you are seeing it. There is no judgment here, no wrong or right way of doing things."

"Thank you, Míriel," Vorondil said sincerely. "You’re very understanding."

Míriel smiled. "You are most welcome, Vorondil. And thank you. Now, back to class."

****

Try as he might, though, Vorondil could not forget the poor elfling. Some days later, he was wandering aimlessly through Lórien, hoping to elude the Lóriennildi who no doubt were looking for him, for he should have been attending the jewelry-making class they had decided he needed to improve his fine motor control. But it was too lovely a day, and there were so many exciting things to see and explore to bother sitting in a pavilion half the morning. He had not intentionally thought to look for the hurt ellon but somehow his feet led him to the grove which he recognized. He hesitated before its entrance, thinking perhaps he should just continue on. He remembered the maze further along and was eager to play in it, but then he found himself entering the grove, hoping no one would be there. How would he explain his presence?

He saw no one, much to his relief. Moving towards the pavilion, he decided he would peek in just long enough to see if the child was better and then leave before he was found out. It would be nice to see Lord Námo again, but he was not there. The ellon was still lying as he had last seen him, fast asleep, his coloring slightly better; at least he wasn’t so deathly pale. There was a pretty vase of flowers on the table next to the cot and Vorondil saw a stuffed toy nestled beside the sleeping child. He found himself smiling at the sight. Obviously someone had brought him his favorite toy from when he had been much younger. Or maybe not. He found himself blushing as he remembered a certain stuffed toy of his own that he had brought with him from Mandos. It had comforted him as he adjusted to his new surroundings. Perhaps Lord Námo had left the toy here. It would be something he would do.

He shook his head, clearing it of such thoughts as he reminded himself that he had tarried too long and it was time to leave. Just as he resolved to do so, though, the ellon in the cot moaned and fluttered open his eyes, which were clouded with pain and Vorondil doubted the child saw anything of his surroundings.

"A-atto?" the ellon’s voice rasped in a hoarse whisper. "Atto? Wh-why d-does it h-hurt?"

The ellon was weeping now. Vorondil looked around, feeling somewhat helpless, hoping someone would come. Why was there no one here to watch over the child? He hesitated, thinking he should just leave, but the sight of the child in tears tugged at him and without conscious thought he found himself going to him, gently brushing a hand through his hair.

"Hush now, child," he said softly. "There’s no need for tears. Your atto isn’t here right now."

The ellon looked up at him, obviously feeling confused. "Wh-who are you? Where’s Atto? Wh-where’s M-master?"

"I’m a friend," Vorondil said, not sure why he did not give his name. "I don’t know where your atto is but I’m sure he’s not far. But who is this Master you speak of?"

The ellon, however, was too busy struggling to sit up to answer, a pained expression on his face. "I... I think I need to...."

It took Vorondil a second or two to understand and then he was frantically looking about for the chamber pot, which he finally found under the cot. He stooped down and brought it forth. "Is this what you’re looking for?"

He had to smile at the grimace on the other’s face. No doubt he’d hoped to be able to make it to the privy that was situated away from the pavilion, but Vorondil seriously doubted the child could even stand much less walk.

"I’ll help you if you need it," he said gently.

"It’s so embarrassing." the ellon sighed as he allowed Vorondil to help disentangle him from his blanket.

"I know," Vorondil replied in sympathy. "It took me a while to get used to having someone clean up after me until I was able to do it myself."

The ellon gave him a searching look. "Oh. You’re a Reborn, aren’t you?"

Vorondil nodded. "All done? Here, I’ll take care of that. You get back under the covers. Here’s your friend." He helped the child settle back and handed him the stuffed toy.

"Narmollë!" the youth cried. "How did he get here?"

"He was here when I came in," Vorondil said. "I guess someone thought you might need him."

"Veryandur," the ellon said as he gave the toy a hug.

"Who?"

"A friend," was the reply. "This is his toy. He let me have him once before when... well when I needed him."

Vorondil studied the ellon, noticing the look of embarrassment and decided not to pursue the matter. He lifted up the chamber pot. "I’ll just deal with this and be right back."

A few moments later, having emptied the chamber pot and cleaned it, he entered the pavilion to find the ellon clutching at the stuffed toy and weeping.

"Here now," he said as he shoved the chamber pot under the cot and then shifted his position so he could take the ellon in his arms to comfort him. "Why the tears, child?"

"Where’s Atto?" the ellon cried. "I want my atto."

"Shh.... please don’t cry," Vorondil begged, feeling helpless again. He wondered if he should leave and try to find someone, a Maia perhaps, who would be able to help, but the child was clinging to him so fiercely that he dismissed the idea. "Hush, child, it’s all right. I’m sure your atto will be here soon. Would you like me to sing you a song?"

When he didn’t get any response other than more sniffles, he decided that meant ‘yes’. He wracked his brain for a suitable song. He remembered a few in Sindarin but they were camp songs he’d learned when he was fighting in Beleriand and he didn’t think they would be suitable. Finally, he started singing a lullaby, one that every Reborn knew and as he sang he felt the ellon relaxing in his arms, the tears abating. He continued singing softly until he felt the child breathing deeply and gently laid him back down, fussing a bit with the blanket and tucking the stuffed toy beside the now sleeping elfling.

"Oh!"

Vorondil turned around to see three people — two ellyn and an elleth — standing at the pavilion’s entrance. Their expressions were one of shock and he felt suddenly afraid. "I’m sorry," he said, trying to keep from panicking and not quite succeeding. "I didn’t mean to intrude, but he was crying and.... Please, I’ll go now... I...."

One of the ellyn came forward, his hands up in a calming manner. "It’s all right," he said soothingly. "I am glad someone was here to comfort my son."

"Oh, you’re his atto," Vorondil said, mentally cursing himself for stating the obvious. "He... he was calling for you."

Something like pain flashed across the ellon’s face, and Vorondil wasn’t sure he even saw it, but the look passed and the ellon smiled. "That was an interesting song you sang," he said.

Vorondil blushed. "It’s a lullaby," he answered. "Lord Námo likes to sing it." He did not notice the looks of surprise on the others’ faces, for he had turned his attention back to the child, now fast asleep. "Why is he so hurt?" he asked and then, "I was hurt. I died, but I’m better now."

He wasn’t sure why he said that to these people who were complete strangers and started feeling awkward again, wishing he could just leave. The other ellon — and now Vorondil guessed he and the elleth were the first ellon’s parents, for they were much older and there was a certain family resemblance between them all — stepped forward and took Vorondil by the shoulders and gazed at him. Vorondil kept his own gaze steady, though he was puzzled by the ellon’s actions. There was something familiar about him, something in his eyes, eyes that were so sad looking, and he thought he knew who this person was, but when the ellon spoke, the almost memory slipped away and he forgot about it.

"I am sorry to hear that, child," the older ellon said, "but I am glad that you are better now."

Vorondil nodded. "I have to go now," he said.

The elleth looked as if she wanted to protest, but she stopped herself and remained silent. Vorondil wondered though why she had tears running down her cheeks. He suddenly felt uncomfortable being around these people and perhaps they sensed it for the older ellon released him, nodding. "Best you go then," he said. "I have the feeling you’re not where you’re supposed to be, are you?"

This last was said with a knowing smile and Vorondil blushed again. "I’m supposed to be making jewelry." He raised his hands and waggled his fingers. "It’s supposed to help with my fine motor control, but I would much rather be exploring. It’s too fine a day to be cooped up inside."

"Nevertheless," the older ellon said, "I think you should go back."

Vorondil nodded, giving them a sigh. "Thank you for not yelling at me," he said.

The younger ellon put a hand on his shoulder. "You did nothing to deserve being yelled at," he said.

Vorondil took one more look at the child, his expression becoming more pensive. "Would... would you mind if I... I mean... if it’s all right...."

"I would be very happy if you would visit my son when you can," the younger ellon said. "I’m sure he would enjoy seeing you again. I will so inform Lord Irmo, so no one will hinder you."

Vorondil nodded, looking relieved. He still did not understand the attraction he had for this poor elfling, but at least now he had the family’s permission to visit. He gave them a bow and started to leave, only at the last minute realizing that he’d not introduced himself. How would they know to tell Lord Irmo about him otherwise?

He stopped and turned to face them. "My name’s Vorondil, by the way," and then he continued on his way. He thought he heard the older ellon say "We know" but figured he’d just imagined it. How could they know who he was when they’d only just met? Putting the troubling question from his mind, he decided that he still would much rather play in the maze than go back to class, so instead of turning left he turned right. He was anticipating all the fun he would have inside the maze and was unpleasantly surprised to find two smug-looking Lóriennildi and one very amused-looking Maia waiting for him at the maze’s entrance.

****

Herendil, Vandacalimë and Aldundil watched helplessly as their son and brother walked away. Vandacalimë ached to wrap her arms around her first-born and never let him go. She collapsed into Herendil’s arms and openly wept. Herendil clung to her, his own tears falling. Aldundil just stood there staring out of the pavilion.

"He didn’t even recognize us," Vandacalimë uttered through her tears. "Our baby didn’t even recognize his own atto and ammë."

"He will, love," Herendil said, trying to give his wife comfort though he had little left for himself. "Someday he will remember us. Until then, let us just be grateful that he is alive again."

Aldundil shook himself and turned to sit beside his son, stroking the ellon’s hair. "I am glad my Vorondil had someone in the family here when he woke. I would hate to think he woke to find himself all alone or with some stranger."

"Yet, for them both, they were strangers," Herendil pointed out.

"It is enough that we know, is it not?" Aldundil said without taking his eyes off his son.

To that neither of his parents could disagree and they took comfort in that thought as they continued watching over their beloved grandson and their son’s namesake.