124: The First Session: Afternoon

When the delegates reconvened in the afternoon, many were disappointed to see Lord Ulmo sitting among the Valar. Lord Námo’s expression could only be called smug while Lady Vairë and Lady Yavanna glared at the Lord of Waters as he sat between them dripping seawater. Lord Ulmo ignored them both. Lord Manwë simply shook his head and smiled knowingly as he took his seat at the table.

Ingwë did not bother with an opening speech. Instead, he briefly welcomed everyone back and reached into the bowl to pull out another gem, this time the moonstone. Gwîrendur then spoke.

"Like Mistress Berethiel, I, too, survived the destruction of Nargothrond. I am a weaver and the son of a weaver. I knew nothing of fighting, but the day I saw my home and my family destroyed, I learned very quickly. The last years of that age were spent hunting down orcs. I and some others who managed to escape the destruction of Nargothrond and Doriath did not bother to go to the Havens at Sirion with the other refugees but haunted the woods of the High Faroth which overlook the Narog, attacking where we might. We had the grim satisfaction of knowing that those at the Havens would have none of Morgoth’s orcs descending upon them." He paused and gave a grimace as everyone sat spellbound by his words.

"We never thought that our people would be more in danger from our own then from any of Morgoth’s get. When we heard the news, some of us wanted to fall upon the Fëanorians in retaliation for what had been done to the refugees, but I and some others, including Captain Glorendil — I think he is better known here as Lord Laurendil — counseled against it, saying we needed to focus on the true enemy, Morgoth, and so we remained in High Faroth and did what we did best: killed orcs. Later, when the Host of the West came and the call went forth, we joined with King Gil-galad’s army. Afterwards, I was too soul-weary to remain in Endórë, so I put up my sword, undid my braids, and took ship to Tol Eressëa where I became a weaver once again."

"I didn’t know that about Laurendil," Finrod said, his expression disturbed. "He’s rarely spoken of what happened to him after I died."

Gwîrendur gave the prince a wry smile. "Little wonder considering those dark days. It’s how he and Lady Manwen met. We rescued her and some others who’d been hiding out in the Forest of Brethil when they escaped out of Mithrim after the Nirnaeth. They’d managed to elude the orc patrols for some time and knew a measure of peace because of Túrin and those with him." Beleg, hearing his friend’s name, stirred slightly but did not seek to interrupt the weaver’s narrative. "But when Doriath fell, they knew they could not stay there so they tried to reach the Havens in the south. They were in the vicinity of High Faroth when they ran into an orc patrol that we’d been hunting for days." He gave a wry chuckle. "Glorendil slew the orc that had captured Lady Manwen and, while I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was love at first sight, certainly from that moment on the two were inseparable. Gil-galad himself witnessed their wedding vows when we met up with him and his army some years later. Apparently the lady knew Ereinion from when he was fostered at Fingon’s court before he was sent to Círdan and they were good friends."

"She never mentioned that," Finrod said, looking slightly upset. "I really must sit them both down and get them to tell me their stories." He then shook his head. "Well, that’s for another time. What thoughts do you have about this present situation?"

"I was in the first wave of refugees from drowned Beleriand to come here," the Master Weaver said. "To tell you the truth, I was too busy carving out a new life for myself to bother with kings and such. I think those of us who were among the first to come to Tol Eressëa can agree." There were nods from a few of the delegates and those sitting in the tiers. "Anyway, by the time things were settling down, it just seemed natural that the separate communities had their own ruling councils. It seemed to work... for a time. Now, however, I think we need to seriously consider disbanding the separate councils and perhaps create a ruling council for the entire island, its members elected for a term before being replaced by new blood, as it were."

"So you do not see a need for any kind of king or governor," Arafinwë stated.

Gwîrendur shook his head. "I think a ruling council would be sufficient with one of its members chosen to act as its head. Policy decisions would be by majority vote with the head of the council acting as a tie-breaker if necessary. I’m not saying it’s a perfect solution, but it does eliminate all this useless talk of kings. There will never be any consensus on that. As far as I’m concerned, the only king I will follow is Finrod Felagund." He stared pointedly at Finrod who tried not to squirm.

Ingwë had a thoughtful look on his face as he thanked the weaver for his words and then reached into the bowl, pulling out the amethyst. Mistress Mereneth of the Potters’ Guild spoke up, pretty much voicing the same concerns as everyone else but having no real opinion as to what form the government should take. Like the embroiderers, the potters were more interested in having greater trade with the mainlanders.

After her came Captain Celebaear of the Maritime Guild and then Gil-galan speaking for the Engineers and Masons. Belegorn, heading the Hostelers’ Guild, spoke passionately of the need for more trade, stating that only with a central government under a firm ruler could the islanders hope to prosper. "Town councils are fine up to a point," he said at the end of his speech, "but there are often too many differing personalities and agendas to get anything done and each town council is out only for themselves. We need someone who will be looking out for all of us impartially so none lord it over the others the way some of the guildmasters did until recently."

There was a stir among many of those from the guilds, with expressions ranging from embarrassment to affront. When Belegorn finished, Ingwë pulled out the garnet, giving the floor to Galadhwen, who looked upon them all rather sourly.

"So far I’ve seen a lot of hand-wringing but I’ve heard very little in the way of constructive solutions," she said with a disdainful sniff. "Personally, I do not see what the problem is, though others in Kortirion differ in opinion." She took a moment to glance over her shoulder to glare at Borhael and Meril sitting behind her. Borhael’s face was set, but Meril merely smiled in an amused and haughty manner. Manwë, sitting next to Galadhwen was sure he could hear the elleth grinding her teeth in frustration. She turned back to the council, her expression still sour. "I agree with Master Gwîrendur. Let us have a ruling council for all the island and it only makes sense that it should reside in Kortirion."

"With you at its head," Meril said, smiling sweetly, though no one was fooled by this.

Galadhwen turned around again, practically hissing at the Lady of Cormë Alalvëa. "Someone has to lead and it might as well be me."

"We’re getting ahead of ourselves," Ingwë said sternly. "Ladies, your personal feud has no place here. Let it be."

Galadhwen muttered something unintelligible but did not contradict the High King. Meril stood and gave them a curtsey. "I apologize, your Majesty. It will not happen again."

Ingwë nodded and enquired if Galadhwen had any more to say. When she indicated that she did not, he reached into the bowl and brought out the sunstone. It was now Marthchall’s turn to speak. The miner looked uncomfortable, but Brethorn, sitting next to him, gave him an encouraging smile.

"We of Angobel want only to be left in peace. We wish simply to be allowed to live our lives without fear of retaliation because of what we suffered. We want fair trading, instead of having to pay triple for what others pay even for the most basic commodities. Some of the farming communities have joined with us for this Council because they, too, are not happy with the way their communities have been treated by the cities."

"Tavrobel has always treated the farmers and you with fairness," Dúlinn interjected with a frown.

Marthchall smiled grimly. "And for that we thank you, Councillor, but the fact remains that most of the island hates and distrusts us. We’re aware of the tales that are told of us: how we snuck aboard the ships that brought us here, waiting for the day when we would turn on all of you at our supposed master’s bidding, as faithless as the Easterlings who fell upon our army at the Nirnaeth. Do any of you even know what we suffered as slaves? Most of you turned us away at your gates when we escaped from our servitude, believing that we were but Morgoth’s spies. Most of you still believe that. Yet, what of our children? Are they too considered traitors?"

"What solution do you see here, Marthchall?" Manwë asked quietly. "The Valar know you and your people are innocent. You suffered grievously. Some still do in ways that the rest of you cannot comprehend."

"We would see someone who is impartial to us all, seeing us all equal in his eyes, leading us. It does not have to be a king. Let him choose his own title, so long as his word is law and all are enjoined to obey. We of Angobel would welcome greater trade with Aman, for we sensed that you mainlanders do not have the same prejudices against us as many on the island do."

"I have considered offering you the chance to relocate your people to the mainland with the approval of Lord Manwë," Arafinwë said. "The mountains east and south of Tirion are rich in ore and my own miners would welcome your expertise. This is something I wished to discuss with you after the Council."

"And I and my people would be happy to sit down and discuss it with you, your Majesty," Marthchall said with a grateful look. "While many of us I think would prefer to stay in Angobel, for it is our home and we are proud of what we have achieved there, I know some few who would welcome the chance to come to Aman."

"Then we will discuss this more fully later," Arafinwë said with a pleased look, "but in the meantime, what else would you say to this Council?"

"Only this: the day has come when we must begin to put our histories and our prejudices behind us. We need to put aside our personal agendas and work for the greater good of all. Our children should not have to inherit the hatreds and suspicions of their elders. We all came here to begin anew, to put behind us the horror of what we endured through the long years of war, betrayals and death. It’s time to move on and we of Angobel and those farming communities who joined with us for this Council feel that only someone from outside should lead us. We need someone who has no ties to any of us and cannot be swayed by one group or another but will deal fairly with us all."

"An outsider?" Morcocáno exclaimed in surprise. "Whom do you have in mind?"

"I have no one in mind specifically," Marthchall replied. "I just think that it should be someone whom no one group can claim as their own, someone who is neutral. I do not know if such a person exists, but it is what I and many of us from Angobel wish for. Only someone who cannot be bought by anyone for any price will be able to deal with all the conflicting interests and agendas that plague Tol Eressëa." He sat back in his chair and gave Ingwë a nod.

"An interesting perspective," Ingwë commented, "and I thank you for your input. Well, we have only two speakers left." He smiled at Morcocáno and Brethorn. "Let us see who the lucky person is who gets to speak last." There were some appreciative chuckles throughout the chamber as Ingwë reached into the bowl and brought out the peridot.

Brethorn suddenly laughed, much to everyone’s surprise. "First to arrive, last to speak," he said with a sardonic look. "That’ll teach me."

"But at least you got the best seat, Brethorn," Glóremmir called out from where he was sitting in the tiers, "so don’t complain."

Now there was laughter throughout and it was a few minutes before things calmed down enough for Morcocáno to speak. He never got the chance though, for at that moment, one of the Teleri sitting behind Prince Lindarion stood up.

"Why do you allow this kinslayer to speak, my king?" she demanded, looking at Olwë coldly.

"And how do you know that he is?" Olwë asked mildly.

"I was there," she retorted sharply.

"As was I," Olwë countered just as sharply, becoming angry at the importunity of the elleth’s interruption. "And I was on Tol Eressëa when this one attacked our party. I do not like the ellon and I wish those of Avallónë had chosen someone else to speak for them, but if I am willing to put aside my personal feelings in this matter, the rest of you can do the same and give Lord Morcocáno a courteous hearing."

"How did you convince the town council to let you lead the Avallónean delegation, Morcocáno?" Finrod asked. His tone was more quizzical than accusing.

Morcocáno smiled, though there was no humor in it and his eyes remained cold. "I have my supporters," he replied. Then he looked up at the Telerin elleth who had spoken out. "Do you recognize me as a kinslayer or are you merely assuming this because I am a Noldo and I abide on Tol Eressëa?"

"All of you Noldor are kinslayers, or no better than," the elleth said sneeringly.

"I was not!" Finrod exclaimed, standing suddenly, looking coldly furious, shocking most of the rest of them with his vehemence. "Nor are any who followed my banner." Both Gilvagor and Lindarion grabbed his arms.

"Peace, Findaráto," Olwë said in a conciliatory tone. "I know you are not, nor is your atar or most of those who followed Ñolofinwë, but I know Findecáno cannot claim that, for himself or for his people, and I know that Lord Morcocáno was of his following."

"It is true," Morcocáno said calmly, "and I cannot claim innocence. Findecáno acted hastily and without ascertaining the truth of what was happening, but as soon as he did, he called us back from the fray, though I fear by then it was too late, for Fëanáro had by then seized the ships."

"My cousin ever regretted his impetuousness on that day," Finrod said as he slowly resumed his seat, his anger spent. "He cursed Fëanáro when he learned the truth of the matter. I think he would have stayed to help with the wounded but Uncle Ñolofinwë convinced him that his help would not be welcomed by the Teleri, and in truth, he would not desert his people, so he continued on."

"What I want to know is why did you wait until now to voice your complaint, Mistress?" Beleg demanded. "I thought you chose the delegates for their fair-mindedness, Lindarion."

"I chose as I saw fit, Cousin," Lindarion answered sharply, stung by Beleg’s words. "Mistress Uinendilmë is one of our magistrates. Her duties require her to be fair-minded and impartial."

"But only where it concerns the Teleri, I deem," Beleg rejoined mildly and smiled in such a way that Olwë was suddenly reminded of his brother Elmo and suppressed a shiver. "Apparently she has fewer qualms where others are concerned," the former Marchwarden of Doriath continued, "and judging from the expressions on some of the faces of our other delegates, they feel the same."

"I do not apologize for who I am," Morcocáno spoke out, "and I regret what happened but it was war and...."

"Not against us!" Uinendilmë shouted.

"It was war!" Morcocáno shouted back, banging a fist on the table, rising in his anger. "It was also madness and most of us were not thinking clearly. And don’t think we Noldor didn’t pay for our crimes, because I assure you that we did. We paid for them with every treachery, every defeat, every death. I am haunted by nightmares and plagued by guilt, but I refuse to let any of it conquer me. Revile me all you wish, Mistress, but do not expect me to grovel at your feet begging for forgiveness. Beleriand will rise again from the depths before that happens."

With that, he gave the kings a short bow and, gesturing for the other Avallóneans to follow him, he marched up the aisle, flung open the doors and left. All but three joined him. Thorongorn, his wife, Eirien, and another ellon remained seated, their expressions grim.

For a moment there was a stunned silence and then everyone started speaking at once. Olwë frowned slightly as he noticed Uinendilmë resuming her seat, her expression smug. He was very disappointed in her, for he had always thought her to be a fair and impartial judge. He was tempted to tell Lindarion to dismiss her from the Council but realized that he would be out of line. Lindarion would have to deal with the elleth or not as he saw fit; however, once they returned to Alqualondë, Olwë was determined to have her removed from the magistracy. Her actions today had destroyed her standing in the king’s eyes. He made a mental note to have her record of judgments reviewed as well, just in case.

In the meantime, the Council was in an uproar. Verbal assaults and recriminations were shouted from one side of the room to the other and it was several minutes before Ingwë was able to call them all to order. Only the Valar and the Reborn remained silent — the former watching it all with mild interest, the latter more disapproving in their expressions.

"For shame!" Ingwë shouted. "Cease this brawling at once! Return to your seats or I will have you all thrown out." That threat was enough to silence everyone and when they all resumed their seats, looking suitably embarrassed, Ingwë turned to Lord Manwë and gave him a profound bow. "My apologies, my lord, for the unseemly behavior of my people. There is no excuse for their behavior, I know, but I hope you will show them mercy and not declare this Council annulled."

Manwë gave him a surprised look. "Ingwë, I am just another delegate here. I will not supercede your authority. Only you, in consultation with your fellow rulers, can do that. We will abide by your will in this."

Ingwë gave the Elder King another bow, not quite as deep, but still respectful. "For that, I thank you, lord." He gave a rueful look at the three people sitting behind the chair Morcocáno had vacated. "I would ask one of you to sit with us and speak on behalf of your delegation. I promise you will have our complete attention."

Thorongorn glanced at his wife and the other ellon. They both shook their heads slightly. Thorongorn sighed and rose, giving everyone a bow. "If it is all the same with you, your Majesty, we would prefer not to join you. We will abstain from speaking at this time. Lord Morcocáno is our chosen leader, and whatever my own feelings about that may be, I must respect that and him. By your leave, we will remain so that we may report back to our fellows as to what else is said today."

"Very well," Ingwë said. "We respect your decision and we ask that you relay to Lord Morcocáno our sincerest apologies and our deepest hope that he be willing to return to the table tomorrow. We would still hear what he has to say." And it was clear that he spoke for the other two kings who were nodding.

"I will relay your message to him, lord," Thorongorn said with a bow and then resumed his seat.

Ingwë then began addressing those in the tiers. "We will not tolerate interruptions from the tiers for any reason. Only those who sit at this table have the right to speak. Mistress Uinendilmë," he turned to face the Telerin delegate, "We charge you with contempt and ask that you remove yourself from this Council forthwith. We will speak with Prince Lindarion later to ascertain your fitness to rejoin us at the next session."

Uinendilmë went white and started to protest, but Lindarion stood and bowed to Ingwë. "I apologize on behalf of the Telerin delegation, my lord. We will abide by your decision. If there is someone who will escort the lady...."

"Salmar will escort her," Ulmo said with a flick of his wrist and the room was suddenly filled with the smell of fresh peaches as Ulmo’s Chief Maia appeared, bowing to his lord before gesturing to the elleth, his attitude polite, but there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that he expected to be obeyed. She stood, her expression closed, and walked down the aisle to join the Maia, refusing to look at anyone. Together they left the council chamber, the doors, which had remained open after Morcocáno’s departure, closing silently behind them.

In the embarrassed silence which followed, Brethorn spoke, smiling ingenuously. "Is it my turn now?" There were a few open grins from the other Reborn and some of the delegates at the table actually relaxed, the earlier tension loosening. Manwë nodded approvingly and even Ingwë couldn’t help smiling. Then, Brethorn’s face took on a more serious expression. He leaned forward, placing his hands on the table as he spoke, all levity aside.

"We Reborn have had to put up with you Once-born for some time now. We find most of you to be narrow-minded, insensitive, arrogant and self-centered in your views and in your dealings with us and with one another." His eyes raked them all with a scathing glare. Most of the other delegates were taken aback and there was much murmuring amongst those in the tiers. Brethorn ignored it as he continued his rebuke, which seemed all the more damning for the conversational tone of his voice.

"The Reborn Council has watched and waited for you to mature enough to reveal ourselves to you, all the while enduring the slurs and condescending attitudes of those who should have had more compassion." He raised a hand to forestall the angry denials and retorts that were forming on the lips of several delegates. "I am not saying that this has been true of all, but certainly of many, and certainly of those who have taken upon themselves to be our leaders." He glanced about then shrugged. "We Reborn have been rebuffed in our overtures to offer solutions to the varied problems facing our island, dismissed as children or looked upon with suspicion because we counsel forgiveness and reconciliation rather than revenge."

To everyone’s surprise, he looked directly at Olwë as he spoke these last words and the Lindaran’s expression was tight-lipped, his eyes darkening with suppressed anger. Ingwë laid a placating hand on his fellow king’s arm. Brethorn’s expression became more conciliatory. "I do not blame you for your anger, Olwë. I know how difficult it has been for the Teleri to give up their animosity towards the Noldor. I know how hard it has been to listen to the Reborn among you speaking of forgiveness. I know how appalled many Teleri feel when those whom they perceive to be the worst victims of the Kinslaying have no hatred for their slayers."

"How could you, you who are Sinda, know this?" Lindarion demanded harshly, his own expression one of anguish. "How could you possibly know how any of us who suffered the Kinslaying feel?"

Brethorn never took his eyes off Olwë as he answered Lindarion. "Because Falmaron told me."

There were shocked gasps from all the Teleri present. Both Lindarion and Olwë went absolutely white and in the tiers, Olwen uttered a strangled moan. Beleg grabbed her to keep her from reeling. Finrod meanwhile demanded wine and then there was a goblet before him which he picked up and pressed upon Lindarion, encouraging him to drink. Another goblet appeared before Olwë and Ingwë urged him to drink as well. Beleg found a goblet in his own hand and for a startled moment just stared at it before offering it to a trembling Olwen. There was absolute silence as the Lindaran and his children were ministered to. Olwë waved away the goblet once he was recovered and stared across the table at Brethorn whose own expression was unreadable.

"You have spoken with my son," Olwë said at last, his voice harsh with emotion. It was a statement more than a question, but Brethorn nodded anyway.

"I have spoken with him many times," the Reborn replied softly. "He has often told me of his regret for leaving you, and I have tried to convince him to return to Alqualondë and reconcile with you, but so far he has been reluctant to do so, though I think in time he will." He sighed, looking rueful, but when he spoke again it was in a firmer tone. "But Falmaron is not the only Telerin Reborn with whom I have spoken. We of the Reborn Council keep our ears open for all news concerning the Reborn. I know that the Teleri have a great apathy towards the Tol Eressëans, believing that many of us were involved in the Kinslaying without taking into account that the vast majority of the islanders, even those of Noldorin blood, were born in Beleriand, not in Aman. But do not think you Teleri are the only victims of kinslaying. You are not. Nor are all those who left Aman guilty of being kinslayers."

"You may be correct in all you say, Brethorn, but what has any of this to do with the matter at hand?" Lindarion demanded, his eyes dark with conflicting emotions.

"Everything!" Brethorn nearly shouted, banging the table with a fist for emphasis, his expression one of fury. "You Once-born look down on the Reborn because we don’t follow the rules of your petty games. We seek neither vengeance nor restitution. We welcome all, whatever their past histories, be they former slaves of Morgoth or kinslayers because we recognize the fact that there are no innocents here. From what I’ve learned of your history, even the Vanyar can be accused of studied indifference towards what was happening right here in Aman during the time of the Darkening, keeping to themselves. Did any of them come to the aid of the Teleri after the kinslaying?"

"We had our own troubles," Ingwë said softly, glancing at Ingwion with concern, for his son was tight-lipped and his eyes were filled with pain, his hands clenching the arms of his chair so tightly that the knuckles were white. Elríen, sitting next to him, gave him a concerned look and gently rubbed his arm, speaking softly so only he could hear what she was saying. Whatever it was seemed to do the trick for the ellon took a deep shuddering breath and relaxed his death grip.

"Undoubtedly," Brethorn averred, apparently unaware or uncaring of the effect his words were having on the Vanyarin prince. "But when the dust settled, what did you do? What did any of you do?"

"We survived," Arafinwë answered coldly. "And do not think that each clan stood alone. I have striven over the last millennium to heal the breach between us. Or do you think our sitting here together in friendship," — he gestured to Ingwë and Olwë — "to be a sham."

"No, I do not," Brethorn said in a more conciliatory tone, "and I apologize for my words. They were spoken from frustration and not from disrespect for all that you have accomplished. Yet, for all that, you blithely ignored us." Here, he swept his arms out and they knew he meant the Tol Eressëans as a whole and not just the Reborn. "We Reborn could not understand it. We could not figure out what it was that the Once-born of Tol Eressëa had done wrong in your eyes that you barely acknowledged their existence. And no one would give us any answers when we asked our questions."

"Most likely because we were equally at a loss as to why we were being shunned," Elríen said with a mocking smile. She turned her head to look past Lord Manwë, her eyes seeking out Lord Irmo. "When I came to Tol Eressëa, I was told in no uncertain terms that I would not be welcomed by the Valar, or permitted to cross over to the mainland. I was very frustrated by this, for I desired to seek council with you, Lord Irmo, and your lady, on matters concerning the healing arts."

"And who was it who told you this, child?" Irmo asked.

The elleth shrugged and gave them a rueful smile. "No one specifically. It was just something that everyone knew or thought they knew. I was too recent an arrival to question it, frustrated though I was at being denied the right to come to Aman. I wondered why I had bothered to sail just to find myself imprisoned on the island."

"And that is a misconception that we regret," Manwë said. "We Valar have never intended for those who sailed to remain forever on Tol Eressëa unless it were by their choice. However, we felt a period of isolation was in order to allow you time to shed the darkness of war from your fëar and regain a measure of our Peace. And as you well know, our quarantine is not absolute or none of you would have been permitted to come here."

"Well, that’s your excuse," Brethorn said to Manwë with a light smile to show that he was not censuring the Valar, "but what about the Amanians? What excuse do they have for refusing to deal with any of the Tol Eressëans?"

"None," Arafinwë said baldly. "Except, at least in my own case, I was too busy upon my return from the war putting my own house in order to worry about anyone else. I had families now bereft of husbands and sons whom I must comfort and see to their welfare and I had warriors whose fëar were shattered by their experiences who needed help and, quite frankly, I had my own demons to contend with. And I am sure Ingwë had similar problems with those Vanyar who returned... or didn’t."

Ingwë nodded. "Still, I will grant you that our negligence is inexcusable," he said to Brethorn. "I will confess that I little liked the idea of any of you being allowed to sail or be reborn. In my own anger I gladly consigned you all to Melkor’s deepest dungeons. A foolish wish. It has taken me a long time to see the folly of pretending you of Tol Eressëa did not matter and for that I apologize. When the idea of this Council was broached and I was asked to preside over it, I gladly accepted, for I saw in it a means to rectify my error."

"And I acknowledge your willingness now to put aside your apathy and animosity, my lords," Brethorn said, speaking to all three kings. "We Reborn only wish to see all the elves of Eldamar, Amaneldi and Tol Eressëans alike, living in harmony under the benevolence of the Valar. I do not know if what we are attempting to accomplish here will do any good, but it is certainly a more positive step than what has gone on before."

"Do you have any thoughts about the type of government we should have?" Dúlinn asked.

"You Once-born have managed to survive well enough without a king, relying on your separate councils to govern you," Brethorn said, speaking in a measured tone. "Yet, we have seen even in our own Council of the Reborn that personalities can get in the way of getting anything constructive done unless there is a strong leader to guide us. Gwîrendur and Marthchall are correct when they say it matters not what title is given, someone needs to be the ultimate authority and have the final say, someone who is above all the pettiness that often plagues the rest of us."

"Sounds like you want one of the Valar to rule over you," Finrod said with a chuckle and a wink at Lord Manwë whose own expression was one of amusement.

Brethorn shook his head, smiling wickedly. "Oh I wouldn’t go that far, Finrod. I would never wish to subject any innocent Vala upon us. That would be too cruel."

Tulkas suddenly boomed out a laugh, and the atmosphere lightened as elves whose expressions had been tight with anger or shock found themselves relaxing at the joyous sound. "Innocent he calls us. That’s a good one, heh, Námo?" He winked at the Lord of Mandos who was sitting next to him.

Námo gave his fellow Vala a knowing smile and nodded. "Why I haven’t been innocent since... hmm... since I can’t remember when."

"Well you were pretty innocent when you were making a mess of courting me," Vairë retorted with a wicked grin. "You could never put two coherent sentences together whenever we were alone."

To the surprise of the elves, the Valar all started laughing. "She’s got you there, Little Brother," Aulë said with a wink. "I remember how you fumbled about like any love-struck ellon with an elleth."

"Well you remember wrong," Námo said in his most forbidding tone.

The elves went into shock when the Smith of Arda stuck out his tongue and made a rude noise. Ingwë exchanged glances with Olwë and Arafinwë and at their nods he rose and everyone sobered. "Yes well, I think we should stop for now before things get... um... messy." He gave the Valar a pointed look and they returned it with smug smiles. "And given the high emotions of the day, I believe we all need some time for reflection. The next session will be held the day after tomorrow. Until then, my lords and ladies, we are adjourned."

With that, everyone rose and began speaking in small groups as they made their way out of the chamber where Maiar were waiting to escort them to where they might freshen up before dinner. Olwë stopped Brethorn as the ellon was leaving, his expression one of pain as he spoke to the Reborn. "He is well?" he asked.

Brethorn smiled. "Yes, Olwë, Falmaron is well and happy. He comes to Avallónë every few months, loads up his ship with supplies and sails away again. I’ve never asked him where he goes," he added hastily, seeing the question in Olwë’s eyes, "and he has never said, but I know that he is content. Someday, I believe, he will return to you, but you must be patient."

"It was my fault, you know," Olwë said with a grimace. "I drove him away. I was so stupid."

"No, Atto," Lindarion exclaimed with some heat as he, Olwen and Beleg joined them. "Falmaron was being unreasonable."

"Lindarion is correct," Olwen said, "but thinking back, I know I could have been more understanding of what he was feeling as well."

Olwë nodded and gave Brethorn a sorrowful look. "When next you see my son, would you tell him that... that I love him... we all love him and... well, just that... we love him."

Brethorn bowed to them. "I will tell him," he vowed.

Olwë nodded again, standing there looking unsure of his next move. Ingwë and Arafinwë rescued him when they came and said that Lord Manwë wished to speak to the three kings alone. Olwë gave Brethorn a short bow. "Thank you," he said simply and then followed the other two kings from the chamber, leaving his children and Brethorn alone.

"Will you tell us about our brother?" Olwen asked Brethorn shyly.

The Reborn smiled. "I would be honored to, my lady," he replied. "Shall we? I believe dinner will be served soon."

The others nodded and they made their way out of the council chamber with Brethorn telling them of the first time he met Prince Falmaron, the doors closing silently behind them.

****

Notes:

1. If you wonder why Olwë’s son, Falmaron, has not been mentioned before, Tolkien tells us that among elves absent family members are usually not mentioned publicly. This is why Aragorn was never aware of the fact that Elrond had a daughter, as she was living in Lothlórien with her grandparents and there would have been no reason to speak of her to a Mortal child.

2. To give you a sense of the timeline in Gwîrendur’s narrative: The Dagor Nirnaeth Arnediad (Battle of Unnumbered Tears) occurred in 471. Nargothrond was sacked probably around the year 495. Túrin died in 499. Elu Thingol died in 502. Beren and Lúthien died the following year. In the Silmarillion it is only said that ‘one came and smote upon the doors of Menegroth.... He was a lord of the Green-elves hastening from Ossiriand....’ bringing the Nauglamír to Dior. In my universe, this unnamed elf is Laurendil, who leaves Nargothrond after Finrod’s death and makes his way to Doriath and is there when Beren and Lúthien die and are returned to life. When Beren and Lúthien retire to Tol Galen, he joins them. After delivering the Nauglamír to Dior he returns to the ruins of Nargothrond where he meets Gwîrendur and his band skulking the High Faroth, wooded highlands overlooking Nargothrond. Doriath falls to the Fëanorians in 507. Laurendil and Manwen meet the following year. The War of Wrath begins in the year 545 and ends in 587.