138: Reflections

Author’s Note: Ingwë’s ruminations about the previous evening’s gathering and what was decided there will make more sense if you first read Ellie’s excellent and quite humorous companion piece, ‘Drawing Comparisons’, which she wrote with my blessing.

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The next morning, Ingwë, with Olwë and Arafinwë, led the Amanians down the Landamallë, the three kings studiously ignoring the chatter of their wives and some of the other ellith who apparently were still discussing last evening’s gathering and its outcome. Ingwë stole a glance at his fellow rulers, giving them a sour smile which they returned. It wasn’t that he disapproved of the ellith’s idea of reinstating training camps throughout Eldamar, such as they had had in preparation for the War of Wrath. After all, it was he who had insisted that ellyn should be encouraged to learn the skills of the warrior, but he had left it to each realm to decide how that training would go. Having such camps again would certainly provide a more uniform system of training and perhaps this would be a good way to convince Olwë to set up his own training camps. Unlike the War of Wrath, the Teleri would not have the option of sitting out the Final War. He imagined that those warriors training in Aewellond with Glorfindel would eventually end up overseeing the training of the other warriors, especially since they themselves were being trained by warrior Maiar.

No. He quite approved, and he wished he had thought of the idea himself. It was the rest of it that grated.

The thought of market towns springing up near the various training sites for the sole purpose of catering to the whims of the ellith whose only purpose for being near the camps at all apparently would be to ‘judge’ the poor ellyn who would be subject to their scrutiny made him blanch. Never mind that the idea of the markets was a good one in and of itself. He knew that there had to be a means of providing cultural exchanges between the Amanians and the Tol Eressëans and markets and fairs would certainly allow for this, but at the expense of the warriors attempting to train?

And this whole notion of using the days of the week or the attributes of the Valar to ‘rate’ the warriors and their skills! Absurd and typical of ellith without any sense or regard for the dignity of the ellyn, all of whom were training for the single purpose of risking their lives to protect the very ones passing judgment on their skills and how they looked in armor! He had been rather shocked and dismayed that Elindis would stoop to such... such... he didn’t even have a word for it! Cultural exchanges, yes, he was all for it, but not at the expense of the warriors. He would ban all ellith from the camps if necessary. He wasn’t High King for nothing!

Satisfied that he had solved that particular problem, he turned his thoughts to the morning’s Council session. They had been here for over a week and it was time to wrap this Council up, decide who should lead the Tol Eressëans and get on with it. If only they could find someone whom everyone could agree on to lead the Assembly. He was inclined to encourage Lord Eärendil to take up that role, for he could see that the ellon had the respect of the Tol Eressëans and he certainly was capable of leading such a fractious people, but he had the feeling that the Mariner would decline. Yet, who else could he suggest?

He stole a glance at his son walking with a group of the younger elves. Ingwion was relating to them some tale or other of his ‘apprenticeship’ with Lord Námo with much laughter amongst the listeners and he could not help but smile. His son had begun to blossom during this past year, coming out of his self-imposed isolation from the world. Glorfindel had been the first to breach his ramparts with his adolescent craziness, turning everyone’s life upside down, but Findaráto had been the one to tear down the walls completely during the Tournament. The love that the two cousins had for one another had grown deeper over this past year. He wished he had thought to have Findaráto come to Vanyamar sooner, but perhaps it was better this way. An elflingish Findaráto might have caused Ingwion to retreat even further into his shell, remembering his cousin from before. Ingwion had been devastated when Findaráto had gone into exile and when Arafinwë had brought Ingwë the news that Findaráto was dead, he had kept that information to himself. He had not told Ingwion anything about his cousin until after he had received word that Findaráto had been reborn and was now returned to Tirion, thinking the news would not be so shocking. But Ingwion went into a state of depression and withdrew emotionally from everyone once again and it was some time before he allowed himself to be drawn out of it.

He watched his son as Glorfindel, now speaking, made some comment about the Lord of Mandos that had all the Reborn listening in on the conversation gleefully sniggering, while the others, including Ingwion, were looking scandalized but trying hard not to laugh at the same time. He hadn’t been sure how to react to the notion of his child being the apprentice of the Doomsman of Arda. Certainly he would have been delighted had he been apprenticed to Lord Manwë. Indeed, he would have expected it as a matter of course. And perhaps, now that he thought of it, that was the whole point. Ingwion had been going through the motions for far too long. Becoming Lord Námo’s apprentice had shaken him out of his routine, forcing him to make new connections and giving him certain responsibilities that he might otherwise not have taken up if he had done the expected thing.

"Well, we’re here," Arafinwë said suddenly.

Ingwë started, dragging his thoughts away from his son, dismayed that he had allowed his mind to wander instead of focusing on the needs of the Council. He glanced at the carnelian gates leading into Lord Námo’s demesne. They stood open and inviting. He wondered where the Council chamber had been set up, for he saw no sign of any structure. Then he noticed that rubies lay along the path leading away from the gate, as if marking a trail. He glanced at Olwë and Arafinwë.

"So do we follow the rubies?" he asked in a light, amused tone.

"Maybe we should pick them up as we go so the other delegates won’t be able to find their way," Arafinwë suggested with a sly smile.

Ingwë gave him an arch look. "I think your exposure to the Reborn has corrupted you, Nephew."

Olwë sniggered and Arafinwë just smiled as he reached down to pick up the nearest ruby. Almost immediately there was an overwhelming floral scent, and then one of Lord Námo’s Maiar was suddenly there.

"Put the ruby down, Arafinwë," she said, giving him a stern look and the Noldóran hastily dropped the gem, turning almost as red as the ruby in embarrassment as everyone else around him laughed. Then the Maia smirked. "If you will follow the trail, you will find your way." She gave Arafinwë another meaningful look before fading from their view.

"Well, shall we?" Ingwë said and he led the way into the gardens surrounding the mansion of the Lord of Mandos and his Spouse.

The rubies led them to the left, around the mansion, through a somnolent rose garden, past a fountain with statues of swans gracing its center, along a terraced lawn overlooking what appeared to be a maze, and then through a tunnel made of thick vines. Emerging from the tunnel they found themselves facing an open-air amphitheater dug into the earth and constructed of green-veined marble. It was obviously an outdoor version of the Council chamber complete with the copper bowl at the entrance. Standing there waiting for them were the delegations of the Reborn and the Weavers’ Guild.

"Did you have any trouble finding this place?" Brethorn asked with a smile.

Ingwë laughed. "No. We just followed the ruby trail."

Brethorn nodded enthusiastically. "That was my idea. Saves having the Maiar lead everyone about like sheep."

"Atar wanted to pick them up as we went so no one else would find the place," Finrod said.

Brethorn’s eyes widened as he stared at an embarrassed looking Arafinwë. Gwîrwendur tapped the Reborn on the shoulder. "I win," he said with a smirk and Brethorn sighed as he nodded. "I’ll pay you later," he said.

"So what was the bet?" Ingwë asked, giving them a measuring look.

"Oh, I bet Brethorn here that someone other than one of the Reborn in your party would suggest stealing the rubies so no one else could follow the trail," the head of the Weavers’ Guild delegation said airily. "We knew you would arrive first before anyone else."

"And why did you think a Reborn wouldn’t suggest such a thing?" Ingwë enquired.

Gwîrwendur waved a hand dismissively. "Too predictable. I’ve noticed how the Reborn are generally blamed for acting like elflings and doing silly things, but so far, since we’ve been here, they’re the only ones not acting stupid."

"We’ve been very careful to be on our best behavior," Brethorn said with a virtuous air that fooled no one.

"See what I mean?" Gwîrwendur retorted with a knowing smile and there were chuckles all around.

"Well, why don’t we get settled," Ingwë suggested. "The others will be arriving soon."

With that, the heads of the delegations chose their gemstones and found their seats while everyone else settled in the tiers, which were covered with plush velvet cushions for their comfort. Descending into the amphitheater they discovered that the air was warmer than above, so that they were all quite comfortable in spite of the fact that the day was somewhat on the blustery side; the wind never reached them within the amphitheater. Eventually all the delegates were present except for the Valar and not a few wondered out loud to their neighbors if they would even appear. Some admitted to feeling uncomfortable with the idea of the Powers being there after yesterday’s trial and hoped they would stay away, but most were genuinely curious to see what the Valar would do.

Several minutes went by and there was still no sign of the Valar. Ingwë frowned. Before, the Valar had appeared as soon as the last of the elves was seated, but this time there was no sign of them. "Do you think we should start without them?" Ingwë quietly asked Olwë and Arafinwë. Both of them shrugged.

"I think it’s your call," Olwë said.

"It is rather odd that Lord Manwë did not at least send word to us that they would either be late or not coming at all," Arafinwë said. "I do not believe that the Valar would be so discourteous."

"Unless they are miffed at us for putting them on trial," Ingwë said. "They did depart rather precipitously afterwards even though we exonerated them."

"And that’s probably the point," Olwë said. "The fact that they needed our approval rather than the other way around probably did not sit well with them however gracious they were about it."

"Well, this is getting us nowhere," Ingwë retorted. He looked up and spoke so all could hear. "I don’t think there’s any point in waiting to see if the Valar will show, so we can begin."

Even as he was speaking, however, there was movement above them and they turned to see Lord Námo calmly walking down the aisle to the central dais, silently taking the last chair. He glanced around at the stunned and uncomfortable expressions on the faces of the elves, ostensibly ignoring the two delegates on either side of him — Laeglîr and Belegorn — trying not to be too obvious as they moved their chairs slightly away from his. He gave Ingwë a nod, his expression, if not cold then certainly solemn.

"Lord Manwë sends his regrets," he said. "There’s been a small emergency requiring his immediate attention and those of the other Valar. As I am playing host to the Council today, I said I would sit in for him. Unfortunately, my presence will be required later so Vairë will come and take over when I must leave."

"Is it anything we need to be concerned about, my lord?" Ingwë asked politely.

Námo shook his head. "No, Ingwë. The matter concerns events occurring elsewhere in Arda and will not affect matters here. It may appear to you that we Valar waste our days idly meddling in your affairs, but we are in fact the Guardians, not only of Arda, but of all of Eä, and much of our time is spent in assuring that all is well with the cosmos. Our mandate extends well beyond this small corner of Eä, after all."

There was a sober silence among them as they digested the Vala’s words and then Ingwë nodded. "Thank you. Let us begin. It seems to me that the major sticking point is who will lead the Assembly. We seem to be at an impasse as to how the Cáno should be chosen as well as who among us all might be an acceptable choice for the position. Perhaps we should first concentrate on the manner in which the Cáno is chosen as well as what criteria should be used to make the selection. Once that is decided upon, then perhaps it will become clearer who might be the most likely candidates for the office."

There were murmurs of agreement and then Ingwë opened the floor to suggestions.

****

The morning’s discussion was lively but not acrimonious. Námo did not participate unless asked a direct question and that was rare. Instead, he sat there with half his mind on the Council while the other half was with his fellow Valar dealing with the ‘small emergency’ that they had discovered needed their attention when they had gone off-planet to play among the rings of Ashkadphelun. Of course, ‘small’ was a relative term when dealing with the immensities of the cosmos, he thought with amusement. The Children might consider the situation very grave, but since they were unaware of it, they could continue on in blissful ignorance.

Of course, he and the other Valar had their own ideas about who should be Cáno, and had had the person in mind for some time; indeed, long before this Council was ever conceived, at least in the minds of the Elves. The Valar had long anticipated the Council and its outcome. Foresight did have its advantages... and disadvantages. He thought about that with some chagrin. When it came to predicting what any mirroanwë would do with any real certainty even his vaunted ability to see further into Arda’s history than any of them often failed.

The Children saw the Valar as meddlesome and manipulative, and there was probably some justification to that accusation, but it was not the entire story. The revolt of the Noldor had come as a shock to the Valar, more than the elves would ever know or understand. All they had done for the Children had been done for love of them. Fëanáro’s rejection of their authority had been bad enough, but for all but a tithe of the Noldor to have followed him, ignoring the pleas and warnings of the Valar... that had been devastating. He remembered how shocked he had felt at the sight of Manwë weeping when he brought back Fëanáro’s final answer. If Námo could hate, he felt he could have hated that arrogant son of Finwë for reducing the Elder King to tears in such a fashion. Instead, he felt only grief that it had ever come to that pass.

But all that was in the past, he reminded himself. The present and the future were what must concern them all, including the Valar. He made himself pay closer attention to the discussion around him even as he continued to keep mental tabs on what was happening elsewhere.

".... getting us nowhere," Galadhwen was saying in disgust.

"Yet, do we not agree that the Cáno should be someone who has proven him- or herself to be an able ruler already?" Boromir, the Master Woodworker, asked. "And it matters not if this person has led a kingdom or a humble guild, just so long as he or she has shown leadership qualities."

"So, you would have no objection to someone who is a guildmaster or mistress leading us?" Minyon asked.

Boromir shrugged. "Why not? Are we who have never lifted a sword any less capable of leading? Why should we limit our search to only those few who have exhibited a talent for killing and perhaps leading warriors into battle, but have no other skill? All of you who are the heads of your guilds know that your position is as much administrative as it is actually saying ‘do this’ or ‘go there’. The Cáno needs to be versed in diplomacy and have good judgment besides understanding how the kingdom should be run on a day-to-day basis. He must also be someone who, even if not a warrior, can inspire warriors to follow him."

"We know all that," Galadhwen said impatiently. "The question still remains: how do we find this paragon? Many of us, whether warriors or no, fit the description you offer us, but how do we choose among us? What other criteria can we use? How do we measure wisdom, for instance? That is a trait that must surely be considered in any leader. Yet, it’s been my experience that wisdom comes with age, and so, should we then choose only among the oldest of us?"

"If they are truly that wise, they would be smart to decline the offer," Gil-galen said with a sly look and several elves chuckled in acknowledgment.

"Perhaps you are thinking too narrowly," Námo offered suddenly and everyone stopped to give him their attention. "The criteria that you have mentioned are not limited to those who are the oldest among you," he continued. "You have the example of one who was the youngest of the House of Finwë who yet proved to be the wisest." He looked pointedly at Arafinwë who simply shook his head.

"I was not at all wise, my lord, as well you know," he protested, looking embarrassed. "Why else would I have spent all those years as Lord Manwë’s... er... apprentice before I was allowed to take up the crown?" The slight hesitation did not go unnoticed by any.

Námo waved a hand in dismissal. "You showed your innate wisdom by returning to Aman. Your apprenticeship was, shall we say, a time of refining a trait you already possessed in an inchoate way." He then turned to the others. "All I am saying is that you should not necessarily limit yourselves to looking among those whose reputations have already been established. You might do well to look among your younger people who are not quite so set in their ways, who may be more flexible in how they approach things. Findaráto is another example: the son of the youngest son of Finwë who was pretty much dismissed by all when he lived in Aman, yet he proved himself to be one of the finest and wisest rulers your people have ever known."

Finrod kept his eyes on his lap, fidgeting uncomfortably under everyone’s thoughtful gaze, clearly as embarrassed as Arafinwë had been at being held up as an example of wise leadership. He did not see his atar’s sympathetic, yet also proud, look at Námo’s words.

"Well, I must leave you for now," Námo said, rising. "Lady Vairë will be along later."

Ingwë nodded graciously to him. "We thank you for your comments, my lord. You have given us something else to think about. Perhaps we should adjourn for now, seeing as how we’ve been at it without a break for several hours now. We will convene again after lunch."

Námo nodded. "I have instructed my Maiar to provide you with lunch," he said. "A couple of pavilions have been set up in the area before the maze you all passed to get here. My people will see to your needs."

Ingwë thanked the Vala, who then gave everyone a respectful bow and turned away to climb the steps, knowing that he had done as much as he dared to steer the Children in the direction the Valar wished for them to go. He considered consulting Manwë about the possibility of having someone like Olórin walk among them, inspiring them towards choosing the person the Valar wanted to rule Tol Eressëa at this time, but decided against it. Best to see how the Children did on their own. From past experience he knew that the elves might actually surprise them, though not necessarily in a good way, he reflected wryly, even as he thought himself to the outer reaches of the solar system.

****

Eärendil contemplated Lord Námo’s words as he sat back in his chair under the pavilion where they had all gathered for lunch, sipping his wine and nibbling on some cheese and fruit. He had listened more than spoken during the meal as those around him offered their opinions about what had been discussed that morning. A few were openly dismissive of the Vala’s suggestions. These, he noticed, tended to be the older elves from Tol Eressëa, whether Noldorin Exiles or Sindar. The Amanians seemed more open-minded about it. It was difficult to deny Lord Námo’s words when one of their own kings had been held up as an example of what the Vala meant. The Nandor seemed unwilling or unable to offer any concrete opinion on the matter while the Reborn were quite enthusiastic about it, though they did not put forth any actual candidates.

He took another sip of wine and pondered. Who would he choose if asked to do so? He confessed that he knew little about any of these people, isolated from the mainstream of elvish society as he’d been for all these past centuries. He glanced idly around. He had the feeling, unprovable of course, that the Valar already had their own candidate in mind. The question was, would the Valar put this person’s name forward or would they accept whomever the elves chose on their own?

Hmm.... And just how would the Valar look at this? He pursed his lips in thought and tried to see these people as the Valar might see them. He dismissed everyone who was a proven leader in whatever capacity, which pretty much eliminated the Council heads and not a few of the other delegates, Lady Meril, for instance, or Lord Herendil. Who did that leave? Was the person the Valar wanted as Cáno even among them, or was it some anonymous elf happily living out his life somewhere in Eldamar in ignorance of his destiny? He had to smile at that thought. In some sense, that’s what they were all doing. No. He had a feeling that whomever the Valar wanted as Cáno was here among them, hiding, as it were, in plain sight.

Well, he would just have to keep his eyes open. Perhaps he should make a list of all the younger attendees, those who had yet to be placed in any position of power. He would have to consult with Elwing. She had taken upon herself the onerous (to him) task of getting to know all the other delegates. He was having enough trouble just dealing with those who sat at the Council table with him. He realized with some chagrin that one reason why he had never stayed very long at the Havens was his innate shyness and difficulty in dealing with people directly. Even in Aewellond, Elwing was usually the one to whom everyone went first before laying their problems at his feet. He knew that he would probably never shake off the feeling of being unworthy to sit among the elves, pretending that he was one of them, when in his heart he longed to be other than what he was.

He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it of such gloomy thoughts. Life was what it was and the choices he made were what they were. But yes, he would ask Elwing for her opinion. He respected her insights and he suspected that she might even have one or two people in mind for the job already. He glanced to where she was sitting with Indil and Olwen, the three of them laughing at some jest and smiled, thanking the Valar and Eru for having brought her into his life.

Then Councillor Dúlinn, sitting across from him, asked him a question about Aewellond and he turned from his ruminations and gave his full attention to the ellon.

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Mirroanwë: (Quenya) Incarnate being, in this case, an Elf.