11: On Trust and Innocence

Eänur did indeed prove a friend, my first in my new life. His status as an apprentice, however, left him feeling unsure and inadequate at times, but my status as a Reborn often left me feeling the same way, so we learned to be supportive towards one another in that regard. That is not to say that my new friend was only that. Apprentice Lóriennildo he might be, but a Lóriennildo he was and he did not let me forget it, even if I wanted to....

****

"I understand you will be working with Lord Aulë’s people soon," Eärnur said to Finrod a few days after their first meeting. The two were walking through the Gardens of Lórien, enjoying the day. There were no set plans for either of them, for it was Valanya and it was a day of rest and recreation for all.

"So I’ve been told," Finrod answered. "I remember, before I left, that I was studying with Lord Aulë’s People, though not in the making of horseshoes." He cast the other ellon a wry grin. "Many of the Noldor, back then, were students of Lord Aulë. It was expected that those of Finwë’s House spend some time studying under that particular Vala even if eventually we gravitated toward another. My cousin, Celegorm, for instance, became a student of Lord Oromë."

"Who?" Eärnur asked, his brows furrowing as if he was trying to place this particular cousin in Finrod’s family tree.

Finrod blinked a couple of times, mentally recalling what he had just said and blushed. "Sorry, I meant Turcafinwë."

"Then who’s this Cel... celegram?" Eärnur’s expression was still one of confusion.

Finrod stopped and threw back his head in delightful laughter. "Celegorm," he said once he calmed down. "Celegorm is Turcafinwë."

"I don’t understand," the Teler said and it was clear to Finrod that indeed this was the case.

"When we reached the Outer Lands and discovered your lost kin, whom we named the Sindar, we quickly adopted their language, for the Sindar found Quenya too hard for them to master." Finrod paused, his eyes dark with distant memories, but he continued his explanation. "We adapted our own names to Sindarin, or adopted names. My sister, Artanis, for instance, took the name Galadriel, a name given to her by the Sinda who eventually became her husband."

Eärnur’s eyes widened but he refrained from speaking, merely nodding in encouragement for Finrod to continue. Finrod took a deep breath before speaking.

"Yes, well. Turcafinwë chose to adapt his amilessë, which was Tyelcormo and rendered it as Celegorm," Finrod said. "I’m afraid I got so used to thinking of my cousins by their Sindarin names I didn’t stop to think."

Eärnur gave him a nod. "So what was your...?"

"Finrod," the once King of Nargothrond replied. "I actually prefer it to Findaráto."

"It’s rather short," Eärnur said with a shrug. "I think I will continue calling you Findaráto, if it’s all right with you."

"I have no objections," Finrod said with a smile. "It is, after all, my name."

"So, we were talking about Lord Aulë," Eärnur said, gesturing for them to resume their walk.

Finrod nodded. "One of Lord Aulë’s People came and told me that a forge has been set up near where the stables are located. I guess if I’m to be making horseshoes that is a logical place for one."

"You don’t sound too enthusiastic," the Teler observed, keeping his expression neutral.

Finrod shrugged. "I would rather make a sword," he muttered.

"Why?"

Finrod stopped and stared at nothing in particular, trying to decide how best to answer that simple, yet not so simple, question. Finally he sighed and gave the ellon a wistful look. "I feel naked without one."

Eärnur raised an eyebrow at this. "You don’t look naked to me," he couldn’t help saying, casting a look over the ellon’s attire.

Finrod rolled his eyes at the attempted jest, but when he spoke it was with grave gentleness. "Unless you’ve been where I have been, child, and experienced the things I have seen and done you cannot fully understand my words. Yet, they are true nonetheless. I do feel naked. I cannot explain it any better than that. In the mornings when I am dressing I find myself automatically reaching for my swordbelt only to realize at the last minute that I don’t have one, not anymore."

Eärnur gazed at Finrod, his expression now troubled, for whatever he saw in Finrod’s eyes clearly disturbed him. Finrod gave him a warm hug. "I don’t expect you to understand, meldonya," he whispered into the ellon’s ear.

"And I do not," Eärnur replied, "but I would like to."

Finrod released him from his embrace. "Perhaps someday you will, but for now, let us speak of other things."

Eärnur nodded and they continued their walk, but while they studiously spoke of less consequential matters, Finrod could sense his new friend’s unease and sorrowed at the thought that he had inadvertently darkened the ellon’s fëa with his own past.

****

It was after the evening meal of the same day and Finrod excused himself from Eärnur’s company to wander by himself. He could not shake off the feeling that he had somehow marred the Teler’s fëa in some way with his talk of needing a sword. The ellon was quite young, having been born while Finrod was residing in Mandos. That thought made him feel... old somehow and he recalled his Mortal friend Bëor as the Man lay dying, not from any death wound, but merely from age. It had been a wonder and a terror for the young Noldo to see the Man die, knowing there was no returning. He suddenly understood why even those Mortals in the bloom of health and vigor would remark about feeling old after some youngster made a naive remark. He had always found such an expression amusing even as it had been incomprehensible. Now, however, he was beginning to catch a glimmer of just what his Mortal friends had meant.

Reborn he might be, but he had a store of memories that stretched back some nineteen hundred coranári, if one ignored the time spent within timeless Mandos. He only hoped such memories did not taint the innocence of his new-found friend.

"You’re being too hard on yourself."

Finrod turned to see Lord Irmo standing there, smiling fondly at him.

"I don’t want to be the instrument of Eärnur’s loss of innocence," Finrod said as he gave the Vala his obeisance.

"And now you are also being arrogant," Irmo rejoined and Finrod blanched at the Vala’s cold tone. "You are presuming too much responsibility for another’s fëa, child. Eärnur is young, yes, but he will not always be so. He wishes to devote his life, at least for now, to helping others to heal, whether in hröa or in fëa. He is not going to remain innocent for long, though we must guard against him becoming jaded. No one remains innocent forever, Findaráto, not even we Valar."

There was something in the Vala’s eyes, some darkness that stunned the Reborn and Finrod took a step or two back before forcing himself to remain still. Irmo seemed to realize what effect he was having on him and his expression softened to something more tolerable for Finrod to bear.

"At any rate, that is not why I came to speak to you," Irmo continued in a more friendly tone. He gestured and the two of them walked side-by-side along the sward as stars glittered overhead. It was a moonless night so the sky was a dark indigo velvet strewn with diamonds, rubies and emeralds, mantling the earth below. Coll Elbereth, the Sindar had called it, 'Elbereth’s Cloak'. There was a gentle breeze smelling of mint and moss and the woods under darkness that quite took Finrod back to those days when he wandered freely in the tree-shadowed lands of Beleriand. A tension around his neck and shoulders that he had not been aware of having began to ease and he felt himself growing calmer.

"What is it you wish to speak to me about, lord?" Finrod finally asked in a quiet voice.

"I wished to see how you were getting on with your new counselor," Irmo replied, "and to let you know that starting tomorrow you may go to the forge that’s been set up and begin your own apprenticeship. Aulë’s People will be expecting you after the noon meal."

Finrod nodded his understanding and sighed. "Eärnur and I are becoming friends, at least I hope we are," he said. "As for the forge... I will do as I am told, but I don’t have to like it, do I?" He cringed slightly at the whining tone that he heard in his voice, as if he were an elfling being made to do some unpleasant chore.

Irmo gave him a strange look, one that the ellon could not interpret. "But you will be a diligent student whatever your personal feelings on the matter may be." It was not a question.

Finrod gave the Vala a surprised look. "Of course," he replied. "I would not dishonor myself or Lord Aulë by doing anything less."

Irmo nodded, evidently pleased. "Good. Aulë has not spoken to any of the Noldor in some time," he said. "After your little rebellion," — Finrod blushed and hoped that in the darkness the Vala would not notice — "he essentially turned his back on the Noldor who remained and would not allow any at his forge."

Finrod shook his head. "So much destruction... of joy, laughter, hope, trust. We destroyed so much that was good and for no other reason than because we could."

"You allowed yourselves to be beguiled by silver-tongued words spoken in a honeyed voice," Irmo said softly. "And I speak not of Melkor either."

Finrod nodded. "I know."

"At any rate," Irmo continued more forcibly, "the fact that my brother has consented to teach you is a good sign. We worried that Aulë would not be able to forgive the treachery he felt had been visited upon him. It took some time for him to look kindly upon your atar and those Noldor who remained behind. Only when we were preparing for the War of Wrath did he open his forge to your people again, but even so, he refused to have anything to do with the Reborn."

"Until now," Finrod said.

Irmo nodded. "Until now."

"Why now?"

Irmo gave the ellon a warm smile. "Because you’re here, child."

"I don’t understand." Finrod’s brows were furrowed in confusion and Irmo could detect a hint of trepidation in the ellon’s voice.

"Someday you will, but to try to explain it now would prove futile. Will you at least accept what I say as true for the time being?"

"I don’t think I have much choice about that, lord," Finrod said, giving the Vala a sly smile.

"Yes, you do, child," Irmo responded gravely. "That’s ultimately what all this is about — choices and what we make of them."

Finrod pondered the Vala’s words for a time and slowly nodded. "Then I choose to trust you, lord."

"And for that I thank you," Irmo said sincerely. "Good night, child."

Before Finrod could offer a reply the Vala faded from view, leaving the ellon much to think about as he returned to his pavilion to ready himself for sleep.

****

The next morning, as Finrod, Brethorn and Saelmir were finishing up breakfast, Eärnur arrived. He greeted the three Reborn cheerfully and they returned his greeting with one of their own. He then addressed Finrod.

"I understand you’ll be working at the forge this afternoon."

Finrod nodded and both Brethorn and Saelmir cast envious looks upon him. He gave them a smile. "What? Are you jealous? I’m sure Lord Aulë will let you play with his forge if you ask politely."

"Not jealous," Saelmir said quickly then blushed. "Well... yes, we are, but not because you’re going to be working at a forge, but because you’re not going to be in painting class with the rest of us."

"Why does everyone hate the painting class?" Eärnur asked in frustrated confusion. "All your classes have been carefully designed...."

"By people who have never died," Brethorn interjected rather forcefully.

That stopped them all cold for a moment and Eärnur visibly flinched and went white. Brethorn grimaced, looking slightly ashamed. "Forgive me, Eärnur," he said softly, not looking at the ellon, "you do not deserve our ire." Then, without another word or a backward glance he strode out of the pavilion. After a hesitant second or two, and with an apologetic shrug, Saelmir followed.

Finrod put a comforting arm around the Teler’s shoulders. "It’s not your fault, Eärnur," he told him gently. "We’re herded about like... elflings and told what to do and how to do it without any thought as to how we feel about it. And, when we do complain, we’re told that we do not know what is best for us. Do you know how insulting that is? I ruled my own kingdom for over three hundred years and helped with the Leaguer against Melkor, whom we called Morgoth. My memories might be chancy and my emotional responses might not be what I would like them to be at times, but I do remember who I was before I died."

Eärnur gave him a considering look. "You do seem to be more mature than is normal for those so recently released from Mandos. I was surprised."

"Perhaps it is because I was in a position of power where decisions needed to be made by me and by me alone," Finrod replied with a shrug. "Perhaps those memories, scattered though they are, help me. Brethorn and Saelmir were just ordinary Elves, warriors or craftsmen, not lords. There were, in fact, very few of those in relation to the number of commoners going about the business of living."

Eärnur remained pensive for a time, then shrugged. "Nothing I can do about it," he said quietly. "I’m just an apprentice. No one is going to listen to me."

"Lord Irmo or Lady Estë might," Finrod suggested.

"I... I have to think about it," Eärnur said, looking somewhat embarrassed.

Finrod smiled. "Don’t feel you need to take this upon you, youngster," he said warmly. "You should concentrate on your work. I think if anyone should speak to the Valar about this, it should be the Reborn." He sighed and gave the ellon a rueful look. "Well, let us forget about it for now. I should be going myself. I...."

"Oh, but that’s what I came to tell you," Eärnur said suddenly. "There’s been a slight change in your schedule." Now he gave him a wide grin and his eyes twinkled with barely suppressed amusement.

"Oh?" was Finrod’s only response as he stepped back, eyeing the ellon warily.

The Teler nodded. "I’ve noticed since working with you that your motor reflexes are not as smooth as they should be." He took one of Finrod’s hands and stroked the fingers. "Your coordination is off sometimes. The other day, for instance, you went to pick up a quill and had trouble doing so."

Finrod nodded. "I know. I’ve been doing the stretching exercises as I was told to do, but they don’t seem to help much."

"Which is why, with Master Meneldil’s approval, I’ve come up with a possible solution. Will you come?"

"Do I have a choice?" Finrod retorted, though his tone was light and his eyes were sparkling with his own brand of amusement.

"Of course!" Eärnur said brightly. "You may either come with me or you can go to painting class."

Finrod snorted. "Some choice. All right, you win. Lead the way, meldonya."

The two ellyn made their way from the grove, moving down the sward, greeting those they met along the way, be they Elves or Maiar, with cheerful smiles. Eärnur led him toward Lórellin and they headed west along the lakeshore to where a small pavilion had been set up. As they entered it, Finrod eyed its contents with bemused interest.

"What’s all this?" he asked, pointing to a table where a wooden box full of thin strips of wood lay to one side, along with several different instruments, including an awl, knives of various sizes, some clamps and even a small saw. Sitting in the center of the table was a small woven basket apparently made from the same material as was in the box.

"This is your new class," Eärnur said smugly. "I thought of it myself and both Master Meneldil and Lord Irmo approved."

"And just what sort of class is it and who will teach me?" Finrod asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Eärnur’s smile broadened. "You, meldonya, are about to learn the fine art of basket weaving and I believe this is your teacher coming now."

Finrod turned to where Eärnur was pointing and gasped. Striding towards them were two who were clearly not Elves. One was a Maia dressed in the typical white robe with a blue-green surcoat embroidered with the emblem of Lady Vána — niphredil and elanor entwined — and beside her was the Valië herself, dressed in a yellow-green gown. She was barefoot and her head was crowned with a wreath of spring flowers.

"You have to be jesting," Finrod whispered faintly, but from the smug look Eärnur gave him, he knew the Teler was not.

Eärnur bowed to Lady Vána and the Maia as they reached the pavilion and then gave Finrod a cheeky grin. "Have fun," he said and strode away, whistling a jaunty tune while Finrod stared after him in disbelief.

There was a moment or two of uneasy silence as Vána and the Maia looked upon the ellon with kindly smiles. Belatedly, Finrod gave them his obeisance and then sighed as he glanced over at the table where the basketry supplies were. "I suppose it’s too late to change my mind and go to painting class, is it?" he asked rhetorically.

Both Valië and Maia laughed lightly. Then Vána introduced the Maia to Finrod. "This is Lótessë. She will be your instructor." With a nod to her servant and a bright smile for Finrod she left, fairly dancing along the shore of the lake, eventually fading into the landscape.

"Well," said the Maia, "shall we get started?"

****

Valanya: The last day of the Valarin/Eldarin six-day week. It was considered the High Day of Amanian society as the day is dedicated to the Valar, and would be equivalent to our sabbath-days, however that is interpreted by the reader. Originally, the Valar had a five-day week which the Amanian Elves followed, but after the Darkening the Elves expanded the week to six days when the Sun and Moon were created, dedicating two days to them. The seven-day week is a Númenórean invention, later adopted by the Elves of Middle-earth, though not by the people of Aman. The Amanian days of the week in order are: Elenya (Star-day), Anarya (Sun-day), Isilya (Moon-day), Aldúya (Two Trees-day), Menelya (Heaven-day), and Valanya (Powers-day).

Amilessë: Mother-name. Of the sons of Fëanor, only Curufinwë (Curufin) adapted the name given him by his father into Sindarin, all the others adapted their mother-names to Sindarin.

Tyelcormo: ‘Hasty-riser’ [tyelca ‘hasty’, see Peoples of Middle-earth, HoME XII].

Coranári: Plural of coranar: ‘Sun-round’, a solar year.

Note: Coll Elbereth ‘Elbereth’s Cloak’ is, of course, what we know as the Milky Way. The name is not canonical.