18: Home Again

Tirion. The name meant nothing to me... and everything. Even as we continued on our way I could not shake the feeling of dread that seemed to close in on me. What would it be like, being home again, surrounded by strangers? How I longed for my rooms in Nargothrond, surrounded by people whom I knew and whom I knew loved me. The people of Tirion... would they love me who deserted them, refused to turn back, defied the will of the Valar? An even more urgent question — could I learn to love them all over again? Did I even want to?....

****

The closer they came to Tirion the more the memories of an earlier time crowded Finrod’s mind. Images, incoherent and in no discernable chronology, flashed before his eyes:

A room that he thought might be his, painted in shades of blue... riding with his brothers through the royal reserve and hawking... playing with toys beside a garden fountain while his ammë sat nearby chatting with Anammë... walking through unfamiliar (yet so familiar!) streets, greeting people along the way... chasing his little sister in a game of catch-me... sitting quietly in a room surrounded by books, reading... working at a forge creating swords, and somehow knowing the forge was a deep secret not to be discussed with anyone... standing beside his atar feeling bored while Anatar held Court... kissing his ammë farewell, knowing it was the last time....

That last image jerked him out of his reverie and he had to blink a few times to clear his mind of the image, for there was a depth of pain and sorrow that went with it and he could not face it, not yet. He stared at his ammë sitting across from him in the carriage, wondering what she had felt on that last day.

"Did you hate me?" he asked suddenly, then blinked in dismay, wondering why he would ask such a thing out loud.

Eärwen gave him a surprised look. "When, child?" she asked.

Finrod shrugged. "When I... I left. Did you hate me for leaving, for deserting...."

His ammë leaned over, taking his head in her hands and kissing him on the brow. "Never," she whispered fiercely. "I never hated you. I loved you then as I love you now. Never believe otherwise, my little Finda."

He gave her a pained look. "Please, ammë. I’m not little any more."

Eärwen gave him a wistful smile. "No. I suppose you are not." She kissed him again, then let him go.

Arafinwë touched him on the shoulder and pointed out his window. "Look! There’s Tirion coming into view."

Finrod leaned over to get a better look. The road had taken a bend around a stand of trees so that the city was presently to their right. Finrod saw a large hill on which sat a city of spires, shining white in the afternoon sun. Surrounding the hill were farms and estates of the nobles. Everything looked prosperous and peaceful but he felt uneasy at the sight for some reason. "Not much in the way of defense," he muttered as he leaned back, "in spite of the wall."

Only then did he notice the looks of confusion on his ammë’s and Amarië’s faces. He turned to Arafinwë, noticing the look of amusement in his atar’s eyes. "Did I say something wrong?" he asked.

Arafinwë shook his head, giving him a hug. "No, yonya," he said gently. "I had the exact same reaction when I returned to Tirion after the War of Wrath. Your ammë was hard put to it to convince me that I did not need to order battlements to be built above the wall nor did I need to have additional guards posted." He gave his wife a fond smile which she returned.

"Do you remember Tirion?" Eärwen asked.

"I’m not sure," Finrod said honestly enough. "Images... all I get are images, but most of the time I have no context for them. It gets a bit frustrating at times."

"I’m sure it does," Arafinwë said, "but hopefully, you will be able to give these images a context soon enough. We’ll take it slowly, all right? We will not push you to remember any faster or any more than you are able to. You set the pace."

Finrod nodded, feeling relieved, but noticed that even as his atar was speaking, he was looking, not at him, but at Amarië and realized that Arafinwë was really addressing his words to her rather than to him. Amarië grimaced but said nothing, refusing to look at him, which suited Finrod just fine. The carriage was wending its way through farmland and landed estates and he occupied his time watching the scenery go by. They were now too close to the city to properly see it unless he leaned out the window and he suspected that his parents would not approve.

Then they were at the gate, but were not stopped. Instead the carriage and its escort continued through and began winding its way upward through the main street leading towards the king’s residence. Finrod started to lean towards the window for a better view, but cringed back when he saw people standing about, in some places three or four deep, staring at them as they passed. He felt his atar place a protective arm around him.

"Wh-why are they all standing about?" he asked, feeling confused.

Arafinwë gave him a rueful look. "I suspect they are hoping for a glimpse of you, yonya," he said and Finrod cringed even further into his atar’s embrace, turning his head into Arafinwë’s shoulder.

He felt a pat on his knee and looked up to see his ammë giving him a sympathetic smile. "It’s all right, beloved," she said. "They won’t hurt you. They’re just curious."

"I can’t be the only Reborn they’ve ever seen," Finrod retorted.

"Most have never seen any Reborn, I suspect," Arafinwë answered him. "You are correct that you are not the first Noldo to be Reborn and returned to Tirion, but you are the first of the royal family to do so and that makes you a double curiosity to the citizens of Tirion."

Finrod sighed. "It’s going to be Lórien all over again," he whispered in a dejected tone, closing his eyes, so he missed the puzzled looks that passed between his parents. Before either of them could ask for clarification, though, the carriage and its escort clattered into the courtyard fronting the main portico of the palace and they came to a halt.

Stepping out, Finrod was relieved to see that only their escort, plus a few additional servants were on hand to greet them, the servants quickly taking their bags while the escort, with Arafinwë’s thanks, disbanded, giving the royal family respectful bows before seeing to the horses and carriage. His parents kept him between them with Amarië following them. Eärwen spoke quietly to her son as they moved into the palace towards the family’s apartments.

"Do you remember anything of this, beloved?" she asked.

"Not really," Finrod answered as he looked about him with interest. "I keep remembering Nargothrond and this looks nothing like."

"Nargothrond?" Eärwen enquired, speaking the name slowly as if feeling the taste of the strange syllables on her tongue.

"My kingdom," Finrod replied distantly, more intent on trying to catalogue what he was seeing before him as they traversed the various hallways. Arafinwë simply nodded when his wife looked at him for confirmation.

"Did Aicanáro and Angaráto also have kingdoms?" Amarië asked, sounding somewhat dismissive in tone.

Finrod stopped and stared back at her, his parents doing the same. "No, they did not," Finrod said somewhat stiffly. "They did hold the northern slopes of Dorthonion for me... until they died."

He had the satisfaction of seeing the elleth pale at his words. Arafinwë put a hand on Finrod’s shoulder and the ellon looked up. "Shall we continue?" was all his atar said and Finrod nodded.

Soon they were standing outside a sitting room. "Your rooms are around the corner," his ammë said, pointing down the hall before ushering him into the sitting room. "We’ll just wait until the bags have been brought up."

"I only had the one," Finrod said with a faint smile, "and I could easily have carried it myself."

Amarië actually looked askance at that but Eärwen merely smiled at her firstborn. "Perhaps, but we should not deny others the joy of serving and fulfilling their duty to us."

"True," Finrod said with a nod. "I’d forgotten that. Thank you for reminding me." The utter sincerity of his words impressed his parents though Amarië kept her expression neutral and her thoughts to herself.

"Well, I for one wish for a bath," she said to no one in particular, tossing her cloak to a chair and shaking her skirts out.

"Again?" Finrod couldn’t help saying, his expression one of disbelief, though in truth, he was feeling grimy from the traveling as well and was looking forward to his own bath, but he just couldn’t help teasing this proper elleth, who rewarded him with a scowl and a disdainful sniff

"Findaráto," Arafinwë said, giving him a warning look.

Finrod laughed. "Sorry. I just couldn’t resist. In truth, I want nothing more than to bathe and fall into bed myself."

"Sleep?" Amarië asked. "You want to sleep when it’s not even the dinner hour?"

Finrod shrugged. "I am feeling weary all of a sudden. I think I need to lie down before I fall down."

Arafinwë took him by the shoulders and gave him a piercing stare. "Why don’t I take you to your rooms, then, and you may rest while I have a bath readied for you. There will be no welcoming feast until tomorrow night so it will just be us. In fact, I think I will dismiss the servants and we will serve ourselves, how’s that?"

"That will be fine," Finrod said. "I’m feeling just a bit... unsettled and...."

"There is no need to explain, dear," Eärwen said, giving him a kiss. "Go and rest and bathe and we will call you when dinner is ready."

Finrod nodded and allowed his atar to escort him to his own suite of rooms. He was unsurprised to see that they were painted in shades of blue, quiet and peaceful. His one bag and his harp were placed beside his ornate bed. A servant was opening shutters on the windows as he and Arafinwë entered. His atar instructed the ellon to ready a bath and then he was being encouraged to lie down while the servant went to do his lord’s bidding. Arafinwë stayed with him, but once the bath was prepared, he and the servant left him alone.

"If you need anything or any help," Arafinwë said just before he left, "I’ll be in the sitting room."

Finrod nodded and then went to bathe. He did not stay in the bath long, for he was indeed feeling weary and desired only to lie down for a time before dinner. He pulled a house robe from his bag and donned it. Then he reached into his bag for a brush and noticed Eärnur’s gift tucked away in a corner, completely forgotten until that moment. Pulling it out of the bag, he sat on his bed and untied the white ribbon, wondering what his friend had given him. Unwrapping it, he found a slim volume bound in plain suede leather. Opening it to the first page he had to laugh at the title: ‘Parma Axanion Ennónain’. A bit of vellum slipped out and when he read what was written on it he felt himself choking up with emotions: ‘Hithrían bound this with a little help and I illustrated the pages. Eärnur’.

Turning the page he smiled at the simple yet detailed line drawing of him working on one of his baskets. Then he read what was there and snorted in amusement: ‘Rule One: Everyone, except a Reborn, is always right’. Turning the page he laughed out loud as he read: ‘Rule Two: If anyone other than a Reborn is wrong, refer back to Rule One’. He settled himself on the bed, quite forgetting he was going to brush his hair, and began reading the rest of the volume, admiring the simple illustrations depicting typical scenes from Lórien with many of them showing his friends. Some of the rules were just as absurd as the first two. Rule Fifteen was particularly hysterical: ‘Reborn must attend all classes. The only excuse allowed is death by boredom with a signed note by Lord Námo’. Many of them, however, were more poignant, such as Rule Nine: ‘When overcome by memories and emotions, it is advisable for a Reborn to sleep with their favorite stuffed toy and with all candles lit’; and Rule Twenty-two: ‘Reborn are allowed to act child-like so long as they do not act childish’.

By the time he reached the end of the volume, there were tears running down his cheeks as he read the last ‘rule’: ‘When in doubt, remember that you are loved by Eru and the Valar and by us’. Below this were not only Eärnur’s and Hithrían’s signatures, as he had expected, but also Ingil’s, Olorin’s and Tindomerel’s, and he realized that Eärnur must have asked the Maiar who had been his chief caregivers to help contribute to the volume.

He sniffed a bit as he placed the book on the night table next to his bed and wiped the tears from his face, and settled more deeply onto the bed. It was almost too soft for his taste, for he was more used to the sleeping couches and cots that he had slept in since being reborn. Still, it felt good to just lie still. His eyes wandered around the room trying to make some emotional connection to it, but it was just a room, rather pleasant with the light of the late afternoon sun playing through the embrasures, but nothing more. He stared in bemusement at the sun motes floating in the air and felt himself drifting onto the Path of Dreams.

So it was that when Arafinwë came to call him for dinner, Finrod never heard his knock. Opening the door to the bedroom, Arafinwë found him fast asleep, lying on top of the covers dressed in a house robe. He did not have the heart to wake him, so he found another blanket in a clothespress and covered him with it before giving him a kiss on the brow. Finrod’s only response was to snuggle deeper under the covers, giving a contented sigh.

****

Finrod woke suddenly to complete darkness, and panicked, unsure where he was at first. "Olórin!" he screamed, flailing about, trying to disentangle himself from a blanket that he had no memory of covering himself with. In his rising terror, he felt trapped, as if chained, and the memory of his death rose before him. "Olórin! It’s too dark! It’s too dark!"

The door opened and someone entered.

"NO!!" Finrod screamed, seeing only eyes, stumbling off the bed on the other side away from the door. "Olórin! Tindomerel!"

"Finda! Finda! What’s wrong, child?"

Arafinwë rushed into the room with Eärwen right behind him. He was carrying a candle which he thrust into his wife’s hand before coming around to the other side of the bed where his son crouched in obvious terror, mumbling, "It’s too dark, it’s too dark," and weeping all the while. Arafinwë went to his knees before his son and, as gently as possible, took him into his embrace and began rocking him. Then he turned to Eärwen, who stood there in shock and horror. "Get every candle and lantern you can find," he said to her. "Rouse the servants. I want this room ablaze with light as if if Arien herself were here."

Eärwen nodded and turned to see Amarië standing uncertainly at the doorway. "Come here, child, and take this candle. Light all the candles you can find in this room while I speak to the servants."

Amarië hesitated just long enough for Eärwen to become impatient. "Stop dawdling, Amarië, and do as I’ve bid." Then she handed the candle to the elleth and pushed past her into the outer room, going to the hallway where several servants and guards were standing about, having heard the unearthly screams. She issued orders and immediately they scattered to do the queen’s bidding. Amarië, in the meantime, came around to the other side of the bed, grimacing at the sight of her supposed betrothed huddled in his atar’s arms like an elfling. She was careful, though, to wipe the disapproval from her face when Arafinwë looked up.

"What’s wrong with him?" she asked, hoping she sounded properly solicitous.

"I do not know," Arafinwë answered readily enough. "I think he had a nightmare and waking up in the dark in what must still feel like a strange room set him off. Ah... good." He looked up as several ellyn and ellyth came in carrying candles of every size and shape, a few with lanterns as well. "Place them where you will and light them," he ordered and Amarië took her own candle and went around lighting the ones being brought in. Soon the room was awash in candlelight and there were so many it seemed almost like day. Eärwen thanked the servants for their prompt attention and dismissed them while Arafinwë turned his attention to Finrod, who was still weeping, refusing to look up.

"Finda," Arafinwë said softly. "Look, hinya, look. See, it’s not dark at all. See all the candles. Look, child. That’s it. See. All is well. There is naught to fear." Slowly, Arafinwë stood with Finrod still in his arms and the ellon allowed himself to be pulled up from his crouch and looked around to see all the candles. He had to take several deep breaths as the terror of his initial waking receded.

"I... I’m sorry," he stammered, now feeling ashamed. "It was so dark."

"Why are you afraid of the dark?" Arafinwë asked softly as he helped his son to sit on the edge of the bed. Eärwen came and sat on his other side, gently rubbing Finrod’s back. Amarië, apparently forgotten, stood by the door and listened with growing dismay at Finrod’s words.

"I... I d-died in the dark," Finrod whispered, not looking at them, but staring at a bank of candles that now stood upon the mantlepiece of the fireplace that graced one wall of the room.

"You weren’t afraid to sleep before, though, when we stopped at Eldamas," Eärwen said.

"I made sure there were enough candles lit to last the night when we were there," Finrod confessed. "I can’t sleep without candlelight. Wh-when I was first re-embodied, I couldn’t sleep inside at night at all, but spent the nights outside watching the stars. It took me a long time to be able to sleep inside at night with candles burning. When I woke up just now and it was dark, I... I guess I panicked. I’m sorry...."

"Hush," Arafinwë said gently. "There is no reason to be sorry. I only wish you had warned us so we would have had a candle lit when we left you sleeping."

Finrod looked sheepish. "I guess I didn’t want you to think I was an elfling."

"Well, unfortunately, yonya, you’ll always be an elfling to us," Arafinwë said with a fond smile, "but in this case, I do not think anything of the sort. I had my own nightmares when I came back to Tirion after the war. There is no shame in that." He gave his son a fierce hug and Finrod seemed more appeased.

"You were shouting some names," Eärwen said, "Olórin and Tindomerel. Who are they?"

"My Maiar," Finrod replied.

"Your Maiar?" Amarië couldn’t help asking, giving him a jaundiced look. "I wasn’t aware you had any. Are you now one of the Valar to have your own Maiar?"

Finrod laughed. "No. I don’t think I’m that good. Olórin and Tindomerel were my caregivers when I was residing in the Gardens of the Reborn shortly after my re-embodiment. They helped me to relearn what I needed to know about living in a hröa again."

"Ah..." was all Amarië said.

Eärwen then leaned over and gave her son a loving kiss. "Are you feeling better, dear? Would you like to go back to sleep? You missed dinner, but if you’re feeling hungry we can have something brought to you."

"I am feeling a little hungry," Finrod said, "but I don’t think I will sleep immediately. I think I’ll stay up and read if there are any books...."

"I’ll find something for you from the library," Arafinwë said, "while your ammë brings you something to eat."

Finrod nodded and in a short while he was happily ensconced in his bed with a tray bearing some cold meat, fruit and cheese, fresh-baked bread and a goblet of mellow wine. His atar brought him not one, but several books, claiming that they had been Finrod’s favorites when he was younger. Arafinwë and Eärwen kissed him good-night and then herded Amarië out the door, leaving him to his meal and his books surrounded by a score or more of candles.

"Why don’t you go back to bed, dear?" Eärwen advised Amarië and after giving them both pecks on the cheek, she retired to her own rooms, her expression pensive. By mutual agreement, Arafinwë and Eärwen made their way to the sitting room and sat quietly side-by-side on a settee, their arms wrapped around each other. Neither spoke for some time, but finally Arafinwë sighed.

"Do you think if I wrote to Lord Námo for a set of instructions on the care and feeding of Reborn, I would get a reply?" he asked.

Eärwen gave him a surprised look but when she noticed the glint of humor in his eyes, she gave a light laugh. "I would love to be there to see his expression when he receives your letter."

Arafinwë gave his wife a kiss on her brow. "So would I." Then he moved to kiss her on the lips and for a time neither spoke. Dawn was only a couple of hours away when they finally sought their own beds.

****

Parma Axanion Ennónain: ‘Book of Rules for Reborn’. The word axan, adopted and adapted from Valarin, is defined as ‘law, rule, as primarily proceeding from Eru’. The normal word for ‘law’ or ‘rule’ is sanyë. Eärnur is therefore making a joke, claiming that these particular ‘rules’ come straight from Eru.