22: Confrontation

The Hunt with Lord Oromë changed things for me and my atar, though it was not immediately apparent. Still, a bond was formed between us that had not been there previously. It was tenuous and there were times when my immaturity strained it, yet it was never broken and it only grew stronger as the days, weeks and years passed.

By mutual consent we kept our adventure with Lord Oromë to ourselves, for we did not wish to alarm my ammë unduly. When she noticed we returned without any game we simply said that there was none to be had that day but that we had a good time anyway and she was content with our explanation.

And so time passed. I became used to the routine of the palace and no longer felt as if I were a visitor in my own home. Atar invited me to attend court and to sit in on his council meetings, but did not press for me to do more than observe. He did sometimes quiz me about how I might have handled certain situations when I was ruling in Nargothrond, and often I could dredge up some memory to aid me in my answer. We did not always agree about each other’s methods of ruling, but I think we both learned from each other.

In spite of this, though, some people in Atar’s court were less than welcoming of my presence....

****

Finrod usually spent the mornings sitting beside Arafinwë observing his atar conduct court. This particular morning there was an open court allowing any citizen of Tirion to come before the king with their complaints. Finrod remembered times when he, too, did something similar, and recalled that half the time the proceedings were so boring and the complaints so banal that it was a wonder he didn’t fall asleep on his throne. He gave a sideways glance at his atar and hid a smile. For all that the Noldóran’s expression was one of studied attention to the case before him, Finrod could tell that his atar was as bored as he, probably more so.

He turned his attention back to the case at hand, something to do with a property dispute. As near as he could figure, there was a question about who had the responsibility of maintaining the common wall separating the gardens of the two parties. Apparently, the wall had been neglected for some time, each party believing that the other was responsible for its upkeep. The two ellith involved were each giving reasons why they should not be the one responsible. To Finrod, the solution was obvious and he wondered if living in the peace and serenity of Aman had dulled the wits of its inhabitants, for neither ellith was exhibiting any common sense in the matter, as far as he was concerned.

He sighed, almost wishing for an invasion of orcs to liven up the proceedings a bit. He idly wondered if he should take the initiative and threaten them with death if they didn’t come to an agreement within the next five minutes, but then he realized he no longer had a sword handy and spent some minutes fantasizing about making one. It took him a moment to realize that his atar had spoken to him.

He blinked, feeling a bit stupid for his inattention and looked at Arafinwë, whose expression was actually sympathetic, even amused. “Sorry, Atto,” he mumbled. “What was your question?”

“I was wondering how you would decide this case,” Arafinwë asked.

Finrod glanced at the two ellith standing before them. They stared at him curiously, as if not sure who he was, for no one had introduced him to them. He took a deep breath and let it out. “Well, I was just thinking I should threaten them with death if they didn’t come to some agreement between them,” he answered and smiled as the two ellith blanched and several courtiers standing around raised their eyebrows at him.

Arafinwë’s own expression became unreadable. “Is that how you would have decided in your own court?” he asked quietly.

Finrod gave him a startled look, as if just realizing that what he had said was inappropriate. “Oh no, but only because no one would have dared come to me with such a petty complaint, not when orcs were running about loose in the countryside threatening everyone. If anyone had been foolish enough to waste my time, I would have thrown them out of Nargothrond without any weapons and let them fend for themselves.”

More eyebrows went up.

Arafinwë gave his son a considering look. “So you never had such a case come before you?”

“Well, nothing like, but there were a few who dared to importune my time with banalities,” Finrod allowed, giving his atar a lopsided grin. “I got real creative doling out punishments. After a while people learned to solve their own petty problems.”

“Punishments?” asked one of the courtiers whose name escaped Finrod at that moment.

Finrod nodded. “We lived under constant threat of discovery by Melkor and death,” he answered readily enough. “I had no time for trivialities, so after deciding on the case I would exact punishment on both parties as a lesson on not wasting my time.” He turned to Arafinwë with a wicked grin. “It worked too.”

“I bet it did,” Arafinwë replied, and Finrod could tell his atar was hard-pressed not to start laughing. “Still, I would hear your thoughts on this particular case.”

Finrod wrinkled his nose. “They should take turns maintaining the wall in alternate years, but they should share the expense of maintenance between them.” He saw his atar nod, giving him a look of approval, and couldn’t help adding, “I figured that out five minutes into the first argument. Why did you let them go on for so long? I was wondering should I die of boredom in the meantime would Lord Námo accept that as a legitimate excuse for my showing up on his front doorstep again.”

All eyebrows went up this time, including Arafinwë’s. “We’ll discuss tactics over dinner,” was all he said, as he turned to the two ellith. “My son’s solution is equable and fair and so we decree. Let the decision of this court stand as stated.” Then, without further ado, he stood and Finrod hastily followed him out through a side door leading to an antechamber for their use.

No sooner were they alone, the servants having been dismissed, then Arafinwë tossed his coronet on a table and turned to his son, who stood there looking somewhat uncertain, as if unsure if he was about to be punished or praised. Arafinwë gave him a smile. “Threaten them with death?” he asked and started laughing, taking his son by the shoulders and hugging him. “Oh, yonya, just to see the expressions on everyone’s faces when you said that was worth all the boredom that came before.”

“Sorry, Atto,” Finrod said with some remorse. “I know I was out of line, but....”

“It’s all right, Finda,” Arafinwë said soothingly. “I know how you felt, for I was just as bored, but I let the proceedings continue for as long as I did because sometimes the complainants end up boring themselves as well and are more willing to accept any solution offered them.”

Finrod nodded. “I guess,” he said, “but truthfully, I sat there thinking an invasion of orcs would do them all some good. Having an orc in your face makes things so much clearer and simpler and you learn to come up with solutions fast or you die.”

“Well, unfortunately there are no orcs to be had,” Arafinwë said, giving Finrod another hug and a brief kiss on his forehead. “At any rate, I think we are done with court for the day. I hope soon you will feel confident enough to conduct court on your own. It’s time for you to take up the responsibilities of being my heir.”

Finrod paled at that. “I... I don’t think... I mean... it’s too soon.....”

“I did not say immediately, yonya,” Arafinwë assured him with a gentle smile. “I said soon. In the meantime, let us put such thoughts aside for now. It is nearly noon. Why don’t we join your ammë and Amarië for lunch and then you are free for the rest of the day. Do as you please, but do not leave the palace grounds.”

Finrod nodded and in truth he did not mind the stricture, for he still felt nervous having the citizens stare at him whenever he ventured beyond the palace gates. He was content to amuse himself by wandering through the gardens. Thus, as soon as the noon meal was done with he excused himself and went to his room to retrieve a book and a couple of apples from the fruit bowl in his sitting room and then made his way into the gardens, nodding to the gardeners as he passed them. He had a specific goal in mind, an oak tree, old and gnarled, whose ancient branches made an ideal roost. He clambered up into the tree, silently greeting it and then settled down to read, munching on an apple.

The book, a treatise on languages by the Loremaster Rúmil, was interesting, but not quite as interesting as the tree in which Finrod sat. Every once in a while his eyes would lift from the pages of the book to look at one of the lower branches, so inviting, and he could almost feel the motion of his hröa as it swung from it, creating a breeze on this warm early autumn day. Then he would shake his head, determined not to give into what he knew to be an elflingish impulse and return to his book, but it was no use. Even the tree seemed to murmur to him, its leaves rustling slightly, ever inviting him to play. With a sigh he closed the book and leapt from the tree, placing the book carefully on the ground with the second apple sitting on top of it. Then he straightened and eyed the branch that was so perfect for swinging on. Glancing around and seeing no one, even going so far as to peek over the nearby hedges to make sure no one was in the immediate vicinity, he grabbed hold of the branch and was soon swinging merrily from it, playfully attempting to snatch the apple from on top of the book as he hummed a wordless tune, though the apple was just out of his reach.

Thus, he was not paying attention to anything else and was taken by surprise when several people approached him. Finrod could see that they were courtiers, three ellyn and a couple of ellith, apparently taking an afternoon stroll through the garden. He silently cursed himself for being so inattentive as not to hear them coming in time, but continued to swing from the branch, effecting an unconcerned look as he watched them come near. They had obviously seen him and he could hear the ellith giggling at something one of the ellyn was saying even as a second ellon was pointing at him. He did not know any of them well, for as yet he was still putting names to faces and these particular courtiers were not always present at his atar’s court.

“So, tell me, Selmacas,” Finrod heard one of the ellyn say, “what punishment would you mete out to a prince of Eldamar found swinging from a tree like an elfling?”  

Selmacas grinned and the two ellith tittered. None of their expressions were particularly friendly, as far as Finrod could tell, save the third ellon, who cast him a sympathetic look. The ellon then spoke before Selmacas could give an answer to the first ellon’s question.

“Now, Nambarauto,” he said chidingly, “don’t be nasty.”

Nambarauto gave the ellon a cool stare. “I’m not being nasty, Herendil, I’m just curious to know what Selmacas thinks.”

“What he thinks is unimportant,” Herendil retorted. Then he turned to Finrod, still swinging from the tree branch, and to the prince’s surprise and everyone else’s disgust, he gave Finrod a respectful bow. “Forgive us for disturbing you, Highness.” He smiled somewhat wistfully as he gazed at the tree. “I remember my sons swinging from this very same tree when they were younger. I think the tree misses them and I can feel how very glad it is to have someone swinging from its branches again.”

“It kept luring me away from my book,” Finrod explained almost apologetically, not sure how to take Herendil’s words. That they were sincere and not spoken in mockery was clear, but Finrod wasn’t sure how to react to them.

Herendil smiled more broadly. “Trees are very good at that, so I am told,” he replied. “I remember Vorondil and Aldundil telling me the very same thing when they should have been studying their lessons.”

“Bah!” Nambarauto exclaimed in disgust. “Why do you pretend to even care, Herendil? He’s responsible for your son’s death, after all.”

Finrod went completely still and the expressions on the faces of the two ellith became unreadable to him. Selmacas frowned and Herendil paled somewhat. “Prince Findaráto is not responsible for Vorondil’s death,” he said quietly. “The blame lies solely upon Melkor, as far as I am concerned. His Highness wasn’t even alive then.”

Nambarauto turned to Finrod and sneered. “I wonder if your precious atani, whom I met when I followed Arafinwë to Endórë during the War of Wrath, would find you quite so worshipful if they could see you now, swinging from a tree like an elfling. Their veneration of you was quite amusing to see, and I could never fathom their blind devotion to your memory, considering what a miserable failure you were both as a king and an Elf....”

He got no further for suddenly Finrod was down from the tree and there was a fire in his eyes as he faced them and the older Elves were reminded of the look in Lord Námo’s eyes when the Vala had issued the doom against Fëanáro. All of them, save Herendil, took an involuntary step back.

“I was not a failure,” Finrod hissed. “I was a great king to my people.”

“They turned their backs on you,” Nambarauto nearly shouted, “or at least, that’s what I heard. You threw away your crown for a Mortal and died a miserable death and for what? Whatever you hoped to achieve when you fled Aman, you failed. Your kingdom now lies under the Great Sea, forgotten by all.”

Finrod shook his head, anger beginning to cloud his judgment. “Not by all,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “While I live, Nargothrond will never be forgotten.”

“Did you really die for a Mortal?” one of the ellith asked.

“Not only died, Tarwen,” Nambarauto said before Finrod could answer, “but died in his own watchtower which the Enemy had seized. Ironic, isn’t it? And all because of some useless Mortal.”

“He wasn’t useless!” Finrod nearly screamed, tears beginning to stream from his eyes. The memory of Bëor and Barahir and Beren and all the Mortals he had come to know and love passed before his eyes. “Beren was noble and honorable in blood and spirit, and if it were not for his atar, Barahir, I would have been captured and brought before Melkor to be tortured and possibly enslaved. Barahir’s bravery and that of his men in rushing to my rescue when I was cut off from my troops and surrounded with but a small company of warriors was nothing short of wondrous and I will always be grateful for them.”

“What was it like to die?” the second ellith asked suddenly, her expression somewhat disturbing to Finrod, though he could not say why.

“That’s enough, Calalindalë!” Herendil said brusquely. “Prince Findaráto’s death is not a subject for public consumption.”

“I’ll thank you not to reprimand my daughter, Herendil,” Selmacas growled, his brows furrowing in anger. “You do not have the right.”

Herendil apparently was unimpressed, for he gave Selmacas a cool stare. “It’s high time someone did, Selmacas,” he said, “and as she is betrothed to my son, I have as much right as you.”

“At any rate,” Nambarauto interjected, ignoring the two ellyn as he gave Finrod a disdainful sniff, “in the end, you died anyway and not even for one of our own, but for a Mortal. Frankly, I think you should have stayed dead.”

Finrod went absolutely white and Herendil gasped in shock. Even Selmacas and the two ellith seemed nonplused by Nambarauto’s words. Then Finrod straightened to his full height, his blue eyes turning cold and there was an imperious look that reminded them of Arafinwë when he was angered.

“Yes, I died,” Finrod said in a voice of steel gloved in velvet, “and gladly would I do so again if in doing so my sacrifice serves the greater good. You accuse me of not being a very good king to my people, Nambarauto, but you have no concept of what kingship requires of one. Yes, in the end, when I needed them the most, they turned away from me, but some few remained loyal to me and ten of them died with me. I gave up my crown for the sake of an oath, an oath that was dearer to me than my life, for I would have had no life worth living if I had reneged on it. If that makes me a bad king, so be it, but you do not have the right to judge, none of you do.”

With that, he bent down to retrieve the apple and book, gave them all a scathing look and started to walk away, but then stopped and turned to face Nambarauto. “You are right about one thing, though,” he said. “I wish I had stayed dead, too.”

Then he stalked away, not caring where he was going, only knowing he needed to get away from them, from everyone. Tears streamed down his cheeks, blurring his vision, so he nearly crashed into someone who stood in his path. He stepped back, wiping the tears from his face to find himself gazing into the eyes of the Lord of Mandos.

“I hate them,” he whispered despairingly, “I hate them. Why are they so mean?”

Lord Námo said nothing but his eyes were so full of compassion and unconditional love that Finrod felt himself overwhelmed and a sense of shame and failure flooded him and he started to weep even harder. Námo took him into his embrace and held him through the storm of his emotions. When he finally calmed down, the Vala kissed him on the top of his head.

“Thou art my best beloved in whom I am well pleased,” the Lord of Mandos said softly as he continued to hold him, and there was a timbre to his voice that seemed to Finrod as if Another Voice spoke through him. “Do not ever regret being reborn, child. It is a gift to be cherished and those who do not understand or appreciate what a gift it truly is are not worthy of your hate, but your pity.” He kissed him a second time on the top of his head. “And I think you might have an ally in Herendil.”

“I wish Glorfi were here,” was all Finrod could think to say.

The Lord of Mandos sighed. “So do I,” was his surprising response and Finrod looked up to see the glint of humor in the Vala’s eyes and found himself grinning in spite of his tears.

“I just bet you do, lord,” he said slyly and Námo laughed, kissing him a third time on the top of his head before fading from view.

****

Note: Nambarauto appears in my story ‘Once Upon a Blizzard’. Selmacas, Tarwen, and Herendil are mentioned in Elf-Interrupted: Book Two. Calalindalë and Aldundil are recently betrothed and will marry within the year. Their son, Vorondil, named after Aldundil’s brother, will not be born for another sixty years.