25: Recuperation

I have no memory of the journey down the mountain. My first conscious thought was finding myself back in my old room in the palace. Words cannot adequately describe the sense of defeat and despair that took me then. The great Finrod Felagund... hah! I was only glad that there was no one from Beleriand there to see me in such a wretched state. I would have been in for some friendly teasing by Celeborn and Elu Thingol, but my sister would have been merciless in her scathing remarks. As it was, I had to endure the hurt looks in my atar’s and ammë’s faces, and knowing that I had disappointed them made my despair even blacker....

****

Manwë waited until Findaráto’s horse was making his way across the plains towards Tirion before he sent word to Arafinwë by way of one of his lesser Maiar. Arafinwë wasted no time in questions but made haste to intercept his son with only Calandil and Amandur accompanying him. They came upon Findaráto about two leagues from Tirion. The ellon was barely conscious, muttering something unintelligible as Calandil pulled him off Mistaráto and handed him into Arafinwë’s arms. Findaráto cried out with pain as his broken leg was jostled. Arafinwë’s expression became grim when he realized his son was injured.

“Hush, yonya,” he said. “All is well. Mistaráto is well and so are you.”

Findaráto lapsed back into unconsciousness. Calandil took a moment to softly assure Findaráto’s steed that his master was well and thanked the horse for bringing him back to them. Then they returned to the city where Arafinwë ordered healers to attend him. Eärwen took one look at the state of her son’s condition as Arafinwë brought him into the palace and cried out in dismay.

“He has suffered only a broken leg,” Arafinwë assured her, “and I do not sense anything else wrong with him save extreme fatigue.”

Eärwen allowed Arafinwë to lay their son on his bed before caressing his hair and face. “He looks so worn and thin,” she whispered.

“But he is alive and he will recover,” Arafinwë said. “That is the important thing. Come, meldanya, let the healers have him.”

Eärwen reluctantly gave way to the healers who had come and Arafinwë led her out of the room to their private sitting room where they sat together on a settee in silence while Calandil stood guard outside the door; Amandur was doing similar guard duty outside Findaráto’s rooms. After some time, there was a knock on the door and when Arafinwë called out, the door opened and Calandil admitted the chief healer into the room.

“How is he, Vardamir?” Arafinwë asked. The ellon had been an apprentice Lóriennildo at the time of the War of Wrath and had followed Arafinwë to Beleriand, becoming one of the Noldóran’s most trusted battle-healers. When they returned to Aman after the War, Lord Irmo had granted Vardamir his mastership immediately, thus confirming Arafinwë’s appointment of him as a court healer. The two, in fact, had become close friends during the course of the War and Vardamir was as much Arafinwë’s confidant as he was his chief healer.

“Aside from the broken leg and the fact that he apparently has not eaten a proper meal in some time,” Vardamir answered, “he is otherwise well. The leg was broken in two places and it will take some time for him to fully heal. What he needs most is rest and food, though he should be fed light broths and white rolls and perhaps lightly boiled eggs for a day or two until his stomach is able to tolerate more substantial foods. At the moment I’ve put him in healing sleep. I will have one of my people remain to rouse him on occasion so he can take some broth and see to his personal needs, but I will not let him waken fully until the day after tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Vardamir,” Arafinwë said with relief. “Do whatever you must to ensure our son recovers completely.”

“Physically, he should be well in a couple of weeks,” Vardamir said, pursing his lips, his brow furrowed in thought, “but as for his emotional state... that might take longer to heal. He suffered a grave trauma and then one must also consider the underlying cause of his flight as well.”

“We will deal with all that as it arises,” Arafinwë said firmly. “Surely there are healers who are more conversant with the ills of the fëa than the hröa. I know that is not your specialty.”

“No, it is not, and the fact that Prince Findaráto is also a Reborn complicates things,” Vardamir replied. “I may have to consult with Lord Irmo about this, with your permission, of course, Arafinwë.”

“You need not my permission to consult with your own lord, my friend,” Arafinwë said with a faint smile. “I know that I am only borrowing you from him for a time.”

Vardamir snorted as he raised an eyebrow. “Well, in that case, I will speak to Lord Irmo about this.” Then he made his obeisance to his king and queen and left.

For a time Arafinwë and Eärwen remained silent and then Eärwen spoke. “Let us hope between Vardamir and Lord Irmo, our son can find full healing for all his wounds, especially those that are invisible.”

“Násië,” Arafinwë replied with great feeling. “Come, let us sit with our son for a while.”

Eärwen nodded and together they rose and went to sit with Findaráto, though he never knew they were there.

****

Finrod woke fully to find his parents sitting beside his bed. He blinked stupidly up at the ceiling, as if not sure where he was, and then memory came forth and he sighed and closed his eyes.

“No, yonya,” he heard his atar say, “open your eyes.”

Finrod complied with the command, for command it was, and he had the feeling that he was looking, not at his atar, but at the Noldóran. Arafinwë’s expression gave nothing away as to what he was thinking, but his ammë’s eyes were full of tenderness and love, though there was a hint of worry and perhaps even dismay lurking in their depths. Whether it was dismay at what he had done or what had happened to him, he could not say.

“I will not ask you why you left as you did,” his atar said without preamble, “for I have a very good idea why. I will only say this.” He leaned closer to lock gazes with his son. “Don’t ever do anything like that again. Is that clear?”

Finrod nodded, tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry, Atto.”

“I know you are, yonya,” Arafinwë said, brushing Finrod’s hair in a gentle manner. “The important thing is that you are back home where you belong. Would you like to tell us how you managed to break your leg? You have the healers all in a dither over it.”

“Why?” Finrod asked in honest confusion.

Arafinwë actually smiled. “Broken legs are not something that happens on a regular basis in Aman,” he explained. “I think Vardamir actually had to arm-wrestle with half his staff for the privilege of setting the bones himself.”

“You’re jesting,” Finrod declared in disbelief.

“Almost,” his atar said with a laugh. “Vardamir hasn’t had a chance to do much bone-setting since the War. He was quite eager to get his hands on you, let me tell you.”

“Maybe I should break more bones just so the other healers can get a chance to practice,” Finrod quipped somewhat sleepily as he yawned and rapidly blinked his eyes, trying to keep awake.

“Get some rest, yonya,” Arafinwë said, giving him a kiss on his brow. Eärwen did the same. “When you waken again I’ll have something brought for you to eat. Vardamir says you are much too thin.”

Finrod, however, was already asleep and never heard what his atar was saying.

****

The next week went by in a haze for Finrod. He was physically weakened by his travails and he was heart-sore. He did not eat much of what was given him and was generally unresponsive to those around him, sleeping much of the time, or at least, pretending to. Vardamir was as concerned by his low spirits as he was by the fact that the bones were not mending as quickly as they should.

“He is not responding well,” he told Arafinwë and Eärwen about a week after Finrod was brought out of healing sleep. “He should be up and hobbling around on crutches by now.”

“He is very depressed,” Eärwen said worriedly. “He won’t talk about what happened. I think he is trying to fade.”

Vardamir nodded. “So do I,” he said. “I wish I understood more what the effects of dying are on someone’s fëa. I just don’t have enough experience dealing with any Reborn to know what to do for him.”

“Have you consulted with Lord Irmo, as you said you would?” Arafinwë asked.

“I delayed doing so as I wanted to see if Findaráto would recover on his own,” Vardamir answered.

“Then I think it is time that you did,” Arafinwë said, “before it is too late.”

Vardamir nodded and sighed, his professional pride slightly bruised by the prince’s refusal to cooperate in his own healing. “I will leave for Lórien tomorrow,” he said and then left to make the necessary preparations.

****

During the next week Findaráto’s condition did not improve, though neither did it deteriorate. The bones finally knitted and he was encouraged to begin strengthening the muscles by walking short distances. Findaráto would have been happy just to lie in bed but Arafinwë would not hear of it and ordered him to get out of bed.

“You may do so voluntarily,” he told Finrod, “or I will have Amandur and Calandil drag you out of bed. Your choice.”

Finrod could tell his atar was serious and did as he was told, little though he liked it. Still, the enforced activity seemed to lighten his mood somewhat and he even ate more than usual, which heartened his parents and the healers. Yet, none of them were satisfied with the ellon’s progress and counted down the days when Vardamir would return from Lórien, hopefully with a solution to their problem.

The solution came in a rather unexpected manner.

****

Finrod woke one morning about a month after his return to Tirion to find the last person he expected to see sitting quietly beside his bed.

“Eärnur?” he said in a shocked whisper.

“I’m rather disappointed in you, Findaráto,” Eärnur said by way of greeting. Finrod actually cringed at the coldness in his friend’s voice. “I little like being dragged away from my work and my studies to tend to a recalcitrant Noldo. I have better things to do with my time, believe me.”

“What are you doing here?” Finrod demanded, growing somewhat angry at Eärnur’s attitude.

“I am here at the behest of Lord Irmo and your parents,” Eärnur replied. “Apparently, no one seems to know what to do with you, so they sent me to straighten you out.”

“I don’t need straightening out,” Finrod protested angrily. “And I certainly don’t need you here. Go back to Lórien, Eärnur, and leave me to myself.”

“Sorry, but I don’t take orders from you, aran,” Eärnur said haughtily and Finrod paled at the implied insult. “I understand your leg has healed and you have begun exercising the muscles.”

“They make me walk from here to the sitting room and back,” Finrod said quietly.

“Huh! That won’t do at all,” Eärnur snorted in disgust. “Come. Let’s get you dressed and then we’re going out to the gardens.”

“Don’t I get to break my fast first?” Finrod demanded.

“Exercise first, eat second,” Eärnur said in a no nonsense voice as he rose, reaching down to drag the bedclothes back. “I’ll have them bring breakfast out to the garden. It’ll be more pleasant there even though it’s nearly winter.”

Finrod sighed. “I’ve had enough snow to last me for several lives of Men.”

“You can tell me all about it while we walk,” Eärnur said, going to the wardrobe and pulling out a couple of tunics. “Now, do you want to wear the blue tunic or the green?”

****

Finrod later had to confess that Eärnur was the best thing that could have happened to him. The young Teler was not in awe of him and took no nonsense from him either. Finrod wanted to hate him, but the ellon’s perpetual cheerfulness was too infectious and he couldn’t stay angry with his friend for very long. So it was that within two days of Eärnur’s arrival, Finrod was walking without the aid of crutches and was eating well. When Arafinwë happened upon the two ellyn in one of the gardens some days later and heard his son’s unforced laughter at something Eärnur had said, he silently gave thanks to Lord Irmo for sending the young Teler to them.

He had to admit to himself that when Vardamir had returned with Eärnur, he had been doubtful that the apprentice Lóriennildo could do for his son what even Vardamir could not, but now he realized that Lord Irmo had sent the one person who could bring his son out of his depression and for that he would be forever grateful.

With Eärnur’s encouragement, Finrod reluctantly shared with his parents the tale of his adventures which had ended in such disaster. “It was as if the mountain itself was conspiring against me,” he concluded. Arafinwë kept his own counsel about that, suspecting that more was behind his son’s misadventures than met the eye.

“At least you survived,” was all he said, “and that is all that matters to us.”

Still, Finrod remained puzzled by it all and his mood would darken from time to time at the thought of having been bested by the mountain. “I lived in a harsher environment than that mountain field for centuries,” he said to Eärnur one day as the two ellyn were sitting under a maple tree almost denuded of leaves now that they were only a month away from the winter solstice, “yet in less than two months I was forced to leave it.”

“You were never meant to hide in the mountains, Findaráto,” Eärnur said, “of that, I am sure. If the mountain defeated you, there was a reason. I know you do not like it here in Tirion and I am sorry you are not finding acceptance among the people in your atar’s court, but running away solves nothing and it nearly ended in complete disaster. You could just as easily have died... again. Do you really think Lord Námo would have been very happy to see your sorry fëa cluttering up his doorway again?”

The last was said so drolly that Finrod couldn’t help but laugh. “I guess not,” he averred once he calmed down. “About the only good thing that’s come out of it is that Atar sent Amarië back to Vanyamar for a time. At least I won’t have to listen to her complaining about everything to do with me.”

“I do not know the Lady Amarië,” Eärnur said, “but it does sadden me that the two of you no longer get along. I understand you and she were very much in love.”

“If that’s so, why did I leave or why didn’t she come with me?” Finrod retorted with a frown.

“I have no answers for you,” Eärnur said. “I doubt if anyone really does. You did not remain behind or even turn back as your atar did and she did not accompany you. I’m afraid you and she will have to deal with the consequences of both your decisions — yours to go and hers to remain behind — as best you may and hope for the best in the future.”

Finrod sighed and leaned back against the tree which whispered sleepily but did not fully waken. “I wonder if my friends are having the same trouble adjusting as I am.”

“Probably,” Eärnur said. “Unlike you, though, they don’t have an atar who is the Noldóran and can appeal to the Valar for help whenever their Reborn child does something like run away. They are forced to muddle through on their own. You might keep that in mind when you think you’re the only one suffering.”

Finrod blushed at the mild reprimand. “I’m glad you’re my friend, Eärnur,” he said softly.

Eärnur threw his arm around Finrod’s shoulders and gave him a hug. “So am I, meldonya,” he said with all sincerity, “so am I.”

****

Meldanya: My beloved.

Meldonya: My (male) friend.