31: Seeking Glorfindel

That first New Year’s Ball was clearly a disaster for me, but as with all things, I recovered from my embarrassment and moved on. Life continues, whether we wish it to or not. Rúmilion, Mardillë and Serindë remained my friends and indeed were inducted into the Order of the Prince’s Courtesy, as was Herendil’s wife, Vandacalimë. In spite of my prediction, the Order did not become moribund, but thrived in its own way and gained respectability in the eyes of the nobles. The number of Companions always remained small, and those who were inducted were genuinely surprised and honored by the invitation to join. When, with my atar’s approval and the approval of the Companions, I inducted one of the palace servants, a groom who was unfailingly polite and helpful to all and sundry, people began to take note and began to take the Order seriously for what it meant.

That a palace groom could be an exemplar to the nobility did not sit well with many, but for others it made them think of their own attitudes and behavior. Slowly, almost unconsciously, the people of the court became more courteous to one another and to those of lower stations. Atar was pleased with the result and I suspect it was half the reason for his creating the Order in the first place.

Thus, time passed: days, weeks, months, even years. Life continued to unfold itself for me with its peaks and valleys. Most days I managed to get through without too much mishap and what had once seemed strange to me became routine, though there were still occasions when I would become despondent or simply regress emotionally. Such occasions were getting rarer and usually followed upon a dark memory that would surface in which emotional connections were made. My parents and my friends learned not to press me for details but would let me speak (if I desired to do so) in my own time.

As I progressed emotionally, restrictions which had been placed on me by my parents were lifted. Eventually, I was allowed as much freedom of movement as I desired, to come and go as I pleased. With greater maturity, of course, came greater responsibilities, though for some reason I was reluctant to take them up. I am not sure why. Perhaps having once been a king in my own right, I felt diminished in my new role as a prince, and saw no point to it.

More than anything, I wanted Glorfindel with me and yearned for him as a thirsty man yearns for water. It was an unquenchable desire that no amount of responsibilities, court functions, or social engagements could satisfy. Always I would look vainly for one whom I loved as a brother, but amid the crowds of dark-haired Noldor no golden-haired ellon stood out....

****

“I would like to leave Tirion for a time, if I may,” Finrod said to his atar one early evening as they were strolling together through one of the palace gardens, taking their ease and enjoying one another’s company. Eärendil was shining brightly in the western sky and Finrod smiled faintly at it, still thinking of it as ‘his star’.

“Where would you go?” Arafinwë asked. “Do you wish to visit with your anontaru in Alqualondë? You’ve never asked after them in all these years.”

Finrod shrugged. “I am afraid that for the longest time I did not even remember them, and then when I did, the memories centered around... around the Kinslaying.”

Arafinwë put an arm around his shoulders to comfort him. “I wish you had told me,” he said softly.

“I didn’t want to burden you with yet another stupid memory,” Finrod replied with a snort of disgust.

“Child, it is not a burden,” Arafinwë rejoined. “I am your atar. It’s my duty and my privilege to help ease my children’s hurts. You should never have to carry such burdens of memory by yourself.”

Finrod nodded. “I know. Sometimes, though, the very thought of speaking about such memories to others tires me.”

His atar gave him a strange look. “A rather odd turn of phrase.”

Finrod grinned. “I suppose, but it’s true nonetheless. The thought of sharing my darker memories with others when they surfaced... I just could not find the strength within me to do so.”

Arafinwë nodded in understanding. “Yet, if ever such memories surface in the future, I hope you will come to me or your ammë. Do not think you need to go through this alone. We have not pressed too much and have allowed you to work through things on your own as much as possible, but even I am sometimes overwhelmed by my own dark memories and need the loving support of Eärwen. It is neither a sign of weakness nor immaturity to seek such comfort from others.”

Finrod nodded. “I will remember that, thank you.”

“So, do you wish to see your anontaru?” Arafinwë asked, getting back to the original topic of discussion.

“Why have they never come here to see me?” Finrod asked, suddenly wondering.

“I asked them not to,” Arafinwë replied.

Finrod stopped and stared at his atar in confusion. “Why?”

“Not because I did not wish for them to come,” Arafinwë assured him, “but I thought it best to have them wait until you were feeling more certain of your surroundings. Your ammë and I did not want to overwhelm you with too much too soon. Your anontaru understood this and agreed to wait until you were ready. In fact, your anatar suggested that you might wish to spend some time with them in Alqualondë.”

Finrod pondered that for a moment or two, then shook his head. “I think I need more time,” he said apologetically.

Arafinwë nodded. “Then where is it you wish to go? Certainly not to Vanyamar?”

“Vanyamar? No. Not there,” Finrod replied. “I was thinking of returning to Lórien for a time.”

Now Arafinwë looked nonplused. “Lórien? Why would you want to return there?”

Finrod shrugged. “I... I just do,” he said. In truth, he had not thought about giving an explanation for his decision. He did not think his parents would approve, but hoped that they would allow him to go without explanation.

“For how long?” Arafinwë asked.

“I really hadn’t thought about it,” Finrod said. “I know I cannot remain away for very long but....”

“You do have responsibilities here, you know,” his atar pointed out.

Finrod gave him a grimace. “Responsibilities I do not wish to take up,” he said with some heat, “for there is no point to them.”

“Why do you say that?” Arafinwë demanded.

“I was a king once,” Finrod explained, “but now, I am nothing.”

“You are a prince of Eldamar, my son and my heir,” Arafinwë protested. “I do not think that makes you nothing.”

“It makes me less than what I was,” Finrod retorted. “Well, at least the prince part,” he amended hastily, realizing from the hurt expression on his atar’s face that he may have offended him. “My kingdom was extensive and while I ruled, I ruled wisely and well. That much, at least, I remember. Here, no one cares that I was ever a king. Many do not even believe me when I speak of Nargothrond, claiming that I’ve made it up as a way of aggrandizing my status beyond what they think it should be.” This last was said with disdain and anger and hurt, for such accusations were contrary to his very character and it pained him that others would so besmirch his honor and belittle the accomplishments of his former life.

Arafinwë sighed. “I know you were once a king, yonya,” he said. “When I went to Beleriand, I saw the ruins of Nargothrond and marveled that you had built it. Everywhere I went, your name was on the lips of the people. They honored me simply because of you.” He paused and gave his son a wistful smile. “I confess that at times I felt almost jealous.”

Finrod gave him a surprised look but did not comment.

“But, that is the past,” Arafinwë continued firmly, “and this is the present and in the here and now your status as a king of Beleriand has no sway in Aman. You need to accept that. I have waited a long time for you to return and help me to rule the Noldor, you know.”

“Why?” Finrod asked in honest confusion. “You seemed to have done well without me, without any of us. You certainly do not need me for that.”

“But I do,” Arafinwë replied. “I always have. You will never know how alone I felt without you and your siblings beside me, supporting me. All I had was your ammë and I fear that sometimes that wasn’t always enough.”

Now Finrod was distressed. “I didn’t know,” he whispered.

“You couldn’t, nor do I blame you,” his atar said gently. “Yet, now that you are returned to us... well, it has always been my fondest dream that you would be by my side, helping me rule.”

“I have often wondered why, of all of us who died, I was the first to be re-embodied,” Finrod said with a sigh. “Uncle Ñolofinwë should have been reborn before me, having died first.”

“I do not know, yonya,” Arafinwë said. “I would have welcomed your uncle as gladly as I welcomed you and for the same reasons, but I am glad that you were reborn first. Perhaps, because I hold the crown as Noldóran, the Valar felt releasing Ñolofinwë, who, as the elder brother, by rights should thus be king, would cause too much conflict at this time. As you are my natural heir, you are less controversial in that respect.”

Finrod nodded. “I suppose,” he averred. “At any rate, do I have your permission to return to Lórien, Atto?”

“You have not yet told me why you wish to go there,” Arafinwë rejoined.

“Do I need a reason, other than that I wish to go?” Finrod demanded. “How long will it be before I can simply state my desires without being harangued as to my motives?”

“Harangued?” Arafinwë echoed, giving him a frown. “I do not see asking a simple question as haranguing.”

“Well I do,” Finrod said forcefully, then sighed. “Very well. I wish to go to Lórien to visit my friend, Eärnur. Is that reason enough for you?” His tone was full of anger and frustration.

“Yonya, you forget to whom you are speaking,” Arafinwë said softly.

“No, I do not,” Finrod retorted and stalked away, ignoring his atar’s calls. It was such a simple request and he could not see why he had to explain his every move to others. He felt sure that if he weren’t a Reborn, he could have simply stated his intention to travel to Lórien and no one would have batted an eye. But because he was a Reborn, no one, not even his atar, looked upon him as an adult who is able to make his own decisions without interference from others. At least he had asked for permission instead of just leaving. That should have counted for something.

He slowed his steps and leaned against a linden tree, staring morosely into the dark. Of course, the reason he had given was not strictly true and he hated the idea that he had lied to his atar. His real reason for going was to stand by the Gates of Return and wait for his gwador’s release, however long it might take. It was, of course, a foolish idea; he knew that. Yet, it had a certain appeal and it was better than moping around here waiting and wondering and counting down the days. He had hoped that Glorfindel would be released by now and felt nothing but frustration that it was not so.

Perhaps he could just go to Lórien and damn the consequences. He was an adult, after all, not an elfling. He had given up swinging in the trees and other such elflingish activities some time before. He felt a little guilty about it, knowing how the trees missed him playing in them, but still....

Closing his eyes, he sighed, wondering what he should do. Apologize to his atar, of course, though it rankled somewhat that he would have to. Still, it would show that he was mature enough to recognize when he was in the wrong. He realized now that he should have thought out a plausible reason for his wanting to go before asking, but it hadn’t occurred to him that his atar would question his motives. He had simply assumed that others would think it natural for a Reborn to want to return to Lórien to visit.

There was a slight crunching noise, barely heard, that alerted Finrod to the presence of another and he opened his eyes to see his atar standing there. They stared at one another across a chasm that had nothing to do with the physical distance between them, each unsure how to bridge it, or even if they wanted to. Finally, Finrod drew himself up.

“I am sorry for my words,” he said quietly, knowing that he was expected to apologize.

“Apology accepted,” his atar said, equally softly. “I will speak to your ammë and let you know what we decide.”

Finrod nodded, accepting the decision, little though he liked it. “Good night, sir,” he said formally, giving Arafinwë a stiff bow. Then he walked away, ignoring the hurt look in his atar’s eyes at his lack of filial warmth.

****

Finrod did not receive his answer to his request immediately. During the time of waiting he remained studiously cool towards his parents, especially his atar. Something of the trust that they had built up between them over the years since his return had been damaged, if not entirely broken. He knew that it was mostly his own fault but he couldn’t help feeling betrayed in some inchoate manner. It had been such a simple request. He couldn’t see why his atar was fussing over it.

Thus it was over a week before Arafinwë gave him his decision. Finrod was called to his study where he found not only his atar but his ammë as well, sitting together on a settee that sat before the fireplace. Neither of them spoke as he entered; Arafinwë merely gestured for him to close the door and take the chair that was across from them. Only when Finrod was settled did Arafinwë speak.

“Your ammë and I have talked it over,” he said without preamble, “and we have decided to let you go to Lórien, though I am not entirely sanguine about it.”

“Why?” Finrod asked. “Have I not matured enough to be let off ammë’s apron strings or is it you just don’t trust me to return?”

The silence between them stretched to an uncomfortable point before Arafinwë answered his son. “It has nothing to do with trust, Findaráto, and everything to do with your reason for going.”

“Can I not visit a dear friend, one whom I have not seen in some time?” That he was thinking more of Glorfindel than of Eärnur was beside the point, as far as he was concerned. And though he did hope to see his Telerin friend as well, that was a secondary purpose for the trip.

“But why now, after all this time?” Eärwen asked.

Finrod sighed. “I suppose I thought you would think me too... young before this.” He grimaced as he said the words, but knew that on one level they were true, or had been.

Silence again settled between the three Elves and Finrod sat with studied patience waiting for his parents to speak. Finally, Arafinwë gave a sigh. “As it happens, Lord Herendil will be leaving for Vanyamar next week. He will be taking some of the younger courtiers to Ingwë for fostering.”

Finrod nodded, aware of the practice. It was not something that had been done before the Darkening but was a post-Darkening innovation of the kings in which junior courtiers were fostered at the courts of the other kings for a time as a way of encouraging better understanding among the three clans and also to teach them how the other kings handled their courts. They alternated as to which court they would send their own people. This year the Noldorin courtiers were going to Vanyamar while Ingwë was sending his to Alqualondë. Olwë’s courtiers would be spending the winter months until the New Year in Tirion.

“You may accompany him as far as Valmar,” Arafinwë continued. “I’ve contacted Lord Irmo who will send an escort to meet you there.”

Finrod did his best to hide his dismay, merely thanking his atar.

“As Eärnur spent a month here with you,” Arafinwë added, “I think it fair that you be allowed to spend a month with him, but at any rate, I wish you to return no later than the solstice. You know that the Winter Court begins then and your presence will be needed.”

Finrod thanked his atar again, quite aware that as a prince of the realm it was expected that he attend the Winter Court and Solstice Ball whether he cared for it or not. “I will be home before then, Atto, I promise.”

For the first time in over a week, Arafinwë smiled. “I will hold you to that promise, yonya.”

Then his parents rose and he did too, allowing them to embrace him, his ammë giving him a kiss on the cheek. The solstice was not that far away. He only hoped that Glorfindel would be released from Lórien before then. Surely he was long overdue to be reborn, wasn’t he? He sent a silent prayer to Lord Námo that it would be so, but had no faith that the Lord of Mandos would even hear him, or if he did, would honor his request.

****

The next week flew by quickly enough and then Finrod was joining Lord Herendil and the others on their way to Valmar and beyond. In spite of himself, Finrod had to smile. Some of the junior courtiers had never been away from home before and none of them were yet of age, most being about forty-six or forty-seven. He felt somewhat superior to them in that regard but when one of the elleth kept looking back towards Tirion with a miserable expression on her face, his smugness turned to sympathy for the child’s distress. He urged Mithrod to her side, giving her a warm understanding smile. She, in turn, looked startled at the thought of the crown prince speaking to her.

“It won’t be as bad as you fear,” he said. “My Uncle Ingwë is very nice from what I remember and everyone loves Aunt Elindis.”

The elleth gave him a shy smile and thanked him for his kind words. He nodded graciously to her and seeing that she was feeling less despondent, moved to ride beside Lord Herendil, who was the only person in the entire cavalcade that he knew.

“Very nicely done, Highness,” Herendil said softly.

Finrod shrugged. “I remember the first time I left home. It was very scary and exhilarating at the same time. I was sure I was going to be sick all the way there.”

“To Endórë?” Herendil asked, looking surprised.

Finrod laughed. “No. To Alqualondë. I was taken there by my parents when I was quite young to be formally presented to my anontaru.”

“Ah,” was Herendil’s only comment and they continued on in silence.

When they reached Valmar, Herendil and the others going on to Vanyamar made their way into Eldamas where they would stay the night before continuing their journey. Finrod had been all set to join them but just as they reached the east gate of Valmar they were hailed by three Maiar. Two of them were wearing the white surcoat with the rainbow emblem indicating their allegiance to Lord Irmo while one wore the purple surcoat with the harp emblem of Lady Estë.

“We’ve come to escort you, Prince Findaráto,” Ingil said as he greeted him. He was accompanied by Cucuandur and Ninwanyellë. “You will be staying the night at our Lord and Lady’s mansion before continuing on to Lórien.”

“Couldn’t I just stay at the inn with Lord Herendil?” Finrod protested.

Ingil shook his head. “I am sorry, but we were given specific orders by Lord Irmo. Come. It won’t be too terribly boring I assure you.”

Finrod sighed and gave Herendil a wry look. “You are so lucky not to be a Reborn,” he muttered.

Herendil smiled. “I wish you a fair journey, your Highness,” he said, “and I look forward to seeing you again soon.”

“As do I,” Finrod said, holding out his hand and giving Herendil a warrior’s clasp, which surprised the ellon though Finrod could see that he was also pleased by the honor accorded him. Then Finrod made his farewells to the younger courtiers, wishing them a pleasant stay in Vanyamar, before following the three Maiar down the Landamallë Valion to the mansion of Lord Irmo and Lady Estë. Just to the right of the mansion Finrod could see another with a gate made from carnelian. Ninwanyellë, who happened to be striding next to him, nodded towards the gate and the mansion beyond.

“That is the mansion of Lord Námo and Lady Vairë,” she said.

Finrod only nodded, his expression blank of any emotion as he followed Ingil and Cucuandor into the courtyard fronting Lord Irmo’s mansion. Soon his horse was being led away by another Maia as he climbed the steps leading into the mansion. As he stepped across the threshold, the mithril and silver doors closed behind him with a sense of finality. He resisted giving a sigh as he was led down a long corridor and shown to a suite of rooms consisting of a sitting room where a fire burning in the fireplace cheerfully greeted him, a bedroom, bathing room and privy. Ingil assured him that dinner would be ready in an hour.

“You may eat here in the sitting room,” the Maia said. “It will be more comfortable for you, I think.”

Finrod thanked him and soon he was left alone, though he had no doubt that if he tried to leave his suite someone would stop him. He refused to check to see if the door leading to the outside corridor was locked. After freshening up, he sat beside the fire, waiting for dinner, and wondered if any of this was worth it. Perhaps he should have just stayed in Tirion.

When dinner arrived, he dutifully ate under the watchful eyes of the Maiar, for Ingil and Ninwanyellë kept him company, telling him about what had been happening in Lórien of late and who among the recently released Reborn he might remember from his previous life. Under other circumstances he might have enjoyed listening to their stories, but not then. Once dinner was over he pleaded fatigue and bade the two Maiar a good night, but it was a long time before he finally succumbed to sleep.

****

Anontaru: (Quenya) Grandparents (dual form indicating a natural pair of grandparents).