41: Amilessi

Ingalaurë sat in his Uncle Ingoldo’s sitting room sipping on some rather inferior wine wondering what he was doing there. It was not something he had planned; it just happened. The weeks following Ingwion’s departure had been busy ones for him as he took up his role as a member of his atar’s Privy Council more enthusiastically. He had been lax in his duties for a time, believing that he would be giving up the seat for his brother, so he had not paid particular attention to anything. Once it was clear that he would be sitting on the Council for an extended period of time, he became more attentive.

What he discovered, though, was that there were some aspects of government and the laws and customs of the Elves the understanding of which still eluded him. Before, he and Ingwion would explore these situations together and come to conclusions about them, but now he was alone. Thus, he was forced to seek out aid from others, Valandur especially. Unfortunately, he could not always be found, for he had his own duties, nor was his atar always available. It never occurred to him to ask either Indil or his ammë, for he was sure that they would either be uninterested in helping him or simply would not know the answers to his questions. That left Uncle Ingoldo. At first, he had been reluctant to seek him out, yet he was conscientious enough about his responsibilities that he knew he needed help in understanding the workings of government better. And so, he finally found the courage to go to his uncle one day when neither Ingwë nor Valandur were around and asked if he could help him.

"I know you are no longer interested in that sort of thing," he said to Ingoldo, "but I really want to understand what is going on so I can be a good councillor to Atto."

Ingoldo gave him a long considering look before answering. "What do you not understand?"

Ingalaurë breathed a silent sigh of relief and quickly explained his confusion. Ingoldo actually proved quite helpful and was very patient, going over everything at least twice until Ingalaurë understood all of the ramifications of the situation that had confused him. When next he sat at the Council and spoke confidently on the subject, even Ingwë showed surprise.

"I did not expect you to have such a firm grasp of the situation, yonya," he said to Ingalaurë later.

"I didn’t," the ellon admitted. "I... I ended up going to Uncle Ingoldo and asked him to help me to understand. Neither you nor Valandur were available," he hastened to add when his atar gave him a disbelieving look, "and I was desperate. I didn’t want you to think I was shirking my duties or that I was too stupid to...."

"Yonya," Ingwë interrupted, pulling him into a warm embrace. "I would never think anything of the sort. And as much as I hate to admit it, for all your uncle’s faults, he is quite knowledgeable about these matters. I am glad that he was willing to tutor you."

"Then you... you wouldn’t mind if sometimes I... I went to him for help if I can’t find you or Valandur?" Ingalaurë asked.

"No, I would not mind," Ingwë replied with a smile. "Perhaps if Ingoldo is working with you he will be less prone to cause trouble elsewhere."

And so, there he was, sitting in his uncle’s study, listening to him explain a point of law that frankly Ingalaurë was having trouble understanding. In spite of his own feelings towards his uncle, and he continued to be wary of him for the most part, he had to admit that Ingoldo was a very good teacher. Perhaps that was what he had wanted all along, Ingalaurë thought to himself. Perhaps he had wanted to do this with his own son but had been frustrated by Intarion’s lack of interest.

"So, there you have it," Ingoldo said. "Does that make things clearer for you, Nephew?"

"Yes, it does. Thank you," Ingalaurë replied and he meant it. It had been an obscure point of law and he had puzzled over it for the longest time without making any sense of it and then Ingoldo was able to clarify it in a matter of minutes so that even an elfling could understand.

"You are most welcome," Ingoldo said with a faint smile. "Any news from your brother?"

"Not much," Ingalaurë answered. "His last missive was rather vague but apparently Findaráto has returned to Tirion for good. The day he arrived, one of the Noldorin nobles got himself exiled to Formenos for causing some sort of disturbance."

Ingoldo raised an eyebrow. "Indeed! How strange. Did Ingwion mention the noble’s name? Perhaps I know him."

Ingalaurë shrugged. "I don’t really recall," he said somewhat diffidently. "He was a minor noble, no one really important."

"And yet, he ends up being exiled," Ingoldo rejoined. "I wonder what he did to warrant it?"

"Ingwi didn’t really say," Ingalaurë replied. "At least not to me. He might have written a report to Atto. He was more interested in telling me about Findaráto and Intarion and...."

At the mention of his son’s name, Ingoldo’s expression darkened and Ingalaurë remembered too late that Intarion was a sore point with his uncle and aunt and no one spoke his name in their presence.

"Ah, well, anyway, it... it was mostly about Findaráto," he stammered, now wishing he had kept his mouth shut or, better yet, that he was anywhere but where he was.

Ingoldo seemed to collect himself. "Never mind," he said. "It matters not."

But Ingalaurë could see that it mattered a great deal to his uncle and decided it was time to leave. He stood up and placed his goblet on the table. "I have to go," he said. "Thank you again for your help."

He was nearly at the door when Ingoldo called to him. "If you have any further questions, don’t hesitate to ask."

"I won’t," Ingalaurë said without bothering to look back, merely opening the door and letting himself out, vowing to himself that seeking his uncle out for help would be the last thing he would do. He had not liked the way Ingoldo had looked there at the last. In fact, his uncle’s expression had frightened him. He breathed a sigh of relief once he was out of the room and wondered that he was trembling. Shaking his head, he forced himself to move and after a moment or two his equilibrium returned and he was feeling less queasy.

****

It was actually Ingoldo who approached Ingalaurë some days later to apologize, which surprised the ellon.

"I am afraid I let my disappointment in my son rule my feelings too long," his uncle said to him. "I apologize for making you uncomfortable. I do hope you will continue to consult with me whenever you need help. I am enjoying our time together."

"I... I will keep that in mind, thank you," Ingalaurë replied, still feeling chary of his uncle but wanting to be polite without committing himself fully.

Ingoldo seemed to accept his words at face value and nodded. "Do not hesitate to call on me, then. My door is always open to you, Nephew."

Ingalaurë nodded as Ingoldo moved away. He was still not sure in his own mind if he really trusted his uncle, yet he could not deny that he had been very helpful. Ingalaurë’s own knowledge of law and the workings of government were developing to the point where even Valandur was impressed with his ability to speak on arcane points of law and expound on ancient customs that most Elves were unaware even existed yet which ruled their lives nonetheless. The feeling of satisfaction at the approbation of people like Valandur and his atar as well as the other councillors was a good one and he basked in their praise.

For the first time in his life he felt he was coming into his own without Ingwion overshadowing him and he decided he liked the way it made him feel and hoped that his brother would stay away for a good long while. That made him feel a bit guilty, for he loved his twin above all others, but he could not deny that he had always felt somewhat inferior to him in certain respects. Now, however, he was his own Elf and others were finally seeing him as more than just ‘the other twin’.

For a time, though, it appeared he would not need to go to his uncle for tutoring. The one time he became stumped on a point of law during the next several weeks, Valandur was available and he went to him.

"I almost hate to admit this, Ingil, but your uncle has been a very good tutor," Valandur said when he quizzed Ingalaurë on certain matters not necessarily related to the issue in question. "Once something is explained to you, you seem to have an intuitive grasp of its implications beyond what is there on the surface."

Ingalaurë found himself beaming. "Thank you, Valandur. Coming from you, that is very high praise."

"And well deserved, do not doubt it," Valandur replied with a smile. "In fact, I think you have an understanding of the subtleties of law that Ingwion never really mastered."

"Do you really think so?" the younger ellon asked in delight. "I always thought Ingwi was much smarter than I in that regard."

"You do yourself a disservice, hinya," Valandur said gently. "You are no less intelligent than Ingwion, but your talents lie in a different direction from his, and why not? Twins you may be, but you are not identical, and even if you were, you would still be separate beings, your fëar your own and not shared between you. Do not disparage your gifts, child. They are no less worthy than those which your brother has."

Ingalaurë nodded, beginning to feel that perhaps what Valandur (and his atar and ammë) was saying was actually true and for that reason he was glad that Ingwion was not there overshadowing him. There were times, of course, when he missed his twin terribly and wished Ingwion were there to share in his triumphs. It wasn’t quite the same writing about it in a letter though it was nice to have Ingwion praise him when his own letter came.

Yet, it was not just the praises of other Elves that warmed Ingalaurë, but those of the Valar. He continued to join his atar in his weekly visit to Lord Manwë. Most times, Ingalaurë sat quietly listening to the conversation and contributing little, though Lord Manwë always made a point to ask if he had a new poem to share with them. Occasionally, when a topic of conversation came up to which he felt he could contribute something he would shyly venture his opinion. The Valar always listened to him with a gravity that surprised him, as if what he had to say was of the greatest importance to them. Lord Manwë always thanked him and would comment on the clarity of his thought and succinctness of his words. This would bring a blush to Ingalaurë’s face, for he was unused to high praise from any but his parents.

On the Valanya after his talk with Valandur, Ingalaurë accompanied his atar to Ilmarin as usual, clutching a sheet of parchment on which he had written his latest poem. He was not sure how good it was, but hoped it would be well received by Lord Manwë and the rest of the Valar.

"It’s a lovely poem," Ingwë assured him as they made their way up the mountain. "I think it’s one of your best."

"You always say that, Atto," Ingalaurë retorted with a sigh.

"And I always mean it," Ingwë replied with a laugh, giving his son a brief hug. "What did Elemmírë have to say about it?"

"I haven’t shown it to her yet," Ingalaurë answered somewhat shyly. "I really wasn’t sure...."

"And yet, you plan to recite it to Lord Manwë," his atar interjected.

"He’s always very... encouraging," the ellon said. "I’m sure that half my poems don’t even come near the standards which the Valar have with regards to such things, but Lord Manwë always seems to enjoy them however inferior they may be."

"I have never known the Elder King or any of the Valar to feign their delight in our efforts," Ingwë said, "however much we ourselves may belittle them. You have nothing to be ashamed of, yonya. Your poetry is pure and unaffected and comes from your heart."

Ingalaurë nodded dutifully but secretly was not convinced. He had heard Elemmírë recite her poems and felt his own efforts paltry in comparison. Yet, there was something within him that would not allow him to stop composing them. They were a source of comfort to him, allowing him to express his emotions in a safe and appropriate manner.

When they arrived and had been greeted, Lord Manwë spoke directly to Ingalaurë, which shocked him, for always the Elder King had spoken first to Ingwë as they shared the latest news about the various Eldarin kingdoms and their common concerns.

"Elemmírë tells me that you have not been to see her lately," Manwë said without preamble. "She has missed your visits."

"I’ve been very busy," Ingalaurë replied, looking a bit nonplused, "and I did not want to intrude on her time."

"It is no intrusion, I assure you," Manwë said with a smile. "I hope you are not intimidated by her."

Ingalaurë gave him a surprised look and shook his head. "No, not really." Then he sighed, unconsciously clutching the piece of parchment tighter. "I sometimes feel my poetry doesn’t meet with her standards and I do not like to inflict them on her."

"Hmmm.... curious," Manwë said, "considering the fact that Elemmírë told me just the opposite, that she is glad to have found someone with a natural flair for the poetic arts and has to be taught very little. Her exact words were: ‘With a little more encouragement, I think his Highness will be one of the best poets we Eldar have ever produced’."

Ingalaurë was stunned. "She... she actually said that?"

Lord Manwë nodded, then glanced down at the parchment Ingalaurë was still clutching. "Perhaps you would care to share your latest poem with us," he said.

Ingalaurë nodded. "I am not sure how good it is...."

"That you have composed it, child, speaking from the depths of your fëa, is all that matters," Manwë said. "We Valar delight in all the efforts of the Eldar. You see the world around you in ways we cannot and that different viewpoint is both a delight and a wonder to us." He gave Ingalaurë a gentle smile. "The lisping of a ten-year-old elfling explaining to us with all solemnity how the Trees came to be created is as much a delight for us as hearing the most talented of storytellers relate a tale out of his own imagination."

Ingalaurë blushed, suddenly reminded of that day. He now recalled that the Valar had listened to him with the same grave attention as they did when he recited his poems or ventured an opinion on some matter. He saw then that these Powers treated him and the other Eldar with a level of respect that few Elves showed to their own kind. It was an illuminating thought and he unfolded the parchment and began reading his poem with new understanding of the Valar and their relationship with the Eldar.

          "I saw my brother standing on a precipice

          overlooking a dark land lit only by starlight,

          and I wondered at the tears running down his cheeks...."

When he was finished, there was a long pause and he thought that perhaps this time the Valar would tell him that it was a most inferior poem. In truth, it was like nothing he had composed before. In fact, it was based on a dream he had had recently, one that disturbed him though he did not understand why. It would not let him go and had haunted even his waking moments until at last he had written the poem, exorcizing the dream from his mind.

"Mahalmacundo."

Ingalaurë started, glancing fearfully up at Lord Námo, standing to one side of the throne dais where the Elder King and his Spouse sat. It was he who had spoken his amilessë, a name by which he had never known anyone to address him, not even his ammë. The Lord of Mandos looked graver than Ingalaurë had ever remembered seeing him and he could feel his heart racing, yet what did he have to fear?

"Why did you write this poem?" Lord Námo asked.

Ingalaurë swallowed nervously, his mouth suddenly dry. "It was a dream, lord," he answered quietly, wanting to look away but finding that he could not. Lord Námo’s amaranthine eyes held his and he thought he would fall endlessly into them. Then, to his relief, the Vala’s gaze flicked towards his own brother, Lord Irmo, whose expression was unreadable, and Ingalaurë found he could actually breathe again. His atar put an arm around his shoulders and that steadied him.

"Would you like to tell me what has upset you so, my Lord Námo?" Ingwë asked. "I thought Ingil’s poem, while certainly different from what he usually composes, was quite good, perhaps one of his best."

Námo gave the two Elves a considering look and did not immediately answer Ingwë. Ingalaurë suspected that the Valar were holding their own silent conversation. He glanced about and noticed that even Lord Manwë’s expression was distant. Now he wished he had never brought the stupid poem with him. He definitely was not going to show it to Elemmírë.

Then Námo seemed to come back to himself and he shook his head, addressing Ingwë. "Your son’s poem may be more than a versification of a dream. The dream itself...." He paused and glanced again at Irmo who nodded.

"What my brother is trying to say," the Lord of Lórien told them, "is that your dream, child, might be significant. While foresight among the Eldar is rare, it does occur."

"Do you mean that Ingil has foreseen this?" Ingwë asked in an astounded voice. "Yet, how can it be? I simply assumed it was his attempt to put down his feelings of being separated from his twin in poetic form."

"And on the surface, it may well be that," Námo said, "but there may be deeper implications."

"Wh-why did you call me by my amilessë, lord?" Ingalaurë ventured.

"Is it, too, not your name?" Námo countered. "It is as much a part of your identity as your ataressë."

Ingalaurë felt there was more to it than that, but did not feel brave enough to pursue the subject further. At any rate, Lord Manwë was speaking.

"Your atar is correct, child. It is perhaps one of your finest works. The depth of emotions is quite extraordinary and you have a fine sense of the dramatic."

"Thank you, lord," Ingalaurë said quietly, but the Elder King’s words did not appease him. Somehow his poem had shocked the Valar and all this talk of foresight unnerved him. He had never had any experience of it before and he did not much like it. If his dream was real....

"It may only be a dream," Irmo said suddenly, breaking the silence that had settled over them, and Ingalaurë wondered if the Valar could actually read minds; they always seemed to know what he was thinking. "I would not be overly concerned, child. You have only dreamt of this once, is that not so?"

Ingalaurë nodded. "Yet, unlike other dreams, this one would not fade away. It haunted my waking moments and I could not get it out of my mind. It is why I wrote the poem, thinking that if I wrote it down in some form or another it would finally leave me."

"Yet, why a poem?" Varda asked. "Why not simply write the dream out?"

Ingalaurë shrugged. "I guess I am so used to committing my thoughts and emotions to poetic form that it just seemed natural for me to do so here."

There were nods all around and then to Ingalaurë’s relief Lord Manwë turned to his atar and asked a question concerning certain renovations which were being made on one of the palace gardens and the conversation drifted to other topics. Ingalaurë remained silent, stealing glances at the Lord of Mandos who apparently had ceased to remember that he was there, for his entire attention was on the conversation between Lord Manwë and Atto. Yet, there was now a sense of disquiet within him and he was relieved when the audience came to an end. He was never so glad to be returning to Vanyamar as he was that day. His atar gave him a warm smile as they walked side-by-side down the mountain.

"I think you surprised them with your poem, yonya," he said.

"Shocked them, I would say," Ingalaurë retorted ruefully, then gave his atar a puzzled look. "Why did Lord Námo call me by my amilessë?"

"I do not know, Ingil," Ingwë replied, looking more sober. "Sometimes the Valar do things that are incomprehensible to us, but there is always a reason for what they do. I have learned that much since coming to Valinor."

His atar’s words did not quiet his misgivings. "I wish I had never brought the stupid poem," he finally said with a low snarl.

Ingwë’s only response was to put his arm around his son’s shoulders and give him a hug and a kiss on the brow.

****

When the Valar were once again alone, Manwë turned to Námo with an enquiring look. "Do you wish to explain why you addressed young Ingalaurë by his amilessë?"

"I wished to see his reaction," Námo said somewhat unhelpfully.

"That doesn’t explain why you felt the need to so address him," Irmo retorted. "Come, Brother. Let us be less mysterious and tell us your thoughts. You know as well as I that his dream was prophetic, or could be so interpreted."

"His dream... yes. Let us look at that for a moment," Námo said. "Ingwion standing on a precipice overlooking a land lit only by starlight. One would suppose that the land in question is Endórë but the description is closer to that of the Plains of Valinor, do you not agree?"

They all nodded. "And there was a time when this land was lit only by starlight," Oromë pointed out.

"No. This is different," Námo insisted. "Ingalaurë’s dream was not of the past but of the future, or perhaps it is best to say, a future. Many things can happen to change it. The Children are unpredictable at the best of times."

"Agreed," Manwë said, "and this dream or vision will need careful consideration, but I am still curious to know why you called him Mahalmacundo."

Námo’s eyes went dark with foreboding. "There may come a time when the guardian fails in his task and Ingwë’s throne is lost."

"Yet, if the twins’ amilessi are indeed prophetic," Varda pointed out, "Ingwion will redeem the throne, for he was named Mahalmarunando."

"Assuming he lives to do so," Námo replied darkly. "Remember the poem. Ingwion falls from the precipice."

"And when Ingalaurë reaches his brother’s body he finds his own face staring back at him and not his brother’s," Manwë said with a nod. "Yes. One has to wonder at the significance of this, if it is indeed prophetic or merely a metaphor for the separation from one another which the twins are experiencing. Unfortunately, none of us have any answers at this time. This will bear careful watching. In the meantime, I believe we were planning to spend the rest of the day at Nienna’s." He cast the Valië a warm smile which she returned with one of her own.

"Everything is ready for your arrival," she told them and then with a single thought they faded from the audience chamber to reappear in the cloister of Nienna’s mansion, her Maiar bowing to them, ready to serve.

****

The next day, Ingalaurë found himself sitting in his uncle’s study going over a contract with him. A dispute between two landowners had arisen and Ingwë would be adjudicating the case at court the next morning. Ingalaurë was curious enough about the case to want to understand why there was even a dispute. As it happened, neither his atar nor Valandur were available. Both were taking the day away from their duties to go hunting with falcons. Ingalaurë had been invited to accompany them, and under other circumstances he would have been glad to do so, but not today. Today, he wished only to understand a troublesome contract. He would go hunting another time.

So, while Ingwë and Valandur and several other members of the court were riding across the Plains of Valinor in pursuit of game, Ingalaurë was sitting with Ingoldo going over the contract. Ingoldo seemed very relaxed and any misgivings on Ingalaurë’s part were shunted aside for a time. As they were working through the contract together, however, Ingalaurë found his thoughts drifting back to the visit to the Valar and the disturbing reaction to his poem. He glanced at his uncle, who was expounding on some point of law or other, and without thinking, blurted out, "What’s your amilessë, Uncle? I don’t think I have ever heard it."

Ingoldo gave his nephew a startled look. "And you would not, for I do not have one," he answered. "I am of the first generation of those who awoke at Cuiviénen, as is your atar and ammë and your Aunt Indis. The practice of mother-names came much later."

"I have wondered how anyone knew then that they were brothers and sisters," Ingalaurë said.

Ingoldo shrugged. "It seems we had that knowledge from the beginning even before we had the words to describe the relationships. Somehow I knew that Ingwë and Indis were my siblings and that we were a family. I can only think that this knowledge was planted within us by Eru." He gave his nephew a considering look. "Why this interest all of a sudden in people’s amilessi?"

Ingalaurë frowned. "When Atto and I were at Ilmarin yesterday, Lord Námo addressed me using my amilessë. It’s the first time I have ever heard anyone address me by that name."

"I recall Ingwë being rather upset when Elindis named you and your brother."

"Why?"

Ingoldo shrugged. "I do not know precisely, but certainly your names are unusual: Mahalmacundo and Mahalmarunando."

"They are rather awkward sounding, aren’t they?" Ingalaurë couldn’t help grinning as he said this.

Ingoldo’s reaction was to narrow his eyes. "They have the sound of prophesy to them, in my opinion, though in what manner you are meant to guard the throne and in what manner your brother is meant to redeem it escapes me. And I had always wondered whose throne? Everyone assumes it is your atar’s but there are two other thrones in Eldamar, not to mention the thrones of the Valar."

"I suppose we will find out someday," Ingalaurë ventured with a shrug, not really caring at this point. "At any rate, I just thought it strange for Lord Námo to call me by my amilessë rather than calling me Ingalaurë."

"Yes, curious," Ingoldo replied, his expression thoughtful. "Very curious indeed."

And then the matter was dropped as they went back to examining the contract.

****

Amilessi: Plural of amilessë: Mother-name; the name given to a child by its mother, sometimes with prophetic implications; also known as amilessi tercenyë ‘mother-names of insight’.

Ataressë: Father-name.

Mahalmacundo: ‘Throne-Guardian’; Ingalaurë’s mother name.

Mahalmarunando: ‘Throne-Redeemer’; Ingwion’s mother-name.