73: Entulessë

The return trip to Tirion was a nightmare for Arafinwë and the Noldor who followed him. The incessant darkness lay heavily upon their fëar, the stars above them unheeded. No one looked up as they retraced their steps. There was little chatter among them and no songs were sung. Children had ceased to cry, too weary to do more than cling to the adults around them, their expressions one of Hope-Irretrievably-Lost.

That is what we are now, Arafinwë thought as he trudged along the beach. We are the Estellóralië. We threw Hope away in our arrogance, killed it along with our Telerin kin. He shuddered, not caring who saw.

They trudged on, stopping when need forced them to. Arafinwë thought it ironic that they generally stopped at the same campsites they had made on the way North. But it made things easier, for they already knew where the water was and where to find wood for fire. Food was a bit scarcer, but they managed. Arafinwë detailed a number of the ellyn as hunters and scouts and they never failed to bring down some game. If there wasn’t much, most of it went to the elflings.

There was no way to tell the passing of time, save by the stars. Some of the older Elves who remembered the Great Journey kept the children amused by pointing out the constellations, naming the brighter stars and those they called the wanderers, and teaching them how to measure the hours by the shifting of the stars. Arafinwë found himself listening in on the ‘lessons’, slowly learning the art of telling time by the stars along with the youngsters.

Eventually, they reached the outer boundaries of the Telerin kingdom of Alqualondë. Many of the Noldor wondered aloud how they were going to get past Alqualondë without the Teleri knowing.

"They will not know that we had naught to do with the killings," one pointed out to Arafinwë. "If they see us, they are likely to attack us."

"We can defend ourselves if necessary," another said, gripping his sword.

"That will most likely just make matters worse," a third retorted with a sneer for her companion.

"If we stick to the highlands, we can avoid the city altogether," the first ellon suggested. "We can travel inland a bit. We wouldn’t need to make for the beaches until we’re well south of the city. They’ll never know we were there."

"Unless they’ve set sentries on the cliffs," the second ellon remarked. "That’s what I would do under the circumstances."

"We are not going to sneak past Alqualondë," Arafinwë said firmly. "I need to speak with Olwë and begin making reparations."

"Reparations?" an elleth asked, her confusion mirrored in the faces of the others who comprised Arafinwë’s makeshift council. Arafinwë nodded. "But, we had nothing to do with...."

Arafinwë glared at the elleth, effectively silencing her. "We had everything to do with what happened. We followed Fëanáro. And while we may not have killed anyone, we are still Noldor and it was Noldor who did the killing. So yes, we who are left of the Noldorin kingdom will make reparation."

"How?" someone asked. "We cannot bring back the dead. In what manner can we possibly make reparations?"

"I know not," Arafinwë admitted, though he had some glimmerings of an idea. His half-brother had accused those who were returning of being no better than house-thralls to the Valar. He suspected that might be truer than Fëanáro knew. "That is why I must speak to Olwë. So, we will not attempt to evade Alqualondë. However, prudence dictates that we make every effort to avoid any unnecessary confrontations. To that end, I want the elflings and the adults caring for them to make for the highlands with a suitable guard. The rest will follow me along the shore. Those taking the highland route are not to linger but to continue on towards the Calacirya. Once they are safely past Alqualondë they can make for the beaches and wait for the rest of us."

Orders were given and the camp divided, with perhaps a third splitting off to head west towards the Pelóri and the highlands overlooking the Sea. The rest would continue following Arafinwë, who held an elfling sleeping in his arms as he waited for the people to sort themselves out. She was one of the youngest of the children, latching herself to Arafinwë from the beginning. She had refused to leave his side, screaming in terror whenever someone tried to take her to join the other elflings. In the end, Arafinwë decided to keep her with him. Perhaps, he reasoned, if the Teleri saw him with an elfling, they would be less inclined to hurt him.

Perhaps if the other elflings....

No! He suddenly realized what he was doing and it sickened him. No one would deliberately harm a child whatever the provocation. If the Teleri saw the elflings among them, they might be less inclined to attack them. He shook his head in dismay. What could he have been thinking? Was he indeed such a coward that he would use children as shields against the righteous fury of the Teleri? He wondered how much of Fëanáro’s sickness of fëa had rubbed off on him that he would even contemplate such a thing, even for a moment.

He sighed, signaling for the smaller group to set out. Their route would actually be the longer as it snaked its way along the cliffside. The shore route was more straightforward. When the last of the elves disappeared behind a fold of the earth, Arafinwë nodded grimly to those who would be following him.

"Let’s go," he said shifting his burden slightly. Silently they trudged on with Arafinwë leading, the elfling still snuggled contentedly in his arms.

****

Olwë looked up from the report that he was perusing, detailing the last of the cremations, gazing at nothing in particular. It had taken longer than they had originally thought to burn all the bodies of the Noldor. Reports had come in from outlying fishing villages of bodies still washing ashore with questions of what to do with them. Olwë first thought to have the bodies brought to Alqualondë, to be burned with the rest, but that proved somewhat impractical and he had given the orders for any bodies to be burned where found. Some had questioned if they shouldn’t just weigh the bodies down and throw them back into the Sea, but Olwë had forbidden it.

"I will not pollute Lord Ulmo’s realm with the corpses of the Noldor. They do not deserve such consideration. Why should the murderers of our people lie alongside our own dead?"

So the bodies, wherever they were found, were sent to the flames, their ashes scattered by the sea winds. Olwë grimaced. The task of cremating all those bodies had been a torment. The stench was appalling and there was a pall of thick oily smoke that hung over the city for the longest time, sickening its inhabitants until a stiff east wind drove the cloud away. They had run out of wood before they ran out of bodies and Olwë had ordered some of the precious timber used to build their ships brought forth from the warehouses where it was being seasoned. That had been the hardest thing and he had cursed Fëanáro all over again.

The disposition of their own dead had gone off without incident. A flotilla had been formed, the dead carefully wrapped in sailcloth on which the person’s name was stitched. That had been Lirillë’s idea. Falmaron had been wrapped in a sheet of blue samite shot with silver thread. Lirillë had lovingly stitched his name and lineage on the cloth, while Olwen and Faniel had embroidered his personal device. Olwë wasn’t sure why they thought it necessary, yet it seemed to comfort them.

"I want Lord Ulmo to know who resides in his realm," Lirillë had told her husband when he asked. Others, hearing of the Queen’s idea, did the same for their own dead.

The flotilla made its way towards the southeast, heading towards an island of rocky spires that pushed their way out of the waters, known to the sailors as Nelci Osseva, though now Olwë had renamed it Tol Nyérë Oio. Just beyond these rocks the water was deep. Olwë had decided that their dead would lie there, the spot easily found so that the living could come and visit and mourn. There was very little ceremony. Olwë, standing on the deck of the lead ship, made a simple speech, commending their loved ones to ‘Lord Ulmo’s bosom’ and then he and his family kissed Falmaron’s enshrouded forehead one last time before consigning him to the Sea. After that, the other bodies were thrown overboard. Olwë’s bard, Elennáro, standing beside the royal family, plucked on his harp and sang a dirge to the dead, his voice carrying over the dark waters so all could hear. There had been no wailing and few tears, for the living had used them all up.

As the ceremony continued, Olwë heard many around him whispering to their neighbors, wondering where Lord Ossë was. Indeed, neither he nor Lady Uinen had made their presence known and that had both saddened and angered the Teleri, feeling even now that they had been abandoned by the Valar. Olwë felt the same, but kept his expression impassive while watching the bodies being consigned to the Sea. He knew he wasn’t the only one who wondered why neither Maia or even Lord Ulmo himself had come and offered their condolences. He rather suspected it was a combination of guilt and shame that kept the Powers away, but he wasn’t entirely sure.

Olwë sighed heavily as he lowered his gaze and re-read the words on the parchment, reaching for a quill and adding his signature to the bottom of the document, putting it to one side. His secretary would file it with the rest of his papers later, though he personally wished he could just burn it. He did not want such a document cluttering up his archives, forever reminding them of what they had lost. A knock on the door of his study saved him from having to read the next document on his desk and he bade the person to enter.

Elennen came in, his expression grim. "Sentries have spotted a group of people heading for Alqualondë," he said.

Olwë lifted an eyebrow. "How many people and from which direction?" he asked, wondering if his daughter had decided to return to Alqualondë. He had sent Eärwen a letter detailing what had happened. Having to write of Falmaron’s death had nearly undone him and he could not stop the tears as he wrote to her.

"The numbers I do not know," the guard admitted, "but they are coming from the North. They can only be the Noldor returning."

Olwë felt a frisson of shock course through him and it took him precious seconds to gather his wits. He felt himself grow angry. "They dare? They dare to return?" He stood up, gripping the edge of his desk, his expression cold. "Call up the guard," he ordered. "See that the northern approaches are manned. If Fëanáro has returned to finish what he started, he will not find us sleeping."

Elennen saluted and went to do the king’s bidding. Olwë took several deep breaths, then went to find Lindarion and Salmar. He would go to meet the Noldor and this time he would be armed. The smiths had been working ceaselessly to bring forth weapons, mostly swords modeled on those which the Noldor had wielded, as well as spears similar to those used for fishing, though these had a longer reach. Even hunting bows had been brought out and new arrows fletched. No. The Teleri would never again be caught unawares and unarmed. They had learned that bitter lesson all too well.

He and his remaining sons led the way to the northern approach, Elennen bringing them the latest news as they wended their way through the city with many of the citizens following behind, armed with whatever came to hand, their expressions grim. "There appear to be two groups," the guard said. "The largest group is coming along the shore, the smaller group is making its way along the cliffs. Our scouts are reporting that that group seems to be comprised mostly of ellith and elflings with a few ellyn obviously acting as guards."

"And the larger group?" Olwë enquired. "Has anyone identified who leads it?"

"Not that I know, Sire," Elennen replied. "They are still some distance away and I ordered the sentries not to engage the Noldor. Actually, their main task at the moment is to stop those who are all set to fall upon the Noldor and strike first."

Lindarion shook his head in disgust. "That’s all we need, more kinslaying, but it will be us who are the instigators this time around."

"Not if I can help it," Olwë said quietly.

They made their way across one of the bridges connecting the city with the mainland, then headed north where they saw a line of ellyn blocking the way. As they neared they could hear someone — Olwë thought he recognized Ainairos’ voice — challenging the approaching Noldor.

"Have you returned to finish the slaughter you started, Noldo!" Ainairos screamed. Olwë was just in time to see Ainairos hurl a rock at the lead Noldo whom Olwë recognized as Arafinwë holding an elfling in his arms. He watched in horror as Arafinwë turned away to protect the child in his arms so the rock found its mark on his back instead. Arafinwë cried out in pain and fell to his knees, still holding the child protectively in his arms. Thankfully the little one never woke.

"Hold!" Olwë commanded as he pushed his way through the crowd, casting a look of fury at Ainairos, who did not even have the grace to look ashamed, as he made his way to Arafinwë’s side. He bent down to lift the ellon up and was dismayed when his son-in-law tried to crawl away, whimpering in pain.

"Hush," Olwë whispered. "Do not be afraid." He lifted his daughter’s husband up, grimacing when he noticed the dark stain spreading across the ellon’s tunic where the rock had hit him. He cast a sour look at the still unrepentant Ainairos before returning his attention to Arafinwë.

"Yonya," he said softly, brushing a hand through the ellon’s hair. "What are you doing here?"

Arafinwë could only stand there and weep. Olwë gently removed the still sleeping child from his heart-son’s arms and handed her off to Lindarion, who had come to stand with him. The child stirred, but Lindarion spoke softly to her and she settled back into sleep. Gasps and moans of distress came from the Noldor, who no doubt feared that the child would be the next victim of their rebellion. Olwë looked upon them with pity.

"Fear not," he exclaimed, even as he wrapped a comforting arm around a still weeping Arafinwë. "The child will come to no harm. None of you will. Take what ease you may." He turned to Arafinwë, forcing him to look up. "We know there is another group making their way along the cliffs. What is their intent?"

Arafinwë shook his head. "No evil, I promise," he said. "We... I did not wish to expose the women and children to danger. They are making their way to the Calacirya."

Olwë nodded. "I will have some of my people bring them down to join you," he said. "I imagine the little ones are tired and hungry. I will see to it that food and provisions are provided."

"What!?" Ainairos screamed. "You would aid the very people who murdered your son?"

Arafinwë went white and reeled in Olwë’s grasp. He stared at the king in horror. "Who....?" He looked around frantically to see who of the king’s sons besides Lindarion was there and then he saw Salmar, but not Falmaron, and knew the truth. "Oh, Valar, no." And the anguish in his voice was evident to all.

Olwë turned a fierce look at Ainairos. "Be silent!" he commanded. "These are not the Kinslayers. Do you not see? None here wear the colors of the House of Fëanáro, only those of my son-in-law and some I see are wearing the colors of Ñolofinwë’s House. I know for a fact that they did not participate in the killings."

"They are Noldor!" Ainairos insisted hotly. "They deserve our wrath." Several people standing with the ellon murmured their agreement with his words.

Olwë gestured to Lindarion to surrender the elfling to him. His son did so reluctantly. The child, her sleep disturbed, woke frightened and confused, calling out for "Atto". Olwë ignored her cries, putting her on the ground, one hand holding her tightly in place. He glared at Ainairos.

"Go ahead," he said through gritted teeth, taking a couple of steps away from the child who started screaming in fear and tried to reach Arafinwë. Olwë blocked her path and pushed her none too gently back between him and Ainairos. She stood there in shock, weeping, and Olwë noticed with sorrow that she had wetted herself, but he kept his expression schooled to scorn as he stared at Ainairos. "Go ahead," he repeated. "She may be your first victim."

"No!" Arafinwë cried and he tried to reach for the elleth but Lindarion and Salmar grabbed him and held him fast. Lindarion whispered something in his brother-in-law’s ear.

Ainairos stared at the elfling and then glanced up at Olwë, his expression uncertain. "I don’t...."

Olwë stooped and picked up the rock Ainairos had thrown at Arafinwë and threw it back to him. "You may use this," he said coldly. "I’m sure you will be able to hit her with enough force to kill her outright, but maybe not, and then you will either have to smash her skull in or drive your knife into her heart."

There was absolute silence save for the weeping of the child, standing lost and forlorn. Ainairos stared at the rock in his hand for the longest time, and then, looking up at Olwë, he snarled a vicious oath, letting the rock drop at his feet. He turned and strode away, some of the others following him. Olwë waited for a count of three breaths before he moved, reaching for the elfling and taking her into his arms, speaking quietly and soothingly, telling her she was a brave little elleth and assuring her that no one would hurt her before handing her back to Lindarion. He then ordered his guards to secure the area.

"I do not wish for these people to be harassed," he said to Elennen. "See that food and drink are provided. They may remain here for now. Have those on the cliffs brought down to join their fellows."

The guard assured the king that all would be done according to his will and began issuing his own orders. Olwë gestured to Lindarion and Salmar, who still had Arafinwë in his grip. "Go to your amillë. Tell her what has happened. She will organize everything from that end."

Lindarion handed the now quiescent child back to Arafinwë and set off with Salmar to fulfill their atar’s wishes, while Olwë threw an arm around Arafinwë’s shoulder. "Come, my son. Let us get you and this little one cleaned up."

Arafinwë stared at his wife’s atar in surprise. "Why would you do this?"

"I do not blame you, yonya," Olwë whispered as he continued leading his son-in-law toward the city. "Any blame lies squarely with Fëanáro. I regret that you felt you had to join him in his madness and rejoice that you have abandoned such a hopeless enterprise, but I am at a loss to understand why."

Arafinwë shook his head. "That is too long a tale to tell here... Atto," he said.

"Then let us to the palace and you can tell me there, yonya," Olwë said, leaning over to give his son-in-law a kiss on the forehead.

****

Olwë insisted that Arafinwë bathe first and have his wound tended to. The child, whom Arafinwë told them was named Aldundilmë, was put in Faniel’s care. Aldundilmë, who was only twelve, was soon happily playing with Faniel and Salmar’s own young son, Lirillo, who was not quite twenty. When Arafinwë had bathed and dressed, he joined Olwë, Lirillë and Lindarion in their private sitting room where a light repast was offered. Arafinwë accepted the goblet of yellow wine from Lindarion as he filled them in on what had happened.

"Lord Námo has placed a terrible doom upon my people," he said as he drew his narrative to a close. He had spoken without emotion throughout his telling, scarcely looking up at his audience. "In the end, I faltered. I could not... my children...I’m naught but a coward, Atto. I know that now." He began weeping again and Olwë went and sat beside him, holding him closely.

"Nay, child. You are no coward. Few could have done what you did. I’m proud of you," he told the younger ellon and realized the truth of his own words. He was proud of his daughter’s husband. Eärwen had chosen wisely and well. He had no doubt that this youngest son of his friend Finwë would lead the remnant of the Noldor with honor.

"Go home, yonya," he said, giving Arafinwë a loving kiss on his temple. "Go home to your beloved Eärwen and offer her what comfort she will accept from you. You are the last of the royal House of the Noldor here in Aman. You are their king now. Return to Tirion and rule what is left of your people with as much dignity and wisdom as Eru has deigned to give you."

Arafinwë shook his head. "To Tirion I shall return, but not as king. I am the Valar’s thrall to do with as they will. My people shall offer themselves up to thralldom as expiation for their crimes against the Valar and our kin here in Alqualondë."

Olwë stared at his son-in-law in consternation. "Even little Aldundilmë and the other elflings? Would you condemn them to eternal thralldom as well, innocent though they be?"

"They are Noldor," Arafinwë said harshly. "There is no innocence in them any more."

Olwë shook his head sadly, giving Lirillë a helpless look. She rose and came to kneel before them, brushing a loving hand through Arafinwë’s golden locks. "It will be as the Valar decree, yonya," she said softly, giving him a smile. "Do not be surprised if they deny you the atonement you seek for yourself and your people in thralldom. They may reward you with mercy instead."

"Mercy I do not seek, for myself or my people."

"Nevertheless, mercy may be all they will offer you, and you will be forced to accept it, or rebel against them a second time," Olwë said gravely. "Then Mandos’ doom will fall upon you and that may prove more terrifying than any punishment you and your people might conceive for yourselves otherwise."

For several minutes there was silence between them, then Arafinwë sighed and looked at his wife’s family, the despair in his eyes almost more than any of them could bear. "I will return to Tirion with these others, but I will not return as their king. Let them find another to lead them for what little time they have left in freedom. I renounce the crown of the Noldor. Let the Valar be my witnesses."

Olwë shook his head in dismay. "You may find that renouncing the crown will be harder than you think, yonya. The Valar may not accept your oath. Ingwë certainly will not, or have you forgotten that you must seek his permission to renounce the crown?"

"I have not forgotten, Atto. I will go to Vanyamar and lay the crown of the Noldor at his feet, or at least a fair facsimile of it, for I know Fëanáro took the crown with him. We do not deserve to rule ourselves. We are fit for nothing now but thralldom."

Olwë sighed, unhappy that he could not turn this stubborn child from his intended course. "So be it, yonya. But know this, and may the One hear me, I forgive you and all who follow you. I place no blame upon your head. Go you to Ingwë and to Lord Manwë and do as you have vowed." Then he leaned down and kissed his heart-son on the brow and smiled wistfully. "Just don’t be surprised if they deny you your request."

****

The Noldor remained by the shores of Alqualondë for some time, regaining their strength. Some of them tentatively offered to help with any rebuilding or clearing that was still going on. Some of the Teleri were ready to refuse their help, but Olwë accepted it.

"Consider it as part of the reparation that will be demanded from you," he told them. He and Arafinwë had spent several hours discussing what reparations the Noldor could make. The uncrowned King of the Noldor agreed that a public apology needed to be made and plans were put into motion for the ceremony that would be held in the main courtyard of the palace where all could witness it.

It was a relatively short ceremony. Arafinwë, along with a representative group of the Noldorin aristocracy who were with him, knelt before the Telerin court. "I regret, my lord, all that has come between us," he said with heartfelt sincerity. "If it were in my power, I would restore all that thou and thy people have lost, but I can do naught but offer my sincerest and deepest apologies. Whatever thou dost demand of the Noldor, who were once a proud and noble clan, thou mayest be assured that it will be done. Accept us as thy thralls, for we deserve nothing less."

"As to that, my son," Olwë said, "that will be as the Valar decree. For myself, I forgive thee and those with thee, for I know that ye had naught to do with our present grief. Go thou, return to Tirion and take up the kingship that is thine by right of inheritance. Be the king that thine atar could not be. Be the king that Fëanáro never was."

He leaned down and lifted Arafinwë up and kissed him. Arafinwë scowled. "That is not how this was supposed to go, Atto," he whispered to Olwë.

Olwë merely smiled. "Go home, yonya. Go back to Tirion where you belong and take your people with you. I want no thralls in my realm."

****

The light from the Mindon Eldaliéva was the only thing that welcomed them back to Tirion. Arafinwë recalled how it had been the last thing of Tirion he had seen when he had looked back as he and his host reached the end of the Calacirya before turning to the North. Now, as they made their way back through the eastern gate he saw the city lost in gloom, the light of the Mindon barely penetrating the fogs of the Calacirya which had risen again to wreath it. None who had remained behind came out to greet them, though Arafinwë sensed eyes peeking out of darkened windows and doorways. When they reached one of the larger squares, Arafinwë spoke softly to his people, commanding them to return to their homes, to care for the elflings now left orphaned or reunite them with any kin who still abided there.

"I do not know what will become of us," he said to them, "but for now, leave not your homes unless need requires it. In time, I hope to learn what will be our fate, for I must go to the Valar and plead for our pardon. What the Valar will do afterwards remains to be seen. Our lives are no longer our own to do with as we will and we must wait upon the sufferance of our betters."

There was much weeping at these words, but no one protested them, for most there felt them to be true. They had forfeited even the right to name themselves Eldar and Quendi. They were the Nosselóra, the Kinless. They accepted this, bitter though it be.

Arafinwë made his way slowly along the colonnade of malinorni leading to the front portico of the palace. He went alone, save for Aldundilmë, who refused to be separated from him. His head was bent in sorrow and shame. Eärwen met him in the courtyard fronting the palace, warned by those on watch. He stopped some feet from her and looked up when he heard her call his name.

"I could not do it," he said in a whisper. "I could not go on. Oh my beloved, forgive me. I have lost our children and our people... our people..." but he could not continue and instead he fell to his knees and wept. Eärwen ran to him and knelt before him, taking him in her arms. Their tears mingled and it was some time before either found the strength to move again.

Aldundilmë stood beside them, forgotten, awkwardly patting Arafinwë’s hair in an attempt to comfort her new atto.

****

Entulessë: Return.

Estellóralië: The People Without Hope, from estel ‘hope’ + -lóra ‘suffix: -less, without’ + lië ‘people’. Cf. Eldalië "Elven-folk".

Nelci Osseva: Ossë’s Teeth.

Tol Nyérë Oio: Island of Grief Everlasting.

Mindon Eldaliéva: Lofty Tower of the Elven-folk. Usually known simply as the Mindon. The high white tower of Ingwë, rising above the houses and halls of Tirion. In the courts below the Tower grew the silver-white tree Ñalatilion (Sindarin: Galathilion). High in the Tower, a silver lantern was housed, its light shining far across the Sea and along the dim shores beneath the Pelóri. The shining beacon of the Mindon Eldaliéva was the last sight of Aman for the fleeing Noldor.

Note: Aldundilmë, at age twelve, is five years old in human terms, and her playmate, Lirillo, at age twenty, is eight years old in human terms.