82: Ranyar

Arafinwë stood before the White Tree beneath the Mindon. The image of Telperion shone dimly in the dark, a pale copy of its great parent, now a lifeless husk standing on the Ezellohar beside its equally dead sister. He stared at it for some time as if to memorize its every feature, believing, as he did, that he would never see it again.

He reached out a tentative hand to stroke its nearest branch and stopped, as he had countless times before, afraid that this symbol of the kingship would reject him in some manner, or perhaps more afraid that it wouldn’t.

"Go ahead, touch it."

He spun in surprise to see someone standing there. It was an Elf, though not one he recognized. The stranger stood there calmly, his dark hair blending into the night, his eyes silver-grey, reflecting starlight.

"Do I know you?" Arafinwë asked.

The other Elf shook his head. "Nay, you do not. I have watched you since your return standing before the White Tree, always reaching out but never quite touching it. What fear you, O King of a bereft people?"

"Who are you?" Arafinwë asked with some heat. Where had this stranger come from? Why had the guards allowed him to enter this courtyard? Arafinwë no longer thought of himself as a king, but he could not convince those around him of that. They had refused to accept his abdication and continued to address him as ‘Sire’. He had long ceased trying to convince them or even Eärwen and Anairë otherwise as he waited for the summons he knew must some day come. The Valar were slow in answering his request for an audience and he thought he knew why.

The Elf bowed. "You may call me Ranyar."

"Ranyar? What name is that?"

Ranyar smiled. "As good as any, my lord. Now, why don’t you go ahead and do what you have wanted to do for these many weeks since your return? Touch it."

Arafinwë stood there for an indecisive moment, amusement and annoyance warring within him at the presumption of this Elf who had the looks of a Noldo yet bore himself with too much dignity. His people had long ceased to hold their heads up and slunk under the ever-present Dark, quietly going about their tasks. No fountains sang in Tirion any more, no voices were raised in song. The children refused to play their games but sat silently under the watchful eyes of their guardians. It grieved Arafinwë that it was so, but he could not see any other way.

Ranyar stepped forward until he was standing next to Arafinwë and gently took the Noldo’s hand and raised it until Arafinwë’s fingers barely brushed against the nearest leaf. Arafinwë gasped as a shock ran through him and the tree rustled a greeting in the windless night.

"You see? Ñalatilion welcomes you. He knows who is the King of the Noldor. Will you not accept his judgment in this?"

Arafinwë could only shake his head mutely even as he allowed Ranyar to continue to hold his hand and stroke it along the branch of the Tree. He felt something break inside of him as he sensed the welcome Ñalatilion offered and he collapsed to his knees in tears. Ranyar let go of his hand and knelt beside him, gently wrapping his arms about the grieving Elf.

For a time they knelt there, Arafinwë huddled in his grief until the tears were spent. He finally looked up into the other’s eyes and saw there a depth of wisdom and compassion that no Elda could have achieved, not even Ingwë.

"Y-you’re not an Elf, are you?" he asked, his expression turning to awe and something deeper, something darker, as the image of Námo standing on the headland swept through his fëa, and he shivered.

Ranyar smiled with some sympathy. "No, Arafinwë, I am not." Then his voice became more solemn as he switched to the formal mode of speech as spoken among the Noldor. "Thou hast been waiting for a summons from the Valar, son of Finwë. Thou wilt not receive one, so my Lord Manwë has instructed me to tell thee. They do not summon thee, but neither do they forbid thee to come to them, if that be thy wish."

"Th-they do not want to see me... ever?" Arafinwë asked in disbelief and the anguish in his voice brought tears to Ranyar’s eyes.

"Hush, child. That is not what I said," reverting again to informal speech. "Go to the Valar if that is your wish. None will forbid it." Ranyar stood up and helped Arafinwë to rise as well, then took the king’s head in his hands and kissed him on the brow. "You must not grieve so, Arafinwë. It is not as dark as you think."

Then Arafinwë found himself standing alone under the rustling branches of the White Tree. He would receive no summons from the Powers but neither would they forbid him to come. He gave Ñalatilion a deep bow and turned to leave the courtyard, his course set.

The White Tree’s silver-green leaves rustled in the windless dark, as it took mournful leave of the king.

****

"You are intent on going, even though the Valar have not summoned you?" Eärwen asked, giving him a tight-lipped look.

"I was told that I may go if I wish," Arafinwë answered carefully. They were in their private sitting room. Amarië and Anairë were there as well, sitting side-by-side with hoops in their hands as they worked on some pieces of embroidery, though Arafinwë noticed idly that Amarië had ceased to stitch and only sat there, staring at nothing in particular, obviously lost in thought. He felt a momentary pang of guilt for the child. Her anguish had been terrible to witness when she learned that her beloved Findaráto had not returned with the others. Since then, she had barely spoken, merely going through the motions of living. But, then, aren’t we all? Arafinwë thought bitterly to himself. Anairë, on the other hand, had seemed more resigned to the thought of never seeing her husband and children again, and whatever grief she felt, she kept to herself.

"And what about us?" Eärwen demanded. "What of Aldundilmë?"

Arafinwë winced slightly. Aldundilmë had been placed under the watchful eyes of Mistress Lótemalda, though the elfling was more likely to be found following Arafinwë around like a lost puppy. At the moment, she was fast asleep, the only time Arafinwë ever had to be alone.

"You’ll manage as you always have," he finally said. "As for Aldundilmë...." He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I cannot take her with me, you know that."

"She’ll be devastated," Anairë said. "She’s too young to understand why she’s being deserted by her atto."

"Well, I am not her atto," Arafinwë retorted in a spate of anger. "Her atto is with my brother on his way to the Outer Lands." He shook his head, somewhat appalled at his own callousness. He was quite fond of the child and grieved for her loss. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her even more. "I need to go," he said quietly in apology, not looking at the ellith. "I need to know what the Valar intend for us."

Silence hung over them for a time before Eärwen spoke. "How long will you be gone?" Arafinwë detected a note of disapproval in her question.

He sighed and shook his head. "I don’t know. I thought to stop at Vanyamar and speak with Ingwë. I am surprised not to have heard from him by now, for I sent a message to him almost as soon as I returned."

Eärwen shrugged. "I am sure he will get around to answering your missive eventually," she said dismissively. "When you were gone, there were rumors, unsubstantiated, of course, that Ingwë was not in Vanyamar, but no one seems to know where he has gone."

Arafinwë frowned. "What of Ingwion or Elindis? What news from them?"

"That’s just it," Eärwen said with exasperation. "We’ve not been able to get any real news from Vanyamar. There’s been a complete lack of communication between us. In fact, none of our couriers have yet to return and one is long overdue."

Arafinwë looked at her in surprise. "And when were you going to tell me?"

Eärwen gave him a scathing look. "Why should I, my husband, when you spend your days wallowing in self-pity, going on about how we should all prepare ourselves for thralldom. Honestly! What nonsense is that? You insist you are not the Noldóran and have left it to me and Anairë to continue running things. So now you want us to keep you informed of matters that are no longer your concern?" She stood up, glaring at him. "Make up your mind, Arafinwë. Honestly! I did not realize I had married such a weak-willed ellon."

With that, she stormed out of the room, leaving Arafinwë sitting there with his mouth agape in astonishment. Amarië and Anairë, silent witnesses to it all, sat there and remained still. Arafinwë felt himself reddening in shame and refused to look at the two ellith, but stood and walked out of the room with as much dignity as he could muster, wondering what he should do now.

****

As he feared, Aldundilmë did not take the news of his leaving well, pleading to him not to leave her.

"D-don’t you love me anymore, At-atto?" she cried, clinging to him in despair.

He held her close and rocked her. "Of course I love you, sweetling," he murmured. "I love you very much, but I have to go on a journey and I need you to stay here and look after Ammë Eärwen and Amarië. You know how very sad Amarië is, don’t you?"

The little elleth nodded and sniffled. "She cries all the time. I don’t cry all the time."

"No you don’t," Arafinwë said, smiling at the child’s tone of disapproval. "And that’s why I need you to remain here, to help cheer Amarië up. Can you do that, Little One? Will you help Ammë and Auntie Anairë cheer up Amarië while I’m away?"

The elfling sniffled a bit more and then nodded. "Will you come back soon?" she asked.

"As soon as I can," he answered, knowing that it wasn’t an answer at all, for he doubted he would ever be returning to Tirion. "But in the meantime, I have another problem that I think you can help me with."

"What is it, Atya?" Aldundilmë asked, sounding more excited.

"I have a friend whose son has a little ellon of his own and he’s something of a handful, so I’ve been told. I think what the child needs is a big sister to help look after him. Do you know anyone who might be willing to do that?"

Aldundilmë furrowed her brow, seriously considering Arafinwë’s plea and he had to stop himself from smiling at her solemn demeanor. Then her expression brightened. "I could be his big sister, Atto."

"Are you sure, sweetling? That’s a very important responsibility. Are you sure you can do it?"

She nodded vigorously, but then stopped, her expression somewhat worried. "If I’m the little ellon’s big sister does that mean his atto is my atto, too? Does that mean you can’t be my atto anymore?"

"No, Aldundilmë, have no fear of that," Arafinwë replied gently. "You will always be my little elleth and I will always be your atto. You have more than enough ammi looking after you, but you need an atto while I’m away. So, I’ve asked Herencáno if he would be your atto for me and he has agreed. Do you still want to be the little ellon’s big sister?"

Aldundilmë nodded and Arafinwë hugged her. "Then why don’t I introduce you to them?"

Aldundilmë gave him a fierce little hug and kissed him somewhat wetly on the cheek. "Tye-melin, Atya," she said.

"Tye-melin, hinya," he replied, giving her his own hug and kiss.

****

In the end, he decided to walk, rather than ride to his doom, as he saw it. Nor would he allow an escort.

"I go to Taniquetil as a pilgrim and supplicant," he told Eärwen and Anairë when they protested his decision. "It will not do to approach the Valar in the trappings of a king, for I am no king, whatever you or anyone else in Tirion think."

Eärwen refused to comment, her anger still evident. Anairë reached up and gave him a kiss. "Travel well, brother," she whispered, "and hurry back. We need you, more than you know."

He gave her a hug. "It will be as the Valar decree," he said, certain in his own heart that he would never see Tirion again. He glanced at Eärwen, hoping for some sign of love and forgiveness from her, but she stood there in stony silence and refused his kiss. It was an awkward moment and he glanced at Anairë in chagrin. She merely gave him a helpless shrug. "Take care of one another," he said finally, "and watch over Amarië. I fear for what the child might do in her grief."

"She will survive, Arafinwë," Anairë said, giving him a brief smile. "We’ll see to it."

There did not seem anything else to say, so he bent down and hugged and kissed little Aldundilmë, who had been standing quietly next to Lord Herencáno. The young lord was holding his infant son in the crook of one arm while his other arm was around Aldundilmë’s shoulders. Arafinwë straightened up, giving Herencáno a nod of thanks before slinging a haversack over his shoulders, grabbing a walking staff, and leaving without another word, all the while hoping to hear Eärwen call out to him, but there was nothing and he refused to look back. At the gate leading to the road that would take him to Valmar he stopped and drew in a deep breath, steeling himself for when he took the irrevocable step past the portal. Until that moment, he was not sure even in his own mind as to his resolve to seek out the Valar. Once he stepped onto the road, there would be no turning back. The guards all saluted him and one wished him a fair journey. He gave them a smile and thanked them for their courtesy, then squared his shoulders and walked briskly from the city, never looking back.

****

Riding, it would normally take three days to reach Valmar, but walking, it would take longer. He passed none upon the road. The darkness was oppressive, but he had ceased to think about it. For four days he traveled, stopping to sleep under trees, eating cold rations of coimas and fruit, washing his meals down with spring water.

Sometime during the fifth day he reached the outskirts of Valmar where there were a few inns and shops along the road catering to the needs of travelers. He found a small inn where he doubted any would recognize him in his plain grey tunic and dark-blue cloak, giving his name as Ranyar to the proprietor, who was a Vanya. Arafinwë hoped the Maia he had met in the courtyard of the White Tree would not mind him borrowing the name. It seemed appropriate enough under the circumstances. The innkeeper was glad enough to see him, for there had been little commerce between the realms of late and Arafinwë was his only patron. The innkeeper asked him about affairs in Tirion and spoke of the rumors that Alqualondë had been destroyed. Arafinwë assured him that the rumors were false.

"Alqualondë still stands and Olwë still rules," he told the proprietor. "I know, for I have seen the city of the Swanships, and in Tirion, all is calm."

When the innkeeper asked where he was heading, Arafinwë told him that he was going to Vanyamar, saying he wished to visit with old friends. The ellon shook his head.

"You may have trouble entering the city," he said. "There are rumors that our king has closed the gates against all who are not Vanyar, and that grieves me, for if there is no commerce between our cities, what reason have I to remain here?"

To that Arafinwë had no answer, and when he retired to his room, he lay on his bed for some time wondering where Ingwë was and what was happening in Vanyamar.

****

When he woke and had broken his fast, he thanked the innkeeper, who wished him a successful journey. "If you indeed are able to enter the city," he said, "go to the Mallë Lanyarion and you will find the Shepherd’s Inn. My cousin owns it. Speak my name and he will treat you right."

"Thank you," Arafinwë said. "I will do that." He stepped along the road at a brisk pace. He meant to pass through Valmar quickly and make his way through Eldamas and be on his way to Vanyamar with a minimum of trouble. But when he came to the eastern gate of mithril and pearls, he stopped in consternation, for the gate was closed. Why had the innkeeper not warned him? He reached out hesitantly to touch the gate, to see if it were truly barred, wondering what it might mean. Was the gate closed only to him? Did the Valar know he was coming and this was their way of telling him that his presence was unwanted? And if that were so....

He was suddenly afraid. He had not been summoned, Ranyar had said. What did that mean? Why would the Valar refuse to hear him? He did not know and that unknowing frightened him. He began to tremble and then his nerve broke altogether and he crumpled to the ground weeping frantically, great sobs of terror and distress, the events of the past year finally taking their toll on his fëa. He huddled against the gate and allowed himself the luxury of grieving for all that he had lost, including himself. Eventually, he fell asleep, exhaustion taking him.

****

Arafinwë woke, feeling strangely calm. There was a strange light about him that he could not place. He was lying on his stomach, his head pillowed in the crook of his arm. He started to sit up and stopped, absolutely awe-stricken.

He was surrounded by Beings of Light. There were fourteen of them, for he counted. The one at his head was facing him, as was the one at his feet. The others alternately faced inward and outward. They wore robes of white under tabards of different hues. On the ones that faced him he could make out emblems embroidered on their tabards. The Being at his head wore a sky-blue tabard with an eagle upon it. The one at his foot wore a black tabard with a strange device that looked like a golden globe being swallowed up in darkness. The sight sent shivers down his spine. The others that faced inward wore tabards ranging from golden-yellow to sea-green to white to forest green to blood-red, each with a different emblem, emblems that Arafinwë was beginning to recognize. The Lights of their Being reflecting off the tabards shimmered in the dark and it felt as if he were surrounded by a rainbow. Fear overtook him.

The Being at his head leaned down and placed a comforting hand on his brow. "Fear not, Arafinwë. We will not harm you."

"R-ranyar?" Arafinwë asked in surprise, for so it was. The Maia smiled at him and helped him to rise. The Being in the black tabard gave Ranyar a wry look.

"Olórin, have you given up the name Ilúvatar gave you for another?"

Ranyar, or Olórin as the Other had called him, laughed lightly. "Nay, Maranwë. Ranyar is a name I sometimes use when I walk among the Children clad as one of them. It amuses me, nothing more."

Arafinwë could only stare at the Maiar in awe. "Wh-what are you going to do to me?"

"Do?" Olórin asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "We’re not going to do anything to you, Arafinwë. We have been sent to act as an escort."

"I don’t understand. You said the Valar would not summon me."

"And they haven’t," Olórin agreed, "but they have sent us nonetheless. They would not want you to falter now that you’ve come so far."

Arafinwë blushed in shame. Memory of his breakdown flooded him. He was indeed a coward. The Maia in the black tabard, whom Arafinwë knew served Lord Námo, shook his head. "No coward would do what you have done, Arafinwë, or what you are about to do."

"That you have come this far, child, is a testament to your courage and strength, though you do not see it," Olórin said kindly. "Let us help you the rest of the way."

"Why is the gate closed?" Arafinwë asked, for indeed the gate still remained shut. He looked at Ray... no, Olórin. "If the Valar sent you to escort me, why shut the gate against me?"

"Not against you, Arafinwë," Olórin replied. "The gate was shut because all four gates into Valmar are shut for the present. This is how the Eldar who live in Eldamas know that their services are not needed at this time. When the gates reopen, then they will know to come and do as they have always done for the Valar. Until then, they are dismissed from service. Even those like the Aulenduri, who generally reside within Valmar, have been asked to leave the city. None of the Eldar abide here."

Arafinwë frowned, not liking the implications of that. "How long have the gates been closed?" he asked, remembering Eärwen telling him about the overdue courier and that no news about Ingwë could be had.

"Valmar has been closed to the Eldar since the attack on Alqualondë," Maranwë answered, his tone neutral, and Arafinwë cringed.

"Yet, in closing the gates, there is no commerce between the cities," he pointed out in a reasonable tone. "Should the innocent be punished for the crimes of the guilty?"

Olórin gave him an elegant shrug. "As to that, I have no answers. Perhaps you can take it up with Lord Manwë when you speak with him. That is, if you are still resolved to go forward and not return to Tirion."

For a long moment Arafinwë stood there in silence. None of the Maiar moved or made any sound. The ones facing him waited calmly. His was the decision. Finally he nodded. "Lead me then. Lead me to my doom."

Olórin’s expression was unreadable to the Elf, yet Arafinwë found he had to look away, unable to bear the love and compassion he saw in the Maia’s eyes.

"Come then," Olórin said gently. "We will take you to Lord Manwë."

Now all the Maiar faced the gate, which slowly opened of its own accord, and Arafinwë found himself enveloped in a Light of shimmering colors as he walked in the midst of the Maiar. It was beautiful to behold, but he found no comfort in it.

****

Ranyar: Wanderer, Pilgrim.

Tye-melin, Attya: ‘I love you, my Father’.

Hinya: My child.

Mallë Lanyarion: Street of the Weavers

Maranwë: Destiny.

Note: The fourteen Maiar in their different colored tabards represent the fourteen Valar, each with their own symbol:

Manwë — sky blue: eagle

Varda — indigo: star

Aulë — golden-yellow: anvil and hammer

Yavanna — spring green: cornucopia

Ulmo — sea-green: trident

Nienna — dark grey: fountain (of Pity)

Námo — black: sun-in-eclipse (Arafinwë does not recognize this symbol for neither Isil nor Anar have yet to be created; an example of Námo’s prescience.)

Vairë — silver-grey: loom

Irmo — white: rainbow

Estë — purple: harp

Oromë — forest green: oak tree

Vána — blue-green: elanor and niphredil entwined

Tulkas — blood-red: sword

Nessa — yellow: deer