107: To Rescue a King

Somewhere along the way the Hunt passed beyond the reach of the storm and they rode under starlight once again. The Maiar and Oromë had ceased their song and Ingwion became aware of himself and his surroundings once again. He looked about in confusion, for he was not sitting behind a Maia, but in front of one. He canted his head to look back at the Maia behind him and realized it was not the same one who had given him a hand up. He realized that at some point along the way, when he was lost to himself, he had been transferred from one Maia to another. This Maia smiled at him.

"Welcome back," he said. "I am Ulcuroitar of the People of Oromë."

"Wh-what happened?" Ingwion whispered. "H-how did I end up with you?"

Ulcuroitar laughed and at the sound of it, Ingwion barely suppressed a moan as something dark and dangerous swept through him. He vaguely felt Ulcuroitar’s grip tightening around him as he swayed slightly in his seat.

"Easy now," the Maia said solicitously. "All is well. Take a deep breath and let it out slowly. That’s it. Again. Feeling better?" Ingwion nodded, leaning wearily into Ulcuroitar’s embrace. "Our lord rarely allows any of you Children on a Hunt," Ulcuroitar said after a moment or two, "for there are grave consequences to the fëar of those who are... weaker."

Ingwion felt as if he should be insulted, but realized that the Maia was only speaking the truth as he saw it. To the Maia he, Ingwion, was weak, for even the strongest of the Eldar could never match the power of the least of the Ainur.

"How long was I out?" he asked. "And where are we?"

"You have not been out, as you say, for long," Ulcuroitar said, "and we are even now approaching the valley of Formenos."

Even as the Maia spoke, there was a general slowing down of the horses as they topped a rise and Ingwion craned his neck to see where they were, curious as to what Fëanáro’s place of exile looked like. He could not see much as there was a great deal of milling about as the Maiar divested themselves of their Eldarin burdens. Ingwion thanked Ulcuroitar for allowing him to ride with him. The Maia smiled, giving him a salute with his spear. "Ilúvatar guide your path, Ingwion of the Vanyar," he said and then he and the other Maiar wheeled about and headed back down the road, turning almost as one to the northeast as they reached the level plain. They raised their spears, their points glinting coldly under the stars. "Na i-roimë!" they shouted as one and then they faded into the fabric of the landscape.

Silence reigned and Ingwion just stood there, staring at the spot where the Maiar had disappeared, some part of him wishing he were still with them, another part hoping he would never see them again, for these Maiar were dangerous in a way he had never encountered before and he vaguely wondered if all the Maiar were equally as dangerous. The thought troubled him, though he could not say why.

"My children."

Ingwion startled at the sound of Lord Oromë’s voice, having quite forgotten that the Vala had remained with them. He turned to face the Lord of Forests and though Oromë never moved from where he sat upon Nahar, it seemed to Ingwion as if he and the Vala were completely alone with one another. Ingwion felt himself falling into the Vala’s gaze, though he had no sense of fear. Some communication on a level too deep for Ingwion to bring to consciousness passed between him and Oromë. A warmth spread through him that both excited and calmed him and he felt as if he could remain in that state forever, but eventually, after what might have been a mere second or all of eternity, Oromë’s gaze shifted just slightly and Ingwion found himself blinking, as if coming awake. He noticed the other Elves doing the same. Oromë looked upon them with a benevolent smile.

"You have done well," he said.

"We haven’t done anything, lord," Arafinwë countered with a wry grin. "At least, not yet."

Oromë shook his head in amusement. "You survived the Riding," he countered and the way he said it made Ingwion believe that the Vala meant more than the fact that they had ridden with the Maiar. "At any rate, what do you plan to do now?"

Ingwion blinked again, and looked about, his own bemused state mirrored in the expressions of the other Elves. He moved to stand so he could see down into the valley. Off in the distance to the north he could see the dark bulk of the edifice which apparently had been Finwë and Fëanáro’s stronghold as Ingwë had described it. The narrow slits of windows were glowing with light, so it was obvious that the place was inhabited. He saw that the road led directly to the stronghold, fronted by a wide flagstone courtyard. There was a curious pile of stones in the center of the courtyard and Ingwion could see what appeared to be a sword thrust into the ground before it. With a shiver of horror, he realized he was looking at the — what had Fëanáro called it? — the ‘grave’ of Finwë. The sight was too unreal for him and he could not wrap his mind around it, so he shifted his gaze and saw that the front doors to the stronghold were open. No, not open, hanging off their hinges as if they’d been ripped open by some giant’s hand. He suddenly realized that that hand had to have been Melkor’s and he forced down another shiver.

"Formenos appears to be well-built even with those doors unhinged," Valandur said. "I don’t see any guards though. Perhaps they don’t expect anyone to show up."

"We need to get inside, though," Arafinwë said, frowning in concentration.

"First, you should change into dry clothes," Oromë suggested, gesturing, and the Elves noticed that all their gear had come with them, now lying in a jumble on the ground. "You will fight better and you won’t squish as much."

Ingwion found himself chuckling, realizing that he was indeed wet and uncomfortable. In minutes they had changed their clothes, softly discussing their options as they did so while Oromë remained on Nahar and watched them with a clinical eye.

"We can’t exactly sneak up to the front door," Eccaldamos said at one point. "Anyone gazing out any of the windows would see us immediately and there might be guards inside where we cannot see them from here."

"Yet, what other way is there?" Intarion asked.

"There may be a way," Arafinwë said slowly. They all looked at him expectantly. He grimaced slightly, turning to Ingwion. "You remember when we were at the Máhanaxar and Fëanáro’s sons came and told us the news about... about Atar?"

Ingwion nodded, dimly beginning to understand what his cousin was talking about. "Lord Manwë mentioned something about a tunnel."

Arafinwë nodded. "I know where it’s located and I know the password to get us inside."

"Password?" Ingwion and the other Elves exclaimed almost as one and if the situation hadn’t been so dire it would have been funny.

Arafinwë gave them a grim smile. "My brother boasted to us about it afterwards. The outer entrance is hidden and can only be opened from outside by a password. He refused to tell us what the password was, though, but later, Macalaurë confided in me, saying the knowledge might be useful sometime in the future." He paused, looking troubled. "And now I wonder if he had had some foreknowledge, for he spoke only to me about the password. He never told Ñolofinwë as far as I know. Did he know I would turn back?" This last was directed at Oromë who shook his head.

"I do not know, Pityahuan," the Vala answered in a gentle voice. "It may be that he did, or he may only have felt prompted to speak to you about the password without knowing why. The important thing here is that you have the means to get inside Formenos without being detected."

Ingwion nodded. "He’s right, Cousin, and I’m thinking that Intarion has a role to play in this as well." He smiled at Intarion, who gave him a startled look. "You are Ingoldo’s son," Ingwion continued. "Do you think you could be convincing enough to brazen your way inside through the front door pretending to be a messenger from your atar as a way of distracting anyone inside while the rest of us sneak in through this tunnel of Arafinwë’s?"

"Not my tunnel," Arafinwë protested. "I just happen to have the key to open it."

They all snorted in amusement at that, but when Ingwion gave Intarion an enquiring look, Intarion sobered and looked thoughtful. "I don’t know if it would work, though," he said after a moment. "Everyone knows that my atar and I are at odds. They are not likely to believe me."

"It’s not a question of believing you," Ingwion said. "It’s a question of can you distract them long enough so they are unaware of our approach through the tunnel?" Before Intarion could answer, Ingwion turned to Arafinwë. "To where does the tunnel lead?"

"According to Fëanáro, it leads to what he called the Third Hall," Arafinwë replied as he pulled out a knife and crouched down to draw in the dirt. The others gathered around him to see what he was doing. With a few swift strokes he had a rough sketch of the fortress’s layout. "Here is the Third Hall," he said, pointing. "As you can see it’s an inner room with only clerestory windows to allow for air flow."

"Could they be holding Ingwë there?" Valandur asked.

Arafinwë shook his head. "Unlikely. It’s much like the hunting lodge. There’s no place to keep anyone except chained to a post or something and I don’t see them doing that. No. If I were to keep someone from escaping it would be one of the bedrooms situated on the upper floors. The doors can be barred and the windows are too narrow for anyone to climb out of them."

"The question remains, though, how many guards?" Eccaldamos asked, stealing a glance up at Lord Oromë, who simply shook his head.

"There may not be too many," Ingwion said, sounding hopeful. "How many people do you need to guard one person after all?"

Arafinwë gave a noncommittal grunt as he stood up. "I have the feeling Ingoldo is not taking any chances, so there may be more than we suspect. At any rate, we have little choice." He turned to Intarion. "Do you think you can distract whoever is in there long enough for the rest of us to get inside by way of the tunnel?"

"Alone?" Intarion protested. "Will it not seem odd that I just show up without a horse or even one retainer?"

"I can go with Lord Intarion," Eccaldamos suggested, "but he’s right about the horses. It would seem odd that we come on foot."

Oromë chuckled and they all looked at him. "I said your horses were too slow, but that is not to say they would not get here eventually," the Vala said. "It will take some time for Arafinwë and the others to find their way around to where the tunnel is located and even with the password, I suspect you will not find the door immediately. The horses will be here in about two hours."

"Then why bring us here so swiftly if we must still wait for our horses to arrive?" Ingwion asked.

"Because this is the time for laying your plans," Oromë replied, "and to rest. You do not realize what a drain riding with me and my Maiar has had on your hröar. Take this time to rest, eat and think out your plan of attack. Then, when the horses come, you will be ready."

"You kept saying we were late," Valandur ventured, "but now that we are here, we are too early."

"No, child. You are right on time," Oromë assured them. "Had we started out a half an hour later than we did, then we would have been too late, even without delays, for the storm would have reached us before we came upon the camp at the crossroads and all evidence of Ingwë having been there would have been lost."

Ingwion fumbled at a pouch on his belt and pulled out the eagle cloak pin and gazed at it, realizing just how close they had been to not finding it and mostly because of his own actions. He sighed as he slipped the pin back inside the pouch. Arafinwë gave him a sympathetic smile.

"You are not entirely to blame, Ingwion," he said, "and we did find the pin and we now know that Ingwë is here in Formenos. That’s all that matters at this moment. But come, Lord Oromë is correct. I am beginning to feel both hungry and fatigued and I suspect the rest of you are feeling the same. Let us find a place to settle ourselves and rest. We have a couple of hours before we can do anything about rescuing the High King, is that not so, my lord?" He addressed this last to Oromë who nodded.

"If you go back down the road," he said, "you will find a small copse of elms just to your right. I suggest you settle yourselves there and rest. Nahar and I will keep watch, so you may all sleep without having to take turns guarding."

They all nodded and made their way to the copse, settling themselves as best they could and doling out the fruits and cheese and bread that were in their bags, and passing around a flagon of wine that they found there as well. After a few short minutes though, Ingwion felt his eyes drooping and without conscious thought he slipped onto the Path of Dreams, a crust of bread still grasped in his hand.

****

Ingwion woke to discover that someone had covered him with a blanket. He glanced around to see everyone else still sleeping, all nestled under blankets as well and wondered if Lord Oromë had been the one to cover them. The idea of the Vala being so solicitous to their needs both warmed him and made him feel uncomfortable, as if he did not deserve such compassion. Throwing off the blanket and standing, he made his way further into the woods to relieve himself. When he returned he saw Valandur stirring. The loremaster stared at the blanket around his shoulders with a puzzled look that made Ingwion smile.

"I think Lord Oromë is looking after our welfare," he whispered and Valandur smiled back.

"We should rouse the others and see what is happening," Valandur said and followed action with words by shaking Intarion, who was lying next to him, bidding him to awake. Soon the others were blinking away sleep, taking turns to go further into the woods while the others munched on some leftover food. When they were all set, they left the copse, deciding to leave their bags there, for they did not think they would need them.

Stepping from underneath the eaves of the woods, they saw Lord Oromë there, still sitting on Nahar, and Ingwion wondered if horse and Vala had ever moved all the while they were sleeping and then recalled the blankets and realized how foolish his thoughts were. Standing before the Vala were their horses and if Ingwion didn’t know better, he would have said that they looked sheepish, as if they had just been scolded. Oromë looked up as the Elves approached and smiled.

"I trust you all slept well?" he asked and they all nodded.

Valandur glanced up at the skies and frowned. "It seems, though, that we must have slept longer than two hours," he said, pointing upward, "for the stars have moved much further across the heavens than they should have."

Oromë nodded and gave them a rueful look. "I was just chastising your mounts for... um... taking their sweet time getting here."

Several eyebrows went up and then Ingwion snickered for no particular reason and soon they were all chuckling, each of them going to his horse and assuring the animal that he was still loved and not to pay any attention to the ‘big bad Vala’. Oromë looked on with amusement. Then he spoke and his tone was more solemn.

"Are you ready to implement your plan, Finwion?" he asked.

Arafinwë glanced at the others and they all nodded. He turned back to the Vala. "Yes, lord, we are ready. My primary concern is that I do not know how long it will take me to reach the tunnel and find the entrance so there is no way that Intarion and I can coordinate our movements."

"That would be a concern were you alone," Oromë averred, "but I am here. Go and seek the entrance to the tunnel. I believe Macalaurë described it to you fully?"

"Yes, he did," Arafinwë replied.

"Then you should have no trouble finding it," Oromë said. "As soon as you have opened the tunnel, I will alert Intarion and Eccaldamos. That is all the coordination you need and it is all the help I will give you. What happens thereafter is up to you."

Arafinwë bowed and without another word he urged his horse forward, with Valandur and Ingwion following. As they headed around the curve of the hill toward the north, Oromë turned to Intarion and Eccaldamos, giving them a faint smile. "And now we wait."

****

Ingwë blearily opened his eyes, wondering what had brought him out of an admittedly restless sleep. Some sound had reached him, but he could not identify it. He took care to move off the bed, the pain from the last beating less than it had been, but he had been denied food on top of that and was feeling weak and dizzy. He sat on the edge of the bed and reached over to take up the goblet of water that was all he’d been given for some time. He had lost track of the days, marked originally by the one meal he had been given earlier in his captivity. Replacing the goblet after drinking, he forced himself to stand, wondering what had alerted him. He could hear nothing now. Walking carefully across the room to the door, he leaned against it, hoping to hear something. At first, there was nothing and he was beginning to think he’d imagined the sound and was about to return to his bed, for the effort to stand was proving too much, but just as he started to turn he heard something and paused. Had that been a shout? And what was that? It had sounded as if something had crashed. Were his gaolers fighting amongst themselves? Then the sounds got louder and he could make out individual words, words of defiance and curses and demands to know where the High King was.

"Here!" he shouted, or tried to, weakly pounding on the door. "I’m here... I’m here...." He found himself weeping for no particular reason, or perhaps for too many reasons: the long days of captivity, his foolish attempts to escape, the beatings and privations and all the time worried for the fate of his family and his people and wondering why the Valar were doing nothing to save him.

"I’m here...." he cried again, slipping painfully to the floor, unable to stop the flow of tears, fearing that he was just imagining the sounds of battle, of possible rescue, fearing he would never leave this damnable place alive. It was all too much and he wept, huddled against the door, slipping back into unconsciousness.

"Atto! Atto!"

He roused at the sound of the voice, trying to place it, but the effort was too much. He raised a fist and pounded on the door with as much force as his failing strength would allow, fearing it was not enough, but apparently it was for he heard someone shout, "Here! It came from here," and then there was the sound of a bolt being drawn back. He had just enough presence of mind to move to the right, for the door would swing inward to the left and he was in its way. The effort was almost too much for his battered body and he was slipping again towards unconsciousness. "Hurry! Hurry!" he heard that half-familiar voice say and then the door flew open and Ingwë felt several people kneeling around him.

"Oh, Atto! What have they done to you?"

He forced his eyes open, blinking at the unfamiliar brightness of the torches held by two of the people there, for his captors had only allowed him one candle to light his room and they had taken that away after he set fire to the bedclothes in an attempt to escape. He tried to answer the question, but all he could do was shake his head.

"Help me get him to the bed," he heard that same voice say. He struggled to put a name to it, but he was finding it difficult to concentrate. He felt himself being lifted and cried out from the pain.

"Damn them! They tortured him," the familiar voice cried in anguish.

"He’s certainly been beaten rather severely," someone said. "He probably tried to escape and they punished him for it."

"I’ll kill them," the first voice said, and Ingwë could hear the anger in the voice and wanted to tell him it was all right, that he deserved the beating for being such a bad king, but he hadn’t the strength.

"You’ll do no such thing, Ingwion," said the second voice, sounding cold and forbidding. "Now, go get some medicinal supplies if any can be found here, or at least some hot water and bandages while I ascertain his condition. Intarion, go with him."

There was the soft sound of people retreating and then someone laid a cool hand on his forehead. "Ingwë, can you hear me? Uncle, can you open your eyes?"

Ingwë struggled to do just that and found himself staring up into a familiar face, though his muddled brain could not put a name to it. "Who....?" he rasped.

"It’s Arafinwë," the ellon said. "Do you remember me?"

"Indis...."

Arafinwë smiled. "Yes, I am Indis’ second son. You’re safe now, Uncle. All is well. We’ll take care of you. Do not fret. You’re safe." All the while Arafinwë was stroking Ingwë’s forehead, soothing him.

"Safe...." Ingwë whispered and then he started weeping again, unsure if it was for joy or sorrow.

"Shhh," Arafinwë said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently cradling him. "It’s all right, Uncle. It’s over. Shhh." He held him, humming a lullaby, one that he’d sung to his own children when they were little, and in a matter of minutes, Ingwë’s tears abated and he fell into a deep sleep for the first time since his captivity. Arafinwë continued holding him, rocking him, until Ingwion and Intarion returned with hot water and medicine and they proceeded to minister to the High King, who never stirred.