Chapter the Sixth:

In Which Lies are Revealed and the Doom of Arafinwë Falls Upon Our Heroes

Arafinwë stared down at the Reborn still sitting in his son’s embrace for a long moment before glancing up and gazing upon a scene of destruction. The floor was liberally covered with red wine and potato peels with several loaves of bread looking rather soggy as they soaked up the wine. A number of the kitchen help were sporting interesting bruises and one young elleth quietly wept, apparently over the salad that had been ruined, for she was picking up limp lettuce and mostly squashed tomatoes from where they had been strewn about and putting them back in a large bowl, her expression mournful. Arafinwë resisted a sigh and turned his attention to the Head Cook, who stood there dripping with strawberry and rhubarb and blood, rubbing his throat where there were purpling bruises and looking affronted, fearful and smug at the same time. He noticed that everyone else had more sheepish looks.

"Would someone care to tell me what is going on?" the King finally asked in a deceptively mild voice.

At once several people started talking or rather yelling with Isildil in the forefront. Arafinwë held up a hand and the babble died. He had noticed that his son, Vondo, Vorondil and Glorfindel were the only ones who were silent. Glorfindel stood at ease, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression neutral. Vorondil knelt beside Finrod and Vondo, his expression more fearful, though his gaze was more on his uncle than on anyone else. Finrod’s expression was unreadable as he continued sitting there in the pool of wine looking up at him. Vondo just looked confused.

"Findaráto, who started this?" he asked his son, knowing that he would get the unvarnished truth from him.

"I’m afraid I did, Sire," Finrod answered stiffly.

Arafinwë nodded, not entirely surprised by the answer. He reached down and offered Vondo a hand which the ellon took somewhat bemusedly, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. Finrod and Vorondil stood as well. Arafinwë looked at the Reborn who had followed him to Endórë and had died there. He gave Vondo a sympathetic look. "Are you feeling better?"

Vondo shook his head. "I... I don’t know. I... what happened?" The look of confusion and the pleading in his voice were heartbreaking and Arafinwë, ignoring the ellon’s wet and sticky tunic, wrapped his arms around him and gave him a hug.

"Why don’t you go clean up and rest for a while," he suggested quietly. "I’m sure you’ll feel much better after you’ve slept. Findaráto, take Vondo and see him settled. Glorfindel, you and Vorondil are dismissed as well. Go clean yourselves up. Findaráto, you and Glorfindel are to report to me in my study in one hour. Vorondil, I think your uncle would appreciate not being alone at this time."

The youngster nodded and Arafinwë resisted a smile at the look of relief on Vorondil's face when he realized he was not required to report to the King as well. Arafinwë handed a still bemused Vondo back to Finrod with a nod, stepping to one side to indicate that they had his permission to leave. His son and Glorfindel gave him respectful bows. Vorondil belatedly followed suit, but Vondo just frowned as Finrod started to shepherd him away.

"But... did... did we win?" he implored.

Arafinwë watched in amusement as his son rolled his eyes. "That remains to be seen," the prince said, casting a rueful look back at his atar. Arafinwë merely nodded.

"But... but... they ruined everything!" Finrod heard Isildil sputter as he walked away, his voice raspy. "The Queen’s Begetting Day Feast... they destroyed it and you’re just letting them go!?"

"Your people can clean this mess up well enough, Master Isildil," Finrod heard his atar say, the King’s tone one of impatience. "As for the feast..." Here he heard his atar sigh. "As for the feast...salvage what you can and continue as you have been doing. You still have several hours before we eat. I’m sure someone of your caliber can come up with something. Now I suggest you have that cut seen to and...."

They were now out of earshot and so heard nothing more. Glorfindel cast him a rueful grin. "Maybe we should have left the menu alone," he suggested.

Finrod snorted but did not reply. Vorondil started sniffling. "It’s all my fault."

"How is it your fault, youngling?" Glorfindel asked, throwing an arm over the ellon’s shoulders.

"It just is," Vorondil said with a shrug. "If I hadn’t tripped...."

"That was an accident," Finrod assured him. "And to tell you the truth, I didn’t think we would get away with it. Oh, we might have managed to escape the kitchen, but eventually we would have been brought before the King to answer for our... er... crimes."

"It’s still my fault," Vorondil insisted, wiping his eyes with an already soggy sleeve.

"No, it was my fault," Vondo said quietly. "My fault...."

Now Finrod stopped to give Vondo a hug. Glorfindel and Vorondil stopped as well. "It was no one’s fault," Finrod said, "least of all yours. Now, let us go clean up and then you should rest."

Vondo said nothing to that but allowed himself to be led and soon the four were peeling off their clothes and slipping into the bathing pool. The scented water soon soothed them and it was with some reluctance that they came out and dried off. Once they were dressed in clean tunics Finrod insisted that Vondo lie down.

"You don’t have to sleep, though I suspect you will," he told the ellon, "but you should rest and give yourself time to recover."

"What happened, though?" Vondo implored even as he allowed himself to be led to his bedroom. "I don’t remember anything much. I... I don’t think I was even in the kitchen anymore."

"Something happened to cause you to suffer the blood trance," Finrod explained. "You yelled your brother’s name and then attacked Master Isildil."

Vondo sighed, closing his eyes. "I saw Vorondil trip and then he was lying in a pool of wine. The red color... all of a sudden I saw Aldundil as he fell before the orcs and I...."

"You don’t have to explain," Finrod said gently. "And don’t worry. Atto won’t blame you overmuch for attacking Isildil. He knows that someone in the blood trance isn’t responsible for what they do. Now, rest, and we will check in on you later."

With that he and Glorfindel left the two younger ellyn and headed towards the King’s study. Glorfindel gave his brother a wry grin. "Do you think Atar’s wrath will be worse than Námo’s?"

Finrod merely shook his head. "We’re about to find out."

****

Arafinwë sat at his desk with his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands, staring at nothing in particular, thinking about many things, not the least being his son, or rather sons, for Glorfindel was as much his son as Findaráto. Vorondil and Vondo he rather thought of as his grandsons, and that thought brought a smile to his lips which died when a knock came on the door.

"Enter," he called out as he straightened and the objects of his musings were there looking both sheepish and resolved as they bowed to him. "Right on time. Ah... Isildil. Good. Now we’re all here." He hid a smile at the sight of Findaráto and Glorfindel flinching as the Head Cook appeared behind them, studiously ignoring them as he gave the King a bow. Isildil had cleaned up as well, though his throat was still purple from bruises. Arafinwë gestured for the three to stand before him. His sons, he noticed, appeared calm and there was no sense of nervousness in them. They were obviously expecting punishment and were willing to accept it. Isildil just stood there glowering at the two ellyn.

"So what was the fight all about?" the King asked, looking at Finrod, leaning back in his chair in a nonchalant manner. Before his son could speak, though, Isildil muttered angrily "It was a set-up."

Arafinwë’s eyes narrowed. "Explain."

"It was a ploy to steal sweets," the Head Cook said, giving them all a sniff of disdain. "Those other two, that Reborn and his nephew, they came by earlier, pretending they were on a mission from him," he nodded at Finrod, who raised an eyebrow at the ellon’s rudeness at not giving him a proper title. "Well, I sent them packing soon enough." Isildil’s expression was one of grim satisfaction. "But then all four of them came and while this one tried to occupy me with some specious nonsense about helping out the Queen, that thrall of his was attempting to stuff some tarts into a sack, only one of my people caught him at it. It’s obvious that the whole thing was just a set-up to steal sweets meant for the feast."

"I see," Arafinwë said as he sat there staring at the three ellyn. Isildil looked triumphant; the other two looked affronted. "And what is your version of the story, my son?"

Finrod gave a sniff. "I did indeed send Vondo and Vorondil to the kitchen to enquire as to whether the wedding menu had been decided on already while I was looking into other matters."

"And why did you require this information?" his atar asked.

Finrod shrugged. "It is my wedding, after all. I wished to know what had been decided so I could at least add my own suggestions. Did you know Master Isildil was planning to serve partridge? You know how much Amarië hates partridge."

Arafinwë cast an amused look upon his son standing there frowning at the idea of partridge being served at his wedding feast. "I’m sure there are other dishes...." he started to say but Finrod cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"That’s just the point, Atar!" he exclaimed angrily and now Arafinwë was no longer looking amused. "It’s Amarië’s wedding as much as it is mine, but no one, it seems, can remember that. They are so busy making their own plans, they don’t have the common courtesy to ask us what we would like. The wedding menu should cater to us, not to you or anyone else. Amarië hates partridge and she shouldn’t be forced to choose some other dish, or worse, be given a substitute dish while the rest of us are eating partridge, because we all know she hates partridge, don’t we?" The disgust in his voice was evident.

Arafinwë sat there staring for a moment as he contemplated his son’s words. Findaráto was fuming, while Isildil was still glowering, alternating between rubbing his throat to rubbing his shoulder where he’d been sliced. Glorfindel just looked bored.

"So then what happened?" was all Arafinwë asked.

Finrod took a deep centering breath, letting it out slowly to regain his equilibrium before answering. "During lunch Vondo explained what happened, how Master Isildil sent him and Vorondil packing without a hearing. I decided to go to the kitchen and speak with Master Isildil myself, but he was very uncooperative."

Arafinwë glanced at the Head Cook. "You say my son’s enquiries about the menu were specious, a mere ploy to keep you occupied while the others stole some sweets."

"Not the others, just the thrall," Isildil replied.

Finrod bristled. "His name is Vorondil and he is not a thrall. He is an apprentice Lóriennildo and my vassal."

Isildil waved a negligent hand in dismissal. "Whatever else he may be, he’s still a thief and I told him if I ever caught him inside my kitchen again, I would thrash him."

"Your kitchen?" Arafinwë said in feigned surprise. "That’s odd. And all this time I thought it was my kitchen and I was merely lending it to you." His tone was laced with sarcasm and his expression turned sly, a sure sign for those who knew him well that they were treading on dangerous ground with him. Finrod understood this even if Glorfindel or Isildil did not. "Well, regardless," he continued before Isildil could utter an apology or an explanation, "I’m still waiting to hear how the fight began and who started it."

"I started it," Finrod said promptly. "I threw the first volley. Master Isildil threatened my vassal and I would not stand for it, so I... um... I threw some potato peels at him." Now he looked a bit sheepish when Arafinwë raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"And then I threw a towel over his head and kicked his behind to send him sprawling," Glorfindel chimed in, speaking for the first time, and sounding rather pleased with himself. "Then I think Vondo started lobbing bread at everyone and after that it became a free-for-all."

"I see. And the blood trance?" Arafinwë asked.

Both Finrod and Glorfindel grimaced. "All the while we were... er... fighting off the kitchen staff," Finrod said, "Vorondil was apparently busy stuffing a sack with the tarts, and when Master Isildil tried to stop him, he managed to break away, but tripped over a bench and went sprawling into a puddle of wine. We think Vondo saw this and then was back in Endórë seeing his brother fall and attacked Master Isildil believing him to be an orc bent on killing Aldundil. That’s when you came in."

"Yes," Arafinwë said with a slight cold smile. "One of the scullery maids came running to me to tell me that there was trouble in the kitchen. I thought perhaps a fire or something. The last thing I expected was what I found." He paused for a moment, casting a glance at the cook. "Beyond the question of partridges, why were you unwilling to accommodate Prince Findaráto with his request and why do you insist it was specious?"

"Because her Majesty had already spoken to me about the menu and had approved it," Isildil answered with a sniff. "When his Highness showed up saying he was helping the Queen out, I knew it was a lie."

Arafinwë sat there for a long moment analyzing the situation in his mind, sifting what he had heard and not heard. He glanced at his son who stood there with a resigned, almost rueful, expression on his face. Glorfindel seemed to find the entire situation amusing if the slight smile on his lips was any indication. Master Isildil....

Arafinwë sighed and leaned slightly forward, his arms on the desk, his hands clasped before him. "I know for a fact that her Majesty has not approved anything at this time," he said softly, looking pointedly at the cook. "Certainly not about the menu. I believe she merely wished to set up a time for you to meet with her and my son to discuss it, did she not?"

Finrod stared at his atar in surprise at that revelation while Isildil turned red and then white as he realized he’d been found out. "I... I...."

Arafinwë held up a hand to forestall whatever he was going to say and the ellon shut his mouth, looking decidedly unhappy. "However," he continued, now looking at Finrod, "I also know that your ammë had yet to inform you of this, so it is unlikely you were telling Master Isildil the truth any more than he was telling you, am I not correct?"

Finrod gulped and then nodded, looking down at his toes. "Yes, sir," he muttered.

Arafinwë nodded. "I can understand why you might... um... stretch the truth a bit, yonya," he said sympathetically, "but even so, I find myself disappointed in you. I’ve received reports from the Head Seamstress and Mistress Lindessë of the Musicians’ Guild about you as well. I don’t think either I or your ammë appreciate you going behind her back like this."

Finrod looked up, the fire of anger burning in his eyes. "It’s my wedding," he practically snarled. "Not yours, not ammë’s and certainly not his or anyone else’s." He pointed a finger at Master Isildil. "It’s mine and it’s Amarië’s and only we have the right to decide anything."

"And have you consulted with your betrothed about this?" Arafinwë asked.

"In fact, I have," Finrod replied with a triumphant look. "I sent her a missive just today asking for her opinion on how the wedding should be conducted. I doubt anyone in Vanyamar has bothered to ask her." He gave his atar a look of disgust.

Arafinwë leaned back, not too surprised at his son’s outburst, but even so....

"I sympathize with you, yonya," he said, his voice mild. "I well remember my own wedding when I was just expected to show up at the proper time and not act too much the idiot during the ceremony." Then he straightened and his tone and his expression became more forbidding. "Nevertheless, the fact remains that you’ve gone behind your ammë’s back and you have resorted to lying to others. I will not tolerate that, especially from you. I know Glorfindel will insist on sharing any punishing I mete out to you, but I will excuse Vondo and Vorondil. So, you will go to your ammë and you will apologize to her, then you will retire to your suite until the feast. I will allow you to attend, and Vorondil may act as your squire. I know he’s been looking forward to that. I’ll make arrangements for someone to sit with Vondo, since his parents and Aldundil will be at the feast. I think the ellon has had enough excitement for the day."

"And that’s my punishment, apologizing to Ammë?" Finrod asked in puzzlement.

Arafinwë grinned and it was not a pleasant grin. "Oh no, yonya. I’m just getting started. Beginning tomorrow, you and Glorfindel will be assigned to kitchen duty for the next two weeks. You will report to the kitchen two hours before dawn to help with the bread-making and you will then do whatever tasks are assigned to you and you will work through the lunch hour. After that you are free from any kitchen duties until dinner when you will serve as pages. Between lunch and dinner you will both attend to the Queen where you may spend the afternoon among her ladies-in-waiting learning embroidery."

Both ellyn looked nonplused at that. "Embroidery?" Finrod asked in disbelief.

Arafinwë nodded. "The ladies will be happy to teach you. That should keep you both occupied and out of trouble for a while until Sador and Ingwion arrive."

"And you don’t think with those two joining us we won’t get into more trouble?" Glorfindel couldn’t help asking with a wry grin.

"Ingwion and Sador are too responsible," was Arafinwë’s reply and he hid a smile at the rueful looks the two gave one another at the implications of his words.

Then Glorfindel’s good humor came to the fore and he gave them a smug smile. "Well, at least I already know how to do ribbon embroidery, so it won’t be much of a punishment for me."

Arafinwë nearly laughed out loud when he saw Finrod stepping on Glorfindel’s foot and frowning at his brother, shaking his head. Glorfindel suddenly realized what he’d just said and to whom and looked chagrined, lowering his eyes. Deciding to let it go, Arafinwë turned to Isildil still standing there, his expression almost gleeful and he imagined the Head Cook was already plotting how he would make Finrod’s and Glorfindel’s lives miserable during the next two weeks. Well, he was in for a rude awaking....

"As for you, Master Isildil," Arafinwë said, his tone still cold. "I find your actions equally deplorable in one who is in a position of responsibility. I’ve already spoken to the head of your guild and he has accepted my decision." Isildil’s smug expression melted into one of worry. "You will conduct the feast tonight as planned, but as of tomorrow, you will no longer be Head Cook of the royal kitchens."

"Wh-what!?" Isildil exclaimed. Even Finrod and Glorfindel looked surprised at that.

"That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it Atar?" Finrod asked and Arafinwë realized neither his son nor Glorfindel held any real animosity toward Isildil in spite of everything.

"Perhaps, but there is a lesson for you all in this," Arafinwë said. "Isildil, you will join my son and Glorfindel in their duties as the lowest of kitchen help, lower even than the scullery maid who came running to me. However, you will continue working in the kitchen through the day as you normally would and your guild will be sending over another Master to act as Head Cook in the meantime. After the two weeks, I and your guild masters will re-examine your case and perhaps, and I stress that, perhaps you will be reinstated as the Royal Head Cook. We’ll just have to see."

Before Isildil could respond, Finrod turned to him, his expression remorseful. "I’m sorry, Master Isildil. I never thought Atar would punish you for something I started."

Isildil merely growled, refusing to acknowledge the prince’s apology. "I have a feast to put on," he said to Arafinwë. "With your Majesty’s permission?"

Arafinwë merely nodded and with a stiff bow, the demoted ellon turned and flung open the door, stalking out of the room and almost, though not quite, slamming the door behind him.

For a moment, a tense silence reigned in the King’s study. Both Finrod and Glorfindel had troubled looks on their faces. Arafinwë finally spoke. "Go apologize to the Queen and then see how Vondo is doing," he ordered quietly. "I’ll see you both at the feast."

Both ellyn gave him respectful bows and filed out of the room, leaving Arafinwë sitting there contemplating many things for several minutes before he allowed himself a sigh. He turned to some documents sitting on his desk, deciding to get some work done before it was time to change for the feast.

****

Yonya: (Quenya) My son, contracted from yondonya.