Chapter the Ninth:

In Which Apologies are Tendered and Glorfindel Saves the Soup

It was about an hour past the noon meal before Glorfindel returned to Tirion. He was in no hurry to do so, so he set Alagos to a slow ambling pace, which did not please the horse at all, but Glorfindel needed the time to think. Not that he reached any conclusions, but he was in a better frame of mind by the time he reached Finwë Park and was making his way through the streets of Tirion. He would’ve liked to have taken the tree-made tunnel that connected the park to the palace, but he was not of the royal bloodline of Finwë and so did not have the power to open the gate blocking the entrance to the tunnel from the park. He reached the stables and took his time brushing Alagos and seeing to his needs before he headed into the palace itself, taking a circuitous route to avoid certain people. He had no doubt that news of his return had reached the King by now, but he would delay that meeting as long as possible. First, he wished to wash up and see if he could find Finrod.

In the end, Finrod found him, coming to his suite just as he was donning a fresh tunic. The prince gave him a scowl. "Took you long enough to get here," he said.

Glorfindel shrugged. "I was in no hurry to do so," he answered as he buckled a belt around his waist. "I needed to think."

"Ah.... thinking," Finrod said facetiously. "Always a dangerous occupation where you’re concerned."

Glorfindel just stuck his tongue out and Finrod chuckled. Glorfindel found himself grinning, the tensions that had plagued them over the past week seemingly disappearing with their banter. "So, how much trouble are we in now?" he asked.

Finrod shrugged. "I have no idea. I got back here and Atar sent for me, then made me cool my heels for an hour while he was busy with a council meeting." He gave Glorfindel a sour grin. "Now I know how courtiers feel when they have to sit around waiting for an audience. I am too used to just seeing Atar whenever I wish."

Glorfindel nodded, going over to a sideboard and pouring some yellow wine into a couple of goblets, handing one to Finrod who thanked him. "And when he finally deigned to see you?" he asked with a quirk of a smile on his lips.

"It was a very short meeting," Finrod said as the two of them made their way to the balcony that overlooked the Queen’s rose garden, taking their ease. "Essentially, we’re under house arrest until Atar says otherwise. We’re not allowed to go any further than the gardens and we certainly are not allowed to go riding."

Glorfindel scowled into his wine. "I can understand him treating me like an elfling of twenty, given that, as hard as I try not to, I usually end up acting like an elfling of twenty, but really! You’ve been reborn for well over a century and now you’re about to get married. When will they start treating you like the prince you truly are?"

Finrod’s shrug was philosophical. "I only brought it on myself," he said. "I should never have attacked Isildil as I did."

"I wish I’d been there to see it," Glorfindel said with something of his usual humor. "So do we continue as we have? We were supposed to be done with the kitchen in four days’ time. Do you think Atar will make us work in the kitchen for longer than that?"

"He didn’t say," Finrod replied. "I could tell he was both angry and disappointed but he said he would not speak of it until you returned, if you returned."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "Was there any doubt?"

"Should there have been?" Finrod retorted with a knowing grin.

Glorfindel shook his head. "I admit I contemplated just continuing down the Calacirya and taking ship to Tol Eressëa and staying there until the wedding, but I knew how impractical it was and I’ve never been one to run away from my problems. Even without Lord Námo’s... um... interference" — Finrod snorted and Glorfindel smiled — "I would have returned... eventually."

"Ah...." was all Finrod said.

The two sat there in companionable silence for a while, sipping their wine. Then Glorfindel spoke again. "I’m sorry about everything."

"As am I," Finrod said with a sigh. "Perhaps I should just forget about wanting to have a say about my own wedding and let others do as they please. The only important thing is that I will finally be wedded to Amarië."

"I wonder how Amarië feels about all this," Glorfindel said. "I know she wasn’t thrilled with the idea of leaving Tirion again. Hmmm.... Thinking about it, I wonder if that was the whole point."

"What do you mean?"

"With Amarië safely in Vanyamar no one needs to actually consult her about the wedding, do they? Oh, I’m sure Ammë Eärwen is in constant contact with her, updating her, or rather Almáriel, with the plans and perhaps asking for her opinion on one or two inconsequential matters, but by and large, her wishes have probably been ignored as much as yours have been."

"You may be correct," Finrod averred. "Royal weddings, as I recall, are always more about everyone else than they are about the bride and groom, who are only required to show up to speak their vows."

"Exactly."

"Well, be that as it may," Finrod said, "the wedding is only six weeks away and so far I’ve accomplished nothing of what I wished to do. I’m thinking it’s just not worth it, and if Atar decides to extend our punishment...."

Glorfindel scowled. "You were once a king in your own right. I wish people would respect that, including your parents."

Finrod shrugged. "This is Atar’s kingdom. I’m as much his subject as any in Tirion. What I was in Beleriand does not matter here."

"No, it doesn’t."

Both ellyn scrambled to their feet in surprise, turning to see Arafinwë standing just inside the door of the parlor comprising part of Glorfindel’s suite of rooms. His expression was unreadable to the younger Elves.

"I did knock, but you did not hear me," he said, closing the door behind him. "I’m glad you are here, Findaráto, as it saves me from having to send for you. Why don’t you two come inside and we’ll talk." The King made his way to the sideboard to pour his own goblet of wine then turned to see his sons still out on the balcony staring at him in dismay and sighed. "Come inside, yonyar," he said not unkindly as he took a seat and gestured to a settee. After a slight hesitation on their part, they complied, sitting side-by-side and keeping their gazes down, waiting.

Arafinwë took a sip of the wine before speaking. "I don’t like this any more than you do," he said quietly, "but if I excuse your behavior then I’m no better than my own atar was when he refused to discipline Fëanáro after he attacked Ñolofinwë, forcing the Valar to intervene."

Both ellyn looked up and Glorfindel couldn’t help giving the King a wry smile. "Too late. They already have."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow when Finrod snickered, then tried to disguise it as a cough. "Oh?"

Glorfindel and Finrod exchanged glances. "You tell him," Glorfindel said and Finrod proceeded to tell his atar about their ‘little chat’ with Lord Námo as he put it. "Although Lord Námo called it a trial," he concluded with a grimace.

"And it probably was... for him, dealing with you two," Arafinwë commented with a knowing smile as Finrod and Glorfindel gave him similar looks of disbelief. Then, seeing the humor of the statement, they both blushed, giving each other embarrassed grins. "And now, I have to deal with it and you," Arafinwë continued and their expressions became more sober.

"I’m sorry, Atar," Glorfindel said with all sincerity. "I probably shouldn’t have gotten angry the way I did, but it’s been so unfair the way Marilla treats me and never lets me do anything... different." He decided ‘fun’ was not the right word to use with the King. "At least Finrod actually gets to do different things so it’s not so boring for him and he’s probably learned a few new recipes along the way."

"I’ve already spoken with Guildmistress Marilla," Arafinwë said, gently reminding Glorfindel of the elleth’s proper title. "I think you’ll find a few changes in the kitchen when you go back tomorrow. You are both excused from serving table tonight but you are to report to the kitchen as usual and help with anything else that needs doing."

"And how much longer are we to be working in the kitchen?" Finrod asked.

Arafinwë smiled slightly. "By rights I should extend your punishment for another week, but I’ve decided it’s not worth it. Up to now, in spite of things, you’ve both shown yourselves to be exemplary in your parole. You will finish out your kitchen duties in four days’ time as originally planned, but you will continue remaining under house arrest until I say otherwise. If circumstances require you to leave the palace grounds — I know that Herendil has invited you to a garden party on the next Valanya after he returns with his sons and Vorondil from their camping trip — you may do so, but only if you have a guard with you."

"We have a guard anyway," Finrod said, "at least I do, and usually two."

Arafinwë nodded. "Yes, but these will not be your usual guards."

Glorfindel gave him a shrewd look. "You mean Maiar."

"Who will appear as if they were Elves in your retinue," Arafinwë averred. "No one will realize that they are not what they seem to be, except, of course, you."

"And will they be our guards all the time?" Finrod asked with a frown.

Arafinwë shook his head. "No. Only when you leave the palace grounds, and I don’t anticipate you doing that very often. This stricture will not extend until your wedding, yonya," he said, giving his first-born a gentle smile. "Just for a while, so that others will see that I don’t allow you two to...um... how did the Mortals put it?... get away with murder, if I remember the phrase correctly. It’s been a while." He gave them a half-apologetic shrug.

Two sets of eyebrows went up and then Finrod snorted, shaking his head. "I just wanted to have some say in my own wedding. I don’t understand this reluctance on everyone’s part to allow me this. You would think I were an elfling of ten getting under foot."

"Well, stealing your ammë’s to-do list for the wedding was not the way to go about it," Arafinwë said.

Both Finrod and Glorfindel stared at him in open-mouthed surprise. "How did you know about that?" Glorfindel finally asked.

"Besides, we didn’t steal it. We borrowed it and put it back," Finrod said with a sniff, wishing to set the record straight.

"So I saw," Arafinwë retorted with a grin, standing and placing his empty goblet on the sideboard before heading for the door. "I believe you both have some apologies to make before dinner," he said and then left them sitting there with their mouths agape.

For a long moment the two of them just sat there in silence, then Glorfindel stirred. "Do you think Atar is part Maia or something?"

Finrod snorted in amusement as he stood. "Or something. Come, we’d best get ourselves to the kitchen."

Glorfindel nodded and stood as well. "Let’s get this over with," he said, draining his goblet before they exited the room.

****

They found the kitchen curiously empty when they arrived, except for Marilla and Isildil who glared at them. And if looks could kill, Glorfindel thought to himself, we would both be in Mandos by now. He could see a fading bruise on the ellon’s cheek but little else to indicate that Finrod had attacked him. Marilla’s expression was impossible to read. Glorfindel glanced at Finrod who lifted an eyebrow as if to say, ‘You walked out first’. Glorfindel gave him an amused smile that did not quite reach his eyes, then he turned and bowed to Marilla.

"I apologize for my behavior, Mistress," he said humbly enough.

"I’m sure you do, Glorfindel, and I apologize if I gave you the impression that I hated you," the guildmistress replied.

"Don’t you?" Glorfindel couldn’t help asking. "The way you’ve been treating me, I have to wonder."

Marilla gave him a gentle smile. "Things are not always as they appear, Glorfindel. Tomorrow, however, I promise you will not be cleaning the ovens. That honor will go to Prince Findaráto."

Finrod merely nodded, having expected nothing less and so was not unduly upset. "I just hope Amarië never learns of this," he said.

"Never mind Amarië," Glorfindel said with a smirk. "Worry more about what Laurendil will say when he finds out. Your life won’t be worth living then."

Finrod laughed and it was unforced. "Too true." Then he sobered somewhat and gave Marilla and Isildil his own bow. "And I, too, apologize for my behavior. It was unbecoming of a prince of the realm and I deeply regret it."

"I’m sure you do, Findaráto," Marilla said, casting a stern glance at Isildil who simply muttered something none of them quite heard. Marilla let it go, dismissing the former head cook, letting him know he was excused from kitchen duty for the rest of the day. The ellon gave her a stiff bow, scowled at Finrod and Glorfindel and left.

Finrod frowned at the retreating figure. "He’s going to be doubly impossible to work with once he’s restored to his former position," he commented.

"But that, of course, is not your concern," Marilla said equably. "You leave good Master Isildil to his guild and your atar. Now, as long as you’re both here, why don’t you grab a broom and do some sweeping, Glorfindel, and Findaráto, make sure the dining tables are all washed down before we put out the linen."

Both ellyn nodded and went to their tasks with a good will. Later, when the other kitchen staff and pages slated to serve dinner that night arrived, they were both looked upon askance by some and amusement by others, but no one importuned them as they went about helping at any task Marilla gave them. Both Glorfindel and Finrod generally ignored the others and both were heartily glad when their shift was done and they could retire.

****

The next morning when Glorfindel arrived in the kitchen Marilla handed him the usual cup of hot chocolate and this time a sticky bun. His only response was a raised eyebrow. Marilla merely smiled back at him and told him he could start by helping with peeling the potatoes that would be made into soup for lunch. Finrod, without being told, went to the ovens and began cleaning them out. It escaped neither his, Glorfindel’s nor Marilla’s notice that some of the kitchen staff had smug smirks on their faces as they watched their prince dealing with the ashes.

Once he had peeled the requisite number of potatoes for the soup, Glorfindel put them to boil and then Marilla had him and Finrod help with breakfast preparation, setting out trenchers and the like on the sideboards in the royal family’s dining room for those who would be joining the King and Queen that morning to break their fast. As this happened to be the third Anarya since the beginning of the month, as was his custom, Arafinwë would have breakfast with the heads of the various guilds to discuss matters of concern to them. It was a custom he had instituted soon after he had taken up his duties as Noldóran, meeting with the guilds once a month. After breakfast he and they, now joined by members of Arafinwë’s Privy Council, would continue their discussions elsewhere so the kitchen staff could begin luncheon preparations.

Marilla announced that, since she was one of the senior members of their guild, she would be sitting in on the discussions and would not be there to supervise things until after lunch. "But do not think I will not be keeping an eye on things," she admonished them. "Ailinel will oversee things while I’m otherwise engaged."

That surprised many people, including Ailinel, who was one of the senior Journeymen but not yet ready to receive her mastership. The elleth bobbed a curtsey. Isildil, however, pointed out that he had seniority over everyone else except Marilla and so he should be the one overseeing the kitchen.

"I want to give Ailinel some administrative experience," Marilla told him. "And in case you’ve forgotten, Isildil, you are not a Master at the moment." Then she began assigning everyone to various duties, for not all would be needed to oversee the breakfast. Isildil would be washing dishes as usual while Finrod was told to turn the spit for the meats roasting in the fireplace and Glorfindel was to put together the potato soup, which pleased him very much. Then the breakfast gong was sounded and those assigned to serve went out while everyone else continued their tasks. Marilla took a good look around before leaving, nodding to Ailinel to take over.

Ailinel asked Glorfindel if he knew how to make potato soup and the ellon averred that he did not. "Though I make a mean venison stew," he said with a grin and she grinned back. Then she showed him how to test the potatoes for doneness and how to puree them and what else went into the soup and soon he was happily working away. He stole a glance at Finrod who had removed his outer tunic while working the spit, for it was hot work. He happened to catch Glorfindel’s eyes and grinned.

"Working a bellows at Lord Aulë’s forge is even hotter work," he said and Glorfindel smiled as he went back to cutting carrots, waiting for the potatoes to boil.

People bustled in and out to replenish dishes or to bring back dirty dishes for Isildil to wash. Ailinel went about and diligently oversaw everyone, giving a soft word of encouragement here or a harder word of admonishment there. By now, the potatoes were done and Glorfindel was starting to puree them and adding the other ingredients that would comprise the soup. Ailinel stood over him for a few minutes to see that he was doing it properly, then satisfied the ellon had everything in hand, went to see how the bread was coming along. Finrod was no longer at the spit, for no one spent more than an hour at a time at it before being replaced, so he was back at the bread table helping out there.

At one point, Glorfindel needed to use the privy so he asked one of the apprentices to keep an eye on the soup for him. When he returned, the apprentice told him he’d added more liquid to the soup as it was too thick and Glorfindel thanked him. He stirred the soup, making sure it was the right consistency, then taste-tested it, grimacing at the unexpected hot spicy taste. Someone had laced the soup with a lot of red pepper and now his mouth was on fire and his eyes were watering.

"What’s wrong, Glorfindel?" Ailinel asked, having noticed his grimace.

"Nothing, Ailinel," he managed to gasp out, going to where the bread rolls were cooling and grabbing one to chew on, hoping to neutralize the burning in his mouth. "I guess I wasn’t careful enough and burned my tongue." He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard a snicker or two from some of the kitchen staff. His eyes met Finrod’s and there was a look to them that told Glorfindel everything he needed to know. Giving his gwador a slight nod, he returned to the stove, munching on the roll, allowing it to sooth his mouth. He stood there stirring the soup, furiously thinking. The soup was the main course for the lunch and it was too late in the morning to start a new batch. He needed to cut the spiciness to something that was more palatable. Potato soup was normally bland and that’s how most liked it.

Looking nonchalantly about the kitchen, Glorfindel noticed a pitcher of milk sitting on a nearby table. He thought it was meant to be used in making butter but when Ailinel’s eyes were elsewhere and everyone else seemed busy with their tasks, he surreptitiously moved to the table and lifted the pitcher, taking it back to the stove and adding some of the milk to the soup, using perhaps half the pitcher, then he returned it to its original spot and went back to stirring the soup, letting the milk blend in, hoping that it would somehow cut the hotness a bit. He did not fail to notice the smirk on the face of the apprentice he’d asked to watch over the soup for him but pretended he didn’t see, even going so far as to hum a little tune that had been popular in Gondolin.

After a little bit he taste-tested the soup again. It was still spicy but now only enough to give the soup interest. Hopefully, others would agree.

"How’s the soup coming along, Glorfindel?" Ailinel asked him as she came to stand beside him, peering into the pot.

"It’s coming along nicely, Ailinel," he answered.

"Good," she replied, taking up a clean wooden spoon and dipping it into the soup and tasting it. Her eyes widened and she gave Glorfindel a shrewd look. His expression was completely unreadable. "Yes, very good, indeed," she said, casting a furtive look around, trying to guess who the culprit might have been. "I would never have thought of using red pepper to spice it up."

"It is a rather bland soup," Glorfindel averred, his eyes sparkling with mischief that Ailinel did not fail to see. She hid a smile but nodded, leaning closer so only Glorfindel could hear her next words spoken in a whisper. "Do nothing... stupid. Wait."

Glorfindel gave her a considering look and then nodded, willing to play the game her way. Instead, he spoke in a normal tone. "It’s a good thing we baked all those rolls, though, because some might find this a bit too spicy to their taste. I wasn’t careful enough and I overdid it a bit."

"Not to worry," Ailinel said with a smile. "Next time, you’ll know better." Then she told him to put the soup on the hob where it would stay warm without boiling and help Finrod slice up some carrots for the salad that would be served with the lunch. Glorfindel readily complied but he never took his eyes off the soup all the while he was slicing the carrots.

When it came time for lunch, Glorfindel brought the soup to the buffet, nervously wondering how people would react to it. Ailinel had him and Finrod acting as servers today with Glorfindel ladling the soup and Finrod making sure the bread baskets remained full. When Arafinwë came through the buffet line he gave Glorfindel a brief smile but said nothing as Glorfindel dutifully ladled some of the soup into a bowl for the King. Then Glorfindel watched as Arafinwë returned to his seat and took up a spoon. This was the signal for the others to begin their meal.

There was a sudden stir as several people started grabbing for the rolls piled high on the tables, their eyes wide with shock; one or two even demanding water. Glorfindel noticed more than one of the diners pushing their bowls away in disgust and his heart sank, for he had a feeling that when the complaints started, he would be given the blame. But then he noticed that both the King and Queen were still eating, their expressions ones of delight.

"Oh! Finally someone figured out the proper way to make potato soup," Eärwen exclaimed as she eagerly ate.

Arafinwë nodded, smiling. "Just like the Teleri make it, though it’s not quite as hot." He looked around and spoke to Marilla who was sitting with the other members of the Cooks’ Guild. "So whom do we congratulate for making this wonderful soup, Guildmistress?"

Marilla smiled. "I believe Lord Glorfindel was assigned to making the soup today, your Majesty."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow, giving Glorfindel an enquiring look. "Indeed? And how did you know this is how the Teleri make potato soup?"

Glorfindel shrugged. "Lucky guess?" he replied ingenuously.

Arafinwë’s expression became shrewd but then it cleared and he smiled. "In that case, yonya, you may have missed your calling." He turned to Eärwen. "So, are you ready for a second helping?"

"Oh, yes, and possibly thirds," Eärwen said with a laugh.

Glorfindel stole a glance at Finrod who was standing at the other end of the buffet table. The prince gave him a smile and a conspiratorial wink. Glorfindel also noticed the looks of disbelief on the faces of a couple of the apprentices who were standing by the door leading to the kitchen, obviously anticipating his downfall. Then he forgot about them, being too busy ladling out more soup, thanking those who congratulated him on his success, half listening to the members of the Cooks’ Guild discussing different potato soup recipes. He glanced up at one point to see Marilla staring at him from where she was sitting, her expression unreadable, but when she caught his eye, she smiled and gave him a nod of approval and he smiled back, feeling happy for the first time in nearly two weeks.

****

Words are Quenya:

Yonyar: Plural of yonya: My son.

Noldóran: King of the Noldor, an attested title.