Chapter the Twelfth:

In Which Rumors Abound and Ingwion Gives Music Lessons

The next morning, while they were still at breakfast, Ingwion began the first part of their plan. He waited until most of the breakfast had been cleared and courtiers who normally broke their fast with the royal family were beginning to leave to go about their work for the day so it was just the royal family and their guests who were there. Pushing his plate away and leaning back in his chair, he turned towards Eärwen who was sitting next to him.

"Bringing my brother and Intarion here and out of Atar’s way was not my only reason for coming early," he said without preamble.

Arafinwë, on the other side of his wife, gave him a considering look. "Oh? And what other purpose has brought you here, Cousin?"

"The wedding, of course."

"Well, yes," Eärwen said as she lifted her teacup to take a sip. "But that’s weeks away."

"Oh, I don’t mean the wedding itself, I mean the rumors that are flying hither and yon," Ingwion said blithely.

Eärwen started choking on her tea. "Rumors?" she gasped while Arafinwë was not so helpfully thumping her on the back. "What rumors?"

Ingwion evinced surprise. "You haven’t heard?" he asked innocently.

"What rumors, Ingwion?" Eärwen demanded, her sea-green eyes turning dark with anger, reminding Ingwion of a sea storm rising. He noticed Finrod on the other side of Arafinwë giving him a look of dismay and shaking his head. Apparently an angry Eärwen was to be avoided at all cost. Well, too bad.

"Oh, nothing really important," he said, "but Atar was a bit concerned. I said I would check into them."

"What rumors have you heard and from where?" Arafinwë asked in a calm tone, placing a placating hand on his wife’s arm, giving her a pat.

"Well, they seem to be mostly originating from Vanyamar, although I heard one or two interesting ones on Tol Eressëa," Ingwion replied, evincing an air of indifference. "Most are the usual tripe that is always flying whenever a special occasion such as a royal wedding is in the offing and can be ignored, but there were a few that were... hmm... troubling."

Now Eärwen’s expression turned to one of dismay. "But why? This wedding has been in the making for... for yéni!"

Ingwion shrugged. "I don’t know, Eärwen. I only know that Atar wanted me to look into them."

"You said the rumors originated in Vanyamar," Arafinwë pointed out. "So why are you here?"

"To find out if these rumors, or similar ones, are circulating in Tirion or further afield," Ingwion replied.

"You mean the Southern Fiefdoms," Arafinwë said and Ingwion nodded.

Arafinwë sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "It never ends, does it?"

Eärwen was nearly in tears. "But everyone wants this wedding to happen," she practically wailed and Arafinwë put an arm around her shoulders, giving her a husbandly hug as he looked over at Ingwion. "So what are these rumors?"

Now Ingwion looked uncomfortable. It had been his idea to mention rumors as a way of helping Findaráto gain control of the wedding preparations and the other ellyn had supplied him with one outrageous rumor after another, but now, seeing the real shock and dismay on his cousins’ faces, he was less sure about his plan and wondered how he could make it all right. He hesitated for a moment, trying to decide which of the fake rumors would be the least damaging when Ingalaurë spoke up.

"I think the most interesting rumor is the one about Findaráto and Amarië having to dance naked at their wedding."

"Excuse me?" Arafinwë exclaimed and Eärwen blinked several times in disbelief. Ingwion noticed both Finrod and Glorfindel staring at Ingalaurë with wide eyes and he himself was a bit nonplused as he looked at his twin. That wasn’t one of the rumors they’d decided on. Where had Ingil come up with that?

Ingalaurë meanwhile was nodding enthusiastically. "It’s supposed to be a Sindarin wedding custom, I think. And they put blood in their hair." He paused, as if to think about it. "The dancing naked part I can understand, but why would you put blood in your hair?"

"It’s a warrior thing," Finrod said without really thinking, frowning slightly.

"Oh," Ingalaurë said in a rather deflated tone. "Atto won’t let me be a warrior. He says one in the family is enough."

"When did he say that?" Ingwion exclaimed.

His twin gave him a shy look. "Oh, when we were... playing once."

Ingwion shook his head. With two recent Reborn in the family, life had become very interesting and not a few of the staid citizens of Vanyamar had been shocked to see the High King of all the Elves swinging in a tree beside his Reborn son, but Ingwë had decided to ‘join in the fun’ as he’d put it and allow Ingalaurë and Intarion to lead the way, ‘within reason’.

"So, what other rumors did you hear Ingil?" Finrod asked, giving Ingwion a shake of his head as if to say ‘don’t mention the rumors we made up’ and Ingwion whole-heartedly agreed with that idea.

"Ingalaurë!" the Reborn practically wailed. "How many times do I have to say it?"

Ingwion automatically leaned over and wrapped a comforting arm around his brother’s shoulders. "Hush now," he admonished his twin. "You have to allow for people remembering you from before and everyone called you Ingil. We didn’t even know there was a Maia by that name."

"But now you do," Ingalaurë said with a huff.

"And now we do," Ingwion echoed, giving him a nod. "So, why don’t you answer Cousin Findaráto’s question." He was as curious about this as the rest. Why hadn’t Ingalaurë mentioned these rumors the night before? And then he recalled that both his twin and Intarion had actually not contributed any ideas about possible rumors; most of them had come from Glorfindel, with a few from Findaráto or himself.

"Oh, well... um...," Ingalaurë looked suddenly shy and Ingwion suspected that it was because he couldn’t think of any good rumors to tell, but then Intarion, who’d been quiet all this time leaned over from where he was sitting on the other side of Ingalaurë and said. "Why don’t you tell them about the one where Findaráto’s supposed to give Amarië snails to eat as part of the wedding ceremony."

"Snails?" several voices exclaimed at the same time.

Ingalaurë actually brightened as he looked at Finrod. "Oh, yes! During the ceremony you and Amarië are supposed to feed each other snails to make the wedding vows binding. I think it’s supposed to be a... a Nandorin thing or something." He gave them an elegant shrug.

"Actually, it’s a Telerin custom," Arafinwë said, giving his wife an amused look. Eärwen smiled back.

"Really?" Ingalaurë said. "But I don’t remember Ingwi and Olwen eating any snails at their wedding."

"It’s a very old custom," Eärwen explained, "and not everyone follows it these days."

"Odd though that it would be a rumor among the Vanyar," Glorfindel said, speaking for the first time. "They’ve had little to do with the Teleri. How did such a rumor get started there?"

"Who knows?" Finrod retorted. "I wonder what other rumors are floating around of which we are unaware?" He gave Ingwion a meaningful look.

"And that’s the other reason for my coming here," Ingwion said, picking up his cue. "Atar was curious to know if you’ve heard any similar rumors."

"I admit, I haven’t bothered to check," Arafinwë replied with a look of chagrin. "I will have to send some of my people out into the city and into the Southern Fiefdoms to see what they can ferret out."

"Well, in the meantime, Ammë," Finrod said, "I believe Ingwion would like to consult with you about the wedding preparations to make sure everything is going smoothly."

"And why would you think it’s not?" Eärwen enquired.

"I’m sure you are doing an excellent job, Eärwen," Ingwion said in a reassuring tone, "but Atar wants this to be a perfect wedding and asked me to consult with you and Findaráto about what has been decided." He gave them a shrug. "I understand, for instance, that Findaráto isn’t very happy with the music."

Eärwen turned to her son in surprise. "What’s wrong with the music?"

"Nothing, actually," Finrod admitted. "It’s perfectly fine... for someone else’s wedding."

There was a moment of silence as they digested Finrod’s words, then Arafinwë stirred. "Well, I have business to attend to." He stood and leaned down to give his wife a brief kiss. "I’m sure you can all figure it out without my input. Ingwion, I will send my people out to check on possible rumors and let you know what I find out." With that, he gave them a brief nod and exited the room.

Eärwen gave the retreating figure of her husband a brief scowl. "Coward," she said in a voice that was just loud enough for him to hear and they were treated to the sound of the King laughing. Then she turned to Ingwion with a sigh. "Everything’s been approved, including the music. It’s a bit late in the day to want to make changes."

"Oh, come, Cousin," Ingwion said with a huff. "The wedding is a good month away. Yes, some things cannot be changed at this late date, but that’s not true for all. For instance, any musician worthy of the name could pick up a piece of new music and have it ready for playing in a week’s time."

Eärwen nodded reluctantly, then looked at Finrod. "You truly do not like the music?"

"Have you heard the selections Mistress Lindessë chose?" Finrod shot back.

"I confess, I haven’t," the Queen admitted ruefully. "Lindessë is a consummate artist and I have known her for some time. I trusted her to pick out appropriate music for the wedding."

"And, as I said, there really is nothing wrong with the music, but it is not appropriate for my wedding. It’s too... too Noldorish."

Several eyebrows went up. "Is that even a word?" Intarion couldn’t help asking even as he chuckled.

"Well, if it’s not, it should be," Finrod retorted with a sheepish look. "As Glorfindel pointed out not too long ago, Amarië is not a Noldo but a Vanya and it would be nice to see something of the wedding ceremony reflect that."

"Plus, considering the other people who will be there — Teleri, Sindar, Nandor and Exilic Noldor — they will have their own expectations concerning the wedding," Glorfindel added.

"But we can’t possibly cater to all their sensibilities," Eärwen protested.

"Nor should we," Finrod agreed, "but that is not to say that we can’t incorporate some things into the wedding that are not strictly Noldorin. The music, for instance. There are one or two dance pieces that are popular at weddings on Tol Eressëa. There’s no reason why they cannot be played along with other types of music."

"But no one here would know how to dance to them," Eärwen commented.

"And most likely many of the Sindarin and Nandorin guests will not know how to dance to our music," Finrod said with a shrug.

"At any rate, Eärwen," Ingwion said, "I think it’s important that Findaráto and I take a look at what’s been decided and make any appropriate changes we feel are necessary and doable at this late stage. For instance, I’ve been told that you are planning to serve partridge at the wedding feast, which surprises me, since I’m sure you are aware that Amarië hates partridge and it would be unfair to her to serve it to others while she gets a substitute. I have to agree with Findaráto that, as it’s their wedding, the menu should cater to them and not to others."

Eärwen gave them a sour look. "I told Isildil that partridge would not do when I first consulted him about the menu. I gave him a specific list of foods that were not to be considered."

"And he told me otherwise," Finrod said, "and that you had approved the menu. Of course, Atto later said that you hadn’t, but at the time, I didn’t know that."

"Well, as it happens, your Atar and the masters of the Cooks’ Guild have decided to keep Mistress Marilla in charge of the kitchen for the time being," Eärwen announced.

"That’s good news," Finrod said. "And Isildil? What of him?"

"I think he will continue working here, but it hasn’t been decided yet," the Queen replied. "We’ve been rather unhappy with good Master Isildil for some time now, and your little altercation with him gave your Atar the excuse he needed to... um...make certain arrangements, let us say."

There was a moment of silence while people digested Eärwen’s words. "I see," Finrod finally said, giving his ammë a shrewd look. "Or at least, I think I do."

"Well, the day is getting on," Ingwion said brightly, standing, "and there are things we need to do. Cousin." He bent down and kissed Eärwen lightly on the cheek. Finrod and the others also rose and gave her their own kisses before following Ingwion out, leaving Eärwen to herself.

****

No sooner were they away from the dining room than Ingwion muttered, "The gardens," and began to briskly make his way through the palace and out into the gardens, heading for a particular place. No one else spoke but followed, giving each other shrugs. They ended up in the same little garden where Glorfindel had had his conversation with the Head Gardener, Hallacar. As soon as they passed through the tunnel and entered the garden, Ingwion turned to his brother. "All right, just where did you and Intarion come up with those particular rumors? They weren’t the ones we’d decided on last night."

"Of course not," Ingalaurë said with a wide-eyed look. "These rumors happen to be true."

Ingwion, Finrod and Glorfindel stared at the Reborn in disbelief while Intarion nodded.

"There really are such rumors circulating?" Finrod finally asked.

Both Ingalaurë and Intarion nodded.

"How did you come to hear them?" Ingwion asked. "And why did you not mention them last night?"

Ingalaurë gave him a shrug. "Intarion and I don’t have to sit around being bored with work like you, so we go to the markets and that’s where you hear everything."

"And we didn’t mention them because you were having so much fun making up stuff and we didn’t want to spoil your fun," Intarion added.

Ingwion and Finrod exchanged exasperated looks. "Does Ingwë know about these rumors?" Glorfindel asked.

"Not from us," Ingalaurë assured them, "though I think Valandur probably knows. He knows everything, more than Atto even." There was a look of awe on the ellon’s face as he said this and Ingwion couldn’t help chuckling, wrapping an arm around his brother’s shoulders.

"Yes, he does," he said and then gave Finrod a worried look. "If these kinds of rumors are circulating in Vanyamar, what nonsense is being touted as true here in Tirion?"

"I have no idea," Finrod replied, looking equally troubled.

"We can find out for you," Intarion suggested. "We can go to the markets and listen. No one pays attention to us." He nodded to Ingalaurë who looked excited by the idea.

"That’s because back home, everyone knows who you are," Ingwion pointed out, "but here, you will be strangers and people always notice strangers."

Ingalaurë and Intarion sighed almost as one, their expressions dejected. Glorfindel, however, shook his head. "Actually, Intarion has a good idea."

"How so?" Ingwion asked.

"They’re Reborn," Glorfindel replied.

"And so?"

"That’s just it," Glorfindel insisted. "They’re Reborn and everyone will know they’re Reborn and everyone will act accordingly in front of them."

Ingwion frowned, still not understanding, but Finrod nodded, giving him a rueful smile. "When people know you’re Reborn, they tend to treat you as if you’re an elfling of four."

Both Ingalaurë and Intarion nodded vigorously. "And we do what we can to keep them treating us that way so they say things in our presence they normally wouldn’t, not realizing that being Reborn doesn’t mean the same as being stupid or ignorant the way a very young elfling is," Ingalaurë told them. "I figured that out almost at once," he added with a smug smile.

Ingwion raised an eyebrow and gave Finrod and Glorfindel a considering look. Both ellyn nodded. "Camouflage," Glorfindel said. "People see what they expect to see, not what is truly there. They see a Reborn and immediately they think ‘elfling’ and if your actions reinforce their assumptions...." He gave them an elegant shrug.

"We should wait for Vondo and Vorondil to return and recruit them as well," Finrod said. "Vorondil isn’t a Reborn, but he’s only just regaining some of his maturity after his Judgment so it’s easy enough for him to play along. Between them and these two, we might learn things even Atar’s people won’t."

Ingwion looked doubtful, but did not object. "So what do we do in the meantime?"

Finrod gave them a wicked grin. "Let’s go see Mistress Lindessë. I want to see you in action."

Ingwion laughed at that and they left the gardens and made their way into the city to the Musicians’ Guildhouse.

****

Mistress Lindessë was giving a lesson when they arrived, so they had to wait until she was done. When she came to the reception room where they had been placed she gave them a frown. "Is there something I can do for you, Highness?" she asked Finrod, but before he could answer, Ingwion stepped forward.

"Actually, there’s something you can do for me," he said imperiously.

"And you are?"

"Mistress Lindessë, let me make you known to my cousin, Prince Ingwion, Haryon of the Ingaran," Finrod said smoothly.

Mistress Lindessë gave them a haughty look, clearly unimpressed. "And what does a Vanyarin prince wish with me?"

"A little more courtesy, at the very least," Ingwion said mildly in a tone that the others recognized as one that Ingwë was wont to use. Mistress Lindessë raised an eyebrow but otherwise said nothing. Ingwion continued. "My cousin tells me that he is unhappy with the music selection for his wedding. Perhaps you would be good enough to show me what you’ve chosen."

"As I told his Highness," Lindessë replied, "at this late date it would be impossible for the musicians to learn new music."

"Nonsense, Mistress," Ingwion retorted impatiently. "Any musician worthy of the name can easily learn new pieces quickly. Now please show me what you’ve selected."

Lindessë glared at them for a moment and then gave them a sharp nod. "If you will follow me," she said and they all left the reception room and made their way to what turned out to be the elleth’s office where she rifled through some music, pulling out several sheets and handing them to Ingwion. "These are the pieces we’ll be playing," she said. "You will see they are quite appropriate."

Ingwion glanced at the music. "Appropriate for a wedding between two merchant families, perhaps," he countered, "but not, I fear, for a royal wedding." He threw the sheets of music onto her desk. "Naturally, some of the traditional wedding songs popular among the Noldor should be used, but I find it disturbing that you don’t incorporate at least one of the Vanyarin wedding songs, particularly Elemmírë’s ‘Lirilla Veruo’."

Lindessë sniffed. "Elemmírë! That’s all I ever hear. Well, Elemmírë isn’t the only musician in Eldamar."

"No she’s not," Ingwion agreed with a faint smile, "but she is a Vanya and as the bride is also a Vanya, it seems only right to have at least some of the music be Vanyarin."

"And Sindarin," Glorfindel chimed in.

"And Telerin," Finrod added. "Don’t forget, I have the blood of all three clans flowing through my veins."

Lindessë glared at them, tight-lipped. "Even if I had the music, there’s not enough time."

"Then your musicians appear to be rather hapless," Ingwion retorted. "Who is your flute master?"

The question took the elleth by surprise and it was a moment before she answered. "We have a number of them, but I know that Master Culdandol is in residence."

"Then let us go to good Master Culdandol," Ingwion said, gesturing for the elleth to proceed them and then they were traversing the halls to another small office where they found an ellon with flame-red hair giving an apprentice instructions. When he saw who had come he dismissed the student and politely welcomed them.

"And who do we have here, Lindessë, new students?" he asked, giving them a curious look, his expression lively and open.

"Hardly," Lindessë said with a snort and then she proceeded to introduce everyone. Culdandol gave them a considering look. "And to what do I owe the honor of your visit, my lords?"

"I was wondering if I could borrow a flute and some music that has been written recently, something I would never have heard before," Ingwion explained.

"Any particular flute?" the Master asked even as he began sorting through some sheets of music.

"An alto flute will do," Ingwion said.

Culdandol nodded absently, still looking through the music. "You’ll find one in that case over there. As it happens, one of my brighter journeymen just finished composing a lovely little piece for the alto flute. Ah! Here it is." He handed Ingwion several sheets. "You will see it’s quite a complex piece. The one who composed it is definitely ready to receive her mastership."

Ingwion took a glance at the music and nodded. "This will do," he said then placed it on a music stand and retrieved a flute from the case where several different sizes of flutes were hung. One was so small it could fit in the palm of one’s hand while there was another that was easily four times its size. Ingwion played a series of arpeggios as a warm up while everyone else stood by and watched. Culdandol’s expression was one of bemusement while Lindessë’s expression was less easy to read.

"Is there a point to this, your Highness?" the elleth finally asked, exasperation lacing her voice.

"I’m about to give you a lesson, Mistress," Ingwion replied, then turned to the Flute Master. "If you would be kind enough to stand next to me while I play so Mistress Lindessë will know I am playing this piece and no other."

Culdandol nodded, picking up another set of music. "I always have my students make two copies of their work, just in case, so I can follow along without breathing over their shoulders."

Ingwion nodded then took another minute to read through the music. Finrod, who prided himself on being musically literate, could see that this piece was indeed very complex and thought that it would take some time for anyone to learn it. He knew what his cousin was about, but looking at the music he wondered if Ingwion hadn’t bitten off more than he could chew. Ingwion, for his part, merely nodded to himself as he finished perusing the score, then, picking up the flute, began to play.

It was indeed a lovely piece and Ingwion played it with a flourish and with consummate skill, playing with confidence, as if he were well acquainted with the music instead of never having seen it until that day. If he ever hesitated or played a wrong note, Finrod could not tell. Finrod stole a look at the two masters. Culdandol was sitting at his desk, nodding in time to the music, his eyes fixed on the score. Lindessë stood there with an unreadable expression on her face as she watched the Vanyarin prince play. All too soon, Ingwion came to the end and Finrod and the other ellyn were applauding, though neither master was.

Ingwion took a deep breath and gave them a wry smile. "Well, that’s the best I could do playing it cold."

Culdandol gave him a wide-eyed stare. "You are a Master of the Guild, Highness?" he asked politely.

Ingwion snorted. "Hardly," he said as he took the cleaning cloth Culdandol handed him and wiped the flute down before returning it to its place in the case. "My atar didn’t believe in his children becoming apprentices to any guild, but I had very good tutors and I’ve composed my own music and have played before the Valar on numerous occasions." Then he turned to Lindessë, whose expression was equally one of amazement. "So, Mistress, if I, who am but an amateur, can play such a complex piece cold, I’m sure your musicians can learn a few simple melodies in the coming weeks. And if they can’t, they have no business being in the guild." He turned to the flute master, giving him a respectful bow. "Thank you for the use of the flute, Master Culdandol. And you are correct; the one who composed this is definitely ready for her mastership. Now we must go."

With that he turned and headed out the door without bothering to see if anyone else was following. Ingalaurë, Intarion and Glorfindel gave the two masters hasty bows and followed. Finrod remained behind for a moment longer, giving Lindessë a polite smile that nevertheless held a hint of triumph in it. "I will have the new music sent to you within the week," he said, then gave them his own bow and walked out, stepping quickly to catch up with the others.

****

Words are Quenya:

Yéni: Plural of yén: an Elvish century of 144 solar years.

Lirilla Veruo: ‘Lay of the Spouses’. Elemmírë is mentioned in In Darkness Bound as head of the Guild of Bards among the Vanyar, though by this time, she is also one of Lord Manwë’s bards.