Chapter the Thirteenth:

In Which the Reborn are Bored and a Tavern Gets Trashed

Finrod found the others waiting for him outside the guildhall. He was in time to hear Ingalaurë praising his brother.

"... was excellent and did you see the look on that... that... valarauco’s face?" he crowed.

"Now, hanno, that’s impolite," Ingwion admonished his brother. "I’m sure Mistress Lindessë is a worthy elleth and you should show more respect."

"Besides, she doesn’t look anything like a valarauco," Glorfindel said with a wide smile. "I should know."

Finrod chuckled at that and everyone turned to him. "I have to agree with Ingalaurë. That was excellent playing."

Ingwion shrugged as they started along the street. "With more practice, it would sound better. That really was a complicated piece and I know I messed up the bridge."

"But you didn’t stop, you kept going and played it through," Finrod said. "That’s a sign of a great musician. You may consider yourself an amateur, but I think you could qualify as a Master of the Musician’s Guild without too much trouble."

"I’m much too busy being the Valar’s envoy to Tol Eressëa to bother," Ingwion protested.

Finrod just shrugged. "Well, a discussion for another time. What else can we do, do you suppose?"

"Tackle the menu?" Glorfindel answered with a sly grin. "Now that Marilla is in charge...."

"If Marilla is in charge, I have no doubt that the menu will be perfect," Finrod replied, "but we can certainly ask her when we’re there making dinner for Vondo and Vorondil."

"Can we play now?" Intarion suddenly asked. "All this talking is getting boring."

By mutual consent they slowed to a halt. Ingwion exchanged an amused look with Finrod, who said, "I need to get back to the palace. In spite of the fact that this is Valanya and normally no business is done, Atar has called a special council meeting and I promised to be there."

"As did I," Ingwion added. "You remember my mentioning it earlier, don’t you?" he asked his twin.

"But we don’t have to be there, do we?" Ingalaurë demanded, and he and Intarion had the same dejected expression on their faces.

Before Ingwion could respond, Glorfindel intervened. "I was planning to go to the salle and work out. Would you two like to join me?"

Both Ingalaurë and Intarion brightened at that.

"Just as long as they watch only," Ingwion said sternly, giving his brother and Intarion an admonishing look. "Atar has decreed that these two are not to come anywhere near weapons yet."

"Oh?" Glorfindel responded with a lift of an eyebrow. "Any particular reason?"

Ingwion gave him a wintry smile. "There have been a couple of... incidents." Both Glorfindel and Finrod gave him enquiring looks while Ingalaurë and Intarion refused to look at anyone, their expressions somewhat sheepish. Ingwion, however, refusing to elaborate, turned to the two Reborn Vanyar. "You understand me? You may watch but you may not... play, or there will be consequences. You both remember the last time, don’t you?"

Ingalaurë and Intarion both paled at that and nodded. "We promise," Intarion said with a sigh. "But watching is boring, too."

"Did your atar say anything about practice weapons or just live steel?" Glorfindel asked Ingwion.

The Vanya blinked a couple of times, as if the question had never occurred to him. "Not really," he finally said in a reluctant tone.

"Then I don’t see where there’s a problem," Glorfindel said. "They can help carry things for me, act as my squires, as it were. I promise that they won’t do any actual fighting, but I can put them through some conditioning drills and teach them some defensive moves. We’ll make it into a game." He gave them a bright smile.

"Very well," Ingwion said with a nod. "I trust you, Glorfindel. Please do not betray my trust."

"You know I would never do that, hanno," Glorfindel replied in all seriousness.

"Then it’s settled," Finrod said. "You two mind Glorfindel," he admonished Ingalaurë and Intarion in a tone of voice that they both recognized and had learned to obey. They both nodded agreement and then they continued on, separating at the front portico of the palace. "We’ll see you at lunch," Finrod said and the others agreed.

****

Glorfindel led the two Vanyar through a different section of the palace grounds until they came to a small courtyard where they found a long hall. Inside they saw an open area with a viewing gallery along three sides. The floor was packed dirt. Sunlight flowing through high windows illuminated the space. At the moment the place was empty. Glorfindel pointed to a set of doors to the left.

"That’s the changing room there," he said, then pointed to the right, "and over there is a room where all the equipment is stored."

"It looks like the one back home," Intarion said.

Glorfindel nodded. "Pretty much. Atar Arafinwë didn’t have one when I first came here. He had this place converted to a training salle for warriors after the first New Year’s Tournament. This building was being used for teaching elflings horseback riding but that’s been moved to another place."

"Atto said that if we behaved ourselves he would let us go to the next tournament," Ingalaurë told him. "He hasn’t allowed us to go to one yet, not even when it was held in Vanyamar last year. He sent us to Lórien." The ellon made a disgusted sound in his throat.

"And now we have to wait a whole year for the next one," Intarion put in, looking despondent.

Glorfindel nodded in understanding. The New Year’s Tournament had quickly become a popular yearly event, but after a couple of years it was moved to Midsummer to coincide with the meeting of the All-Aman General Council, in which the heads of state for the various Eldarin kingdoms and enclaves, as well as the Valar, met to discuss matters of mutual concern to all of them. This year, because of the royal wedding, the tournament had been canceled but the General Council planned to meet after the wedding while everyone was still in Tirion.

He gave the two Vanyar a sympathetic look. "Well, that gives you a whole year to practice being good," he said, "but in the meantime, why don’t you help me set up some archery targets. I was planning to do some sword practice, but no one’s here, which is rather odd because usually this time of day there are several warriors working out."

"Why can’t we practice fighting with you?" Ingalaurë asked. "You said we could."

"I said you could help me carry equipment," Glorfindel corrected him. "As for fighting... I don’t think either of you is ready for that, yet. Come. Let’s set up the targets and we can compete against each other."

The two Vanyar reluctantly agreed and in a few minutes targets were set up and Glorfindel was helping them find appropriately sized bows. These were the altaquingar, the great war bows that had devastated the ranks of the Enemy in the War of Wrath. Both ellyn insisted they were familiar with them and knew how to use them. "Atto lets us practice archery at least," Ingalaurë said.

"I remember being in the War," Intarion said, "but no one trusts me with weapons now."

"And just what did you two do to get yourselves banned by Ingwë from handling weapons?" Glorfindel asked, but neither ellyn was inclined to answer and he was wise enough now not to press.

Once everything was set up to their satisfaction, Glorfindel insisted the other two show him what they knew about handling a war bow. As Ingalaurë had said, they were both quite knowledgeable about these great bows, far different from the bows used in hunting. Intarion was perhaps more skilled than Ingalaurë but both were obviously at home with their use.

Once Glorfindel was satisfied, they set out to compete against one another. Glorfindel made it as much a game as possible, such as blindfolding the archer or trying to hit a small coin from a particular distance. For a time the two younger Reborn were enthusiastic and willing to play, but after awhile their enthusiasm flagged and Intarion finally decided archery was boring and was unwilling to continue.

"I’d rather play with swords," he said petulantly.

Glorfindel frowned. "Swords are not for playing," he said.

"You sound like Ingwion... or Atto," Ingalaurë said accusingly. "You’re no fun anymore."

Glorfindel felt stung by the ellon’s words. Of course he was fun, but he was also a warrior and knew just how dangerous swords were. He’d been training for years now and in his first life he had been a lord of his House and had held great responsibility, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to have fun.

"Well, if you don’t want to continue," he said with a shrug, trying to hide the hurt he was feeling, "we can put these away and do something else."

"Like what?" Ingalaurë asked with a scowl.

"I don’t know," Glorfindel replied with some exasperation. "I’m sure we’ll think of something to do." With that he began to unstring his bow and, picking up his quiver, headed for the equipment storage room without bothering to see what the other two were doing. As he was putting the bow away the other ellyn came shuffling in to hang their bows up. Then, they silently put the targets away. Glorfindel couldn’t help noticing how both Ingalaurë and Intarion looked longingly at the practice swords hanging in their scabbards as they worked. Once everything was where it belonged, Glorfindel led them back outside.

"So now what?" Intarion asked as they stood in the courtyard.

Glancing at the sun Glorfindel could tell they had at least another hour or so before lunch would be served. "We can go see if Findaráto and Ingwion are done with the council meeting," he suggested. "They might have gotten out early."

"Don’t want to," Ingalaurë muttered. "Ingwi’s boring, always telling us what we can’t do."

Intarion nodded. "He’s almost as bad as Uncle Ingwë."

"But at least Atto will play with us... sometimes," Ingalaurë said. "Ingwi doesn’t know how to play."

Glorfindel hid a smile, remembering the jests the first-born son of the High King had liked to play on him when he had been living in Vanyamar. "Well, then, what do you want to do?" he asked. "And I don’t mean sword fighting," he added hastily. "If your atto said no then there was a good reason and I, for one, will not go against his wishes."

The other two sighed and shrugged, unwilling or unable to come up with an idea. Glorfindel did his best to hide his frustration. He didn’t remember being this... bored or complaining about there being nothing to do. Finally, after a moment when they just stood there staring at one another, Glorfindel shrugged. "Fine. You do what you want, I’m going for a walk." He started away, not paying attention to his direction, figuring the other two would come racing after him, but they didn’t and he refused to look back. He still felt hurt that Ingalaurë would accuse him of not being any fun. Maybe Finrod was no fun, being all grown up and about to get married, but he didn’t think he was that mature... yet. Still, on reflection, he realized that over the last few years, training with the Maiar, training the warriors at Aewellond, acting as part of Eärendil’s privy council, all of that had brought a level of maturity that, in the normal course of events, he would have spent several decades achieving.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t fun!

He stopped when he found himself in the middle of the orangery, realizing he had no idea where he was going or why. He turned around to see if by chance the other two were following him, but all he saw was a couple of the undergardeners pruning the boxwood hedge further along. He sighed.

"Now I’m feeling bored!" he muttered to himself in disgust, wondering what he should do. He had a nagging suspicion that he really shouldn’t have left Ingalaurë and Intarion unsupervised. He had no worries about them getting into the equipment room in the salle as it was spell-locked and only those who knew the right combination of words could open it. He’d been careful to make sure the other two were nowhere near him when he unlocked the equipment room door.

Still, that wasn’t to say they couldn’t get into some mischief. He scowled and silently cursed, deciding to retrace his steps and look for the two Vanyar. He only got a few paces when he stopped again. No one had appointed him their minders, so why should he have to be the one looking after them? That was... boring. He chuckled to himself at the irony of that thought. Well, he had better things to do and after a moment trying to decide what better thing he could be doing he thought to find a particular maple tree and indulge himself in a good swinging session. He was rather fond of maple trees and it’d been a while since he’d been in one.

Smiling to himself, he headed further into the gardens, humming a spritely tune, no longer interested in acting responsibly. That was too boring....

****

Finrod was feeling bored, though he was careful not to show it. The council meeting was dragging and all he really wanted to do was go with Ingwion to the training salle and get in some sparring. He would prefer sparring with Glorfindel, but they had long ago decided between themselves not to tempt fate or the wrath of the Valar and so did not spar with each other. The last thing either of them wanted was to find themselves in permanent exile in that mysterious place that had been Aman and not-Aman when they had fought against each other in that first New Year Tournament and had been in danger of destroying half the continent with the powers they had unwittingly unleashed. Just the thought of it sent a shiver down his spine. He glanced over at Ingwion, who, from his expression, was either actually interested in what Lord Pelendur was saying or a very good actor. Knowing Ingwion as he did, he rather suspected it was the latter and not necessarily the former. He resisted a sigh. Ingwion glanced at him, as if he knew what his cousin was feeling, and gave him an innocent look, his eyes sparkling with inner amusement. Finrod couldn’t resist a small smile, feeling immeasurably better.

But he was still bored....

****

Ingalaurë and Intarion stared after the retreating figure of the golden-haired balrog-slayer in dismay. "Do you think we hurt his feelings?" Intarion asked hesitantly.

Ingalaurë shrugged. "Maybe. I don’t know."

"What do you want to do?"

Ingalaurë gave another shrug, not bothering to answer. Intarion sighed, thinking perhaps they shouldn’t have acted so petulant. Intarion was sure Glorfindel had wanted to continue with the archery practice but had graciously stopped when he and Ingalaurë were no longer interested in shooting arrows. And he hadn’t said, ‘let’s do this or that’ but had asked them what they wanted to do, unlike their usual minders who normally just told them what they could or could not do. Glorfindel had tried to be their companion and they had ended up snubbing him. Intarion sighed again, hoping they hadn’t lost Glorfi’s friendship.

"Maybe we should go after him and apologize," he suggested half-heartedly.

Ingalaurë frowned. "Do you think we should?" he asked, feeling a little ashamed of himself for how he’d treated Glorfi but not really sure what they should do about it. Things were so confusing sometimes. He sort of remembered how it was before he’d died, but it was all rather vague and disjointed and he was never sure if what he was remembering was real or not.

They stood there in uncertainty, neither willing to be the one to make the first move. Finally, though, Intarion decided standing there doing nothing was no fun. He punched Ingalaurë in the arm and gave him a wicked grin. "Let’s see if we can’t open the equipment door and then we can play."

Ingalaurë gave him a frown. "But it’s spell-locked," he protested, "and Glorfi made sure we weren’t near him when he uttered the proper words to unlock it. I have a better idea. Let’s go into the city and see if we can hear any good rumors about the wedding and then we can come back and tell Cousin Arafinwë and everyone will think we’re so clever instead of being stupid Reborn."

Intarion nodded. "I like that idea. I’m tired of everyone treating me as if I were ten."

"But you are ten," Ingalaurë retorted, sticking out his tongue and then he was sprinting away with a laugh as Intarion chased him.

They stopped by mutual consent when they neared one of the gates leading out into the city. Now they were hesitant, standing under a tall column. "Do you think we can just leave?" Intarion asked softly as they eyed the two guards manning the gate. People were streaming in and out but the guards didn’t seem to take any notice.

"Why not?" Ingalaurë retorted. "Are we prisoners? Come on. Let’s go. Just act natural." They set off and as they neared the gate, Ingalaurë started talking, "So I said to Lord Glorfindel that I was interested in competing in next year’s tournament for archery."

Intarion stared at him in surprise, then catching the other’s eyes, belatedly understood what he was doing and quickly replied, speaking a bit too loudly in his nervousness, "So what did he say? Did he think you were good enough to compete?"

"He said I would need to practice every third day and gave me some pointers on how to stand properly and...."

They had now passed the gate and were several paces away and the guards had done nothing to stop them. They grinned at one another in triumph and then quickly made their way down the street and into a nearby square before they came to a halt again, not sure what they should do next. Ingalaurë looked about them. "It’s not like Vanyamar," he said.

Intarion snorted. "Of course not. Vanyamar is much prettier. Hey look! There’s a tavern over there. I’m feeling thirsty. Let’s go have something to drink before we head for the market."

Ingalaurë agreed and in minutes they were happily seated at a table in the Rose and Lily ordering hard cider, for neither felt like wine or ale this early in the day. As they sat there enjoying the cool drinks, two couples came in, taking a nearby table. They were apparently there for an early lunch for the Vanyar overheard them ordering a cold collation of meats and cheeses along with their ales. Neither of the Reborn were paying much attention to them, speaking quietly between themselves of inconsequential matters, but then one of the ellith said something that caught their ears.

"...heard that just about every Exile on Tol Eressëa has been invited to the wedding while those of us who never left and remained faithful to the Valar are being snubbed."

"I doubt that’s the case," one of the ellyn said with a smile. "There’s no reason why any of us should be invited and if the prince wants to invite those who owed him allegiance when he was in Endórë, what of it? It’s his wedding, after all."

Now the other elleth spoke up. "It’s not right. This isn’t Endórë, it’s Aman and they should follow Amanian customs."

"What do you mean?" the second ellon asked with a frown. "There’s no custom that says you have to invite a certain group or number of people to a wedding."

"I’m not talking about that," she replied scathingly. "I’m talking about the fact that apparently they’ve already done the deed and this wedding is just a sham, a cover-up for the sake of propriety."

The others at the table looked at the elleth in shock and even Ingalaurë and Intarion exchanged surprised looks. "You can’t possibly mean that they’ve... er... that she’s not... um...." one of the ellon stammered, nonplused.

The elleth smiled smugly. "Yes, I do, and I’ll tell you something else." She leaned over as if to speak in confidence though Ingalaurë and Intarion heard her well enough. "I heard that it’s some kind of custom among those Sindar. They don’t believe in proper marriages and we all know that the prince is more Sindarin than Noldorin. Look at those ridiculous front braids he’s always wearing and going on about his stupid kingdom. Bah! He couldn’t have been much of a king if he ended up losing it."

Before anyone could react to that statement, Intarion was standing, his fists clenched at his sides. "You take that back!" he yelled, startling everyone in the tavern. "You take that back!"

Ingalaurë tried to push him back down and calm him, but Intarion brushed him off, too incensed. One of the ellyn at the other table rose, his attitude one of nonchalance. "Now, youngster, what’s all this about? It’s not polite to listen in on other people’s conversations. Didn’t your amillë teach you better?"

At the mention of ‘amillë,’ Intarion went livid and he was on the hapless ellon in a trice, pounding on him. "Don’t you talk about my ammë. I don’t have an ammë," he screamed, tears running down his face.

"Inti, no!" Ingalaurë cried, leaping from his seat to go to his cousin’s aid, even as the other three people at the table stood up in shock and the innkeeper began making her way towards them. The ellon who was being attacked managed to grab hold of Intarion’s arms and push him away, sending him sprawling. The back of his head hit a post rather hard and he slid down to the floor trailing blood. There was a moment of complete shocked-induced silence and then Ingalaurë started screaming, "You killed my cousin! You killed my cousin!" And then he was attacking the same ellon whom Intarion had attacked, sending them both crashing into the table, forcing the other three to move out of the way as they rolled around the floor, the Noldo trying desperately to get a hold on Ingalaurë who was beating upon him ruthlessly, all the while screaming and weeping at the same time, "You killed my cousin! You killed my cousin!".

And now there was complete pandemonium as several people tried to rescue the hapless ellon from Ingalaurë and others were checking on Intarion’s condition while still others were running outside yelling for help. The innkeeper was yelling, rather unhelpfully, "Grab him! Grab him!" while a number of ellyn were trying to do just that, but Ingalaurë was fighting too viciously and it was difficult for anyone to get a hold of him, as he and the other ellon rolled on the floor, knocking over chairs and upsetting the crockery on some of the tables, causing them to crash upon the floor, making an unholy mess.

Someone started yelling, "He’s not dead! Your cousin is not dead!" but if Ingalaurë heard he gave no heed or did not believe the words, and in truth there was so much shouting and he was so busy screaming, he wouldn’t have heard anything. Before things got completely out of hand, though, there was an overpowering floral scent, a mingling of cedar and roses, and suddenly the tavern got very small as two Maiar appeared, with everyone scrambling out of their way. One was wearing the purple surcoat of the People of Estë, the other the sky-blue surcoat of Lord Manwë’s People. The one in the sky-blue surcoat deftly reached down and simply plucked Ingalaurë off the other ellon, then wrapped his arms around the still screaming Reborn and held him tightly, rocking him gently and muttering soothing words to him, until Ingalaurë stopped thrashing and was finally quiescent.

Meanwhile the other Maia was gently checking over Intarion, clucking in dismay and shaking her head.

"How is he, Ninwanyellë?" the Maia holding Ingalaurë asked.

"Alive," she answered. "He’s going to have a miserable headache when he wakes up, though. And Ingalaurë?"

"He’ll be fine once we get him to his brother."

"Why are you worrying about those two?" The Maiar looked up to see an elleth glowering at them. "What about my husband? Do you not care that he’s been injured as well?" She pointed to where the other couple who had been dining with them were helping the poor ellon to his feet. They could see he was battered and bruised and obviously in some pain, but otherwise well enough. The two Maiar exchanged looks that could not be interpreted by the Elves, then, Ninwanyellë stood and went to the ellon, gently running her hands over his body and before their wondering eyes, the other Elves watched as the bruises faded away and the ellon straightened, no longer in pain, giving the Maia a grateful look.

The Maia holding Ingalaurë looked down at the Vanya in his arms and smiled. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked gently.

For a moment Ingalaurë did not answer, but then he looked up at the Maia, his eyes growing wide. "Nornoros?"

"Yes, and you still haven’t answered my question."

Ingalaurë’s face crumpled into misery. "They were s-saying bad things about F-finda," he stammered, "and... and then they k-killed Inti!" He started weeping inconsolably. "I w-want my atto. I want my atto," he said and clung to the Maia as a child would a parent, seeking comfort. Nornoros held him tighter.

"Hush now, Little One. Inti still lives. There’s no need for tears."

Even as he was speaking, several city guards ran inside, stopping in amazement at the sight of the two Maiar. "We heard there was trouble," one of the guards said.

"And now it is over," Nornoros said calmly. "However, we need to get Prince Intarion to the healers and Prince Ingalaurë to his brother, Prince Ingwion, and then I think it will be wise for his Majesty to speak with some of these good people." It escaped no one’s notice that the Maia was looking pointedly at the two couples who had been at the center of all the excitement. All four of them looked pale. The innkeeper pointed at the still unconscious Intarion whom Ninwanyellë was scooping into her arms.

"Why don’t you just heal him the way you healed the other ellon?" she asked.

Nornoros just smiled. "Evidence." Then before anyone else could comment, he was lifting Ingalaurë into his arms. "Come. We need to see the King. Guardsmen, please escort these four to the palace," and then he and Ninwanyellë were heading for the door.

"Wait!" the innkeeper shouted. "What about this mess? Who’s going to pay for all the damage?"

Nornoros turned, giving her a quizzical look. "What mess? What damage?" He turned away and smiled to himself as he heard gasps of surprise from the Elves as they suddenly found the tavern mysteriously returned to its original state.

****

Finrod and Ingwion had at last been able to leave the council chambers and were in search of Glorfindel and the others, walking along an upper gallery overlooking the courtyard that fronted the palace.

"I was so bored," Finrod was exclaiming, "I wanted to scream."

Ingwion snorted in amusement and started to comment when something caught his attention and he stopped to stare outside. "Look!" he exclaimed, pointing, and Finrod, who was a couple of paces in front of Ingwion, stopped and stared out, giving a small gasp as he saw two Maiar carrying his cousins with several guardsmen herding four people along while it seemed as if half the city was trailing behind them.

Suddenly, Finrod was no longer bored.

****

Words are Quenya:

Valarauco: Balrog.

Hanno: Colloquial form of háno: Brother.