Chapter the Eighteenth:

In Which the Wedding China is Unveiled and Many are Distraught

It was while they were working with the clay that the question of wedding china arose. Everyone was busy with their own project, either working a wheel (Arafinwë had ordered a couple more put in the workshop after Sador’s grandparents were released from Lórien) or sitting at a worktable. Some, like Finrod and Ingwion, were creating works of art, while others, notably Ingalaurë and Intarion, were just playing and having fun. Sador had not actually begun anything in particular, spending some of the time setting out the clay, showing Glorfindel how to manipulate the wheel, showing Vorondil, Ingalaurë and Intarion how to roll the clay into ropes to create a bowl, and giving Finrod and Ingwion some pointers as they worked.

"So I understand Lady Almáriel commissioned your wedding china herself," Sador said as he watched Finrod throw the clay on the wheel.

"Ammë wasn’t happy about it," Finrod said. "She does not think Almáriel has any taste or sense. And if the garb they are supposedly making for me based on her selection of materials and colors is any indication, then I agree."

"Oh?" Glorfindel said. "That bad? You never did say what the garb they’re making for you looks like."

"Rather hard to describe," Finrod said with a grimace. "However, contingency plans are in place and hopefully I won’t be forced to die of embarrassment at my own wedding and ruin Lord Námo’s day."

The others all laughed.

"Do you know what kind of china they are making and how many pieces?" Sador asked

Finrod shrugged. "I have no idea and it’s not something I’ve thought about."

"Won’t we be using the wedding china at the feast, though?" Glorfindel enquired as he clumsily attempted to make a small bowl.

"Just at the high table," Finrod said, "or perhaps I should say, the high pavilion. Everyone else will have to make do with the usual gold plates."

"I had hoped to be able to make the wedding china," Sador said as he dodged the little clay balls Intarion was lobbing at everyone.

"So, what have you made instead?" Finrod asked with a smile.

"Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?" Sador replied with his own smile. "Suffice to say, that I’m sure you will like it, and more importantly, Amarië will like it."

"It seems silly for anyone to make more china for us," Finrod said as he bent over the delicate vase he was making. "You and your grandparents gave us a complete set three years ago. Ammë always insists on it being used on high feast days."

"That was for the family," Sador said, lobbing a couple of clay balls back at Intarion and Ingalaurë who giggled. "You’ll be setting up your own household, won’t you.?"

Finrod nodded. "Atar has been converting a couple of unused suites into an apartment for us."

"Then you’ll need your own set of china and everything else for when you wish to entertain privately."

"I suppose," Finrod said with a shrug. "Hadn’t really thought about it. When I want to entertain privately, the kitchen staff provides me with all that is necessary."

"That’s because you are a single ellon entertaining at most a handful of friends," Ingwion said as he dipped his fingers in the water bowl to moisten the clay a bit more. "Once you’re married, you’ll be obliged to entertain on a larger scale."

"Unfortunately," Finrod said with a sigh. The others merely grinned as they continued working (or playing) with the clay.

****

The next morning, Finrod was going over accounts pertaining to his personal household with one of his staff when a visitor for his Highness was announced.

"Edrahil," Finrod exclaimed in delight as the ellon was shown into his office. The two greeted one another as comrades."What brings you here? The wedding is still some weeks away."

"I had some business to transact in Eldamas and thought to stop here on my way back to the Southern Fiefdoms and see how you were holding up, aran nîn."

"Well enough," Finrod said as he gestured for Edrahil to take one of the seats built into an embrasure that led out onto a private courtyard where a small fountain sang. The stone seats were covered with plush midnight blue velvet cushions. Finrod went to a sideboard and poured some fruit juice into a couple of goblets, for Edrahil was one who preferred not to drink wine or ale.

Finrod’s former companion on the Quest of the Silmarils gave him a shrewd look as Finrod handed him a goblet before taking the other seat. "What has happened, aranya?"

Finrod raised an eyebrow, then relented somewhat. "Much," he said and then, after taking a sip or two of the peach juice, he launched into an abbreviated version of the events of the past few weeks. Edrahil, to his credit, remained silent and not even his expression gave away what he thought of it all. When Finrod finished there was silence between them for a time before Edrahil made a comment.

"You remember your lady sister’s wedding?" he asked and it was not an idle question, for as Reborn they both knew that some memories just never returned and the why and wherefore of it was unknown, only to be accepted.

Finrod nodded. "Celeborn asked me at one point if the...um.... ‘the level of insanity attendant to the preparations’, and I’m quoting here," — Edrahil grinned — "was normal for a Noldorin wedding."

"What did you tell him?"

"I said no, they were usually much worse."

Edrahil laughed. "Indeed. I remember my own sister’s wedding the year after Fëanor was sent into exile. Talk about insanity." He shook his head, a fond smile on his face.

"Why are you here, mellon nîn?" Finrod asked quietly after several moments of silence passed between them.

Edrahil gave him a sharp look and then sighed. "I never could fool you, could I?"

Finrod shook his head. "A consequence of the Life Oath, I’m afraid. I am more acutely aware of my people’s moods when they are in my presence. You are deeply troubled, so much so that you sought me out."

"I keep dreaming of my death," Edrahil said softly, not looking at Finrod.

"Oh, mellon nîn, I’m so sorry," Finrod exclaimed, moving to sit next to the ellon and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Do you know why?"

Edrahil shrugged. "Not really. It’s always the same scene. We’re in Sauron’s presence and you are battling him and the rest of us are just standing around watching, doing nothing."

"There was nothing you or anyone else could have done," Finrod said softly. "I’ve never blamed any of you for what happened. Indeed, I blame myself for being so arrogant as to bring any of you into peril and eventually your deaths."

"We would have died anyway, Finrod," Edrahil countered. "If not in Sauron’s dungeons, then before the gates of Nargothrond. None of us were destined to live, I deem." He sighed again and leaned back against the embrasure. "I don’t understand why I keep dreaming about this one scene over and over again."

"You do not dream of your actual death, I mean, when the werewolf would come and...."

"Sometimes, but usually not. It’s usually this one scene."

"I think your fae is trying to tell you something, something important that you need to understand about yourself. You say you just stood there and watched, but that is not necessarily true. Did you not tell me afterwards that you and the other Companions sought to shield Beren from the effects of the battle?"

Edrahil nodded, albeit reluctantly.

"He would not have survived the forces being generated between Sauron and me in that battle," Finrod went on. "Even if I had somehow succeeded to best Sauron and we had escaped, it is likely Beren would not have lived and the history of Arda would have been much different than what it is. I have no doubt you and the others wanted desperately to come to my aid, but you were doing a greater service to all of Arda by protecting Beren."

"I know all that," Edrahil said, "at least here," he tapped a finger on his forehead, "but not here," now he was tapping the area above his heart.

"And that is probably why you are having this dream," Finrod said. "You need to come to terms with what happened and why. You and the others did precisely what you needed to do to ensure that the Quest succeeded. Our deaths were a small price to pay to see it so, do you not think?"

Edrahil nodded. "Yes, and I don’t really regret it. I guess I just needed to hear it said... again."

Finrod smiled as he stood. "And I will be happy to remind you when you need to hear it... again."

They both laughed, the tension easing from them.

"Now, why don’t we go hunt up Glorfindel and the others," Finrod suggested. "It’s nearly time for lunch."

****

Edrahil stayed for the night at Finrod’s insistence before continuing his journey to the Southern Fiefdoms where he now resided. Once he’d been formally released from Lórien he had been admitted into the apprenticeship program for the forest rangers who guarded the Forests of Oromë against the evil beasts that occasionally crossed over the Pelóri from the south, as well as husbanding the trees, for those that died naturally or were killed by storms were gathered to provide the wood used in creating furniture and the like.

Edrahil assured Finrod that he was feeling better and thanked him for taking the time to listen.

"I always have time to listen to any of my people," Finrod said, giving him a hug before letting him go.

The rest of the day, though, many noticed the pensive air that surrounded their prince. Glorfindel and Sador asked him if he was all right and he assured them that he was, but the two ellyn looked doubtful. Finrod was ready to reiterate his assurance but was prevented from doing so when a page approached them and announced that a shipment from Vanyamar had arrived and their Majesties wished to see them in the yellow audience chamber.

"Must be something to do with the wedding," Finrod said with a shrug as he thanked the page and sent her on her way. The yellow audience chamber had been set aside to receive the wedding gifts. Already there were some interesting looking packages gaily wrapped with colored paper and bright ribbons sitting on the trestles that had been set up for that purpose. As the three made their way towards the audience chamber they were met by Ingwion, Ingalaurë and Intarion. Ingwion gave them a smile.

"I believe this might be the wedding china," he said. "When we left Vanyamar, Almáriel was having it packed to be sent on."

"Have you seen it?" Finrod asked.

Ingwion shook his head. "I only heard her give Atar a report about it. I have no idea what it looks like."

"Well, I guess we’re about to find out," Glorfindel quipped.

They came to the audience chamber to find Arafinwë and Eärwen there. "Mistress Terendulë is having the china unpacked," the Queen told them. "They should be done soon."

Even as she was speaking, the door opened and a couple of servants came out carrying a large crate. Three other crates were brought out and then Mistress Terendulë stood at the door, giving them a curtsey, stepping aside to allow them admittance. Arafinwë and Eärwen entered first, followed by Finrod and the others.

"Oh dear," Eärwen muttered in dismay as she stood in front of a trestle covered with white linen on which had been placed the china. "Whatever was Almáriel thinking?" She picked up a plate to examine it more closely. It was perhaps ten inches across. The rim was painted a yellow-green with a scattering of rosettes in shades of dark pink, pale rose and light red. The center was white. Smaller plates were the same but other pieces, such as bowls and cups had the pattern all over, even on the inside; there was no white to be seen on them at all.

"A rather interesting color combination," Arafinwë said neutrally, as he picked up a soup bowl. "Are we actually supposed to eat off these?"

Before Eärwen could comment, Ingwion spoke up, his voice full of distress. "Ah, Arafinwë, I think we may have a problem."

Both King and Queen turned and Eärwen gasped in dismay. Finrod, Glorfindel, Sador and Intarion were all standing completely still, their eyes full of horror. Ingalaurë simply looked ill and Ingwion was holding him, quietly instructing him to close his eyes and breathe deeply.

"Finda?" Arafinwë said softly as he went to his son, but Finrod just stood there, evidently in shock, his eyes not seeing anything except a wall in a dungeon covered with a sickly green mold that seemed to glow with an inner pallid light of its own. There was blood splattered on the wall, fresh blood, Edrahil’s blood, covering the blood that had already splattered there from the deaths of three others....

Eärwen went to Glorfindel, running a hand through his golden locks. "Glorfindel, look at me, child," she said, but Glorfindel merely stared unseeing, unaware of her touch as he fought in his first great battle in Beleriand. He was facing one of the treacherous Easterlings who had betrayed them, and by the looks of him, the Mortal could not have seen twenty summers yet. The thought of having to cut down the youth sickened him even as he swept his sword to take the boy’s head, the blood splattering on Glorfindel’s green surcoat, marring the beauty of the embroidered golden flower in the center. He wondered if he’d ever get the blood out even as he launched himself against another enemy....

"What is wrong with them?" Ingwion demanded as he released his brother into Mistress Terendulë’s care to go to Intarion.

"I don’t know but we need to get them out of here," Arafinwë answered.

"Intarion?" Ingwion said, wrapping his arms around his cousin. "Please, Intarion, what is wrong?"

But Intarion did not hear him. All he heard was his own screams as he raced to where Arafinwë was battling for his life, surrounded by three orcs, praying he would be on time, for he could see that his cousin was wounded and could not hold out much longer. He launched himself at one of the enemy and slew him quickly, then managed to get between Arafinwë and another orc, taking the blow that had been meant for the Noldóran. He did not remember collapsing to the ground. His last sight before death took him was that of his life’s blood darkening the green grass before him.....

By now, others were entering the room, for Arafinwë had called out to the guards and issued orders. They would need to get the ellyn away, but it would help if they could bring them out of their fugues first. Vardamir came running in and seeing that all but Sador had someone looking after them, went to the ellon, gently rubbing his back and examining him, speaking softly. "Sador, can you hear me?"

Sador actually blinked and then tore his eyes away from the china to stare into Vardamir’s eyes. "These will definitely not go with what I’ve made for Findaráto," he said, his expression more pained than anything. Vardamir took a quick look at the display and grimaced. "Get them out of here now," he ordered, "even if you have to pick them up and carry them."

"Where?" Arafinwë demanded even as he took his son in his arms and headed for the door.

"Outside," Vardamir replied. "As far as possible from this room."

Arafinwë nodded, issuing orders for wine to be brought immediately to the gazebo in the lower rose garden where he led the others. Ingwion picked Intarion up while Calandil took Glorfindel. Eärwen and Terendulë gently led Ingalaurë. Vardamir was doing the same with Sador. Even as they reached the gazebo, Marilla was coming quickly with a decanter of wine while Ailinel followed with several goblets on a tray. Other servants and courtiers, alerted to the crisis, also came running to see if their help was needed.

"What are they seeing?" Eärwen asked worriedly. "Why do they not respond?"

"Are they attempting to flee their hröar?" Ingwion enquired. "Glorfindel hasn’t had such an episode in years."

"I do not think so," Vardamir replied, checking on Finrod.

"Why did they go into shock like that all at once do you suppose?" Arafinwë asked, brushing a hand through Finrod’s hair.

"You did not see the pattern on the china?" Vardamir asked.

"Of course," Arafinwë said with a frown, "but I see no...."

"Perhaps you’ve forgotten the way blood looks when it’s splattered over a surface," Vardamir retorted. "Those rosettes scattered on that green background reminded me rather vividly of that."

Arafinwë grimaced. "I admit I was caught off-guard by the pattern, but not to this extent." He gestured to the three ellyn who were still in states of shock.

"But then, you never died, did you?" Vardamir retorted in a distracted tone as he attempted to get Glorfindel to drink some wine. "This is not working," he said, standing up. "We need to bring them out of their state but I hesitate to do anything that can damage them psychically. We do not want their fëar fleeing."

Sador, looking less distraught than before as he sipped on the wine that Marilla had given him, spoke then. "You may need the Valar’s help. Lord Irmo, perhaps."

"Do you know why you or Ingalaurë weren’t affected by the pattern?" Vardamir asked.

Sador shrugged. "I cannot speak for Ingil...."

"Ingalaurë," the Reborn ellon corrected half-heartedly as he sat by his brother sipping his wine.

"Ingalaurë," Sador said with a smile, accepting the correction, "but I was more shocked by the fact that the color scheme is all wrong for Findaráto, and it certainly doesn’t go with the pieces of pottery I created as a wedding gift."

"And I just felt sick to my stomach," Ingalaurë offered. "All that blood... I mean...." He gave them a shrug. "It really isn’t a very pretty pattern," he ended, looking chagrined. Ingwion hugged him and encouraged him to drink more wine.

Vardamir was about to speak again when there was a powerful floral scent and three Maiar were suddenly there, all of them wearing the emblem of Lord Irmo on their surcoats. One of them spoke, giving them a bow.

"Greetings, I am Ingil of the People of Irmo."

"You see," Ingalaurë said, pointing to the Maia. "He’s Ingil. I’m Ingalaurë."

The Maiar smiled and Ingil spoke again. "Our Lord Irmo sent us to help."

"What can you do for them?" Eärwen asked, as she sat between Finrod and Glorfindel, her arms around them both.

"What we can," Ingil replied. With that he asked everyone to leave the gazebo to give him and his fellow Maiar room, each Maia standing before one of the ellyn. Ingil stood before Finrod and placed his hands on either side of Finrod’s face. The other two were doing the same with Glorfindel and Intarion. There were no words spoken but those looking on felt a rush of power come from somewhere and nowhere and then first Intarion and then Glorfindel and finally Finrod all shuddered and gasped and they were blinking their eyes as if coming out of a deep sleep. The Maiar stood for another minute or two, keeping their hands on the heads of the ellyn, bending low to speak with them. Then Ingil stepped back and turned to those waiting and gestured for them to approach.

"They are back," he said. "The rest is up to you." Before anyone could muster a thank-you the Maiar were gone, leaving behind a mingling of floral scents that brought refreshment to the fëar of all there.

Eärwen moved first to check on Finrod and then the others crowded around as well. More wine was poured into the goblets and only when the servants and courtiers had been dismissed with Arafinwë’s thanks, did anyone speak.

"What happened, yonya?" Arafinwë asked Finrod, his tone gentle, yet there was an undercurrent of worry to it.

"That... that pattern," Finrod whispered. He had to stop and take another gulp of wine before he could continue. "I... all I could see was Edrahil’s blood splattered on the dungeon walls." Eärwen hugged him.

"And all I could see was my own blood flowing across the grass," Intarion offered. "I remember thinking as I lay there how bright grass looks in early Spring." He shook his head. "Stupid thing to think about when you’re dying."

"Glorfindel?" Vardamir asked. He was going to each ellon and checking their vitals. "What did you see?"

But Glorfindel shook his head. "Not important."

"No, child," Arafinwë said, his voice stern. "You need to speak of it, now."

Glorfindel sighed. "The Nirnaeth. There was an Easterling, a boy actually. His blood splattered on my surcoat. I kept wondering if I’d ever get the blood out." He snorted derisively and closed his eyes. "I’m slaughtering children and wondering if I can get their blood out of my surcoat." Then his face crumpled and he started weeping and Vardamir, who was standing before him, took him into his arms and held him.

"It’s all right," the healer said softly, rocking the ellon gently. "It’s going to be all right."

"What are we going to do about that wretched china?" Sador asked.

"Do we actually have to use it?" Ingwion asked.

"Maybe it won’t be too bad if we pile our plates with lots of food," Ingalaurë suggested, "and don’t eat any of it."

For some reason, that struck them all as funny and even Glorfindel was laughing.

"Well, I know what I want to do with it," Finrod said when they were calmer, "but really, what can we do? Almáriel will be expecting us to use it."

"For now, though, I’m having it repacked," Arafinwë said, "and then I’m having it placed in storage. We’ll decide later what is to be done."

The others nodded and at Vardamir’s suggestion, they remained in the gazebo for the rest of the afternoon. More wine was sent for and court musicians came and began playing softly while those in the gazebo enjoyed the music and spoke quietly amongst themselves until it was time to go inside and dress for dinner.

****

Words are Sindarin unless otherwise noted:

Aran nîn: My king; a phrase used by several of Finrod’s former subjects from Nargothrond when addressing him, sometimes using the Quenya form, aranya.

Mellon nîn: My friend.

Fae: Spirit, soul; the Quenya equivalent is fëa (pl. fëar)

Hröar: (Quenya) Plural of hröa: Body.