Chapter the Twentieth:

In Which Finrod Comes to Lórien and Receives an Early Wedding Gift

Glorfindel kept a worried eye on Finrod as they rode through the night. His gwador was too quiet and he could feel his anger seething just below the surface, though Finrod appeared outwardly calm. Only his eyes, blazing with a cold light, betrayed his true emotions. Glorfindel glanced over at Sador, riding on Finrod’s other side and saw the ellon shrug and shake his head. He sighed and concentrated on the road ahead, wondering at the Valar’s timing, for he thought he knew what this was all about, but then again, he might be wrong.

The journey from Tirion to Valmar usually took three or four days, depending on how swiftly travelers wished to arrive at their destination. Finrod got them there in two. Even Glorfindel was reeling by the time they reached the city of the Powers some time after the sun had set. Valmar glowed in the distance as they came around the last bend of the road and Glorfindel sighed with relief. The three reached the eastern gate of the city to find a Maia waiting for them. He wore the emblem of Lady Estë upon his surcoat.

"Greetings. I am Súrilindë of the People of Estë," he said, giving them a brief bow. "I have been directed to bring you to where you may rest before continuing your journey."

Finrod merely nodded and the Maia led them down the Landamallë Valion past the mansions of Ulmo and Oromë and Nessa and into the garden surrounding the mansion of Irmo and Estë where other Maiar were there to take their horses. Súrilindë did not lead them into the mansion, itself, but led them behind the edifice into another garden where two pavilions had been set up on the sward, one larger than the other.

"Here you may take your ease," the Maia said. "Food and drink will be brought to you shortly. The blue pavilion over there contains the privy."

Finrod thanked him and Súrilindë bowed before walking away. The ellyn made their way into the larger pavilion where they found tubs of hot water waiting for them. They wasted no time in availing themselves of the baths and a half an hour later, they were clean and dressed in soft robes that had been provided for them. Stepping outside the pavilion, they found a table had been set for them under a spreading oak where colored lanterns hung from the branches, offering them a rainbow of illumination. It was their first real meal since leaving Tirion, for they had eaten trail rations on the way to save time.

There was little in the way of conversation, for each was lost in his own thoughts. Finrod, Glorfindel noticed, was not eating, merely pushing his food around his plate. "What is it, hanno?" he asked. "Why are you still angry?"

Finrod looked up at him. "Why are you not?" he demanded. "Why are you and Sador taking this so calmly, being pushed about in this manner?"

Glorfindel shrugged. "Perhaps because we’re not the object of Lord Irmo’s concern?"

"Or perhaps, we’re not the one about to get married and his beloved has disappeared," Sador added, giving Finrod a significant stare.

"Are you not concerned for Alassiel?" Finrod shot back.

"Yes, but not for the same reasons as you," Sador replied. "Alassiel is, after all, quite capable of taking care of herself. You saw to that when you took her as your squire. And it is not as if they are traveling through enemy territory with the threat of attack from orcs and evil Men. I have no doubt Amarië went to Tol Eressëa for a reason and when they come to Tirion, as they will, we’ll learn what that reason is."

Finrod sighed. "It makes no real sense. The wedding party from Vanyamar will be setting out in a matter of days. It will not do to have the bride missing at that time."

"I have no answers for you, hanno," Sador said with a sympathetic look. "All I can say is that it will work out in the end. Amarië loves you and will not abandon you at this late hour. Now, why don’t we finish this lovely meal and then get some rest? The rest of the trip will be a nightmare even with the Maiar providing us with extra mounts."

The other two agreed and they continued eating in silence. They did not linger afterwards but retired to the pavilion where they found three comfortable cots waiting for them. Such was their exhaustion that they were all slipping onto the Path of Dreams even before their heads reached the pillows.

****

They were up before dawn, a hot breakfast waiting for them. Súrilindë came just as they were finishing, and led them out and across the Landamallë to the western gate that sat between the mansions of Námo and Nienna. In the pre-dawn light, the silver and emeralds of the gate glowed mutely. Several Maiar were there with six mounts, the extra horses carrying their haversacks. Their own horses would remain in Valmar to recover from the grueling pace Finrod had set for them.

"My Lord expects you in Lórien in three days’ time," Súrilindë said. "We will have camps set up for you along the way with a hot meal waiting for you."

"Thank you," Finrod said, speaking for them all, and then they were on their way, riding along the Númenya Tëa, past the Ezellohar and the Máhanaxar and on towards the demesne of Lord Irmo and Lady Estë. They rode swiftly, eating up the miles, stopping once to switch horses and a second time to take some ease, but in a short while they were on their way again. They had covered about a third of the way when they came upon a camp off to their left. There was no one there, but a small fire was burning and a venison stew was bubbling. They quickly saw to their horses and then tended to their own needs, nearly falling asleep as they ate.

And so the cycle was repeated the next day and some hours after dark on the third day they approached the gates of Lórien to find its Lord waiting for them, along with several Maiar. Glorfindel felt weak with fatigue, for he had not pressed himself in such a manner in too long a time. His brothers were no better. Even in the wan light of torches he could see how grey Finrod and Sador looked. Irmo wasted no time in pleasantries but ordered the horses away and escorted them himself to the grove which was Finrod’s when he resided in Lórien. They did not bother with a meal. In truth, Glorfindel did not think he had the strength to eat. All he wished for was to fall into bed and sleep for a decade or three. He suspected his brothers were of like mind.

"We’ll discuss the reason for my summons in the morning," Irmo told them as he bid them a good night.

Finrod nodded wearily, apparently too tired to speak, though Glorfindel suspected his brother was burning with questions. They barely took the time to undress before slipping between the sheets of the cots. Finrod and Sador fell asleep almost immediately. For some perverse reason, though, Glorfindel found himself feeling wide awake and he lay there for some time staring at the ceiling of the pavilion thinking of what the morrow would hold for them. He had no answers, only suspicions. He never knew when sleep finally took him.

****

Birdsong woke Glorfindel and it took him a moment or two to remember where he was. He glanced to his right to see Finrod still sleeping but Sador’s bed was empty. He rose and stretched, then quietly left the pavilion in search of the privy. There was no sign of Sador but he was not unduly concerned. No doubt the ellon was visiting with friends or simply wandering through the groves enjoying the morning. Returning from the privy he found Finrod just waking.

"I’m off to the baths," Glorfindel said by way of greeting as he gathered up a towel and other items sitting on the clothespress that was at the foot of his cot. "Sador is up and about but I haven’t seen him yet."

Finrod nodded. "Give me a minute and I’ll come with you. I can’t believe I slept so late."

"We were all just about dead by the time we reached Lórien," Glorfindel said. "I was surprised not to see Sador still in bed. By the look of things, he’s been up for some time." He nodded to Sador’s cot where the bedclothes were neatly made up and a wet towel hung from a clothes tree set up for that purpose.

Finrod grinned. "Ah, the resilience of youth."

Glorfindel chuckled. "I’ll meet you at the baths," was all he said and left.

****

An hour later, bathed and dressed, the two were sitting outside the pavilion letting their hair dry in the sun. There was still no sign of Sador. They had returned to the grove to find a light repast of bread, cheese, fruit and small beer set out for them and they wasted no time breaking their fast. Now, they were relaxing in the sun.

"When will we be summoned to Lord Irmo, do you suppose?" Glorfindel asked as he began braiding his hair.

Finrod shook his head, braiding his hair as well. "Your guess is as good as mine. I just wish he would hurry up and come so I can do whatever he wants me to do that no one else in Lórien apparently can do so we can be on our way back to Tirion. If we leave tomorrow we can reach Tirion late in the evening of the day before the wedding."

"That’s assuming you can do what needs doing today so we can leave tomorrow," Glorfindel said with a snort.

Finrod nodded. "There is that."

Even as they were finishing braiding their hair, Sador entered the grove. "So you’re finally awake," he said by way of greeting.

"And where have you been?" Finrod asked with a smile.

"Wandering about and visiting with friends," came the reply. "I met Lord Irmo and he said for us to come to his pavilion by the lake whenever you’re ready."

"Well, I’m all set," Finrod said. "Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel nodded, standing. "Let us go see what this is all about."

They left the grove, turning left down the sward then right along an intersecting sward that led directly towards the lake where Lord Irmo’s colorful pavilion (courtesy of a couple of elflings and three Reborn) overlooked Lórellin and Lady Estë’s island. As they approached the pavilion, they could see Lord Irmo was already there waiting for them. He smiled benignly as they each gave him their obeisance, gesturing for them to take a seat around the table. Without a word, he poured some hawthorn juice into crystal goblets.

"Please drink and refresh yourselves," he said. "I know you have many questions and I will answer them shortly, but first we must address this anger you hold within you, Findaráto. I have received reports from both Ramandor and Olórin of your reaction to their messages. I find myself rather disappointed in you."

Finrod had the grace to blush, but did not speak.

"No defense?" Irmo said, lifting an eyebrow. "No excuses? Not even an apology?"

"What would you have me say, lord?" Finrod retorted, keeping his eyes down. "My betrothed disappears without explanation and I’m forbidden to search for her but am summarily summoned here without any explanation. I guess I’ve gotten just a little tired of being told what to do and where to go as if I were an elfling of twelve."

"First of all, Amarië and the others with her are perfectly safe and presently enjoying the hospitality of Lady Meril," Irmo said, "and from what I gather, your presence would have been most unwelcome by all the ellith, including your betrothed."

All three ellyn raised eyebrows in disbelief. "So why didn’t they have the courtesy of leaving a note behind explaining all this?" Glorfindel asked.

"Actually, they did," Irmo replied with a smile. "Unfortunately, the letter was... um... misplaced by one of the servants who was unaware of its significance. It was discovered by Almáriel only two days ago, and if she was unhappy before, she’s even more unhappy now and is not afraid to tell anyone."

"Almáriel is never happy," Finrod pointed out. "At least not where I’m concerned."

"That may be as it may be," Irmo said with a nod, "but the fact remains that the mystery of their disappearance has been solved, though not to everyone’s satisfaction. I tell you this to ease your minds, especially yours, Sador." He cast a fond look at the youngest ellon who blushed slightly, murmuring a thank-you.

"So now, to the reason for my summoning you," Irmo said briskly, standing. The three Elves scrambled to their feet. "Come along and I will show you. You may consider this an early wedding gift from the Valar."

With that, the Lord of Lórien strode out of the pavilion with the others right behind. Irmo led them into the area of Lórien generally reserved for the Reborn, coming upon a grove where a Maia in the livery of his Lord stood guard before its entrance. Irmo smiled as the Maia saluted.

"Any problems, Nornotavaron?"

"None to speak of, lord," the Maia answered with a grin, stepping aside to let them enter. "The two younger ones attempted to leave through the trees while their atar tried to keep me occupied with inane questions but Cucuandur put a stop to that. He’s presently keeping them amused with some long tale about his exploits during the War of Wrath. Most of it is pure lies, of course."

"Of course," Irmo responded with a knowing smile. "Thank you, Nornotavaron. You may resume your other duties." The Maia bowed and strolled away as Irmo gestured for the Elves to precede him into the grove.

Finrod was the first to go with Glorfindel and Sador right behind him. He only got a few steps in when he stopped in shock. Sador almost ran into him and uttered a curse in Sindarin that made Glorfindel glare at him in disapproval, while Irmo merely smiled as the ellon blushed. Finrod paid them no mind. He was rooted on the spot and the blood had drained from his face. Sador took his left elbow to steady him. Glorfindel looked to see four people sitting outside a red and yellow pavilion. One was a Maia, Cucuandor of the war lies, no doubt, along with three ellyn who were now standing, looking a bit uncertain. Glorfindel wasn’t sure, but he thought he recognized them.

Irmo came behind Finrod and put a hand on his right shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Will you not greet your uncle and cousins, child?" he asked gently.

Glorfindel felt his heart racing with excitement. So! Fingolfin and Fingon. Two more kings of Beleriand to be reborn. Now that was a pretty little pickle the Valar had landed them in. But who was the third ellon? And why hadn’t Atar Arafinwë been asked to come as well? Fingolfin, after all, was his own brother. For that matter, why hadn’t the Lady Anairë been summoned? He had never met the lady, only knew that shortly before Finrod was returned to Life, she had retired to one of the royal estates in the Southern Fiefdoms where she apparently preferred to preside over her rose garden and oversee the running of the estate for her brother-in-law. She, above all, should have been here.

Glorfindel stole a glance at Sador and saw that the ellon’s eyes were wide with surprise.

Finrod did not immediately respond to Irmo’s request. He turned to look at the Vala and Glorfindel could see the shock being replaced by anger once again. "Now?" he demanded harshly. "You spring them on me now? Why couldn’t this have waited until afterwards when so much else is going on? And why didn’t I know about their release earlier? What game are you playing here, my lord?"

Before Irmo could respond, one of the Reborn standing by Cucuandor cried out, speaking Sindarin. "You see, Ada. They don’t want us. No one wants us." And then he burst into tears. Cucuandor immediately gathered him into his arms to soothe him. The other ellyn stood there looking equally distressed and Glorfindel could see them fighting back tears.

Almost at once the anger drained from Finrod’s face, replaced by compassion and sorrow. Without a word he went to the weeping Reborn and Cucuandor surrendered him into Finrod’s embrace.

"Hush now, Cousin," Finrod said soothingly, rocking the ellon slightly. "Of course we want you. We love you. It’s just a little complicated right now." He then turned to look at the other two ellyn. "Welcome back to Life, Uncle Fingolfin. Do you remember me?"

Fingolfin nodded slowly. "You are... Finrod." His expression lightened to one of relief at having remembered something.

"Yes. I’m Finrod. Shhh... Fingon. Come. Dry those tears. It’s going to be well, I promise you."

"You... you hate us," Fingon sobbed, wiping a sleeve across his face while the ever resourceful Sador fished out a piece of linen from an inner pocket of his tunic and handed it to him. "You don’t want us. Everyone hates us."

"Am man... um... theled Fingon... ah... er... nainëa, Atto?" the third ellon stuttered, mixing Sindarin with Quenya, looking frustrated. "Pedil lai... lá... an... cheleg?" This last was said hesitantly, as if unsure of his words.

"It’s all right, Aracáno," Irmo replied in Quenya. By convention the others were now forced to switch to Quenya, for in the polyglot society that was beginning to form among the Eldar in Aman, the one with the most rank in a group determined which language known to all would be spoken. Irmo gave the ellon a sympathetic smile. "Your brother thinks everyone hates you." He turned to the still weeping ellon. "No one hates you, Findecáno."

"Lord Irmo is correct," Finrod said, giving his cousin another hug. "We’ve long awaited this day. It’s just that...." He turned to the Vala, his expression more troubled. "Why now and why only me? Should not the rest of the family be here?"

"Normally, yes," Irmo admitted, "but your parents could not have easily left Tirion at this time, and... well, we felt it better that you come alone. As for why now and not later...." Here the Lord of Lórien shrugged, giving them a sly look. "You wouldn’t want them to miss your wedding, now would you?"

Fingon smiled, his former tears forgotten. "You’re getting married! How wonderful. Anyone I know?"

Finrod just sighed, shaking his head. "And what do we tell Anairë?"

"Anairë?" Fingolfin and his two sons said almost at the same time, all of them looking puzzled. "Who’s Anairë?"

****

Words are Quenya unless otherwise noted:

Landamallë Valion: Avenue of the Valar.

Hanno: Colloquial form of háno: Brother.

Númenya Tëa: Western Road.

Ezellohar: Green Mound of the Two Trees.

Máhanaxar: Ring of Doom.

Ada: (Sindarin) Hypocoristic form of Adar: Father.

Note: In Peoples of Middle-earth, Christopher Tolkien gives us the following note:

"The third son of Fingolfin, Arakano (Argon), emerged in the course of the making of the genealogies. A pencilled note on the last of the four tables says that he fell in the fighting at Alqualonde; this was struck out, and my father noted that a preferable story was that he perished in the Ice. It is curious that this third son, of whom there had never before been any mention, entered (as it seems) without a story, and the manner of his death was twice changed before the remarkable appearance here of ‘the first battle of Fingolfin’s host with the Orks, the Battle of the Lammoth’, in which he fell. In the account in the Grey Annals (XI.30) Fingolfin, after the passage of the Helkaraxe, ‘marched from the North unopposed through the fastness of the realm of Morgoth, and he passed over Dor-Daedeloth, and his foes hid beneath the earth’; whereas in the present note his host was attacked in Lammoth ‘at unawares as they marched southwards’ [Peoples of Middle-earth, The Shibboleth of Fëanor: ‘The Names of Finwë’s Descendants’, Note 38].

The passage in the Silmarillion describing Fingolfin’s arrival in Beleriand and his march to Angband (Chapter 13) agrees with that of the Grey Annals quoted above. Thus, I have Aracáno dying while crossing the Helcaraxë, since there was no ‘Battle of the Lammoth’ in which he could have fought and died.

Here we see Aracáno stumbling with Sindarin, which his father and brother have obviously been teaching him, but he is not yet proficient and makes mistakes or uses a Quenya term because he doesn’t know the Sindarin equivalent. This is known as code-switching.

Am man theled, Fingon nainëa?: (Sindarin/Quenya) ‘Why (literally, ‘for what purpose’) is Fingon weeping?’; however, nainëa (present continuous form of naina ‘weep’) is Quenya.

Pedil lai... lá... an cheleg: (Sindarin/Quenya): ‘You-all speak... very... no... too hasty’. The correct Sindarin would be either Pedil allint or Pedil allagor ‘You-all speak very/too fast’. The phrase an cheleg should properly be acheleg, the nasalized form of celeg, but this word usually refers to the swiftness of running water. Lai is Quenya for ‘very’ and its Sindarin cognate is dae, though there it has a deeper intensive meaning of ‘exceedingly, extremely’ as in the phrase dae-deloth ‘extreme horror’. Lá ‘no’ is also Quenya.