Chapter the Twenty-Second:

In Which We Return to Tirion and Finrod Dresses Up

"We cannot sneak them into Tirion," Arafinwë said for about the fifth time. They were all foregathered in the main room of Herendil’s mansion, munching on fruit and cheese and drinking a mellow wine. The discussion of how to get the three newly-released Reborn into Tirion with as little fanfare as possible had been going on for nearly a half an hour. Noticeably silent were the three Reborn in question as they listened to the others discuss their fates.

"Why not?" Finrod demanded. "Do you not realize the chaos this is going to cause? Orc-spit! I don’t care what Lord Irmo said, this couldn’t have come at a worse time."

"Why don’t we bring them through Finwë Park?" Glorfindel suggested. "Finrod can open the tunnel for us and we can bring them into the palace grounds without anyone being the wiser."

"And then what?" Arafinwë retorted. "We keep them hidden for the next three days until the wedding and then spring them on everyone? No. I will not do this. Chaos or not, we will deal with this forthrightly. The way you are speaking, Findaráto, it seems almost as if you’re ashamed of your uncle and cousins."

"Of course I’m not ashamed of them," Finrod replied, his expression one of shock at the idea. "It’s just...."

"Complicated," Nolofinwë said, entering the discussion for the first time. The others looked at him with various degrees of sympathy and Finrod even gave him a rueful look. "Perhaps, with Lord Herendil’s permission, we can stay here until after the wedding," the once High King of the Noldor-in-Exile suggested.

"But I wanted to go to the wedding," Aracáno exclaimed, looking distraught. "And wedding gifts! I don’t have a wedding gift."

Immediately, Finrod went to his cousin and gave him a hug. "You’re my wedding gift, all of you, never doubt it. Yet, I don’t think any of you truly appreciate what your being here means. We haven’t been given time to prepare the populace for your return, especially the Tol Eressëans, quite a few of whom were once your subjects, Uncle. They’re going to be rather shocked when they learn of your return."

"It’s not fair," Aracáno said with a pout before anyone could respond to Finrod’s words. "Everyone got to be a king but me. All I got to do is die and not even in battle where I might have at least won renown. Instead, I drowned because I was too stupid to watch my footing on the ice. There’s nothing noble about that. It’s just not fair."

"We lost many to the ice," Finrod said, giving his cousin a kiss on the forehead, "and each death was as a mortal wound to our hearts that never fully healed. You died, as did we all. I died as a prisoner of Sauron and not in any great battle as did your atar and brother."

"But you died a king," Aracáno insisted.

"I gave up my kingdom," Finrod said. "But let us put this aside for now. We need to decide how to proceed from here."

"If I might make a suggestion," Herendil said then.

"By all means, my friend," Arafinwë said. "Let us hear what you have to say."

"Perhaps their Highnesses would like to stay here and rest," Herendil said, "and then ride with us to the city the day after tomorrow. We will be a sizeable party for my parents and grandparents will be joining us. It is unlikely that anyone will pay much attention to our arrival. You can stay at the townhouse with us. There’s plenty of room."

"And we just sort of sneak in anyway," Findecáno asked, shaking his head.

"No," Herendil assured him. "You will simply be riding with my family instead of yours into the city. What others think of it and you is their concern. And I think you would do better to remain here on the estate for a couple of days. Tirion is presently a hotbed of activity with the wedding so near; I fear you might become overwhelmed."

Nolofinwë nodded reluctantly. "Lord Herendil is right. Even now I am feeling fatigued and it’s barely noon. I’m not sure I even want to continue on to Tirion at this point."

"Well, none of this explains why Eärwen and I rushed here, though," Arafinwë said. "People are going to wonder."

"Let them wonder," Finrod retorted. "You are the Noldóran and the interesting thing about being Noldóran is that you don’t have to explain yourself to anyone. I certainly learned that while I was king of Nargothrond."

Eärwen chuckled. "He’s right, dear. Haven’t I said as much?" The others looked on in amusement.

Arafinwë nodded, looking chagrined. "I know, but I vowed that I would never act as my atar and Fëanáro acted when they ruled here. I do not like treating people with that kind of contempt."

"Then if people ask, tell them it’s a surprise," Glorfindel suggested.

"But you hate surprises," Sador said somewhat unnecessarily.

Glorfindel sniffed. "Only when they apply to me, otherwise I like surprises as much as anyone."

There was a moment of silence and then Arafinwë looked at Nolofinwë. "Is that all right with you, hanno? Would you and your sons be willing to remain here and come with Herendil and his family? It would give us time to return to Tirion and order your rooms aired out, if nothing else."

"And I’ve just thought of a way to deflect people’s attention," Sador said, looking rather pleased with himself. "You and ammë came rushing out here because there was an accident involving one of us as we were returning to Tirion. That’s what the message was about and that’s why you both came."

"So which one of us is the unlucky victim of an accident and what kind should it be?" Glorfindel asked, giving Sador a wicked grin.

"Why? Are you volunteering?" Sador retorted with a wicked grin of his own.

"Nay. I think it should be Finrod. Then everyone will be too concerned over the groom’s condition and wondering if he will make it to his own wedding to pay much attention to the comings and goings of others."

"That makes sense," Findecáno said. "With the wedding only days away, anything that happens to either the groom or the bride is going to be a cause of concern for all."

Finrod threw up his hands. "Fine. But let’s make it a minor injury so I’m not forced to hobble to my own wedding in a splint, or worse, have to give my vows from my bed and miss the feast entirely."

"Huh! You’re no fun," Glorfindel said, sniffing in mock disdain.

"Careful, gwador," Finrod retorted in Sindarin, his eyes narrowing, "or you might just be leaving here in splints for real."

"Promises, promises," shot back Glorfindel, giving him a sneer.

"Enough, you two," Arafinwë said quietly, and it escaped no one’s notice that Nolofinwë and his sons all raised eyebrows at the embarrassed looks on the faces of both Finrod and Glorfindel. "I think we’ll dispense with anyone being injured, though that was a good idea you had, Sador. I’ll have to remember it for next time."

"Next time?" Nolofinwë asked.

Arafinwë gave his brother a sour grin. "As Lord Námo is fond of saying, with these two," — he gestured to Finrod and Glorfindel — "there’s always a next time."

"Násië!" Herendil muttered. His wife poked him in the ribs, giving him a disapproving look, and he had the grace to blush, but Arafinwë and Eärwen merely laughed.

"So what happens when we finally do come to Tirion?" Findecáno asked after a moment.

"We’ll work something out," Eärwen answered before Arafinwë could speak.

"The person whom I’m most concerned for is Anairë," Arafinwë said.

"Everyone keeps mentioning her name, but no one explains who she is," Nolofinwë said, looking frustrated.

It was Eärwen who answered him, giving him a gentle look. "Anairë is your wife."

Nolofinwë gave her a blank look. "My wife? I have a wife?"

"Come, come, hanno," Arafinwë said somewhat testily. "Did you think your sons simply sprang up out of the ground at your command? You’re good, but you’re not that good. Yes, Anairë is your wife, the wife whom you left behind when you followed our late but not lamented brother into Exile."

Nolofinwë sat there looking stunned, his face pale, tears beginning to fall. "Why don’t I remember her? Why don’t I remember my own wife?"

Finrod went to him and took him into his embrace. "It’s all right, Uncle," he said soothingly while giving his atar a disapproving look. "When I first was released from Lórien, I barely remembered Atto and Ammë and I remembered Amarië not at all and we had once been betrothed. I suspect when you see Anairë for real, your memories of her will begin to return."

"I don’t remember her, either," Findecáno said quietly, looking distraught. Aracáno was nearly in tears, shaking his head.

"But you will, I promise," Finrod said firmly, releasing his uncle and giving his two cousins hugs to comfort them. "You know how tricky memories are. Lord Irmo has no doubt warned you about this."

All three nodded somewhat reluctantly. Finrod then turned to his atar. "We’d best be going. There is much to be done. Has there been any news concerning Amarië?

"None, dear," Eärwen said, rising, "but I wouldn’t worry. I suspect she’ll be here soon. But let us away. We left poor Ingwion alone to deal with all the Reborn for Vondo is there with Vorondil."

"Oh dear, let us hope the city is still standing then," Finrod said in mock dismay.

"We’ll learn soon enough," Arafinwë said, then he went to Nolofinwë and gave him a hug. "I’m sorry for what I said earlier. It’s not your fault that you don’t remember Anairë."

"Isn’t it?"

"No, hanno, it isn’t. Now, while you are here I would like you three to listen to Herendil and Vandacalimë. They will tell you about Tirion as it is today and not as you may remember it and will explain about the five realms of Eldamar."

"Five? But there are only three," Nolofinwë exclaimed.

"Not any more," Arafinwë said with a smile. "We’ll see you in Tirion the day after tomorrow." He gave his brother a kiss and then they were all saying farewell. The escort was called and horses brought and within ten minutes they were on their way.

****

When they came to the city, Glorfindel could see that much had been done in their absence. Garlands of flowers and streamers of ribbon were being hung on every door and along the streets. In the plaza before the palace itself carpenters were busy constructing the platform on which the wedding ceremony would take place before the populace. He smiled when he saw Ingwion directing his brother and cousin, as well as Vondo and Vorondil, in helping to carry planks of wood or tools for the workers. Everyone looked up at their arrival and almost as one, the Reborn dropped whatever they were doing (much to the dismay of the workers) and ran to them with Ingwion following behind shaking his head in amusement.

"You’re back!" Ingalaurë said somewhat unnecessarily. "How did you get back so quickly from Lórien?"

"And why did you go?" Intarion asked.

"Long story," Finrod replied as he dismounted, handing his horse over to one of the grooms who was on hand. "Let’s go inside and we’ll tell you what has happened."

In a short while they were all foregathered in the larger of the sitting rooms set aside for the royal family, sipping on wine or cider and nibbling on fruit and cheese. Finrod told them of their mad rush to Lórien and what they found there and what had been decided when they reached Herendil’s estate.

Ingwion looked nonplused at the news, while Ingalaurë and Intarion seemed less affected. "They released them now?" Ingwion asked in disbelief. "Without any warning to the rest of us? And Atar... how is he going to react to this?"

"We’ll find out soon enough," Arafinwë said with a shake of his head. "By my estimation, your parents should be here in a matter of hours, for they were planning to depart Vanyamar around the same time Findaráto and the others were leaving Valmar for Tirion."

"Well at least their rooms are in order," Eärwen said, "but I had better inform Mistress Terendulë of the imminent arrival of three more unexpected guests to the wedding. Anairë isn’t expected until the evening before the wedding so there isn’t much time with everything else going on to give her the news." She gave them a shake of her head. "Honestly, the more I think on it, the more I have to agree with Findaráto that this couldn’t have come at a worse time. Whatever were the Valar thinking?"

"Well, it’s too late to complain, my dear," Arafinwë replied. "We have to deal with it as it is and not as we would like it to be. Ingwë will be here by sunset and I have things I need to do before he gets here, so if you will all excuse me." He rose from his chair and gave them a short bow before leaving.

Eärwen sighed then turned to Finrod. "While you were gone, Mistress Cucualindë informed me that they are ready for a final fitting of your wedding garb. Why don’t we go and get that out of the way?"

Finrod groaned but made no further protest and the other ellyn, deciding they had nothing better to do, joined them, much to Finrod’s dismay and Eärwen’s amusement. Thus, when they entered the Sewing Room at the top of the tower, the workers stood around with their mouths agape in surprise while Mistress Cucualindë frowned in irritation.

Eärwen simply gave her a smile. "The ellyn want to see what Findaráto looks like in his wedding garb."

"I see," said the elleth. "Well, your Highness, your garb is hanging up behind that curtain there. If you would be so kind...."

Finrod sighed but complied. The other ellyn all offered to help him with the garb but in the end, Finrod asked one of the male tailors to assist him. "Then you can all be surprised together," he told them. He went behind the curtain and they could hear a sudden intake of breath and then nothing but the soft sounds of movement as Finrod apparently was removing his clothes and donning the wedding garb. After about five minutes the ellon who had assisted him came from behind the curtain, his expression carefully neutral and then they all heard a deep sigh before Finrod stepped into view, refusing to look at anyone.

Glorfindel blinked a couple of times to be sure he was seeing correctly. He glanced around to see what everyone else’s reactions were. The younger Reborn and Vorondil were hard pressed not to burst out laughing and indeed, Intarion had actually turned away, fighting for control. Ingwion just stood there with his mouth gaping open while Eärwen’s expression was totally unreadable to him. He noticed the other seamstresses and tailors were studiously not looking at their prince, but kept their eyes supposedly on their work, though he could see one or two nearby snatching quick glances their way before looking away again. The only one who seemed unaffected was Mistress Cucualindë who nodded and gestured to Finrod.

"Please stand over here on this box, Highness, so I can check the hems."

With a sigh, Finrod complied, stepping up onto a small platform that was in the middle of the room and obviously used for modeling clothes. Glorfindel took the opportunity to walk around it so he could see the garb from every angle, hoping the view would improve, but it didn’t. Finrod stood stoically dressed in an ankle-length tunic of yellow-green brocade upon which had been embroidered rosettes of various shades of rose. The hem and neck were trimmed with what looked to be squirrel fur dyed a deep emerald green. The sleeves of the tunic were narrow and slashed to show the sleeves of the rose silk shirt underneath that puffed up through the slashes. The collar of the shirt was high and stiff and embroidered with gold thread. Over all this was a sleeveless coat in the same yellow-green brocade, open to the front and lined with the rose silk. The arm holes were overlarge, extending almost to his waist and trimmed with the same emerald green fur. Thankfully, there were no rosettes embroidered on the coat. But the worst thing of all, to Glorfindel’s mind, was the wreath. This was a roll of fabric, the same yellow-green brocade, tightly stuffed to form a crown. A thin strip of gold trim was banded around it and a peacock feather was stuck in the front, held in place by a large emerald cabochon pin.

"Please stand straight, Highness, so I can check the hems," Mistress Cucualindë ordered, apparently unaware or uncaring of the effect the garb was having on everyone else. Finrod straightened his shoulders and stared grimly at the wall, refusing to catch anyone’s eyes. Mistress Cucualindë fiddled with the hem of the tunic and coat for another minute or so until she was satisfied, then stepped back with a nod of her head. "Very well, Highness, you may step down and change. Please be careful of the pins."

Finrod stepped off the platform and went behind the curtain. This time, Glorfindel joined him. No words were spoken and Glorfindel kept his expression neutral as he helped his gwador out of the garb, being careful to hang it up when what he wanted to do was chuck it down the nearest privy. A few minutes later, they came back around the curtain and Finrod simply started walking out without so much as a glance at anyone, leaving Eärwen to thank Mistress Cucualindë as she ushered the other ellyn out and down the tower stairs.

No one said a word. No one dared. All had seen the dark expression on Finrod’s face and no one was tempted to relieve it with levity. Even Ingalaurë and Intarion, both emotionally younger than Vorondil, kept their thoughts to themselves. As they reached the ground floor, Eärwen put a hand out to stay her son, who simply stopped, refusing to acknowledge anyone.

"I’m sorry, dear," Eärwen began to apologize, but Finrod raised a hand and stepped away from her.

"No," he said and stalked off, leaving them standing there in dismay. Sador started to go after him, but Ingwion stayed him, shaking his head.

"He needs to be alone right now," he said, then he gave the Queen a sour look. "Do you and Almáriel really hate your son that much, Eärwen? Is this your revenge for his leaving you all those yéni ago?" He didn’t bother to wait for an answer, if, indeed, any was forthcoming, for he grabbed Ingalaurë and Intarion and hustled them away. Neither ellon offered any protest.

Eärwen watched them go, her own expression more sad than upset, then she quietly dismissed the others. Glorfindel and Sador each gave her a hug and kiss while Vondo and Vorondil bowed and then Glorfindel led them in the same direction as Ingwion had gone, meaning to catch up with the Vanyar, leaving the Queen to return to the royal apartments alone.