Chapter the Twenty-Third:

In Which Finrod Has Nightmares and Námo Comes to the Rescue

Finrod was not seen by anyone for the better part of that day. Glorfindel, Sador and Ingwion, along with the other ellyn, attempted to track him down after an hour or so had gone by but had no luck.

"He’ll show up eventually," Ingwion said, attempting to reassure everyone but his expression was doubtful.

Glorfindel sighed. "So who gets to kill Almáriel first?" he asked rhetorically, stomping off before any of them could muster a reply, going back into the garden to sit in the maple tree and think. Finrod’s horse was still in the stables, so he hadn’t ridden out, nor had any of the guards at the various gates seen the prince leave the palace grounds. He wasn’t in the training salle beating someone with a sword and he was nowhere in the gardens or anywhere else. Where could he have gone?

Glorfindel didn’t know and he was afraid for his gwador. The look on Finrod’s face when he walked away had been frightening. He’d never seen him that way before. But, then again, he had never known Finrod when he was King of Nargothrond. Glorfindel sighed and closed his eyes, leaning against the tree that seemed to sense his mood for it swayed its branches and sang to him a soothing song and eventually he fell asleep, waking only when one of the gardeners found him and told him that the High King’s party was even now approaching Tirion. Glorfindel reluctantly went back to the palace to change into more appropriate clothes for greeting Ingwë and the Vanyar.

There was still no sign of Finrod.

****

"Where’s Findaráto?" Ingwë asked Arafinwë after he and Elindis and the other Vanyar had given the Noldor their greetings. Accompanying them was Lady Indis, not seen in Tirion since the Darkening, for she had retired to Lórien and rarely left it. However, her grandson’s wedding was something she refused to miss and so she had gone first to Vanyamar to visit with her brother and his family. There had been many exclamations of surprise among the people of Tirion as they recognized their former queen in the High King’s party. She patently ignored everyone, her expression unreadable, but her greeting for her youngest son and his wife had been warm and effusive.

They were making their way to the royal dining hall where dinner was waiting for them. There would be no welcoming feast for them with the wedding so close. The kitchen staff was too busy preparing for the wedding to do more than offer simple fare for those living in the palace. Indeed, most of the people who normally joined their Majesties for one meal or another were now eating at nearby taverns; only the royal family still ate in the palace.

"And where’s Amarië?" Lady Almáriel demanded angrily. "I had expected her to be here by now."

"Findaráto is... um... missing," Arafinwë replied, "and Amarië is still on Tol Eressëa as far as I know."

"Missing?" Ingwë asked in disbelief. "How is he missing?"

"I’m afraid that’s a rather long story and not necessarily the most important one at the moment," Arafinwë answered.

Ingwë stole a glance at his sons and Intarion walking beside him. Arafinwë laughed. "No, they’re not the problem. Ingalaurë and Intarion have been very good while they’ve been here. Some minor upsets, but nothing to really speak of. No, I’m afraid it has to do with my brother."

That stopped everyone in their tracks. "What do you mean?" Ingwë asked. "Not Fëanáro!"

"No, Ingwë. Not Fëanáro," Arafinwë assured him. "Nolofinwë has been Reborn, along with Findecáno and Aracáno."

"What!?"

Arafinwë nodded. "They are presently staying with Herendil until the wedding. We still haven’t told Anairë. She’s not due to arrive until the evening before the wedding."

"Oh, the poor dear," Indis exclaimed with a shake of her head. "She’s going to be in shock."

"You don’t seem particularly surprised, Ammë," Arafinwë said, giving her a shrewd look.

"Lord Irmo warned me some time ago that they would soon be re-embodied, just as he warned me about Findaráto. He felt it a courtesy as I reside there. However, as much as I desired to see them, as with Findaráto, I stayed away from those areas reserved for the Reborn. They were not ready to meet me. But now that they’ve been released, I am very anxious to see them."

"They may not remember you," Arafinwë said, giving her a gentle hug. "They don’t remember Anairë at all."

"Oh dear. That’s going to be a real problem, isn’t it?" Indis sighed.

"I’m sure we’ll figure it out," Eärwen said. "Perhaps you, Elindis and I and Lirillë when she comes tomorrow can sit down and figure out how best to approach this so neither Anairë nor the ellyn are too overwhelmed."

"Yes, I think that would be an excellent idea," Indis said and Elindis nodded in agreement.

Ingwë gave them a thin smile. "You’ll have to tell us all the details over dinner."

Arafinwë simply nodded and they continued on their way.

****

It was actually Glorfindel and Sador who supplied the details of the rush to Lórien and all that followed afterwards. Their audience sat in rapt attention to their tale and they were still discussing the ramifications of the release of two more kings of Beleriand at this particular time when Finrod showed up. The unexpectedness of his appearance brought all conversations to a halt.

Glorfindel saw that Finrod had not bothered to change for dinner, still wearing the same day-tunic he had been wearing earlier. He did not look at anyone, but gave Ingwë and Elindis a stiff bow, barely polite, before going to his usual seat next to Glorfindel.

"So, the groom finally shows up," Almáriel said from where she was sitting with Castamir and other Vanyarin nobles, casting Finrod a disapproving look. "Let us hope the bride does as well or this will be a very short affair."

"Enough, Almáriel," Castamir said, giving his wife a shake of his head. "Findaráto is not your concern."

Almáriel gave him a scathing look. "Not my concern? And you, are you not concerned? Amarië goes off without so much as a by-your-leave, forcing me to handle everything and...."

"I said enough, madam," Castamir interrupted, speaking more firmly than most had ever heard him speak before. "This is neither the time nor the place and I will not allow you to embarrass either me or their Majesties with your tirade. If Amarië left when she did, you only have yourself to blame. Now be silent. Prince Findaráto’s comings and goings are not your concern." He looked towards the high table and gave a slight nod of his head. "My apologies, your Majesties."

An uncomfortable silence followed. Then, after a minute or two, Arafinwë turned to his son. "Where have you been, yonya?"

Finrod merely shrugged, refusing to answer. One of the servants came with a plate of food and set it before him. Finrod thanked him but did not actually eat anything; he simply sat there staring at the plate. Glorfindel put a hand on Finrod’s shoulder and leaned over to whisper in his ear.

"Don’t let the Balrog win."

Finrod gave him a sharp look, but then nodded, turning to his atar. "I’m sorry I’m late," he said smoothly enough. "I fear I had too much on my mind with the wedding and all and lost track of the time. Was your journey fair, Uncle?"

Ingwë gave him a shrewd look but answered readily enough. "Fair enough. I understand you had a bit of an adventure concerning some new Reborn. Glorfindel and Sador were telling us all about it."

"Yes, it came as rather a shock," Finrod said. "I think I’m still trying to process the idea that I’m no longer the only king of Beleriand now residing in Aman. It’ll take getting used to."

"No doubt," Ingwë said with a nod. "Well, I’ll have to put it on the agenda for the All-Aman Council meeting. I think that would be the proper time to... um... introduce them to the rest of Eldamar."

"Oh, Valar!" Arafinwë said with some feeling. "I’d forgotten all about that."

Ingwë gave him a wicked grin. "Which is why you have me around to remind you, yonya." The others laughed and the tension that had been noticeable among them all was relaxed somewhat and even Finrod found his appetite returning. The rest of the meal was more congenial for most, though it escaped no one’s notice that Almáriel continued to glower at them all.

****

"Where were you?" Glorfindel asked Finrod later that evening when he, Sador, Ingwion and the other ellyn were foregathered in Finrod’s sitting room, having escaped their elders who were still discussing politics. "We looked everywhere, but you were nowhere to be found."

"I was here," Finrod said.

"In your rooms? But we looked here, and more than once," Ingwion said.

Finrod shook his head. "I was here in the palace, but in a place where few would know to look."

"And you’re not going to tell us where," Sador said, giving him a shrewd look.

Finrod gave them a thin smile. "Not at this time, hanno. Where I was, was my own personal refuge."

"Fair enough," Ingwion said. "We all have our own such refuges, I think." The others all nodded. "How are you feeling now, though? I’m surprised you didn’t attack Almáriel on sight. I certainly was tempted to give her a piece of my mind, but I was afraid she might lose it."

That set everyone laughing. "I admit the thought had crossed my mind that I would like nothing better than to stuff that horrid garb down her throat," Finrod admitted, giving them a sheepish look.

"I think we should sneak up to the sewing room and burn it," Sador said.

"Ooh, can we?" Intarion asked, his eyes bright with anticipation.

"No, we cannot," Finrod said with a laugh that was unforced. "Besides, with the wedding only days away, that place is going to be a beehive of activity trying to get everyone else’s garb done on time, so there is no way for us to sneak up there, for I suspect they will be working through the night to get everything ready."

"Are you really going to wear it, though?" Ingwion asked.

Finrod shrugged. "We’ll see," was all he said. "Now, if you will excuse me, I think I’ll retire early. The last week has been too exciting and I need some true sleep."

The others reluctantly left, wishing him pleasant dreams.

****

Finrod decided to take a soaking bath first, settling into the bathing pool with a sigh of contentment, allowing the lavender-scented water to ease his body and soul. This past week had been very emotional with the unexpected reunion with his uncle and cousins. That had been bad enough, but then to have to endure the humiliation of a fitting for his wedding garb in front of his gwedyr. He could tell as he stood there while Mistress Cucualindë fiddled with the hems that some of them were trying hard not to laugh while the others simply gaped at him with looks that bordered on horror. Only his ammë’s expression had been unreadable. But what was worse was the studious non-reactions of the other seamstresses and tailors. He couldn’t have felt more embarrassed if he’d been forced to stand before them all stark naked.

He sighed, shifting his position a little to get more comfortable. He had to smile in spite of everything, remembering Sador’s suggestion of sneaking into the sewing room and burning the offensive garb. If only! Well, perhaps if the plans he’d set in motion a month ago bore fruit, he wouldn’t have to suffer such humiliation again.

Deciding he’d soaked long enough, he climbed out of the bath, dried himself off and made ready for bed. In a matter of minutes he was falling asleep. His last thoughts were about Amarië and wondering how she was faring and if she would make it to her own wedding on time....

****

It was a familiar dream, one that he’d had since his early Reborn days: Finrod battling against Sauron with Songs of Power. Sometimes the dream would follow the events as they had actually occurred and usually Finrod would awake about the time the werewolf was about to attack Beren and he, himself, would break his bonds and slay the monster. Other times — and Finrod knew this was merely wishful thinking on his part — he would prevail against Sauron or, if not prevail, he would still somehow survive to help the Mortal in his quest. It was a game of ‘what if’ that he sometimes indulged himself in, but in the end he knew it was simply that: an indulgence.

At any rate, the dream was an old one and in spite of its terror, something of a familiar friend, for he often had it whenever feeling stressed or deeply troubled or simply angry for whatever reason, and certainly he had cause to be angry now. Sometimes — and admittedly, these were very rare — Finrod would recognize this particular dream for what it was and he would wake himself up before it got too far, spending some time reading or simply meditating until he felt it was safe to return to the Path of Dreams. But tonight he decided to let the dream run its course....

Finrod found himself standing before the throne of Sauron as he usually did in this particular dream. He did not have to turn around to know that Edrahil, Beren and the others were huddled behind him.

     "Veils of enchantment will I pierce,

     open before my eyes what hidden be,

     revealing treachery, uncovering betrayal.

     Let this glamour be undone…"

Sauron’s voice filled the throne room as he began singing a Song of Power. Finrod attempted to cast a counterspell of his own, but somehow the dream did not follow the same course as history and suddenly, he and the others all found themselves standing there naked.

Sauron smiled, and it was a devastatingly wicked smile. Oddly enough, his appearance kept shifting, so that first he was the dread Maia and then he was Mistress Cucualindë. And it was while he was in the shape of the sewing mistress that he made a negligent gesture and spoke another spell:

     "Veils of another kind do I bid ye wear,

     clothe ye all in shades of yellow-green and rose,

     and let ye die of shame anon..."

Then to Finrod’s everlasting horror he found himself clothed in the hated wedding garb and worse, all the others of his party were clothed in them as well and all around them the orcs started laughing, hooting and hollering with unbridled glee. Beren suddenly burst into tears. And then, as dreams do, the scene shifted and he now found himself chained, not to the expected wall of a dungeon, but to the wall of the Sewing Room. And chained to the wall beside him was not Beren but Amarië, the yellow-green and rose of her gown a match for his own garb. She appeared to be unconscious.

He started to speak to his beloved when Lady Almáriel entered the room, giving them a triumphant smirk.

"So, now you will both be my victims," Almáriel said and then she gave an unearthly howl and began to turn into a werewolf, except it still had Almáriel’s face and that was more horrible than anything Finrod had ever experienced before. The werewolf gave another howl and launched itself at the still unconscious Amarië and Finrod strove to break his bonds.

"No!" he shouted. "You shan’t have her." And with that, he tore the chains from the wall and leaped upon the werewolf, strangling it with his bare hands until it died. He turned to succor Amarië, only to find that she was gone and so was the werewolf. He decided to remove the hateful garb, but found that he could not. No matter how many times he attempted to remove his robes, he still ended up being clothed in them.

"I must find Sauron and destroy him to remove the spell," he said to himself and was not too surprised when he discovered a sword in his hands. He smiled ferally and went hunting for his prey....

****

Mistress Cucualindë was finishing up the last of the hemming on the prince’s wedding garb which hung on a wooden model of a male Elf. She sighed and shook her head.

"It is rather ugly."

Cucualindë turned her head to see Artamir, one of the journeymen ellyn, standing there with a wry look on his face. All around them others were busily working on finishing up the various gowns and robes to be worn by other members of the royal family or by those courtiers who had not commissioned their garb for the wedding elsewhere.

"I fear his Highness isn’t too happy with us," she acknowledged ruefully. "Frankly, I would like nothing better than to...."

"Sauron!"

There were cries of alarm from the other workers and Cucualindë and Artamir turned to see a rather naked Finrod with a sword in his hand.

"Your Highness, what...."

"I have come to kill you, Sauron, and this time I mean to prevail," Finrod shouted, but none of them understood what he was saying, for he was speaking in Sindarin.

Artamir stepped forward, his hands raised in a conciliatory manner. "Your Highness, please put the sword down and let me...."

But Finrod either did not hear or simply ignored the ellon, for he raised his sword above his head and to the consternation of all began Singing.

"What’s he doing?" someone shouted.

Then all of a sudden a mighty wind appeared from nowhere and objects began flying about, causing people to duck.

"Someone run for help!" Artamir shouted and the two or three who were closest to the doorway ran past an uncaring Finrod still Singing while others crouched under tables trying to avoid the various sewing objects — scissors, pin cushions, rulers, and fabric — flying about.

Then, Finrod’s wedding garb burst into flames.

"No!" Cucualindë shouted, grabbing some fabric with which to beat out the flames, but Artamir pulled her away and she was forced to drop the velvet she’d been holding as it began smoldering. Mistress and journeyman found themselves huddled under one of the cutting tables watching all their hard work go up in flames.

And all the while, Finrod continued Singing, a center of calm in the vortex his spell was creating. Smoke was beginning to fill the room as flames continued to sprout here and there, though the open embrasures helped to relieve some of the discomfort everyone was feeling and the whirlwind actually blew much of it outside. Still there was a definite danger of them perhaps dying of smoke inhalation.

The distant sound of shouting alerted those trapped in the sewing room that help was on the way and into the maelstrom came Glorfindel, a night robe pulled hastily around him, a sword in his hand. One glance was all he needed to take in the situation and he shouted, "Finrod, daro! Daro, ion Finarfin!"

Finrod turned and the wind died so that everything dropped to the floor with resounding clangs and dull thuds. "Not this time, Sauron," he snarled. "This time I have you where I want you." With that, he launched himself at Glorfindel who managed to raise his sword in time to block Finrod’s attack and then the two of them were going at each other fast and furious. Or, at least, Finrod was; Glorfindel was merely trying not to get himself killed or cause any injury to his gwador.

And then, Finrod once again began Singing.

"You idiot!" Glorfindel screamed. "Wake up, you orc-brained fool!"

Finrod, however, was too caught up in his nightmare to hear and Glorfindel was forced to counteract his gwador’s spell with one of his own. And now the conflict escalated, for the two of them brought titanic forces into play as the room was filled with flashes of lightning and the rumble of thunder. Still Finrod Sang and Glorfindel desperately attempted to stop him. Just as Finrod’s Song began to crescendo, there was a sudden flash of multi-hued lights, blinding nearly everyone, and then Lord Námo was standing there, looking less than pleased.

"Stop him!" Glorfindel pleaded, even as he dodged one of Finrod’s more effective strokes, barely getting out of the way of the sword. "He thinks I’m Sauron."

Námo raised an eyebrow at that but then nodded, raising his hands to shoulder height and to the absolute amazement of the onlookers began to Sing his own Song, and as powerful as Finrod’s Song was, the Vala’s was even more so. All who heard it could never afterwards remember the words or even recall clearly the tune; they could only stare in wonder as the Song took hold and cancelled Finrod’s spell until the ellon was standing mute with tears running down his face and it surprised many to discover themselves weeping as well.

Finally, Námo came to the last note of his Song and lowered his arms. Silence that was almost physical fell upon them. Glorfindel found himself reeling, suddenly feeling exhausted, and it was all he could do to stumble over and take the sword out of Finrod’s hand. His gwador simply stood there, his eyes unseeing, weeping. All the smoke was gone and the fires out, leaving behind the smell of scorched fabric. Finrod’s wedding garb was a blackened ruin.

"What in the name of all that’s holy just happened?"

Glorfindel looked up to see Arafinwë, Ingwë and several others crowding the entrance, their expressions one of shock and disbelief mingling with fear.

Námo did not answer, merely raised a hand imperiously to command silence as he walked over to Finrod and gently placed one hand over the ellon’s eyes while the other hand held the back of his head. The Lord of Mandos spoke not a word, yet everyone felt power leaving him and then Finrod gave a strangled moan and collapsed. Námo quickly gathered him into his arms.

"Explanations later," the Vala said as he headed towards the stairs with people scrambling out of his way. "Let’s get our little arsonist back into bed and then we can sort it out in the morning."

Námo headed down the stairs but no one else followed. They all stared at the wreckage around them. Artamir crawled out from under the cutting table where he and Mistress Cucualindë had taken refuge, helping her to her feet. Others also came out from hiding and a couple of the seamstresses began picking up the clutter on the floor.

"Leave it," Arafinwë commanded. "There is naught you can do here tonight. We’ll deal with it in the morning." With that, he gestured for everyone to leave the room, with himself, Ingwë and Glorfindel bringing up the rear. Glorfindel found himself feeling dizzy and clutched the wall as he made his way down the tower stairs. When he reached the bottom, Sador and Ingwion took hold of him and Arafinwë ordered them to see him to bed.

"And I was having such a nice dream, too," Glorfindel muttered as he allowed himself to be led away. "Damn Almáriel for this. It’s all her fault."

"How do you figure that?" Ingwion asked.

Glorfindel gave him a disbelieving look. "Finrod set fire to his wedding garb, didn’t he?"

To that, no one had an answer.

****

Finrod, daro! Daro, ion Finarfin!: (Sindarin) ‘Finrod, stop! Stop, son of Finarfin!’

Note: The first verse of Sauron’s Song of Power is taken from the Lay of Leithian. Obviously, the second verse is not. My thanks to Ellie for suggesting Finrod’s nightmare after having to try on the wedding garb.