Chapter the Twenty-Eight:

In Which the Bride and Groom Make Up and Arafinwë Breaks Down

Finrod stared at Amarië in disbelief, his eyes wide with shock. Glorfindel, seeing the hurt and confusion on his gwador’s face became incensed and before anyone else could respond to Amarië’s announcement, he rounded on her.

"How dare you!" he nearly shouted, his expression one of fury that was frightening to see as he grabbed her and started shaking her. "You ungrateful little... you dare to do this to him? Now? I thought you better than that, Amarië, but you’re definitely your amillë’s daughter. He deserves better than this. You and Almáriel...."

"Glorfindel, stop shaking my betrothed," Finrod yelled, pulling at him.

Glorfindel turned to look at his gwador. "According to her, she’s no longer your betrothed," he snarled.

"Amarië, what nonsense are you spouting?" Almáriel demanded in the meantime. "Do you have any idea what trouble you are causing? Do you even care that we’ll be the laughingstock of all of Eldamar because of this little stunt of yours?"

"That’s all you care about is your precious image, isn’t it, Ammë?" Amarië responded, pulling herself out of Glorfindel’s grasp to confront Almáriel. "You don’t care about me. You don’t care about how I feel. All you care about is your reputation and what others will think of you. And you never listen to anyone else."

Before anyone could respond to her, she turned to Finrod. "Did you see your wedding garb? Did you see how ugly it is?"

"Actually I burned it."

Amarië stood there stunned, her eyes wide, and then she burst out laughing. "Why didn’t I think of that?"

"I didn’t do it on purpose, meldanya," Finrod protested. "It was an accident."

"And the china? Did it ever arrive?" Amarië asked once she calmed down.

Finrod shuddered and it escaped no one’s notice how Glorfindel and Intarion suddenly paled. Amarië gave them a shrewd look. "What is the matter? I know the pattern was ugly — and how Ammë convinced the poor potter to design something so ugly I’ll never know — but still...."

"That particular pattern proved upsetting to a number of Reborn," Arafinwë said. "I’ve had the china put into storage for now. It will not be used at the wedding feast."

"Now see here, Arafinwë, tradition demands...." Almáriel started to say, but Arafinwë cut her off with a glare.

"Madame, that china is an offense to the senses, and that wedding garb you were planning on having my son wear was a travesty of good taste. As Noldóran, I am denying you the pleasure of humiliating my son any further than you already have. I half suspect that this is your way of getting even with him. Well, that little game stops right here and now." He turned to Amarië. "And you, Daughter. I expected better from you. Your own actions of late leave much to be desired and I am very disappointed in you." With that, he took Eärwen’s arm and together they entered the palace leaving everyone standing there with their mouths open in surprise.

A most uncomfortable silence followed and no one could meet anyone else’s eyes. Finally, Amarië moved toward Finrod who gave her a cold look. "Is that what you want, to cancel the wedding? Fine. You may have the pleasure of telling everyone to go home." He turned to follow his parents into the palace.

"Where are you going?" Amarië demanded.

Without bothering to stop, Finrod answered, "Back to Lórien where I belong."

"Finda, wait!"

Finrod turned around, his expression colder than the snows on Taniquetil. "I don’t know what game you and Meril are playing — yes, Meril, I recognize your not so subtle touch in all this so don’t looked so affronted — but quite frankly, I’ve had enough of it all. Do you know how many times I wanted to just ride to you and spirit you away and forget all of this madness? Do you know how much I fantasized about our life together? And then, on the eve of the wedding you dare to show up to say you no longer love me and no longer want to marry me? Well, fine. So be it. Your Ammë can have the pleasure of ripping up the betrothal contract a second time and to the Void with the whole lot of you!"

He strode away, refusing to acknowledge anyone’s pleas to stop and was only aware that someone was following him when he was well away from everyone else. He turned to see Glorfindel striding right behind him. He stopped to confront his gwador. "If you think you can convince me...."

"I’m not here to convince anyone, Finrod," Glorfindel said. "I’m here to help you pack."

"Oh?"

"And then I’m going to go pack myself and join you. This farce has gone on long enough and I’m as sick of it as you. I think some time in Lórien is just what I need for myself."

"You have duties...."

"So do you," Glorfindel retorted, "but if you can shirk them, well so can I. Atar and Ammë will understand if no one else does and frankly I don’t really care what anyone else says about it."

Finrod closed his eyes and sighed. "It’s been one disaster after another. I don’t recall anyone else’s wedding being so fraught with this much trouble." He opened his eyes. "Why? Why doesn’t she love me any more? What did I do to...to...." He tried to stop the tears from coming, but it was a lost cause and Glorfindel wrapped his arms around his gwador and held him as he wept.

"What’s happened? Did someone die?"

Glorfindel looked up to see Nolofinwë with Anairë and their sons coming down the corridor. He shook his head. "Amarië finally arrived and announced she no longer wished to be married," he explained.

"What? After we went to all the trouble of finding appropriate wedding gifts?" Findecáno exclaimed. "What an ungrateful little orc!"

The absurdity of that statement was too much and Finrod was torn between tears and laughter. Anairë made a disapproving sound and fished out a piece of linen, handing it to her nephew. "Dry your tears, Finda. Remember who you are."

"Right now, he’s a groom without a bride," Glorfindel retorted, keeping his arms around his gwador to give him comfort. "What is it about ellith that they always have to cause trouble?"

"It’s usually the ellyn who cause all the trouble," Anairë said with a sniff.

"What are you going to do now?" Findecáno asked. "I was really looking forward to the wedding feast." Aracáno nodded in agreement.

"I’m leaving for Lórien as soon as I can," Finrod replied.

"Oh! Can we come with you?" Aracáno asked excitedly. "I don’t like it here. I’d rather go back to Lórien."

"Me, too," Findecáno said. "It’s too confusing here and everyone is always yelling at us."

"You were going to come with me back to the Southern Fiefdoms," Anairë said, sounding a little hurt.

"Oh, yes. I forgot," Findecáno said, giving Finrod a rueful look.

"You should go with your Ammë," Finrod replied gently. "I’ll be fine. Glorfindel is going with me so I won’t be alone."

"It’s not right, though," Nolofinwë said with a scowl. "You should be getting married." With that he strode away, his expression one that some like Finrod remembered from earlier times and felt a frisson of dread.

"Wait, Uncle!" Finrod called out as he followed Nolofinwë with everyone else trailing behind. Nolofinwë did not respond. By the time everyone caught up with him, he was already outside, glaring at the crowd. Glorfindel, when he got there noticed that Ingwë was berating Almáriel, Amarië and Meril while everyone else looked on. Only Amarië was in tears. At Nolofinwë’s appearance, there was a collective gasp from many of the Tol Eressëans and not a few of the Amaneldi who had not known of this son of Finwë’s release from Mandos. And then when Findecáno appeared, there were even more shocked looks.

Surprisingly, Nolofinwë did not hesitate but went right to Amarië, grabbing her arms and shaking her much as Glorfindel had. "You have a lot of nerve, Amarië Castamíriel, coming here at this late date to declare yourself no longer in love with my nephew. I was never happy about your betrothal before and now I see why. You’re not worthy of Findaráto."

"Ah... Nolofinwë, kindly remove your hands from my daughter," Castamir drawled, looking more amused than angry. "If everyone keeps shaking her like that, her brains will become addled."

"They’re already addled, as far as I’m concerned," Nolofinwë said, turning to Castamir, giving him a shrewd look. "Do you still insist that Elemmírë is a better poet than Macalaurë?"

Castamir raised an eyebrow. "If only because she’s still alive."

Nolofinwë’s eyes widened as he turned to Finrod. "Maglor is dead?" he asked in Sindarin.

"No, or at least, we haven’t heard. As far as I know he still lives. He did not return to Aman," Finrod responded, though he spoke in Quenya for the benefit of the others.

Nolofinwë turned back to Castamir. "Then your argument is specious."

"No. My reasoning stands. Those who reside in Endórë might as well be dead. Elemmírë resides here in Aman and here is what counts. The day Macalaurë returns, if he ever does, then we can discuss who is the better poet. Until then...." He gave them an elegant shrug.

"Well, a discussion for another time," Ingwë intervened before Nolofinwë could respond. "In the meantime, I’m still waiting for an explanation." He looked at the three ellith whom he’d been berating. "Lady Meril, I do not know you, except by hearsay, but I have the impression that you are something of a meddler in other people’s affairs. Pray explain your role in all this."

"My role, your Majesty, has been to be a sympathetic ear to Lady Amarië," Meril said with a disdainful sniff, apparently unimpressed by the High King.

"Oh come, madame," Nolofinwë said with a sneer. "You can do better than that."

"Perhaps we should take this to a more private venue," Elindis, standing by her husband, suggested. "This is a family concern and we don’t need all of Tirion listening in."

"No," Finrod said. "I think we should have it out right here and now in the open." He glared at Meril and Amarië. "Explain," he demanded, speaking that one word in Sindarin, thereby alerting everyone that he was in ‘King-of-Nargothrond’ mode. Those looking on had the dubious pleasure of seeing Lady Meril wincing, having recognized the tone.

It was actually Amarië who spoke, though, casting a rueful look at Meril. "It’s all my fault," she said. "Meril really had nothing to do with it except to lend a sympathetic ear and shoulder."

"Do you truly no longer love me?" Finrod asked softly, looking less the king he’d been and more like a forlorn lover.

Amarië stepped forward to face him more directly. "I will always love you, but I find I cannot marry you."

"But why? What have I done....?"

"You have done nothing," Amarië insisted. "It’s others who are at fault." She cast a sideways glance at her amillë standing there looking affronted. "I love you too much to let you be hurt any more by my ammë. The wedding garb was bad enough but when I saw that china...." She sighed.

"You’re cancelling the wedding because your trying to... to protect me from your ammë?" Finrod asked in surprise. When Amarië gave a slight shrug Finrod just stood there blinking for a moment before speaking. "I don’t believe it."

"Well, at least Lord Manwë didn’t send three of his Maiar to do the protecting," Glorfindel said with a wicked grin. "That would have been beyond embarrassing."

Finrod turned to look at Glorfindel, his expression one of confusion. "What are you blathering on about, hanno?"

"Never mind," Glorfindel said, "it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that Amarië is trying to be noble, wishing to protect you from... um... others." He glanced sideways towards Almáriel standing by her husband fuming.

Finrod nodded, turning back to his beloved. "That’s very sweet of you, meldanya," he said gently, "but I don’t need protection from anyone. I’m not marrying your ammë, or even your atar...."

"I should hope not!" Castamir interjected amidst much laughter from the onlookers, though Almáriel merely glared at her husband, who ignored her. Finrod gave him a warm smile before continuing. "I’m marrying you, or at least I’d hoped to." The last was said with a mournful sigh, looking dejected.

"Oh Finda!" Amarië cried, throwing her arms around his neck and weeping. Finrod held her close, murmuring softly into her ear.

Glorfindel nodded in satisfaction. "Well, I guess the wedding’s still on."

"Good," Nolofinwë said with a nod. "I hate to think of all those wedding gifts having to be sent back without even opening them."

"But you’re not the one who would be opening them, Uncle," Finrod said with a laugh, still holding onto Amarië, whose weeping had quieted.

"Well, watching then. It’s almost as fun."

Elindis gave Ingwë a kiss on the cheek. "Why don’t I go tell Arafinwë and Eärwen the good news."

"We can all go," Ingwë said. "We’ve stood out here in public long enough." With that he began issuing orders and soon the plaza was emptying out and those who would be staying at the palace allowed themselves to be escorted to their rooms while Ingwë and Olwë, along with the rest of the royal family and the bride’s family, made their way to the royal wing to inform the Noldóran and his Queen that the wedding was still on.

*****

"Do you think the wedding is truly cancelled?" Eärwen asked her husband as they strolled through their private garden. "If so, we had best alert the staff, Marilla in particular, as the cooks have been at it for almost three days now, getting everything ready."

Arafinwë gave her an elegant shrug. "Something about the entire affair doesn’t seem right to me. I’m not entirely sure what game is being played here. I suspect Amarië is attempting to get back at her amillë and using Finda as the... um... not sure what you would call him but I think you know what I mean."

Eärwen sighed. "Unfortunately, I do. And if what you say is true, I don’t think our son is going to be happy at being manipulated this way. In fact, he’s more likely to take everything at face value and not realize that Amarië’s little act is just that, an act."

"Too true," Arafinwë averred with his own sigh. He gave his wife a wry look. "I don’t recall our wedding being this... complicated."

"That’s because neither of us had Almáriel as their amillë," Eärwen retorted with a wicked grin.

"For which I thank Eru every day," Arafinwë quipped and then they were both laughing.

"So what should we do about this?" Eärwen asked when they were both calmer.

"I honestly don’t know," Arafinwë replied.

"Do nothing. It’s out of your hands anyway."

They both gasped in surprise, for they had thought themselves alone. Turning, they saw Olórin standing there, giving them a wry look, bowing slightly. "Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you."

"I swear you Ainur do that on purpose," Arafinwë snarled in anger at being startled. "Can you not approach us like normal people or is that concept beyond your capabilities to understand?"

The Maia raised an eyebrow, giving Arafinwë a shrewd look. "Take a deep breath, Pityahuan, and let it out slowly. Come, come. We’re all friends here. That’s it. You, too, Eärwen. Nice and slow. That’s it. Feeling better?"

The two Elves nodded though neither looked happy. "What are you doing here, anyway?" Arafinwë demanded, refusing to be polite. "Haven’t you lot given us enough grief lately?"

Now Olórin actually looked alarmed and even Eärwen was looking concerned. "Husband? What is wrong?"

"Everything!" Arafinwë snarled and strode away, making for an arch of stone that led into the more public gardens, leaving Eärwen and the Maia staring at one another in dismay.

"I’ll go after him, my dear," Olórin said gently.

"I’ve never seen him like this," she said with a sigh.

"I have, though mind you, the last time, your husband was gleefully plotting Lord Manwë’s demise. I’m not sure what is going through his mind at the moment."

Eärwen just stared at the Maia with incomprehension, causing Olórin to smile. "Never mind, child. It’s a long story. I only came to alert you to the fact that the bride and groom have made up and the wedding is still on. Ingwë and the others are even now scouring the palace to let you know."

Eärwen nodded. "I’d best go find them. Arafinwë...."

"I’ll tell him. It may go a long way towards diffusing his anger."

"I still don’t understand...."

"Best let me handle it, then, for I do. Now, according to those on watch — oh yes, on Lord Manwë’s orders with so many Reborn, and recent ones at that, in one place — you’ll find everyone in the upper gallery. I’ll take care of your husband, never fear."

With that Eärwen nodded and left to find the family. Olórin looked after her for a moment before sighing. "It’s like dealing with elflings, only worse," he said to himself, then smiled as he went looking for the Noldóran.

****

Arafinwë got only as far as the lower rose garden before Olórin caught up with him. The Noldóran suddenly found himself being held in arms from which there was no escape.

"Unhand me!" he screamed, struggling in Olórin’s embrace. "How dare you! Maia you may be but you have no right!"

"I have every right, Pityahuan," Olórin said somewhat coldly. "Especially when you are like this."

"And stop calling me that! I’m not your damn thrall anymore!"

Suddenly, there was a flurry of incandescent multi-colored lights that blinded the Elf momentarily. When he could see again, it was to find Lord Manwë standing before him, his expression one of concern. "Let him go, Olórin." The Maia complied and Arafinwë found himself staggering a bit to get his balance, for he’d not stopped thrashing about, trying to get out of the Maia’s hold. Manwë reached out a hand and took his elbow to steady him, then led him to an arbor where he made the ellon sit. "See that none disturb us, Olórin," the Elder King commanded without ever taking his eyes off of Arafinwë who simply sat there with a mutinous look on his face.

"Of course, my lord," the Maia said with a bow and then unclothed himself, leaving the Elder King alone with Arafinwë.

Manwë did not speak for a moment or two, merely gazing upon the Elf with concern, gauging his emotional state. Arafinwë refused to look at him, glaring at nothing in particular, his hands clenched in fists, his breathing still harsh.

"He had no right," Arafinwë said, breaking the silence between them. "Who does he think he is, anyway?"

"One of my Maiar," Manwë replied equably, his tone one of amusement, "and he was only doing his duty."

"Holding me prisoner?" Arafinwë demanded, finally looking at the Vala.

"Attempting to calm you down," Manwë corrected. "Move over, son. I wish to sit in comfort instead of standing over you like this. I’m sure you’re getting a crick in your neck looking up at me."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow but complied readily enough and Manwë sat beside him. For a long moment, neither spoke, but then, Manwë started talking and it seemed to Arafinwë that what the Elder King had to say had no bearing on what was happening now, yet he could not help but listen.

"You were never my thrall except in your own mind. I never thought of you as such. You were simply a wayward ellon in need of my tutoring. And you have to admit you needed much tutoring in the ways of governing, did you not?"

Arafinwë nodded somewhat reluctantly.

"But that is not the reason for your anger now, is it?"

"No."

"Do you know why you reacted as you did when Olórin came to you?"

Arafinwë shrugged, refusing to look at Manwë, who gave him a shrewd look.

"Arafinwë, look at me," the Elder King commanded and the Elf reluctantly obeyed and then before he realized it he was weeping and Manwë held him close, patting him on the back.

"It’s your brother, isn’t it?" Manwë said softly, divining the ellon’s distress.

"Th-there was no warning and... and I wasn’t the... the one to greet him," Arafinwë stammered.

"And that has upset you," Manwë said, giving the ellon a hug. "I am sorry. I felt it best that Findaráto be the one to bring your brother and nephews home. He was about to do something foolish and this was my way of assuring that he didn’t."

Arafinwë pulled himself out of Manwë’s embrace, giving him a puzzled look. "Foolish? What...?"

"It matters not, for we were able to stop him in time, him and his two brothers." Manwë gave him a smile. "In truth, Nolofinwë and his sons shouldn’t have been released at all. Irmo and Námo both agreed to wait until after the wedding and things had calmed down a bit, but I decided to take a gamble and ordered Findaráto to Lórien. Dealing with his reborn uncle and cousins has left him little time to do other things."

"Like go after Amarië," Ararfinwë said. "But why...?"

"Ah, well, Amarië had a plan and if Findaráto had succeeded in going to her, the plan would have failed."

"She does not really mean to call off the wedding," Arafinwë responded, giving the Elder King a shrewd look, his tears forgotten.

"No, and Olórin was sent to let you know that, for the rest of your family is looking for you to tell you that the wedding is still on."

"I don’t understand though why you needed to send a Maia to tell me that which others are quite capable of telling me on their own." Arafinwë gave Manwë a suspicious look.

Manwë returned the suspicious look with an enigmatic smile. "Ah, well, as to that... I had my reasons." He leaned over and planted a brief kiss on the Noldo’s forehead. "I’m glad we had this little chat," he said and before Arafinwë could respond, the Elder King was gone.

Arafinwë sat there blinking, not sure just how to react, but was saved the trouble when he saw Olórin making his way along the garden path to where he was sitting.

"Is this better?" the Maia asked with a smirk.

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow and uttered a few choice phrases in Sindarin that set Olórin laughing.

****

Words are Quenya:

Amaneldi: Plural of Amanelda: An Elf of Aman.

Ainur: Valar and Maiar.

Note: Elemmírë is mentioned in the Silmarillion as a Vanyarin Elf who composed the Aldudénië ‘The Lament of the Two Trees’.