16: Silent Night

The storm finally petered out around eleven. Almost before the last flake fell from the sky, Vorondur was fiddling with the snowblower while Finrod had Findalaurë, Calandil, Elennen and Nielluin help with shoveling the front and back porches. The four younger Elves had occupied themselves earlier with a board game called Clue, apparently trying to decide who had been killed where and with what. After he and Vorondur had gone over the profile to Finrod’s satisfaction, he had wandered up to the sunroom where the four were playing and had watched them for a few minutes. The game seemed overly simplistic to Finrod’s mind, and yet he could see the children (as he still thought of them) clearly enjoying themselves as they gathered the necessary clues to win.

Now, the game had been abandoned to help clear the snow. Vorondur cautioned Finrod not to join in the shoveling.

“You keep over-extending your shoulder and it will never heal properly if you do not take care,” the ellon admonished and Finrod had to reluctantly agree, feeling frustrated at his apparent uselessness. Vorondur seemed to understand his frustration and gave him a sympathetic smile. “Perhaps you could help Holly with dinner in the meanwhile. She and I will be leaving for the Academy once I get this drive cleared and I don’t think anyone else is planning to be back here for some time yet. Also, I suspect the elflings will work up an appetite, so it might be well to have something available for them once they are finished with shoveling.”

Finrod nodded and went back inside where he found Ercassë, Amroth and Nimrodel in the kitchen cutting up vegetables and browning meat for the stew that was the night’s dinner. Finrod told them about Vorondur’s suggestion to have something available for the shovelers and Ercassë pulled out some cans of tomato soup to heat up, suggesting that she could make some grilled ham and cheese sandwiches to go with the soup. Finrod offered to make bread for dinner.

“I got quite good at it when I was relegated to the royal kitchen along with Glorfindel only weeks before my wedding.”

The other three Elves stared at him in disbelief and then Amroth gave him a sly look. “Would you care to tell us that tale? Loren rarely, if ever, speaks of that time.”

Finrod chuckled as he began hunting through the cupboards for the necessary ingredients with Nimrodel giving him a hand. “Well, it all started when I realized that even though I was the groom, no one had thought to consult me on how I wished the wedding to go. Amarië was back in Vanyamar and Glorfindel had just arrived from Aewellond where he was living at the time, so about a month or so before the wedding I asked my naneth if there was anything I could do to help with the preparations and….”

He kept the narrative going all through the process of putting together the bread, though he didn’t go into great detail. Still, he had everyone laughing hysterically at some parts of the tale and gasping in surprise at others. When he had the loaves rising, he sat down at the breakfast nook with a cup of tea and continued his tale as the others puttered about. At some point Vorondur and the younger Elves came in, declaring that the drive and walkways were clear and they had seen the plow coming down from Kodiak.

“I’ll have to use the blower again after the plow’s come through but that won’t take long,” Vorondur stated as he accepted some coffee from Amroth.

Ercassë quickly put together some sandwiches to go with the soup. Vorondur had to be caught up on the story, while the younger Elves all rolled their eyes when they learned what tale was being told, having already heard many versions of it. Finrod continued to entertain them with the story as he punched down the dough and reshaped the loaves. The stew was bubbling nicely and the lunch dishes were put away by the time he came to the end with everyone laughing. By now others were returning from being out and some of them, remembering the events surrounding Finrod’s wedding, offered their own observations of those times, most of them centered around one misadventure or another involving Finrod and Glorfindel, much to the amusement of the Wiseman Elves.

“It sounds as if you and Loren were the bane of everyone’s existence in Aman,” Vorondur stated to Finrod at one point, giving him a knowing smile.

Finrod chuckled. “So Lord Námo was never shy of telling us, separately or together.”

“Tell us what?”

Everyone turned to see Glorfindel standing in the doorway from the hallway with Daeron, Elladan and Elrohir right behind him.

“That you and I were the bane of his existence,” Finrod said with a grin.

Glorfindel actually laughed. “Oh, that doesn’t even begin to cover it. We gave everyone a run for their money, as the saying goes. They never knew which way we would jump. Half the time we never knew which way we would jump. But we did have fun.” He cast Finrod a fond smile and Finrod returned one of his own.

“Even if you ended up cleaning the ovens?” Vorondur couldn’t help asking, giving him a bland look.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow in surprise and then glared at Finrod. “You told them about that?”

Finrod shrugged, giving them a supercilious sniff. “I offered to make the bread for dinner and they wanted to know how I, the great and glorious, not to mention absolutely stunningly beautiful, Finrod Felagund even knew how bread was made, never mind willing to make it, so naturally I had to tell them the story.”

“Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain,” Elladan suddenly said in a strange-sounding voice and every one of the Wiseman Elves suddenly started laughing and it took some time for them to settle down long enough to explain the reference. In the end, Elrohir suggested that they just rent the movie from Netflix and watch it. So, after they had dinner, everyone praising Finrod on the bread, those who had not volunteered to spend the night at the Academy settled down to watch The Wizard of Oz while Glorfindel made the popcorn.

****

Long afterwards, Finrod found himself outside in the back garden staring up into the heavens, now clear of clouds with the Coll Elbereth bright and clear and spanning the sky from horizon to horizon. He walked further into the garden to the back gate that led out into the fields and the woods beyond. It was well past midnight and he had felt restless for some reason and had no desire to rest. Others were still up and they had offered to accompany him on his walk when he told them where he was going, but he graciously declined their offers, stating he needed some time to be alone.

“I have been inside all day and I am beginning to feel closed in,” he explained, and even Glorfindel had nodded in understanding at that.

“We’ll leave a light on for you,” he said with a smile and Finrod gave him a grateful look, knowing that his gwador worried about him yet had not insisted on joining him.

“Thank you,” Finrod said with all sincerity as he stepped outside.

Now he walked slowly across the fields with the intention of reaching the woods and spending some time among the trees, but the beauty of the heavens smote him and he stopped about halfway across to simply stare upward, half closing his eyes as he listened to the high, cold song of the stars and allowed their light to bathe him and soothe his fëa.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

He opened his eyes and turned to see Lady Varda standing there, her crown of living stars casting an eerie glow across the snow-covered field. She was not looking at him but up at the sky, a satisfied smile on her face.

“Yes, it is,” Finrod said, then gave her a cheeky grin. “You do good work, my lady.”

Varda looked down at him and laughed, the sound like a myriad of bells tinkling. “Impudent child,” she said, though she looked upon him with a depth of love that he was not sure he could tolerate even now. For as long as he had known the Valar and had dealt with them, they still left him feeling breathless at times, and it was easy enough to remember that in their regard he was indeed but a child with no more wit or wisdom than young Caleb Lord. As if she knew his thoughts, the Queen of Stars bent down and kissed his forehead in benediction. “You are very wise, Findaráto, and your wisdom deepens with every age. Would that Fëanáro had reached the same level of wisdom as you have.”

Finrod shook his head, stepping slightly away from the Valië. “Let us not speak of mine uncle, Lady. The night is too beautiful for such dark speech.”

“You are correct,” Varda allowed with a nod. “How are you faring, child? These past weeks have been something of a strain on you, haven’t they?”

“Perhaps,” Finrod rejoined, “but I am healing and I am well. I do wish everyone would just stop hovering over me as if they fear I would suddenly break.”

“Yet you cannot deny that you have fallen into despair,” Varda retorted. “We are all naturally concerned that you regain your sense of joy.”

“Oh, I know, and I do not blame anyone for being worried about me, but honestly, I think I can work it out for myself. I appreciate everyone’s concern, and their efforts to help me, truly I do, but this is something I need to deal with on my own and I am.” He gave her a bright smile and a look of pride. “I will have you know that I found employment all on my own.”

Varda smiled. “Yes, we are glad you and Nicholas Greene have met.”

Finrod felt some of his pride fade. “You arranged….”

“Oh, no, though we sincerely hoped,” Varda assured him. “I tell you truly, that you found employment solely by your own efforts. We simply inspired Daeron to offer young Nicholas the advice he sorely needed to help him. You are that help and we are very happy for that.”

Finrod gave her a piercing look. “I feel as if we are all caught up in a game of your devising in which we are naught but pawns.”

Varda sighed and shook her head. “No. None of you are pawns. All of you are precious to us and all of you have vital roles to play in the War that comes, even the Mortals who will probably not live long enough to see the War even begin, though they will be involved in the earlier skirmishes, and indeed are already involved, as you well know. But do try to understand, Findaráto, that this War is being fought on more than one front and not all of them are in any manner physical. There is a spiritual component to this War, an aspect of warfare with which you mirroanwi are not familiar, certainly not on the same level as we Valar who have fought a spiritual war from the moment we entered Eä. Will you trust us enough to believe that we are very proud of your efforts to become a part of the lives of these Mortals and that your friendship with young Nicholas is an important part of it? He is not a warrior, or at least he does not see himself in that light, and yet, he is in his own way, they all are, and you can help him to see that in himself.”

Finrod pondered Varda’s words for a moment, gazing at the stars shining down at them. “I can do that,” he finally said and the look of approval in Varda’s eyes warmed him.

“Good. Good. Now, I know you came out here to be by yourself for a time, so I will leave you, but before I do, I am curious to know if you have yet discovered the true meaning of Christmas as Fionwë challenged you.”

“I think I am beginning to,” Finrod said. “I still need to think on it some more, but yes, I believe I have a glimmering.”

“I am glad. No, you need not tell me or anyone for that matter. This is not a test. We just want you to understand what this season is truly all about. But if at some point you wish to tell us, any of us, we would be honored to hear what you have to say on the subject.”

“Thank you,” Finrod said, giving the Valië a respectful bow and when he straightened he found himself alone once again. He took another glance upward at the heavens, thinking about Varda’s words, and then he set off again to the woods. He was tempted to climb into one of the trees, but mindful of his shoulder he contented himself to simply wandering through the woods, quietly greeting the trees who answered his greetings with sleepy ones of their own.

At one point he came to a clearing, perhaps no more than thirty feet wide. It was a favorite meeting place for the Elves where they made merriment under the stars. He had been there only once though, early on before the kidnapping and had not been back since. He brushed the snow off a fallen log and sat, allowing the silence of the night to envelop him, his thoughts flitting about in no particular order or sense: the storm and being knocked out, Varda’s words to him, the town meeting and Harry Whitman’s announcement that he would not run again for mayor, Nicholas Greene giving him a surprised yet grateful look when the Man realized Finrod was looking for employment at the bookstore, the fight with Glorfindel and its aftermath, the Christmas Ball, Father Charles Waverly explaining the stories behind the stained-glass windows of the church, and a myriad of other images as he contemplated what he had learned in the last few weeks.

Then his thoughts drifted back, back into the dimmest of memories, back beyond his death and dying, back to a spring morning in Beleriand during the Leaguer against Morgoth and a conversation with a mortal Woman….

“… errand of Men, not the followers, but the heirs and fulfillers of all: to heal the Marring of Arda… to do more, as agents of the magnificence of Eru: to enlarge the Music and surpass the Vision of the World….”

“… Men have been diminished and their power is taken away. We look for no Arda Remade: darkness lies before us, into which we stare in vain….”

“Have you no hope?”

“What is hope?”

“… last foundation of Estel, which we keep even when we contemplate the End: of all His designs the issue must be for His Children’s joy….”

“Those of the Old Hope? Who are they?”

“… say that the One will himself enter into Arda….”

“… if Eru wished to do this, I do not doubt that He would find a way, though I cannot foresee it….No such hope was ever spoken to the Quendi. To you only it was sent. And yet through you we may hear it and lift up our hearts….”

“Lift up our hearts….” he said out loud as he looked upward into the heavens. Is that what it was all about? Was that the message of Christmas, the lifting up of hearts, to know that even in the midst of darkness, there was still light, still hope, still Estel? He was not blind to the sorrows of the world, the wars that raged across the lands, the greed of nations that denied even the most basic amenities of life to their people, the ravaging of Arda itself without thought for future generations. All these evils and more he knew and it grieved him that Mortals had gone so far astray from their original purpose.

And yet, there were many who struggled to remain in that first purpose for which he, Finrod, had glimpsed on that spring morning was the destiny of Men: to bring healing to Arda Marred.

“But not alone.”

He started at those words, which he had spoken out loud with no thought to do so. No, not alone. And the implications of that thought sent slivers of awe through him as he remembered Fionwë’s words to him in the church.

“….gave up his crown for a Mortal…”

He had given up his crown, had even given up his life, so that one Mortal could do what none of the Eldar had been able: wrest a Silmaril from Morgoth’s crown. Granted Beren had Lúthien with him and together they had achieved what none other ever did or would, but it would not have been possible without his help and sacrifice. If he, a mere Elda, less than the very least of the Maiar, never mind the Valar, could so change the course of history with his sacrifice, how much more could Eru….

But he was not willing to go that far in his thoughts and they skittered to a halt and he changed the course of his ruminations, returning to the needs of the present and the hopes of the future. More and more he wished Amarië were with him, for she had her own wisdom on which he relied and he missed being able to talk things out with her.

He sighed and stood, deciding he no longer wished to be alone. It did not take him long to return to the house and the warm light spilling out the kitchen window was a welcoming sight and the sound of singing brought a smile to his face as he recognized the words. It was a popular hymn among the Elves of Aman at Midwinter in praise of the return of Light. He joined in the song as he opened the door and went inside.

****

Naneth: (Sindarin) Mother.

Coll Elbereth: (Sindarin) ‘Elbereth’s Cloak’, the Elves’ name for the Milky Way. This is a non-canonical term. The Quenya form would be Colla Vardo.

Fëa: (Quenya) Soul, spirit.

Quendi: (Quenya) The earliest word the Elves gave themselves, meaning ‘Those who speak with words’.

Note: The snatches of conversation Finrod is recalling are taken directly from Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth.