1: A Royal Summons

Valandur was walking in the gardens attached to the Academy when the summons came. It was just past the height of Laurelin’s flowering and soon it would be Second Mingling. He was mentally reviewing the class he had just finished teaching, revising the lesson he had planned for the next time. As a newly minted Loremaster, he was assigned to teach the younger students who were less attentive than he would have liked, but then he probably had been no more attentive than they when he was first a student, he acknowledged to himself with a smile. Well, he needed to find ways to make them attentive.

He was contemplating the ways in which his own teachers had kept him and his classmates interested in the subjects they were teaching when one of the senior students, nearly ready to take the grueling exams that would lead to a provincial degree leading to the coveted title of ‘Loremaster’, approached.

“Your pardon, Loremaster,” the student said, giving him a proper bow, “but there is a message for you.” She handed him a thin piece of parchment, folded in half and sealed with a curious seal, one he had never seen before. His name was neatly written on the front.

Now who would be sending him a message?

“Thank you, Therindë,” he said as he took the missive from her. The elleth bowed again and walked away. For a long moment, Valandur merely stood there staring at the piece of parchment, trying to decipher the seal. Finally, though, he walked over to a nearby bench and sat, taking out his knife to slit the seal and began reading. It took him three tries to get through the short message for prominently displayed at the bottom of the sheet was the signature of the High King.

Ingwë! Why would the Ingaran be sending him a note? How did the High King even know of his existence? Well, that was easily accounted for. His atar was a well-respected poet, known to all the Vanyar. It stood to reason that Ingwë would at least know of Valandur’s existence. They had never met, as far as he could remember, though he had seen Ingwë on more than one occasion, though always at a distance.

He stared at the words at the top of the page. It was a summons, couched in polite words, but a summons nonetheless. He was to report to the palace on the third hour past First Mingling. He was to show the guards this letter. And that was all. Nothing about why he was being summoned. He sighed as he folded the letter and tucked it inside his tunic. He did not think he had done anything that would merit the High King’s attention and his advancement to Loremaster had occurred long enough ago that there would be no reason for Ingwë to summon him simply to congratulate him on his promotion. He was at a loss as to why he was being asked to see the Ingaran.

Well, he would have to practice patience and wait. He glanced toward the south, gauging the quality of the light and knew that Second Mingling would be soon. Standing, he made his way through the gardens, back toward his small cubicle of an office where he would lay out his plans for the next day’s classes. His meeting with Ingwë was scheduled for the third hour and his first class of the day was at the fifth. Hopefully, his audience with the High King would not last long and he would not be late.

****

The Academy lay to the east of the palace, nestled in a fold of the mountain’s flank, surrounded by gardens. The walk to the palace occupied part of an hour, the road making its way past modest townhouses owned by merchants or craftsmen. Valandur detoured around two ellith who were herding several young elflings along, giving them a small bow of his head and a smile as they passed. He was dressed in his finest garb: a tunic of golden-yellow silk lovingly embroidered by his ammë. It had been a graduation gift.

“Now that you are a Loremaster and not a disreputable student,” his ammë had said, giving him a sly smile, “you need to look your best.”

He glanced down at the tunic, carefully brushing away imaginary creases. Underneath it he wore a figured silk shirt of pale green, its high collar heavily embroidered in metallic gold thread, its full sleeves with gold-washed buttons running from the wrist to the elbow. And over all he wore his Loremaster’s robe of deep blue with the silver braid on his shoulder signifying his specialty: languages. As he neared the main gates of the palace, his pace slowed and he felt a twinge of nerves, his hands suddenly sweaty. He forced himself not to wipe them on his robe, fearing to stain it. Gathering his courage, he moved to the line of people waiting to enter, each person questioned by one of the guards before being admitted. When he reached the front of the line, he silently handed the guard the missive.

“You have been expected, Loremaster,” the ellon said, giving him a respectful nod of his head. He turned and called out a name and a young elleth dressed in a page’s tunic hurried over from where she had been sitting with other pages on a bench beside the guardhouse. “Here is Loremaster Valandur,” he said to the page.

“Loremaster, if you would come with me,” she said and with a nod of thanks to the guard, he followed her across the plaza and up the steps and into the palace. Valandur gazed about him in wonder, never having been inside. The lofty pillars of white marble were carved with a variety of motifs, both floral and animal. The floors were inlaid with marble veined in blue and green and tapestries hung from the walls. There was a fountain merrily singing in the central foyer underneath a cupola of stained glass that sent ripples of color around them so it seemed almost as if they were walking in a sea of colored light.

The page led him up the main stairway, down one corridor and around another, then down another set of stairs until he was completely lost. He doubted he could have found his way back to the main foyer without a map.

“This way, Loremaster,” the elleth said, gesturing down yet a third hall. “His Majesty’s study is just here.”

“Thank you,” he responded in a strained whisper. With their goal in sight, his stomach threatened to do terrible and quite embarrassing things and he had to swallow hard several times. The page gave him a sympathetic look. “His Majesty does not bite, my lord, and he rarely barks. You have naught to fear from him, I assure you.”

Valandur took a deep breath and nodded. “I thank you for your courtesy,” he said.

The page nodded and as they came to a door at the end of the short hall, she rapped on it, waiting for the summons, opening the door and bowing. “Loremaster Valandur Voronwion, Sire.” Then she stepped aside to let him pass. Squaring his shoulders he stepped under the lintel then stopped to bow to the person sitting at the desk before him.

“My lord, you summoned me and I am here,” he said, using the formal greeting of a vassal to his liege. “What is your will with me?”

He felt, rather than saw the door behind him close and forced himself not to look back, keeping his eyes on the ground, waiting for the High King to speak.

“Ah, Valandur, welcome,” Ingwë finally said. “Come and sit and we will talk.”

Valandur looked up and saw the High King gesturing to a chair before him. Stealing a glance around as he sat he could see that this was probably Ingwë’s favorite place. It was warm and inviting and very lived in. The outer wall was a series of arches leading out to the gardens, but the inner walls were lined with shelves crammed with books and scrolls and the odd statue — ‘useless ornaments’ his ammë would call them even as she half-heartedly dusted her own. Ingwë was pouring some yellow wine into a couple of goblets, handing one of them to him as he spoke.

“I know you are very curious as to why I have called you here,” the High King said, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip. Valandur also drank, reveling in the cool sweetness of the wine, far superior to any he could afford to buy.

“Yes, Sire,” he managed to say, “for I did not think you even knew of my existence.”

Ingwë smiled. “Your atar, Voronwë, is well known to me, though we have only met personally twice if memory serves. Yet, I have long admired his work and have even petitioned Lord Manwë to accept him as a Manwendur.”

Valandur raised a surprised eyebrow. “Does Atar know this?” he asked, stunned by the honor being accorded to his family. That the High King himself was acting as his atar’s sponsor was something Valandur had never thought could happen.

“No,” Ingwë answered with a sly smile, “and I prefer to keep it that way.” He gave the younger ellon a significant look and Valandur nodded in acknowledgment.

“I thank you on behalf of my atar and my family, Sire, for your generosity.”

“Generosity has nothing to do with it, child,” the High King said with a snort. “Now, as to your being here, I read your thesis on, what was the title again? Oh yes, ‘Linguistic Politeness and the Socio-Cultural Variations of the Notion of Face’. A most intriguing work. I especially liked your analysis of Eldarin-Maiarin interactions. I thought you might also include something about the Valar, but I realize you may not have had the experience of dealing with them face-to-face as much as you may have with their Maiar.” He flashed him a wicked grin. “So, if you ever wish to revise your thesis along those lines, feel free to come to me for information. I would be more than happy to relate my own experiences in face-saving before the Valar.”

Valandur could only sit there and stare in stupefaction, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. “You... you read my thesis?” he managed to whisper, for that was the only thing that Ingwë had said that had registered with him.

Ingwë’s smile widened as he took another sip of his wine. “And you thought all I did was sit around running the kingdom, didn’t you?”

Valandur felt himself grow warm and kept his eyes on his lap. Ingwë apparently took pity on him for he dropped all levity as he spoke again. “I like to keep tabs on all my loremasters, child.”

“Your loremasters?” Valandur repeated, feeling a little confused.

“Well, who do you think created the Academy in the first place?” Ingwë retorted. “Yes, my loremasters, though, mind you, I don’t actually employ most of them. However, I like to keep tabs on all the younger ones, for there might be a time when I would require their expertise.”

“Why the younger ones, Sire?” Valandur felt bold enough to ask, and it was a legitimate question, after all. He would think the High King would call upon those with more experience.

“I find that newly minted loremasters are less set in their ways of thinking than the older ones,” Ingwë replied readily enough. “They are more open to new ideas and ways of looking at the world about them. Which brings us to you.” He paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. “You are aware of the trade negotiations that I have implemented between the various clans.”

It was not a question but Valandur nodded anyway.

“Yes, well, I wish for you to join the one that will be headed for Tirion.”

“But why?” Valandur could not help asking. “I have no knowledge of trade or even diplomacy.”

“I am aware of that, but I have another role for you to play, and at the same time, it will afford you some experience in diplomacy. The delegation will be headed by my brother, the Lord Ingoldo and his wife, the Lady Tinwetariel. They will deal with the negotiations, but what I want you to do is watch how everyone responds to these negotiations. I want you to use your knowledge of linguistic interactions between different societies to determine how the negotiations might go better in the future.”

Valandur furrowed his brow in confusion. “You want me to spy on everyone?” he finally asked.

“No, Valandur,” Ingwë said firmly. “Spying is not what I want from you at this time. What I want is for you to observe how the Noldor and the Vanyar involved in the negotiations interact, or don’t interact. I want you to analyze how far we have strayed from common social norms, if we have strayed at all. I want to know if how we Vanyar perceive things is so very different from how the Noldor do. We have been separated from one another long enough and have had little interaction between our two clans that I fear that there may be some unintentional conflict and misunderstandings as the two groups interact.”

He paused for a moment, as if deciding what to say next, or how to say it. He gave Valandur a rueful look. “My brother, to say the least, is not as diplomatic as I would like, but he is a member of the royal family and Finwë has insisted that he would only deal with someone of equal rank to himself. Well, I cannot go, but Ingoldo can and he will speak in my stead. That being said, I still need someone who will be able to look upon all parties dispassionately and without any bias. I need someone who will be able to see the two groups interact and come up with ideas about what we can do in the future to avoid any misunderstandings because we have grown far enough apart in our thinking that we cannot communicate effectively anymore. Does that make sense?”

Valandur thought for a moment before nodding. “Yes, Sire, it does. I know from my own experience with my Noldorin friends, whom I only see occasionally and then usually only during festival time, that sometimes we seem to be speaking different languages.”

“Exactly,” Ingwë said. “Now, as for the public reason for your joining the delegation, we will say that I wish for you to gain experience in diplomacy and such as I am contemplating on asking you to join my household and specifically be a part of future diplomatic missions. That is not a lie, actually, for I think someone with your gift of understanding will be an asset to my household.”

“I am honored, my lord,” Valandur said sincerely, “and I will endeavor to do as you have commanded.”

“Not commanded, asked,” Ingwë corrected. “I will not force you to do this thing if you feel uncomfortable with it.”

“No, Sire, I am willing to do this.”

Ingwë smiled and stood. Valandur hastily rose to his feet as well. “Good,” the High King said. “Now, let me introduce you to my brother, who, by the way, does not know your real mission to me and I prefer to keep it that way. As far as Ingoldo and everyone else are concerned, you are an apprentice diplomat sent to learn the ways of negotiation and I would not be sorry if you did pick up a thing or two about such matters along the way.”

With that, he gestured for Valandur to join him as he stepped out into the courtyard. “It is quicker going this way than back through the hallways,” he explained as they went left, skirting a fountain. The courtyard was open on two sides and Valandur could see gardens further on. They walked down one side until they reached the corner and Ingwë led the way through another arch down a short arcade that led to a hallway. Turning right, he went past two doors on his left before stopping at the third door, giving it a perfunctory knock before opening it, gesturing for Valandur to precede him. Valandur found himself in another office or study, though this one was not as large and it opened out into an enclosed rose garden. There was a desk and some chairs and a wall of shelves. Seated at the desk was an ellon whose features were similar to Ingwë’s, but whereas Ingwë was all bright gold like Laurelin at the height of her flowering and his eyes were a sharp blue like that of a mountain lake, this ellon’s features were paler, his hair more a pale gold, almost white, and the blue of his eyes was nearly washed out so their color was indistinct.

“Ah, Ingoldo, let me introduce you to Loremaster Valandur Voronwion who will be accompanying you to Tirion,” Ingwë said brightly.

Ingoldo had risen upon his brother’s entrance and now gave Valandur a cool stare, inclining his head just barely in polite greeting. “Loremaster.”

“My lord,” Valandur replied, giving him a proper bow. He swallowed nervously, wondering what he was getting himself into by agreeing to this.

“Ingoldo, Loremaster Valandur is an expert on group dynamics,” Ingwë said. “His task will be to observe how everyone interacts during the negotiations and pinpoint possible sticking points of protocol and such so that in the future we have a better idea of how to go about such things.”

“I’m sure that Finwë or whoever he appoints to meet with me will be polite, Ingwë, as will I,” Ingoldo said with a sardonic smile. “I do not need a loremaster to tell me how to be polite.”

“No, you do not,” Ingwë agreed. “However, politeness may be used as a weapon as much as a spear or a bow, and I am interested in having someone who has been trained to observe such politeness to tell me about it. Also, as I told you earlier, I am thinking of expanding my household. We will need more people trained in negotiations eventually. You cannot be everywhere at once and my sons have other duties at this time.”

Ingoldo nodded. “Intarion should be coming with me,” he said. “My son is old enough to do so and learn from the experience.”

“By all means, I think that would be well,” Ingwë replied. He turned to Valandur. “My nephew Intarion is young but he is past his majority.”

Valandur nodded. Young indeed! He himself was considered young by the standards of his people, but he could at least claim to have made the Great Journey. He had been an elfling when Lord Oromë had summoned the Eldar to follow him to Valinor and had matured along the way. A time would come, he suspected, when whole generations of younger Elves would look upon those like himself who had been born in Endórë with no little wonder. At least, he hoped so. Even now, the memory of the darkness of Cuiviénen and the terrors of the journey were fading from his memory, replaced by the bright light of the Trees and the benevolence of the Valar’s Peace. It almost seemed as if he had been living a dream then, a very real and sometimes terrifying dream, but a dream nonetheless and only upon reaching these shores had he truly awakened. He could not imagine ever returning to Endórë. His life was here and he was glad.

He said nothing of this, of course, but simply nodded. “I look forward to meeting your son, my lord,” was all he said.

“The delegation leaves one hour after First Mingling two days from now,” Ingwë said.

“That gives me little time to arrange for others to take over my classes and to pack,” Valandur said with a slight frown, mentally reviewing the list of loremasters whom he might approach.

“Do not concern yourself with that,” Ingwë said with a wave of his hand. “I have already alerted your superiors and they will see that your students do not suffer from your absence.”

Valandur gave the two royals a sly look. “If anything, my absence will be seen by many of my students as cause for celebration.”

Ingwë laughed outright though Ingoldo only smiled. “Then, I will let you go to prepare yourself,” the High King said once he calmed down. “Come. I will escort you out. Brother.” He gave Ingoldo a brief nod and Valandur gave him a bow. Ingoldo merely nodded in acknowledgment.

Several minutes later, Valandur found himself back in the main foyer of the palace. “Please give your parents my respect,” Ingwë said, “and I will see you two days hence.”

Valandur bowed and made his way across the plaza, wondering just how he was going to explain all this to his parents. As he reached the other side of the plaza something made him stop and turn around to look back and he noticed Ingwë still standing at the portico. To his surprise, the High King raised his hand and waved. Feeling somewhat embarrassed, he waved back, then resolutely turned around to continue on his way.