31: The Justice of the High King

Valandur had to believe that he was not the only one in that room holding his breath, waiting to hear what Finwë would say to the High King, for he had no doubt that Ingwë was indeed there as High King, as Ingaran, and not solely as Vanyaran. One look at his expression told him that. Valandur watched with growing interest as Finwë glared first at Indis, who returned his glare with calm equanimity, that faint, one could almost call it smug, smile on her lips, then turned to Ingwë, licking his lips.

“Brother, why are you here?” he finally asked, sounding both confused and, to Valandur’s trained ear, frightened at the same time.

“Well, when one of Lord Manwë’s Maiar comes to me and informs me that half the Southern Fiefdoms is up in flames, I got rather curious and decided to see for myself.” He paused, giving his brother-in-law a thin smile. “Of course, I didn’t realize that he also meant the fire.”

Even Valandur had to think about that one and then as the implications of the High King’s words sank in, he forced himself neither to grin nor to gasp as others were doing. Finwë turned an interesting shade of red and even Fëanáro seemed to pale.

“I would have sent word as soon as I knew the full extent of the damage,” Finwë finally said, now sounding affronted, though trying to hide it.

“Hmm…” Ingwë said, giving him a skeptical look. “Yes, well, having taken a look myself, I decided to come here and speak to you about restoration, but when I arrive, I find you holding a trial against two of my subjects, one of them my own nephew.” Ingwë flicked his gaze briefly toward Intarion and Valandur, then over to Ingoldo and Tinwetariel. “And have you naught to say of this, Ingoldo? Intarion is, after all, your son. Surely you do not believe him guilty of crimes against Finwë or anyone else?”

Ingoldo shrugged. “He confessed, Ingwë. There is little I can do save to plead leniency for his youth and being led astray by that one.” He jerked his chin at Valandur.

Ingwë turned to him and Valandur steeled himself, keeping as calm an exterior as he could as he endured the High King’s scrutiny. He gave a small gasp of relief when Ingwë turned to speak with Olwë.

“And I am assuming you’re here for the same reason as I?”

“Yes,” Olwë said. “Lord Ulmo himself told me about the Fiefdoms.”

“Lord Ulmo!” Ingwë exclaimed, then scowled at the Lindaran. “And here I only rate a lowly Maia as a messenger. How did you get so lucky?”

Olwë actually laughed and Valandur thought he detected a glint of amusement in Ingwë’s eyes which belied his words.

“I am sure, Cousin, that no slight against your person was intended,” Olwë said when he calmed down. “I happened to be conversing with the Lord of Waters on matters concerning Alqualondë when he relayed the news to me.”

“Hmph. So you say,” Ingwë replied, but Valandur could tell that the king was only putting on an act, though why escaped him.

Olwë simply grinned. “So I say.”

Ingwë smiled warmly at the Teler, then turned to Finwë, his expression becoming less friendly and there was now a glint of steel in his eyes that warned them all that the time for levity was done. “So, Finwë, you haven’t answered Olwë’s questions. Why the charade of a trial? What is your real purpose behind all this? I cannot believe that you would accuse your own nephew of perfidy against you. Intarion is far too honorable and I would think he’s been here long enough for you to know this.”

“Yet, the charges are serious enough that I cannot ignore them,” Finwë shot back. “Even you, Ingwë, would not, whatever your personal feelings on the matter might be.”

“Yet, I find it strange that you hold this trial….”

“Enquiry,” Fëanáro corrected.

Ingwë raised an eyebrow at the interruption, while Finwë scowled at his son but did not reprimand him. Fëanáro, for his part, had the grace to look embarrassed and cast his eyes down, but the thinning of his lips and the stiffness of his posture told Valandur that the Noldorin prince was feeling furious. And probably resenting the loss of control over this entire affair now that Ingwë is here demanding answers, Valandur surmised.

“…hold this trial in this small audience chamber rather than in your throne room where it should be held. So what are the charges again?”

“Stealing from the treasury, as far as I can tell,” Olwë answered before anyone else could speak. “Or rather, stealing from the farmers, making them pay full price for the foodstuffs Finwë sent down but keeping half the money collected for themselves.”

“Indeed?” Ingwë said. “And do you have proof of this?”

“That was what we were ascertaining when you two showed up,” Finwë growled, retaking his seat. “Loremaster Valandur declares that he and Prince Intarion are innocent. We asked for evidence showing this, but it appears that they do not have it.” He gave them a sour grin. “Apparently the loremaster gave what evidence he had to my daughter but she is no longer here and I’m not about to order a search of her apartments for this hypothetical evidence.”

“Not entirely hypothetical, Your Majesties.”

Valandur was not the only one to look upon Lord Herencáno in shock as he stepped forward to give the kings a short bow.

“Oh?” Finwë gave the courtier a skeptical look.

“Yes. Before her Highness left, she confided in me.”

“When did she do that?” Finwë asked, now looking puzzled. “She was not allowed… I mean, she was too busy packing to receive visitors.”

“Wait!” Fëanáro exclaimed. “Do you not remember that when she went missing you asked me to find her? I finally tracked her down in the queen’s closet… with him.” He glared at Herencáno who shrugged, looking unconcerned.

“I was summoned by Her Majesty,” Herencáno explained, giving Indis a brief bow, “and met the princess there.”

“Here, Finwë, I’ll take over this… enquiry,” Ingwë said, stepping up onto the dais, waving the Noldóran from his throne, much to the shock and dismay of everyone, except possibly Indis and maybe even Olwë, the two of them moving to the right to stand beside Intarion, giving him and Valandur encouraging smiles.

Finwë scowled but did not offer any protest, rising and standing on the left side of the throne. Fëanáro looked more affronted and the look he gave Ingwë was just short of murderous in Valandur’s opinion. He had to admire Ingwë but he feared the cavalier manner in which the High King was treating all this might cause trouble later.

Ingwë, meanwhile, was gesturing to Herencáno, asking for his name, which the noble gave, explaining that he was a member of the Noldóran’s Privy Council and had been acting as Princess Findis’ secretary and chief advisor during the trade negotiations.

“Thank you,” Ingwë said politely. “Now, I believe we were discussing certain evidence. I am assuming that you have knowledge about it.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Herencáno said. “If I may?” At Ingwë’s nod, he gestured to a young ellon carrying a satchel and dressed in what Valandur had to assume was the livery of the noble’s household, for it did not match that worn by palace servants. The ellon approached and gave the satchel to Herencáno, who opened it and began pulling out several sheets of paper before handing the now empty satchel back, nodding to the ellon who then retreated to his former place. “Her Highness knew that she would not be allowed to stay long enough to attend this… um… enquiry and Her Majesty was indeed occupied by other matters, so she entrusted me with Loremaster Valandur’s evidence.” He began rifling through the papers, obviously looking for something, “Ah, here we go. You will see that Master Valandur made a list of the food that was to be distributed, the going price, and the price that was decided on, and notice the notation on the bottom.” He handed the sheet to Ingwë, who read it with both Finwë and Fëanáro leaning over his shoulder to take a look.

“It says here, ‘Copy one of five’.” Ingwë looked up at Valandur who nodded. Ingwë gestured for him to come forward. “Explain,” he ordered.

“Once we decided on how much to charge,” Valandur said, “I had four additional copies made, three of them to be posted at the encampments and the fourth in Orvamas so that everyone could see what the cost would be for each item and there would be no haggling on the part of the refugees and those distributing the food could not set an arbitrary price.”

“Whose idea was it to charge the refugees?” Ingwë asked.

“Mine,” Valandur admitted. “The Noldóran, when he gave Prince Intarion and me the commission to see to the succoring of the refugees did not say that we were to give the food away for free and I felt that to do so would set a dangerous precedent. Charging the refugees a token amount, I deemed, made the distribution seem more like any market and less like a handout, thus preserving their self-respect. I did not expect them to be able to pay for everything, but if they had to pay for something then they would hopefully realize that obtaining such foodstuffs was not necessarily a right that they could demand from the Noldor, particularly as most of the refugees are Vanyar.”

“Yet, what did you intend to do with the money that was collected?” Ingwë asked.

“The money collected was to be turned over to the Noldorin Crown,” Valandur answered. “I assumed that the Noldóran was supplying the food from his own stores, rather than from yours, Sire. It was only fair that he be compensated to some degree.”

Ingwë glanced at Finwë standing beside him, then looked at Intarion. “Indis told me what happened to you, yonya. What excuse were you given for the guards beating you up though you had offered them no protest and others had identified you to them?”

Valandur turned to look at Intarion, who was reddening with embarrassment. He kept his gaze down as he answered Ingwë’s question. “They apologized and said that one Vanya looked pretty much like any other and their orders were to subdue the Vanyar.”

Valandur hissed in shock before he could control himself. Ingwë gave him a considering look.

“You find that significant, Loremaster?” he asked.

“Yes, Sire,” Valandur replied, turning to face the High King. “While the bulk of the refugees are Vanyar, there were several villages comprised mostly of Noldor who also fled before the fire.” He turned to Intarion. “You are sure they said exactly that?”

Intarion nodded, giving him a puzzled look.

“Just what significance do you hold to what the guards told Intarion?” Ingwë demanded.

Turning back to the king, Valandur resisted a sigh. “Do you not see, Sire? According to Prince Intarion, the guards did not say that their orders were to subdue the rioters or even to subdue the refugees, but to subdue the Vanyar.” He stressed that last word, then turned to Intarion. “Yet, surely the Vanyarin refugees were not the only ones who were rioting were they?”

Intarion shook his head. “It was actually the Noldor among the refugees who were the most vocal in their demands, insisting that they did not have to pay for anything, that only the Vanyar and the few Teleri amongst them should have to pay since the food was being supplied by the Noldor and not by the other clans.”

Silence followed the prince’s statement. Valandur watched as Ingwë glanced first at Finwë, who was frowning, looking at nothing in particular, as if in deep thought, and then at Fëanáro, who was looking a bit pale, his lips compressed in a thin line.

“Who gave the orders to subdue the Vanyar?” Ingwë asked softly.

Fëanáro glared at the High King. “Don’t be coy, Ingwë. You know full well it was I who gave the order.”

Before Ingwë could respond to that, Finwë was upon his son, grabbing him by the placket of his tunic and shaking him. “Show some respect, hína. Do not shame me before the High King. I’m beginning to wonder if this entire affair is merely part and parcel of your hatred of the Vanyar. I know you’ve never forgiven me for marrying Indis and I’m truly sorry that you feel you must punish all Vanyar for my actions.”

“Yet, you agreed with me that that Vanyarin loremaster standing there is no fit husband for your daughter,” Fëanáro snarled back. “Why else did you send her packing to Valmar where he cannot touch her?”

Valandur felt the blood rush from his face, absolutely mortified, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow him whole.

“Is this true?” Ingwë asked, looking not at Finwë but at Indis. “Does Findis love Valandur?”

“So she has said,” Indis replied.

“You doubt her?” Ingwë shot back.

“Not really, but Findis can be somewhat contrary just for the sake of being contrary. She enjoys making pronouncements that she knows will upset her atar. But I have no doubt that Valandur loves her.” She gave him a brief smile and Valandur felt himself blushing, looking away.

“Hmm….” Ingwë’s expression was contemplative, then he looked up at Fëanáro. “We’ll talk later about your… enthusiasm.” Fëanáro’s expression became shuttered.

“Well, I, for one, think it’s wonderful,” Olwë said with a smile, breaking into the uneasy silence that had settled upon them all. “Findis could do much worse.”

“I meant to approach you about the possibility of Findis and one of your sons….” Finwë started to say, but Olwë waved his hand in dismissal.

“Nay, I doubt either of my sons would be interested. Valandur is an excellent ellon, very wise and yet humble.”

“And how do you know this?” Ingwë asked.

“He had the occasion to visit Alqualondë,” Olwë replied.

“Oh?” was Ingwë’s response.

Olwë nodded, looking very pleased. “Yes. He was there at the behest of Lord Ulmo, who desired to speak with him. Afterwards, Valandur remained as my guest for a time. My family and I got to know him quite well and found him to be an admirable ellon. Lord Ulmo quite approved of him, or so he told me afterwards.”

Valandur kept his eyes down, still feeling mortified, wishing he were anywhere but there. He felt someone giving his shoulder a squeeze and, looking up, saw Intarion giving him a sympathetic look.

“Well, that’s all very interesting and I want to hear more,” Ingwë said, “but it is quite beside the point. Lord Herencáno, let me have those papers. I wish to look them over. Ah, I see that there is a map here with all the villages duly marked. Good. Very good. Now, I’ve heard enough to rule on this and find no fault in either Prince Intarion or Loremaster Valandur and their handling of the refugees.”

“But Intarion confessed,” Finwë protested. “You cannot ignore that, even if he is your nephew.”

Ingwë gave Finwë an impatient look, then turned to Intarion, motioning him forward to stand next to Valandur. “Very well, Nephew. Why did you confess to something you did not do?”

For a moment, Intarion did not answer, looking nervous and Valandur was reminded how young he was, younger than Fëanáro, younger even than Findis. When he finally spoke it was barely above a whisper. “Prince Fëanáro told me that King Finwë meant for the food to be given freely and that charging the refugees was an act of treason against the Noldóran. He said that if I pleaded guilty, he would ask for leniency and the worst that would happen to me was that I would be sent home.”

“And Valandur?” Ingwë asked. “What was to be his fate?”

Intarion shrugged. “I do not know. I only know that as long as I pleaded guilty, no punishment would fall upon me.”

“Except the punishment of being sent home in disgrace, shamed before all,” Valandur could not help saying, his tone full of contempt. “But no doubt that was the whole point: send the Vanyar home in disgrace and the trade negotiation dismissed.”

Ingwë did not respond to that, but others, including Finwë and Fëanáro bristled, though they all wisely remained silent before the High King, who glanced at Finwë. “So, assuming you knew that Valandur would plead innocent, and assuming that any evidence he might present would be dismissed out of hand even if it did prove that he and Intarion were not guilty, what were your plans for him?”

“He would have been sent to the Fiefdoms to help repair the damage as reparation for attempting to profit from the misfortune of others,” Finwë replied with a diffident shrug. “Considering the extent of the damage that the fire caused, he would have been laboring there for some time.”

“I see,” Ingwë said.

Valandur blinked in surprise, imagining himself moving from one destroyed village to another, forced to rebuild everything alone while guards and villagers looked on, and felt a rush of anger, not at Finwë or even Fëanáro, whom he suspected was behind it all, but at Ingwë. “I should never have accepted your request to join the trade delegation,” he snarled. A sense of hurt and betrayal flooded him and he suddenly hated them all: Ingwë, Finwë, the Valar, everyone. Intarion attempted to reach out a comforting hand but Valandur brushed him away and, giving everyone a scathing look, stalked away, intending to return to his rooms, pack his bags and just leave.

He did not get far, not even to the door, before Olwë came after him and took him by the arm, forcing him to return. Valandur stood there glaring at the foot of the dais, refusing to look up, refusing to acknowledge any of them. He just wanted to be rid of all of them and their scheming ways.

“Valandur, look at me,” Ingwë said softly yet with great authority, and, much against his will, Valandur found himself raising his head to gaze into eyes full of sympathy and understanding. “I’m sorry we have come to this pass. I think other people have allowed their own prejudices to dictate to them.” He glanced at Finwë standing tight-lipped beside him and there was a flash of anger in the High King’s eyes.

“I cannot believe that you would abuse your station so flagrantly, Finwë, merely to punish an innocent ellon whose only crime appears to be that he fell in love with your daughter. And that was bad enough, but then to drag my own nephew into your perfidious scheme by threatening him, forcing him to plead guilty to something that he never did, and where is the proof? There is none, nor do I suspect there ever was.” He paused for a moment, sweeping his gaze upon them all.

“Olwë had the right of it when he searched Intarion’s fëa for the truth, for that is a gift that we kings have been granted in some measure. Finwë, I want you to do the same for Valandur here and now before witnesses.”

Valandur took a couple of steps back in shock, shaking his head. Olwë had to grab his arm to keep him in place.

“It’s not really necessary, Ingwë,” Finwë protested.

“It is very necessary,” Ingwë retorted. “Do not waste Our time, Cousin. Do as thou hast been bidden.”

Finwë went white and Fëanáro clenched his hands in fists. “How dare you…”

“How dare you!” Ingwë fairly shouted, rising to face the prince. “I should have you whipped for your own actions against those farmers. You should count yourself fortunate that I will only demand that you pay recompense to those who were attacked out of your own monies. Now be silent before your betters, hína! Finwë, I gave you an order.”

The silence was absolute as Finwë stepped down from the dais. Valandur closed his eyes. Whatever Ingwë wanted from him he was not going to get it. He felt Olwë shaking him gently. “Open your eyes, yonya,” he said. “It’s all right. There is naught to fear.” But he just shook his head, keeping his eyes closed, even going so far as to cover them with his hands.

“No,” he whispered. “Just leave me alone, all of you.”

“Valandur,” he heard Finwë say. “Just open your eyes.” His hands were pulled away from his face and then he felt Finwë leaning closer to whisper in his ear, “Don’t disappoint Findis.”

Valandur opened his eyes at the unexpected statement and before he realized what was happening he found himself caught in Finwë’s gaze, drawn deeper and deeper into it until there was nothing else. He thought he made a strangled sound of protest but then Finwë looked away and Valandur found himself blinking as if coming out of a deep sleep.

“He is innocent,” Finwë said softly.

Ingwë nodded. “Then, as far as I am concerned, this matter is closed. Prince Intarion and Loremaster Valandur are not guilty of the charges against them. I think an apology is in order, don’t you, Finwë?”

“Yes, Sire,” the Noldóran said, giving Ingwë a bow. Valandur saw Fëanáro clenching his fists, his lips set in a thin line, his eyes full of anger at seeing his atar being humble before Ingwë. Several of the other Noldor also looked pained at what they saw as Finwë’s humiliation. Valandur did not care. All he wanted was to get away from them all. Finwë turned to the loremaster. “I am sorry, yonya. I fear I allowed my concern for my daughter to cloud my judgment.”

Valandur could only nod, unable to articulate any real reply. Ingwë seemed to take his gesture as sufficient. “That’s settled. Now I’ve been sleeping in hayricks and washing in streams for the better part of the week. I would appreciate a hot bath and some clean clothes, if you can spare them, Brother.”

Finwë bowed to Ingwë again. “Indis will see that you have everything you need for your comfort, Brother, and you as well, Olwë. I will order a feast for you both in the meantime.”

“Nothing grand,” Ingwë insisted, stepping down from the dais and offering an arm to Indis, who accepted. “Whatever your cooks had planned for today’s dinner is fine with me. Come along, Olwë, and you can tell me how you and your family are faring.” Olwë joined him and Indis as they made their way out of the room with Finwë, Fëanáro, Ingoldo and Tinwetariel trailing, none of them looking particularly happy. Ingoldo and Tinwetariel completely ignored their son as they passed him.

Once the royals were gone, everyone else stood about looking a bit uncertain as to what they should do next. Valandur was not sure how he should be feeling right then and hoped he could get away without others importuning him. He needed time alone to think and while everyone was milling about, discussing what had happened among themselves, Valandur made to leave but Intarion put out a hand to stay him.

“I’m sorry,” the prince said softly, not quite looking at him. “I should never have agreed to….”

“It’s fine,” Valandur said, though he wasn’t completely convinced of that himself. “I do not blame you, Intarion. If you will excuse me, I wish to be alone for a while.”

Intarion nodded, still looking guilty, but Valandur found he just didn’t have the strength to offer the younger ellon any comfort at that time. Later, perhaps, but not now. He looked about and saw Herencáno conversing with one of his fellow courtiers and went to him. The two ellyn stopped speaking as he approached.

“Thank you, my lord, for your help. I appreciate it very much,” Valandur said.

“The honor was mine, Loremaster,” Herencáno responded with a smile. “I am glad that the matter was resolved in your favor.”

Valandur nodded, then, excusing himself, wended his way through the crowd and made his escape.

****

Vanyaran: King of the Vanyar.

Lindaran: King of the Lindar (Teleri).

Note: In medieval architecture a closet in a castle was a small, windowless room off of the king’s or queen’s bedroom where they would gather with their courtiers or ladies, especially in the winter. It was often the warmest place in the castle.