Chapter 14

“Arafinwë.”

A familiar voice in the darkness disturbed his slumber.

“Arafinwë.”

It sounded just like…but it could not be. That would be impossible.

“Open your eyes, my son, and look at me.”

Warmth caressed his cheek, as he gently turned his head in the direction of the voice.

“But I do not want to open my eyes,” he protested. “I might see that you are not really there. I could not bear to lose you again.”

Tinged with amusement, the voice replied, “My beloved son, you will be the one who leaves me, not I you. Please open your eyes and look on me so we might share what precious time is given to us.”

Savoring the sound of the voice for a few moments longer, he finally obeyed and opened his eyes to find himself staring directly into the face of his...

“Atar,” Arafinwë whispered, feeling tears spring to his eyes and trail down his face. Sitting up abruptly, he threw his arms around the ellon who had sired him

Finwë met his son’s embrace with equal fervor. “I have missed you. I have missed all of my children.”

Arafinwë drew back, gripping his atar’s shoulders and glaring accusingly into his eyes. “But some of us you miss more than others, I am certain.”

“That is true,” Finwë freely admitted, “and the quality of the relationships I had with some I regret more than others as well. I know I neglected you and Nolo and your sisters, and I failed to be the atar I should have been to you, the atar you deserved.”

“And what of my amillë?” Arafinwë accused, unable to keep the venom from his voice. “Do you admit that you failed her as a husband?”

Finwë smiled grimly. “Will you believe me when I tell you that I do admit and regret that as well? I am truly sorry for all that I have done and all of the many ways in which I have failed you and your amillë and my other children as well.”

“I hated you for the way you treated us. Why should I believe you now? Why should I believe any of this?” Arafinwë gestured around the room, suddenly feeling confused. Where was he exactly? How was it that he was speaking with his atar, his atar who was dead?

The realization struck him so hard that he numbly lost his grip on his atar and would have collapsed backward, but large hands just like his own seized his arms and gently guided him back to rest against his pillow again.

“I am dead.”

“No, my beloved son, you are merely resting here for a time and then you will be allowed to return.”

“My…Faroniel, my…my wife is dead. I felt her spirit brush mine as she departed. Where is she? Is she here, too? I wish to see her again, to explain it all to her. I…love her so much. I miss her so…”  Anguish filled his fëa as tears spilled from his eyes. His atar drew him up to a sitting position again and held him close as he mourned for his loss. Uncaring of his anger toward his atar, he clung to Finwë, burying his face in his shoulder as he mourned.

When no more tears would come, Finwë gently pushed him back and wiped his face with a cool damp towel. “I understand what is in your heart, my child, for that is what was in my heart when I lost Míriel. The ache never goes away, but it does lessen over time.”

Angrily Arafinwë pushed his atar away. “But I do not want to be like you! I have no desire for your pity. I do not want you to be the one to understand how I am feeling. I…” he cast about the room suddenly realizing he remembered everything about his past now – all of it. 

“Eärwen,” he gasped in dismay. “What have I done? Dear Eru, what have I done…” His body began trembling uncontrollably as the horror of his actions filled him, chilling his bones to the marrow.

Finwë laid down beside him, taking him into his arms and holding him fiercely. “Arafinwë, I will not leave you to face this alone. I promise you, I will stay with you through this as I should have been with you in life. I love you, and I will not leave you until you are ready to leave me.”

Soft words floated around him from somewhere else as a gentle hand descended and stroked Arafinwë’s forehead, bringing warmth back to his body.

“Lord Námo,” Finwë breathed.

“Arafinwë, be at peace, Child. Be at peace,” the Vala said as Arafinwë suddenly felt the tension drain out of him.  “Some of what you feel is the effects of the healing of your body. Your fëa is safe with me until your hröa is habitable again. That is it. Good. Very good. Remember this calm. Remember this peace.”

When Arafinwë could think and move again, he whispered, “Lord Námo, may…may I please see Faroniel again. There is much I need to say to her.”

“She already knows, Child, she already knows. She has passed beyond the Circles of the World now to a place where you may not go. An illness claimed her, and there is nothing that you nor I can do about it. You made your farewell to her before you departed for the war. She understands and accepts this. She made her farewell to you on the battlefield just before you fell, and you felt in that moment her great love for you. That was all I could do for you, all I could allow you or her.”

Peace continued to flow through him and something else as well, something very much like what he felt when her fëa brushed his that final time. He found himself breathing hard, struggling against the warmth coursing through his veins. At last he managed, “But…what…what of my son and my daughter – our son and daughter? What will become of them?”

“The smith and his wife will raise them as their own as you requested of them before you left. “

“But my children need me,” he pleaded.

“A battlefield is no place for small children. Besides, how would you explain them to your army? They believe you were a prisoner of Melkor.”

“Why do they believe that? Why did you lie to my soldiers?”

“No one lied to them. When we heard the rumors and saw how your warriors believed that only Melkor himself could keep you from leading them, we allowed them to continue in that belief. It kept them going, believing that they were fighting for the cause of freeing you, their most beloved king. For, as king, you were dearer to them all than any who held the crown before you. Such is their love for you and their faith in you, and the loyalty you have commanded of them. Finwë may have led them out of the darkness the first time, but you had a far more difficult task in leading your folk out of despair as well. Your people love, admire, and respect you for it. And this is why they can never know that you gave in to your own despair and, however briefly, abandoned them.”

Arafinwë lay there speechless, not knowing what to say or how to say it as so many feelings warred for control of his heart.

Then Finwë spoke, his voice filled with love and admiration. “I am so very proud of you, my son. You, whom I treated as the least, are the greatest of us all. I am so very proud to call you my son.”

Bitter anger welled up within him as Arafinwë turned on his side to face his atar. “Does your pride rule you even now? Only now that a Vala has good things to say of me do you have words of love I had longed to hear my whole life?” He turned away from his atar, unable to contain the loathing and hatred he suddenly felt.

“At one time I deserved those words and those feelings, but now they are unjust. Arafinwë, Míriel weaves tapestries showing all of the deeds of the Noldor and of my children and their children in life. I have been allowed to see these periodically, and thereby keep informed of all of the trials and sufferings of the Noldor and of my own kin. I have seen the results of all that has befallen because of my poor choices in life. I also have seen the triumphs and joys. As an atar and as a king, I feel more admiration and respect for what you have accomplished than for what all of the others did combined. They were skilled at forging jewels and weapons, but your skill lay in repairing the broken and forging hope in those who had none. You had the most difficult task of all and succeeded where I never could have. And what is more, I…” Finwë’s voice faltered and Arafinwë turned to face him again after the silence lasted too long.

“And what is more, you what?”

Finwë bowed his head in shame. “I…I watched your relationship with Faroniel and with the children she gave you, and I…I came to understand what I should have done and regret what I had not done with Indis and the children she so willingly and lovingly gave to me.” He looked up again and met his son’s eyes. “I love your amillë and I love Míriel, though in different ways. You are the only ellon who will ever understand what I have experienced in my life, for you have loved the way I have loved. I just wish I had handled it as well as you did, and that Indis and you and your siblings had never had cause to question my love for you or your place in my heart. Thank you for teaching me that lesson though I have learned it too late. I do love you, my son, and I am sorry.”

Arafinwë lay there staring at the ellon who sired him, wishing to hate him and loathe him for so many things, but found that he could not. Those would have been feelings borne from pride and bitter arrogance, but neither of those commanded this son of Finwë, not like they had controlled so very many of the other scions of Finwë’s house.  Much to his own surprise, though perhaps in retrospect it should not have surprised him at all, Arafinwë took his atar in his arms and held him to his heart.

“I forgive you, Atar,” he spoke in Finwë’s ear. “I am just sorry that it took so very many trials and woes to bring us to this.” He sniffed and swallowed his own tears for a moment, then added for the first time in many, many yéni, “I love you, too, Atto. I love you, too.”

However long it was they remained there locked in their embrace, it was too short a time for Arafinwë when Námo gently placed a hand on each of their shoulders and pulled them apart. They both looked up at the Lord of Mandos as he moved his hand to each of their heads and spoke a blessing. Peace and warmth and bright love filled Arafinwë, with the sensation remaining with him even after Námo removed his hand.

“The two of you have received much healing, but it is time for Arafinwë to move on now.”

Arafinwë embraced his atar one more time, speaking words of love and receiving messages of love in return to take back to Valinor with him when he finally returned home again. Finwë helped him to stand, then led him to a door which Arafinwë had not previously noticed.

“Farewell, my beloved son,” Finwë said as he gently pushed Arafinwë through the doorway and into another place.

Arafinwë turned around and saw that the door was gone, but turning back, he found himself beside a beautiful lake with stars and the crescent moon reflecting in the still waters from the night dark sky. Taking a few steps, he soon found himself looking down upon a quiet ellon seated on the shore with unbraided wiry golden hair dancing like flames about his shoulders in the warm breeze.

“Aicanáro,” he gasped, his breath catching in his chest. “Aicanáro, my son! You are returned to me! You live!”

“No, Atar,” Aicanáro said as he gracefully rose to his feet and turned to greet him. “You are the one who came to me. I am dead, though you are not.”

A few unsteady, wavering steps later found Arafinwë with his son wrapped in his trembling arms. He knew of no words to say to express what he felt holding his son again after more than five hundred years of being apart.

A long time and many tears later, Aicanáro drew back, holding his atar at arm’s length, regarding him carefully. “I have missed you, Atar, you and Ammë and my brothers and sister. But please do not seek to take me back with you for I will not go.”

Confused and very concerned, Arafinwë looked searchingly at his son. “I do not know that I could take you back with me. That is for Námo to decide, I would guess. But even if you could go with me, why would you not?”

Aicanáro smiled sadly. “My love was mortal and I have lost her. I will not return to life until I can do so with her at the Second Music.”

Arafinwë took a step forward and embraced his son again, patting him on the back. “I understand completely the choice you have made. In truth, I just wish you had married her in life so you could have known the joys I have known.”

Drawing him down to sit beside the lake, Arafinwë told Aicanáro the tale of the last seven years of his life.

When he finished, Aicanáro put his arm around his shoulders and met his gaze. “Atar, I knew some of your story, but not all that you have told me. I am…”

“Shocked?” Arafinwë offered with a grin.

Aicanáro laughed, shaking his head, “No, well, yes, very much so, but I am…I am honored. I…the story of my love for Andreth was your inspiration... Atto, I fought and I tried and I...it was not enough. I love her so much and I wanted her so, and now…I miss her and that pain cuts me so deeply that it slays me again and again every time I feel it.” Tears started from his eyes. “I lost my chance, Atto, and I miss her.”

Arafinwë held his son close to his heart, weeping with him and for him and for the memory of his own Faroniel who he would not hold again either.

When they parted, Aicanáro took his atar’s hand. “I am proud of you, Atto, for having the courage to do what I could not. I grieve for your loss, for you know in your heart what I know in mine, having lost a mortal love with only the promise of the Second Music to sustain any hope for reunion. Atto, I hope…This is so difficult for me to say. Forgive me. I-I hope that you will take your Andreth and Aicanáro back with you to Valinor and let them fill the place in your lives and hearts I have left empty by not returning. Please, Atto, love those two little ones well and remember me and my beloved when you look upon them. It will bring me some comfort and joy knowing that the legacy of the mortal love of one of us will live on, and…” he paused grinning in wonder and laughing in a most beautiful, heart-healing way. “You named your son for me and your daughter for her.”

A strong sense of the need to leave pulled at Arafinwë, but he shoved it aside, desperate for more time with his son. “The children are half mortal. I do not know if they can ever go to Valinor with me. They may be doomed to follow the fates of mortals.”

“If that is the case, Atto, then perhaps, due to their half-elven blood, they will be allowed to reside here with me, and I will share with them my fondest memories of my Andreth with her glorious smile reflected in this water with a star caught in her silky, fragrant hair. I will tell them stories of you so they can know you as I knew you, and I will listen to the stories of their lives as well. If Valinor is denied to them, my little brother and sister, then I will look after them here for you, and we will await the Second Music together when our families will be reunited once again.”

Blinking back tears for he wearied of all the tears he had shed in so short a time, Arafinwë stood and drew his son up to him. Embracing him again, he whispered, “I love you with all of my heart and am so very proud that you are my son. Your ammë loves you so very much as well, and your Andreth held you ever in her heart until she died. I look forward to the day when our whole family will be together once again – or, I guess, it actually would be for the first time.”

“I love you, Atar, and thank you for this gift you have given me.” Turning his head, Aicanáro kissed his atar’s cheek and stepped out of the embrace. “Farewell.” He raised his hand to wave and vanished along with the lake and the star-filled night.

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Some weeks later, Arafinwë stood in his tent, newly outfitted in a suit of armor of a different fashion from what he had worn before. His movements once again graceful and fluid, he prepared to head out to the fighting. Sheathing his blades, he turned as his guard called out the name of a visitor.

“Lord Eonwë,” Arafinwë said, bowing in acknowledgement of the Maia in charge of the entire Army of Light.

“King Arafinwë,” Eonwë replied with a gracious nod. Entering the tent, he inspected the armor. “Your new armor suits you well. I think you will find that it protects you better than the previous suit did.”

“Yes, I am pleased with the ease of mobility in spite of the added protection,” he moved around a bit, flexing his arms and going through the motions of sword play without a weapon in his hand.

“The healers agree that you are hale enough to return to the fighting.”

“Yes, I believe I am ready. I feel strong and eager to be back out there leading my warriors.”

“That is good to hear. We have missed your sword and your presence on the battlefield.”

Arafinwë moved closer to Eonwë to speak confidentially without the guards overhearing. “I notice I have missed something else as well and wonder if you might be able to help me.”

Eonwë put his hand on the king’s shoulder, answering in an equally low voice, “And what might that be?”

Sighing, Arafinwë looked around cautiously before speaking even more quietly. “Ever since I awoke in the healer’s tent all those weeks ago – it seems like yéni and not mere weeks – I…I find I cannot feel the bond with my children any more. My…my son and my daughter are lost to me. I can no longer communicate with them. Please tell me, are they dead? Do you know?”

Placing a hand on Arafinwë’s other shoulder, Eonwë turned him to look directly into his eyes. “Your bond with your children has been severed. When you were in Mandos awaiting the healing of your body, you were gone long enough to sever the bonds with them.”

“But I survived! I came back!” he desperately, yet quietly cried.  “I am here now. My children need me. If I am to be denied seeing them again in Endórë as Námo has said and you have reiterated many times to me, why must I be denied the bond which is my right as their sire?”

“My son, your children believe you are dead. They have moved on with their lives in the care of Angadan and his delightful wife. If they were able to sense that you live and feel your love and sense you touching their fëar as they seek their dreams each night, then they will never know peace and will never be able to go on and grow up and do the things they are meant to do.”

“But they are so little! They need me. They need their atar especially now that their amillë is lost to them.” He looked away, closing his eyes and shaking his head in anguish. “And why…why can I no longer feel their draw upon my fëa? They have only seen five short years. They should still be drawing strength from me for many more years yet.”

“They have the blood of mortals in them as well. And while mortal children may tax the strength of their parents, they do not draw nourishment from their fëar. It was necessary for the children to fully adhere to their own mortality in order for you to lead the army and fight the battles you need to fight. If you would make these lands safer for your children so that they will not know war in their lifetimes, then you must be at your strongest when you fight this war. This severance mutually benefits you both.”

Arafinwë faced Eonwë again, scowling, “Denying us that which is ours by virtue of the bond of parent and child is not a benefit.”

Eonwë’s eyes flared brightly causing Arafinwë to blink furiously, but he would not look away. “Awareness of your bond with Faroniel and the children very nearly cost you your life, and I will not risk you like that again. Too many soldiers have died because you were not there to lead them. I will not jeopardize the lives of ellyn just so you can selfishly weaken yourself with bonds to your mortal family.”

“I am still here. The bond did not cost me my life.”

“You only live because Lord Manwë commanded that I repair your body and make it habitable again. I honestly do not know that you would be granted such a blessing a second time. The bond is a liability we cannot afford in this war. And by the time the war is over, your children may well be dead from illness or mishap anyway. I can tell you now with the sight that has been given to me, you will neither see nor communicate with Aicanáro and Andreth again while you are in Endórë.  Perhaps at the Second Music when you see Faroniel again, it will be granted to you to see your children again as well, but not before then in Endórë in any foreseeable future which has been revealed unto me.”

Turning away, Arafinwë breathed heavily, anger, sorrow and despair filling him. What was he to do?

There was nothing he could do. He had lost children to Endórë all over again just like when his children left Valinor and he stayed behind to fight the battles on the home front and clean up the mess left behind. Now he faced battles of a different sort. And even in spirit, he could never touch his children again.

“Melkor is the one to blame for all of this, Arafinwë. Let your anger and sorrow fuel your fight on the field of battle. Be like your elder son Aicanáro, and in every evil creature you slay, see the enemy who did this to you and to those you love. Be a spirit of wrath, a shining light in the fray. Be the king you were forged to be and lead your army to victory. This is the only way you can assure any hope of a future for your children and their children as well. In their hearts, your children will know that their atto bought this victory for them. Even when you are but a distant memory of a proud smile and a kiss goodnight, your children will remember you in that.”

The king turned away again, seeking control of his emotions. When he felt he was calm enough, he turned back and clapped Eonwë on the shoulder. “Let us hence and get this battle over with. I have many more to fight and would be done with them all as soon as possible.”

Eonwë gave him a warrior’s embrace, then guided him toward the entrance of the tent. “Let us hence, King Arafinwë, and be on our way into the fray.”

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Note: King Finwë led the Noldor out of the darkness of the Night before nights to the land of the light of the Two Trees, Valinor. Arafinwë led the remnant of the Noldor from the darkness and despair after the rebellion of the Noldor and the death of the Trees and rebuilt the Noldor and their relations with the other clans. The new physical light of the sun and the moon eventually greeted them some time later.

Fëa/fëar – spirit, spirits

Hröa - body

Endórë - Middle-Earth