Chapter 16

Arafinwë broke his fast at dawn with the other royals at the family table with Eärwen at his side. After two solid weeks of meetings, updates on realms, discussions of building a city on Tol Eressea for the returning exiles, among other matters, everyone was ready for a break. Olwë insisted that his daughter and her husband go for a long stroll down the beach, seeing to it that they were provisioned for several hours of leisure. He sent Ingwë and his wife down the beach in the opposite direction similarly provisioned, assuring both kings and queens that time spent alone as couples with neither duties nor responsibilities would benefit everyone.

Hand in hand, Arafinwë and Eärwen waded in the water and strolled across the jeweled beaches on their way to their favorite little alcove rarely frequented by anyone – except for the purposes for which they currently sought it. There was a spot not too far beyond where the shell hunting was exquisite. This was the place where Arafinwë went in his dreams when he needed to find peace. However, being here in person brought him no comfort now.

Stashing their clothes and their basket safely away, they swam in the ocean, frolicking among the waves. After making love in the alcove a few hours later, they dressed and reclined on a blanket out of reach of the rising tide, drinking wine and eating sweet cakes. It should have been a perfect day, but how could it be when Arafinwë felt as if he were reenacting the dream he had had before he made Faroniel his wife? It just felt so wrong!

Eärwen rolled to face him, propping herself up on her elbow. Gently brushing his still drying hair out of his eyes, she looked on him, her bright blue eyes full of concern. “Why does this not make you happy? I have done all I can think of to draw you out of this tense melancholy which has haunted your every step since you returned to me. I have heard tales from others of the tortures to which Morgoth’s slaves were subjected. I have seen for myself how every ellon who went away to fight has returned changed and…and darkened by his experiences. Please tell me what Morgoth did to you when you were his prisoner that changed you so. No one else will tell me and, indeed, I do not believe that they even know what happened to you. I am your wife, and I love you!  I need to know so that I can help you begin to heal, so I can help you find your peace again.”

“I do not deserve to be at peace,” he replied simply, sitting up beside her. “I do not believe I will ever be at peace again.”

Sitting up, she refilled his glass with wine. Handing it back to him, she made herself comfortable, then took his other hand in hers. “My love, being at peace is a choice you can make. We have discussed this before, concerning strife within your family and when you took the throne of the Noldor. I have stood by you through all of the other terrible things we have faced in our lives. I am here now to help you through this.” Leaning forward, she kissed him on the lips, then settled herself again still holding his hand in hers.

He looked down, rubbing his thumb over her wedding ring. “When I tell you what happened to me, and…and what I did, I do not believe you will stand by me any longer.”

Furrowing her brow in pain and worry, she whispered, “How could you ever question my love for you? Dear Eru, what did Morgoth do to you?”

“Eärwen, there are some things that an ellon can do which are unforgiveable, no matter what drove him to do them. And what I did…I…it is unforgiveable. I do not ask you to even try. I cannot even forgive myself and yet at the time, it…it was the right thing to do at the time, so I believed.”

“Were…” her breath caught, “were you tortured?” She reached out to him, touching his body in different places as she asked, “Is that how you got the scars I saw on your arms and leg and your shoulders, and back, and here on your chest? Please tell me what Morgoth did to you while you were his thrall. I…I am certain we can take you to Lórien and Irmo can bring you healing if you cannot find it elsewhere.”

Suddenly, he was reminded of Faroniel touching his injuries as she described them to him when he first met her, flooding his mind with images of her lovely face and whispy, curly hair. “Faron-!” he stopped himself in horror mid-word.  “Eärwen…Eärwen, please stop.” He removed her hand from where it rested on his chest, holding it in his lap. “Please, just stop.”

“I…Eärwen, I was not a prisoner of Morgoth. I was never held captive in Angband though everyone from Ingwion on down in both armies will tell you I was. That was a rumor that Lord Eonwë allowed everyone to believe to explain the seven years I spent away from the army.”

She looked at him in disbelief. “Why are you saying this? Why…why would Eonwë let people believe a lie? Why did you leave the army? Did you abandon them?”

“I am telling you the truth as you would have it from me for you deserve to know. And no, I did not abandon my people, not intentionally anyway.”

He shifted his legs a bit, then continued. “When our ships passed a certain point about two weeks out to sea, our bonds with Aman and everyone there were severed suddenly. I thought I was going to die, it hurt so much suddenly being alone, no longer able to feel my spiritual bond with you or with my amillë. The severance drove me to my knees and many around me lost consciousness in their distress.”

“I…I know. Or at least I understand. I felt the severance from you and I actually did collapse. It was two full days before I could function again, and then I heard reports of this having happened all over Aman. I was so happy when I saw you again. I felt your return before I ever saw your ship. I was so relieved!” She put her arms around him, kissing his face and neck. “Now that I have you back, I cannot bear to think of being away from you ever again.”

He kissed her in return, nestling close, breathing in her scent. It was going to destroy him when he lost her again. Of that he had no doubt.

When at last she drew back, he felt a chasm opening up between them that only he could see.

“It was some years into the war, we had suffered heavy losses yet again. I had lost some friends and the wails of the dying and mourning filled the camp. I…I could not handle it anymore and needed to be away from the death and despair for a time, for just a few hours. I needed to grieve without being harassed by captains with casualty reports and strategy meetings. I…I kept thinking of my sons and nephews and brother and how they died, wondering if they all had died alone, and regretting I never got to fight at their sides. I was so full of anger, and grief, and despair… I just needed to get away for a short time and find my peace again so I could go back and reassure everyone once again that it would be well… and remind them that their sons and brothers and fathers would return to them from Mandos one day and that we needed to press on and keep fighting.”

Quietly, she asked, “How many went with you when you left?”

He shook his head, blinking back the tears that those memories of the losses that day still evoked. “None, for I left abruptly, still fully girt for battle, having just come from the fray an hour or so before. I ran as fast as I could to put as much distance between myself and them as possible and give myself more time to grieve where none could see or hear me.”

“Were you allowed your time to grieve undisturbed?” Eärwen carefully asked, gently brushing his arm with her hand.

He smiled weakly. “Yes, I grieved for a few hours and about the time I was starting to think that perhaps I should head back, I was ambushed and badly injured. A Mortal came to my rescue, but not before I received a vicious blow to the head that destroyed my memories of who and what I was and almost all of my entire past life before that moment.”

“I thought that was why you were supposed to wear a helmet into combat,” she responded knowingly.

“Yes, the helmet would have prevented such a devastating injury had I not thrown it in my anger and grieving rage a few hours before.”

“Oh,” she replied. “So what happened with the Mortal?”

“She took me to her home and cared for me until my injuries healed.”

Eärwen started in surprise, “She?”

Arafinwë smiled slightly in amusement. “Yes, she. Her name was Faroniel. She was a young adaneth with curly silver hair and bright blue eyes and a spirit very much like yours. She lived alone in a tiny one-room cabin on the outskirts of a small mortal village. Her husband had gone to the war a few years before and was killed in battle. Her two young children died of an illness a few months after he left for the war.”

“How very sad!” Eärwen whispered, sorrow creasing her brow. “I understand how she must have felt at the severing of bonds with her family for I, too, was just like a childless widow while you were away at the war.” She looked into his eyes, a tear escaping down her cheek. “My husband finally returned to me, but my children may never do so. I can understand how she must have grieved, for I know how I have grieved.”

He grasped her hand in both of his and kissed it in sympathy. She nodded her gratitude as he lowered his hands to his lap, still holding hers.

“Yes, she did grieve,” he continued. “It was most difficult for her when her sister’s children came to visit and on the begetting days of her children.”

“I imagine you could empathize with her in grieving the loss of children.”

“I could have empathized if I had remembered that I had children or even a spouse. As I said, I remembered very little of my previous life, but seeing her suffering grieved me.”

Eärwen looked deeply hurt. “You did not even remember me?”

Sadly, shamefully, he shook his head. “I had dreams on occasion, but I could not discern what was dream and what was a real memory. You were a distant, treasured, beautiful dream to me, and I knew in my dreams that I loved you dearly, but I had no idea who you were or if you were even real.”

She withdrew her hand from his and scratched the side of her face, brushing away a bit of sand and a stray whisp of hair.

“I…I cannot believe you did not remember me. I thought of you every day that you were away from me,” her voice grew softer, her gaze focused far away. “Every day.”

Arafinwë sighed. It was only going to get worse from here.

After a few moments of silence, she asked in harsh tones, “So why did you not return to the army? Why did she not return you to the army? I imagine they could have healed you more quickly.”

“I did try to return to the army on my own as soon as my body had healed enough for me to travel. My memory was still gone, but I deduced the direction I should travel as best I could and I sought them out. But what I found…”

“What did you find?”

He brushed his hair out of his eyes, cursing the sea breeze which seemed determined to torment him in his grief. He bowed his head. “Ingwion mentioned that one hundred warriors came in search of me. Their search was futile because an early winter snow storm had erased all trace of my passing. I found them a few days out from Faroniel’s house. Or at least I found their bodies. They had been ambushed and slaughtered shortly after they found the only evidence of my passing – my helm and my gloves. There were thirteen who had not been dragged off to be eaten by the orcs. Of those thirteen, only one was alive when I found them. He…” His voice broke at the memory and it took him a few moments of deep breathing with his eyes closed to be able to look on his wife again and continue. “It was Sartandil, but I only remembered his name when it was too late. He told me about the failed rescue and the ambush and told me that the army of Valinor was gone. He cautioned me to hide and not let Morgoth find me because I was the last of my atar’s house, bereft of all whom I had loved just as he was the last of his. He told me that if my line ended, then Morgoth would win. Then he died in my arms.”

Arafinwë looked down at his hands, seeing instead those last moments with one of his closest friends.

Eärwen gasped in horror, then took her husband into her arms. It took him a few moments to realize where he was and respond to her, putting his arms around her, allowing her to comfort him.

After a time she drew back, brushing from his cheeks tears he had not even realized had fallen.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered. “Arafinwë, my love, I am so sorry. Lady Estë herself came and spirited his wife away to Lórien the day after you returned from the war. My atar was so afraid she would kill herself in her grief, he called upon one of Ulmo’s Maiar and that Maia returned a short time later with Lady Estë.”

Arafinwë looked on his wife in gratitude. “I…I did not know. I…I had wondered why his wife had not come to see me so I could tell her of him. Now, I know. Will she be all right?”

Eärwen shook her head, “In truth, I do not know. She is receiving the best of care in Lórien, but that is all that I know.”

He nodded. “I must remember to thank your atar and Lady Estë both. I cannot believe how negligent I have been. I remembered to speak to the widows of all of my other friends, but I missed her.”

Gently brushing his arm with her hand, Eärwen smiled. “You have had much on your mind since your return. Do not be so hard on yourself.”

For a time he looked away and watched the waves roll in to the shore, the constant motion and the rushing sound a soothing balm for his weary fëa.

“So what happened after that?” Eärwen’s melodious voice gently called him back to the present.

Arafinwë’s heart sank as he met Eärwen’s kind eyes. “Believing that I was all that remained of the army from Valinor, I buried the dead and returned to the only person I knew and the only home I knew, however briefly I had known the home and the person. Faroniel nearly murdered me, literally, when she saw me because I only had left her a note as my farewell, which I admit was foolish on my part. And then I had the audacity to return some days later, begging her to take me back. Fortunately for me, she forgave my thoughtlessness and accepted me once again.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh.

“That was a kindness you did not deserve,” Eärwen agreed.

“I worked her land and helped her in her trade as a trapper. She taught me to speak Sindarin, though we sometimes still spoke Quenya together. She knew Quenya because her ancestors had had close contact with the Elves of Nargothrond, namely our sons Findaráto and Aicanáro.”

Eärwen raised her eyebrows at that, her curiosity clearly peaked. She leaned forward eager to hear more.

“One of Faroniel’s distant kin who had died many years before Faroniel was even born was an adaneth named Andreth who had had many conversations with Findaráto. Faroniel had a book which recounted many of the discussions between Andreth and Findaráto. Faroniel read the book to me many times my first winter with her for the snows were deep and the folk of her village hated Elves. I was effectively trapped with her with nothing to do otherwise.” He paused, taking a deep breath.

“Of more importance is that this maiden Andreth was the beloved of our Aicanáro. He never married Andreth, though he loved her dearly. The exiles who went to Endórë believed that Elves should neither marry nor bear children in time of war, so our son never married the Mortal who held his heart. He died in battle and she died sometime after him.”

Arafinwë took a long drink of his wine before continuing. “I spoke to him, learning of his love for her and his decision. He said to send you his love as well and his apologies for not coming back. You see, I was allowed to see and speak with him for a short time during my brief sojourn in Mandos’ Halls while Eonwë desperately tried to repair my body after I was cut down in my first battle back with the army.“

“WHAT?!” Eärwen cried in alarm. “What do you mean by ‘your brief sojourn in Mandos’ Halls’? You…you died?”

“Yes,” he replied simply, “I died. I was…I…This is getting ahead of the order in which the events I am trying to explain to you actually happened, but yes, I briefly died.”

“And you did not think to tell me about this until now?! Did you not think it important enough to tell me before?”  Her face was red with fury and she looked as if she were ready to strike him.

He raised his hands in a placating gesture, hoping she would calm down. None of this was easy for him to say and her getting angry now was not helping matters. She would be angry enough later on.

“Yes, I nearly died. I was defending Ingwion who was unconscious and badly injured. His guard was falling about him until I was the last one standing. There was a lull in the onslaught and I was stricken by a loss of another kind that rent my fëa so badly, I could not defend myself. I literally was cut down by, I think it was two orcs, but I am not entirely certain anymore. Eonwë came to my rescue and under orders from Manwë, he healed my body. I vaguely remember one of his Maiar saying that my injury would have unhoused a Maia, but I remember nothing else besides my time in Mandos and then waking up a long time later. I guess it was weeks later maybe, I do not really remember.”

He drank more of his wine and she automatically refilled his glass, still glaring at him.

“I nearly lost you.” She set the wine skin on the blanket beside her then turned away, seeming to study the sea for a time. “I nearly lost you. Dear Eru, I nearly lost my love,” she whispered, covering her mouth with her hand. “I would have been a widowed, childless mother just like your Faroniel, just like Sartandil’s wife. All of my nightmares would have come true. They would have taken me to Lórien to mourn in despair and try to die but not be allowed to because I am supposed to be strong and be the queen.” She looked back at him again, her hand falling to her side.

“Why did you have to be king?” she angrily demanded. “We always have to be strong for everyone else and look to their well-being before ours, and all the time we are never allowed to be husband and wife or siblings or parents or friends and…and feel as those people feel and grieve as those people grieve. I…I understand why you ran away that day, my love. And I am sorry. I am so very sorry.”

He took her hand in his, squeezing it lovingly. “Being king was never my choice, but it was my duty and my honor, my obligation. I ran away for a time and my army nearly fell apart. My life did fall apart. It took me seven years to rediscover who and what I was, and as soon as I fully understood and remembered, I took my leave of my new family and I returned to the war.”

His wife looked at him uncomprehendingly. “Your…You…I…I do not understand.”

He licked his lips which had suddenly gone dry. Softly he explained, “Faroniel healed not only my body, but my fëa as well. She healed my despair and brought me hope again. I took work in the village as an assistant to the blacksmith, becoming a useful member of the community and close friends with the smith. The village was full of children in spite of the perils of mortal life, and Faroniel and I enjoyed watching them play. We both felt an ache of loss when we saw them, though I did not know I had lost children of my own. In time I grew to love her, and I… I made her my wife. Five years after twins were added unto us, recruiters came to the village to call more of the men to war. Many more of my memories returned, reminding me of my obligation to fight in this war.  I returned to the fighting, but did not reveal myself as king. I was recognized when I joined the elven warriors defending Ingwion as he lay wounded.  I still did not remember you or our children, but I remembered most everything else.”

Eärwen withdrew her hand, shaking her head as she stared at him in shock.

“Faroniel died from an illness,” he continued quickly. “The rending of the bond with her drove me to my knees and left me vulnerable to the attack which took my life, however briefly. I lost my bond with our two children then as well. My Andreth and Aicanáro, who were named for the Mortal and Elf lovers from Faroniel’s book, were left orphaned to be raised by the smith I worked for in the village. Eonwë told me that the punishment for my transgressions against you, against the blessed bond of our marriage was that I would never see my children again in Endórë. They brought me such joy and healing, forging hope where I had had none for so very, very long. For all I know now, they are dead, too. To be king, I had to abandon them all and now they are gone forever.”

The anger and horror in her face tore his heart to shreds, but he endured her brutalizing glare for he knew he deserved her hatred.

“Eärwen,” he reached for her hand, but she leaned back out of reach. He nodded, returning his hand to his lap. “I swear to you that I never stopped loving you, and I love you still. I always will. I swear to you, I always will.”

“How could you?” she begged, her hands scratching at the sleeves of her dress. “I love you… I loved you...”

After a few tense moments, Eärwen looked away, but she clenched her fists as once again her gaze met his, her bright blue eyes burning with an icy chill. “I see why Eonwë did not allow anyone to know what really happened to you. Your own army would have slaughtered you for the disgrace such knowledge would have brought them, and rightly so.”

Arafinwë nodded in agreement. “You are correct.”

Angrily, she stood up and he arose as well. Drawing her right hand back, she slapped him hard across the face. “Get out of my sight!” she cried, angry tears spilling from her eyes. “I do not ever want to see you again! I wish you had never come home and had died in Endórë instead! Then I still could have loved your memory, instead of hating this vile betrayal!”

He nodded taking a step backward, his hand going to his face which stung from her slap. He drew his hand and away and was surprised to see blood. Her ring must have cut his face. “I…I will tell your parents that you wish to remain in Alqualondë for a time and rest by the sea which is your real home and never stopped being your home even when I took you away from it. They will not question it or should not at least. I will return to Tirion this evening. You need not look upon me again.”

She turned her back, her shoulders heaving. He did not bother trying to stay his own tears for they were too many. “I am sorry, Eärwen. I swear to you that I never stopped loving you, and I love you still. And I swear to you that I always will. Farewell.”

She said nothing to him in reply, so he turned and slowly started the long walk back to the palace. Frequently he looked back, but she never followed that he saw. At one point early on, he thought he heard an agonized scream in the direction from which he had come, but he was never certain.

Why did he bother coming back to Aman? Because it was home. Because She was there. Because he was king and therefore the one person no one would leave behind.

Why did Eonwë did not let him die? It would have been an easier fate. A much easier fate…

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Neither Ingwë nor Olwë were pleased that he was leaving so abruptly, but he really did not care. His duties as king were concluded in Alqualondë and it was time for him to depart. He gave his excuses for Eärwen’s absence from his departure, claiming that she needed to remain by the sea for a time and renew her spirit. For any other among the Lindar, this would have been a valid explanation, but it was clear that Olwë and his wife did not believe him.

As he hastily mounted his horse, Ingwion came to him advising, “Please seek Irmo in Lórien. I believe he can give you the healing which you so desperately need. Then perhaps you can return to the sea that you love and the Sea Maiden who so desperately loves you.”

Nodding more in dismissal than in acknowledgement, Arafinwë tugged at his horse’s reins and rode away into the oncoming night.

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amillë - mother

adaneth – mortal woman