28: Judgment Passed
How long it lasted, he never knew. Eventually the probing stopped and he found himself lying on his back, staring into a cerulean sky. He tried to remember that last memory... something important... something to do with Beren... no, not Beren... with Mortals... something he was forgetting, or refusing to see....
He shuddered and cried out in despair as he finally faced the truth. Manwë was suddenly standing over him, looking down with great sadness.
"Yes, Findaráto, I think you are finally beginning to understand." He knelt down and gently stroked the ellon’s hair. "It’s all right for you to hate us. It’s even all right for you to hate Eru, but know why you hate. You will never return to Endórë. That door is forever closed to you. Never again will you speak with any of the Secondborn, and I think that is the greatest punishment for you, isn’t it, Mellon-in-Edain?"
Finrod could only lie there, tears streaming down his face. That had been the one thing he had refused to acknowledge to himself. He could give up his crown — had, in fact, done so. He could accept that he could never return to what he would always think of as his true home. It was the knowledge that he would never speak to any of the Edain again that left him feeling bereft. He would never sit by their fires and listen to their songs and their stories, so different from those of the Eldar, yet no less beautiful and wondrous to him because of it. Bëor, Andreth, Barahir, Beren and countless others... he had lost them all to Time and Eru’s inexorable Gift. Yet there had always been others. But now...
From the depths of his soul he screamed his rage and despair at this final loss. His Children! — for so he had always thought them. He had lost his Children forever and there was no comfort for him anywhere.
"No, Findaráto!" Manwë said somewhat sternly, his expression implacable. "They were never your Children. They did not belong to you. They do not even belong to us. They belong to themselves and to Eru alone. Just as you Eldar do. As they were never yours to begin with you cannot say you have lost them. You cannot lose what you never had in the first place."
And that was the final assault on his self-delusions, and as the walls of his conceit crumbled, he screamed again and flailed against Manwë, needing to lash out in his rage. Manwë scooped the ellon into his arms and held him tightly as he returned to his throne, allowing Finrod to spend his rage and sorrow on him and on him alone.
How long he continued in his fury he did not know, but eventually he was empty of all anger and despair. Manwë looked down at the ellon nestled in his arms, waiting for Finrod to open his eyes, waiting to see what judgment Arafinwion had passed on himself. For in truth, the Valar did not judge. They merely provided these exasperating yet loveable Children the means by which to judge themselves.
Finrod finally sighed and slowly opened his eyes and the Elder King nodded to himself, accepting the judgment he saw there. Gone was the proud King of Nargothrond. The eyes that looked back at him in confusion and a little fear were those of a six-year-old elfling....
Finda opened his eyes and through his tears saw his atto looking down at him. He wasn’t sure why he was in his atto’s arms but if he’d been crying, he must have been naughty. He didn’t remember being naughty, but he knew what he was supposed to say now. Gulping back tears he lisped, "I-I thorry, atto. Fi-finda thorry."
Manwë looked down with great tenderness at the ellon in his arms and accepted the role he’d been given in the elfling’s eyes.
"Atto knows that," Manwë said quietly, silently signalling Námo to approach his throne.
"Atto not angry?"
"No, my little elfling. Atto’s not angry. Atto loves his little Finda."
"Wh-where’s Ammë?" the once King of Nargothrond stammered, looking about but seeing nothing. Varda neatly stepped into the role being offered and came to stand beside her beloved’s throne to look down at this most adorable elfling sniffling in the arms of his "atto".
"Ammë is right here, titta meldanya," Varda reached down and stroked the ellon’s hair and little Finda gave a tremulous smile and sighed. "Do you promise your atto not to be naughty again?"
The ellon nodded. "Finda promise."
"Good," Manwë said. "Now, go with your Uncle Námo like a good little elfling." Námo stepped forward with his arms out, ready to take on the role given him and feeling rather amused by it all. Truly these Children were amazing creatures. Finda shrank back into his atto’s arms, not willing to leave the safety he felt there. "Hush, now, remember your promise."
Finda looked up at his atto, lips trembling. He wanted to be good but he was afraid he couldn’t be and he didn’t want to leave his atto’s arms. Námo knelt beside the throne and gently stroked the ellon’s hair, well aware of the conflict the elfling was experiencing.
"I have a surprise for you, titta quén."
"Wh-what surprise?" Finda asked, curious in spite of himself.
Námo smiled and whispered conspiratorially. "Oh, but if I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise. You have to come with me to see it. Would you like that?"
The ellon thought about it and all the Valar sat in perfect stillness waiting for his answer. Finally, after looking up at his beloved atto for approval, he nodded and held his arms out to be lifted up into his uncle’s arms.
"That’s my good elfling," Manwë said as he stood up to give the ellon a kiss on his brow. "Atto is very proud of his little Finda."
Finda smiled, feeling warm and loved and surprisingly safe in his Unca’ Námo’s arms. Then everything dissolved and he found himself inside a chamber and being lowered onto a bed, the covers tucked around him. Unca’ Námo leaned down and gave him something.
"Here, my elfling, here’s your surprise." It was a stuffed toy and Finda fell in love with it immediately. He took it into his arms and cuddled it, immensely happy with such a gift. Soon he was fast asleep....
He did not know that he slept that first time for twenty years of the Sun, nor did he know that afterwards his waking hours for the next century were spent happily crawling on the floor of his sleeping chamber, playing with his stuffed toys and simple games while his Maiar attendants looked on with indulgent smiles. Sometimes one of them even got on the floor and played with him and that pleased him very much. Yet he was most happy when his Unca’ Námo came to visit and he would spend hours nestled in Námo’s arms while the Lord of Mandos told him stories of how much his atto loved him....
****
When Finrod came to himself he was surprised that he was still in Námo’s arms and that the hour was so late. Dawn was not far off. The two of them were sitting on the floor.
"Welcome back," Námo said with a smile.
Finrod was suddenly aware of the fact that he was still clinging to the stuffed toy and with a muttered oath threw it away from him and tried to move out of Námo’s embrace, embarrassed and angry, but his limbs felt weak and the room started to spin so he settled back into the Vala’s arms.
"Why now?" he finally asked, his eyes closed against the dizziness. "Why am I remembering all this now?"
"Because you refused to remember before," Námo answered softly, "and we let you remain forgetful. However, the time is past when such luxuries can be allowed. Laurendil’s question was not accidental."
Finrod opened his eyes. "You made him...?"
"Not so!" came the vehement denial. "Say rather that we inspired him to ask the question that had burned in his heart for these many centuries, wondering if he could have faced what you faced in your final hour. We did not have to make him do anything, Finrod. You should know us better than that by now."
Finrod nodded and closed his eyes again, reliving the memories of his judgment and the aftermath. "I can't believe I crawled around like an infant!" he exclaimed in dismay.
"But you were an infant," Námo laughed. "A most adorable elfling, if I do say so myself. Shh. Don’t be embarrassed. Are you embarrassed about when you were an elfling in truth, toddling about after your older cousins? Why should you be embarrassed now?"
"Yet, for how long?" Finrod couldn't help asking.
"About a yén," Námo said with a smile.
"A whole yén!?" Finrod protested, finally scrambling out of Námo’s embrace. The Vala let him go.
Námo shrugged, looking at the ellon standing over him, outraged. "And so? You took the time you needed to be an infant again, to relearn innocence and the joy of delighting in simple things like stuffed toys and bedtime stories. There is no shame in that and no condemnation."
For a long time Finrod stood there, not really seeing the Vala staring at him calmly, allowing him all the time he needed to accept what was already in the past and could never be changed. He could see the ellon wavering, not wanting to give in to the truth, but he knew that the outcome was already assured. Findaráto would not disappoint.
Nor did he.
Without saying a word, he sank back to the floor and leaned against Námo’s shoulder while the Vala wrapped an arm around him. He sighed in contentment as he felt his 'Uncle' Námo’s arms giving him comfort. In a soft hesitant voice he asked, "W-will you tell me again how much my atto loves me, Unca’ Námo?"
Námo smiled at his favorite 'elfling'. "Would you like me to show you, instead?" he asked gently and when Finrod nodded, he leaned over and kissed the ellon on the brow.
Finrod gasped and attempted to resist what was happening. He was suddenly and inexplicably afraid and his greatest fear was having his sense of self destroyed by the Other that was even now drawing near to embrace him. For an eternity that could be measured in the blink of an eye he held his ground and then, in a desperate act of blind estel, he flung his fëa into the abyss and allowed the Other to take him.
Námo held the elf’s writhing form close to him, offering his support, making sure that none in the palace heard their prince’s shrieks of joy as wave after wave of indescribable divine ecstasy drew him ever deeper, ever higher and ever more closely into Love’s eternal embrace. His Light of Being shone brightly, brighter than it ever had before or ever would after and only the stars and the Valar were witnesses.
When he finally became aware of himself and his surroundings, he lay still, his senses numb, his mind reeling with what had happened. All of Eä had opened up to him and his fëa felt too large for his hröa, though that feeling began to subside as memory faded to more acceptable levels.
"Is... is it always like... that?" he whispered, his voice husky with emotion.
Námo smiled, though Finrod could not see. "Usually. Sometimes it’s even better."
Finrod shifted his position and then made a sound of disgust. He was wet. Every part of him was wringing with sweat. Even his hair felt gummy. Námo gave a snort of amusement at the ellon’s fastidious disgust and helped him rise.
Finrod stripped the sweat-soaked nightshirt off, preparing to use the tepid water from the washstand to wash the sweat from him, but suddenly realized that a tub of steaming hot water sat in the middle of the room. He glanced at Námo who merely smiled. "Don’t let all that hot water go cold." Then he handed Finrod a soft cloth, and a bar of soap.
Finrod laughed at that and climbed into the tub while Námo held a large towel ready for when he was ready to come out. In a short while Finrod was dried off and dressed in a clean nightshirt. He climbed into bed, pulling the covers around him. Námo picked up the discarded toy from the floor where Finrod had thrown it and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Do you still want this, or should I put it away?" His tone was not condescending, for he was genuinely interested in Finrod’s answer.
Finrod hesitated, feeling stupid, then reluctantly held out his arms and nodded. Námo smiled warmly, gave the toy to the elf and kissed him on the brow. "That’s my favorite elfling now." He started singing an ancient lullaby as he stroked the ellon’s hair and soon Finrod was fast asleep.
****
When Glorfindel peeked in several hours later to see Finrod still sleeping, the stuffed toy nestled in the ellon’s arms, he felt tears forming in his eyes at the sight, though he could not say why. It was only when he tiptoed further into the room that he noticed that Lord Námo was sitting in the rocking chair, wreathed in shadows.
"He had a difficult night," the Vala whispered, putting a finger to his lips.
Glorfindel nodded, glad that his gwador had not been alone in his hour of need. He bent down and gave Finrod a kiss on the brow before bowing to Námo and exiting.
Finrod never woke, but he gave a soft sigh and nestled further under the covers.
****
Mellon-in-Edain: (Sindarin) Friend-of-Men, one of Finrod’s titles.
Titta meldanya: (Quenya) My little dear (one).
Titta quén: (Quenya) Little one.
Yén: (Quenya) An elvish century, numbering 144 solar years.
Note: As an 'elfling' of six years, Finrod would have been only 2.5 years old in human terms.