34: A Lesson In Manners
Author's Note: Warning for a somewhat graphic description given by Glorfindel of his own death when, in a fit of adolescent pique, he tries to gross out the Vanyar. Then Lord Námo enters the picture....
****
Glorfindel was somewhat embarrassed to wake in Ingwë’s arms, but opined that he felt better for the brief rest when Ingwë asked. The shock of emotions he had felt earlier had dimmed to more acceptable levels and he was able to put them into perspective. The past was the past, he realized. It could not be altered. He did not turn back, he went forward. That alone made him the person he was at that moment.
Since the feast was a formal affair, Glorfindel dressed in his finest brocade robes with the yellow flowers of his House figured prominently in the pattern. He had embroidered the flowers himself while still in Lórien. He braided his hair carefully, making sure each braid was absolutely correct.
When he joined the other Noldor waiting in an antechamber to be announced, the ellith giggled at the sight of him (he didn’t mind that because they always giggled at the sight of him), and Vorondil frowned in disgust (he didn’t mind that either because Vorondil always frowned in disgust whenever he saw Glorfindel). Elessairon and Lómion, on the other hand, greeted him civilly, Elessairon going so far as to admire his braids.
"I wish I could wear warrior braids like yours if only to shock my atar to the core," the ellon said with a smile.
Glorfindel smiled back. "I wish you could, too, just to see your atar’s face." Glorfindel had met the imperious Lord Calmacil and was in complete sympathy with the ellon.
"Well, perhaps someday I can earn them," Elessairon said.
Glorfindel felt his smile melt away and shook his head. "I fervently hope that you never have to, Elessairon. The price paid for these comes too dear." He lifted one of the braids and let it fall through his fingers.
"Yet you paid it," Lómion countered.
"Aye, and then spent the next several centuries in Mandos for my trouble. You don’t fully appreciate how very fortunate you are, all of you. The Mahtalë Únótimë Nírion was not named thus because it sounds good in a minstrel’s song."
"Were you there?"
Glorfindel turned to see Alassiel approaching. She was in the company of several others, including Findis, who smiled at him. Some of those accompanying Alassiel bore a remarkable resemblance to the High King and were obviously his kin to one degree or another. Lady Tinwetariel was notably missing from the crowd for which Glorfindel was grateful. "My lady?" he asked with a brief bow which included everyone there.
"At the battle you just mentioned. Were you there?"
"Yes, I was," he said shortly, not wishing to elaborate, for how would any of them understand?
"Is that how you died?"
"Alassiel!" Findis reprimanded the younger elleth. "Are you deliberately being rude?"
Glorfindel shook his head and held up his hand, a grim smile on his face. "Peace, Aunt. It’s a fair enough question and perhaps it’s about time it was given an answer."
Findis looked doubtful. One of the ellon with her, who reminded Glorfindel of Ingwë in looks, raised an eyebrow at Glorfindel. "Answer then, Etyangol, for we would all like to hear what you have to say."
Glorfindel stared at the ellon in surprise then shrugged, deciding the insult was not worth the trouble, then turned to Alassiel. "No, child, I did not die at the Mahtalë Únótimë Nírion, but some four decades later at the fall of Ondolindë. I was charged with seeing to the safety of the Lady Itarildë and her young son, Eärendil."
There was a stir at the mention of Eärendil’s name but no one interrupted. Glorfindel made a mental note to ask about that later. He continued, never taking his eyes off Alassiel.
"We were making our way through one of the northern passes of the Echoriath that surrounded the city. We were almost through. We thought we were safe. Then, one of Melkor’s valaraucar found us."
He paused, more for effect than anything else and smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. When he spoke it was softly, without any emotion, and that made his words sound even more terrifying to his listeners.
"I attacked it. A creature of flame and shadow and I attacked it. My eyes were the first to go, burned out of their sockets by the monster’s flames. I was blind, but still I fought. My flesh melted and was charred to the bone, but still I fought. The pain was excruciating, but I could not scream because my throat had been burned away, and still I fought. I was cuivië-lancassë, already dead, but I didn’t know it. All I knew was that I had to destroy the creature or all was lost. Finally, we fell, the valarauco and I, into an abyss. We died together, embracing one another in the end like lovers in the throes of ecstasy."
He looked around, noticing the sick looks that some of the listeners wore. He switched to a light, conversational tone. "I am told that Sorontar himself brought my body out of the abyss. They built a cairn for me on the side of the path below the pass... I wouldn’t know. By then my fëa had fled to Mandos and I was groveling naked at Lord Námo’s feet begging to go back." Then he smiled. "Of course, that didn’t happen, and so, here I am." He spread his arms out.
For a long moment no one spoke. Indeed no one moved. Then Alassiel gave a short brittle laugh. "You’ve made that up, seldo," she said accusingly.
There was a rush of air and then Námo was in their midst looking grim. They all stood back in shock and attempted abortive bows and curtsies. Glorfindel sighed dramatically and scowled.
"Now what did I do?" he demanded. "Aren’t you getting as tired of this as I am?"
Námo gave him a quick glance then laughed. He pulled the ellon into his embrace and rocked him. "Ah, Glorfindel, you are such a delight." Námo kissed him gently on the head and then released him, his expression growing grim as his dark eyes swept the assembled elves. They lighted upon Alassiel, who trembled slightly but held herself upright. Glorfindel had to admire her courage, or her stupidity, he thought as he stood beside the Lord of Mandos.
"Come here, Alassiel," Námo gestured and with a nervous swallow the elleth complied. Námo gazed at her for several minutes without speaking. Alassiel tried to return the Vala’s regard but was not able to maintain eye contact. Glorfindel sympathized. Few could face the Lord of Mandos with any amount of equanimity, and not for long.
The Lord of Mandos ran a finger lightly down the elleth’s cheek. She gasped, closed her eyes and shivered, but whether from delight or fear, none could tell. "When one of the Reborn tells you of their death, child," Námo said softly, "it is best to believe them. The manner of one’s dying is nothing anyone can make up."
Alassiel opened her eyes and stared at the Lord of Mandos for a moment before nodding. Námo continued stroking her cheek for another minute as he allowed the silence to lengthen. Then he glanced at Glorfindel who gave the Vala a cheeky grin.
"As long as you’re here, my lord, would you tell Alassiel to stop calling me ‘seldo’? I’m older than she is."
"Hmmph. I find that hard to believe," Alassiel whispered, sounding affronted, then blushed when Námo looked at her.
Námo turned back to Glorfindel and raised an eyebrow. "Thion sui naneth gîn achen?" he asked deliberately in Sindarin.
"Dan, pedithal assen?" Glorfindel replied in the same language with a laugh.
Námo glanced back at Alassiel who glowered at Glorfindel. He smiled and several elves blanched at that smile and stepped back, including Alassiel and Glorfindel. "Oh no, my children," he said, grabbing their hands, "I think you both need a lesson in manners." He then forced them to hold each other’s hand though both struggled mightily against it. As soon as their hands touched, Alassiel’s eyes widened, then she fell to her knees and screamed. Glorfindel looked on, horrified.
"What’s happening to her?" he shouted, going to his own knees, grimacing at the death grip with which Alassiel held him. "My lord, stop it. You’re hurting her. Don’t hurt her." He was crying now, begging, trying to pull his hand out of hers but Námo’s grip on both their hands was implacable and he could not escape.
"Do you wish to relieve her of the pain she’s feeling, child?" Námo asked, a dark flame glowing from his eyes.
Glorfindel looked up and nodded, his face white with terror, not for himself, but for the elleth writhing on the floor before him, lost in agonies he could only imagine. "Yes! Yes!" he practically screamed. "I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt her. She’s just a child."
Námo nodded. "Very well, Balrog-slayer. All you have to do is...let go," and he released his grip.
Glorfindel had to pry Alassiel’s fingers apart enough for him to slip his hand out of hers. All the while she continued to scream. He gathered her into his arms and held her tightly, rocking back and forth in an attempt to comfort her. "I’m sorry, I’m sorry," he wept. "Shhh. Please. Don’t cry anymore. It’s over. Shh."
Alassiel, however, continued screaming though her screams turned to gasps and they eventually became soft whimpers as she leaned against him, finally succumbing to unconsciousness. Glorfindel looked up at Námo, who had remained unmoved. "What did..."
"She did not believe in your death. I decided she should experience it for herself."
Glorfindel’s horror turned to anger. "You had no right!" he screamed, beyond caring to whom he was speaking. "That was my death. Mine! No one should have had to experience it but me!"
"Have you really experienced it, though, child?" came the infuriatingly calm voice of the Vala. "Have you?"
Glorfindel stared at the Vala in consternation and then slumped slightly. "I-I don’t remember the pain," he said quietly.
"Alassiel does. She remembers everything you’ve forgotten about your own dying. If you wish to help her, you must open yourself to her and let her give you back your memories."
"W-will she forget, then?" Glorfindel asked hopefully. The idea of this lovely child, however irritating she might be, being forced to live his death appalled him. No one deserved such punishment.
"This is not a punishment, Glorfindel," Námo said, shaking his head. "It’s a lesson... for both of you. And no, she will not forget, but neither will the memories overwhelm her."
"So how do..."
"Kiss her."
"Huh?"
Námo’s smile was actually genuine. "On the lips."
Glorfindel stared at the Vala in disbelief. "Are you sure this isn’t a punishment?"
Someone actually sniggered. "What’s the matter Glorfindel? Don’t you like ellith?"
Glorfindel looked about to see Elessairon smiling. He had quite forgotten everyone else during the ensuing drama. He glowered at the ellon. "Of course I like ellith," he replied with feigned disdain, "just as long as they’re not in the same room with me."
This elicited laughter all around. Findis knelt down beside him. Like the others, she was pale and distraught at what she had witnessed but she was in control of herself and her eyes even held a twinkle of amusement in them. "Don’t worry, Nephew. I’ll act as chaperone so there’s no accusation of impropriety."
Glorfindel looked back up at the Lord of Mandos. "There’s no other way?"
"None."
The ellon nodded resignedly, grimaced somewhat in embarrassment at having an audience, then leaned over and as gently as he knew how, kissed the elleth on the lips. She never stirred, but the lines of agony on her brow began to smooth. He had just enough time to release his hold on Alassiel and yell, "Findis, take her!" before falling on his back, his eyes wide open.
If he screamed, he did not afterwards remember.
****
When he came to, Glorfindel found himself staring up at Ingwë, whose look of concern changed to one of relief. The High King had come upon the scene just in time to witness Námo forcing Glorfindel and Alassiel to hold hands. He still felt a little shaken himself at what he had seen and heard.
Námo stood impassively behind him. Glorfindel realized his head was in someone’s lap and rolling his eyes up saw that the ellon who had challenged him to tell about his death was gently stroking his hair. He was speaking to Ingwë.
"It’s my fault, Atar. I was the one who encouraged Glorfindel to tell us about how he died. Cousin Findis was right to accuse Alassiel of being rude, but I was just as rude. I’m sorry."
Ingwë shook his head. "We’ll speak later, Ingwion. Let us concentrate on these two children for the nonce."
Ingwion nodded, then looked down at Glorfindel. "How are you feeling, meldonya?"
Glorfindel tried to sit up but collapsed back into Ingwion’s lap and closed his eyes. "I think I’ve been better."
"The dizziness will pass," Námo assured him, sounding not unkind. Glorfindel opened his eyes again.
"Alassiel?"
"She sleeps," the Vala answered. "She will have little memory of what happened, but she won’t entirely forget."
"And you, hinya? Are you well now?" Ingwë asked.
Glorfindel closed his eyes again, feeling suddenly weary. "No, my lord, I am not... but I will be."
"Well, in that case you should probably retire and get some rest," Ingwë said.
"But what of the feast, my lord?" Glorfindel asked, opening his eyes again and frowning.
"I think we’ll forget the feast for tonight," Ingwë replied with a smile. "Most of the food’s gone cold anyway and the cooks are not happy. I’ll have something sent to you, if you like."
"Forgive me, my lord. I seem to have spoiled everything."
Elessairon suddenly knelt beside him, facing the High King. He was smiling, though his face was still pale from the distress he had felt earlier. "Not everything, Glorfindel. Lómion and I never cared for having to dress up anyway. Now we can get out of these ridiculous robes earlier than we had hoped and relax. Thank you."
"You’re welcome... I think."
The High King stood up, satisfied that all was well and looked at Námo. "It isn’t that I’m not glad to see you, my lord," he said with an ironic smile on his lips, "but under the circumstances...."
Námo simply nodded though there was a glint of humor in his eyes. "Next time, I’ll be sure to send sufficient notice."
"Next time?" Ingwë asked, raising an eyebrow.
Námo sighed dramatically and pointed at Glorfindel who was still lying with his head in Ingwion’s lap, the sense of dizziness he had felt earlier beginning to fade. "With this one, there’s always a next time."
Glorfindel stuck his tongue out at the Vala. The elves were startled when they heard Námo’s laughter even as he faded from sight.
****
Words are Quenya unless otherwise noted.
Mahtalë Únótimë Nírion: The Battle of Unnumbered Tears; Dagor Nirnath Arnediad in Sindarin. Mahtalë is the abstract form of the verb mahta- "to fight (with a sword)".
Etyangol: Exiled Noldo. Could be considered an insult at this point in time.
Cuivië-lancassë: On the brink of life; describing a perilous situation in which one is likely to fall into death.
Sorontar: Quenya equivalent of the Sindarin Thorondor.
Thion sui naneth gîn achen?: (Sindarin) "Do I look like your mother?" (literally, "Appear/seem I like your mother to you?")
Dan, pedithal assen?: (Sindarin) "But, will you speak to her?"