The Findaráto Diaries by Fiondil

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Chapter 13: Glorfindel

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13: Glorfindel

Memories are tricky and seemingly unreliable. Soon after my re-embodiment, if you had asked me about my elflinghood, I could have told you about it in great detail, though there was little emotional connection to those memories at first. That came later. Yet, the memories of my adulthood came grudgingly, if at all, and never whole or in a chronological sequence that made any sense. The Maiar explained that most memories would be triggered by some other event: a word spoken, a scent smelled, even the simple touch of another’s hand on one’s arm. There was no rhyme or reason for it.

Strangely, to me, was the vagueness of the memory of my time in Mandos. I would try to recall specifics as to what I did while waiting to be Reborn, yet more often than not I would draw a blank. Was I alone or with others? Did I wander the Halls or sit in a room with no doors? Did any speak to me or was my existence a silent void? Did I sleep away the time of waiting or not?

I did not know the answers to those questions at first, but one day the answers came all in a rush.....

****

Finrod was never sure how long he stayed in Lórien. Sometimes it seemed to him as if he’d only been there a few days, other times, a few years. Other Reborn came and went. The two ellyn who shared his pavilion remained, though they told him that he was the second person to share the grove with them.

"We had another ellon sharing with us when we first arrived," Brethorn told him one day as they were taking their ease after breaking fast. "He was a Noldo, one of those who died during the Crossing of the Helcaraxë. He did not stay long."

"Who was he?" Finrod asked. "Perhaps I knew him."

"His name was Aldamir," Saelmir answered. "He said he was a follower of Turgon."

"The name is unfamiliar to me," Finrod said. "I did not know all who followed my cousin."

"I would have been surprised if you had," Brethorn said with a smile. "Did you know all who followed under your banner?"

"No, I can’t say that I did," Finrod answered with an embarrassed smile, "though I made a valiant effort and always there were my captains who were charged with keeping an eye on all the rest."

"Well, Aldamir never made it to Beleriand or to Gondolin with Turgon," Brethorn commented. "I’d say he was one of the lucky ones, all things considered."

"Hmmm...." was Finrod’s only comment and then one of the Lóriennildi journeymen came to their pavilion to remind Finrod that he was due to attend a history lecture while the other two ellyn were late for their own classes.

"I will be so happy to be out of here and away from them," Saelmir muttered in Sindarin to Finrod and Brethorn as the ellyn made their way out of the grove, passing the Lóriennildo to go their separate ways.

"Násië!" Brethorn said fervently. Both Finrod and Saelmir smothered giggles, ignoring the glare from the Lóriennildo.

****

Finrod found the history lectures both interesting and frustrating. He was genuinely interested in finding out what happened to his kingdom after his death and the fate of Beleriand, but he was frustrated by the fact that little of that information was being given by Master Calamírë, a Vanyarin elleth. She was more intent on telling them about what happened in Aman after the Rebellion. Finrod hated that word, not because he did not agree that that is what the Noldor had done, but the fact that the Vanya seemed to delight in blaming everything that happened in Aman afterwards on the fact that the Noldor had rebelled. And frankly, he did not care about Aman at the moment. His only real concern was knowing what happened to his own people in Beleriand. Unfortunately, the other Reborn were of little help in that regard. Most had died before him, and the few who lived after him could recall little of any use yet.

"Prince Findaráto," Master Calamírë said, "would you care to join us?"

Finrod started, unaware that he’d been daydreaming and paying little mind to whatever the Master had been saying. There were some titters from the rest of the class — three ellith and four other ellyn, none of whom were Noldor, nor were they known to him from his previous life, though they knew of him and what he had done. He felt himself reddening in embarrassment.

"My apologies, Master Calamírë," he said. "I guess my mind was elsewhere."

"Obviously," the Master said with a wry twist of a smile. "Now, as I was saying, not long after the Noldor left, the present Noldóran, Arafinwë, returned with some of his people...."

"Excuse me, Master," Finrod interrupted, "but do you know what happened to Nargothrond and my people?"

The Vanya glared at him. "All you need to know, Prince Findaráto, is that all of Heceldamar is drowned. Your Narg-whatever...."

"Nargothrond," Finrod whispered sadly, feeling a tightness in his chest as he tried to keep the tears at bay, not wanting to embarrass himself further before the others.

Calamírë nodded, "Your kingdom is gone, destroyed along with all the other kingdoms of Heceldamar during the War of Wrath, which we will get to shortly."

"Nargothrond was the first to fall before Morgoth’s wrath," one of the ellon said in whispered Sindarin.

Finrod felt himself pale at that and turned to the one who had spoken. "How....?"

"Enough!" Calamírë said. "You know you are not to speak that barbarous tongue here. You will never fit in if you don’t start speaking Quenya."

"And what if we don’t want to fit in?" Finrod exclaimed angrily. "Sindarin is not barbarous. It’s a very beautiful language and frankly I prefer speaking it than Quenya."

"That is neither here nor there, Prince...."

"Don’t call me that!" Finrod shouted, leaping from his seat. "I used to be a king and...."

"Exactly!" Calamírë retorted, looking somewhat triumphant. "Used to be, but not any more. Eldamar is your home now, for all of you, and you had best get used to the idea. Now, if we can continue this lesson...."

"What do we care of Aman?" Finrod exclaimed. "I have no desire to know what happened here. This is not my home and never will be."

With that he stalked out of the pavilion where the class was being held and headed for the grove’s entrance intent on finding a secluded place where he could mourn Nargothrond in private. But that was not to be.

"Findaráto! Stop!" he heard Calamírë shout and in spite of himself he did just that, but he refused to turn around, merely stood there with his hands clenched in fists, his jaw set. He heard the Master approach but continued staring straight ahead, still seething. Then she stopped and for a moment or two there was silence.

"Turn around," he heard her say but he refused and was ready to move again when a shimmer of light followed by the smell of roses and wisteria warned him that one of the Maiar was there. Ingil appeared before him, looking grave. He glanced over Finrod’s head to Calamírë.

"Trouble?" he asked.

"A bit," Calamírë answered wryly. "We seem not to like history today."

"She refuses to tell me what happened to Nargothrond," Finrod retorted. "All she can talk about is how we Noldor who rebelled are responsible for all the woes in Aman that followed. I don’t care about Aman. All I care about is my home and my people."

By now the others in the class had come to witness the confrontation. Finrod noticed that the ellon who had spoken to him — Gilgaran was his name, previously from Gondolin as he recalled — was looking particularly upset.

"Yet, your home is here now, as are your people," Ingil said in a reasonable tone.

"Just what I’ve been trying to tell them, but they won’t listen to me," huffed Calamírë.

"Peace, Calamírë," Ingil said, holding up a hand. The Maia cast his gaze on the ellyn and ellith gathered around. "You are all Sindar," he said. "Do you feel as Findaráto?"

Most of them nodded. "We just want to go home," Gilgaran muttered.

"You know Gondolin no longer exists, Gilgaran," Ingil said gently. "Nothing of Beleriand exists save a small bit of coast land that was once Ossiriand."

"Why can we not go there then?" one of the ellith asked in a plaintive voice. "There’s nothing here for us in Aman. They’re not even our own people!"

The Maia shook his head. "None who die can ever return to Middle-earth, Hithrían. That is the decree of the Valar. But do not think that there is no place for you here. Many of your kin who survived the War of Wrath sailed and now reside on Tol Eressëa. I assure you that you will find a warm welcome there."

"And what of me?" Finrod demanded. "Will I, too, go to Tol Eressëa?"

"That has not been decided yet," Ingil said somewhat distantly and Finrod paled as the implications of his words sank in.

"At any rate," Calamírë said in a conciliatory voice, "you need to understand what happened here and why so you will be better prepared for your new life. So, let us continue our lesson, shall we?"

Finrod and the others reluctantly agreed and trudged back to the pavilion with the Master and the Maia trailing. As they were taking their seats, Gilgaran spoke to Finrod, speaking in Sindarin. "I feel the same as you. All I want to know is what happened to my friends and family after I died. I don’t even know if my own lord, Penlod, survived."

"To which House did you belong?" Morwen, another elleth, asked. "I remember that Lord Penlod led two of them."

"The Tower of Snow," Gilgaran answered. "He also led the House of the Pillar."

Morwen nodded. "I belonged to the House of the Fountain, led by Lord Ecthelion," she said. "I remember how he and Lord Glorfindel would...."

"Glorfi!" Finrod suddenly yelled and leapt from his seat, staring wildly about. "Where’s Glorfi? What has happened to my gwador?"

Ingil was immediately beside him, taking him into his embrace and holding him as gently as he could though the ellon struggled to be released. "Hush, child," he admonished him softly. "There is no need to panic. Your gwador is safe, I assure you."

"What is going on?" Calamírë demanded, though her tone was more respectful as she was addressing the Maia rather than one of the Reborn. "I wish they would stop jabbering in that language of theirs."

"Perhaps if you bothered to learn it, you would understand that Findaráto is experiencing a sudden memory," the Maia said somewhat coldly.

"Of this Nargothrond he keeps talking about?" she asked in exasperation.

Ingil shook his head. "No. He is remembering Mandos and those whom he befriended there. I will take him," he said and gently led the ellon from the pavilion.

Finrod had not paid too much attention to the conversation between Maia and Master, lost as he was in the memory of his time in Mandos, and in particular his friendship with Glorfindel. He looked up at the Maia as he was being led away. "Where’s Glorfi? Is he here? Can I see him?" he asked, his voice plaintive.

"No, child," Ingil said with a tinge of sorrow in his voice. "He still resides in Mandos and I do not know when he will be released."

Finrod burst into tears and tried to leave the Maia’s embrace, but Ingil held him tightly as he continued to lead him away. And then Eärnur was there, his face full of concern. Finrod had no idea how he came to be there but he was suddenly grateful for his friend’s presence. Eärnur spoke softly to Ingil for a moment and then the two of them were leading Finrod into a small grove, one he had never seen before. It was bare of any pavilion but a tall spreading oak rose in the midst of the grove, towering over the trees that surrounded it.

Almost as soon as they entered, Finrod felt a sense of peace mantle over him and his tears abated somewhat. Ingil released him and Eärnur took him by an elbow and steered him toward the oak, encouraging him to sit under it. Eärnur sat beside him while Ingil stood looking down on them both, his expression compassionate.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Eärnur asked quietly.

At first, Finrod felt some reluctance, but after a moment or two he nodded. "I remember my... my ortorno," he said.

"From your first life?" Eärnur asked.

Finrod shook his head. "I met Glorfindel in Mandos where we became fast friends. I don’t think I ever met him before that." He looked up at Ingil with a questioning look.

The Maia shrugged. "I do not know either. I only know that Glorfindel followed Turucáno’s banner and became a great lord of Gondolin."

Finrod nodded, turning his attention to Eärnur. "Not long after we arrived in Beleriand, I founded Nargothrond and moved my people there. I never saw my cousin Turucáno again." Then he looked back at Ingil. "Do you know when he will be released?"

Ingil shook his head. "Only Lord Námo and the Elder King know that and they only release someone with Ilúvatar’s blessing."

"Yo-you mean he might never be released?" Finrod asked in dismay.

Ingil smiled. "Oh, I have no doubt he will be in time. Search your memories. Do you remember how it was with you two in Mandos?"

Finrod scrunched his brow in deep thought, trying to gather the memories that had suddenly come to him about Glorfindel into some semblance of sense. After a long moment, his expression cleared somewhat. "I think we were... um... often in trouble with Lord Námo," he said somewhat sheepishly, his face reddening. He noticed Eärnur’s eyes widening.

"To say the least," Ingil replied with a wide smile, "or so I’ve been told. I doubt Lord Námo will keep Glorfindel in Mandos any longer than necessary. Even without you there to lead him astray, he’s still somewhat... troublesome."

"I never led him astray," Finrod protested. "He was the one who was always getting us into trouble."

"Oh?" Eärnur replied, looking skeptical. "Do tell."

Finrod glowered at him but the knowing grin that Eärnur gave him was too much and he started to grin back. "Well, there was this one time when I found a door that hadn’t been there before and...."

Finrod began spinning his tale and soon had both Eärnur and Ingil laughing. When he finished, Ingil asked him to verify something one of Lord Námo’s Maia had told him about another incident involving him and Glorfindel, and Finrod began telling them that story as well. It was only some time later that he came to realize what Eärnur and Ingil were doing, encouraging him to tell stories of his and Glorfindel’s exploits in Mandos. As each tale was told, he found himself feeling more lighthearted and accepting of what was. By the time he finished telling the last tale, he was also feeling more hopeful that someday soon he and his beloved gwador would be reunited, never to be separated again.

****

Násië: (Quenya) Amen.

Heceldamar: (Quenya) Land of the Forsaken Elves, a name for Beleriand used by the loremasters of Aman.