The Findaráto Diaries by Fiondil

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Chapter 21: Hunting

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21: Hunting

The disaster that was Amarië’s begetting day party, I think, set me back somewhat. I became surly and unresponsive to those around me, refusing even to leave my rooms. I would sit by one of the embrasures and stare out into a garden I did not see, my mind calling up a different garden, one more familiar to me than the royal pleasaunces of Tirion. I sat there for hours, happily imagining Glorfindel and myself playing in that garden, or tending the plants or just sitting under the bower eating scones with clotted cream and raspberry jam to our hearts’ content. We were glad, for there were no Amariës or tiresome courtiers or even bothersome Maiar ruining our fun.

It was a lovely fantasy, but only that. And as with all fantasies, this one could not last....

****

Arafinwë and Eärwen let their son mope for two days before deciding that was long enough. Thus, early on the morning of the third day, Finrod woke to his atar shaking him. He focused his eyes, blearily realizing that it was not yet dawn and gazed stupidly up at his atar who was dressed in an old tunic of forest green with a grey cloak thrown around his shoulders.

"Get dressed," Arafinwë said shortly. "I’ve already laid out your clothes. You have ten minutes and if you are not dressed by then I will have your body servants do it for you."

Finrod scrambled out of the bed with alacrity, for his atar’s tone was cold and deadly and he knew that it was no idle threat. He looked about frantically for the aforesaid clothes, missing the slight smile on Arafinwë’s face as the king left his son and heir to fend for himself. "When you are ready," he said as he reached the door, "I’ll be in our sitting room."

Eight minutes later Finrod was stumbling into the sitting room dressed in an old tunic of rain-washed grey with an equally old cloak of dark grey draped over his arm. He found his atar waiting for him, seated before a table, sipping on some tea. He gestured for Finrod to join him. "Eat. We leave in half an hour."

"Wh-where are we going?" Finrod asked, as he helped himself to some toast, slathering butter and black cherry jam on it as Arafinwë poured some tea into another cup for him.

"You’ll see," was his atar’s reply and Finrod had to be content with that as he chewed on his toast and downed his tea. Once they were done with breakfast, Arafinwë rose and headed for the door with Finrod following him, wondering what this was all about. Few servants were up yet, so early it was, and only the guards of the last watch were about, smartly saluting them as they passed.

Rather than heading for the front portico, Arafinwë led him through back corridors until they came to a door that opened onto an alley. Finrod refrained from asking any questions, thinking that no answers would be forthcoming anyway, and followed his atar down the alley and across a small plaza to yet another alley. In the pearly-grey of false dawn they encountered no one along the way. Their route took them downhill towards the city wall and eventually they came to the south gate where two guards waited with four horses. Finrod recognized Mistaráto and smiled at the sight of the great grey who whinnied a greeting to him. He also recognized the guards — Calandil, who was his atar’s chief guard and Amandur, who had been assigned to him upon his return to Tirion. The ellon was young, having been born around the time of the War of Wrath while Finrod was wandering the Halls of Mandos with Glorfindel, giving Lord Námo grief. Finrod suspected that was why his atar had assigned Amandur to him, for they had no previous history and Amandur was not in awe of him. A tentative friendship had grown between them and the young guard gave his charge a merry smile in greeting, though he did not speak. Finrod gave him a smile in return, though, in truth, he was feeling rather bemused, not knowing what was going on.

"All is set, aranya," Calandil said as the four mounted their horses.

Arafinwë nodded. "Good. Let us go then." With that he urged his horse forward and the gate guards gave him a salute as he passed through with Finrod beside him and the two guards trailing. The king made his way along the road, the same road that they had traveled to the granaries, but they passed the road leading there and continued on into the south for another hour. By then, the sun was up and the day promised to be fair. They eventually came to another road that was little more than a slightly overgrown path, heading west, and Arafinwë took it. In the middle distance Finrod saw a smudge of blue-green that marked the eaves of a forest and tried to recall if he knew of it.

"The Royal Reserve," he said suddenly as memory came to the fore.

Arafinwë cast him a look of approval. "Yes. That is our destination."

"Why?" Finrod asked.

"You’ll see when we get there," his atar answered and the silence that had been between them earlier settled around them again.

The forest was not far and soon they were riding under its cool shade, the path continuing between the trees until it was lost. They dismounted and gave the horses leave to graze, while the four made their way further into the woods. Calandil went ahead while Amandur took the rear; Finrod followed behind his atar. As they moved silently through the forest Finrod felt himself relaxing muscles he was not aware were even tense and the heavy gloom that had settled over his fëa since the party lifted somewhat and he began to feel less sad.

About a half an hour later they came into a small clearing where a hunter’s hut was located. Finrod eyed it curiously. It was small, barely big enough to fit two people, but Finrod realized that its primary purpose was to store hunting bows and other supplies. Calandil went inside and soon was passing out bows and quivers, bringing along a satchel bulging with viands. Finrod automatically gave the bow and arrows handed to him a critical eye, running his hand along the shaft, stringing it and testing the tension.

"You do not recognize it?" Arafinwë asked suddenly and Finrod gave him a bemused look. "The bow. You do not recognize it." Finrod shook his head. "It was yours a long time ago," his atar said and Finrod gave it a closer look.

"Sorry, Atto," he said after a moment of reflection. "I don’t remember."

Arafinwë shrugged. "Not to worry. It’s a minor detail of no real importance. I just thought you might remember it from before. I was surprised when I returned to Tirion to find it in your room, propped in a corner."

Finrod shrugged. "As to that, I have no answer. Perhaps I was in too much of a hurry to leave and forgot. I seem to recall having a bow with me, though, as we made our way across the Helcaraxë." He frowned, trying to dredge up the memory more clearly, then gave them another shrug. "Perhaps I ended up borrowing someone else’s spare."

"Well, it matters little now," Arafinwë said with a nod. "Shall we go?"

"Where exactly are we going, Atto?" Finrod asked as Calandil again took the lead, heading further west.

"Why, we’re going hunting, yonya," Arafinwë said. "I would think that was obvious."

"Yes, but why?" Finrod demanded.

His atar stopped and gave him a searching look while the two guards stood by pretending indifference, yet their eyes never ceased to move and their stances were ones of readiness should the need arise. "We used to do this a long time ago, you and I," Arafinwë finally answered, his tone somewhat wistful. "I thought you would enjoy doing so again."

Finrod stared at him for a moment before nodding. "I don’t really remember, but Lord Irmo warned me that some memories will never come and that it was more important to create new memories to go with my new life than to spend my days searching for old memories of a life that was no longer mine."

"Lord Irmo is correct," Arafinwë said, putting an arm around his son’s shoulders. "So, let us see what new memories we can create between us today, shall we?" He gave Finrod a warm smile and a quick kiss on his forehead and Finrod nodded, giving his atar a smile in return. Satisfied, Arafinwë turned to Calandil, nodding to him and the guard bowed briefly before turning back to the track that he was following and they continued on their way.

After a period of silence, Arafinwë spoke softly to his son as they loped quietly through the forest side-by-side. "I have spoken to Amarië and told her how displeased I was by her behavior the other night."

Finrod cringed somewhat. "You shouldn’t have," he said, speaking softly as well. "I don’t know why she stays here. She should go back to Vanyamar where she belongs."

Arafinwë glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Her parents said the same thing, but she was adamant that she remain in Tirion."

"Why?" Finrod asked, clearly puzzled and at a loss to understand the motivations of ellith.

"I asked her that myself," Arafinwë told him, "and she said that it was important that she abide in Tirion. She was sure that you would come to your senses and return to us at some point. She was not happy to find that you did not return with me, but she insisted you would return someday and she would be here waiting."

Finrod shook his head in dismay. "Stupid," he muttered, "wasting her life that way and I barely remember her now."

"She still hopes that you will and when you do you will remember the love that you shared," Arafinwë said.

Finrod sighed. "Everything is so complicated," he groused, scowling.

Arafinwë merely smiled. "Such is life, my son."

They continued on in silence again and the further into the forest they traveled the more tense Finrod began to feel, though he could not say why. His senses were heightened and he began to glance around as if looking for something. "What are we hunting, Atto?" he asked in a whisper.

Before Arafinwë could reply, though, there was a sudden flurry of motion in the trees and several black-feathered birds rose in the air. Finrod went into a crouch, quickly nocking an arrow. "Yrch!" he hissed, slipping effortlessly into Sindarin. "Angrod, Aegnor, godhartho nin. Edrahil, no tiriel!"

He started moving again, seeing not the Royal Reserve of the Noldóran but the trackless forests of Dorthonion hard by Ladros which he had given unto Boromir, the grandson of his Mortal friend, Bëor, and their people for their own. There had been rumors of incursions by orcs in that region and Finrod had traveled north out of Nargothrond to consult with his brothers and to see for himself if the rumors were true. He vaguely heard someone calling ‘Findaráto! Findaráto!’ but the name held no meaning for him. He was Finrod Felagund, King of Nargothrond and these were his lands.

He ran effortlessly through the woods, silent as a leaf falling to the ground, all senses alert as he hunted the hated orcs. Yet, oddly, there was no trace of them, and that puzzled him, for the birds often had been their first warning of the presence of Morgoth’s minions. He stopped to ponder the situation and then, oddly, a horn sounded in the distance, high and sweet and wild its sound, sending his blood pounding and his breath quickening. He saw his brothers and Edrahil going still at the sound as well.

The horn sounded again, and the power of it took him, and with a wordless cry Finrod was running again, heedless of all but the horn and his need to follow it, to come to the one who blew it. On he ran. Forgotten were his atar and the two guards. Forgotten were his brothers and Edrahil. Forgotten, even, were the orcs whom he had been hunting. The horn sounded a third time and he gave an exultant cry, for it was nearer now. He ran even faster, never noticing the subtle shifting of Reality as the Royal Forest made way for another forest far to the north, a forest no Elf had ever trod.

Only when he came into a glade full of golden-green sunlight did he slow his pace, stopping to catch his breath and stare in wonder. There, before him, was Lord Oromë holding a large horn belonging to an animal Finrod could put no name to, chased in bands of mithril and gold with a baldric of green. Etched upon the horn were runes that seemed to flow across its face, causing Finrod to look away for the sheer power that they evoked. This was the Valaróma he had heard blowing and he stood there blinking away his confusion while the Lord of Forests and the Hunt, along with several Maiar who were ranged about him, stood there smiling.

"Welcome, my children," the Vala said warmly and it was only then that Finrod realized that his atar, Calandil and Amandur were with him. Arafinwë put a hand on his shoulder and Finrod turned to face him.

"Yonya," the king said, looking both concerned and upset, "why did you run away?"

Finrod blinked a few times, trying to gather his thoughts which seemed to have scattered like leaves in the wind. He shook his head. "F-farannen yrch ir...."

"Quenya, child," Arafinwë said with some exasperation. "You must speak Quenya, not Sindarin."

Before Finrod could formulate a reply, Lord Oromë spoke. "Come here, Findaráto."

Finrod went to stand before the Vala, still feeling confused. Oromë gazed at him calmly, deep love in his eyes, and the longer Finrod stared into the Vala’s eyes, the quieter his mind and fëa became until at the last he let out a deep shuddering breath and all the tension seemed to leave him, and he felt more centered.

"That’s better," Oromë said kindly. "Tell me, child, where were you before I sounded my horn?"

"I... I was in Dorthonion, in the region of Ladros," Finrod answered, then paused for a second. "Wasn’t I?"

Oromë shook his head. "Not in reality," he replied, "only in your mind. You were deep inside a memory of an earlier time and could no longer differentiate between the past and the present. Do you know what triggered the memory?"

Finrod had to think for a moment, recalling what had happened. "There was a sudden flight of birds, black-feathered birds," he said slowly, gathering his thoughts. He looked up at the Vala. "They always warned us of the presence of orcs and such," he ended, now looking apologetic as he realized what he had done.

Arafinwë came to stand next to him. "You were issuing orders in Sindarin that I did not understand, for I never bothered to learn more than a few phrases of command in that language while I was in Beleriand."

"I’m sorry," Finrod said, frowning. "I don’t really understand it. One minute I was walking by your side, the next I was running through the forests of Dorthonion chasing after orcs with my brothers." He gave Oromë an enquiring look.

The Vala merely shrugged. "My brother Námo tells me that often a memory becomes so overwhelming as an emotional connection is made that the one experiencing it does not realize that it is merely a memory. Instead, they relive it."

"It was so real," Finrod said in amazement, "though at the time I wondered why there were no signs of the orcs which the birds had warned me were near."

Oromë nodded in understanding. Then Arafinwë spoke, addressing the Vala. "We’re no longer in the Royal Forest, lord," he said, casting a look about him. "How is that possible?"

Oromë laughed. "I altered Reality somewhat so that you have traveled many hundreds of leagues in a matter of minutes. We are far to the north of Eldamar. Indeed, even further north than Formenos."

"Why?" Finrod couldn’t help asking, then blushed when both his atar and Lord Oromë gave him amused looks.

"Because I desired to speak with you," Oromë said with another laugh, "and I decided to bring you to me rather than me chasing you all over Aman." The Maiar all laughed at their lord’s words while Finrod found himself blushing.

"Will this happen again?" Arafinwë asked then, nodding toward his son, "and if it does, how do we deal with it?"

"You do not," Oromë said gravely. "We will." And the implications of his words were not lost on any of them. "As for your first question, the answer to that is, perhaps. My brother says that there is no rhyme or reason as to when or if such will occur." He gave Arafinwë a knowing smile. "When it comes to the Reborn, my son, expect the unexpected."

Both Arafinwë and Finrod sighed, though for different reasons. "I’m sorry, Atto," Finrod said remorsefully. "I don’t mean to cause trouble...."

Arafinwë took him in his arms and hugged him. "You are no trouble, child," he said gently, then gave him a wry grin. "I just hope we don’t have another episode such as this one. You gave us a merry chase."

Finrod replied with a weak grin of his own, stealing a glance at Calandil and Amandur who had been standing silent during their discussion. He felt a little better when he saw Amandur give him a wink.

"So what now, lord?" Arafinwë asked Oromë. "You say that we are many hundreds of leagues away from where we were and the way back will be long and wearisome."

Oromë shook his head. "When the time comes, I will return you to your forest, Pityahúnya, but until then, will you hunt with me, my children?"

"Wh-what will we hunt?" Finrod asked.

Oromë gave him an almost feral look and Finrod found himself taking an involuntary step back. "Evil," was the Vala’s reply and before any of them could speak, he raised his great horn to his lips and blew upon it.

****

The sun was low in the west when Finrod came to himself. He was standing in a small glade with his atar and the two guards, all of them blinking as if just waking from deep sleep. Finrod tried to remember what had happened to him, but all he caught were scattered images: running beside Lord Oromë and his Maiar, battling creatures out of nightmare, exalting in his first kill as the Vala blooded him. He raised a tentative hand to his face and felt the sticky wetness on his cheek. When he drew his hand away there were bloodstains upon his fingers.

"It... it was real," he whispered in awe as he stared at his fingers. He noticed that Amandur, too, had been blooded and the ellon looked dazed, his grey eyes dark with emotion.

"Yes," Arafinwë said. "It was real. Come. I recognize this part of the Reserve. There is a stream nearby where you may wash off the blood before we return to Tirion. It will not do to show up looking as you do. Your ammë would have a fit."

Finrod grinned at his atar and nodded as Arafinwë led them to the stream and the two younger ellyn washed the blood from their faces. It turned out that they were not too far from where they had entered the forest earlier that day and soon they were reunited with their steeds, heading back to Tirion. The first stars greeted them as they came nigh to the south gate.

****

Words are Sindarin unless otherwise noted.

Yrch!: Orcs!

Angrod, Aegnor, godhartho nin. Edrahil, no tiriel!: ‘Angrod, Aegnor, stay together with me. Edrahil, be watchful!’

Farannen yrch ir....: ‘I was hunting orcs when....’.

Pityahúnya: (Quenya) My little hound. Pityahuan ‘Little hound’ is an epessë or nickname given to Arafinwë by Lord Manwë. When appending a suffix, ‘huan’ becomes ‘hún-’.