The Findaráto Diaries by Fiondil

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Chapter 5: Trouble Brewing

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5: Trouble Brewing

I do not know how long I tarried in the Gardens of the Reborn which are found just outside the Halls of Mandos. Looking back, I find it curious that in all the time I was there, I never once wondered about any other garden. I never once asked the Maiar about any others who had been reborn. It was as if I were the only one (and perhaps at the time, I was). Even though I was remembering my former life, remembering a wide world and two continents with a Sea between, I was, strangely enough, fine with the idea of this one garden containing all the world I would ever need from now on. I was content to remain in paradise.

Yet, as with all things, I learned that paradise is not always as idyllic as one would hope....

****

It was some days after the memory of his death had so shaken him that signs of discontent began to surface in Finrod. Its terror had lessened and he found that he could sleep inside at night now as long as there were several candles lit. He was not entirely comfortable with doing so, though, and delayed going indoors as long as possible, but his attendants gently encouraged him to try. Eventually, he was sleeping less in the day and more at night.

That was both a good and a bad thing, as far as Finrod was concerned. Good, because it seemed to make Olórin and Tindomerel happy and Finrod was, above all else, eager for his Maiar attendants to be happy with him. He craved their approval, for he had no others to affirm him. The memories of his former life embarrassed him on certain levels and he feared the Maiar’s disapproval, though it was never evident. It was also a bad thing, because it seemed that that one memory had opened the floodgates and now other memories crowded his mind, plaguing him while he slept.

Thus, it was that on a morning bright with sunshine and promise, Finrod awoke from a particularly disturbing dream-memory feeling surly and out of sorts. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, face in his hands, struggling to wipe the cobwebs of sleep from his mind, trying to sort out the fractured images of his dream, when the cottage door opened and Tindomerel stepped through, bearing a breakfast tray.

"Good morning," she said brightly as she placed the tray on a nearby table.

Finrod grunted but otherwise did not respond. Tindomerel gave him a piercing look, though he did not see. She came and sat on the bed beside him, gently rubbing his back.

"Bad dream?" she asked sympathetically.

"My brothers are dead," was Finrod’s response, lifting his face from his hands, his eyes red with tears, his expression bleak.

"Yes, they are," the Maia said.

Finrod gave her a scathing glare. "Is that all you have to say?" he demanded, leaping from the bed to face her. "They’re dead! I saw them die and I could do nothing to save them. Where are they? Are they still in Mandos? Can I see them?"

Tindomerel stood, taking the ellon by the shoulders and trying to calm him. "They have not yet been reborn," she said.

"Why not?" Finrod exclaimed in surprise. "They died before I did. They should have been released before me."

"It doesn’t work that way, child...."

"Stop calling me that! I’m not a child! I’m certainly not yours!" he snarled, pulling himself away and storming out of the cottage in nothing but his nightshirt.

The Maia sighed, wondering if she should go after the ellon. He was in a fine state, that was for sure. There always seemed to be a time when the Reborn began to exhibit darker emotions of anger and distrust. It saddened her that their trusting, cheerful dispositions would be replaced with other less desirable emotions. Yet, it was the way of things and it was always best to let the Reborn alone when they were feeling these emotions. Usually, they would hide in a tree and sulk for a while but that was about it.

She decided to clean up the cottage while Finrod was out. She half thought to go after him with a proper set of clothes and shoes for him but decided that it wasn’t worth the effort. The Maia was just plumping the pillows when she sensed rather than heard something wrong. She went to the doorway and glanced out, looking for her charge. At first, she did not see him, but then she noticed movement further within the garden surrounding the cottage and there was a silent scream of pain reverberating through her fëa.

Tindomerel rushed to where she knew Finrod to be and stopped in shock at the sight of the ellon madly ripping up the plants, heedlessly throwing them over his shoulder or flinging them in any direction. He was caked with dirt and his eyes were dark with fury and pain.

"They’re dead! They’re dead! And I’m alive! Why am I alive? I was dead. Why aren’t they alive, too?" he screamed even as he continued to destroy a part of the garden, seemingly never noticing the blood dripping from his hands as rosethorns ripped his flesh.

"Finrod!" Tindomerel shouted, running to stop him, silently calling for aid, for she had the feeling it would take both her and Olórin to calm him. "Findaráto! Stop that at once!"

"They’re dead!" he screeched as she took him in her embrace and held him, though he continued to writhe and squirm.

"Yes, they are."

The low, darkly melodic voice stopped him cold. Finrod looked up from underneath golden bangs to see Lord Námo standing there. His mien was solemn and his garb was in dark contrast to the brightness of the morning: unrelieved black with the emblem of the Sun-in-Eclipse embroidered in gold on his chest. On his head he wore a crown of white gold intricately wrought in the shape of flames with a single large multi-faceted ruby in the center, the jewel appearing enflamed under the sun.

"Put him down, Tindomerel," Námo commanded, never taking his eyes off the ellon. "And I suppose you should prepare a bath for our... gardener." The last was said in a tone of voice that made Finrod want to crawl away and hide.

Tindomerel bowed to her lord and went back to the cottage. Námo glanced around at the destruction before returning his gaze to the ellon standing before him, panting from the exertion of his fit, refusing to look at him.

"Quite a tantrum," the Lord of Mandos said. "I do not think Yavanna will be pleased. She takes great pride in these gardens."

Finrod did not say anything, though he cringed at the Vala’s cold tone.

"Care to talk about it?" Námo asked in a less forbidding voice.

The Elf shook his head, still refusing to look up.

For a moment Námo stood there gauging the ellon’s state. "Very well," he said in a more commanding tone. "Until you are, you will be confined to the cottage. Go and bathe."

Finrod paled at the Vala’s words but did not speak. Without giving Námo a proper bow he turned and shuffled down the garden path to the cottage where Tindomerel stood waiting for him. Once bathed and wearing a clean nightshirt, he played with his breakfast, not really eating. Finally, Tindomerel took the tray away and he crawled back into bed and pulled the covers over him.

It was a very long day for both Elda and Maia.

****

"How is he, my dear?" Olórin asked Tindomerel later that evening. They were sitting on a bench beside the cottage, watching the sun set in a brilliant display of fire and enjoying the peace of the early evening. Olórin would be watching over the ellon through the night and into the next morning while Tindomerel attended to other duties.

His fellow Maia gave him a wry grin. "Miserable. He’s refused to eat, leaving his bed only long enough to use the privy. He’s not moved otherwise nor spoken."

Olórin nodded. "It happens," he said. "It usually takes them a day or two to work their way through the misery. How is the garden? Have any of Lady Yavanna’s People been around to restore it?"

Tindomerel shook her head. "No. Cemendillë stopped by to take a look at the destruction, shook her head in dismay and left again without saying a word. It’s only a small part of the garden, mostly the rose bushes along the left side of the path. The poor child’s hands were nearly ripped to shreds by the thorns. Lady Estë came and restored them while he was sleeping, though she said there would be small scars to remind him of what he did."

"Hmm..." Olórin said, his eyes darkening with thought. "And so our latest Reborn is already marred."

"By his own hands," Tindomerel replied.

"Oh, I did not mean that," the other Maia said. "I meant marred by the past."

"But they all are from the moment they begin to remember," Tindomerel retorted. "They learn how to hate all over again." Her tone was one of deep regret.

Olórin gave her a sympathetic smile. "A consequence of the Marring, I’m afraid. But that is not what I meant. I meant that he has discovered or rather rediscovered guilt. He does not understand why he has been allowed to live again when his brothers still remain in Mandos. He is feeling guilty for being alive when they are not."

Tindomerel sighed. "And guilt is the great crippler of the fëa."

"Indeed."

The two Maiar stood to give Lord Námo their obeisance as he appeared before them. Unlike earlier, his appearance was less forbidding, his tunic a midnight blue and heavily embroidered with silver thread in an intricate knotwork pattern. On his head was a simple circlet of silver with a single emerald cabochon in the center that glinted dully in the twilight.

He gave them a sardonic smile. "So he still refuses to speak, does he?"

"Yes, lord," Tindomerel said, "at least to me. I’m afraid I was not helpful earlier when he first woke."

"You answered him truthfully," Námo said, waving away her apology with a single gesture. "It was what he needed to hear, even if he wasn’t willing to hear it."

"How long do we give him?" Olórin asked.

"Not long," Námo answered. "In fact, I mean to put an end to his sulking right now."

Both Maiar kept their expressions carefully neutral though they were both feeling shocked. It was rare for their lord to intervene directly in the lives of the Reborn once they were brought to the Gardens. He usually left it to the Maiar attendants to deal with any upsets.

"You are surprised," the Vala said with a smile. The Maiar nodded, but refrained from speaking. Námo nodded. "Findaráto is a different case from the other Reborn. His position in Eldarin society as the firstborn son of the Noldóran makes him special. My brother and I have decided to take a more direct role in seeing to his... shall we say, re-education."

"And we...." Tindomerel started to say.

"You will continue to be his primary caregivers," Námo said, "for as long as he is in these Gardens. However, I will sometimes take over when I deem it necessary, as in this present case."

"That is why you came rather than Olórin when I called for help," Tindomerel said, the light of understanding brightening her eyes.

"Yes," Námo said, "and that is why I am here now. You are both dismissed from your duties tonight. You may return in the morning."

The Maiar gave the Vala looks of concern and Námo smiled. "Don’t worry. If I get into any trouble, I’ll call you."

They were both laughing quietly as they gave him their obeisance and faded from view. Námo stood for a moment, drinking in the night air, redolent with night-blooming jasmine, before entering the cottage. Inside there were several thick candles burning, candles that would burn throughout the night. Hunched in the middle of the bed was Finrod, the covers concealing him from the Vala’s view. Drawing up a chair beside the bed, he sat, contemplating how best to handle the situation.

*You could always pull the covers off him,* he heard Irmo suggest.

*Or throw cold water over him,* Yavanna chimed in. Námo could still feel her anger at the destruction the ellon had caused.

*Perhaps you should just wait until he needs to get up and relieve himself,* Vairë said.

Námo snorted silently. *The sight of me at that point might cause him to... um... have an accident, instead.*

There were snickers all around. It was Varda who came up with a plausible solution. *Why don’t you brighten the place up a bit?* she said, sending an image of him standing at the end of the bed and glowing.

*That might just work,* Námo said, getting out of the chair and standing at the bed’s foot. "Findaráto," he called softly yet insistently. "Come, child, it is time you and I talked."

He allowed his true self to seep through his fana so that the light in the cottage brightened perceptibly, though he still retained his physical form. The glow of his aura began to eclipse the candles and it was as if the sun were rising.

Finrod stirred reluctantly, the growing light disturbing his slumbers. He vaguely heard someone calling to him and the voice was one he recognized, though he could not give a name to it. Almost unconsciously he began to come out of his self-induced torpor, throwing back the covers and blinking stupidly.

"That’s it," Námo said encouragingly. "Time to put aside your anger, child. Time for us to talk." He dimmed his aura, allowing his fana to take a more solid form. The candlelight seemed almost negligible afterwards and he allowed the ellon a moment or two to adjust to the dimmer light as he sat down again.

Finrod rolled over, struggling into a half-sitting position, eyeing the Vala with some trepidation. Námo stared back at him with a placid smile. "You’ve been behaving rather badly, you know. The garden did not deserve your ire."

The ellon cast his eyes down, and even in the dim candlelight, Námo could see the flush in his face. "I’m sorry," he whispered, still not looking up.

"I’m sure you are," Námo said, "and you will tender your apologies to Lady Yavanna as well."

Finrod sighed, closing his eyes, waiting. He had no words to express the pain and sense of betrayal that he felt just then. He did not understand what exactly he was feeling. He recognized that it was something he had felt in his previous life but he could not name the emotion that ruled him and that left him feeling vulnerable and confused.

"It’s called guilt," Námo said, divining the ellon’s inner turmoil. Finrod opened his eyes, casting a questioning look his way. The Vala nodded. "The emotion you’re feeling is called guilt," he reiterated. "You wonder why you are alive when others are not."

"They died before me," Finrod said quietly.

"And you feel guilty for being reborn first," Námo stated. Finrod nodded. "Tell me, child," the Vala asked after a moment or two of silence, "do you feel guilty for having been your parents’ firstborn?"

Finrod blinked two or three times, trying to understand Námo’s question. Finally, he shook his head.

"Then why should you feel guilty now?" Námo enquired in a gentle tone. "You were the first child to be born to Arafinwë and Eärwen. Is it not proper that you should be the first to be reborn?" He stood, gazing down at the ellon lying there still with a look of confusion on his face and sighed. "I will give you time to think about it. In the morning Lady Yavanna will come. She will administer whatever punishment she deems appropriate." He leaned over and brushed a hand gently through Finrod’s hair. "Sleep now, Findaráto."

He could feel the ellon fighting to remain awake, but as he continued his ministrations, the Elf slowly succumbed. Námo rearranged the covers, tucking the ellon in more securely. Then, he resumed his seat to keep vigil until the dawn.

****

Noldóran: King of the Noldor, i.e. Arafinwë.

Fana: The veil or raiment in which a Vala or Maia presents him- or herself to physical eyes when self-incarnating.