The Findaráto Diaries by Fiondil

---

Chapter 8: First Day in Lórien

---

8: First Day in Lórien

Lórien proved an awkward time for me as it must for all Reborn. From solitary existence except for one’s attendant Maiar to having to deal with other people on a daily basis was something of a shock. I think, though, that it is done on purpose, something similar to being thrown into a deep pool and told to start swimming. You either learn to tread water or you sink. So it was when I came to Lórien: I was immediately thrown into situations where I had only fragmentary memories to rely on for guidance, memories of my previous life and how I interacted with others then. Most of the time, or so it seemed, it felt as if I were drowning....

****

"This is where you will be staying," Ingil said to Finrod as the Maia led him into one of the groves set aside for the Reborn. Ingil had come to him after his discussion with Lords Irmo and Námo, smiling warmly at the ellon.

Finrod looked at the grove with some doubt. It was not very large and there was only a single pavilion with a smaller wooden construction opposite the entrance that Ingil said was the privy. The pavilion was large and consisted of two main spaces. Along the right side were three cots, separated from one another by tapestry screens, providing some modicum of privacy. At the foot of each cot was a clothespress and at the head was a small night table. Two of the cots were already occupied from the looks of things so Finrod placed his haversack on the cot that was furthest from the entrance. On the left side of the pavilion there were three comfortable chairs around a low table, almost like a sitting room. Colorful rugs graced the ground and in the back left corner there was a mirrored washstand with a basin and ewer. A lantern hung from the central post and there was another on the low table. Small candles were on the night tables beside each cot.

Finrod stared at the place with some dismay. He was unsure if he could deal with living with others in the same pavilion. He thought at least he would be given his own place instead of having to share. Ingil, having seen similar expressions on other Reborn, smiled gently, patting the ellon on the shoulder.

"It’s not as terrible as you might think, Findaráto," the Maia said. "I promise that in a very short while you won’t even think twice about it. Now, as soon as... ah... I see Súrilindë is here with your two companions."

Finrod turned to see two ellyn, Sindar by the looks of them, coming towards them in the company of another Maia who wore the purple surcoat with the silver harp denoting one of the People of Estë. The two Maiar greeted one another with smiles while the two ellyn eyed Finrod somewhat suspiciously. Finrod tried not to squirm under their scrutiny. Súrilindë made the introductions, his voice sounding like chimes gently blowing in the wind.

"Brethorn, Saelmir, let me make you known to Findaráto," the Maia said, speaking in carefully enunciated Quenya.

Brethorn turned out to be the taller of the two, his hair a truer silver than Saelmir’s, whose darker locks suggested that he might be of mixed heritage. Both ellyn frowned and Saelmir glanced up at Súrilindë.

"That’s not a Sindarin name," he said almost accusingly, speaking his own language.

The Maia grinned. "Nay. It is Quenya, but you might know the Sindarin form better: Finrod."

Now both ellyn stared at Finrod with something akin to awe, making him feel extremely uncomfortable. He glanced down at his feet, not willing to make eye contact with anyone, wishing he were back in his little garden.

"The Finrod?" Brethorn whispered. "The one whom all called Felagund?"

"Aran Nargothrond?" Saelmir said, paling.

"No," Ingil said firmly. "Simply Finrod. Whatever titles any of you may have held in Beleriand do not apply here in Aman. Finrod, both Brethorn and Saelmir died a few years after you in a terrible battle called the Dagor Nirnaeth Arnediad. Brethorn was attached to your cousin Fingon’s army while Saelmir hales from Gondolin."

"Gondolin?" Finrod asked, looking up at Ingil in puzzlement.

"The hidden realm of your other cousin, Turgon," Ingil supplied.

Finrod went absolutely white at the mention of Turgon’s name, reeling so that both Ingil and Brethorn reached out to grab him to prevent him from collapsing.

"Elenwë!" Finrod wailed. "We lost Elenwë!" He started weeping and Ingil took him into his embrace, casting a rueful look at his fellow Maia, who began to usher the two Sindar away, their own expressions ones of shock and dismay. "Let’s give him some privacy," Súrilindë said to them quietly. "Come. I hear the bell for the evening meal ringing."

Soon only Ingil was alone with Finrod, gently rocking him and making soothing noises until the ellon finally calmed. "A frightening memory," he said and Finrod nodded. "But only a memory. One of many."

"Is... is Elenwë... alive?" Finrod stuttered, remaining in the Maia’s embrace.

"No," Ingil answered. "She still resides in Mandos. Her time for release is not yet."

Finrod sighed. After a moment he said, "Do I have to stay here?"

"Where would you go?" Ingil asked. To that Finrod had no ready answer. Ingil smiled as he held the ellon away from him. "You are embarrassed by their reaction to your name," he stated.

"It’s just a name," Finrod protested.

"A well known name," the Maia replied. "The name of a king and a hero."

"Why can I not just be Finrod, as you said?"

"You can, if you let others know that you do not want any special treatment from them," Ingil said. "Whatever your stations in life, you all have one thing in common: you died. Death is a great leveler, for it makes no distinction between nobles and commoners, Noldor and Sindar, men and women, adults and children. You are all Reborn and who you were before your death is less important than who you are now. In time, Brethorn and Saelmir and others will not be so intimidated by you simply because of your name."

Finrod still looked doubtful but finally he shrugged as if to put his doubts aside for a time and gave the Maia a sly look. "Did I hear Súrilindë say something about dinner?"

Ingil gave a light laugh. "Come. I will show you where the dining pavilion is where all eat in common." Finrod nodded and together they went in search of dinner.

****

As soon as they entered the dining pavilion all conversations stopped and Finrod swallowed nervously at the stares he got from everyone there. First one, then another of the Elves stood in respect and soon all were standing, silently looking upon the first of the kings of Beleriand to be released from Mandos, though the object of their scrutiny was unaware of this. Finrod actually took a step back, meaning to flee, but Ingil kept a firm hand on his back. The Maia bent down and whispered in his ear.

"Do not let them intimidate you," he said. "You were once a king. Some of these may well have been your own subjects."

Finrod’s eyes widened and his heart raced at that thought. He felt himself begin to panic and then a memory arose in his mind of himself surrounded by Elves who turned their backs on him, all save ten. He was unsure what the memory meant, or why he was having it now, but it steadied him and he took a deep centering breath, slowly releasing it. He straightened, his bearing and mien becoming more regal, his eyes shining with the Light of the Trees, though he was unaware of this. He saw several of the nearer Elves cast their eyes down, their faces flushed, as if in shame, and wondered, but he dismissed it from his mind as he addressed the assembly.

"If you continue standing like that your dinners will get cold," he said, then he glanced at Ingil, who gave him an encouraging smile, pointing to where several tables were lined against one long side of the pavilion, laden with meat and drink.

"Choose what you will," the Maia said, "and sit where you please."

Finrod nodded and moved towards the sideboards. Almost at once several Elves rushed to serve him. He held up his hand, frowning. All motion stopped. "Excuse me," he said softly, "but I have not needed help in feeding myself for months now. Return to your seats and resume eating before the food goes cold and all the hard work that went into providing this repast is for naught."

The other Reborn shuffled reluctantly back to their seats while Finrod continued to the sideboards and began choosing his dinner, all the while aware of the eyes that followed his every move. He sighed inwardly, wondering how he was going to survive this. When he reached the end of the tables he turned to see where he might sit, hoping there was a place in a dark corner where no one would bother him. He had the distinct feeling that everyone there was going to ignore their own dinners while they watched him eat his. His appetite was fast waning. Looking about he recognized Brethorn and Saelmir, the latter hesitantly gesturing to him. He nodded and made his way to them.

"We... we saved you a seat... er... aran," Saelmir stammered, giving him an awkward bow.

"Súrilindë said we should," Brethorn said almost at the same time. "Please sit... um... aran." He gestured towards an empty spot on the bench next to him.

Finrod glanced at the two Sindar and the several Elves who shared their table, all staring at him with expressions ranging from awe to trepidation. He carefully placed his trencher and goblet on the table, then straightened, giving them all a cool stare. "The next person who calls me aran," he said in a voice he knew carried throughout the pavilion, "will find themselves washing the dishes...."

"Hey! We do that anyway," someone yelled out, apparently unimpressed by the threat, and there were nervous titters all around.

Finrod turned to where the heckler stood at another table, his smile dangerous. "... of every household in Eldamar," he ended.

There was absolute silence while they all considered the probability of the threat ever happening. Looking at Finrod’s expression some of them decided not to push their luck.

"So what do we call you?" one of the other Elves, an elleth, at their table asked.

"Finrod or Findaráto," the once King of Nargothrond said with a shrug.

"But we can’t just call you that," the elleth protested. "You’re a... a king!"

"No," Finrod said decisively. "I am just another Reborn, no different from the rest of you. Now, you all may do as you wish, but I’m going to sit here and have my dinner." With that, he sat down, picked up a fork and began eating, trying to ignore everyone else. He wasn’t all that hungry any more but he refused to bolt, however much he wanted to just find a tree to climb into and hide.

Then he heard Brethorn sigh and the ellon sat down and resumed his own meal. Soon, Saelmir did the same and then everyone else at their table sat, picking up their forks, all the while stealing glances at Finrod who studiously ignored them. The rest of the Elves also sat, quietly resuming their conversations, though at the table where Finrod was sitting there was silence. Finally, though, Brethorn got up the nerve to say something.

"So... er... Finrod," he said hesitantly, "how do you like Lòrien so far?"

Finrod put down his fork and gazed around at the Elves who had stopped to hear his reply and sighed. "I think I would prefer being back in Mandos giving Lord Námo grief."

There was a brief pause and then Brethorn laughed, clapping Finrod on the back. "Wouldn’t we all," he said and soon everyone else joined him in laughter. The Maiar who happened to be stationed there in case any of the Reborn needed assistance or, more likely, reminders of proper behavior, grinned at one another.

****

After that, Finrod’s first dinner in Lórien became much more enjoyable. Saelmir and Brethorn introduced some of the other Elves at their table. The elleth who had spoken up earlier was Alpheldis. She was a Sinda who had lived in Eglarest. Another was Nestadôr, a Noldo who had followed Maglor to Beleriand. When Finrod politely enquired of his family in Aman, the ellon shook his head.

"I do not think I have any," he said. "At any rate, I think I will go to Tol Eressëa and live there." At Finrod’s obvious confusion he explained further. "When the Valar permitted the Noldor to return to Aman after the War of Wrath, they let them settle on Tol Eressëa, for they are not allowed to return to their previous homes which they had abandoned." Finrod nodded his understanding and the ellon continued. "Anyway, I’ve met a few other Reborn Noldor whom I remember from before and none of us really want to go back to our old lives before we left Aman."

"What will you do?" Finrod asked. He had not really thought about what would happen to him once he left Lórien. He had not yet thought that far ahead, but talking to Nestadôr brought to mind the fact that some day soon he would be faced with a similar decision.

Nestadôr shrugged. "I was a healer in Beleriand attached to Lord Maglor’s household. I don’t know if there is any need for healers here, outside Lórien, I mean, but I do not want to go back to what I was before the Darkening. Too much has happened since."

There were nods all around, at least among those who were Noldor. The Sindar seemed nervous about the discussion. Finrod turned to Brethorn and Saelmir. "And what about you two? Do you know what you will be doing when you leave here? Will you go to Tol Eressëa as well?"

Saelmir nodded. "Most likely," he said. "If we have kin among the Teleri, I doubt they will be comfortable with us or we with them. I would prefer to live among those who remember our homes in Beleriand and who speak Sindarin. Quenya is too hard."

There was appreciative laughter among the Sindar while the Noldor, Finrod included, all rolled their eyes in mock exasperation. "Well in that case," Finrod said with a glint in his eyes, then he turned to Nestadôr and his next words were in Quenya. "So, how was my cousin Macalaurë when last you saw him?"

"Hey!" Saelmir protested. "Not fair!"

Finrod glanced at the ellon and stuck out his tongue, much to everyone’s surprise, Saelmir’s not the least. Then he turned back to Nestadôr who sat there grinning. "He was still alive when I died," he said, also speaking Quenya, "but I do not know what his fate was afterwards."

After that the conversation flowed to other topics, sometimes in Quenya, other times in Sindarin, as the dinner progressed. When they were finished eating, several of the Elves began gathering the dirty dishes, for they had drawn kitchen duty that day. All were amazed when Finrod calmly picked up a towel, offering to help with the drying. No one was foolish enough to object. Some who had not drawn kitchen duty, including Brethorn and Saelmir, remained behind, inspired by Finrod’s example, and offered their assistance as well, thus lightening the load for everyone.

Ingil, standing beside Súrilindë and the other Maiar, watched with approval. "I think he’ll do," he said softly so none but his fellow Maiar heard. They all nodded, equally pleased with the newest Reborn to come to Lórien.

****

Words are Sindarin unless otherwise noted.

Alpheldis: Swan Friend [alph ‘swan’ + veldis, lenited form of meldis ‘(fem.) friend’].

Brethorn: Beech-tree.

Nestadôr: Healing Counsel.

Saelmir: Wise Jewel.

Súrilindë: (Quenya) Wind Song.

Aran Nargothrond: King of Nargothrond.

Dagor Nirnaeth Arnediad: Battle of Unnumbered Tears, the Fifth Battle, which occurred in I-471. Finrod died in 468.