In Darkness Bound by Fiondil

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Chapter 104: Waiting Game

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104: Waiting Game

Ingwion looked up from the papers he was perusing in what was referred to as the royal townhouse’s library, though there were no books on its shelves, to see Lindarion standing at the doorway, frowning slightly. "What is it, Cousin?" he asked the heir of Alqualondë, using a form of the word to indicate, not so much kinship, but an acknowledgment of being of the same generation and social rank, for they were both of them heirs to their atar’s thrones.

Lindarion entered the room and plopped down on a chair across from Ingwion with a sigh. "I hate this place," he said.

Ingwion raised an eyebrow, putting aside the treatise written by Fëanáro that he had found in a drawer of a writing desk in the library and, in spite of himself, had begun reading.

"And what is it about this place that sets you on edge?" he asked, noticing the tenseness of the ellon’s posture.

Instead of answering, Lindarion nodded at the sheaf of papers lying on the end table where Ingwion had put them. "What are you reading?"

Ingwion shrugged. "Something I found in the desk while I was looking for some writing paper. It’s a treatise on sound changes in Primitive Quendian as they relate to Common Eldarin. It was written by Fëanáro." He gave the ellon an apologetic look. "It’s really quite interesting and well written. I have no idea what it’s doing here though. I would think it would have been placed in the archives of the Lambengolmor."

Lindarion scowled. "It should be burned, along with everything else that... that excrement ever touched."

The vehemence of his words shocked Ingwion and all he could do was sit there and gape at the Teler. Lindarion had the grace to blush but did not apologize. "This whole house reeks of him," he said. "Look! Those objects are all his, I understand." He pointed to a shelf where lay various objects of undetermined function. One or two were statues, crudely made, and Ingwion realized they must have been early attempts by a very young Fëanáro. Whether Finwë had placed them here to proudly display his son’s artistic endeavors or they’d been put here out of the way, too crude to be displayed in the palace of Tirion, but too precious in a doting atar’s eyes to destroy, Ingwion neither knew nor cared. He simply ignored them.

He gave Lindarion a shrug. "If you want to destroy them, be my guest," he said with a faint smile. "I won’t stop you and I doubt either Finwë or Fëanáro are in a position to know or care. Most likely they’ve been forgotten."

Lindarion scowled even more. "I would like nothing better than to do just that, but I know Atar would disapprove."

"How soon do you leave?" Ingwion asked, deciding to change the subject, for he really did not want to discuss Fëanáro.

"Atar and Eärwen are still at the market," Lindarion answered. "Atar wanted to pick up some trinkets for Ammë and the ellith. I think we’ll be leaving once they return. I, for one, will be glad to be on the way. I miss the ocean and the smell of brine in the air."

Ingwion nodded in sympathy. "I hate to see you go, for I’ve enjoyed your company, but I know you cannot stay."

"What about you?" Lindarion asked. "It’s been three days by my estimate since our audience with Lord Manwë. Will you truly just sit here and wait for whoever is supposed to come?"

"Do I have a choice?" Ingwion retorted with a snort, rising to go to a sideboard to fill his goblet with more wine, lifting an eyebrow at Lindarion, silently asking if the ellon wished to join him. When Lindarion nodded, he poured wine into a second goblet and returned with them, giving Lindarion one as he resumed his seat, taking an appreciative sip of the deep red wine that had a fruity taste of raspberry and oak. "I promised the Elder King and Lord Oromë that I would stay put. Eccaldamos is even now checking with anyone who might have seen my atar when he was here. Hopefully, someone noticed something that might give us a clue as to what happened to him."

"Hopefully so," Lindarion said in agreement.

They were interrupted by the sound of voices, which they recognized and they grinned at one another. "Sounds like your sister and atar are back," Ingwion said as the two rose, placing their half-empty goblets on a side table and making their way to the front entrance where they did indeed find Olwë and Eärwen, with servants taking their packages to put with the rest of their luggage. Olwë was quietly giving instructions to his chief guard concerning when they would be leaving for Alqualondë while Eärwen stood by listening.

"Did you buy out all of Eldamas?" Ingwion asked with a laugh as he spied the many packages being whisked away by the servants. Olwë smiled while Eärwen gave him a smirk. "When do you leave?" he asked Olwë.

"Within the hour," came the answer, "once we’ve freshened up a bit and had a bite to eat. I see no point in lingering here. Cemendil is safely in Lord Irmo’s care, and while my audience with Lord Manwë was less than satisfactory, I know that he will honor his oath to me and when things are less uncertain we will sit down together and discuss what the Valar owe me and my people."

Ingwion nodded. "Well, I’ll miss the company," he said, "but it’s best you go sooner than later." He smiled wickedly at the surprised looks on the Teleri’s faces. "Lindarion is ready to set the place on fire just to get rid of a few trinkets left behind by Fëanáro."

"I never said that!" Lindarion protested as Ingwion laughed.

"But you were thinking it," Olwë said, giving his eldest child a knowing smile. Lindarion blushed but did not reply.

"At any rate," Ingwion said, giving Lindarion a hug, though he was speaking to Olwë, "I will miss you. Please convey my respects to Lirillë and... and to your other children."

"I will," Olwë said simply and then they parted to finish with their packing while Ingwion went to the kitchens to order a light repast. An hour later, the Telerin and Noldorin contingent were on their way. Ingwion stood at the front portico of the townhouse along with Intarion and Valandur (Eccaldamos was still out) and watched them disappear into the gloom, then he went back inside, feeling suddenly depressed, wondering how long he would be forced to remain in idleness before the mysterious help would come.

Valandur, sensing the younger ellon’s mood, tried to entice him with a game of chess, but Ingwion shook his head and went back to the library, picked up the papers he’d been perusing earlier, and retired to his bedroom where he read for a time before falling asleep. HHis dreams were troubled and when he finally woke he felt unrested. As disturbing as his dreams were, though, more disturbing was the fact that he could not remember them. He only knew that they had something to do with his brother and there was a feeling of foreboding to them that left him even more depressed than before.

****

When Ingwion joined Valandur and Intarion for breakfast, the loremaster took one look at him and asked what was wrong. Ingwion reluctantly told them about his restless night and his inability to remember his dreams. Valandur assured him that he was just suffering from anxiety over his family.

"But why did I dream only of Ingil?" Ingwion asked, not at all convinced. "Why did I not dream of everyone else?"

"You just said you don’t actually remember your dreams," Intarion pointed out in a reasonable tone.

"Not details, but I know that the dreams revolved around my brother and no one else, not even Atar," Ingwion replied.

"You are closest to your twin," Valandur pointed out. "It stands to reason that your dreams would center around him more than the others in your family."

Ingwion wasn’t satisfied with the explanation but let it go, for without remembering specific details of his dreams, there was no point in the discussion. At that moment, Eccaldamos joined them, grabbing a plate and heaping it with scrambled eggs and a rasher of bacon and several pieces of toasted bread and filling a goblet with small beer before joining them at the table.

"Anything?" Ingwion asked his retainer.

Eccaldamos nodded. "I spoke with a number of people who distinctly remember seeing King Ingwë arrive with the Lady Indis and stopping here for only a few hours. Lady Indis and Lady Amarië then continued on with two Maiar as escort, while Ingwë made his way into Valmar. Some hours later he returned here, stayed during the hours set aside for rest and after breaking his fast, resumed his journey. Several people with whom I spoke, remember seeing him, or rather a lone Vanya, making his way north through the town. After that, who can say?" He gave them an elegant shrug.

"Are you sure they saw Atar leaving alone?" Ingwion asked. "Perhaps it was someone else."

"The descriptions all match, my prince," Eccaldamos said, taking a sip of his beer. "While most were unaware of the fact that the Vanya they saw was actually the High King, they all agreed as to his features. There can be no mistake. Ingwë left alone, as we know from speaking with the servants here." He shook his head. "Ingwë is well known for his wisdom, but I fear it failed him that day. He should have waited for the escort the steward wanted to give him."

Ingwion sighed, nodding in agreement. "Ammë often says that where he is concerned, Atar’s wisdom usually falls short."

Valandur leaned over and gave Ingwion an encouraging pat on his arm. "We’ll find him, hinya. We’ll find him and restore him to his throne where he belongs."

"I just wish I could figure out where my uncle could have hidden him," Ingwion said. "The most logical place would be the hunting lodge. Can we not go there while waiting for whoever is supposed to join us and see? I know I have to stay here, but Lord Manwë did not forbid any of you from leaving."

"I think it more prudent if we all remain put," Valandur said, pursing his lips. "While Lord Manwë did not specifically speak to us," his gesture included himself as well as Intarion and Eccaldamos, "I have the feeling he expected all of us to remain here. I do not begin to understand the minds of the Valar or their motives, but they say or do nothing without purpose, even if we cannot see it at the time."

"Lord Valandur is correct, my prince," Eccaldamos said. "I would hesitate to go against the orders of the Elder King. As it is, I am doubtful that Ingoldo has Ingwë at the hunting lodge."

"As am I," Valandur said with a nod.

"Why do you say that?" Intarion asked before Ingwion could speak.

"It’s too obvious," Eccaldamos answered. "It would be the first place anyone would think to look."

"Nor is it defensible enough," Valandur added. "There is nowhere to put anyone and keep them there, for the layout of the lodge is very open. You would have to chain the person to a post or something."

Ingwion and Intarion looked at the ellon in horror. Ingwion shuddered at the thought of his atar being chained and he felt a fury rising within him, hot and cold all at once, and squashed it, knowing that he needed to remain calm with all his wits about him. He grimaced. "I wish whoever is supposed to come would hurry up and get here. I hate this waiting."

The others gave him sympathetic looks but did not comment, for they all felt the same way.

****

Another week passed. Ingwion and Intarion occupied themselves by going from one inn to another and ‘tasting to see which has the best wine and beer’, as they put it. In truth, Ingwion just wanted to get drunk. His sleep (when he bothered to sleep at all) was still troubled and his dreams (what he could remember of them) still seemed to be about his brother and there was always a sense of foreboding. The last time he woke in a cold sweat and was halfway out the front door, still in his nightclothes, when Eccaldamos, who happened to be awake, caught up with him and brought him back inside. All the while Ingwion kept fighting him, screaming that he needed to go to his brother. His screams brought Valandur and Intarion running and it took them several minutes to calm him down.

After that, Ingwion refused to sleep. He would not even engage in the waking dreams that most older Elves preferred over actual sleep, but trawled from one inn to another with Intarion in tow, determined to get so drunk no dream would ever reach his wine-soaked brain. Not that it worked, for Intarion would not let him get drunk, but would allow him to taste one glass of wine or beer and then make him eat something before drinking anything else. Ingwion hated him and said so, but Intarion just smiled grimly and told him to shut up and eat. Then they would leave the inn for another but Intarion would make him walk for a good while through the streets of Eldamas before allowing him to stop, so by the time they came to another inn, he was sober again. It was definitely a frustrating experience.

"You might as well give it up, Cousin," Intarion said at one point as they were sitting in an inn overlooking a small square where there was little traffic. "I’m not going to let you get drunk, or at least not so drunk that you cannot function. You need to be sober when the time comes to leave."

"And when will that be?" Ingwion nearly shouted, causing the few other patrons to turn to look at him with various expressions of surprise and disapproval.

"Keep your voice down, Ingwion," Intarion commanded. "You’re causing a scene and if you keep it up, I’ll drag you back to the townhouse where you should be anyway and I don’t care who sees me doing it."

"I’d like to see you try," Ingwion said darkly, but his heart wasn’t in the threat and he felt himself beginning to weep, and ruthlessly forced the tears back. "I just want this all to end," he whispered before downing his goblet of wine and reaching for the bottle, which Intarion moved out of his reach.

"Eat something first, Ingwi," he said gently. "Then we’ll go back to the townhouse and see if there’s any news."

Ingwion nodded, reluctantly taking a bite from the venison pie which had gone cold while he had sat there drinking. He grimaced and pushed the plate away and stood. "I’m not hungry. Let’s go back."

Intarion nodded. He stood and called to the innkeeper and paid what was owed and then steered his cousin out the door and led him away.

"I know where the townhouse is, Intarion," Ingwion protested, trying to remove himself from Intarion’s grasp.

"No doubt," Intarion said equably, "but the last time you said you wanted to return to the townhouse you ended up going in the opposite direction, which is how we ended up in that little tavern we just left. This time, I’m making sure we actually get there."

Ingwion muttered a few curses but Intarion ignored him, keeping a tight hold on him and pulling him along. Luckily, or to Ingwion’s mind, unluckily, there was little traffic and the crowds were thin so they had no difficulty making their way across the town. By the time they reached the townhouse, Ingwion was again sober enough to realize he was just making a fool of himself once again and stopped protesting. Intarion didn’t loosen his grip though.

As they reached the front door, it suddenly opened and the two ellyn cried out, stepping back in surprise.

"Well, it’s about time you two showed up," Arafinwë said, giving them both a glare, and then he smiled and stepped back. "Well, come in if you’re coming. We have much to discuss."

Ingwion exchanged a look with Intarion, who gave him a shrug, and then the two went inside and Arafinwë closed the door.

****

Lambengolmor: Loremasters of Tongues, a school of linguists founded by Fëanáro.