In Darkness Bound by Fiondil

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Chapter 105: Preparations for the Hunt

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105: Preparations for the Hunt

Ingwion stood in the foyer of the townhouse staring at Arafinwë as the ellon shut the door and turned around with a smile. For all that his cousin was a good five yéni younger than himself, Ingwion noticed a level of maturity, a depth of wisdom in Arafinwë’s eyes, eyes that held both light and dark within them, that had not been there before. Even the Noldo’s stance was different, though, if asked outright, Ingwion was not sure he could have said what that difference was. Suddenly, Ingwion felt as if he were the younger cousin and he wasn’t sure he liked how that made him feel.

Arafinwë stepped forward and wrinkled his nose. "When was the last time you bathed?" he asked. "You reek of wine. Go clean yourself up and meet us in the dining room in an hour. There is much to discuss and little time."

"But...." Ingwion began.

"No time for that," Arafinwë said briskly. "Intarion, you smell almost as bad as Ingwion. Off you go, now."

"But...." Intarion tried to say.

"No time for that either. Go. Now." Arafinwë pointed toward the stairs.

The two ellyn went, stealing sheepish looks at one another as if they were elflings caught in some naughtiness. Neither looked back so they did not see the amused smile on Arafinwë’s face.

****

It was closer to three hours before Ingwion joined everyone in the dining room, for, as he reached his room, he suddenly felt dizzy, only just making it to his bed before collapsing. Intarion found him unconscious when his cousin did not come to the bathing chamber and called for help.

Valandur reached them first and checked him out. "Exhaustion, and inebriation. Not a good combination. Best to let him sleep it off." He removed the ellon’s boots and belt and, with Eccaldamos’ help, got him under the covers.

"He’s been avoiding going to sleep for most of the week," Intarion said worriedly, explaining to Arafinwë, who glanced down at his sleeping cousin with a concerned look on his face. "His dreams have been dark, though he does not actually remember them."

Valandur nodded in confirmation. "Perhaps he’s just drunk enough that he will not dream at all. Why don’t you go finish your bath and we’ll postpone the meal until Ingwion awakens."

"I’ll stay and keep an eye on him," Arafinwë suggested.

Valandur gave him an odd look, one that Intarion could not interpret, but then he nodded. "As soon as he’s stirring, let me know and I’ll alert the cooks. By the time he’s bathed and dressed, dinner should be ready." Then he left, along with Intarion and Eccaldamos, who volunteered to also stay and watch, but Arafinwë assured him that wasn’t necessary.

"Besides, I still want you to see that we have the necessary supplies readied," he told the Vanya. "We need to leave as soon as we’ve eaten."

Eccaldamos nodded. "Most of what we need I have already secured, but I still need to find horses for us all."

"Do not concern yourself with that," Arafinwë said. "Horses will be provided. Concentrate on weapons. We’ll need them."

Eccaldamos looked at him askance but then nodded. "Weapons will be the most difficult to find, especially here in Eldamas."

"I know, but do the best you can," Arafinwë said. "Speak with Intarion. He may have a suggestion or two."

"I will do that," Eccaldamos said and gave the prince... no, the Noldóran a respectful bow and departed, leaving Arafinwë alone with the somnolent Ingwion.

****

Ingwion roused about two hours later, blinking up at the tester of blue sendal that canopied the bed, wondering how he had gotten there. His last memory was climbing the stairs. He struggled to a sitting position, clutching his head with one hand, trying to focus his eyes.

"Finally," he heard someone say and looked up to see an unamused Arafinwë standing over him.

"What happened?" Ingwion rasped, his mouth full of sand, or so it seemed.

"You passed out," Arafinwë replied. "Too much of the drink taken and no sleep whatsoever, so I’ve heard." His voice was full of disapproval and Ingwion struggled against the feeling of embarrassment, as if he had somehow let his cousin down, and grew angry.

"You don’t know what I’ve been through," he growled, glaring at the Noldo. "While you’ve been dallying with the Valar...."

"What you’ve been through?" Arafinwë exclaimed, unconsciously reaching for something around his neck and then pushing his hand away when he realized what he was doing. He reached down and grabbed Ingwion by the placket of his tunic and pulled him up so they were staring into each other’s eyes. "You have no idea what you are talking about, Cousin," he said softly. "I come here expecting to find you ready to leave for the Hunt and instead here you are reeking of alcohol and complaining about your lot in life. Grow up, Ingwion. There are more important issues at stake here. Now, go bathe, then come and eat. We need to be on our way. We’re already late, thanks to you." He released Ingwion from his grasp and headed for the door. "Half an hour," he called without looking behind as he opened the door. "Don’t dawdle."

Ingwion just stared after him in disbelief, then muttered several choice curses as he struggled out of the bed and headed for the privy, clutching his head as he went.

****

When he entered the dining room, Ingwion saw that everyone was there, quietly speaking as they ate. They looked up at his entrance, but no one said anything. Arafinwë just pointed at the sideboard where dishes were laid out and Ingwion forced himself not to redden in embarrassment as he took up a plate and filled it with food he was not in the mood to eat. Then he found a lone seat at a table away from the others and began nibbling at his meal, refusing to look up. He knew he was not anyone’s favorite Elf right now and was not in the mood for chatting. No one tried to engage him in conversation, pretty much leaving him to himself, but when he had eaten as much as he could stomach and had pushed his plate away, Arafinwë finally spoke to him.

"Come over here and sit, Cousin," he said not unkindly, pulling out the chair next to him. Ingwion realized that was where he had been meant to sit. "I refuse to shout."

Ingwion got up and went and sat next to Arafinwë while the Noldóran poured some tea into a cup for him, giving him a smile. "You’re being a bit hard on yourself, Ingwi. No one is angry with you, least of all me."

"Could have fooled me," Ingwion muttered, not looking up, so he did not see the looks of exasperation on Valandur’s and Eccaldamos’ faces, while Intarion just rolled his eyes. Arafinwë swatted Ingwion in the back of the head.

"Enough with the self-pity," he said. "We need to talk, if you’re ready to listen."

Ingwion nodded, pulling himself together. "You said something about a hunt," he said in the way of an apology.

"Not a hunt, the Hunt," Arafinwë corrected. "Did not Lord Oromë promise to join you in your search for Ingwë when I arrived?"

"You?" Ingwion asked in surprise. "You’re whom I’ve been waiting for?"

Arafinwë laughed, the sound of it seeming to push away the darkness that was always there and which Ingwion had ceased to notice. "Yes. I am the help you’ve been waiting for," Arafinwë replied once he’d calmed down, "and I apologize for taking so long to come, but I had my own problems to deal with and Lord Manwë needed to fill me in on all that has been happening while I was... away."

"What were you doing, anyway?" Ingwion couldn’t help asking. "I think there was some talk about you being Lord Manwë’s apprentice."

Arafinwë’s eyes suddenly darkened, but then they lightened again and he gave them a nod. "Yes, I suppose you could say that. However, we’re not here to discuss my doings, but to plan how to rescue Ingwë."

"Do you know where he is?" Ingwion asked, giving him a suspicious look. "Did the Valar tell you? Why you but not me?" His tone was one of hurt confusion.

Arafinwë shook his head. "They told me nothing, Ingwi. As Lord Manwë was explaining what had happened, I began to have an idea where Ingoldo might have taken Ingwë, but when I asked Lord Manwë to confirm my suspicions, he refused to answer either way, merely saying that I must find out for myself. Even Lord Oromë would not say if my theory was correct, only that he would join us when we were ready."

"So where did Ingoldo take Ingwë?" Valandur asked.

Arafinwë hesitated for a second before answering. "Let us be on our way. There is something we need to check on first before I can confidently say where Ingwë is being held. Eccaldamos, are our supplies in order?"

"Yes, Highness," the Vanya answered. "And I found some weapons for us as well." He stole a glance at Intarion who shrugged when Ingwion gave him an enquiring look.

"When Lirulin and I returned to Tirion after we failed to reach Findaráto, something drove me to seek out certain smiths in the city and procure swords — three, in fact. I have no idea why, for I don’t know how to wield one, but I brought them with me. One, I think, is for you, the other for Arafinwë."

"And the third?" Ingwion asked.

Intarion shrugged again. "Mine, I suppose, but really, none of us know how to wield them properly."

"Then we will teach you, though there is little time."

The Elves all stood up in shock as Oromë and Tulkas entered the dining room with identical amused smiles on their faces. Oromë glanced at them all, his gaze seeming to linger longer on Ingwion than on the others and Ingwion found himself blushing under the Vala’s regard, knowing that the delay was his fault.

"I’ve set up a place outside where we can train you," Tulkas said. "Come along. We’ve already wasted enough time and you need to be on your way sooner rather than later."

"There are only three swords, though," Valandur pointed out. "Eccaldamos and I can bring bows or spears, I suppose. I’m more familiar with them than swords anyway."

"I have a couple of extra swords Aulë made for me," Tulkas said, "but if you feel more comfortable with a spear or a bow, that would be fine."

Oromë nodded. "My people generally use both when we hunt, so I will see that you have them, but in the meantime, let us go outside and give you three some pointers. The people guarding Ingwë do not have swords, so you will have an advantage, but only if you know how to handle them properly."

The Vala gestured for the Elves to precede him and they all trooped out, following Tulkas who led the way to what should have been the back garden but was now an arena. The Elves stopped and stared about in consternation. Tulkas gave them a merry look. "Don’t worry. I promise to put it back the way it was when we’re through. Here are the swords." He gestured and they saw three swords in their scabbards leaning against the wall of the house. They were of slightly varying lengths and Tulkas gave the longest one to Arafinwë, for he was slightly taller than the other two ellyn.

"I know you have your own sword, Pityahuan," Tulkas said, "but I think this one will do for now."

"Pityahuan?" Ingwion asked and the other Elves gave Arafinwë enquiring looks.

"Just an epessë that Lord Manwë gave me," Arafinwë answered without looking at anyone as he took the sword out of its sheath and felt its balance, nodding in satisfaction.

Tulkas handed Ingwion one of the other swords and he reluctantly withdrew it from its scabbard, mesmerized by the cold, deadly beauty of the blue steel, artistically etched along the blade with script that, when he read it, sent sick chills down his spine. He suddenly recalled the conversation between the Valar and Findaráto:

"...Swords, however, have one purpose and one purpose only: to kill," Aulë said.

"Or to defend," Findaráto added.

"Yet, one must then ask: defend against what or whom?" the Vala countered.

"Who are your enemies, Findaráto?" Manwë asked. "The Valar? The Vanyar or the Teleri? Your own people....?"

"I... I don’t think I can do this," Ingwion said faintly, dropping the sword and scabbard and backing away.

"Do what?" Arafinwë asked harshly, and Ingwion dimly noticed that the Noldo was the only one there whose expression was not sympathetic. "Do what?" he repeated. "Use a sword or search for Ingwë?"

Ingwion stared at him and felt anger rising within him. "What do you want from me, Finwion?" he demanded hotly, his hands balled into fists. "If it hadn’t been for you stupid Noldor listening to that insane ellon and haring off on a mad quest, Atar would never have been in Tirion. He would never have been waylaid on his way back to Vanyamar and taken captive by my uncle. He would be safe at home. I would be safe at home. And now I’m supposed to learn how to wield this... this instrument of destruction against my own people. You may enjoy being a kinslayer but...."

The slap was as shocking as it was unexpected, and then to his everlasting horror, Ingwion burst into tears, crouching on his haunches, wrapping his arms around his head, just wanting everything to go away. He could hear soft murmuring as the others apparently discussed him, but he was too far gone in misery to pay much attention. Then someone was gently, but inexorably, forcing him to stand up and he found himself staring into Arafinwë’s eyes. There was no sign of the others and Ingwion had to assume they had gone back inside the house to give the two cousins some privacy.

"I told you before, you’re being too hard on yourself," Arafinwë said softly, wiping the tears from Ingwion’s face with a finger. "Come, let us sit."

"What about....?"

"They’ll wait," Arafinwë answered, "but only for a short time. We really are very late."

"And I’m to blame," Ingwion said bitterly as he allowed Arafinwë to lead him to a stone bench that was placed against one side of the arena.

"Actually, I’m to blame," Arafinwë said.

Ingwion gave him a startled look. "How do you figure that?"

Arafinwë gave him a wry look. "Do you want to know what I was doing all this time?" When Ingwion nodded, he continued. "I will tell you, but only if I have your solemn promise that you will never speak of it to anyone, and I do mean anyone, unless I give you permission."

Ingwion found himself straightening, placing his hand over his heart. "I swear to thee, Cousin, that nothing said between us will ever be revealed to another unless thou givest me thy permission. So say I, Ingwion Ingaranion."

Arafinwë nodded, then looked away, his expression becoming both grim and embarrassed. Ingwion forbore asking the myriad questions that were on his lips and waited for his cousin to speak in his own time.

"Lord Manwë was being politic when he said I was his apprentice," Arafinwë finally said, looking directly at Ingwion. "The truth is I was his thrall."

Ingwion blinked in disbelief. "Thrall? What do you mean? How could he...?"

Arafinwë raised a hand to stem the flood of questions and Ingwion forced himself to stillness.

"He didn’t want to, you have to understand," Arafinwë said, "but I... er... sort of forced his hand." Now he looked away and sighed, his right hand going to his throat. "They stripped me of my clothes, save for a loincloth, cut my hair and placed a collar around my neck. Lord Manwë renamed me ‘Pityahuan’. It was the name that Lord Aulë incised on the collar, the collar I was forced to make myself." He paused for a moment, giving Ingwion a darkly amused look. "So you see, Cousin, you have nothing on me as far as what we’ve been through of late."

"So... so..." Ingwion had to stop and clear his throat. "So are you still a... a...." He gave Arafinwë a helpless look, unable even to utter the word.

"Thrall?" Arafinwë replied with genuine amusement in his eyes. "No. Nor was I ever really a thrall except in my own eyes. Lord Manwë never mistreated me and always encouraged me to learn from him what I needed to learn to be a good ruler for my people."

Ingwion stared into the darkness, trying to grasp what his cousin was telling him. The thought of what Arafinwë must have experienced was appalling, yet he sensed no bitterness or animosity in the Noldo; he was as respectful as ever toward the Valar. Ingwion suddenly realized where his cousin’s new-found maturity came from and he thought of his own actions of late and knew that in some ways Arafinwë had grown beyond him. His younger cousin was the Noldóran in truth, while he, Ingwion, was, and for the foreseeable future would only be, a prince. That thought rankled but there was little he could do about it, except show that he wasn’t as immature and useless as everyone thought him to be, or rather as he thought himself to be.

He gave a long sigh, feeling defeated in some way. Arafinwë seemed to divine what he was feeling, for he smiled warmly at him, wrapping an arm around Ingwion’s shoulders and giving him a hug. "No more self-pity," he admonished Ingwion. "There’s no time for it and it has no place in our lives. What was done was done and it cannot be undone, however much we may wish otherwise. All we can do is take the lessons life offers us and move on. I don’t expect you to actually kill or even maim anyone. These weapons are meant to intimidate, nothing more."

"Arafinwë is correct."

Both ellyn looked up to see Tulkas standing there, giving them a knowing look. "My purpose here is not to teach you how to actually wield these weapons, but to teach you how not to hurt yourselves with these weapons. You need to exhibit confidence as you handle your sword, Ingwion, so those who are guarding Ingwë will be intimidated enough that you can defeat them without ever drawing blood. At the same time, you do not know what you will find when you reach your destination and you may indeed have to defend yourself and Ingwë. So, are you ready to learn what you need to learn in order to rescue your atar, however distasteful it may be?"

Ingwion glanced at Arafinwë sitting calmly beside him, with the same expression of anticipation that was on Lord Tulkas’ face and nodded. "Yes," he said, looking at Arafinwë as he spoke. "Teach me what I need to know."

Arafinwë smiled broadly and nodded as the two rose from the bench. The other ellyn joined them, along with Lord Oromë, who handed Ingwion the sword he had dropped. "If you are ready, child, let us begin."

Ingwion hesitated only for a brief second and then firmly grasped the sword as Oromë stood back. "Let’s do it," the ellon said and he was pleased to see the looks of approval on everyone’s faces as Tulkas led them to the center of the arena and began giving them their first lesson in how to handle a sword.

****

Epessë: Nickname, literally ‘after-name’, mostly given as a title of admiration or honor. Arafinwë referring to Pityahuan ‘Little Hound’ as an epessë is ironic.

Note: Ingwion is 766 solar years older than Arafinwë.