In Darkness Bound by Fiondil

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Chapter 115: Ingwion Furioso

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115: Ingwion Furioso

Ingwion ran down the hallway, following it around to the right and then skidded to a halt when he found himself facing a wall from which hung a large tapestry. He stared at it in disbelief, unable to accept that his way was blocked. The sound of running feet brought him out of his state and he turned to see Intarion and Valandur approaching. He resheathed his sword.

"If you had stayed long enough to listen, hinya," Valandur said with a grim look, "you would have learned that you cannot reach the tower from here. There is another way."

"It makes no sense!" Ingwion yelled in frustration. "And I heard Ingil, I know I did."

"You heard someone shouting," Valandur stated pedantically. "That is not the same thing."

"There’s no way into the tower from here?" Intarion asked.

"Not from this floor," Valandur replied. "Findis has been here and told me once how the manor was laid out. You can only reach the tower from the upper gallery or from the ground floor. Your atar is even now leading the others to the tower from the ground floor."

"How do you reach the next floor from here then?" Ingwion demanded. "I don’t remember seeing any stairs."

"I’ll show you," Valandur said and went back down the hallway to a door on his left that, when he opened it, led into a bedroom. Across from them was an arched opening leading out to the gallery. Valandur crossed the room and the other two followed. As they came outside Valandur pointed to the left where Ingwion saw some stairs leading down to the courtyard.

"The stairs to each level alternate from one end of the gallery to the other," Valandur told them. "So, we have to go to the other side to reach the middle gallery and then come back to this side to reach the top gallery."

"Whoever designed this place really hates us," Intarion muttered as they headed along the gallery passing bedrooms on their right.

Valandur chuckled. "Ancalimë did not design this place to frustrate us, but for her own amusement."

They rounded the second corner and Ingwion could see the stairs ahead. Intarion reached them first and was beginning to climb when they heard a shout coming from the other side of the courtyard but further up. Ingwion went to one of the arches and looked up in time to see two people running along the upper gallery. As the two figures rounded the first corner, the one behind leapt at the other and they both went down. There was the sound of scuffling and then both were standing. Ingwion grabbed hold of one of the columns and leaned out for a better look, only vaguely aware that Valandur and Intarion had joined him. Then they heard someone speak.

"I won’t let you win, Uncle. I won’t."

"That’s Ingil," Ingwion exclaimed, but before he could say anything or do anything else, he heard his brother give a wordless cry and then suddenly he saw Ingalaurë clutching at a column, teetering on the edge.

"Ingil, no!" he yelled, even as his brother apparently lost his grip and fell with a scream to the courtyard below. At the same moment he felt himself being pulled away from the edge and then he was being tightly held by Valandur, so he never saw his brother land, but he heard the dull thud of a body hitting the ground and he felt himself shuddering with the horror of it. He wanted to scream, but nothing came out and he was finding it difficult to breathe. He vaguely heard someone say something but the words made no sense. There was movement around him but again he could make no sense of it. It seemed time had slowed down, for it felt like an eternity before he could piece one thought to another and then everything began speeding up again and he struggled out of Valandur’s embrace.

"Ingil! I have to go to Ingil!" he cried, and before Valandur could object he was at the lip of the gallery, jumping down to land lightly on the pavement below him. Then he was running to where he could see his brother’s body. At the same time there was the sound of shouting and running feet and he was not surprised to find his atar and Arafinwë reaching Ingalaurë just as he did.

"Yonya!" Ingwë cried and went to his knees on one side of the body, while Ingwion knelt on the other side. His brother was lying at an odd angle and he wanted to straighten the limbs but all he could do was kneel there and stare. Arafinwë joined them, kneeling at Ingalaurë’s head. Ingwë was bent over, gently caressing his youngest son’s hair and Ingwion could see with a rising sense of horror the dark liquid matting the back of his brother’s head and pooling on the marble, only just registering that this was his brother’s blood.

"Yonya," Ingwë called softly. "Ingil?" Tears fell unabashedly from the High King’s face and that was another wonder to Ingwion for he felt no tears himself. Even Arafinwë was silently weeping, yet he himself was not. He was dry-eyed and he was not sure what that meant.

A soft, almost imperceptible moan escaped from Ingalaurë’s lips and then his eyes fluttered open. "At-atto?" came the barely heard word.

Ingwë smiled and nodded. "Yes, yonya, it’s Atto."

"M-my dream... it’s my dream...."

"Shh, it’s all right, yonya," Ingwë whispered.

"A-a-ammë?"

"She’s safe," came the answer. "She’s safe, as is Indil, thanks to you." Ingwë bent down even further and kissed his son’s forehead.

"I’m s-s-sorry," Ingwion heard his brother say.

"What are you sorry about, yonya?" Ingwë asked.

For a long, agonizing moment, Ingalaurë did not answer and Ingwion wondered if his brother had fallen asleep. Then he heard him whisper, "Everything...."

The last was but a breath that did not repeat itself. Ingwë continued stroking his son’s hair, and Ingwion could see a puzzlement in his atar’s eyes, and wondered what it meant.

"Ingil?" Ingwë’s voice was soft and hesitant.

But there was no response and the puzzlement mutated into something that Ingwion could put no name to at that moment. Ingwë’s face crumpled into a spasm of grief too deep to be borne or witnessed and Ingwion found himself looking away as his atar reached down and lifted Ingalaurë’s head, holding him tightly and keening. Ingwion found himself staring blankly into Arafinwë’s eyes and was surprised at the darkness that lay there. He looked back at his atar who continued weeping as he had never seen him weep before, rocking Ingalaurë, though it was not a gentle rocking as one would do with an infant. Ingwion could not seem to understand what was happening. Nothing made sense to him. His brother was too still, too uncomplaining of his injuries or of their atar cradling him. Why wasn’t Ingil protesting?

He reached out to take one of his brother’s hands and flinched with a startled gasp at how cold and lifeless it felt. Before he could do or say anything else, though, he heard scuffling and someone shouting. It took him a moment to recognize his Uncle Ingoldo’s voice.

"I did nothing!" he heard Ingoldo exclaim. "He fell before I could reach him. I swear I did not mean for him to fall." Ingwion turned to see Intarion and Valandur hustling Ingoldo along. "It’s not my fault, I tell you," his uncle insisted.

"It’s all your fault," Ingwion hissed, even as he rose to face Ingoldo. "It’s all your fault." Then, something within him snapped and he saw and heard nothing until rough hands were pulling him off his uncle who was lying on the pavement bloodied and torn. He was screaming, but what he screamed he did not know. All he knew was that he was being thwarted in his desire to rip his hated uncle to shreds for what he’d done to Ingil, to all of them. Then someone was standing before him and he felt a hard slap across his face and then another and then a third, the last quieting him so he was simply hanging there, held up by someone he could not see, staring blankly into his atar’s face.

Ingwë nodded to whoever was holding him up. He felt himself being released and he would have fallen to his knees, for he felt suddenly weak, but his atar caught him in time and held him gently in his embrace. Only when he felt his atar’s kiss on his cheek did the dam break and for the first time he felt himself weeping, great sobs that he could not stop and thought would never stop as the full realization of what had just happened came to him.

"I c-c-can’t feel him," he cried as he clung to his atar as if to a lifeline. "He’s not there anymore. Where’s m-my brother? Atto, wh-where’s Ingil?"

For an answer Ingwë simply held him more tightly.

"He is with me."

The dark melodious voice cut through Ingwion’s pain and he turned in his atar’s embrace to find himself staring into the amaranthine eyes of the Lord of Mandos. Námo stood there, gazing upon them with pity. A part of Ingwion’s mind noted that the Vala was dressed in an ankle-length black velvet tunic with slashed sleeves revealing dark red sleeves underneath. On his head he wore a crown of flowers, white and purple, flowers he did not recognize. Yet, it was not the Vala’s appearance that interested Ingwion so much as his words. He blinked away tears and took a couple of steps away from his atar.

"Bring him back," he rasped, for he found his voice almost gone and it even hurt to speak. "You have to bring him back."

"Ingwion...." he heard his atar say, the king’s voice full of pain, but Ingwion’s focus was on Námo, who watched him with compassion, a compassion that the ellon was not ready to accept.

"I cannot," Námo said with a shake of his head. "He has already passed through judgment and...."

"Judgment!" Ingwion exclaimed, blinking rapidly, the dull ache within his fëa warming towards anger. "What judgment? Ingil did nothing wrong! How dare you judge my brother, you.... you...."

But words failed and with a cry he suddenly drew his sword and made to attack Námo. There was shouting and he felt someone trying to grab him from behind but he shook them off and lunged at the Vala, raising his sword to strike, but Námo simply reached out with one hand and grabbed his wrist, twisting it slightly so Ingwion was forced to drop the sword. Then he found himself in the Vala’s embrace and the sense of defeat, of having failed his brother, and the loss of him, swept through his fëa. His body stiffened as if in excruciating pain and then he was screaming, pummeling Námo with his fists, but Námo never let him go.

He never knew afterwards how long he remained in Námo’s embrace, screaming his anguish. He only knew that a time came when his screams were reduced to mewlings and his attack quieted so now he was clutching Námo’s tunic and simply weeping, wishing for comfort that he knew would never come, could never be, not so long as his brother was not there beside him.

"Give him back," he pleaded in a hoarse whisper.

"I cannot," came the soft answer, "and more importantly, I will not. Your brother’s injuries were too severe. He could not survive and so his fëa has come to me to find rest and solace until such time as he is ready to be re-embodied."

"How long?"

"I cannot tell you," Námo replied. "It all depends on Ingalaurë... and you."

Ingwion raised his head to look at the Vala, feeling puzzled. "Me? Why me?"

For an answer, Námo leaned down and planted a kiss on the ellon’s forehead before speaking. "That remains to be seen."

Before Ingwion could utter a protest or a demand for an explanation, there was a commotion and then he heard someone calling his name. He turned at the sound, only realizing as his sister reached him and began hugging him that the Vala was no longer there.

"Indil? Why are you crying? Are you hurt?" was all he could think to say as he hugged her back. "Did Uncle hurt you?"

Indil pulled back from his embrace, giving him a puzzled look. "Ingwi? Are you all right?"

Ingwion just stared at her, unable to answer, for he did not know if he was ‘all right’ or not. He didn’t think so, but....

His gaze swept the courtyard, only then realizing that except for himself and Indil, it was empty of people. Even Ingalaurë’s body was gone, a small pool of blood on the paving stones the only evidence of his having been there.

"Where is he?" he demanded harshly, shaking Indil in his distress. "Where have they taken my brother?"

"Please, Ingwi. You’re hurting me!" Indil exclaimed and there was true fear in her eyes that shocked Ingwion out of his anger and he hugged her, rocking her gently, apologizing over and over again. After a few moments he released her and she took his hand. "Atto took him inside," she said. "Come. I will show you."

Ingwion allowed himself to be led. "If you are here, where is Ammë?" he asked her as they made their way across the courtyard to the door leading into the tower. Ingwion followed Indil up a spiral staircase.

"She is with Atto and... and Ingil," Indil answered softly.

"How long....?" He stopped in his tracks, trying to piece together the sequence of events in his mind. He remembered kneeling beside his brother, he remembered seeing Ingoldo, and then there was Lord Námo. He frowned. He had done something — or had tried to — but he couldn’t remember what it was. Everything was a blank until Indil appeared. He ignored his sister staring down at him with concern and closed his eyes, searching his memory.

Lord Námo...

What had he said? Something about judgment...

His eyes flew open and he glanced down at his sword belt, only just realizing that he no longer had his sword. He glanced at Indil. "How much time has passed since... since...."

He couldn’t finish the sentence, feeling something inside him cringing but Indil seemed to understand what he was asking. "It’s been almost two hours, I think, since Ammë and I were found and... and Ingil was brought inside. Atto sent me out to find you."

"Two hours!" Ingwion exclaimed. He stared at her in disbelief. Where had he been all that time? Had he been with Lord Námo the entire time? What had he been doing? He shook his head, trying to understand what was happening to him, but he couldn’t.

Indil came back down the stairs, stopping on the riser above him and leaned down to give him a soft kiss on his forehead. "It’s going to be all right, Ingwi," she whispered. "Come. Atto and Ammë are waiting for us." She took his hand again and he meekly followed her up the stairs. They passed one landing and then came to a second and a third until they came to the end of the stairs and Ingwion suspected they were at the very top of the tower. They made their way down a short hall to a door at the other end. Standing before the door were two guards, one of whom Ingwion recognized.

"Sérener!"

The guard smiled, though it was tinged with sorrow. "I am glad to see you again, Highness," he said, giving him a nod before opening the door for them.

Ingwion nodded his thanks and together he and Indil entered what turned out to be a sitting room. Doors led to what he assumed were bedrooms and perhaps a bathing room and the privy. "This is where Ammë and I were kept," Indil whispered. Ingwion nodded but he wasn’t really listening to what his sister was saying, for all his attention was focused on the sight before him. His parents were sitting together on a settee, holding hands, his ammë leaning against his atar’s shoulder. Opposite them sat Arafinwë, with Valandur sitting next to him. Of Intarion, or anyone else, there was no sign. What struck Ingwion was the absolute stillness of the four Elves, reminding him somewhat of the Valar at the Máhanaxar, that, and their expressions. It would be only later that he would have a name for what he saw in their eyes — grief — but at that moment he could only stare at them, unsure what to do.

All four looked up at their entrance and Ingwion saw his ammë’s eyes brighten at the sight of him. She rose and came to him and they embraced. Neither said a word, and Ingwion didn’t trust himself to speak anyway. He simply hugged her back and allowed himself to feel safe within her arms, as he vaguely remembered feeling as an elfling when held by one of his parents. Elindis kissed him on his left cheek and stepped back, but did not say anything. Ingwë rose and stood beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders.

"How are you feeling, yonya?" he asked, giving his son a concerned look.

"I don’t know, Atto," Ingwion replied, shaking his head. "Indil says it’s been two hours since... since...." He stopped, giving his parents a puzzled look. "I can’t remember. What happened to me?"

Ingwë opened his other arm in invitation and Ingwion accepted the offer, allowing his atar to embrace him. Elindis gestured to Indil and she joined them. "Atto, where’s Ingil?" Ingwion asked after a moment or two.

"He’s in the other room," Ingwë answered softly. "Would you like to see him?" When Ingwion hesitated, Ingwë smiled at him. "It’s all right, yonya. There’s no hurry. When you are ready. We will not be leaving here for a time. There is much that needs to be sorted out first."

As he was speaking, Valandur and Arafinwë rose and joined them, with Valandur standing next to Ingwion, brushing a hand through his hair. Arafinwë stood next to Indil, who opened her arm to let him into her embrace. He gave her a brief but loving kiss on her brow.

"Where’s Intarion?" Ingwion asked, only then realizing that one member of the family who should have been there was not.

"He’s sitting with Ingil," Elindis answered. "We’ve been taking turns. Your brother is never alone."

That thought both comforted and troubled Ingwion, but why, he was not sure. He felt empty. There was an Ingalaurë-sized hole in his fëa that he feared would never be filled, but more than that, his mind kept blanking out. He could not seem to piece together any coherent sequence of events and his emotions seemed suspect. He knew he should be weeping or screaming, but it was as if all emotion had been burned out of him and he found he didn’t care and that frightened him on a visceral level. He was not sure what it meant and wasn’t sure he could explain it to anyone, so he kept silent, waiting for others to speak.

There was one other person missing. Ingwion frowned, trying to recall who it might be. And then something hot and furious rose within him as he remembered. "Ingoldo! Where is he?" he snarled, pulling himself out of his atar’s embrace.

Valandur grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around to face him, his expression stern. "He is not your concern, Ingwion. Others are taking care of him."

"Taking care of him?" Ingwion retorted angrily as he tried to pull out of Valandur’s grasp. "I’ll take care of him. I’ll personally escort him straight to Mandos. It’ll be an even exchange, Ingoldo for Ingil."

"What nonsense are you speaking, hína?" Valandur demanded, shaking Ingwion. "You will do nothing. Ingoldo is not your concern. He will be tried...."

"He doesn’t deserve a trial!" Ingwion nearly screamed. "He deserves death!"

"Deserves death?" Arafinwë spoke up, his own expression one of anger and pain. "Who are you to decide who does or does not deserve death? What right do you have to decide anything, Ingwion? You rant and you rave and you threaten, but that is what an elfling does who is thwarted from a desired goal. You’re not an elfling, at least, I don’t think you are. You act as if you’re the only one who is suffering here, but you are not. How dare you be so selfish!"

Ingwion just stood there, his mouth open, staring in disbelief at his cousin, who was no longer looking at him, but was addressing Ingwë and Elindis. "I’ll go see how Intarion is faring," he said gently. "I’m sure he will appreciate having the company." They simply nodded, though Ingwion noticed a look of gratitude in both their eyes and sudden shame flooded him as he came to realize that Arafinwë was acting more like their son than he was. He felt Valandur release him from his hold and then he was crouching on the floor, his arms around his knees, rocking back and forth and weeping quietly. He felt rather than saw someone bending down and putting an arm around his shoulders, hugging him.

"We’ll get through this, yonya," he heard his atar say. "Somehow, we’ll get through this."

Ingwion did not respond, knowing that his atar’s words were hollow. He sank deeper into misery and, though his eyes were wide open, he saw nothing but darkness.