In Darkness Bound by Fiondil

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Chapter 128: The Noldóran Restored

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128: The Noldóran Restored

Arafinwë had wanted to time their arrival at Tirion and, thus, the start of the coronation ceremony with the rising of Tilion, but when he spoke of it to Olórin, who was still relaying messages between him and Anairë, the Maia shook his head.

"My brother will be setting as you reach the city," he said, "which means you would have to wait until he returns again or conduct the ceremony without his presence."

"We could always delay our journey so as to coincide our arrival with his rising," Ingwë suggested, but Olórin shook his head again.

"By my counsel you should keep to the schedule you already have devised. I promise you that even without the light of Isil it will be a glorious ceremony."

"Isil?" Ingwë gave the Maia an enquiring look and he wasn’t the only one.

"Well there is a sheen to the light, is there not?" Olórin replied. "It’s what some of my brethren keeping watch over Vanyamar during your absence have overheard some of your people calling it." He gave them a beatific smile and his eyes held a glint of amusement in their depths.

Ingwë raised an eyebrow, and glanced at Arafinwë who was grinning widely. "Let me guess," he said drolly. "Elflings."

The Maia laughed and Arafinwë gave them a smug look. "Told you so," he said, and now everyone there started laughing.

"Let’s not tell the loremasters, though," Ingwion suggested with a smirk, casting a glance at Valandur sitting nearby.

Ingwë’s chief loremaster smiled knowingly. "They won’t hear it from me," he promised.

"Well, regardless," Arafinwë said after they had calmed down, "I was looking forward to having Telperion’s light during the ceremony, but you’re right, Olórin, that delaying the ceremony will upset many plans, especially those of the royal cooks who I imagine are already preparing the coronation feast. To delay the ceremony would mean wasting a lot of food, if nothing else. Very well. We will hold to the schedule as planned. As you say, Olórin, it will be a lovely ceremony even under the light of the stars."

It didn’t escape Ingwë’s notice that the Maia actually looked relieved at hearing Arafinwë agreeing not to delay the ceremony and he had to wonder, but then he shrugged to himself, thinking perhaps the Maia was just tired of playing messenger between them and the city and wanted to see things done sooner rather than later. It never occurred to him to think that, on the contrary, Olórin actually enjoyed his role as messenger and took great delight in relaying messages back and forth and even offering his own ideas for the ceremony when occasionally Arafinwë would ask for his opinion.

And so, the last encampment was struck, the Maiar who had attended them all along the route were graciously thanked by Ingwë on behalf of them all for their solicitude and attentiveness to the Elves’ needs. Marilliën of the People of Nienna, who appeared to be the leader of the Maiar, assured them that the pleasure of serving was all theirs and then, with a single thought, she and all the other Maiar, along with the pavilions and other paraphernalia of the camp were gone.

"Well, let us go," Ingwë said after a moment and the order went out for the company to ride.

****

All of them were dressed in their finest clothes, even the Noldorin and Telerin contingent, for Maiar were sent to retrieve their court garb so that all might be properly clothed.

"Coming to my own coronation in borrowed clothes somehow doesn’t seem fitting," Arafinwë had said when he broached the subject with Ingwë, who agreed with the sentiment but pointed out that Arafinwë returning to Tirion at all was a major achievement.

"You left with the intention of never returning," he said. "Yet now you are, and I doubt anyone will care what you are wearing. All they will see is the crown upon your head."

Nevertheless, when Olórin appeared during their first encampment and the subject was raised, the Maia assured them that retrieving everyone’s finest court garb would not be a problem. When Olwë realized what was going on, he asked if it were possible for the Maiar to bring his best court garb and those of his wife and son. "And my crown of state," he added. "Rarely do I wear it even in my own realm, but I know Ingwë has brought his and I think it only fitting that I wear mine."

To this, Olórin agreed and the Maia assured them that, at their last camp before reaching Tirion, they would find their court garb there ready to be worn. And so it was and now all were properly adorned, though both Ingwë and Olwë eschewed wearing their crowns until they were nearer to the city.

They had the light of Isil, as they decided to call it, with them during this last leg of the journey, but Tilion was already slipping eastward towards the Pelóri as they reached the outer boundaries of the Noldorin realm. By mutual consent, they all stopped to check each other’s apparel, while one of the guards was dispatched by Arafinwë to Tirion to alert everyone there of their imminent arrival. Ingwë and Olwë asked for their crowns and everyone began forming up in the order which they had agreed upon earlier. In the front were Ingwë and Olwë flanking Arafinwë with their respective queens riding directly behind escorted by the heirs. Lirulin and Indil rode together with Amarië, Valandur and Findis and the Vanyarin nobles ranged themselves according to precedence. An honor guard of mixed Vanyarin, Noldorin and Telerin ellyn led the procession carrying the standards of the three realms. Those of Tirion and Alqualondë had been brought by the Maiar along with the court garb.

By Arafinwë’s order, none of the populace lined the road to the city; all were to gather before the city gates; however, arrangements had been made for grooms to await them at the last estate before reaching the city where they would dismount and continue on foot the last quarter mile. The closer they came to Tirion, the paler Arafinwë looked, his breathing becoming rapid and shallow. Ingwë, seeing this, called a halt and leaned over to grasp Arafinwë’s arm, giving him a sympathetic look.

"It’s all right, hinya," the High King whispered. "If you weren’t as reluctant as you are I would question your right to the crown. No one should accept such awesome responsibility with equanimity."

Arafinwë gave him a bleak look. "Fëanáro didn’t seem too reluctant to accept the crown."

"Which tells you something right there," Ingwë replied firmly. "The crown was merely a means to an end for him, nothing more. You are better than that. Indeed, while I hate to disparage my dear friend and your atar, I think you will make a better king than Finwë. You, more than most, know the price you are paying."

Arafinwë did not answer, but looked back, catching Eärwen’s eyes. She gave him the smile reserved just for him and her eyes shone with love for him, but more than that, for he also saw the deep unswerving faith she had in him. He turned back to Ingwë, his expression less troubled and nodded. "Thank you," he said simply. "Shall we go? I do not wish to keep my people waiting for their king any longer than necessary."

Ingwë gave him a brilliant smile and ordered the procession to continue. Olwë, who had remained quiet during the conversation, spoke then as they were moving. "I’m very proud of you, yonya. My daughter chose wisely when she cleaved her heart to yours." And those words, more than anything, warmed Arafinwë’s soul to its core and he sat up straighter. At that moment, though he was unaware of it, he became the Noldóran in truth.

When they reached the last estate before coming to the city, they all dismounted and handed the horses over to the grooms, then rearranged themselves as before. While it would have been appropriate under other circumstances for them to sing a paean to the Valar as they walked, Arafinwë decided against it, saying only that he felt he would need the short time before they arrived in Tirion for silence to gather his thoughts and the singing would distract him from his meditation.

"We will sing the paean once we’ve arrived and the people can join in," he said and the others agreed with little protest, knowing how difficult all of this was for him.

Thus, they walked beneath the stars’ vast silence, each contemplating what had brought them to this moment. Ingwë stole a glance at Arafinwë and was pleased to see how clear and calm his eyes were, how straight he walked, with no hesitation or uncertainty in his steps. He did not appear to be one walking to his doom, but one who had embraced his destiny wholeheartedly and with equanimity. He did not doubt that this child of Finwë would have a difficult road ahead of him as he worked to bring the Noldor back to their former glory, yet he also knew that Arafinwë would succeed where another would have failed. He had no fear for the Noldor, so bereft of honor and purpose; they were in good hands with Arafinwë and his beloved Eärwen.

The white towers of Tirion were still not visible to them, for the road was lined with tall nessamalda trees which blocked their immediate view. Only when they came around a final bend and the road opened straight ahead did they see the city with the Mindon rising high above all the other towers, its light gleaming down the Calacirya, though under the light of Isil just reaching the horizon, it was pale looking. As soon as the city came into sight, the Elves began singing a popular paean to the Valar asking for their blessing on this momentous occasion. Almost at once voices were raised from the city and soon the land echoed with their joyous song and it seemed as if the stars themselves glittered more brightly. Only Arafinwë and the two kings did not sing and Arafinwë’s expression became remote, as if he were steeling himself for what he knew would be an ordeal. Instinctively, Ingwë and Olwë moved closer to the Noldo, silently lending him their support.

Arafinwë watched as the honor guard reached the city gates and split up to take positions on either side as had been previously arranged with the three carrying the standards of the kings gathered to the right. He saw Anairë waiting for them holding the rod of office in the crook of her arm. Ranged around her were the nobles of the court. There were Lord Herencáno and Lord Rialcar, the chief members of what was now his Privy Council, and Lord Axantur was there acting as Chamberlain and Master of Ceremony. Along one side where many of the nobles were gathered he noticed Herencáno’s son, Herenaráto, holding the hands of his own young son, Herendil, and little Aldundilmë whom he had given to the ellon for fostering when he left Tirion. He marveled at how much both children had grown in his absence. He smiled at Aldundilmë and she ducked her head, suddenly shy. Herenaráto noticed the exchange and gave Arafinwë a knowing smile, even as he stroked the elleth’s hair to comfort her.

All around were the rest of the populace, many standing on the parapet overlooking the gate, most gathered on either side of the road. Arafinwë suspected that there were even more who had been unable to leave the city, who probably lined the street leading to the palace, content to see him after the crowning.

Then the song ended and silence ensued. Ingwë and Olwë took Arafinwë by his elbows and escorted him a few paces forward and Ingwë spoke, his voice loud and clear. "Behold, people of Tirion, We bring to you one who would be your king. Here is Arafinwë Finwion of the House of Finwë."

Then he and Olwë released their hold on Arafinwë and took two steps back, thus leaving the ellon by himself. Arafinwë looked about him, trying to gauge the mood of the silent crowd. The expressions of those closest to him seemed to him neither forbidding nor welcoming. It was as if they were withholding any judgment for or against him. He looked at Anairë, who stood there in regal splendor and wondered how she felt about it all, seeing the younger brother of her husband taking the crown. The nobles ranged about her appeared solemn and some had expressions that seemed unfriendly to him, yet many, like Herencáno, smiled at him when he happened to catch their eyes. He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly going dry as the silence continued. They were all waiting for him to speak, but the speech he had so carefully prepared during the journey seemed suddenly inadequate, the words too stilted and formal.

"When I left, I left with no intention of returning," he said without preamble, startling not a few with his words. "I sincerely believed I had no right to the crown, that I and all of us were no better than thralls and I presented myself to the Valar in that wise." He paused for a moment, closing his eyes at the sudden memory of that shameful audience, but he took a deep breath, opened his eyes and continued. "It was pure arrogance on my part. The Valar, Lord Manwë in particular, refused my offer and rightly so. They showed me mercy, though at the time I did not see it as such. Instead of being accepted as a thrall, Lord Manwë accepted me as his apprentice, and so in these years of darkness I have sat at his feet, learning from him what it pleased him to teach me."

He took another deep breath. "I did not wish to return," he admitted baldly. The silence that surrounded him was absolutely complete as the people of Tirion listened to his words. He gave them a faint smile. "Indeed, Lord Manwë had to practically order me back to Tirion to take up my duties as Noldóran." There were a few chuckles from the crowd and some of the earlier tension in the air lightened. "And so, here I stand before you, O my people, and I ask for your forgiveness for ever deserting you in your hour of need. I have no excuse but my own cowardice and sense of unworth. I do not know what kind of king I will make, but with your help and support, I will be the best king I can be... if you will have me."

That last bit seemed to surprise most of them and not a few who had looked upon him with anger now saw him in a different light. None were given time to contemplate Arafinwë’s words for long, for at Arafinwë’s nod, Axantur came forward, turning to stand beside the king to address the people. "Here stands Arafinwë Finwion of the House of Finwë," he cried out in a voice that all could hear. "Here stands one who humbly comes before you to take up the crown of his atar. How say you, People of Tirion? Will you have Arafinwë as your king? Will he be our new Noldóran?"

For a tense, eternal moment, there was no sound or movement, and Arafinwë steeled himself for the possibility of rejection, but then, almost as one, beginning with Herencáno and Herenaráto, every noble bent their knees to him and soon all were making their obeisance, except the Vanyar and Teleri among them. Arafinwë released a breath he did not know he’d been holding and bade everyone to rise.

Then when Arafinwë nodded to him, Axantur turned again to the crowd to ask, "Ye who are Noldolië, do ye take Arafinwë Finwion as your king?"

"Aye!" came the immediate reply from the throats of all the Noldor.

"Will ye give him your fealty as is meet, obeying him in all things pertaining to the realm?" the Chamberlain continued with the traditional questions.

"Aye!" the crowd shouted again, louder if that were possible.

Axantur then turned to face Arafinwë. "And thou, Arafinwë Finwion, wilt thou be a true king to thy people? Wilt thou rule fairly and with respect for all thy subjects, from the least to the greatest? Wilt thou give honor where it is due and protect thy people from all harm to the best of thine abilities?"

"Yes, with all my heart and may the blessing of the Valar be upon us all."

"Valar valuvar," the crowd murmured as did even the Vanyar and Teler among them. Ingwë happened to catch his son’s eyes at that moment and saw the knowing look, remembering another coronation where the Valar had not been invoked. He nodded to Ingwion and was pleased to see him smile, then turned his attention to what was happening next. This was the crucial part, he knew, when all authority would be vested in Arafinwë.

Yet, even as Anairë moved forward and Eärwen and Intarion came around from where they had been standing behind Arafinwë to join her, there was a pause as people started looking up and surprised murmurs rippled across the city. Ingwë suddenly realized that he was seeing actual color around him, had been for some time, but the change had been so subtle, he hadn’t realized what was happening. What had been muted shades of black and white and grey under starlight and fitful torchlight now began to resolve itself into ruby and emerald, sapphire and citrine and all the colors they had known before the Trees had died. He looked around along with everyone else and noticed the stars above were fading into a sky that was turning from deep purple to blue even as he blinked. Tilion was no longer visible but to the west where lay the city of the Valar a light began to shine, brighter and more glorious than Isil. Gold and scarlet banners pierced the heavens and then an orb of tremendous width breached the horizon and there was a collective gasp.

"The Valar be praised!" Ingwë heard Arafinwë whisper in awe. "They did it."

Before Ingwë could ask what he meant, someone shouted, "Laurelin! It’s the light of Laurelin!" And the cry was taken up by many, but the shouting died as many noticed a dark speck against the light and as they watched the speck grew closer, resolving itself into two great Eagles, messengers of the Elder King. They all heard their high screams as one moved toward the city while the other winged itself down the Calacirya, disappearing from their view even as the other Eagle reached them.

"Fear not, People of Eldamar!" they heard the Eagle cry out as it circled above them."Rejoice and be glad, for on this day the Valar have gifted you and all of Arda with a new light, the last fruit of Laurelin the Golden. No longer will the people of this world walk in darkness but will have light for their comfort for all the ages of Arda wheresoever they may dwell." Then, giving another scream, it winged its way southward, apparently to spread the news to those in the Southern Fiefdoms.

For a stunned moment, no one moved or spoke and then they all heard a high-pitched giggle and turned to see little Herendil, nestled in his atar’s arms, pointing to the orb still rising in majestic splendor, his eyes bright, his smile innocent. "Huge lamp, Papa. Pretty."

Herenaráto laughed in delight and gave his son a kiss, speaking softly to him even as the elfling continued watching the golden orb with great interest. Ingwë had a sudden revelation that this child had never known the Light of the Trees, that he had been born under starlight, that Herendil and all the elflings born in the time of Darkness and those born after today would only know this last fruit of Laurelin. And as glorious as it was, it paled against the splendor of the Tree from which it had come and he mourned anew the loss. Yet, even as he mourned, he rejoiced, for that shining orb was a vindication that the Valar were not as helpless and uncaring of the welfare of the Elves as Fëanáro had intimated. The two lights that now graced the heavens were proof that the Valar were still the Guardians of Arda.

All around there was a rising clamor as people pointed to the orb now fully above the horizon, commenting loudly, wondering who was the Maia they could see guiding the vessel. In the excitement of the moment, all thought of Arafinwë’s coronation had ceased, except by Arafinwë himself, who turned his back on the bright light and raised his hands for silence. It took a while for it to come, but Arafinwë never moved and never spoke, standing there with his arms upraised, and those who stood before him gazed in wonder as his hröa was limned by the golden light, his hair like burnished gold. When silence was achieved, he lowered his hands and gave them all a brilliant smile.

"As much as I would like to stand here and gape at the light like everyone else," he said, "I still have a coronation to get through. Do you think we can hurry it along and then, my people, you can stand here and ooh and aah to your hearts’ content while the rest of us go and enjoy the feast."

The absolute drollness of his tone startled not a few and then Ingwion sniggered and Eärwen was seen rolling her eyes and then everyone started laughing. It was some time before they were calmed enough for the ceremony to continue. Arafinwë gestured for Intarion to stand on his left while Eärwen and Anairë were directed to stand on his right. Intarion held a silk pillow on which sat Arafinwë’s crown.

"People of the Noldor," Arafinwë said in a loud voice. "Here stands my beloved cousin, Intarion Ingoldion of the House of Ingwë. As my own sons no longer abide here, I name Intarion my heir."

"And I, Ingwë Ingaran, have sanctioned it," Ingwë announced amidst the rising murmurs among the Noldor.

Then Arafinwë continued. "The crown which you see here was crafted by Lord Aulë himself at my behest."

There were murmurs of surprise and admiration as Intarion held up the pillow, the crown blazing under the new light. Then, when Arafinwë nodded, Intarion moved to stand before him and his voice rang out. "Takest thou this crown, my cousin, which is the new Noldoríë. And it is thine by right of blood. Bear it well, Arafinwë Finwion, for with it comes the burden of kingship." He held out the pillow and all waited to see Arafinwë take the crown, but he didn’t. Instead he turned away, much to the consternation of many, but then consternation turned to surprise when Arafinwë addressed Ingwion.

"I would, of thy courtesy, have thee place the crown upon my head, my cousin."

Ingwion gave him a surprised look, for this was not a part of the planned ceremony. He gave his atar a sideways look to gauge Ingwë’s reaction but Ingwë merely smiled in approval.

"Why?" Ingwion asked bluntly.

"Because thou didst not give up, no matter the odds," Arafinwë replied. "Thou didst not give in, no matter the provocation. Thou didst what I should have done but did not. Thou didst remain faithful to thine oaths while I ran away from mine. For that, I thank thee, for giving me an example of what true loyalty means for any of us. And so, I would ask thee, Ingwion, if thou wouldst honor me by laying this crown upon my head?"

Ingwion hesitated for a moment but seeing the sincerity in Arafinwë’s eyes, he gathered himself together and gave a short but respectful bow. "The honor, fair cousin, is mine."

He came to stand next to Intarion and picked up the crown. He expected to simply place it on his cousin’s head for they were of a height with one another but before he had the chance, Arafinwë knelt and Ingwion wasn’t the only one to look down at him in amazement. The silence stretched on almost to the breaking point before Arafinwë cast a look at Ingwion and winked. That jarred the ellon out of his stupefaction and he pulled himself together and placed the crown on Arafinwë’s head. He wasn’t sure, but he thought that he felt his cousin shiver as the cool metal touched his skin. Then he stepped back to let Arafinwë rise. The Noldóran graciously thanked both Intarion and Ingwion for their service and then it was Eärwen and Anairë’s turn to face their new king.

"This sceptre was crafted for us," Anairë said, speaking softly, though most of them could hear her words, "for Eärwen and me. Fëanáro, I’m sure, probably found it amusing to hand it over to us while he took the original with him. Yet, whether crafted in the early days of our existence or new-made just yesterday, it is still a symbol of thine authority as Noldóran, my brother. Therefore, takest thou this sceptre, which is thine by right of blood, as a symbol of thine authority to govern thy people and mayest thou ever wield it in honor and in truth."

Arafinwë took the sceptre as Anairë handed it to him. "I thank thee, my sister, and thee, my beloved, for your faithfulness in governing our people during mine absence. Your devotion to your duty shames me and I only hope with your guidance that I will be able to rule as wisely and as faithfully as you have."

Both ellith gave him deep curtsies even as he returned them with a bow of his own. Then they stepped to one side and Axantur cried out, "Behold your King!"

The city erupted with glad cries and hosannas as Arafinwë stood there, still as stone. It was done and could not be undone. Whatever else happened, he was now Noldóran, he who had never wanted to rule anyone save his own small household. He glanced at those around him: Ingwë and Olwë were smiling widely and with approval; Ingwion gave him a cheeky grin and Intarion simply nodded his head in grave approbation. Eärwen smiled her special smile and even Anairë, so solemn most of the time, had a lighter mien.

Arafinwë then raised his hand for silence, which finally came. "It is customary at this time to hear the oaths of fealty from my nobles, but I will dispense with that until later. There is, however, one oath of fealty that must be given."

He handed the sceptre to Intarion and turned to face Ingwë, going gracefully to his knees, his hands held out in the traditional pose. Ingwë took a few steps forward, laying his own hands over Arafinwë’s even as the ellon spoke the ancient words of binding. Once the oath was given and recieved, Ingwë raised Arafinwë up and kissed him as lord to liege, whispering in his ear, "Well done, yonya. Well done, indeed."

Arafinwë just smiled, took the sceptre back from Intarion and then, straightening his shoulders, began to walk through the gate into his city with Eärwen and Intarion right behind him and everyone else following as they would. And as the procession began, a hymn broke out among the crowd, a hymn of joy and thanksgiving that their king had finally returned:

"Andondi, á orta i-cúlyar,

á orya, le yárë andor;

á lávë mir i-aran Tiriono.

Man i-aran Tiriono?

Se Arafinwë Voronda,

Aran Tiriono, se!"

****

Noldoríë: Crown of the Noldor.

Notes:

1. Isil is defined as ‘the Sheen’ both in the Silmarillion and in the Etymologies [HoME V] under THIL-.

2. The people’s acclamation as Arafinwë enters Tirion is adapted from Psalm 24, 9-10:

Andondi, á orta i-cúlyar,

Great gates, raise your arches,

á orya, le yárë andor;

rise, you ancient doors;

á lávë mir i-aran Tiriono.

Allow within the king of Tirion.

Man i-aran Tiriono?

Who is the king of Tirion?

Se Arafinwë Voronda

He is Arafinwë the Faithful,

Aran Tiriono, se!

King of Tirion, he!