In Darkness Bound by Fiondil

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Chapter 43: Seeds of Betrayal

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43: Seeds of Betrayal

Ingalaurë watched his parents and the others going to Tirion disappear through the south gates of the city and had a sudden desire to rush after them, saying he had changed his mind and wished to go with them, but he squashed the impulse almost immediately.

"Don’t be such an elfling," he scolded himself as he followed Ingoldo and Tinwetariel back into the palace with everyone else who had been on hand to wish the travelers farewell. He and his uncle and aunt made their way to the royal apartments where the three sat in the main sitting room drinking some wine.

"Well, they’re away," Ingoldo said and Ingalaurë could not tell if he was happy or sad about it.

"What will you do?" Tinwetariel asked her husband. "Will you convene the Privy Council?"

"Not much point in doing so," Ingoldo replied, "with Tamurilon, Nolondur and Lindórië gone as well." Lindórië, in fact, had decided to travel with the royal party as far as Eldamas to visit with her sister who, along with her husband, served Lady Vána and Lord Oromë, while Nolondur and his wife had decided to go to Tirion to see their daughter and son-in-law whom they knew would be there for the naming ceremony. He glanced at Ingalaurë and gave him a slight grin. "I am afraid that it’s going to be a very dull two weeks."

Ingalaurë shrugged. "I am sure I can find something to amuse myself," he said.

"You really should have gone with the rest of the family, Nephew," Ingoldo said, his expression turning towards annoyance. "I do not require watching."

"The very idea is insulting," Tinwetariel exclaimed with a huff.

Ingalaurë shrugged again, trying to evince an unconcerned look. "I felt it prudent, given the times, that more than one of the royal family be present in Vanyamar, but I promise to stay as much out of your way as I can." With that, he drained his goblet and stood, giving his aunt and uncle a perfunctory bow before exiting.

Ingalaurë kept his promise to some extent over the next several days, but unfortunately he still needed to interact with his uncle in overseeing the running of the government. In public, they were cooly polite to one another; in private, they barely spoke to one another and usually only through Tinwetariel who lost her temper on the third day and told them to both grow up before storming out of the room in high dudgeon. Then, an incident arose among two nobles, a dispute over land rights, which brought uncle and nephew together to adjudicate the case, for neither noble was willing to wait for the High King’s return before having the issue resolved. The original contract was examined by them both with great care and Ingoldo found himself quizzing Ingalaurë about certain points of law concerning property as he had done in earlier times. Ingalaurë responded readily enough and the two actually found themselves arguing both sides of the issue with one another, with Ingalaurë taking Lord Lassezel’s side and Ingoldo taking Lord Súlimondil’s.

"Will there not be a conflict of interest considering that you and Lord Súlimondil are friends?" Ingalaurë asked at one point.

Ingoldo shook his head. "It would be no more a conflict of interest if my brother were here to sit in judgment, since Lassezel is a friend of his. One has to divorce one’s personal feelings towards those who come before you and see the situation as objectively as possible. For instance, Súlimondil’s case is very strong for the most part, yet, see here where this clause is used in the contract." He pointed to a particular section and Ingalaurë leaned over to re-read it. "This was a foolish clause to put into the contract, for it gives Lassezel the better claim under the circumstances. Súlimondil should have objected to its inclusion."

"According to my notes here, though, he was the one who insisted the clause be put in even though Lassezel says he tried to convince Súlimondil against it," Ingalaurë stated.

"My point exactly," Ingoldo replied. "Súlimondil’s case would be much stronger if it were not for this particular clause, so it appears that I will have to decide for Lassezel in this instance."

"Súlimondil will not like that," Ingalaurë commented shrewdly.

Ingoldo shrugged. "That is neither here nor there," he retorted. "I think Súlimondil insisted the case be brought to me instead of to Ingwë believing that I would allow our friendship to sway me in favor of him in my ruling."

"And would you?" Ingalaurë asked.

"Perhaps," Ingoldo admitted, "but I know for a fact that any adjudication on my part will be reviewed by your atar and given what we know of the situation, he would overrule me in favor of Lassezel."

Ingalaurë frowned. "Knowing that Lassezel and Atto are friends, though, would not Atto’s objectivity be called into question if he were to rule in favor of Lassezel instead of Súlimondil?"

"Except that your atar is well known for his objectivity even when it comes to those who can be called his friends. He has often had to put aside his own feelings about a certain party and rule against them. His reputation for fairness is well established and no one questions it. I, on the other hand, cannot be said to have the same reputation, for I have normally not sat in judgment, so I must be very careful, even as you and your brother were, in how I rule on a particular case."

Ingalaurë nodded. "I know. There were a couple of times when we really wanted to rule one way because the person was someone we knew or felt to be more deserving, but we couldn’t, knowing that Atto would reverse our ruling. It was very hard at times."

"Súlimondil will most likely be very unhappy with me for a time," Ingoldo said with a sardonic twist of his lips, "but I think I can live with it."

Ingalaurë grinned and it seemed that some of the tension between uncle and nephew eased and they were on friendlier terms after that.

****

A few days before Ingwë and Elindis were expected back, Ingoldo, Tinwetariel and Ingalaurë were in the family sitting room after dinner, relaxing. Tinwetariel was working on some embroidery while Ingoldo was reading. Ingalaurë was at the writing desk ostensibly writing a poem but his thoughts were wandering and he was more doodling than writing. At one point, Ingoldo, realizing his goblet was empty, stood to go to the sideboard to get more wine and passed by the writing table. He idly glanced at the scrap of parchment Ingalaurë was supposedly working on.

"Mahalmacundo," he muttered, reaching the sideboard.

Ingalaurë startled and looked up at his uncle in shock. "Wha...!?"

"You’ve written your amilessë," Ingoldo said as he poured the wine. "Are you planning on writing a poem about your amilessë?"

Ingalaurë glanced down at the scrap of parchment in bemusement. In truth, he had not paid any attention to what he was doing and was surprised to see the name scrawled across the page. Tinwetariel snorted from where she was sitting, working some elf-knots into the design.

"Ridiculous names," she exclaimed. "I cannot imagine what Elindis was thinking when she gave you and your brother those names. I told your amillë that the names were longer than you were, you were both such tiny things, all red and wrinkled. It was hard to tell you apart at first until you grew a little older."

"You know," Ingoldo said in an idle manner as he resumed his seat, "I always wondered if your parents didn’t get you two mixed up."

"How do you mean?" Ingalaurë asked.

Ingoldo shrugged. "There was a lot of confusion when you were born," he said, "especially since very little time passed between the two births. I often wondered, with all that was happening, if, inadvertently mind you, the wrong twin was given the little bracelet of beaten gold put on his wrist so they would know who was the elder."

"I... I am sure that Atto and Ammë would know which was which," Ingalaurë said, though he didn’t sound convinced even to himself.

"Oh, I have no doubt," Ingoldo replied, taking a sip of wine and picking up his book to resume reading. "As I said, it was just a thought I had at the time. Pay no heed to it."

Silence stretched between the three Elves and then Ingalaurë stood and excused himself, finding that he needed to get away, for it seemed to him as if the room had closed in on him and he could no longer breathe. He made his way out into the gardens and spent the rest of the time in which Laurelin was blooming wandering through them in deep thought. Try as he might, he could not dismiss Ingoldo’s words. Something within him felt that perhaps his uncle was correct, that perhaps, just perhaps, he was the true first-born, not Ingwion. If that were true... but no, his parents would not have deliberately denied him his birthright. Yet... and yet....

Of course, there was no way to prove his uncle was telling the truth and he was not about to confront his parents about it. They would just deny it, for to do otherwise would bring great confusion upon them all. He shook his head, trying to clear it of such dark thoughts. Ingoldo’s words were not true, could not be. This was his uncle, after all. He could never fully trust him. He knew that, and yet....

Sighing, he returned to his own suite and readied himself for sleep, but it was a long time coming and when he did finally succumb, his dreams were troubled....

He found himself as a babe looking up at two who he somehow knew were his parents.

"So, which one is which?" his atto was saying and he was unsurprised that even as a babe he was able to understand speech.

"I am fairly sure this is the older twin," his ammë said, pointing at him, and he felt immeasurably happy at that.

His atto shook his head. "That may be so, but I think the other should be declared my first-born, for he is more fair to look upon and appears to be more intelligent looking."

"Perhaps you are right," his ammë said with a sigh, and to Ingalaurë’s great dismay he watched as she placed a thin gold bracelet around his twin’s wrist and he wanted to tell them that he was the older twin and he was just as fair to look upon and just as intelligent as his brother, but he could not speak for he was but a newborn babe. All he could do was cry, great racking sobs which his parents ignored as they cooed and fussed over his brother....

Ingalaurë woke suddenly, wondering what the strange sound was and then realized to his horror that it was coming from him, that he had been crying. He hunched himself up into a ball of misery, wondering if the dream had been a true memory or just a manifestation of his fears and doubts. There was no way to know. It was a long time before he fell asleep again.

****

When his parents returned, his greeting was less enthusiastic than theirs and he had a hard time pretending that he was happy to see them. The doubts about his heritage lingered and he could not shake them. He thought of asking his parents about it when they were alone, but there never seemed to be any opportunity, especially when he was due to leave in two-days’ time himself.

"Your cousin Findaráto finally became betrothed," Elindis told him. "You will be traveling with Almáriel and Castamir for the betrothal dinner. Your atto has already sent them the news."

"That is good news," Ingalaurë exclaimed with a smile that was unfeigned, for he was very fond of Findaráto and Amarië both. "Something to look forward to for next year."

He did manage to corner Valandur, who had been present at the twins’ birth, and asked him if there was any possibility that there could have been a mix-up between the twins as to who was the first-born. He tried to make it sound as if he was only idly curious about it, but was not sure how convincing he was.

"What brought this on?" Valandur asked with narrowed eyes.

"Oh, just something Uncle Ingoldo said," Ingalaurë answered with as much diffidence as he could muster. "He said he often wondered in all the confusion of our births if the wrong twin was designated as the first-born. I’m sure it is nothing, but it got me wondering and I thought...."

"Put your mind at ease, Ingil," Valandur said. "There was no mix-up, I assure you."

"Do you think that perhaps Atto and Ammë just decided Ingwi should be the first-born even if he wasn’t?" Ingalaurë ventured, feeling something twisting inside him at Valandur’s pronouncement.

"Whyever would they do such a thing?" Valandur demanded in surprise.

"Oh, you know," Ingalaurë muttered. "Ingwi’s always been the one everyone looks up to. I just thought...."

"Oh, child," the loremaster said, taking the ellon into his embrace and hugging him fiercely. "I know you often resent that you are the second-born twin, but I assure you that there was no attempt by any to rob you of your birthright. Ingwion was the first-born. I would swear to that before the Valar themselves, standing in the Máhanaxar. But do not think that because you came second that you come second in your parents’ love or in the regard of those of us who know you both and love you both equally. You are no less worthy than Ingwion and I am surprised that you would even consider that what Ingoldo said could be true. Have I not taught you to always consider the source of any information you are given? Whom do you trust more, me or Ingoldo?"

"That’s a silly question," Ingalaurë replied.

"Not so silly if you truly believe what Ingoldo has told you," Valandur said, pulling the ellon away from him to give him a considering look. "Believe me, Ingil. There was no mix-up nor was there any conspiracy to rob you of your heritage. If you had been born years after Ingwion, would you feel the way you do?"

"I don’t know," Ingalaurë said with a sigh. "Just five minutes. It was just five minutes."

"And unfortunately, that five minutes makes all the difference, doesn’t it?"

Ingalaurë nodded glumly. Valandur gave him a sympathetic smile. "Your atar and amillë declared you both as their heirs. By law, of course, Ingwion is the one who will sit on the throne if Ingwë ever decides to step down, something I truly doubt will ever happen, but, if it does Ingwion is free to abdicate in your favor if he so desires. Until then, you both share the responsibilities of being haryon and you should be content with that and not worry about the rest."

Ingalaurë sighed, then he gave Valandur a measuring look. "Did you ever wonder why Ammë named us as she did? Why am I the ‘Throne-guardian’ but Ingwi is the ‘Throne-redeemer’?"

"I do not know, child," Valandur said with a shake of his head. "I know your atar was somewhat taken aback when Elindis so named you, but in truth, I have given it little thought. Have you considered asking your amillë about it? She, after all, was the one to name you and she may have seen something of the future concerning you and your brother. Yet, remember this: even the Valar cannot see all things that will come to pass. The future is not fixed and many things can happen to prevent something from occurring, not the least is our own free will given to us by Eru."

"I know," Ingalaurë replied, "and yes, I have thought to ask Ammë about it, but I guess I will have to wait until I return from Tirion." He gave Valandur a rueful smile. "There’s really no time to ask her now."

"My advice, for what it is worth, is to forget about it," Valandur suggested. "Go to Tirion and enjoy yourself with your brother and your friends. I can tell you that Ingwion was very upset to learn that you were not with us and only your atar’s promise that you would be joining him in a few weeks stopped him from taking to horse immediately and rushing here to haul you back to Tirion."’

Ingalaurë couldn’t help snorting in amusement as Valandur gave him a grin. "He would, too," he said. "Very well. I will do as you say. Now that I think about it, I wouldn’t be surprised if Uncle said what he did just out of mischief."

"No doubt," Valandur agreed. "Go and enjoy your time with Ingwion. He misses you terribly, as I know you miss him."

Thus, Ingalaurë put aside his doubts and fears for the time being and concentrated on getting ready to leave. Lady Almáriel was beside herself with joy that her daughter was finally betrothed and long before they reached Eldamas, Ingalaurë was heartily tired of listening to her prattle on about wedding plans. Lord Castamir had long tuned his wife out, content to read some volume of poetry written by someone Ingalaurë had never heard of as they rode along. Ingalaurë was never so glad as when the towers of Tirion came into sight and he breathed a sigh of relief.

The meeting with his brother and everyone else was a joyous one for the most part but watching his twin interact with their Noldorin cousins and Ñolofinwë’s courtiers, Ingalaurë could not help wondering if what Valandur had told him was the truth.

That night the same disturbing dream of being a newborn came to him, though he did not cry himself awake. Instead, the dream mutated to the one where he saw his brother standing on a precipice overlooking a land that appeared familiar even though it was lit only by stars and not by the Light of the Trees. He watched helplessly as his brother struggled with someone he could not see clearly and then fall. When Ingalaurë reached him he found himself staring down at his own face. The first time, he had woken in a cold sweat at this point, but now the dream continued. Still staring down at his own face, he felt someone come up beside him. Turning, he stepped back in surprise, for it was Ingoldo staring down at the body, ignoring him altogether. The expression on his uncle’s face was one that Ingalaurë could put no name to and it frightened him beyond all reason and he began screaming.

"Ingil! Ingil!"

He heard someone calling his name and then someone was shaking him. That brought him fully awake and he found himself in his twin’s arms, Ingwion’s expression one of deep concern and even fear. Ingalaurë shuddered and gasped, trying to divorce dream from reality.

"I’m all right, I’m all right," he said, drawing in deep breaths to calm himself. "It was just a dream, just a dream."

"A nightmare, from the way you were thrashing about," Ingwion said, holding him close and rocking him slightly to give him some comfort. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Ingalaurë shook his head. "No. It was nothing. Probably that spiced venison I had at dinner. I shouldn’t have had a second helping."

"Are you sure?" Ingwion asked as he pulled his brother back to look at him, still concerned.

Ingalaurë forced a smile. "Yes, of course. Now please don’t fuss. I’m sorry I woke you."

Ingwion nodded, looking somewhat doubtful but to Ingalaurë’s relief he did not press. "Well, then, if you’re sure...."

"I am, I promise."

His brother patted him on the shoulder and then rose to return to his own bed, for Ingalaurë was sharing his suite and he had had the original bed replaced with two narrower ones. "Just like when we were elflings," he had said when he showed Ingalaurë the sleeping arrangements.

Ingalaurë settled himself back down, pulling the coverlet over him. In minutes he heard the slow even breathing of Ingwion fast asleep, but it was some time before he was able to join him in slumber.