In Darkness Bound by Fiondil

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Chapter 62: Mission to Alqualondë

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62: Mission to Alqualondë

Ingwë left with Indis and Amarië an hour after the next First Mingling, according to Fëanáro’s water clock. There was little fanfare, which suited everyone just fine. Fëanáro graciously offered a suitable escort and Ingwë just as graciously declined.

"I’ve already arranged for an escort," the High King said with a quirk of his lips as he and his party took their leave of the Noldorin royal family. "It’s waiting for us at the city gate."

Fëanáro raised an eyebrow and scowled. "You are very free with my people," he complained, "High King you may be, but you are abusing guest-rights in appropriating an escort without a by-your-leave."

"High King," Ingwë repeated with an unreadable expression on his face. "Odd that you would mention that... well, it matters not. And I am not the one doing the abusing. If you wish to see my escort, you may accompany us to the city gate."

With that, he turned and nodded to Indis, offering his arm which she took. Findaráto escorted Amarië and Ingwion followed behind as everyone made their way through the city, the diamond dust in the streets glittering dimly in the torchlight provided by the guards leading them. When they reached the western gate where the horses and packponies were already waiting, everyone gasped in surprise and even Fëanáro looked nonplused at the sight of two mail-clad Maiar in the livery of the Elder King standing there, their expressions one of mild curiosity and amusement. Each wore a sword that was as long as most Elves were tall strapped to their backs. One of them was raven-haired while the other had auburn locks. Both had steel-grey eyes and their features were so alike that, except for their coloring, they might have been twins. They bowed to the Elves.

"Greetings, Children," the one with auburn hair said, his voice resonating with the sound of thunder. "I am Erunáro of the People of Manwë and this is my brother in the Thought of Ilúvatar, Manveru."

Ingwë bowed. "Thank you," he said simply. "I appreciate the Elder King’s solicitude in this trying time."

"It is our honor, Ingwë Ingaran," Manveru answered, his voice equally deep and rumbling, slightly stressing the title, which caused Fëanáro to grit his teeth.

Ingwë ignored the new Noldóran, helping Indis to mount her horse while Findaráto did the same for Amarië. Ingwë then turned to Ingwion. "Are you sure I cannot persuade you to return with us, my son?" he asked.

Ingwion shook his head, hoping he would not give away the game with unseemly laughter. "Nay, Atto. By your leave I would tarry here awhile that I may visit with my cousins for a time. Findaráto has invited me to a hunt in the royal reserve, just the two of us."

"Oh?" Aicanáro interjected. "You would go hunting alone? Why can we not join you? I could do with some time away from this dreary place."

Angaráto and even Turucáno nodded. Findaráto was the one who answered. "Because I invited him first and we wish for no other company but ourselves."

"And how long will you be gone?" Arafinwë demanded, frowning. "This is not the time for...."

"It is the perfect time," Eärwen interrupted, giving her husband a quelling look before smiling at her first-born and Ingwion. "I think it’s a wonderful idea. In fact, my dear husband, I have in mind for the two of us to leave Tirion for a time ourselves."

Everyone stared at her in disbelief. Ingwion and Findaráto exchanged nervous looks, afraid that she had decided to return to Alqualondë and thereby ruin their own plans. Arafinwë merely raised an eyebrow at his wife, quite used to her ways.

"And where would you like to go, beloved?" he asked with a faint smile.

She gave him a coy look. "Well, there’s a certain sea cave...."

Even in the dim light of the torches they all saw the youngest son of Finwë turn stark white. "You are jesting," he said, almost pleadingly.

Eärwen merely smiled at him in a way that made the others look away in embarrassment, feeling as if they’d been spying on some intimate moment between the two.

The two Maiar, momentarily forgotten by the Elves, snickered, the sound so incongruous that all eyes turned to them in surprise. Neither looked repentant. Manveru’s grin was just shy of being rude.

"We will tell our brother Eönwë to sharpen his quill," he said as he winked at Arafinwë and Erunáro burst out laughing. The Elves just stood there in bemusement, not at all sure what was being said.

Arafinwë shook his head. "We’ll talk about this later," he muttered to Eärwen, who merely nodded, her expression smug.

"Well, if we’re all set," Ingwë said, deciding it was time to leave, "we had best be going." He mounted his steed and raised a hand in farewell. "I trust that with time and reflection some of you will realize how foolish this... dream of yours is. The Silmarils are beyond your reach and what you are planning is madness."

"Farewell Ingwë," Fëanáro said coldly. "I and my people are set on our course and not even the Valar will persuade us to alter it."

"That may be as it may be," Ingwë replied with a sigh and shook his head. It was useless to argue and he noticed that the two Maiar now had troubled looks on their fair faces. He wondered how much of the events of the last few days were known to the Valar. He nodded to the Maiar and they gave him bows before taking positions on either side of him and without a backward glance Ingwë urged his horse forward. Indis’ sons and daughter and grandchildren gave her a tearful farewell, as did many others of the royal household, for she had been well-loved by all save by Fëanáro and his sons.

Only Amarië looked back, her expression pensive as she waved at her betrothed who waved back and blew her a kiss. She blew him one as well, feeling slightly better, but still she wondered as she turned her attention back to the road if she would ever see him again. So much was in turmoil and she could almost hate the High King for making her return to Vanyamar just now when she felt she was needed in Tirion. She sighed and drew her cloak a little closer as if feeling a chill wind though the air was still and surprisingly mild. She had a sudden vision of standing on the front steps of the palace in Tirion staring at a banner only half seen, a banner with her beloved’s sigil on it, as it disappeared amidst a throng of people leaving the city, swallowed up by the ever-present darkness. Then the vision — if such it was — left her and she shivered again, wondering in despair how it would all turn out.

****

"I thought for sure your ammë was going to say she wanted to return to Alqualondë," Ingwion said to Findaráto as the two were sitting together in Ingwion’s sitting room, drinking hard cider and poring over a map to determine their best route. Findaráto had come up with the idea of volunteering to see how the granaries stood as he and Ingwion purportedly headed for the royal reserve. Fëanáro had approved the plan. Thus, anyone who saw them leaving the road would assume that they were checking the granaries before heading for the king’s forest to hunt.

"You and me both," Findaráto said with a sigh as he took a sip of the cider and looked at the map. He laid a finger on it and traced a route. "If we go to the granaries we should be able to cut across country at this point. It’s open field as I recall until we get here. This is the tricky part."

"How do you mean?" Ingwion asked. "I’ve only been down the Calacirya once so I’m not as familiar with this area as I should be."

"The Calacirya is a cleft through the high country on either side," Findaráto explained. "We’ll be coming to it from the south, which means we’ll be higher up than the floor of the valley that runs down to the sea. We’ll need to find a way down."

"I know the cleft opens up here where Tirion is," Ingwion said, staring at the map, "and the walls are lower but it seems to me that the further east you go the more sheer the cliffs become."

Findaráto nodded, furrowing his brow. "However, there is a path leading down from the highlands somewhere here." He ran his finger in a circular pattern near where the mountains met the Calacirya. "We just need to find it."

"Easier said than done, I imagine," Ingwion retorted with a shake of his head, "and doubly so without adequate light to see by."

"Sorry," Findaráto said.

"Hey! It’s not your fault," Ingwion assured him. He paused and stared more closely at the map. "Why isn’t this path you mentioned clearly marked on the map?"

Findaráto shrugged. "I have no idea. I only know that the path is there because it was pointed out to me once when I traveled down to Alqualondë. Truth to tell, I’m not even sure why the path was pointed out to me. It’s not obvious unless you know where to look."

"But you’ve only seen it from the one end," Ingwion stated. "How are we going to find its other end?"

"It has to come out somewhere here," Findaráto said, pointing at the map again. "I was told the path did not wind over much. I think if we move along here once we leave the granaries we’re bound to find it." He ran his finger along the edge of the Calacirya.

"Very well," Ingwion said with a sigh. "The next question is: can we get our horses down?"

Findaráto shook his head. "I have no idea. We won’t know for sure until we find the path."

"Great. Just great," the Vanyarin prince muttered. "I wonder if Atto knows about this."

"I have no doubt that he does," Findaráto replied with a grim smile. "Very little escapes Uncle Ingwë’s attention, but I suspect he has enough faith in the both of us to find a way."

"Well, let’s get packing," Ingwion said. "I want to be away as soon as we can."

****

They left a few hours later, resisting Arafinwë’s offer of an escort. "We’re going hunting," Findaráto told him firmly, "and we prefer to hunt alone."

"I don’t like the idea of just the two of you alone," Arafinwë retorted with a frown. "It’s unseemly for you not to have at least a couple of guards with you."

"Unseemly or not, we’re going alone," Findaráto insisted. "Please, Atto, we really need this time to ourselves without others interfering."

"Interfering?" Arafinwë echoed, looking confused. "How would guards interfere? They’re only there to see to your welfare."

"Poor choice of words, I agree," Findaráto averred.

"Arafinwë." Ingwion decided it was time to intervene. "I know you are only concerned for us, but I think we can handle ourselves well enough without help. I promise I’ll keep Findaráto from doing anything stupid or dangerous."

"Hey!" Findaráto protested.

"I’ll hold you to that Ingwion," Arafinwë said, capitulating.

So they left.

"And not a minute too soon," Findaráto muttered in disgust.

Ingwion just smiled and said nothing as they passed through the southern gate, giving the guards there a salute. They were soon at the turn-off for the granaries.

"So do we actually stop and examine them as you promised Fëanáro?" Ingwion asked.

"Of course!" Findaráto replied in surprise. "It won’t take that long and I did promise."

"And you always keep your promises," Ingwion said.

"I try to."

In fact, the granary inspection took longer than either anticipated because the Overseer insisted that the two princes visit every single granary and then stay for a meal. Neither ellyn knew how to bow out of the invitation without causing insult and the last thing they wanted was to have their actions reported back to Tirion. So they stayed for the meal, all the while chafing at the delay.

"We have a mind to go hunting before returning to Tirion," Findaráto told their host. "Any suggestions?"

"Well there is the royal reserve," the Overseer said.

"We prefer to hunt in open land," Ingwion chimed in.

"Ah, then in that case, your best bet is southeast of here. There is plenty of game, both large and small in that direction. It’s where we usually do our own hunting."

"What about to the north or east?" Findaráto asked.

"You’re not going to find much in those directions."

They thanked the ellon and as soon as they could they made their farewells, purposely heading southeast, but after a mile or so, Findaráto urged his mount to turn north again and they made their way towards the lip of the Calacirya.

"We’ve lost a lot of time," Ingwion muttered and Findaráto just shrugged, for there was nothing he could say about it.

They stopped at one point to rest the horses and stretch their legs, then set off again in silence. The landscape was eerie under the constant starlight and as they drew closer to the Calacirya it became misty and the seeing was difficult. At one point Findaráto dismounted and Ingwion followed suit and they walked carefully, not wanting to find themselves falling off the cliff edge. Eventually though they came to a stand of trees and Findaráto recalled that the heights above the cleft were forested. Soon, they found themselves staring down into the valley of the Calacirya, though there was little to see because of the mists. They rested again for a longer time, building a small fire and taking some sustenance, before moving on, both of them keeping their eyes peeled for any sign of a path leading down.

How long they walked between the trees, wending their way eastward, they never afterwards could say, but as the mountains rose before them, they came to a spot where the trees were fewer and the land more open.

"Look! That must be it," Findaráto cried, pointing ahead.

Ingwion stared where his cousin was pointing and saw two irregularly shaped objects standing there. On closer inspection they saw that they were two stone pillars and between them a series of narrow stone steps was cut into the cliff face.

"We’ll have to abandon our horses then," Ingwion said with a sigh of disgust.

"There’s no help for it," Findaráto replied as he began to divest his horse of its packs. "We’ll leave them to forage."

"It’ll take us too long to reach Alqualondë by foot," Ingwion groused as he followed Findaráto between the pillars.

"It will take as long as it will take," Findaráto said calmly. "Now stop grousing. Honestly, if I didn’t know better I’d swear you were no older than Artaher."

Ingwion laughed. "Sorry. I’m not at my best when my plans are being thwarted."

"Not thwarted, just delayed."

In spite of their narrowness and the steep incline, the steps proved easy to maneuver as they went down them, the walls of the cliff rising around them, blocking their view save for a glimpse of the stars above. After what seemed forever but was perhaps no more than half an hour, they were coming into the Calacirya. Taking a deep breath and looking about they saw that they were very near the eastern end and could in fact smell the salt in the air. Hefting their packs into more comfortable positions, they headed off.

"I wonder where that sea cave is that your ammë mentioned," Ingwion said suddenly.

"You mean the one that made Atto go white?" Findaráto replied with a laugh. "I thought for sure he was going to faint and why did the two Maiar start laughing?"

"They obviously know something we don’t," Ingwion said with a shrug and a smile. "So do you know about this sea cave?"

"Not a thing," Findaráto answered. "I have the feeling, though, that neither of my parents will appreciate being asked about it." He laughed and Ingwion joined him.

"Listen!" Findaráto suddenly said, stopping in mid-stride.

Ingwion stumbled to a halt and strained his ears. At first he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be hearing but then he could just make out the dim sound of voices coming somewhere before them, singing. Findaráto smiled. "Come!" he exclaimed. "I think we may have found our ride." He began running down the sward.

"Wait!" Ingwion shouted. "What do you mean?"

But Findaráto ignored him and he was forced to follow quickly. In a short time the two ellyn found themselves on a gem-strewn beach. Ingwion saw a small boat bobbing in the waters before them, perhaps a hundred feet or so from the shore, and in it were several silver-haired Teleri wearing only breeches or stripped down completely to loincloths, their hair tied back with leather thongs, moving with practiced ease as they hauled up a net. It was they who had been singing. One of them happened to look up as the two ellyn reached the shore and waved. The others, alerted by their fellow stayed their song and looked up as well.

"What be two of the Minyai doing here?" the first sailor shouted.

Ingwion could barely understand the ellon’s rough dialect, but Findaráto did not seem to have a problem, for he answered promptly. "Only one of us be of the Minyai but we both be in need of a ride to Alqualondë if thou wouldst be so kind."

"And why would we be hauling thy worthless landlubber hröa anywhere?" one of the other sailors asked with a sneering laugh and the rest joined in.

Ingwion understood enough of what the insolent ellon had said to start feeling angry but Findaráto laid a hand on his arm, never taking his eyes off the sailors. "For the love that thou hast for the Alquawendë, who is also my amillë," Findaráto answered back.

The laughter died immediately and there was a hurried consultation among the sailors. Then, they quickly hauled in the net and stowed it away while the first sailor, whom Ingwion suspected was the captain, jumped out of the boat, the water coming up to his chest. He did not come all the way to the shore but stood a few feet away with the water lapping his knees, his hands on his hips as he stared hard at the two of them. Ingwion kept himself still; Findaráto might as well have been made of stone. The sailor stared at them for a good long minute before speaking.

"Who be thou?" he demanded. "Thou’st the look of the Nelyai in thy face but thou’rt no Son of Ulmo."

"Nay," Findaráto said equably. "I be a Son of Aulë as is my atar and all my clan, but still the blood of the Sons of Ulmo run in me and I would ask of thy mercy for thine assistance. I must needs reach Alqualondë and speak unto my anatar, thy king, for I and my companion have grave news."

For a moment the Teler did not move, and then he nodded. "I see in thine eyes that thou speakest truth. Come then, let us hie thee to Alqualondë." With that he turned about and began moving back to the boat. Findaráto grabbed Ingwion and began dragging him into the ocean.

"But I cannot swim!" Ingwion protested, trying to pull himself out of his cousin’s grasp.

"It’s not deep," Findaráto assured him. "Let me guide you."

"As if I have a choice," the Vanyarin prince muttered as he allowed the younger ellon to drag him along, trying to keep his footing.

They reached the boat where the sailors offered eager hands to bring them aboard. Soon the two were sitting in the middle of the boat dripping seawater, clutching their packs which they had kept dry by holding them above their heads. The sailors went about their business of raising their single sail and the one who had invited them aboard — he was indeed the captain — manned the tiller. The boat responded and was soon heading north. Ingwion watched the dark bulk of Tol Eressëa pass on their right and suppressed a shiver. No one lived there anymore. It was a deserted, desolate island and he wondered if anyone would ever bother to settle there. He could not imagine why anyone would but then, he reflected wryly, he could not imagine why anyone would not want to live in the Light of the Two Trees. Except, that light is forever gone, he reminded himself and he forced himself to look away from the dark island.

The sailors ignored them, going about their tasks in silence. Findaráto looked about with interest and Ingwion heard him humming an unfamiliar tune. Then, he suddenly began singing out loud. From what Ingwion could understand of it, it was a sea chanty, and not at all polite. Ingwion smothered a laugh at a particularly suggestive verse. The sailors all stood in shocked silence, listening to this proper prince of the Noldor singing a rather naughty song. The captain started laughing and then he was joining in and soon all the other sailors were singing along. It wasn’t long before Ingwion was chiming in on the chorus.

Thus, they sailed north towards the Swan Haven under the indifferent gaze of the stars, singing one sea chanty after another. Ingwion never knew just when he found himself sitting cross-legged in the middle of the boat with Findaráto on one side of him and one of the sailors on the other, learning various kinds of knots and singing as the captain brought them through the arch of living sea rock into the harbor.

"We’ve arrived," Findaráto said softly and Ingwion looked up from his work to see the quays of Alqualondë shining under lantern-light.

It took only moments for them to reach the moorings and then Ingwion was being helped over the side and onto the wharf. He and Findaráto thanked the sailors and then they were making their way across a small bridge spanning one of the city’s innumerable canals, making their way towards the palace. No one paid any attention to them as they wended their way through the city, but the guards at the palace gates halted them until one of them recognized their king’s grandson and they were quickly admitted. Findaráto asked that Olwë be informed of their presence while he led Ingwion to the suite of rooms that were his whenever he visited Alqualondë. Findaráto ordered baths for them both.

"I don’t care to greet Anatar smelling of dead fish and seaweed," Findaráto said to Ingwion and the ellon whole-heartedly agreed.

Servants scurried about, bringing dainties for them to eat and wine to drink as they set about making themselves presentable. Finally, about an hour later, Eällindo, Olwë’s steward, came to escort them to where the Lindaran awaited them.

****

Minyai: Old plural: The First Clan, later known as the Vanyar.

Alquawendë: Swan-maiden, one of Eärwen’s titles as a princess of the Teleri.

Nelyai: Old plural: The Third Clan, known later as the Teleri or Lindar (the name the Teleri have given themselves).

Lindaran: King of the Lindar, modeled after the attested titles Ingaran (High King) and Noldóran (King of the Noldor).

Note: The reason for Arafinwë’s reaction to Eärwen mentioning a ‘certain sea cave’ is fully explained in Ellie’s hysterical story Lover’s Leap, found on this site.