In Darkness Bound by Fiondil

---

Chapter 86: Arafinwë in the Chapel of Stars

---

86: Arafinwë in the Chapel of Stars

As soon as the doors of the throne room closed behind Mánatamir and a bemused Arafinwë, Varda turned to her spouse with a wicked grin.

"You should have seen your face when he dumped the water over you," she crowed.

Námo, still standing before Manwë’s throne, laughed. "I almost stood up and cheered."

The other Valar started laughing, Tulkas’s booming laugh gently rocking the chandeliers gracing the chamber. "It was Arafinwë’s expression when you told him to fetch the water from the well that was priceless," he said. "I could almost see him plotting your demise, Manwë."

That set them off again and it was some time before they got themselves under control and Manwë spoke to Nienna. "What are your plans for our wayward king?"

"Hmm... I haven’t quite decided yet," she admitted. "I’ll come up with something while I’m waiting for him to arrive. Any suggestions?"

"What about removing that blasted collar?" Aulë growled. "A perfect waste of metal, in my opinion. I hated forging it."

"I know you did," Manwë said sympathetically. "Yet you’ve forged chains before."

"But only for one who truly deserved it," Aulë retorted. "Arafinwë, while annoyingly self-pitying, is not evil. I would like nothing better than to see that collar melted down."

"Hmm.... that gives me an idea," Nienna said with a far-away look in her eyes, but what the idea was she declined to say, only assuring them all that she would do everything in her power to bring Arafinwë back to himself so he could take his rightful place in Eldarin society as the Noldóran.

"Just remember, we are on a deadline of a sort," Manwë told her. "We need Arafinwë and Ingwion together sooner rather than later. Ingwë does not have a whole lot of time."

"Do you seriously think Ingoldo will harm his own brother?" Varda asked, looking disturbed.

"We have the evidence of Alqualondë before us as an example of how far these Children will go when driven by need," Námo said darkly. "I would not be too complacent about this. The Children are of Arda and I think Melkor imbued much of himself into the very fabric of the world without us realizing it."

"But only in the Outer Lands, surely," Vána protested. "He has not corrupted Aman."

"Hasn’t he?" Námo shot back. "We once thought that the Elves, by the fact of their dwelling here with us, were protected from all possibility of the severance of fëa and hröa in any of the ways in which it might be accomplished, but Míriel put pay to that delusion. No, the Marring of Arda is not limited only to the Outer Lands. It exists here with us."

"What Námo says is true," Manwë then said. "The Children, by virtue of their incarnate state, are nourished by the hröa of Arda, as it were, and therefore we must acknowledge the sad fact that even the noblest of them can fall prey to Melkor’s evil, for they are none of them wholly free of him in their incarnate form, and their hröar have an effect upon their fëar. It is something we need to keep in mind."

There was a sobering silence among them for a time as they contemplated Manwë’s words. Then Yavanna stirred and gave them a bright smile. "Well, let us speak of happier things. I think it’s possible to bring forth one last fruit and flower from the Trees, enough to give Varda the necessary material for Arda’s star and perhaps for a satellite to illuminate the nights."

There were happy smiles from them all and they spent some time discussing the parameters for the creation of the Great Lights, as they were calling them.

****

"Chapel?" Arafinwë asked Mánatamir as the Maia led Arafinwë along a particular corridor and up a flight of marble stairs.

"You’ll see," was all the Maia would say.

Arafinwë reached out and yanked on the chain in Mánatamir’s hand causing the Maia to stop in surprise. "You don’t need to lead me around like your pet hound, Mánatamir," Arafinwë said angrily. "And I would appreciate a civil answer to a civil question."

"You’re a thrall..."

"Perhaps, but not yours," Arafinwë retorted, glaring at the Maia. "The least you can do is let go of this blasted chain and allow me some dignity, or is that beyond your capabilities? I don’t think Olórin would treat me so contemptuously."

His words seemed to strike home, especially the last bit, for the Maia flinched and then he was dropping the chain. Arafinwë forced himself not to smirk. Mánatamir gave him a glare. "Just don’t try to run away; you won’t like the consequences."

Arafinwë gave him a supercilious sniff as if the Maia had said something uncouth. "Wouldn’t dream of it." Then to turn the screw a little tighter he gestured with his left hand. "Shall we?"

Mánatamir stared at the Elf for a moment or two and then nodded, leading the way. With the Maia’s back to him, Arafinwë indulged himself in a grin of triumph, though he schooled his expression to indifference when Mánatamir looked back at him at one point.

"So what’s this chapel?" Arafinwë asked then. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it."

"And there’s no reason why you should," Mánatamir answered readily enough. "It’s something that was created for us, for the Valar and Maiar, a place of meditation, you might say. None of the Eldar have ever been invited to visit it... until now." He gave Arafinwë a significant look and the Noldo blinked in surprise at that revelation. "Here we are," the Maia said as they came to the end of a hall where there was a door.

Arafinwë noticed that the door was made of mithril and appeared to have no handle so he was unsure how it could open. Etched into it was an eight-pointed star inlaid with diamonds with a single multi-faceted sapphire embedded in the center. Just below the sapphire was a small scallop-shaped basin set into the door. Issuing from the sapphire itself was a stream of water that filled the basin but did not overflow it. Where the water went, he could not say, nor could he ascertain how the water was issuing from the sapphire in the first place. He had been living among the Valar for so long now that such things no longer surprised him. Above and below the star were etched words inlaid with emeralds. He read the words out loud, unaware that he was doing so:

"From this most holy water be renewed... pure and ready to ascend unto the stars."

"Dip your hand into the bowl and drink," the Maia commanded and Arafinwë did so without hesitation. The water, if that was what it was, tasted sweet and with just a single sip Arafinwë felt his spirits rise and he felt renewed. He took a second sip and as he straightened the portal opened silently and Mánatamir gestured for him to step inside.

They were in a small vestibule where a sunken pool took up most of the floor space. From the steam rising he gathered the water was hot. The air was redolent with the scent of linden, lovage and lavender, and Arafinwë could feel his spirits rising even further. On either side of the pool were two elf-high iron-wrought candelabra. The one on the right was in the shape of an elleth, her hands held high with the palms up; the other, on the left, was in the shape of an ellon in a similar pose. Flames eternally lit sprung from their palms and the crowns of their heads. The floor was made of cool blue-grey slate tiles, restful to the eyes and spirit. The right wall was a series of shelves stuffed with towels and tunics. The towels were white; the tunics were dark blue.

Beyond the pool, separating them from the main part of the room, was an intricately carved rosewood screen. A closer examination showed each of the fourteen Powers carved in high relief, with the Valier ranged on the right while their male counterparts were on the left. Below each of the figures was a shield on which was carved their particular emblem, thus identifying them. Above eight of the figures were flames and Arafinwë realized that each of these must be the Aratar, the eight most powerful of the Valar. The figures were facing inward towards the central panel with Varda leading the procession of the Valier even as Manwë led the Valar. Each figure held their hands before them, palms up, above which was a single diamond caught in the wood; they were obviously meant to signify stars.

The central panel had a strange carving of a disc with rays shooting from it, both straight and wavy. It was inlaid in red-gold. The four cardinal rays were also inlaid in red-gold while the other four were done in white gold. Somehow, tengwar flowed across the disc like molten fire, and even as one word faded another appeared, yet it seemed to Arafinwë as if all the words were there at the same time.

Once again he was unaware that he read the words aloud as they flowed before his eyes: "The Love which moves the... I do not know this word," he said pointing, giving Mánatamir a puzzled look.

Mánatamir smiled faintly. "It is of no importance at the moment. Remove your loincloth and enter the pool. Even as you were purified within by drinking from the font, so you must be purified without. None enter the Chapel otherwise."

Arafinwë nodded and did as he was bid, stepping into the pool and reveling in the feel of the water cleansing him. He breathed deeply a couple of times, allowing the mingled scents of the herbs to fill his lungs before immersing himself fully for several long minutes, then rising, pushing his hair out of his eyes. He looked up to see Mánatamir holding out a large absorbent towel and as much as he wished to remain in the pool, he was curious about what lay beyond the rosewood screen, so he came out readily enough and took the proffered towel. Mánatamir then handed him one of the robes.

Arafinwë stared at it, then gave the Maia a puzzled look. "Are you sure I’m allowed to wear that?"

Mánatamir blinked, as if the question surprised him, then nodded and put the robe back into its cubicle. "It is not a requirement," he said. "You may enter the Chapel now."

Arafinwë looked to see the central panel of the screen split open to reveal a dark room. "So what am I supposed to do?"

"That’s up to you," the Maia answered. "This is a place of meditation and repose. Obviously Lord Manwë feels you need some time to think about things before we leave."

"And how long am I supposed to stay here?" he asked, giving the entry a dubious look.

"You will know when it’s time to leave," Mánatamir said. "I will have everything ready for you. Now, I wouldn’t waste my time asking questions. Use this time given to you wisely, Pityahuan." With that, he gathered up the discarded loincloth into the wet towel and went out, leaving a bemused Arafinwë behind.

Deciding it was useless to linger in the vestibule, Arafinwë stepped across the threshold into the Chapel. It was dark, but not completely so, for tall white candles burned in niches halfway along the side walls, one in either wall. He had a feeling that the candles were always lit and never went out. Even as he took a few cautious steps in, the doors closed behind him with an audible click which startled him, causing him to turn around with a gasp. He noticed there was no latch on this side either and wondered just how he was supposed to leave.

As his eyes adjusted to the near darkness, he began to examine the room more closely. From this side he saw that the screen was blank of any carving. Instead, two benches covered with deep dark blue cushions were carved into the wood on either side of the door, so that the screen itself was the back of the benches. Curved armrests graced the ends by the door while the other ends were flush against the wall.

The floor was covered by a thick carpet into which his bare feet sank. It was primarily deep blue with greens and golds intermixed. The room itself was perhaps twice as large as the vestibule. There was no other furniture besides the benches backing the screen. The walls on either side were whitewashed and unadorned save for the candle niches. Covering the wall opposite the screen was a tapestry and even in the dim candlelight and from where he stood he could see exquisite details that literally took his breath away. He had to consciously remember to breathe.

He found himself drawn to the tapestry, drinking in the storied web. Afterwards, he could never clearly say, even to himself, what exactly the tapestry showed and in truth he never spoke of it to anyone else, yet, such was its effect on him that the memory of it sometimes haunted his dreams in later years. How long he stood before the tapestry he never afterwards could say. At some point he happened to glance toward the ceiling and gasped in amazement.

There above him was the night sky in all its glory, the stars spanning across the heavens like a white veil, sparkling and glinting in the indigo velvet night. What amazed him most was how very real it looked. Somehow the ceiling did not exist, only the sky above. Seeing it from this place made him realize just how awesome and full of terrible beauty the sight truly was. In the time since the Trees had died, he had rarely looked up, not wishing to see, not wishing to acknowledge the fact that he now lived beneath the stars’ vast silence. But now....

Without conscious thought he found himself on his back staring up into the jeweled sky, drinking in the sight of the heavens, lost to their wonder. And as he lay there, he felt himself relaxing, his hröa seemingly sinking further into the plush carpet, all the tension of the last few hours, days, weeks, perhaps even years, melting away. He drew a deep breath, perhaps deeper than he’d ever drawn before, letting it out slowly. He did not feel sleepy, which he thought odd considering how strenuous the trek to the tarn and back had been; instead, he felt wide awake, more awake than he remembered ever being.

And then something strange began to happen, something that should have been terrifying, yet Arafinwë felt no fear, only wonder: as he continued staring up into the heavens, the stars seemed to move in a swirling pattern, and then images began to form, images of people whom he recognized and it was almost as if he were looking through a window, watching them in their lives. There were his ammë and atar smiling down upon a small blanket-wrapped bundle lying in his atar’s arms and he somehow knew that the bundle was himself as a newborn elfling. He saw his atar bend down and kiss him on the brow and then smile lovingly at his ammë. Even as he watched, Arafinwë realized he had never seen his atar smile that way at anyone.

The image faded and a new image took its place. Now he saw himself as a toddler, running and falling, skinning his knees and crying. He saw his brother, Ñolofinwë, gather him up and soothe him, kissing his knees and then tickling him until the tears were replaced with laughter.

Other images began to flash before him, almost too quickly for him to grasp their import, showing him scenes from his life as he grew into adulthood, always showing him instances where he had received love from someone, even where he had thought he didn’t deserve it. He felt himself grow warm with shame at some of those memories, for he had sometimes refused the love being offered. Yet, watching these images before him, he realized that he had never ceased being loved in spite of his own failings.

Then one image caught his attention: it was of Eärwen and himself and now it was he who was holding a small squirming bundle as his beloved looked on with love in her eyes and he realized he was holding his firstborn, his little Finda. Then the perspective seemed to shift so that it seemed as if he were stepping back until he saw himself and Eärwen surrounded by others: his atar and ammë, his brother and sisters, even his wife’s family were there, all gathered around them, all with looks of love and approval upon their faces.

And then the image changed once again and Arafinwë nearly cried out in surprise. He saw himself crouched beside Lord Manwë’s throne, weeping miserably, and then he saw the Elder King’s hand reach down to stroke his hair. The perspective shifted slightly again so that he saw Lord Manwë looking down at him and the love that flowed from him was almost too terrible to endure. In all the time he had crouched beside the Elder King’s throne, he’d never bothered to look up, had never seen the love in his Master’s eyes. He never knew....

Even as that realization struck him, the perspective changed again so that he could somehow see all the Valar as they sat on their thrones, and they all looked upon his weeping form huddled against Lord Manwë’s throne, not with disdain or disgust or even indifference, as he had always thought, but with the same love that flowed from the Elder King and that love was directed at him, though he never knew it.

It was too much. With a cry, almost of denial, Arafinwë leapt up, his eyes still fixed upon the ceiling where that last image seemed to hang. He began backing up, as if to escape what his eyes were showing him, until he felt the back of his knees hitting something and he found himself plopping down upon one of the benches backing the screen. He just sat there, stunned, his breathing becoming ragged as the emotions he was feeling — shame and despair and a sense of having somehow failed those whom he loved and who loved him — overwhelming him and he began weeping, large tearing sobs that seemed to come from somewhere deep within his fëa.

He fell to his knees, his hands covering his face, and in spite of what he had been shown, he wondered if anyone could truly love him given what he’d done. He thought of Eärwen and wondered if he’d lost her love forever, almost convincing himself that he should and that if she ever learned what had happened to him (assuming she did not already know), she would surely despise him and reject him. He thought of his children, especially Findaráto, and wondered how they would feel to learn what he had done to himself, and shame flooded him at the thought of his beloved Finda turning away from him in disgust for his cowardice. And then he thought of Lord Manwë and even Lord Námo, wondering if perhaps they were only pretending to love him, yet the image of them, of all the Valar, which still hung frozen above him when he looked up, proved otherwise. But he couldn’t quite accept it even then. He collapsed completely to the floor, still weeping, still wondering how anyone could love him, even Eru. Perhaps Eru did love him he decided, and the Valar as well, but he thought that had he gone back to Tirion when told to do so and taken up the crown, they would have loved him more and that thought sent him into a state almost of despair, realizing what he had truly lost in his arrogance.

But as he lay there, he felt a caress upon his head, as if someone were stroking it, though when he opened his eyes and sat up, he found himself still alone. Yet, the caress continued and it brought him some comfort. He sank back down upon the carpet, and as he lay there, from somewhere deep inside him, it seemed he heard a Voice, sounding like and unlike Lord Manwë:

*I could not love thee more than I already do, Child of Mine, nor could I love thee less. I can only love thee.*

Then the Voice began to softly sing. It sounded something like a lullaby, and as the song continued, Arafinwë felt himself being soothed, the shame and self-hatred melting away, leaving him quiescent. He never remembered falling asleep.

****

A gentle shaking woke Arafinwë and he blinked his eyes into focus, gazing a bit stupidly up at Mánatamir who was kneeling next to him, his expression solicitous. "Are you ready to leave?" the Maia asked.

Arafinwë sat up, looking about. The door leading to the vestibule lay open and when he glanced upward at the ceiling he saw that the stars were back in place, though he thought they had moved somewhat from their original positions. He gathered from that that some time had passed since he had first entered the Chapel. He frowned at Mánatamir. "Was it a dream?"

The Maia rose to his feet, holding out his hand to help Arafinwë up. "Does it really matter?"

Arafinwë thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. "No. I suppose not."

"Then, if you are ready, we can go."

Arafinwë nodded and together Maia and Elf left the Chapel of Stars.

****

Notes:

1. The discussion among the Valar about the Marring and its effect on the Elves is derived from Tolkien’s ‘Notes on motives in the Silmarillion’, found in Morgoth’s Ring, HoME X.

2. The words carved on the door of the Chapel of Stars are adapted from the last lines of Dante’s Purgatorio (Canto XXXIII), which thus leads the reader into the Paradiso:

‘From the most holy water I returned / Regenerate, in the manner of new trees / That are renewed with a new foliage / Pure and disposed to mount unto the stars.’ [Translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow]

3. The words that flow across the sun disc on the Chapel screen are taken from the final line of Dante’s Paradiso (Canto XXXIII):

‘The Love which moves the Sun and the other stars.’ [Translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow]

It is perhaps the most moving definition of God ever proposed. Arafinwë does not recognize the word ‘Sun’ [Anar] for she has not been created yet.

3. The Aratar: These are the eight most powerful of the Valar: Manwë, Varda, Ulmo, Aulë, Yavanna, Oromë, Nienna and Námo.

4. Properties of the herbal bath: lavender: antiseptic; linden (flowers): healing; lovage: cleansing and healing.