In Darkness Bound by Fiondil

---

Chapter 87: On the Road West

---

87: On the Road West

Arafinwë couldn’t believe his luck. He truly thought that he would be forced to walk all the way to Lady Nienna’s manse wearing naught but a loincloth and collar. Instead, when he left the Chapel of Stars, he found a pile of clothes on a stool in the vestibule — trews, shirt, tunic and boots, even a cape — which Mánatamir indicated he should put on. True, they were not of the finest materials, but they felt so good against his skin he almost wept with joy as he fingered the nubbed wool of the tunic. And then, to make his joy complete, when Mánatamir led him out of Ilmarin and back down the mountain, they came to a spot still a mile or so from Vanyamar where the road leveled out, and there, waiting patiently for them, were two horses.

Mánatamir smiled at the bemused expression on the Elf’s face. "Lady Nienna did say she would expect us in a week’s time," he said as he gestured for Arafinwë to mount. "If we were to walk it would take closer to four weeks to arrive."

Arafinwë nodded as he climbed onto the grey gelding, only just noticing that it had a halter to which was attached a lead which Mánatamir took up.

"I’m not planning on running away," the Elf said with no little exasperation.

"That’s good," Mánatamir said equably, "because if you try to, I will be the least of your worries. Come along. We’re going to take a different path and avoid Vanyamar."

With that, he clucked to his steed, a black stallion, Arafinwë noted, and they set off, heading more north than west along a mountain ridge until they came to a place where it began to lower. Soon they were at the foot of the mountain and then Mánatamir took them due west for two or three leagues before swinging south. Arafinwë remained silent throughout the journey. At first he worried about what would happen to him once he reached their destination, but then the fact that he was riding across country under starlight drove the dark thoughts away and he simply reveled in his freedom, temporary and illusionary though it might be.

After some hours, as measured by the slow movement of the heavens, they came to a road, one that Arafinwë did not recognize. It ran north and south and he was puzzled by its existence. "What road is this, Mánatamir?" he asked. "I do not recall it."

"Nor would you, for it was made by the Maiar on Lord Manwë’s instructions," the Maia answered. "This is the road that Finwë and Fëanáro took to Formenos."

Arafinwë drew in a sharp breath, staring northward where the road disappeared into the wilderness. Somewhere beyond his sight, lay the site of his atar’s murder and his final resting place. He did not know how to react to that knowledge. One part of him wanted to turn northward and go and see the valley where Finwë met his doom, to stand before his grave, though what he would do there he was unsure, but another, stronger part shied away from that idea. Mánatamir saw the ambivalence in the ellon’s expression and sighed to himself, sorrowing for all that Arafinwë had suffered and would continue to suffer. He gave his horse a nudge and the steed began moving, Arafinwë’s gelding placidly following.

"Come," the Maia said sympathetically, "we still have a way to go."

Arafinwë nodded and set his eyes forward, but every once in a while he would turn to look back, wondering.

Eventually their road joined up with the road to Valmar and it was not long before they were passing through Eldamas, where those who were out and about apparently ignored them, for they were not even given a cursory glance. Arafinwë wondered if some power of the Maia prevented anyone from seeing them. Through the northern gate, now standing open, they went, heading straight down the Landamallë to the western gate, past the Ezellohar and the Máhanaxar, and thus continuing westward towards the Ekkaia and Lady Nienna’s demesne.

****

The journey was not long enough as far as Arafinwë was concerned. The closer they came to their destination, the more anxious he found himself to be. They were at least another day’s ride from Lady Nienna’s manse when he started to panic. Mánatamir had brought him to a small dell where a stream trickled out of the ground. The dell was hidden behind a stand of elder and maple trees. All during the rest period Arafinwë fiddled with his collar or clenched and unclenched his fists around the hated chain that trailed to the ground. He wouldn’t even eat, though Mánatamir had produced a delicious smelling beef broth soup for him. He just huddled against one of the trees, his knees drawn up, staring at nothing in particular.

Thoughts of how to get away, to go back to Tirion, or hide in the wilderness flitted back and forth across his mind. He knew it was hopeless to make any escape attempt, not with a Maia there to stop him, but he couldn’t help it. However, he found himself rejecting one plan after another and, with each rejection, his anxiety grew.

"You should eat something, Pityahuan," Mánatamir said solicitously.

Arafinwë looked up and glared at the Maia. "My name is Arafinwë," he said softly.

"Your collar says otherwise," Mánatamir retorted.

The Elf jumped up, incensed by the very callousness of the Maia’s tone. He stalked over to where Mánatamir was sitting beside the campfire. The Maia rose, looking at him warily.

"My name is Arafinwë!" the ellon screamed, wrapping part of the chain around his fist and then lashing out at the Maia, who was just surprised enough by the attack that he did not immediately respond, other than to raise his hands before his face to ward off the blow. Arafinwë struck him again and again, screaming and weeping at the same time. "Arafinwë! My name is Arafinwë and I’m no one’s pet hound. No one’s!"

Even as the Elf continued to lash out at the Maia there was a flurry of lights and an overwhelming floral scent and then someone was grabbing him from behind and dragging him away from Mánatamir. "NO!!!!" he screamed in fury and frustration, trying to pull out of the other person’s embrace, but he was caught tight. He tried to use the chain to lash at his captor, but his arms were securely held and all he could do was thrash about and scream until his voice was gone and he was almost blacking out from the exertion. Whoever was holding him just let him wear himself out and eventually he slumped in the person’s embrace, too weary and sick even to cry, only whimpering slightly at the rawness of his throat.

"Well, that was unexpected," he heard someone say once he ceased to thrash about, though he couldn’t bother to identify the voice. "Bring him over here, Manveru."

Arafinwë felt himself being lifted in Manveru’s arms as if he were naught but an elfling of ten and then he was being gently lowered onto the ground beside the fire. He was vaguely surprised to feel furs underneath him and he instinctively sighed and curled up into them, his hröa remembering the simple pleasure of lying on his fur bed beside Lord Manwë’s throne. Someone rubbed his back. He wanted to protest, to make some gesture of defiance still, but he was feeling weak and confused and so instead he felt himself drifting off into sleep. His last thought was a vain hope that he would never waken.

****

Need, of course, eventually brought him back to consciousness, and without thinking about it, he rose and staggered off into the trees. It was only as he was returning to the fire that it occurred to him that no one had tried to stop him. He was still feeling fuzzy-headed and his throat pained him every time he swallowed. It was only when he plopped back onto the furs that he realized that he was completely alone. He glanced about, puzzled, wondering where Mánatamir was. He could not believe that he’d just been abandoned. He noticed that the horses were gone as well. He stood up and went to the stream to splash some water on his face. The coldness of the water drove away the last vestiges of fog enshrouding his mind and he felt clear-headed again. He stood up and made his way into the trees again with the intention of leaving the dell, but just at the outer ring of trees he came upon an invisible barrier preventing him from moving forward. He could see the ridge which marked the road above him, but he could not move past the trees themselves. He made a circle around the perimeter of the dell, testing to see if there was a breach in the invisible wall. There wasn’t any. Eventually he returned to the fire, plopping himself down on the furs again, realizing that he was trapped in the dell and for all he knew he was doomed to remain there forever.

He idly fed the fire with some more kindling and sat there in gloomy thought, wondering what was to become of him. He thought perhaps he should apologize for his actions, but there was no one there to apologize to and he was not going to shout out loud in the hope that someone would hear him. Besides, his throat hurt too much. A rumble from his stomach reminded him that he had not eaten in some time. At least he wouldn’t starve to death, or, not immediately, for the soup that Mánatamir had made for him was still there, simmering away, and he had to wonder just how long he’d been asleep. Perhaps some power of the Ainur had kept it from being ruined while he slept. He shrugged, not really caring. He ladled some of the soup into a wooden bowl. There were no utensils, so he sipped it, relishing its meaty taste after being forced to eat porridge day in and day out for so long, the warm liquid soothing his throat a little. He had a second helping and when he was finished, he went to the stream and drank from it before washing out the bowl. Once done, he turned to go back to the fire but stopped, gasping in dismay, for he was no longer alone. The Lord of Mandos was sitting on a wood-carved chair beside the fire.

Arafinwë was frozen to the spot and it was only when Lord Námo gestured for him to approach that he reluctantly complied, keeping the fire between him and the dread Vala. For a long moment silence settled between them, as Arafinwë stood there in silent defiance, refusing to look at Námo, waiting for him to speak.

"Are you feeling better?" Námo finally asked.

The question was unexpected and Arafinwë glanced up at the Vala in surprise, then nodded.

"Are you going to apologize?" the Lord of Mandos asked next.

Arafinwë shook his head.

Námo raised an eyebrow at that. "Not very talkative, are we?"

"Throat... hurts," he managed to whisper, swallowing and grimacing at the pain.

Námo nodded and gestured towards the fire. "There is some tea in the kettle. Add some honey. It should help."

Arafinwë looked to see that a kettle sat beside the fire along with a ceramic mug and a jar of honey. He bent down and poured the tea into the mug and added the honey. Then he took a tentative sip and sighed involuntarily as the liquid ran down his throat, soothing it. He sat back on his haunches and continued to sip the soothing beverage, ignoring, or trying to ignore, the Vala sitting across from him. As he crouched beside the fire, Námo spoke.

"Mánatamir was hurt by your attack," he said.

Arafinwë looked up. "How badly...."

Námo shook his head. "He was not physically harmed," he amended. "You do not have that power, but he was hurt nonetheless. He thought better of you and you disappointed him."

Arafinwë frowned. He was not sure how he felt about that revelation. "Why would he care?" he finally asked, his tone devoid of any emotion. "Why would any of you care? I’m just your thrall. What else do you expect from me?"

Námo did not immediately answer and Arafinwë went back to drinking his tea, waiting for the Vala to speak. He was unsure why he was not feeling more frightened, but in truth, he wasn’t feeling anything now. The thought of dredging up any kind of emotion was too tiring. He had used all his emotions up in the attack and now he found that he just did not care anymore.

There was a flurry of multi-colored lights behind him and the next thing he knew, Lady Nienna was kneeling beside him. He was vaguely surprised at the concerned look she gave him as she stroked his hair and gazed into his eyes. "He doesn’t seem to be all there, Brother," she said, glancing briefly at Námo before returning her attention to the Elf.

"He is suffering from an emotional backlash, I think," Námo replied. "Perhaps Irmo or Estë should examine him."

Again there was a flurry of lights, this time forcing Arafinwë to shut his eyes against the glare. When the light faded he opened his eyes to see Lord Irmo standing beside his brother, a slight frown on his face. He walked around the fire and crouched beside the ellon who simply stared at him. Irmo reached up and stroked his forehead and tension he did not even know he had suddenly drained out of him and he moaned, staggering back. Both Irmo and Nienna caught him; Irmo relieved him of his mug while Nienna helped him to lie down on the furs, covering him with a quilt.

"You’ve done more than damage your throat, haven’t you, Little One?" Irmo said sympathetically as he continued soothing Arafinwë’s brow. "I think you should sleep some again. Perhaps when you awaken you’ll feel more yourself, hmm?"

With that he placed his hand over Arafinwë’s eyes and before he could protest, the ellon felt himself drifting into darkness, a darkness he welcomed, embracing it like a lover.

****

He woke slowly, trying to piece together recent events. Opening his eyes — and he felt a moment’s surprise that they had even been closed — he saw the fire blazing cheerfully away. Struggling to a sitting position, he found himself alone once again. There was no soup simmering above the fire, but the tea kettle was still there. He reached over and found it still full, and poured some into the mug and added honey again. Then he sat cross-legged on the furs and gratefully sipped at the hot beverage. His throat felt less raw and he felt more present than he had before. He glanced around, but there was no trace of anyone else.

"Hello?" he called out on impulse, not really expecting an answer, but then someone came through the trees and Arafinwë scrambled to his feet in surprise at the sight of Lord Manwë approaching. He felt the mug begin to slip through nerveless fingers and just managed to catch it in time before its contents spilled onto the furs. He clutched the still warm mug to his chest, staring at the Elder King, who stood before him, casting a critical eye over him.

"You appear to be in better shape than last time," the Vala said. "How are you feeling, Pityahúnya?"

Arafinwë shook his head. "Confused," he said without really thinking.

"I don’t doubt," Manwë said with a ghost of a smile. "Well, if you’re finished with your tea, you’d best be getting on your way. Nienna is still expecting you. Put the fire out and gather your things and follow me."

For a moment, Arafinwë just stood there staring at the Vala in disbelief. "Are... are you not going to punish me?" He cringed at the tone of his voice.

Manwë shook his head. "Not this time," he said. "Put out the fire."

Arafinwë did as he was ordered, making sure the fire was well out. He gathered up the furs. The tea kettle, the mug and the honey jar had conveniently disappeared while he was dousing the fire, so all that was left for him to carry were the furs. He bundled them up and tied them with a piece of rope that Manwë gave him and then followed the Elder King out of the dell and back onto the road. Manwë pointed to the west. "There lies your road," he said. "If you attempt to backtrack or leave the road, you will be stopped and I assure you that punishment will come swift and sure. Do I make myself clear?"

Arafinwë nodded, keeping his gaze steady. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

The ellon cringed and cast his eyes downward. "Yes... Master," he finally said in a strangled whisper, hating himself for his ready capitulation and hating Manwë for... well just hating him. He didn’t think he needed to have a reason for doing so.

There was a heavy silence between them and then Manwë took him by the shoulders and turned him around so he was facing west. "Off you go now, and no dawdling," he said, giving the ellon a slight push.

Arafinwë sighed and set off, his bundle of furs tucked under his arm. He refused to look back.