In Darkness Bound by Fiondil

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Chapter 92: Intarion and Lirulin in Tirion

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92: Intarion and Lirulin in Tirion

Eventually, only Manwë, Námo and Aulë remained, the other Valar departing once they had given Arafinwë their blessing. Aulë pointed at the collar still around Arafinwë’s neck.

"A perfect waste of good mithril," he growled. "Time to take it off, don’t you think?"

Arafinwë gave Manwë an enquiring look and when the Elder King nodded, he smiled and reached up to grab the collar, hearing a satisfying click as it came apart. He sighed with relief as he handed the hateful thing to Aulë, though his eyes were on Manwë.

"This time it’s for real, isn’t it?" he asked.

Manwë nodded. "Yes, Arafinwë. This time it’s for real."

Aulë hefted the collar in his hand. "So, I’ll just go melt this down and purify it."

Arafinwë held up a hand to forestall the Vala from leaving. "If I’m going to be Noldóran, I’ll need a crown. Fëanáro took the crown made for him when he left Aman."

"Hmm.... And are you willing to wear on your head what once was around your neck?" Aulë asked. "Will not the constant reminder of your ignominy cause you to hate the crown even more than we know you already do?"

Arafinwë shrugged. "A fitting token, though, don’t you think? Every time I put the crown on I will be reminded of the price my people almost paid for my stupidity... and arrogance."

The Valar nodded in agreement.

"And to tell you the truth, even if my brother had left his crown behind, I do not think I would want to wear it. It isn’t even Atar’s crown, for that remains buried with him. It’s Fëanáro’s crown and I am glad it is gone with him."

Aulë gave him a bright smile. "Then, before you leave, why don’t we sit down and discuss how it should look? If you’re going to be wearing it, you should at least wear something that you can live with."

Arafinwë gave them a puzzled look. "Leave?"

"Well, you cannot rule Tirion from here, child," Manwë said with a teasing smile. "Why don’t we go over to Nienna’s where it’s more comfortable and we will fill you in on what has been happening while you’ve been with us?"

Arafinwë agreed and shortly thereafter they were all seated around Nienna’s dining table, where Nienna had arranged a small collation, though only Arafinwë actually ate; the Valar contented themselves with sipping miruvórë.

"Well, let’s see. Where to start?" the Elder King asked rhetorically once they were all settled. "I suppose we can begin with Intarion and Lirulin. They...."

Arafinwë looked up from his trencher in surprise. "Intarion! What has happened to him? Are he and Lirulin not in the Southern Fiefdoms?"

Manwë gave him a considering look. "You do not know that they actually joined with the Noldor as they fled Aman?"

Arafinwë went absolutely white and Námo, sitting next to him, grabbed him by the shoulders to steady him. "It’s not what you think," he said softly.

"Th-they joined the rebellion?" Arafinwë whispered in horror. "Why, in the name of all that is holy, would they have done such a mad thing?"

"They were hoping to speak with Findaráto and convince him to return," Manwë replied. "They went for Amarië’s sake."

"And I never knew," Arafinwë said disbelievingly. "I never knew they were there."

"They kept themselves hidden," Námo said, "not wishing to draw your or Ñolofinwë’s attention before they had a chance to speak with your son."

"But they never did, did they?" Arafinwë asked and the Valar all shook their heads. Arafinwë turned to Námo, his expression fearful, dreading what he might hear from this one’s lips. "Did they... did they go on?" he asked in a whisper.

Námo shook his head. "Intarion was ready to, but Lirulin would not let him. Intarion still hoped to reach Findaráto and convince him to return, but Lirulin knew it was a lost cause and if they continued forward they would fall under the same Doom as the others."

Arafinwë sighed in relief, glad to know that those two had not doomed themselves. "Then they are safe," he said, looking at Manwë for confirmation.

"It depends on your definition," the Elder King replied.

"But...."

"Perhaps if you let me explain, Pityahuan?" Manwë retorted mildly.

Arafinwë blushed and looked down at his lap. "Forgive me, Master."

Manwë just nodded, more amused than angry, though Arafinwë did not see. "As I was saying, Intarion and Lirulin returned to Tirion when you did, but obviously, they did not make their presence known to you or anyone else for that matter. Instead, they took rooms at an inn on the Hwarin Mallë....

****

Intarion stared moodily out the window of the small room he and Lirulin had taken at the Rose and Crown Inn on the street called ‘Crooked’, a strange street that defied the orderliness of Eldarin architecture and city planning. He had once asked Arafinwë about it and was surprised when the ellon had replied that the street was a representation of the Great Migration.

"It reminds us of the journey that we undertook with its sudden stops and starts, its waywardness," the Noldo had explained. "Atar designed the street to remind us all that not all journeys are straightforward and most are mere meanderings with no visible destination."

Now, Intarion looked out onto the very street that had become a symbol of his own life. If someone had told him five years ago how it would turn out, he would have thought the person insane. But then, who would have thought that the Trees themselves would be destroyed and that Aman would be plunged into eternal darkness?

"The darkness levels all," he muttered to himself, and he let his eyes wander further afield to the city wall and the park that lay beyond, the very park they had passed through when leaving and then returning to Tirion. They had passed the Rose and Crown Inn as they had left the city and Intarion had decided to take a room there almost as soon as they returned, rather than continuing on to the palace with Arafinwë, who was still ignorant of their presence. Lirulin had been rather surprised at his decision, but she had not given him an argument. In fact, she realized they were suitably situated for her to go out to the markets and listen to the gossip and gather what news there was to be had, though the markets were few and most of the Noldor seemed content to keep to themselves and not venture out too much. Intarion contented himself with occasional forays to the blacksmiths and leathersmiths, commissioning weapons and gear. He had no idea what he would do with a sword, but his heart warned him that when they eventually left Tirion, and he had no doubt that they would, then he should not leave without being properly armed. He shuddered in distaste at the thought, for the memory of Alqualondë was still fresh in his mind, but whether anyone knew it or not, what happened in Alqualondë had forever changed things. He could not say how things had changed, but in some inchoate way he knew it to be true.

There was the sound of footsteps running up the stairs, then coming towards the room and, though he knew it was Lirulin, he remained standing at the window, staring out.

"Intarion!" Lirulin cried as she entered, and he turned to her in surprise, for she was all flushed with excitement. Without another word she went to him and he opened his arms to embrace her.

"My love, what is it? What troubles you?" he asked, stroking her hair.

"You’ll never guess," she answered, clinging to him.

"Well, in that case, perhaps you should just tell me so I don’t die of suspense," Intarion said with amusement.

She stepped back and swatted him on his chest. "Oh, neri!"

He laughed and pulled her back into his embrace and kissed her. "Tell me," he said simply.

"It’s Arafinwë," she answered, still in his embrace and seemingly content to remain there. "The news is all over the city. He’s leaving. He’s going to seek out the Valar and he’s going alone. He’s not even riding, but will walk all the way."

Intarion blinked and pulled his wife far enough out of his embrace to see her face. "Why is he doing that? Have the Valar summoned him?"

She shook her head. "No. At least, none have said anything about a summons. The impression I received from listening to the people gossiping is that this is something he has decided to do on his own. They say...." She hesitated, looking troubled and unsure.

"What do they say?" he asked her gently, running a thumb along her jawbone.

"They say he goes to offer the Noldor as thralls to the rest of us," she whispered, her eyes dark with unnamed emotions.

Intarion felt a frisson of shock run through him. "What absurdity is this? Thralls? Why would we want thralls?"

Lirulin shrugged. "Arafinwë seems to believe that the Noldor who are left are undeserving of their freedom, that they should become the servants of the Vanyar and the Teleri and no longer be considered a clan in their own right."

"That’s absurd!" Intarion said, moving away to stand before the window again, staring out onto the street. "For one thing, Ingwë will not allow it and I doubt Olwë will even consider it. He publicly forgave the Noldor, at least those who turned back, and of course, those who remained behind are innocent of any wrongdoing. Arafinwë is being ridiculous." He shook his head and turned to face Lirulin. "What of Eärwen and Anairë? How do they feel about it?"

"As to that, I have no idea," she admitted, "but if it were I, I doubt I would be all that pleased with my husband at this moment."

Intarion couldn’t help smiling and gestured for his wife to join him at the window, which she did. He bent down to kiss her and for a time they stayed together, enjoying the sensual pleasure of their union. After a time, though, they broke apart, but remained in each other’s arms.

"I want to go home," Lirulin said in the silence that had settled between them.

"I can arrange for horses and we can be in the Southern Fiefdoms...."

"No," Lirulin said. "I want to go home. I want to see Ammë and Atto."

Intarion sighed. He dreaded returning to Vanyamar at this time, forced to confront his own parents, for he had no doubt that once it was learned that he was in the city Ingwë would insist on seeing him and his atar would no doubt have a word or two to say to him as well. Yet as much as he hated the idea of returning to Vanyamar, he knew that Lirulin missed her own family terribly and he could deny her nothing.

"Would they even be there, though?" he asked. "Would Atto Nolondur not be overseeing his vineyards? Should we not go to the estate first to make sure?"

Lirulin shook her head. "I already sent a messenger to the estate," she replied. "He returned just a while ago and told me that Atto had not been there for some time."

Intarion gave her a surprised look. "When did you send a messenger?"

"Shortly after we returned," she said, moving away from him to sit on their bed.

"And you did not tell me?" Intarion demanded, feeling more hurt than angry.

His wife gave him an elegant shrug. "You were busy with your own concerns," she offered.

"You mean, I’ve been moping and brooding while you’ve been doing what I should have done in the first place."

She gave him a sly smile. "Something like that."

He laughed and went to sit beside her. "So what should we do? You say Arafinwë is going to Valmar or perhaps on to Ilmarin, to speak with the Valar. Perhaps we should join him."

Lirulin shook her head. "Rumor has it that he will take no one with him, not even his guards. I doubt he would welcome our company. I think he means to travel as a... as a penitent rather than as Noldóran."

Intarion shook his head. "Stubborn fool," he muttered. "Stiff-necked Noldo. I always thought him the least arrogant of the lot, and the wisest, but this...." He snorted in disgust. "Do you know when he plans to leave?"

"No, but I think it will be soon," Lirulin replied.

"Then, we will wait," Intarion said.

"Wait for what? I do not want to wait, Intarion. I want to go home. Now. This minute."

"Well, we’ve paid up for the rest of the week, my love, and I will need to make arrangements. Arafinwë may feel sanguine about traveling alone, but I do not. Also, I think it’s time we paid our respects to the family, don’t you? We’ve been hiding long enough. I want to speak with Arafinwë before he goes."

"Then you had better hurry, because I do not know when he plans to leave," Lirulin said. "Indeed, he could well have left by now. Arafinwë strikes me as the type that, once his mind is made up, he will not dawdle. He will just go ahead and do it."

"You are correct about that," Intarion said. "Well, I hear the city bells chiming. It’s about time for dinner so we won’t be able to see anyone at the palace now. Why don’t we go down and see what the good innkeeper has for our meal? Even from here I can smell something good cooking."

Lirulin nodded. "Poor ellon. He was so surprised and so grateful when we came here. I think he would have given us this room for free out of gratitude."

Intarion smiled as they headed out the door. "Let us hope that in time he will have patrons again. The Noldor are a bereft people and it pains me to see them in such straits. Perhaps Arafinwë going to the Valar will help ease their sorrows if they know that they’ve been forgiven."

"I think it would help if Ingwë let them know that as well," Lirulin said as they descended the stairs to the common room. "They need to hear such words from the High King."

Intarion nodded in agreement and then they were being greeted by the innkeeper and his wife and daughters and shortly thereafter, they were all seated around one of the larger tables in the common room enjoying the repast and discussing the news that was on everyone’s lips: Arafinwë’s refusal to accept the crown and his impending journey to seek out the Valar.

****

They did not set off for the palace immediately the next day, for Intarion wished to enquire about horses and supplies in preparationfor their leaving in three days’ time. So it was much later than they had originally planned before they finally made their way along the Malta Landamallë towards the palace, clutching each other’s hands. Almost as if we were children fearing punishment for not returning home at the proper time, Intarion thought to himself with grim amusement. He would not be surprised if they received a scolding from Eärwen for not letting anyone know they had returned to the city. At the gate, they were stopped by the captain of the guards who did not recognize them.

"I will send for someone," he said brusquely. "I cannot just let you in to wander about on your own to cause who knows what kind of mischief."

Intarion bristled at the insult. "I don’t think my royal cousin would appreciate your insinuations, sir," he said stiffly. "However, my lady wife and I will abide by your decision and wait for you to fetch someone who will know us."

The guard shrugged, not really caring, and issued an order to one of his underlings. As a concession he offered them a bench inside the guardhouse where they could sit, but Intarion was feeling too affronted and said they would stand. The captain, new to his position, was beginning to think he had made a mistake in his treatment of these two Vanyar, claiming to be kin to the royal family and tried to be more conciliatory in his manner towards them. Intarion merely gave him a stony stare, and something of the haughtiness of the House of Ingwë was evident in his posture. Ingwë, for all his easy ways, had never suffered fools gladly and that was a trait shared by the rest of his clan.

Before the tension between him and the captain became too much, there was a flurry of activity from the palace and then Amarië was there, hugging them and kissing them and weeping all the while. The captain watched in bemusement as she led the two Vanyar away, completely ignoring him, for which he was grateful.

"Where have you been?" Amarië demanded as she led them into the palace. "When Atar Arafinwë returned and you did not, I did not know what had happened and as Atar did not mention you, I feared to ask. What happened? Did you not speak with Findaráto? Why did he not return with you?"

Intarion stopped, forcing Amarië to stop as well. He took her by the shoulders and gave her a sad look. "We never spoke with Findaráto," he told her softly. "As hard as we tried, we never were able to reach him. He was too far in the vanguard. By the time we were able to make our way forward through the host, it was too late."

"What do you mean by ‘too late’?" Amarië asked, her fair features marred by a frown.

"Amarië," Lirulin said with as much gentleness as possible, "before we could reach Findaráto the host came upon the Lord of Mandos...."

"We do not know if it was he," Intarion protested. "We never saw his face."

Lirulin made a noise of dissent and shook her head at her husband. "Who else could it have been to have uttered the Doom as he did? No lesser being would have had the power." She turned to Amarië. "The Doom was spoken and at that moment all hope of reaching Findaráto was lost."

"But if...."

"Amarië!" Intarion said somewhat loudly, shaking her a bit out of frustration. When he realized what he was doing, he stopped and looked embarrassed, muttering an apology even as he released her from his hold. Amarië just stared at him, stunned. "Do you not see? If we had continued on in the hope of reaching Findaráto we would have fallen under the Doom, though we were innocent of any wrongdoing, for we were there not in defiance of the Valar but to bring one back into their good graces. We failed. It’s as simple as that. When Arafinwë elected to return, we followed him and we never saw Findaráto."

"But Arafinwë has been back for weeks," Amarië said. "Where have you been all this time? Why did you not come here sooner?"

Intarion sighed. "I guess I was feeling too guilty for failing you," he said, reddening slightly. "I’m sorry, Amarië. We tried. I tried, yet it seemed to me as if some force or power prevented us from reaching Findaráto. I am sure that had we been able to do so, we could have convinced him to turn back."

"And now?" Amarië asked, her demeanor stiffening. "What do you plan to do now?"

"Now, we plan to return to Vanyamar," Lirulin said, "and Intarion desires to speak with Arafinwë. We’ve heard rumors that he plans to go to the Valar."

Amarië glared at them, her fair features turning angry. "You are too late, Intarion, as you have always been too late, as you are always too late," she spat out, her hands clenched at her side. "Arafinwë has already left. He left before any of us broke our fast. You’re too late, Intarion!" she practically screamed at him and with tears flowing from her eyes she fled down the hall.

Intarion and Lirulin stood there watching the elleth flee, a mix of sorrow and guilt on their faces. Intarion sighed and gave his wife a sardonic look. "Well that went better than I expected," he said in an attempt at levity.

Lirulin, not in the mood, refused to respond, other than to give her husband a glare before lifting her skirts and striding after Amarië. Intarion shrugged and followed.

****

Hwarin Mallë: Crooked Street.

Malta Landamallë: Gold Avenue.